A Success
Minerva returned to the Transfiguration classroom the next afternoon, joining Professor Dumbledore in his office. She was still somewhat giddy from her success the previous day, especially since, after a foray into the library, she had discovered that the bit of magic she’d performed was considered extremely difficult, even with the co-operation of the wizard upon whom the spell was being cast. Minerva felt that if she could accomplish that, she could overcome whatever problem was keeping her from performing the Transfiguration on her own hand.
After a brief discussion of the surprising Ravenclaw win, the two settled down to work.
“Yesterday, I told you that I could cast the same spell on your hand, if you wished, once you had performed it successfully on mine. I think that would be a wise place to begin this afternoon. Although the sensation is somewhat different from that felt when one performs the Transfiguration on one’s own limb, it is still sufficiently different from that felt during an ordinary, external Transfiguration as to be valuable for you, I believe. After we have done that, I will give you my thoughts on why you have been unable to achieve the Transfiguration on your own hand, despite having done so well with mine.”
“Yes, that puzzled me. I went to the library this morning, Professor – I hope you don’t mind my doing a little research outside of the texts you have given me – and learned that what I did yesterday is considered to be much more difficult than the Transfiguration that I have been unable to do on my own hand. I was surprised I could do it at all, in that case.”
“It was unsurprising to me, however, Minerva. As I said yesterday, I believe that you are capable of casting the spell on your own hand; there is simply a slight impediment in your way, which we will attempt to remove this afternoon. So, with your permission?” Dumbledore reached for her hand, which Minerva readily gave him.
“Now, my dear, as I do this, it is most important that you trust me and allow me to perform the Transfiguration. As you noted yourself yesterday, casting this spell on an unwilling witch or wizard would require a great deal of energy. And while I could do that, I do not wish to, for two reasons. The first is that I do not want to do anything to you without your full consent; the second is that, although the Transfiguration might be uncomfortable even with that consent, it would likely be quite painful without it. At the first sense of any resistance from you – conscious or unconscious, my dear – I will stop. If necessary, we can make a few attempts, although, I must repeat, I will not perform this spell on you without your permission. All right, Minerva?” Dumbledore looked at her seriously to see if she had taken in all he had said.
“Of course, Professor. And I will try to relax. I do trust you, you know. So if there is any unconscious resistance, it is simply nervousness about the procedure, not about you.”
“Thank you, and I appreciate that trust. Shall we begin?”
With a nod from Minerva, Dumbledore began his examination of her right hand, proceeding somewhat differently than she had with his the previous day, seeming to rely less on visual inspection. First, he held her hand lightly between his, then, her hand resting, palm-to-palm, lengthwise over his left, his fingertips touching her wrist, he began passing his own right hand over hers, not touching it, merely hovering a few centimetres above it. He then turned her hand palm up, and did the same operation as before. Minerva almost gasped at the sudden sensation. Although he was not even in contact with her palm, she could feel the tingle of his magic against her skin, and, she thought, brushing against her own magic. That was sufficiently startling, but then he began to run the tips of his fingers lightly across her palm and down her fingers and Minerva felt a stronger tingle developing in a much different part of her body. When he began lightly brushing each fingertip in turn, Minerva had to swallow hard to keep from gasping aloud. She could feel her face grow warm, although she wasn’t sure whether it was in embarrassment or from something else. Fortunately, she thought, her professor hadn’t noticed her sudden discomfort. Minerva distracted herself from her unexpected physical reaction by reciting to herself the four modes and eight moods of Transfiguration, which helped some, then distanced herself further by clearing her mind as she had learned to do that summer.
Dumbledore, oblivious to anything but his task, took Minerva’s hand lightly between his once more and closed his eyes. A bare moment later, he looked at her and asked, “Ready?” and Minerva, now relaxed and composed, nodded her consent. The entire examination of her hand had taken just a few minutes – far less time than she had taken on the previous day. Minerva hoped that the Transfiguration wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.
