Silly Wizard
Albus slowly closed the door at the top of the stairs. He had been reluctant to see Minerva leave, and even more reluctant to say good-bye to her. As he had reminded her, it was only a few days that she would be away, and she would be back again. Why he should feel such reluctance did not puzzle him, but that he felt it at all bothered him. His attachment to Minerva was growing and could only end in greater unhappiness for himself if he did not check it. At least he was controlling his impulses around her somewhat better, and his physical responses to her presence, as well. That was particularly fortunate, given the incident earlier in the day. When Minerva had entered his sitting room unexpectedly wearing the revealing dress robes, he had been taken unawares, having assumed that she would be dressed in her usual daily attire. He had been able to regain his composure quickly, however, and by the time he accompanied her down his backstair, he was in complete control of himself and his physical reactions. If he hadn’t been, Albus was sure that he would have been far more uncomfortable when he had turned and caught her, keeping her from falling. Even now, he felt a slight frisson of pleasure as he reflected upon the way Minerva’s skin had felt under his hand, knowing that if he had moved his hand just an inch or two, it would have been pressing against her breast, and it still required some measure of self-control to keep that slight thrill in check. It had not escaped him, however, that Minerva had hesitated when he’d suggested going down the backstairs again that evening; no doubt, she had remembered how his hand had come to rest on her bare skin and found the memory distasteful. Well, it wasn’t as though that was a shorter way, after all, only somewhat easier, since there were no stairs to climb. Perhaps she really did just want the exercise at the end of a long day. . . .
When Minerva had left for her dinner with Quin, there was a part of Albus that was happy she would be meeting the young wizard, but another part of him grieved, believing that Minerva, as she grew closer to Quin, would inevitably grow away from him. Whatever she thought of the young wizard, Quin was a potential suitor, and Albus would not interfere with that. When he had gone up to his rooms for the evening, he had not anticipated seeing Minerva again until she returned from her parents’ in several days’ time. He had been surprised to find her in his office, coming to see him, as she said, without any excuse for her visit other than the desire to see him. That had been a lovely thing to hear her say, but he mustn’t put too much stock in it. Minerva had just wanted to tell someone about her date – her evening out – and Poppy wasn’t in the castle. No doubt, Minerva would have gone to see her friend, had she been available. Well, her other friend. He was her friend, as well, of course.
Indeed, her visit had soothed Albus’s fear that Minerva would grow away from him as she became closer to Quin. But perhaps what she had said of Quin was true: neither had any feelings for the other outside of friendship. It would be selfish of him to wish that Minerva not meet a wizard with whom she could fall in love, but he was grateful that it appeared she had not done so yet.
Albus returned to his sitting room and put away the chess set; perhaps a rematch might be a good excuse to see Minerva again. As long as he kept his physical responses to her well-controlled, there was little reason not to continue to enjoy her company for as long as she enjoyed his. If it made it somewhat more difficult in the future when she did finally find that wizard she was meant to be with, at least he would have these happy memories, and if they were close when she married, perhaps they would remain good friends.
Something reminded Albus of young Carson Murphy and what the boy had said in his letter to Minerva, that she was meant for someone special and he hoped that she found him. Albus was unaware that Carson had inherited any of the MacAirt gifts, yet perhaps the boy had felt something from Minerva that told him that there was someone in particular that she was meant to be with. Carson had mentioned his grandmother, after all, and she had been known as a particularly talented witch. Not that Albus put much stock in such things, though perhaps Dervilia would still be alive if he had done. But that old witch coming up to him, uninvited, telling him that only pain would result from his marriage to Dervilia, advising against it for both their sakes, then implying that such happiness was not his “youthful lot,” whatever that was supposed to have meant – she had only irritated him with her bluntness and her presumption. And yet it had turned out as the old MacAirt witch, Quin’s great-great grandmother, had predicted; Dervilia had died in her miscarriage less than two years into their marriage, and his pain at losing her had been greater than any happiness he had experienced in his marriage.
