Chapter Nine: NEWT Transfiguration

"Have you seen what Professor Dumbledore is wearing today?" Gwen stared across the Gryffindor table, a wide, girlish grin on her face as she looked on the staff table. "I wonder what he's done to make his shirt look so blue."

Minerva didn't bother looking, but simply clicked her tongue as she collected her books, "Nothing different than any of the rest of us, I'm sure."

"What's put you in such a rotten mood?" Jez asked, mouth still half-filled with his cheese sandwich.

The Head Girl let out a sigh, not bothering to hide her irritation, "You're the one with a sweetheart talking about other men. Why aren't you in a rotten mood?"

Jez gestured behind him at the staff table, "Dumbledore is untouchable. Even if he weren't, she'd be bored with him in no time flat."

Minerva rolled her eyes. She didn't know where to begin to question any of that logic and ultimately felt disinterested, anyway. How in the hell did they get on to talking about him? It's like the moment she didn't want to hear his name, it was everywhere, everywhere!

She threw her books in her bag and stood up.

"What? Where are you going?" Gwen crossed her arms. "You're not going to transfiguration without me?"

A sigh escaped the woman. She really just wanted to not be in public.

For once, she in fact had no interest at all in hurrying to transfiguration class. She was not ready to talk with Albus in any form, even about class. The thought of his voice irritated her. She could only imagine what the real thing might do for her emotional state.

She sat back down. "Sorry. No, I'll wait."

Gwen took a bite of her carrot merrily, as though she somehow had shown Minerva up.

The woman rolled her eyes and turned to Jez, "What do you mean by untouchable?"

He shrugged, "A bloke like that doesn't think about sex."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, "A bloke like what?"

Jez gestured up to the table. She turned her head to look at Albus for the sake of the conversation as Jez explained what Minerva most definitely knew to be untrue. He did look attractive today. "A serious one. Spends all of his time either in an office or classroom. Man doesn't think about anything but transfiguration."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, right," Jez took another bite of his sandwich, "you've had, what? Two or three conversations with him during your lessons that weren't transfiguration related? What did you talk about?" He swallowed and then grabbed his goblet. "The weather?" He smirked.

Jez thought he was being clever, but cleverness was beyond him. The boy couldn't even keep all the food in his mouth as he chewed.

Minerva rolled her eyes, unsure why she felt compelled to defend him at that particular moment, "What about quidditch?"

"Mmm," Jez nodded and took another swig, "A galleon says that he doesn't know how many players are on a quidditch team."

"He's a professor, not an idiot," Gwen butted in.

"All I am saying is that his interests are limited," Jez put up his arms defensively. "And that neither quidditch nor sex are on the list. I'm more than willing to believe it if I see him admit it. Quick, McGonagall, go ask him."

The woman clicked her tongue, growing more and more vexed. "You know I will do nothing of the sort."

"Why? He likes you better than anyone else here." Jez motioned to her with his beverage, "And I think you may like him?" he teased.

Go to hell, Jez.

"Please," she stated dismissively, "he's twice our age."

"You've no interest in anyone your age, either." Jez waved his hands excitedly a thought occurring to him for maybe the first time, "Do you think about sex, McGonagall?"

Go to hell twice over.

She responded dryly, "All the time," and pursed her lips. "I've lost access to my room because of it."

Again, she took to her feet and grabbed her bag: Minerva was finished with this conversation.

As she walked away, she heard a distinctive "ow!" from the boy.

With any luck, Gwen left a bruise that would stick.

Did she think about sex?

She felt the anger take hold of her as she trudged towards the transfiguration classroom. Who asks that sort of question?! Next quidditch practice she planned on aiming the quaffle directly at his head and she would not be subtle about it.

"Miss McGonagall?"

Minerva stopped and dropped her hands to her side with a sigh and shifted her jaw uncomfortably before turning around, "How can I help you, headmaster?"

"I was hoping that I might catch you," he stated calmly.

Like hell he was. He had been watching her the moment she went into the Great Hall along with half the other occupants of the room. He knew exactly when she left and in what direction she went. "Has something happened?" she asked, trying very hard to keep her agitation level unreadable, although she certainly was not friendly.