Taking up his wand, Dumbledore prepared to cast, then stopped, and frowned slightly. “You’ll need to relax more, my dear. I can already feel a resistance in your hand. I do not wish to cause you any pain.”
“All right, Professor.” Minerva closed her eyes, cleared her mind, then thought of her trust in her professor. She thought of how he had Apparated her from her home three months before, and the fact that she hadn’t felt the slightest discomfort during or after. Minerva opened her eyes, smiled, and nodded at him.
Dumbledore raised his wand once more; this time, he carried through. Minerva watched in amazement as her hand gradually morphed into a perfect example of an Irish Setter’s front paw. She remembered to note the feeling of the transition. Yes, it was different, somehow, from that experienced during an ordinary Transfiguration. It was slightly uncomfortable, of course, but it seemed to her that, rather than her flesh and bone being moulded from without, it was changing from within.
Minerva took her paw in her left hand and ran it over the fur, then turned it over to look at the pads, and the short, tough claws. “Wow.”
“Miss McGonagall, has the transformation affected your ability for human speech?” Albus teased.
“Oh, no, sir! I just, well, it was just . . . .” Minerva was at a loss for words. She stroked the soft reddish fur on the back of her paw, gazing at it admiringly.
Albus grinned at her. “So,” he said, “would you like to keep it for a while? It might interfere with your wand-use, of course. But I’m sure your teachers would understand the innate attraction of possessing such a lovely appendage!”
Minerva laughed. “Oh, that’s perfectly all right, Professor! I think that I prefer my hand, actually.” She stretched out her paw to him, and, with a quick wave of his wand, the paw transformed itself back into her hand. He had been right the previous day, she thought, it did feel strange, but natural, at the same time.
“So, you said you would tell me where I’m going wrong now, Professor.”
“I believe that you are very fond of your hand, my dear,” he explained with a grin, “and have simply been too attached to its ordinary form. Your hand senses your reluctance, one might say, and does not co-operate fully. When you cast, I believe you are concentrating too much on its actual nature, and not allowing the potential paw to be expressed. You need to let go of your hand a bit, if you see what I mean, Minerva.”
“Yes! Yes, I think I do. May I try it again, now?” Minerva was anxious to try it immediately.
“I think that would be wise; in fact,” Dumbledore replied with a smile. “In fact, I would like you to cast it as quickly as possible, without hesitating.”
“All right, then,” Minerva said, taking up her wand. She pointed it at her left hand, felt that it was her left hand, then called up the border collie paw in her mind, and cast rapidly. She almost danced with delight as she saw her hand smoothly transform itself into a perfect paw. She held it out to her professor. “Look at that, Professor! Just look!” As her professor took her paw in his hand, she couldn’t resist, in her happiness, throwing her right arm about him and giving him a quick hug before stepping back, blushing only slightly. “I’m sorry, Professor! I just can’t believe I did it! I actually Transfigured my hand from within! Wow!”
Albus grinned at her broadly. “No need for apologies, Miss McGonagall. Very well done! I believe you have proven yourself a better-than-competent student!”
Minerva laughed at that, remembering their conversation the previous June. “And congratulations to you, as well, Professor! Perhaps we are both better-than-competent!”
After Albus had examined her paw carefully, Minerva picked up her wand and transformed her paw back into a hand. Then, after just a moment’s hesitation, she transformed it back into a paw, then again into her hand. “Sorry, Professor, I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, and that I could do it again.”
“I do believe that you could do it repeatedly, Minerva, and with great ease. I would prefer you not, however.” At Minerva’s incredulous expression, he explained, “We do not yet know your Animagus form. Until we have some indication of what it will be, it is best not to practice this particular exercise, or it could confuse your later transformation. It is one of the errors that witches and wizards often make when they attempt to achieve an Animagus form without the benefit of instruction, and one reason that many turn up in St. Mungo’s. Once we have an indication of what sort of animal-form you will take, you can take up a variant of this exercise. Until then, rest assured in the knowledge that you are able to do it. All right, Minerva?”