And despite a few liaisons during his travels as a young man after he had abandoned his first apprenticeship following Dervilia’s death, he had never found a witch with whom he fell in love; then after his mother’s death, when he had finally devoted himself so fully to his magical education and finding his place in the wizarding world, Albus had renounced such entanglements entirely. It was only after he had passed middle age and had finally felt settled into his life and his career that he began to entertain the notion of perhaps finding a witch to share his life with him. But that was more than thirty years ago now, and with the intervening war, he had had hardly any opportunities, or even the leisure, to find such a witch. The only witch whom he had actually deemed suitable to him and his life had kindly but firmly rejected his romantic overtures. There had also been Valerianna, of course, but Albus was now certain that, even without that final embarrassment, he would have eventually recognised how utterly unsuitable she was. But she had been the first witch he had courted in a very long time, and it had been enjoyable simply to court a witch and to feel like a virile and desirable wizard for even a short time. Of course, that feeling had disappeared entirely when he had found her with that other wizard, and Albus realised what an old fool he had been to think that a witch would ever again find him desirable for anything other than his perceived position in the wizarding world.
Albus readied himself for bed, pulling on a light-weight, collarless nightshirt, white with red and gold pinstripes. As he was about to cast the charm that kept his beard and hair from tangling during the night, he looked at himself in the mirror. Perhaps he should finally rid himself of the beard and hair; it made him look eccentric and old, something that he hadn’t really cared about until recently. In fact, it was an image he cultivated; appearing eccentric and somewhat dotty could disarm people who might otherwise be intimidated by him. It was a useful effect to have in a variety of situations. And his age could also inspire some respect, despite his eccentricity. But now, looking at his hair and seeing that it was increasingly silver rather than grey, he wondered whether it might not be time to cut it off. He would still have his age; even ridding himself of his beard and hair would not change that. And yet . . .
Albus waved his wand and his beard shortened to a well-trimmed length. Another wave, and it vanished entirely, revealing a pale jaw and a slight cleft in his chin. He looked even more ridiculous now, he thought, with his long hair flowing down his back, and that was next. In one wave, the long locks disappeared, leaving his hair short on the back and sides. It was still grey with a good deal of white, but he thought he looked . . . different, anyway. Perhaps not so eccentric . . . he would certainly blend in at the Ministry better, looking like this. And wearing his more conservative robes, Albus thought he would definitely appear less dotty. Perhaps less the barmy old codger. He swished his wand once more, bringing the colour of his jaw up to match the rest of his face. Sharp blue eyes looked out at him from the mirror now, and they saw quite plainly what he was doing. Nonetheless, he made one final wave of his wand and retired to bed for the night, feeling strangely naked without his beard and long hair, yet he fell asleep quickly despite that.
Albus woke early and stretched in bed. As he rolled over, ready to try for another few minutes sleep, he felt the odd sensation of the pillow against his face and remembered what he had done the night before. He reached up and touched his jaw. Yes, he had done a good job; his skin still felt as smooth as if he had just shaved. Knowing he would not fall asleep again now, he sat up and blinked before waving his hand to pull back the draperies and let in the morning light. As he swung his legs over the bed and let his feet dangle, he wondered whether Minerva had left the castle yet. Likely not; she was an early riser, Albus thought, but it was still very early, and she would probably have at least a cup of tea before she left.
Albus stood and called Wilspy. As he shuffled toward the window to see what the morning looked like, Wilspy popped in with his first cup of tea, milk and sugar added just as he liked it.
“Professor Dumbledore! What you done to yourself!” the house-elf exclaimed as Albus turned to take his tea.
“I thought . . . I thought I would try something different.”
“Professor Dumbledore, you looks . . . you looks like a St. Mungo’s patient.” Wilspy shook her head. “Silly, silly. Silly Professor Dumbledore looks like silly Professor Dumbledore. Change back before your Professor Minerva sees you. Your Professor Minerva will see it and think, silly, silly, like Wilspy.”
“I am sure that others will see me before that time, Wilspy. Professor McGonagall is leaving on holiday today.”
“Why Professor Dumbledore being so silly today? Is you sad Professor’s Professor Minerva is leaving? Do not be sad, Master Albus,” Wilspy said, patting his knee as she used to pat his shoulder when he was a small boy. “Your Professor Minerva always comes back to her Professor Dumbledore.”