The man folded his arms, his dark presence seeming to spread over the corridor. "What do you plan on doing with it?"

She blinked, her voice cool, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He leaned in closer with wolfish eyes, "The Board has no interest in reopening the investigation."

She felt a snarl reach her lips in pure hatred.

Dippet could go to hell, too.

"Thank you for that valuable information, sir. If you'll excuse me, I have a NEWT class to attend," she stated with as much professionalism as she could summon, which was very little.

"Professor Dumbledore"—he took a moment to breathe as though he knew Albus's name would only set her off more—"will not mind you being late."

"On the contrary," she stated with an icy splash of venom, "he gets very upset when students are late to class. If you would like to schedule a meeting, I will be more than happy to acquiesce." She raised an eyebrow, folding her own arms into themselves as she waited for a response from the fuming man. She had never seen such murderous eyes.

She knew hers were no better.

A pause that lasted a frigid eternity lingered between them before the man responded. "You will receive an owl from me," he hissed.

She nodded and gave a bold-faced lie that neither of them believed, "I look forward to the pleasure of reading it."

"Have a…pleasant day," he breathed slowly before walking past her, no doubt to the entrance to his office.

Minerva watched him walk until he was out of sight from her place in the middle of the corridor. She dared not move her proverbially petrified feet until that moment. Mostly, she simply preferred to shoot daggers at him with her eyes. That man deserved a bludger to the head; to hell with the quaffle. With any luck, it would cause permanent brain damage.

"I thought you were going to class?" Gwen's voice rang through the hall.

She didn't turn around. "I was stopped by the headmaster," she stated with simplicity.

"What did he want?"

Minerva let out a short laugh, "He knows that his days are numbered here. The bastard has nothing without the petition in his hands and he won't be getting it. So he's planning on making my life hell."

Gwen stopped and raised an eyebrow, perhaps a little surprised at Minerva's tone. Her perfect lips curled up, "You are in a rotten mood."

She rolled her eyes, fully aware that it was true. "Of course I am!" She clenched her fingers before her as she began walking again, Gwen at her side. "Everything is absolutely awful right now," she seethed. "Students are dying and the headmaster is out to get me instead of whoever is responsible! Meanwhile out there"—she gestured with her hands as they passed a window—"people are dying left and right and people from here are going out there thinking they can help!"

The girl's eyes grew large and a true look of trepidation fell over her in the wake of Minerva's heightened voice. Gwen swallowed, "I thought you were glad the boys left?"

"Idiots," she whispered, "Boys are idiots." She clicked her tongue, unwilling to go into any more detail than she must. Of course it wasn't those boys that she referred to. Although the sentiment really did apply to all men at that moment.

Gwen blinked as Minerva seethed.

Silence fell over them as they walked swiftly towards the transfiguration classroom.

They turned the corner and Minerva was glad to find that they beat Albus to class.

She walked to her seat that she chose seven years ago with some relief, feeling that finally she was given a small reprieve. It would be bliss to be in this classroom in silence for just a moment, just long enough to take a breath. But of course Gwen was there: the conversation began again the moment Minerva reached for her book.

"Did you understand the reading?"

Minerva didn't bother to look up, "Of course. What didn't you understand?"

"Phoenixes live and then they die and then they are reborn again. Everyone knows that. But how does"—Gwen looked at the papers now sitting on her desk—"Berthold Rhytherton think that we could use that magic? Bit mad, isn't it?"

The woman let out a gentle sigh, "We can't use it, but we can learn from it. It is a bit mad," she nodded, "but he's suggesting that if something can restore itself like that, then we know it's possible for other creatures to be able to do the same." Minerva shrugged as she placed her bag on the floor, "He's inviting more research on the subject, I think, by being so provocative."

"Provocative?" Gwen turned up her nose, "You think that's provocative?"

She blinked, "To think that magic could have natural restorative powers like that?"

Gwen didn't respond to what Minerva certainly considered to be a rhetorical question, but as she raised her eyes, she realized that the girl's attention was not on the conversation at all. Minerva looked from Gwen with her goofy smile to Albus who stood at the door, holding his pocket watch. Minerva nudged her friend forcefully.

