Resolving a Misunderstanding

Minerva slept as the breeze whispered through the leaves around her, ruffling her fur and tickling her whiskers. She dreamt of lying in a warm lap, fingers gently caressing her head. She rolled and stretched, opening kitty eyes to see Albus above her. With a smile and the ease that comes in a dream, she stretched once more and returned to her ordinary form, her head still resting in his lap, but his caresses didn’t cease. His fingers gently traced her face, softly following the line of her jaw to her neck. She let her head fall back, and his caresses continued over her throat, gentle, loving touches; as his hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing the tender skin of her breasts, Minerva arched in pleasure and her robes fell open, exposing her completely to the exploring fingers and the blue eyes that watched their journey. “Beautiful, always so beautiful, my dear Minerva,” Albus whispered, and Minerva, completely unselfconscious in her dream, opened her robes to him further, so they fell away from her body, baring herself to him entirely. Just as his hand drifted down over her stomach, Minerva woke on her branch as the wind shook her tree and a hard, sudden rain began. With a yowl, a very displeased tabby scrambled from her previously comfortable perch. The rain was coming down in sheets and she was soaked before she hit the ground.

No point now in returning to her ordinary form, Minerva thought, and she streaked toward the castle, thinking for a moment of stopping at Hagrid’s, but immediately deciding against it, instead making for the front doors. By the time she reached them, she was scarcely recognisable as a cat, she was so bedraggled. If she had been in her ordinary form, she would have sworn a blue streak. Much to her joy, she saw that the front doors were open, and she dashed through them; only after crossing the threshold did she notice the two people standing in the entry hall, apparently watching the rain. One of them was Albus, the other was a woman whom she recognised from the Ministry, the minister-for-something-or-other, she had once called her in a fit of pique. It was Philomena Yaxley, the Minister for International Magical Cooperation, and one of the less disagreeable ministers, Minerva had to admit – although that was not necessarily saying much.

As Minerva made her sodden appearance, the old witch actually let out a squeak and jumped back a few feet.

“A creature!” she said, this time squeaking articulately. “Albus! A creature!”

“Ah, yes, a ‘creature,’” Albus said with a smile. “A rather damp creature. A cat, actually.”

Minerva wanted to make an escape up the stairs. She couldn’t perform any kind of drying charm while in her Animagus form, and she certainly wasn’t going to transform into her ordinary form in front of them. She would be just as soaked through as she was now, and certainly as uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the other witch was standing in front of the stairs, and after the witch’s reaction to her appearance in the hallway, there was no telling what she might do if Minerva tried to run past her. Faint or something ridiculous like that, Minerva thought. So she just stood there and dripped onto the flagstone and waited. Albus would get the silly thing to move out of her way.

“Oh,” Minister Yaxley said, seeming to relax slightly. “Is she yours?”

“Is she mine? No, I wouldn’t say that . . . no, I believe she belongs to no one but herself. Cats are like that.” Albus just stood and smiled down at Minerva, who glared wetly at him.

“Mm, my sister always has at least one – and I’d say they own her rather than the other way ’round,” the witch answered, but still looking at Minerva with some scepticism.

Minerva stared at Albus. What was he waiting for? Now she definitely couldn’t transform here in the hallway, even if she’d wanted to.

Albus waved his wand over her, drying her off. Well, that was something, at least. Minerva sat, avoiding the puddle she’d made where she’d dripped all over the floor.

“Good mouser?” asked the minister.

“Eh?”

“A mouser – is she good for anything? Or does she just hang about? My sister’s cats all just hang about.”

“I can’t say I’ve seen her catching mice – ”

“Hmph. Sounds as useless as my sister’s moggies. She have a name?”

“Er, I sometimes call her ‘little one,’ but – ”

“My sister’s cats all have peculiar names – Beauregard, Clarisse, Orion, Puck – and Puck is determined to live up to his namesake, unfortunately. And then there was the one she named Casanova! That one was a real monster – would go for anything on four paws and took a most unseemly interest in my Pekinese, little Bootikins. Be careful what you name this one, Albus! Don’t want to be calling her something unsuitable, especially in a school full of children.”

“Bootikins”? And she thought her sister had odd names for her cats? This witch was quickly moving from the category “less disagreeable” to “most annoying,” and Minerva could feel a hiss coming on. Not that she would give in, of course. Instead, she made a pretence of washing her whiskers and retained her dignity.

“I do believe her name is ‘Morag,’” Albus said.

Minerva froze, paw lifted to her face. He wouldn’t dare.

“Well, almost as peculiar as the names my sister gives the beasts, but at least it’s not unsuitable around children.”

“Here, Morag, come here, little one!” Albus bent over and called her to him, his eyes twinkling. He had to be joking.

