Preparations
Minerva became aware of a squeaky voice telling her, “It’s time to get up, Professor Minerva! Wakie, wakie! Time for Professor Minerva to get up! Professor Minerva has an appointment!”
Minerva moaned and rolled over. It wasn’t a particularly annoying wizarding alarm clock, she realised, but Blampa, who had arrived at four-thirty on the dot to wake her. Yawning, she said, “All right, Blampa! I’m awake. Thank you very much. Please bring me a cup of coffee, lots of cream.”
Rolling over and swinging her legs off the bed, she threw off the afghan and looked blearily around the room. She hadn’t even been aware of falling asleep. The last thing she remembered was thinking of the way that Albus had Apparated with her to Hogwarts all those years ago. Her emotions of the morning seemed to have dissipated some as she had napped. Now, she felt only slightly muzzy-headed. She still felt regret – and shame – at the words Albus had overheard her use that morning, and she still feared that she had done irreparable harm to their friendship, such as it was, but Minerva no longer felt the agonising pain and grief that had overtaken her that morning. A bite to eat and a nap seemed to have restored her to some semblance of sanity, she thought. Perhaps she would be able to make it through the meeting after all.
Minerva dismissed the Tempus alarm just as Blampa was popping back with a cup of coffee, two ginger newts beside it on the saucer. Was the house-elf going to bring her ginger newts every time she brought her something to eat or drink? Thanking the house-elf and dismissing her, Minerva got up and sipped some of the coffee. She rarely drank coffee, particularly in the afternoon, but long afternoon naps tended to leave her groggy. She dressed in the clothing she had taken off a few hours before, thinking it foolish to change one’s clothes three times in one day. Her hair, which had come undone as she slept, despite the Charmed hair pins, needed brushing out and rearranging, which she did, keeping it in the French twist.
Finishing her coffee and concentrating on dressing, Minerva deliberately avoided thinking of anything but the task at hand. After a quick visit to the loo, Minerva left her quarters and walked over to her office, where she retrieved the parchments she had left there earlier in the day, before she had gone to find Poppy in the infirmary. She supposed she should have taken a few minutes to go over them before this afternoon’s meeting, but she didn’t want to be late. If she were, it might look as though she were doing so deliberately, and Minerva didn’t want Albus to think that she was so childish – nor for him to think that she was still angry with him about the cancelled meeting. Poppy had been right, Minerva knew: her distress hadn’t been about gaining his respect, nor about any apparent slight she may have experienced that morning. It went to a frustration deeper than she could spare the time or emotion to think about just then.
As Minerva walked to the Headmaster’s office, she wondered what she should say to him when she saw him. It would only be right to apologise. She didn’t want to ask his forgiveness, although she desperately wanted it; that seemed too much to ask. He would forgive her, she knew, but perhaps he wouldn’t be ready to do so yet. Lord knew that if she had overheard him saying anything like that about her . . . with that thought, the enormity of what she had said, and of what her words may have done, came back again and hit her like a Bludger in the chest.
Minerva paused, resting her hand on the corridor wall. She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t afford to go back over those words again, nor try to imagine what it would have been like had she been the one to overhear him saying them. She smiled thinly at that thought as she resumed her trip to his office. Albus Dumbledore never would have been overheard saying something of that sort because he never would have presented anyone with such an opportunity. He simply would never have uttered words even remotely similar to hers. And Minerva was certain he would never have even expressed a similar sentiment about her.
Minerva cast a quick Tempus as she approached the gargoyle. Two minutes before five o’clock. “Pixie sticks,” Minerva ventured. Without the slightest hesitation, the gargoyle opened the door to her. As she rode up the stairs, she became determined that she should apologise immediately. It was only right. She didn’t think she could proceed with the meeting if she didn’t tell him how sorry she was.
Albus spent the afternoon preparing for his meeting with Minerva, both mentally and otherwise. He believed it would be best if they held off on any discussion of what had occurred that morning until after they had discussed the curriculum, he reasoned. Best to start off as though nothing had changed between them, to reassure her, rather than to dive into such potentially emotionally fraught waters immediately. Not that nothing would change between them; no, Albus was determined to be better to her, both as a Headmaster to one of his teachers and as one friend to another. He would need to make that clear to her, and better to demonstrate it to her through his actions first, he felt, so that she would understand and appreciate the sincerity of his words.