The girl pointed and lowered her voice, "I wonder if Jez was right."

Minerva rolled her eyes, "You're with Jez. What are you doing?"

"Look at him!" she hissed with wide eyes.

"He's a professor!" she clicked her tongue, feeling both possessive and disgusted at the same time.

"I can look!" Gwen grinned.

The woman rolled her eyes again, but somehow found it hard to take her own eyes away from him as he waited by the door. He did his hair today; and his beard. She quite liked the sophisticated air he put on, wearing the deep, dark blue shirt with the grey waistcoat and trousers. Even his shoes shined.

The man looked up from his watch and over towards the girls.

He gave a nod.

She stared, refusing to acknowledge him at all, and then turned back to Gwen who was salivating. Minerva furrowed her brows angrily, taking her seat dramatically. Gwen, too, took her seat, but mostly just because she didn't want to be any more obvious than she already was. She took out a piece of parchment paper and scribbled on it enthusiastically. The girl slid it on top of Minerva's desk.

You were looking, too.

Minerva raised an eyebrow as she stared at the note. She took her own quill and quickly scribbled, You can't blame me.

A wicked grin fell on Gwen's face. She didn't bother to put the paper on her desk, but rather, dipped her quill in ink and then wrote directly in front of Minerva. Do you think Jez was right?

Unlikely, the woman wrote, simply.

Of course Jez was wrong. Jez was very wrong. But she would not be willing to prove it. In any case, she didn't mind it if the world considered her to be uninterested in sex herself. No one would suspect anything if they didn't think she had desire.

I think blue is his color, don't you? The girl scribbled, grin unfading.

Minerva rolled her eyes with a sigh and took her own quill: Yes.

Gwen reached over enthusiastically again, not bothering to hide at all what she and Minerva were doing: Why do you suppose he's dressed like that today?

The real answer was obviously to force Minerva to look at him. And it was working, which only increased her irritation. Damned man knew what he was doing. He knew she was weak.

It's Friday. Perhaps he's going out after class, she wrote simply. Maybe he was. Maybe the bastard would be leaving the school again, passing for a well-dressed civilian rather than the professor he was. She didn't care.

Absolute horror fell on Minerva, suddenly, as the page slid out from beneath her fingers and floated towards the door where Albus stood.

He raised an eyebrow towards the girls before reading it over slowly.

Anger swelled deep within Minerva on no less than five fronts.

She stood up from her desk and walked over to him with her pursed lips and a willingness to argue. Her voice came out low, "Class hasn't started, professor."

His piercing blue eyes stared at her, "Miss McGonagall," he stated with authority. "Do you really think it wise to be writing anything personal down on paper at this time?" He cocked his head to the side with superiority.

Ire electrified her.

She clicked her tongue, keeping her voice low, "It is none of your business what I do or do not write down on paper."

He leaned in closer, "I think you'll find that it is. Go on, then. Take your seat." The man raised an eyebrow and motioned with his head towards her desk.

Her cold, affronted stare had little effect on him as she stood indignantly under the threshold.

Did he have to order her around like that?

And she was powerless to tell him no.

Minerva turned around and took her seat: now wasn't the time to have it out. That time would come. In the meantime, she would just consider her misfortune for falling in love with a man who had absolute power over her.

Her vision turned toward the chalkboard where there were diagrams to be copied. They looked familiar. She rattled her brain to remember where she had seen them, and she recalled with a sinking feeling that they were in Albus's paper that he gave her in September.

Of course that's what today's lesson would cover.

She threw her head back dramatically and stared at the ceiling as Albus made his way to the front of the classroom. Was it too late to just walk out?

"Everyone finding the new unit compelling? Questions?" Albus's voice wafted over the room of ten students.

Minerva flipped her head forward again and stared at the man apathetically.

Albus leaned against the desk, hands on the edges behind him. "Miss Paige, can you give me a summary of Rhytherton's work?"

Gwen cleared her throat, "He's theorizing that we can learn from phoenixes and maybe find a way to heal living things naturally with magic, maybe even dead ones."