Minerva stood very deliberately, turned, sat back down, and continued to pretend to clean her whiskers. Albus straightened and laughed.

“Exactly why I won’t have a cat, Albus. Well . . . I believe the rain is letting up. It’s just drizzling now. I can Apparate from the gates to Madam Puddifoots without becoming too wet.”

“May I offer you an Impervius Charm?”

Minerva looked over at the old witch.

“Still the charming gentleman, aren’t you, Albus?” she replied with a smile. “But no, thank you, I am quite happy casting my own if need be.” The old witch shook her head. “You know, I can’t imagine what Val was thinking, that business a few years ago. But she was – and remains – a fool. And now she’s marrying another one. My nephew. I assume you’ve heard.”

“Yes, it was in the Prophet.”

“Mm. I was in Majorca when my cousin made her . . . announcement.” The witch lifted a lip in distaste. “I was never so happy to have missed a social occasion as I was that one. Embarrassed by both sides of the family simultaneously. Such a treat that would have been.”

Well, maybe the witch didn’t appreciate cats, but she couldn’t be all bad. She clearly didn’t like Valerianna.

Albus smiled politely. “I have heard from others who wished they had been present.”

“Yes, well, it may have been amusing if one had been an invisible onlooker, I suppose. But, still, Albus . . . I never wanted to say anything before, but now that she’s latched onto my nephew . . . perhaps it’s still forward of me, but we have known each other for more decades than I can count using both hands, and I have to say I was glad when you were shut of her. Neither of you would have been happy. She needs someone more like Francis; as toadlike as he may appear, he is good for her in an odd sort of way. And you, oh, my old friend!” Minister Yaxley shook her head and smiled at him. “You have been blessed in so many ways, and yet you have known so much loss, so many burdens, and borne so much alone. But I hope it does not sound unkind when I say that I was happy to learn that you were no longer . . . associating with my cousin. I do wish you happiness, Albus, and a relief from your . . . solitary life, but it is an unpleasant truth that Val is an aggressive, self-centred, social-climbing witch. Gordon was too good for her, and she never appreciated him properly. She never would have understood you, Albus, except in the most superficial way.”

Minerva could not see Albus’s face, but she could only imagine how awkward he was feeling. She would say that it served him right for calling her “Morag,” but remembering how Albus had cut his steak into hash when the conversation had turned to Valerianna that time at lunch – and it hadn’t even been a conversation in which he had figured – Minerva could only feel sympathy for him.

“Yes, well, I do not believe we could have sustained a successful acquaintance for very long, under any circumstances, except one of the most casual sort,” Albus answered. “It was simply . . . unfortunate.”

“Perhaps so, but she behaved very badly, Albus, and I have been sorry for that. . . .” The older witch trailed off, sounding genuinely sad. “Well, it’s all over and done, now! As is the rain! Lovely!”

The two stepped toward the door.

“Good afternoon, Philomena,” Albus said.

“Good afternoon, Albus,” the minister replied, offering her hand. Albus took it and bowed, his lips barely grazing the witch’s knuckles before he straightened, releasing her hand.

Albus stood in the doorway and watched the minister walk away down the drive to the gates. To her cat’s eyes, he seemed a simple dark silhouette of greys against the daylight beyond. Minerva stood and walked over to him, rubbing against his legs and bumping her head against his shins. It was a behaviour she rarely exhibited, but she felt that he needed a bit of comforting, and yet after what she had overheard, he would likely feel more awkward if she simply popped back into her ordinary form. Not to mention, she was probably not looking her best right then.

“So . . . Morag,” Albus said softly, looking down at her, “or perhaps another name would suit you better, hmm?” Albus bent over, crouching a bit, and rubbed her head for a moment. “A nice name . . . a nice name for a cat . . . Rags? Would you like that? I know it doesn’t sound particularly dignified, but I think it’s cute, and much nicer than ‘Morag.’ What do you think, my dear?” Albus asked, still speaking softly.

Minerva thought he was certainly right about it not being dignified, but if he thought it was cute, and if it would stop him from calling her Morag – she purred and rubbed against him again.

“All right, then, Rags. You know, it will soon be time for lunch. But perhaps you might like a saucer of milk or a cup of tea with me in the meantime?”

Minerva did – not the milk, but the tea – yet she was sure that she must look a state after having been caught in the rain, even after Albus’s drying charm. She hesitated, standing on his feet.

“Undecided? Well, you don’t have to decide right away. May I give you a lift?” Albus picked her up, holding her gently against his chest, left arm under her legs, his right arm providing her upper body with support. Minerva could jump down easily from this position, but was also quite comfortable in it.