“Of course, Professor.” That made sense to Minerva.
“Now, I do believe it is dinner time. And although we could go to the Great Hall, perhaps you might prefer to celebrate with your old teacher?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes, sir, I would like that,” Minerva replied with a smile. Other than the occasional sandwich or plate of biscuits, they hadn’t shared a meal together since she had eaten breakfast with him in his study at the end of August.
The two went into the Transfiguration classroom, and Albus arranged the furniture much as he had the evening of their dinner “chez Albus.” This time, Minerva didn’t hesitate to use his little washroom. When she returned, Albus told her that Wilspy would be bringing dinner in a few minutes. They sat and chatted about her recent Prefect Patrols – she was sure that Riddle boy was up to something, as she had caught him out past curfew twice in the last week – until their dinners popped onto the table in front of them. This time, it was chicken with rosemary roast potatoes and carrots, creamed spinach, and pumpkin juice, with chocolate ice cream for pudding. “I would have requested a bottle of wine, Minerva, as you are of age, but in the event that someone should require my services and drop in on us, it would probably be better that it not appear that I am getting one of my students drunk!” He said it with a smile, but Minerva was made aware once more of the unusualness of their teacher-student relationship.
In class, he treated her the same as he did all of his students, which, given his kind and encouraging manner, was hardly distant. But when in private, he often called her Minerva, and seemed to call her “Miss McGonagall” only when he was stressing a particular point, or when he was teasing her slightly, generally preferring the familiarity of her given name. Although no doubt he had heard her friends calling her “Min,” he never called her that himself – for which she was thankful. She liked her first name, and as she had become older, had tried to impress upon her classmates that she would appreciate if they would use it.
Professor Dumbledore had always treated her ideas with respect, and had guided her and encouraged her to stretch herself and go beyond the mere requirements of her courses. When she was frustrated, whether with one of her projects with him, one of her classes, or with some aspect of her prefect duties, Professor Dumbledore had always listened, and, when appropriate, would make suggestions of things she might do or, by asking her questions, help her find a course of action for herself. She had no doubt that she could confide in him about anything, and that he would listen to her seriously, but she didn’t do so. She felt that he was already helping her so much and that he already carried too many burdens for her to present him with any of her own.
Minerva knew, too, that there were things he could have shared with her, but that he had elected to protect her from. It was only through small hints and indications that she had divined that he had been rescuing Grindelwald’s victims, and she remembered clearly that night the previous school year when he had returned, depleted, from some skirmish, yet had attempted to grade essays as though nothing were wrong. He could have, Minerva reflected, told her what curses had hit him, but he hadn’t, just as he hadn’t told her what he had seen that had left him so affected. No, Minerva was not going to ask any more of him than she already was receiving. As it was, she felt he was closer to her than most of her Hogwarts’ friends. Perhaps closer than any of them, actually. He certainly seemed to understand her better, and he wasn’t constantly trying to cajole her into being a different sort of Minerva than she was, as so many of her school friends did, without meaning to. Yes, she thought, she was very lucky that Professor Dumbledore had come to teach Transfiguration. She was sure she would not have accomplished so much by now if it weren’t for him.
“Professor?” she said as they were finishing desert and he was pouring them more chamomile tea.
“Yes, my dear?”
“I hope you know how much I appreciate all you have done for me. I don’t know how I will ever be able to thank you properly, or sufficiently, for all you’ve taught me . . . and for everything else, too. I hope that I have not been a burden to you.”
“A burden! Heavens, no, Minerva! Please, never say such a thing again – don’t even think it! If I were to say the pleasure has been all mine, it would not be far from the mark, I think. It is very rewarding to teach such an adept student, Minerva, but beyond that, I have enjoyed your company and there have been times when your friendly face has, well, helped me to return to myself, shall we say. I do not believe I would be exaggerating if I were to say that I have benefited from our acquaintance as well, and in unexpected ways. I have, indeed, feared that it was I who was burdening you, my dear, for you are so young, and yet have taken on so much.”
