Pleasurable Anticipation
Minerva returned to her rooms from Albus’s office that evening feeling more lighthearted than she had in a long time. Nonetheless, a vague unease lingered; she knew it would not dissipate until she dealt with a subject that she had been avoiding for years. She would put it off just a little longer, Minerva decided, and allow herself to simply enjoy looking forward to breakfast with Albus.
“Blampa,” Minerva called as she removed her overrobe and entered her bedroom. The house-elf popped in as Minerva began taking the Charmed hairpins from her hair and placing them on her vanity. “Blampa, tomorrow morning, the Headmaster will be joining me for breakfast at eight o’clock. I will arrange the furniture in the sitting room myself, but I would like you to make sure that there is a very special breakfast for us. I know that I would like fresh strawberries, some of the ones that Hagrid has been growing, soft-boiled eggs, and toast. And tea, of course. I will leave the rest of the menu to you.” Watching Blampa bounce with joy, Minerva thought that a precaution might be called for. “And although I leave the other dishes to you, please keep in mind that sometimes less is more, Blampa. I would like an elegant meal for the Headmaster, not a feeding trough with every imaginable breakfast food under the sun.”
“Oh, Professor Minerva! Blampa would never use a feeding trough! They’s for pigs!”
Minerva smiled. “I didn’t mean that literally, Blampa. What I meant was that I want a few very nice, delectable selections. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Professor Minerva! I, Blampa, will have lovely breakfast for Professor Minerva and her Professor Headmaster. Yes, yes! Blampa understands!” Blampa beamed so widely, Minerva thought her pale little face would split in two.
“All right, then, Blampa. Please see me at seven-thirty so that we can discuss the arrangements.”
“Yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva! Arrangements at seven-thirty!”
Minerva dismissed Blampa, wondering if she should have admonished her not to include ginger newts with breakfast. Working with this house-elf was exhausting. Her Grandfather McGonagall’s parents were both Muggle-born, and he never became comfortable with his Tyree wife’s house-elves. Minerva remembered Grandmother Siofra chuckling and saying how her husband had always believed that house-elves had a bad effect on wizarding families. The house-elves always did so much for them that they could hardly remember how to Accio their own drinking cups anymore, he would claim, and heaven forbid someone should ask one of them to light their own lamps! Whilst Minerva’s feelings on the subject were not as strong as her grandfather’s, she did think that the wizarding world might be better off if the whole house-elf system were radically changed. She was aware that house-elf magic was at least as strong as wizarding magic; surely it could be put to better use than cooking, cleaning, and taking care of wizarding babies!
Minerva hummed as she undressed and got ready for bed. Although just a half an hour earlier she had been yawning, Minerva now felt quite awake. Perhaps she shouldn’t have had the coffee after her nap. Minerva brushed out her hair, braided it, and put on a fresh white batiste nightgown. In her concession to the arrival of summer, the nightgown had a low, lace-trimmed neckline, but because the nights were still cool, the sleeves were long. Minerva wondered if they would have a warm summer that year. She seemed to remember that the summer she had spent at the castle between her sixth- and seventh-year, it had been rather warm, even at night.
Minerva opened her bedroom window a little wider, then doused the lamps with a wave of her wand. Lying in bed, listening to the sounds of the night drifting in on the cool breeze, Minerva smiled as she remembered that summer. A part of her had been somewhat reluctant to continue with the warding project that she had agreed to months before, but not only had she promised Professor Dumbledore that she would help him with the wards, but she also truly believed that it was an important task. Who knew what Fate might bring to some future generation? Her participation in repairing the wards might one day prove vital to the safety of Hogwarts and its students. So, showing not a hint of reluctance, Minerva had agreed to Professor Dumbledore’s proposal that she return to Hogwarts the second week in July and remain until the last week of August, when she could spend the remainder of her holiday as she wished.
“I wish that the school could provide you with proper compensation for your work, Minerva, but as you are supposedly going to be here in order to receive special tutoring in Transfiguration, it would be difficult to put you on the Hogwarts payroll. I would, however, like to provide you with a stipend myself, so that you have some spending money during the time you are here.”
Minerva protested, “That’s not necessary, Professor. I would feel very awkward accepting any money from you. When I agreed to help you, I did so without any expectation that I would receive anything in return. In fact, I am sure that I will learn a lot, and that is a more-than-fair trade.”