Albus turned, and the front doors shut with a muted thunk behind him. He began to climb the stairs. When they reached the first floor, he said softly, “Introducing you to Minister Yaxley as Morag the Cat and not as Minerva McGonagall led her, not unexpectedly, to speak to me as though in the presence of Morag the Cat.” Albus stroked Minerva’s head. “I was in school with Philomena. She was in the same year as Crispinian and Gwynllian,” he said, naming her mother’s parents, “so Philomena and I have known each other for a very long time. We may not be the closest of friends, but we have always been on good terms, and there is something about knowing someone for that long . . .” Albus shrugged. “She felt free to speak to me as an old friend, you see, and not knowing you were there, or rather, being under the impression that you were Morag the Cat – ”

Minerva bumped up against his jaw, interrupting him, then rubbed her head against his shoulder and purred. He really didn’t need to explain to her. It was all quite obvious, and there was no point in him feeling any more embarrassed than he already did.

“So . . . tea? Or I could offer you that saucer of milk?” Albus said as they reached the second floor.

Minerva did not particularly want to transform in front of him, not having any idea what kind of a state she was in, but she also didn’t want him to think that she was avoiding him, either, so she just settled down in his arms. When they got to his office, she could visit his loo and transform then. She had her wand with her; it would be quick work to make herself presentable.

Albus carried her to the gargoyle, Minerva feeling rather spoiled at being carried about, but he didn’t seem to mind, and it was nice to settle against his chest. He was very nice and warm, and even as a cat, she could feel his magic humming with his pulse. She closed her eyes in kitty bliss as they entered the stairway and started the ride up.

“Well, you certainly do seem to have got used to this, Raggles! You’ll soon be as lazy as Philomena’s sister’s cats!” he teased.

Minerva opened one eye, decided that the name “Raggles” was slightly less offensive than “Rags,” and much better than “Morag,” and, in addition to that, he was holding her a little bit closer and rubbing her chin with his right thumb, so she really couldn’t complain, and she closed her eye again. When they reached his office, Minerva did not particularly want to get down. Perhaps a saucer of milk wouldn’t be so bad, if she could manage to drink it while curled up in his lap. That thought reminded her suddenly of the dream she had been having just before the rain woke her. She was very glad that she was in her Animagus form, or she surely would have blushed beet-red. Minerva hopped down and trotted over to the brass staircase. She stood at the bottom and looked over at Albus.

“They’re charmed to recognise you no matter your form; go on up – I assume you want to use the loo. I’ll call Wilspy for tea – unless you’d prefer a saucer of milk?”

Minerva flicked the tip of her tail at him, twitched an ear, and marched up the stairs, displaying precisely what she thought of his witticism. Albus laughed.

“Tea, it is, then!”

Minerva entered his sitting room and looked around. The door to the loo was closed, but the one to his bedroom was open. With barely any hesitation, she walked to that door, rationalising to herself that she didn’t want to transform just yet. The bedroom door was open just enough for her to ease through it without having to open it any further. She walked the few feet from the door into the room and turned the corner to head toward the loo, suddenly feeling self-conscious and guilty for entering his bedroom without his permission. She certainly wouldn’t want anyone just making free in her rooms like that – except, of course, for Albus, when he had arranged her new painting for her. But that had been entirely different. She had no good excuse for having entered his bedroom, none but the rather thin one that she didn’t want to transform just yet.

Still, when Minerva reached the door to the loo, which was just slightly ajar, she paused and looked around her. She had liked the room when she had seen it before, and it was still appealing, though the sunny yellow of the bedroom walls was rather lost on her cat’s eyes. It was still light, bright, and airy. The bed, she remembered, had been covered with a bedspread of a creamy colour with designs in dark red, green, and gold, reminiscent of Gryffindor House but without slavishly following that colour scheme. His sheets had been a pale gold, and he’d had a lightweight gold coverlet. The bed itself was a typical Hogwarts four-poster, but with easily enough room to sleep a small family, it now seemed, from her cat’s vantage point, but probably only a bit larger than her own full-sized bed. The bed curtains were tied to the posts for the summer – she doubted he ever used them. He wouldn’t need them for privacy, certainly, and although Hogwarts could be drafty in the winter, a charm or two could take care of that more effectively than any bed curtains.

There was a large wardrobe of rather ornate design against the wall that ran between the door to the bedroom and the one to his backstairs, and there was a low chest of drawers against the back wall beside the entry to the stairway. A small fireplace, which she hadn’t noticed before, its grate empty, was set into the far wall between two large windows. Other than a bench, a single chair, and two bedside tables, the large room had little else in it. Not a single picture hung on the walls, although there were some odds and ends on the small tables and the dresser, which she couldn’t see well from her current vantage point. Looking around, wondering at the lack of a portrait in his bedroom, or at least of a landscape, as he had given her, she did notice that the wall just beyond the door to the loo and directly opposite the foot of the bed was painted with some kind of design.