Albus smiled slightly and gave a short laugh. “Thank you, Wilspy. But you know, she is not ‘my Professor Minerva’; she works here at Hogwarts as one of my teachers, just as all the other teachers do. But you are right, I will miss her. And you are also right, she will return. She does work here, as I said.”
“You is a silly wizard, Master Albus,” Wilspy said with a deep house-elfish sigh. “And Professor Minerva not left yet. Change back to yourself and see your Professor Minerva before she leaves.”
Albus gave an answering sigh. “I appreciate your opinion, Wilspy, but you are just unused to seeing my face. This is what is under all that hair. This is me.”
“Shave your head and go naked then! No robes for Master Albus! That is what is under all those clothes!” Wilspy threw up her hands and rolled her eyes, then Disapparated, leaving Albus to chuckle.
Albus drank his tea while he dressed, choosing fairly conservative taupe robes with silver and magenta trim. Looking in the mirror, ignoring the Charmed object’s annoying suggestions for his grooming and dress, he did wonder if Wilspy wasn’t right about one thing: his face did look oddly naked. But he had worn a Glamour when he was pretending to be “General Dumbledore,” and no one had thought he looked peculiar. At least, no one had said he did. Perhaps a mustache. Or a mustache and goatee. He would give this look a try first, he thought, combing his wavy forelock back with his fingers.
Remembering what Wilspy had said about Minerva, Albus thought that perhaps she hadn’t left yet. Somewhat nervously, wondering whether Wilspy had also been right that Minerva would think he looked silly clean-shaven and respectable, Albus left his rooms and took the moving spiral staircase to the second floor. An early morning walk before breakfast would help start his day right, and if he happened to run into Minerva before she left, he could see whether Wilspy was correct about him looking silly. But he wasn’t just doing this for her benefit, he reminded himself. It was his attempt to appear less eccentric. He certainly could never imagine that removing his hair and beard would make him appear any more like an eligible wizard than he did with it, after all – at least, not to Minerva. Perhaps if he had done this years ago, he would have had better luck in finding a witch who saw him for who he was. Now, however, he had resigned himself to his solitary state, and it certainly would be unfair to any witch to attempt to court her until he had rid himself of his attachment to Minerva, even if he found such a witch.
As Albus strolled along the drive, he heard the heavy oak doors open behind him, and he turned to see Minerva, her luggage floating behind her, emerge from the castle. Feeling unaccountably nervous, he walked toward her.
“Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” he said, smiling. “On your way?”
Minerva stood stock-still and stared at him. “Um, yes,” she managed to say.
“Do give my best wishes to your parents.”
“What did you do to yourself?” Minerva asked bluntly. Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded . . . um, are you . . . seeing Muggles today?”
“No, I normally wear a suit when meeting Muggles.” Albus was uneasy. “I just thought . . . you have expressed distaste when I refer to myself as an old codger. I thought I might appear less barmy and codger-like if I . . .” Albus gestured to his face.
“I see.” Minerva swallowed, still staring. “You look fine, of course. You always do. It’s just . . . a shock, I suppose.”
Albus could see clearly what she wasn’t saying – whatever had possessed him to think this would be an improvement? “Wilspy seemed to think this look didn’t suit me.”
“Well, Wilspy may have odd notions about appropriate dress, but . . . I think not everyone can carry off your previous look as well as you do. Er, did. It suited you.” Albus didn’t think that Minerva had blinked since laying eyes on him.
“It was better before?” Albus asked.
Minerva opened her mouth, hesitating before she said, “I always thought your hair and beard among your finer features, to be honest. But you must do what you feel comfortable with. You’re still yourself, with or without the beard and hair. It will just take becoming accustomed to, I’m sure.”
“Oh. I thought it might be an improvement,” Albus answered. “Less eccentric. Not as . . . old codger-like.”
Minerva just gave a slight shrug, looking somewhat less shocked than she had at first. “You do look fine, Albus, you really do, but you never looked like an old codger to me, and I am sorry to see you have shaved it all off, as long as I’m being frank.”