“Apprentices receive an allowance or stipend, though, Miss McGonagall. It would be entirely fair and proper for you to accept at least a nominal sum. After all, the school and I will both be benefiting from your assistance.”
In the end, Professor Dumbledore had persuaded Minerva to accept a “nominal sum” of two Galleons per week while she was in residence at the castle. It was the first money she had ever earned, which pleased her, but she still felt awkward taking it. Finally, Minerva gave herself a little lecture and told herself that it was good for her to accept it since it would help her to see her relationship with her professor in business terms. That could only be a good thing. It might help her to overcome, or at least survive, the feelings for him that had not disappeared since that awful grey day in early December when she had her accident in the Transfiguration classroom.
Professor Dumbledore had become alarmed when, instead of recovering within a few minutes of regaining consciousness after her magical accident, Minerva had begun weeping desperately into his chest. He had called Wilspy, whom he sent to the infirmary to inform the matron that he was bringing a student to see her. Minerva had been barely aware of the house-elf’s arrival and her professor’s instructions to her. After Wilspy left, Minerva felt Albus lift her into his arms and stand.
“There, there, now, Minerva. I am going to take you to the infirmary. Don’t worry, my dear, I shan’t let go of you until we are there. And a little Disillusionment Charm and taking the backstairs will get us there a little more easily.” Minerva felt the cold Disillusionment Charm run over her and then heard him utter a Notice-Me-Not Charm. “Now, you may know that the fire in my office is not on the internal Floo Network – a deficiency that I will correct – so I will have to carry you all the way. Professor Gamp’s office is closer than the infirmary, and she is on the Floo Network, so we are going there first, all right, my dear?”
Minerva could not nod or shake her head, nor agree or disagree with his proposal. She continued to weep against him as he carried her down the corridor, up a set of stairs, and then to Professor Gamp’s office. Professor Gamp was not there, but Dumbledore let himself in.
“Now, my dear, I need to make a little fire and get some Floo Powder. May I put you down in this chair then?” Minerva made no response and did not loosen her grip on his robes or turn her face from where it was nestled in his beard. “No? Well then, we shall both sit since otherwise I might drop you! No need for a concussion, as well . . . .” Albus lowered himself into a little chair beside Gamp’s fireplace, holding Minerva on his lap, and found his wand. “There we are. Now a little fire. I’m going to stand up again, Minerva, and we’ll be going through the Floo to the infirmary. Madam Valentius will have a look at you. You will feel much better soon, I’m sure.”
He Summoned the little crock of Floo Powder from the mantel and took a pinch of it before sending it back to its place. Lifting Minerva carefully, Albus stood, tossed the Floo Powder into the fire, and stepped into it, saying, “Hospital Wing!”
By the time Albus had carried her the length of the infirmary to one of the smaller private rooms, Minerva had stopped crying. She would not release her hold on him, however. She could hear the matron come huffing into the room as her professor was trying to lay her down on the bed.
Minerva did not know why she wouldn’t let go, really. It was partly shame. If she were to let go, she would have to look at him. She would have to meet his eyes. Even if he had no clue what she had been thinking, she was utterly embarrassed. Letting him go would also mean a complete return to the reality in which she was just Minerva McGonagall, sixth-year Gryffindor, and he was Albus Dumbledore, esteemed Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.
“Professor Dumbledore! Your house-elf told me you were bringing in a student. I had to run up from the greenhouses, or I would have met you,” the stout matron panted. “Now who have you got there? Just put her down on the bed.”
“It seems that she does not understand what’s going on, Madam Valentius. I cannot get her to let go of my robes so that I can put her down. I have tried.” Albus spoke softly. “It’s Minerva McGonagall. She’s had an accident. I think it was just magical syncope, but after she regained consciousness, she began to cry and wouldn’t let me go. She only just stopped crying a few minutes ago. I have been worried.”
“Well, if you’ve been holding her like that the whole time, you must be getting tired! Here, Miss McGonagall, let go of Professor Dumbledore,” she said loudly. “You are in the infirmary now. No need for concern. I need to check you over, Miss McGonagall.” When Minerva made no movement to show that she heard and understood the matron’s directions, Madam Valentius decided on a different course. “You’ll just have to hold on to her while I do the initial examination, Professor. Just have a seat on the bed. No, not on the edge, man! Lean back against the pillows with her. We need to get her to relax. Hopefully once I’ve performed the initial examination, she’ll return to her senses and lie back on her own. If she still clings to you like that after I’m done, we can give her a Calming Draught. Magical syncope can have some very odd effects, I remember from my studies, although I haven’t run across them, myself. Were you there at the time?”