Minerva trotted a little ways across the room and looked up at it. Although her colour vision was limited when she was in her Animagus form, she could see that this was a marvellous mural of a phoenix, wings spread, looking toward the heavens, beak partially open, as if in a final song, and surrounded by flames, which had been charmed to flicker and dance about the bird, though the phoenix itself was frozen in the midst of its fiery transformation. Above the bird, rays of sunshine appeared to stream from behind some clouds, and the overall effect was more than pleasing, even to her cat’s eyes. The next time she was in here, Minerva decided, she would take a better look at the painting, which appeared to be some kind of fresco done in the plaster that covered the room’s stone walls. For now, however, she had spent too much time gawking about a room that she had no business being in, and she went back over to the loo and gently pushed the door open with her paw.

As soon as Minerva was in the loo, she transformed to her ordinary form, and a lamp lit in response to her presence. Handy feature, Minerva thought, as she waved her wand and lit the other one, the better to see the damage the storm had done. Looking in the mirror, Minerva was very glad she had not transformed in front of anyone. Half of her hair was scraggling from what used to be a French twist, the other half was still up, but in a dreadful mess of knots, and it appeared she had lost some of her Charmed hairpins, though she couldn’t imagine how. And her clothes . . . wrinkled wasn’t the word for them.

Minerva removed her tartan over robe, hoping that her pale green under robe might be less of a mess, but it had fared no better. She had to smile; perhaps “Rags” was a more appropriate name than she had thought! She waved her wand experimentally, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles. Improved, but still not at all presentable. It would be easier if she could hang the robe up and cast a charm at the entire garment when she wasn’t wearing it. Doing it while looking in the mirror like this was not ideal. And then, her hair . . . well, that could be dealt with easily enough. She wouldn’t look perfect, but she would be presentable. Just as she was thinking about this, there was a light knock on the door, and she heard Albus’s voice.

“All right, my dear? I thought we might take tea in the sitting room rather than my office. How are you coming?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid, Albus. I look dreadful.”

“Surely you exaggerate – ”

“I most certainly don’t.” Minerva giggled. “I do look raggedy, I’m afraid!”

Albus chuckled. “Is there anything I can do to assist? I mean . . . you may have Wilspy’s services, if you would like.”

“That’s an excellent suggestion, Albus. Thank you.”

“Just give her a shout, then; she’ll come for you.”

“Wilspy,” Minerva called.

A few seconds later, Albus’s house-elf popped into the loo.

“Oh, Professor Dumbledore’s Professor Minerva!” she said, shaking her head and clucking as she looked her up and down. “Where you been?!” The old elf looked up at her quizzically, wrinkling her brow. “You swimming with the Giant Squid today?”

Minerva laughed out loud. She didn’t think she’d ever heard a house-elf make a joke before – but perhaps Wilspy hadn’t been joking. The house-elf smiled back, though, her entire face a crinkle of merriment.

“I fetch the Professor’s Professor Minerva a robe. Professor’s Minerva, you go take shower. Leave clothes on the floor. All of them.” When Minerva didn’t make a move, the old elf cocked her head at Minerva. “Shower, Professor’s Minerva. Through there.” She pointed at the door on the other side of the loo.

“Umm, I don’t need a shower . . . you can just fetch me some robes, perhaps my brush.”

Wilspy put one hand on her hip and shook a finger at Minerva. “Professor’s Professor Minerva takes a shower! You’s – you’s – you’s a MESS!”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “All right, all right! But it’s not my idea!”

Wilspy did a very good imitation of her mother’s glare, Minerva thought. “Should be your idea! No shower, no robes! Mess, mess, mess!” The house-elf shook her head and popped out of the room, disgusted with the silly human.

Minerva went to the door to the sitting room and opened it a crack. “Albus?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Don’t get up – don’t come over. Wilspy is insisting I take a shower before she’ll bring me any clean robes.”

“Take your time, my dear. And help yourself to whatever you need. Just call if you need anything – I mean, call Wilspy, of course. Or me. Um, take your time.”

Minerva closed the door and crossed over to his bathroom. She hadn’t been in it before, though she had noticed it the last time she’d used the loo. It was similar to her own, if somewhat larger, and it had a separate shower and bathtub, just as hers had. Casting a glance at the bathtub and noticing that it had the same number of spigots as her own bathtub did, she wondered whether he kept the same scented soaps on tap as she did. But she was here for a shower, not to inspect the bathroom. A quick shower.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable stripping in a strange bathroom – Albus’s bathroom, at that – Minerva hurriedly removed her shoes, socks, robe, chemise, and panties, then pulled the Charmed pins from what was left of her hairdo. As she stepped toward the shower to turn on the water, Minerva felt a sudden thrill go through her at the thought that Albus was naked in this same space on a regular basis. She shivered and slid open the glass shower door to the very large, circular shower stall. As she did that, she had an unbidden vision of doing so with Albus standing naked under the shower.