Minerva reddened at his praise and said, “Well, just so that you know that I do appreciate it and don’t take all you’ve done for granted. And I am glad to know that I have been a little bit of a help to you. You mustn’t worry, Professor, that I have taken on too much – I know you wouldn’t let me, for one – and you yourself could never be a burden.” With that final speech, Minerva decided she’d been effusive enough for one evening, and she changed the subject to her Animagus training.
“You said that we need to obtain some notion of what my Animagus form will be,” Minerva said, now quite confident in her use of the word, “will.” “What should my next steps be, then?” She was sure it would involve some kind of meditations, but she wasn’t sure whether they would involve any new exercises or not.
“Ah, yes, your form.” Albus took off his glasses for a moment and looked off into the distance at nothing. “Yes, continue with the meditative exercises that you have been doing, but concentrate on the ones that examine the nature of your mind’s expression and those that focus on the contours of your magic. You may begin performing the combined mind-magic meditations on your own, as well, if you feel confident of them; just be sure you do them when you are well-rested and haven’t overly exerted yourself on other magic-work during the day. Probably best not to do them on the days when you have Charms, Defence, or Transfiguration, unless I am present to monitor you.”
“All right, Professor! I’ll begin doing those exercises immediately” – then, catching his expression – “or tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep. Oh, I have Transfiguration and Defence tomorrow! I guess I’ll have to wait until Wednesday. I only have Potions, Arithmancy, Herbology, and Ancient Runes that day.” Minerva sighed in frustration.
“Wednesday will be soon enough, Minerva. Now, I do believe that you have Prefect Patrol this evening and I have fourth-year essays to read. It is time for us to leave ‘chez Albus’ and return to Hogwarts, my dear,” he said with a smile.
Minerva left then, with another, briefer, thank-you and a good-night to her professor, and performed her rounds. Twice as she patrolled the second floor, she got a prickly sensation that someone else was there, watching her. But even after casting a strong Lumos and opening several doors along the wide corridor, she could find no one, although one of the taps in the girls’ bathroom was dripping. Perhaps that was it, she reasoned. In the quiet, the dripping had likely echoed, creating the illusion in her mind that there was someone nearby. She quickly closed the tap firmly, satisfied with her conclusion, and made her way on to the third floor, where she routed two couples necking in the shadows of separate cases in the Trophy Room. Shaking her head in disgust after sending them off to their respective dormitories and telling them they would appear on her report to the Deputy Headmaster, she continued her patrol, where she met up on the fourth floor with Carson Murphy, a Ravenclaw prefect, and completed her rounds with him.
Carson was a decent fellow, she thought, and a good companion on rounds. She had noticed that he always waited to sign up for patrol until she had done so and, it seemed, always tried to arrange to patrol on the same shifts as she. She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about that, but he was good looking, with a lanky build and deep auburn-red hair, rather than the carroty colour of his younger brother’s. He was also the Ravenclaw Seeker who had so precipitously crashed into the Slytherin stands just the day before, so she had to tease him and ask if he was sure he’d been Sorted correctly, as he had seemed so eager to join the Slytherins! After that had got a chuckle from him, she went on to tease that it had been a manoeuver worthy of a Gryffindor – bold, but a bit ill-conceived – and he laughed out loud at that, saying that at least there was one Gryffindor with enough common-sense to realise that some moves, no matter how daring, weren’t very bright. Then he grinned sheepishly and told her that, as pleased as his House was with their victory over Slytherin, he had been teased “for a Gryffy” since he had been released from the hospital wing that morning.
They finished their rounds together, and Carson walked her back to Gryffindor Tower. After she’d climbed through the portrait-hole, she wondered whether she should have mentioned the peculiar feeling she’d had when she’d patrolled the second floor, then dismissed the idea. It had only been a drippy tap, after all.