Dumbledore, reclining in the narrow hospital bed, one arm still around Minerva, replied, “Yes, I had just arrived. I think it was that which triggered the episode. She was doing an internal magical exercise, although I haven’t been able to ask her which one it was. As I came through the door, she moved as if she were about to stand, but I don’t think that she had ended her meditation yet, and instead of standing, she fell to the floor. I was not fast enough to Arrest her fall nor close enough to catch her.”
The mediwitch had her wand out and had begun passing it over Minerva’s head. “Did you notice if she hit her head when she fell?”
“No, although she must have. She seemed fine at first, a little groggy, perhaps, but she followed my directions when I told her to look at me and not fall asleep. But then, well, you can see . . . .”
“You’ll have to let her go now, Professor.”
“Hmm? Oh, right.” Albus let his arm drop to his side.
Minerva was still leaning against him, fists holding onto his robes, face buried in his beard. She was thinking more clearly now, but that was worse than her previous muddled state-of-mind. She could feel the diagnostic spells tingle against her. Minerva sighed heavily.
“Miss McGonagall, you will be fine,” she heard the matron saying to her, “but I am going to give you a Calming Draught to help you along. Although I’m sure that Professor Dumbledore is a man of great patience and understanding, in order to do a thorough exam, I’ll need you to feel comfortable enough to let go of him; I’d prefer to do the examination sooner rather than later. The potion will help you feel more comfortable. I’m going to fetch it now; I’ll be back in two shakes.” Turning to Dumbledore, she said, “It might help if you talk to her. I think she just had something of a shock and will be fine. She needs to feel secure, I think, which is why she won’t let you go.”
Minerva heard the matron leave the room and close the door behind her. She was suddenly very aware that she was lying on a bed with Professor Dumbledore. Not only with him, but practically on top of him. Her legs were stretched out beside his, but she hadn’t moved her head since he had picked her up in the classroom. She could still hear his heartbeat and feel his magic flowing through him, pulsing in time with his heart. Although this awareness sparked a slight physical thrill, it also made her even more embarrassed. She turned her face slightly and blinked against the sudden lamplight. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she whispered.
“Ah, Minerva! There you are! No need to be sorry. You had an accident, a shock, Madam Valentius says. Are you feeling a bit better, my dear?”
Minerva nodded and loosened her grip on his robes. “I have a terrible headache, and if anyone ever died of embarrassment, I’d have a fatal case right now,” she said.
Albus smoothed her hair away from her face. “Everyone has accidents, Minerva, and everyone sheds a tear or two occasionally. You needn’t be embarrassed.”
Minerva finally let go and pushed away from him. New tears sprang to her eyes as she left his warmth. Albus stood and helped Minerva lie back against the pillows.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.
“Do you want to talk about what happened? I am very sorry that I entered when I did, Minerva, and caused your accident.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Professor. It just happened. You couldn’t have prevented it.” Minerva eyes were closed. She did have a terrible headache, and the lights did seem bright, but she also couldn’t bear to look at him yet. “I’m sorry I cried all over you. I probably made a mess of your beard and your robes.”
“A little salt water won’t hurt, I’m sure, my dear. Do not concern yourself.”
Madam Valentius returned with the Calming Potion. “So our patient is feeling more like herself? You may still want the Calming Draught, though.” At Minerva’s nod, the matron helped her swallow the contents of a small vial.
Albus had stood and moved away from the bed when the matron returned. “She said she has a bad headache, Madam Valentius.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. I have a Headache Potion with me, as well, but I want to wait to give her that one. If you would like, Professor Dumbledore, you may wait in the infirmary whilst I perform the examination. If not, I can let you know later how she is.”
“I’ll wait.”
Minerva heard the door close behind her professor, and she cautiously opened her eyes.