Minerva gripped the edge of the shower door. What was wrong with her? She had to gain some control over herself. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

The shower could be regulated manually or magically, she saw, and she experimented until the water was pleasantly warm. There were several jets set at intervals in the surrounding wall and a large shower head hanging centrally above the stall, and a hand-held contraption, as well. Minerva stepped in, and again, the image came to her of stepping into the shower and joining Albus. Oh, gods, she had to stop this. Just wash and be done with it!

But as she lathered her body, Minerva closed her eyes and imagined calling Albus for help, as he, in complete innocence, had suggested she do. And he would step in, and he would wash her . . . he would wash her all over; and as Minerva’s hands ran over her body, she imagined they were his hands, instead, touching her breasts, her stomach, her – giving a low, pained moan, Minerva bent her head and gripped the handrail next to the shower door. Tears sprang to her eyes. Why did she do this to herself? And why couldn’t she just be normal? Just be normal and take a shower and change her clothes and go have tea then go to lunch and not think about Albus at all. . . . What was wrong with her?

Minerva turned her face into the shower and let the water run over her. She didn’t even bother washing her hair. It would be fine. She had taken her bloody shower, just as that house-elf had wanted. Now where were her clothes? Minerva turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Her rumpled clothes were gone, but she didn’t see any replacements. Bloody interfering little elf!

Minerva dried herself with a large, very fluffy, royal purple towel, and by the time she had wrapped another equally large purple towel around her and begun to charm her hair dry and detangle it, she was feeling somewhat better. No point in blaming a house-elf for her own foolishness. But when she had dried her hair and put it up in a French twist again, relying on charms and the few hairpins remaining to her, she still had no clean clothes. She took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door to the loo, just in case Albus was in there, then opened it. No clean clothes there, either.

“Wilspy!” Nothing. “Wilspy!” Where was that elf?

Minerva opened the door to the sitting room a crack. “Albus?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Wilspy has taken my clothes, but she hasn’t brought me any clean ones. I’ve called her, but she’s not come.”

“How peculiar . . . she just delivered the tea a moment ago. Wilspy!” Albus called his house-elf.

After several heart-beats, Minerva heard the house-elf enter the sitting room with a crack.

“Wilspy, Professor McGonagall needs her robes.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore. They’s in the bedroom.”

“Did you hear that, Minerva?”

“Yes.”

“Go on in – wait, I just need to close the door.” Minerva heard him move across the room and close the bedroom door. “There, my dear! Now you have your privacy. I’ll keep your tea warm for you!”

“Thank you, Albus.” Minerva closed the door. This was very uncomfortable. Much more than it should be. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again, and went into Albus’s bedroom.

There, laid out on his bed, were her robes. They were hardly suitable. Hardly suitable for that place and time, at least. Whatever was Wilspy thinking? She must be unused to taking care of witches was the only thing that Minerva could think. At least she’d brought her a pair of knickers, unlike the time when she was a student and the elf had brought her everything but underwear. Of course, a lot of wizards didn’t wear much in the way of underclothes, so it wasn’t entirely surprising, Minerva supposed, but she gratefully pulled on her panties. There was no camisole, but as the robe Wilspy had brought her was one of her dress robes with a very low neckline – one couldn’t even really call it a neckline, it was so low – she couldn’t have worn one without it showing, anyway. She had brought the gown back with her from her parents and had almost packed it to wear at the Gamps, then had decided against it. It was deep blue with black threads running through it, making the blue seem to shimmer like a midnight sky. The fabric was heavy, barely rippling when she moved, hanging straight from her waist and trailing out behind her dramatically. The skirts were in layers that rustled as she walked, and were longer than she remembered them being. Minerva hadn’t worn it in at least seven or eight years; it was something she’d had made for her in Germany when she had required dress robes for a New Year’s Eve party. There was a cape that went with it, but Wilspy hadn’t included that. Nor had she brought her shoes or stockings, Minerva now noticed. Really! What was that house-elf thinking?

Minerva pulled on the robe, feeling both underdressed and overdressed, even without any jewellery – or any shoes. Well, she could Transfigure a pair if Albus loaned her something to use. Perhaps she should ask for something to cover herself with, as well. The sides of the gown were low, the bodice cut so that both the back and shoulders were bare, coming to a vee just below the waist, and then sweeping up her sides toward the front of the robe, where her decolletage was emphasised in a wider, though less deep, vee-shape. Blushing slightly, wondering what on earth Albus would think when he saw her in the ridiculous gown, and wishing for the matching cape, Minerva picked up her long skirts so that she wouldn’t trip over them, at least, and started toward the door to the sitting room. Before she left, Minerva paused to take a good look at the mural. Yes, it was a fresco, she thought, and not simply a painting. The flames looked quite realistic as they rose around the phoenix, licking its wings. The phoenix itself did not move, but Minerva still had the sense that it could fly off the wall in a burst of fire at any moment.