The woman rolled her eyes.

The professor, on the other hand, seemed impressed. "I could not have said it better myself. Three points to Gryffindor." His gaze shifted to the desk behind Gwen. "Miss Sundry, why do you suppose this sort of thinking might be seen as controversial?"

Dort took in a deep breath and blinked. "Because we have potions?"

Albus nodded gently, "That is part of it. Why fix what isn't broken?" The man blinked, "But I think there is a case to be made for magic over potions. What if the resources are in short supply? Say, there is a war and resources are depleted," he nodded and stood up with a poignant air. "Why else would regeneration be considered controversial?"

"Ethical concerns?" Lanson asked.

"Ethical concerns," Albus pointed in the affirmative towards the boy. "What sort of ethical concerns might there be?"

"You can't just expect a broken bone to heal without a potion overnight. It's not natural. We start tampering with magic to help it along, there are going to be accidents."

"You're supposing that we start testing on humans. Unfortunately, testing of this nature often starts with smaller animals. Which may be regrettable for the reasons you suggest," he nodded, "but not a concern of scientists. More ethical concerns?" Albus looked around the room.

Minerva looked around the room, noting with some frustration that no one else had thought this through. She let out a sigh.

"Miss McGonagall?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

The woman clicked her tongue, looking over the man's shoulder rather than in his eyes. "To do what Rhytherton suggests could be misconstrued as going against nature. He could well be talking about reanimation, about bringing the dead back to life. Not in the way that inferi or mummies are animated, but with a memory and conscience, which goes against many of our longest lasting statutes in wizardry."

The professor nodded, seemingly equally bent on not making eye contact with the girl, "Bertie received a large amount of flak for this. But of course, that's not what he is suggesting. He's suggesting not that we use magic in place of potions, but rather, take an introspective approach, at least for the time being. Introspective, who has a definition?" he looked around the room.

"It's about the self, looking inside," Hermia stated from behind Minerva.

Albus began walking around the class, first in the direction of Minerva and Hermia. "Literally," he clicked his tongue. "Considering what our bodies naturally do under the duress of magic and how it hinders or aids our abilities to regenerate cells, antibodies, oxygen levels, etcetera. Do different spells do different things to our bodies? I of course mean chemically: do different types of spells cause different cellular reactions?" He rounded the end of the desks, all heads following him, even Minerva's. He knew he had them all, too. The man strolled in front of the door to the classroom. "At least so far as transfiguration is concerned, early research says yes," he nodded. "Mr. Rhytherton has opened up a new way of looking at magic, I daresay. Regeneration, given the times we live in, could be a very useful concept to be aware of, to study. So here we are."

He paused as he came to the other back corner of desks, a soft smile falling over his handsome face. The man raised his wand and summoned stacks of parchment paper to each desk occupied by a student, including Minerva's. She looked down at the title, "The Regenerating Body," by Albus Dumbledore. Then her gaze shifted over to the publish date: November 12, 1943.

That was today.

The woman swallowed, feeling betrayed, really. Why hadn't he told her? She felt her heart sink as she made eye contact with the man. His eyes were so very serious. "On your desks, some of my most recent work," he stated matter-of-factly. "Rather than assign it as homework," he paused, "I would like you all to take the time now and read it. We will have a chat after you all have finished regarding its contents and after that, I will give you your week-end assignment. Miss McGonagall," he clicked his tongue, "I would like a word with you in my office."

With that, he walked casually up to the front of the room and walked into his office.

Minerva stared for a moment, silently seething that he would do this to her mid-class. What nerve! Could he not just get on with it instead of embarrassing her like that?! Bastard.

She took a glance at Gwen who had a look of horror about her. She thought this was about the note, naturally.

Lucky Albus even was handed an excuse on a platter; a cellulose and carbon platter!

She followed his footsteps to the office, taking a seat in the chair reserved for shamed students and listened as he shut the door. The woman placed her hands in her lap and waited for him to come around to his side of the desk with pursed lips.

He folded his hands and raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing as they stared at each other from one side of the desk to the other.