“Lights a bit bright? I’ll dim them a little for you, then. I took a quick look at your records, Miss McGonagall. You seem to be quite healthy, from what they say. You should recover quite well, so not to worry.” The matron proceeded with various tests, at one point taking up her wrist and holding it, fingers at Minerva’s pulse point. “There’s still nothing like actually feeling a patient’s pulse and magical flow, that’s what I say,” she declared as she let go of Minerva’s wrist. “I’d like you to stay overnight. There is a gown in the drawer of the bedside stand that you may wear. Do you feel up to standing and putting it on yourself, or would you like my help?” At Minerva’s assurance that she could get herself ready for bed, the matron continued, “I think that Professor Dumbledore was correct. You had a case of magical syncope, but it was complicated by whatever exercise you were doing. From the tests that I ran, it appears that you were magically and emotionally open, and the syncope created a sudden fluctuation of both. There must have been an environmental trigger, as well, that determined the particular manifestation of these emotions.”
“So the feelings came from somewhere outside of me?” asked Minerva.
“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. There was a void, a vacuum, created by your exercise, and the feelings that rushed in to fill it were likely triggered by something environmental, something external, but the feelings were not foreign; they came from within you, Miss McGonagall.”
“And you said something about being magically open, too?”
“Yes; that is one reason you were unable to return to your senses as quickly as you might otherwise have. You were open to magical exhaustion because of the severity of the syncope; however, because of the protective wards that Hogwarts has, the magical drain was . . . how to put this . . . the magical drain was staunched. Hogwarts could not prevent your syncope, obviously, but, from what I understand, the wards use the intense magical field of the castle to ensure that students do not suffer the effects of a magical drain as much as they would if they were elsewhere. Of course, I’m new here, and I’m not particularly familiar with this kind of thing, but I understand that your Professor Dumbledore is an expert on it. He could probably explain the wards better than I. It is curious, however . . .” Madam Valentius hesitated. “I probably just misunderstood when it was explained to me, but I thought the protection of those wards only extended to underage students, and I saw from your records that you are of age.”
After Minerva had asked a few more questions and been reassured that she could join her House for breakfast in the morning if she felt up to it, the matron left. Minerva lay back, somewhat drowsy from the Headache Potion and the Calming Draught. She could hear Dumbledore’s voice rumble as he spoke with Madam Valentius. He had been so understanding. How could she ever look at him again? She wasn’t sure she could continue her training. How could she? The thought of abandoning her Animagus training pained her. She wouldn’t worry about that until tomorrow. Maybe It would go away on Its own, if It were just an after effect of her accident. Of course, there was still her sense of shame, but since Professor Dumbledore was unaware of everything that embarrassed her, she might be able to overcome that.
Just as she was coming to those conclusions, Minerva heard a slight tap on the door before it opened again. It was Professor Dumbledore.
“Minerva?” he called quietly through the partially open doorway.
“Yes, Professor, I’m awake.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course.”
“Madam Valentius said that you will be fine and we will probably be seeing you at breakfast in the morning.”
“I hope so.”
“I will stop by the Tower and let your roommates know that you are spending the night here so that they do not worry about you.” Dumbledore stepped closer to the bed. “The matron told me what she believes happened. I am more sorry than ever, Minerva. If I have ever done anything that could have caused you such grief – ”
“It wasn’t you, sir. Believe me. It wasn’t you. I really don’t want to talk about it now, but I will tell you truthfully, sir, that you have never done anything to cause me any grief.” Minerva felt a lump in her throat. Only his very being. Only knowing him. He himself did nothing, nothing except be himself. He could not be faulted for that.
“I was glad to hear from her that you were protected from a magical drain. Not that you couldn’t have recovered from it, of course, particularly as your magic has been matured for a year or two now, but it is very uncomfortable – I speak from experience.”
“She thought it was the Hogwarts wards that protected me, but said she might be wrong about that, Professor. She said you would know better than she.” Minerva really didn’t want to discuss anything related to her accident, so she did not ask him about it.
“Yes, she told me that, as well,” replied Dumbledore. “Well, it has been a long evening for us both. Madam Valentius said she would have a snack sent to you and you should eat it before you go to sleep. I am feeling rather peckish, myself, so I think I will have a bite to eat and retire early – unless you need something, my dear?”
“No, nothing. Thank you, sir. Good night.” Minerva thought he was looking tired, but carrying a full-grown witch all over the castle was bound to be tiring. “Sir?” Minerva said, and Albus turned in the doorway. “Thank you for bringing me to the Hospital Wing . . . and everything else.” She blushed.
“Of course, Minerva. Good night, my dear. Sleep well – and be sure to eat your snack!”