Minerva took a deep breath. Short of begging Wilspy to bring her different robes, this would have to do. She could Transfigure the gown, but she hated Transfiguring good clothes. They never seemed quite the same afterward and seemed to wear out more quickly, as well. She walked toward the sitting room, the flagstone refreshingly cold on her bare feet, and opened the door. Albus was sitting on the sofa, waiting for her as he had promised, tea set on the low table in front of him. When she entered the room, padding across the slightly bristly Persian carpets toward him, he stood, the parchments he had been reading held loosely in his hand, then fluttering to the sofa.

“Oh, my dear, you look . . .” Albus blinked at her and swallowed.

“I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s what Wilspy brought.”

“You look absolutely . . . lovely. Absolutely. Just . . . beautiful, my dear.” He waved his hand toward the armchair. “Please, sit. I will be mother.” He smiled at her. “I hope this does not sound offensive, my dear, but in that dress . . . you should just . . . sit and . . . be beautiful.”

Minerva blushed. “Well, as I said, it’s rather a ridiculous thing to be wearing at this time of day, in the middle of Hogwarts.” Minerva sat, smoothing her skirts under her. “And she didn’t bring any shoes.”

“Well, I’m sure we can remedy that.”

“But Albus, I can’t possibly be seen in this, I look ridiculous, and lunch is in half an hour. I should just go and change, and hope no one sees me on my way to my rooms.”

“You needn’t arrive punctually at noon. Let’s have our tea, I’ll loan you something so you can have a pair of slippers to wear, and then I’ll walk you down the back stair and to your rooms,” Albus said, as he poured her tea and handed her a cup. “We can avoid people, I should think. And there aren’t many left in the castle, anyway, and no one who would mind, I’m sure.” He smiled. “And you do look lovely, not ridiculous.”

Minerva sighed, but accepted his tea and his suggestion, wishing she could cover up, though. She felt indecent in the revealing robe, sitting there in the middle of the day. It would have been bad enough with anyone else, but somehow, after her thoughts in the shower, Minerva felt exposed and embarrassed in front of Albus.

Determined to behave normally even if she felt far from normal, Minerva asked, “So, you had a meeting with Minister Yaxley this morning?”

“Yes, just finishing up some business. I had been going to meet her at the Ministry, but she was meeting a friend in Hogsmeade, so she came here, instead.”

“Are you still going to have to go into London today?”

“No, I don’t have anything more until the Wizengamot convenes on Friday afternoon for a few hours.” He seemed to wince when he mentioned the Wizengamot.

“Is that interesting, being on the Wizengamot?”

“I suppose, in a way, it is . . . but interesting is not always pleasant. And there are many unpleasant aspects to sitting on the Wizengamot.”

“Why do it, then?” Minerva asked, immediately regretting the question as stupid, or impertinent, or both.

Albus didn’t seem to think it either of those things, though, and answered seriously, “There may be other wizards and witches who could do the work as well as I, and ones who would take it seriously, as it should be taken, but they are not always the ones chosen. I feel that as I was asked to sit on the Wizengamot, and knowing that I would do my best . . . even when that may sometimes be insufficient . . . it would have been negligent of me not to accept. There is much good that I can do, and some harm that I can prevent, as a member of the Wizengamot. I feel . . . obligated.”

Minerva nodded. “I see . . . and I am sure that you do very well, and that you treat your obligations seriously. But . . . why did you not accept the position of Minister for Magic, then?”

Albus set down his cup and saucer and looked past her. A cloud seemed to cross his face. “What is it you wish to know?”

“I’m just curious; it seems you could do even more good there, and prevent more harm, and you were asked. . . .”

The cloud lifted, and Albus smiled slightly. “There are more constraints on a Minister than you may think, Minerva. And where there aren’t, perhaps there should be.” He looked at her thoughtfully a moment. “And the Wizengamot is a council. I am one among many.”

“You never wanted to be Minister? Never considered it?”

Albus shook his head. “No. When I was young, I wanted more than that, and when I grew older, I wanted less, and now . . . I want what I have.” He smiled at her. “And part of that is being Hogwarts Headmaster. I couldn’t be Minister and Headmaster at the same time.”

Minerva smiled back. “And Hogwarts needs you. So it’s good this is where you want to be.”

“I would be nowhere else at this moment, Minerva,” Albus said softly.