His other preparations involved a visit to the greenhouses, discussions with Wilspy, and a quick trip to the infirmary, where he spoke briefly with Poppy. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Minerva had used a rather strong Glamour Charm that noon – which was one reason that he had chosen to sit beside Johannes. He hadn’t wanted to cause her any additional stress by forcing her to make small talk with him as Hagrid on the one side and Wilhelmina on the other held their rather loud conversation about dragon copulation. He really was going to have to talk to them about their choice of polite topics for the dinner table, he thought. It didn’t bother him, but he knew it did put others off their lunches.
Albus knocked rather loudly on the closed door to the infirmary before opening it and making his way across to Poppy’s office. She smiled at him as he approached.
“Making sure I’m not in the middle of discussing the esoteric mating rituals of the Welsh Green with Wilhelmina, Albus?” Poppy asked with a grin. They both knew it was not that sort of conversation he was wary of interrupting.
“Ah, yes, although I do believe that this would provide a more appropriate venue for such a discussion than the Great Hall at mealtime,” replied Albus with a twinkle. “I was just considering speaking with her and Hagrid about the range of acceptable dinner table conversation, in fact.”
“Ha!” Poppy laughed. “You might have some success with Wilhelmina, but Hagrid, well, it’s not that he wouldn’t understand, in theory, and he would likely avoid the topic of dragon genitalia in the future, but there’d be nothing to stop him from choosing an equally unappetising topic the next time he became enthusiastic about something.” Poppy grinned.
Albus sighed melodramatically. “I suppose you are right. We should all learn to look upon these discourses as educational challenges!” They both chuckled.
“Have you seen Minerva this afternoon, Poppy?” he asked, changing the topic.
“No, not since lunch. I thought about dropping by her room this afternoon, but decided it might be best to wait until this evening,” she replied. She was unwilling to discuss her friend’s emotional state in her absence, even with Albus, or, perhaps, especially with Albus, as he was the source of her distress.
“I had noticed this noon,” Albus hesitated a moment, not wanting to be indiscreet in discussing Minerva when she wasn’t there, nor wishing to be seen as gossiping, “she looked a bit . . . under the weather.”
“You mean to say that you thought she’d cast a Glamour, don’t you?” asked Poppy, happier to be straightforward now that she discerned the Headmaster’s own reluctance to talk about Minerva behind her back.
“Well, yes, I did notice that. And she didn’t eat anything.” Albus furrowed his brow. “I’m simply concerned because we rescheduled our meeting for later this afternoon, and, well, I’m just concerned about her; that’s all.”
At this point, Poppy could see that no matter any offense Albus may have taken at Minerva’s words earlier in the day, his overriding concern was for her and for her well-being, not for any slight he may have suffered. “Minerva’s a strong witch, Albus. I’m sure that, whatever may have been bothering her at lunch, she will come to her appointment with you. If you have any concerns, you could discuss them with her then.”
“Yes, yes, you are right, of course. I feel that I . . . I have not perhaps been as available to her as I could have been. I may be able to begin rectifying that error this evening, if she will allow me to.”
“You know Minerva as well as I do, Albus. You must know that if you wish to take the opportunity, she will be glad to give it to you.” Poppy wasn’t sure herself then precisely what “opportunity” she spoke of, although she did know that it went beyond the Headmaster making himself more accessible to one of his teachers. When Albus just stood there, gazing out the window behind her, she added, “You know that you’ve been friends for a long time. She knows that, too. Now, I’m not trying to shoo you out of my office, Albus, but I am trying to finish my inventory and my orders for the autumn so that I can leave for my holiday in a few days. I don’t think my boss would like it if I wasn’t finished before I left,” she joked.
Albus smiled at that, and said, “Well, then, I’ll just have to ‘shoo’ myself – I hear that your boss is something of a tyrannical ogre, and I’d hate to have put you in his bad graces!”
Albus returned to his office, pensive, and completed his preparations for the evening. Poppy was correct, he knew. He and Minerva had been friends for a long time. He had resisted that appellation for a while at one point, though he didn’t know why – no, he wouldn’t admit the reason, he admonished himself. For a time, he had tried to minimise the extent of their friendship and the depth of his feelings for her. And he knew very well why, even if he was still loathe to admit it even to himself.
Albus chided himself then. No wonder she had felt neglected since she came to Hogwarts; in truth, he felt now as though he had been neglecting their friendship for much longer than that. Unforgivably, to his mind, he had only truly begun to distance himself from his feelings following an event that might have, and should have, brought them closer.