The following morning, Minerva had felt physically recovered, but over the next days and weeks, she was emotionally labile. The intervening holidays gave her an excuse to take a break in her Animagus training.
That excuse could not last. After the new term began in January, Professor Dumbledore had her stay after class one day.
“Minerva, tomorrow is Friday. Should I expect you for your tutorial?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, Professor.” Minerva didn’t know if she had ever lied to her professor before.
“I know that the accident was traumatic for you, Minerva, even though it had no lasting physical or magical consequences. I understand that. But the Muggles have a saying that if you fall off your horse, you have to get right back in the saddle again. I thought that by giving you time last month to recover and not asking that you continue lessons before the Christmas holiday, I was doing you a favour. I now believe that may have been the wrong thing to do. Perhaps I should have insisted that you pick it up again immediately. I believed you would come to me when you were ready to resume, but you’ve been back from holiday for almost two weeks, and you have not come to see me.”
“I’m sorry, Professor.” Minerva did not know what else to say. She had been avoiding him. She arrived at class with just a minute to spare, and as soon as the bells chimed and the class was over, she was the first out of her seat, heading toward the door. Although Minerva no longer felt the acute anguish that had initially assaulted her as she lay weeping in her professor’s arms, she could not shake her embarrassment and shame. Worse yet, her intense desire and longing for him refused to die. Sitting in his class, listening to his voice, feeling his magic brush past her if he walked by, all of those things brought a rush of blood to places where it shouldn’t be. Minerva was glad that she had already mastered the topics being covered in class; it was very difficult to pay proper attention under those conditions. Even seeing Professor Dumbledore sitting up at the staff table during meals could bring a warm tingle rushing over her. How could she possibly concentrate on her Animagus training when it was so hard even to be in the same room with him?
Despite her reservations, Minerva agreed to attend her Friday tutorial the next day. As she was about to leave the Transfiguration classroom, Professor Dumbledore called to her.
“Minerva, after a few weeks, if you do not want to continue with your training, please feel free to make that choice. I simply do not wish to see you quit without trying to overcome your fears first. I think you would regret it. If you change your mind about wanting to become an Animagus, I would prefer it done of your own free will, just as the decision to take it on was your own. Do you understand, Minerva? I am not insisting simply because I want to force this on you – I want you to be in a position to make a genuine choice.”
“Yes, Professor. I appreciate that.”
“You know, my dear, if you ever want to discuss what happened or how you feel about it, I will be very glad to listen.”
“Thank you, sir; I will remember that.”
Albus tried over the ensuing weeks to get her to talk about whatever was disturbing her, but Minerva became adept at changing the subject. She could tell that he was bothered by the fact that she never studied in the classroom anymore, nor did she use it to practice her Animagus exercises; she didn’t rush in and out of class as she had in the first weeks after her accident, but she didn’t linger, either. There were no more biscuits and milk, no more debates about Transfiguration theory, no more meals “chez Albus.” Minerva could not bring herself even to smile at him, and when he smiled at her, she felt her heart would break.
Minerva eventually decided that depriving herself of what she could have was no cure for the heart-breaking deprivation of what she could not have, and she gradually began to interact with her mentor much as when she began her Animagus training. When Carson Murphy invited her to the St. Valentine’s Day Dance, she accepted with alacrity, sure that a relationship with the handsome Ravenclaw would help her regain her sense of comfort in Professor Dumbledore’s presence.
Nonetheless, when, early in March, Professor Dumbledore invited Minerva to address him by his given name when they were working alone together, she politely declined. He accepted her answer, but Minerva thought he had been disappointed. She would just have to disappoint him. She could not allow herself to develop any illusions about the nature of their relationship. It was for the best.
Fifteen years later, Minerva turned in bed to face the window and feel the cool night breeze wash over her face. Yes, she would be professional with Albus. But there was no reason to cut off an opportunity for friendship with him. Their dinner tonight, the lovely dinner that Albus had so craftily arranged, that had shown her that she was important to him. He said they were friends, “friends before all else.” Minerva could not throw away a friendship with him simply because she had her own troublesome feelings to deal with. Even if she could deprive herself of his friendship, it would not be fair to Albus, especially after he had been so generous and understanding. No, she would have to figure out how to deal with her feelings, snuff them out or lock them away, without destroying their friendship. She would need to take time to think about it, but for now, she would just go to sleep looking forward to their breakfast with pleasurable anticipation.