With his gaze on her, Minerva felt a blush rising. If only he meant that he wanted to be nowhere but with her . . .

Minerva set down her cup. “Thank you for the tea. I think I should try to sort out some more appropriate robes, though. It’s getting late.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Albus stood and held out his hand to her. “Come, I’ll walk you down the backstairs.”

“I still have no shoes – ” Minerva said, taking his hand and rising.

“We’ll take care of that on the way.” Albus offered her his arm and smiled. “I feel distinctly underdressed, my dear. Positively unkempt!”

Minerva laughed. “You’ll have to ask Wilspy to choose your attire, then!” Minerva shook her head. “I can’t imagine what went through that head of hers! She’s never seen me dress this way before!”

Albus chuckled and led Minerva into his bedroom.

“Now, if you will have a seat. I believe . . . yes, here,” Albus said and pulled a pair of socks from a drawer in his wardrobe. “I think these will do, with a bit of modification, for a pair of slippers for you – if you don’t mind! They’re new.” He held up a pair of multi-coloured woolen socks.

“That’s fine – but you can just use a pair of old ones.” Minerva perched on the bench.

Albus had already waved his wand and Transfigured them into a pair of slippers.

“I wasn’t sure of the size, but try these, my dear,” he said, handing them to her.

Minerva took them. They were very soft, but they had a flexible sole and looked like lightweight shoes, though they were still quite colourful. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, she crossed her right leg over her left and slipped one on.

“It’s perfect. Thank you. Quite comfortable.” Trying not to be too awkward about it, she put the other one on the other foot and stood.

“Ready, then?” Albus asked. He already had the door to the stairs open and was waiting for her there.

Minerva followed him down the stairs, using the same method she had before, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder. She held her skirts up with her other hand. Halfway down, though, one of her feet caught in the voluminous skirts, and she began to trip, falling forward and grasping his shoulder harder. Before she could catch herself or fall further, Albus had already turned and caught her, right hand at her waist, the other just under her arm. The robe was cut so low that his upper hand was warm against her bare skin. She gasped in surprise.

“I have you, Minerva.”

Minerva looked down at him, his eyes so dark in the flickering torchlight, his lips slightly parted, and her heart beat faster. She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure.

“All right, Minerva?” he asked.

She nodded and opened her eyes. “Yes, fine. I was just startled.” She loosened her grip on him, and he removed his hand from her side but kept hold of her waist.

“You’re sure, then?”

“Of course. It’s these skirts – too long.” Minerva took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It is lucky you were so fast, or we both might have taken a tumble. Down the stairs. If I had fallen on you.” The way she was talking, she thought, it sounded as though she had fallen – on her head – more than once. “I’m fine, though,” she said lightly. “Thank you.”

Albus nodded and turned back around. “We’ll go more slowly.”

This time Minerva held on a little more tightly, and not simply for the pleasure of feeling his shoulder beneath her hand, but also just for a bit more security. They made it to the bottom of the stair with no more difficulties, and Albus opened the door.

Reaching the end of the narrow corridor, Albus turned to Minerva and asked, “Would you prefer to take the main stairs now, or the side stairs over by Ravenclaw? The first is faster, but if you are concerned about being seen, we might be less likely to encounter anyone if we took the latter way.”

Minerva nodded. “Let’s do that, then – the side stairs.” As they walked down the hallway toward Ravenclaw, Minerva said, “I do wonder whether Wilspy has developed a peculiar sense of humour, and giving me this robe is her notion of a joke.”

Albus chuckled. “Wilspy probably had some consideration in mind other than practicality.” He tilted his head and looked at Minerva. “Perhaps she thought that was your prettiest robe and that you would be pleased to wear it.”

Minerva let out a short laugh. “Perhaps. But you know, I do think she does have a sense of humour, Albus. She asked me if I had been swimming with the Giant Squid, and I could swear she thought it was funny.”

“It is funny, too,” Albus answered with a laugh. “Now I do wish I had seen you, if you looked as though you’d been swimming with the Giant Squid!”

“Hmmph. I don’t know which would be more embarrassing – that or this!” Minerva rolled her eyes, gesturing at her robe, but she smiled.

They reached her rooms. Minerva froze and looked at the portrait. She had changed her password. To something utterly ridiculous. Why on earth had she done that? Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough the day before? Did she have to top it off today by waltzing around in a ball gown in the middle of Hogwarts after having half-drowned herself in a rainstorm then having to shower in the Headmaster’s bathroom? And now she had changed her password, which she had been so sure that Albus would never hear, and she had to use the silly thing there in front of him. He would surely remember the password she had derived it from. He would likely have no idea what her desire was for, nor her hope, but it was nonetheless embarrassing.

“Something wrong, Minerva?” Albus asked.