“It’s not gone. It’s just a particularly strong Glamour. I thought I’d simply give it a try for a few days.”
Minerva literally let out a sigh of relief at his revelation. “Well, we all do like to try something a bit different occasionally. I once tried being a blonde. It didn’t last long.” She quirked a bit of a grin.
Albus smiled. “Since the two females in my life, you and Wilspy, don’t seem to approve, I think I will cut this trial short.” He pulled out his wand and, with a few quick swishes, returned his hair and beard to their normal states.
Minerva grinned. “Much better. Glad you did that before I left on holiday, or I may have had nightmares!” she joked.
“Can’t have that, now, can we?” Albus said with a little chuckle. “Here, I’ll walk you to the gates.”
“I enjoyed our chess match last night. It was invigorating, if somewhat frustrating,” Minerva said as they walked down the drive.
“I did as well. I hope we might have a rematch at some point.”
“I will look forward to it.”
They reached the gates and Albus opened them with a gesture.
“Enjoy your holiday,” he said with a warm smile.
“I am sure I will,” Minerva answered as she stepped off the Hogwarts grounds. She turned and looked up at him. “But, as I said, I also look forward to my return.” She raised a tentative hand and touched his cheek then gently stroked his bearded jaw. “And I’m glad you saw me off in your normal state.”
“No nightmares,” Albus said softly.
“No nightmares,” she replied with a slight smile.
Minerva nodded at him and stepped back, taking hold of her bags, one in each hand. “Good bye, Albus.”
“Good bye, my dear Minerva.”
There was a crack, and Albus was left standing alone just outside the gates. His smile faded and he turned to head back to the castle.
Well, at least she hadn’t told him he looked silly, as Wilspy had done, he consoled himself. But nightmares? She had just been joking with him, teasing him as he so often teased her. Still, what had he been thinking? It hadn’t been about “fitting in” at the Ministry. He didn’t need to worry about fitting in. With or without the beard, people who already thought him eccentric would still believe him to be so, and those who didn’t . . . were wrong. And that he would tell himself that he was only doing it for everyone but Minerva . . . whatever his vices were or ever had been, lying to himself had never been one of them. He had occasionally been very badly mistaken, and as a young man, he had occasionally turned a wilful blind eye to what he did not want to see, but he had never been in the habit of lying to himself. And he was not very good at it, either. Not that he had honestly thought that Minerva would find him . . . anything other than her old professor, but there had been the thought in the back of his mind that she might find him less ancient, perhaps somewhat better-looking, less like an old codger. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d grown the beard to cover a weak chin or a nonexistent jaw line or bad skin. Albus had always thought that, without the beard and long hair, he looked rather like his Uncle Christopher, and he had been considered a good-looking man back in his day. His Aunt Beatrice had always said so, and had been proud of the way that other witches’ eyes followed her husband. But his Uncle Christopher had always been an upstanding business man with his small wizarding press, an ordinary wizard with wife and daughter, not the Hogwarts Headmaster and the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald . . . and he hadn’t taught Minerva McGonagall as a child, he hadn’t gone to school with the girl’s grandparents . . . and he hadn’t accumulated obligations and debts before he had reached his twenty-fifth birthday.
Albus sighed and returned to his office, ready to settle down with another long day’s work; however long ago he may have repaid any debts or obligations from his youth, the obligations brought upon him by virtue of his position and his power would never be discharged. Normally, he found satisfaction in this fact, but today, he felt weary and burdened, and when Minerva had Disapparated, it had felt as though a part of his strength had gone with her. But that was mere fancy; it had been his disappointment, both in his experiment and in himself, that had left him enervated. The only cure for that was accomplishment, and Albus set to work, knowing that his energy would return as he immersed himself in it.
As he resolutely picked up the first sheaf of parchments on his desk, there was a flash of flame as Fawkes burst through the open window, showing off. He circled the office, trilling a joyous song, and Albus grinned. He would get a good day’s work done that day; he had no doubt about it. Albus relaxed into his work, feeling as though he had just come from a long, purifying sauna, and he hummed a cheerful piece from Saint-Saens as Fawkes tucked his head beneath his wing and napped.