“Hmm? No . . . just thinking. You go on. I’ll meet you downstairs. Go ahead. No need to wait.”

“I don’t mind, really. I can peruse your shelves for another novel while I wait. I am almost through with the last one I borrowed, and you have a lot of newer ones I haven’t seen before.”

Minerva nodded. “That’s fine.” She turned to the portrait and muttered, “Desidero-et-spero,” almost making one word of the phrase. Fortunately, the Knight seemed to understand her, and he bowed and released the door for her.

“Just make yourself at home. Find yourself a book or two. I will try to be fast.”

Minerva did try to be fast, shucking off the slippers, tossing her dress robe on the bed, pulling on a clean camisole and her pale blue robes, then finding shoes and stockings. A few minutes later, she returned to the sitting room where Albus stood waiting by the door, holding a single book in his hands.

“Do you mind if I borrow this one?” he asked, holding it up.

“You may borrow any of them – except Pnin, I’m not quite through with that one yet. Peculiar book Melina gave me.”

Albus nodded and slipped the book into his pocket.

As they stepped out the door, Minerva noted his awkwardness. “You know, Albus, I think I am going to change my password again before I leave tomorrow, and I don’t want to give you one and have it not work if you try to use it. Why don’t I stop by your office on my way out tomorrow, and I can tell you what it is then – that way if you’d like to borrow a book, you can let yourself in.”

“That’s all right, Minerva, you needn’t – ”

“I know, but I’d like to. You may not have occasion to use it, but if you wish to – you may!” The reached the stairs and Minerva took his arm, stopping him for a moment. “I don’t want you to feel you aren’t welcome, Albus. You are, and not just as Headmaster in an emergency, but as my friend, all right?”

“As long as you don’t feel obligated; I know it was a favour to me before. You needn’t see it as a precedent.” He made a move to start down the stairs, but Minerva stopped him with a light pressure to his arm.

“I don’t see it that way.” She looked at him closely. “I would share it with you as a friend, not out of a sense of obligation.”

He began down the stairs. “But one needn’t share everything with friends, and one needn’t share one’s password with every person whom one considers a friend. Nor even with only one friend. It is unnecessary and likely unwise. And, as you mentioned before, if there were a true emergency, I am perfectly able to enter without it.” Albus glanced over at her. “I don’t believe I shared the password to my quarters with more than two people during my entire time as Deputy Headmaster. So I certainly understand if you’d rather not, Minerva; it is natural. And it would be awkward if you felt you had to give your password to me every time you changed it simply because you happened to share it with me once. That could become onerous and to feel like an obligation, regardless of how it began.”

“Yes, well, I do see your point, and I agree . . . but it’s not as though I go about sharing it with all and sundry, either, Albus. It’s one thing when I’m going to be about the castle – you can just visit when I happen to be in. But when I’m away, why not have the password? You might have no occasion to use it, but if you find yourself needing something to read, or whatever, you can just let yourself in. This way, too, it won’t become onerous, as you suggest it might. I’ll just give it to you when I know I’m going to be away from the castle for a while, as I will be this week.”

Albus smiled at her. “If you’re sure – I don’t want you to feel obligated, or as though I am simply inviting myself in.”

“Of course I’m sure! And I had already invited you to stop by whenever you wanted, help yourself to my Muggle novels,” Minerva said.

“Very well, my dear. That would be nice. But I do not wish to be impertinent.”

Minerva couldn’t help herself, and she laughed at that. “Oh, Albus! Impertinent? I don’t think I would ever describe you that way. But,” she added, trying to address his underlying concern seriously, “if you ever are impertinent, I will tell you. You do have an impertinent house-elf, though. A shower may have been a good idea, but I would have preferred not to have submitted to house-elf extortion in taking it.”

“I will speak to her about that,” Albus said seriously.

“Oh, don’t do that. It was a good idea. She just had a way of making me feel . . . I don’t know.”

“Like a child? She does the same to me, still. Scolds me as though I were still a boy in her care.” Albus chuckled.

“How old is she?” Minerva asked; she had known that Wilspy was a Dumbledore house-elf, perhaps even the only Dumbledore house-elf, but she had no idea that she had taken care of Albus as a child.

“Oh, let me see now . . . I believe she is one hundred-forty. Yes, one hundred-forty,” he said, nodding.

“One hundred-forty?” Minerva repeated, astonished. Fwisky was almost one hundred, and Minerva thought her ancient.

“Mmm. Happy house-elves can live to be, oh, one hundred-eighty, two hundred, even. She was a fairly young elf when she first started caring for me. Sometimes, she does still treat me like a little boy.” Albus gave a small grin, eyes twinkling, and he leaned toward Minerva and whispered, “And sometimes, I don’t even mind!”

Minerva laughed and the two went in to lunch.