The woman blinked after quite a long silence, "Yes? You've got me here and I cannot escape. What can I help you with?"

He let out a defeated sigh. The room took on not only a serious, but an intimate tone; whether that was by design or happenstance, Minerva could not say. Her own sense of indignity largely dissipated as she looked on her professor.

The man gestured to her softly with his hands, "You need to tell me exactly what it is that has you so upset. I do not understand it and that is a rotten position to put me in, Minerva."

"You are in a rotten position?" she raised an eyebrow. How was it that she was being treated like a naughty child when it was he who was in the wrong?

"Yes," he bobbed his head gently. "Please," he whispered, "please tell me what it is that I have done."

And it occurred to Minerva that his eyes were bluer today, but somehow redder. She cocked her head to the side. Had he lost sleep over this? Worse yet, had he been crying?

She swallowed, irritation coming back anew. He wasn't supposed to be the upset one. "Shall we start with the quilt?" Her foot began tapping slowly against the floor. "I am right, aren't I? A blood relative of Gellert Grindewald gave that to you."

Albus nodded, "How is it that you know that?" he asked with concern.

Minerva clicked her tongue and sat back in her chair, "You told me that a close neighbor gave it to you the other night," she blinked, hardly believing it herself. "And on a previous occasion, you said that you knew that man when you were young. That he stayed with his great aunt, a neighbor of yours," she stated matter-of-factly. The woman shrugged, disgusted with herself for realizing it when she did, "It seemed obvious to me."

"Obvious," he whispered with a sigh and then clicked his tongue. His voice was very low and riddled with shame, "Bathilda Bagshot is her name. Gellert stayed a summer with her. We did not stay friends, as I am sure you've gathered. I have not seen his aunt in many years, but she was very good to me and my family. We went from four to two in a very short amount of time," he nodded, "and she wanted to help. I keep that quilt only out of fondness. There was no point in time where I thought Gellert's relation to her might seem such a crime. We cannot choose who our family is."

The woman blinked, a sense of uneasiness settling upon her. "You call him Gellert."

Albus nodded, "That is his name."

She swallowed, "It seems so informal."

The man stared at her for a moment in thought before giving a gentle nod. "Perhaps. But that is the name I have attributed to him in my mind. Just like you," he raised an eyebrow, "are Min. And it feels a lie every time I am forced to call you Miss McGonagall. Can you understand that?" he asked like a man fully aware of his shortcomings.

A long paused passed over them as she thought this through. It did seem wrong whenever she called him Professor Dumbledore, for that was not how she thought of him, it was true. To have the name Albus struck from her vocabulary would be hurtful to her perception of him.

"I can," she whispered.

"Good," he leaned back in his own chair. "Now. What else do you think I need to tell you?"

She folded her arms into her chest, her heart much fuller than she would have thought for this particular moment. "You left the school without telling me anything. What if something happened there? Or here? And why? Why then?"

The man cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I should have told you. I do apologize for that." He shifted in his seat again and folded his own arms, "It was not planned. You drew my attention to the quilt and I…I had to go back." Albus shrugged. "It called to me, like a spell."

Like a spell. Minerva thought this over carefully.

She wasn't angry anymore. She was just hurt. "What if something happened to you?" she whispered.

"Nothing will happen to me."

Minerva stared at him with large eyes. "I know you believe that, but you don't know. You can't know. And besides my obvious interest in you returning, what of leaving your house, your students? It's not fair to not tell anyone."

"It was well after midnight that I went."

The woman blinked. Did that make it better? "You left the school without telling anyone after midnight to do what? What were you hoping to find? I thought you were looking into the events here. I thought," her voice lowered as she tapped into deep feelings of betrayal, "that's why you are here and not out there. You could have left last week-end when I asked you to."

She begged him to go. And he would not. Not only did he stay, but he made her believe totally and completely that he would stay. How had things changed so in a week? She felt her throat tighten. Could he be abandoning her already?

Albus blinked, understanding dawning on him. "It is all one. There is no beginning and end with what happened here and what is happening out there. It's true, I have been charged with looking into the events here—I did not make that up." He nodded his head gently, "But I had a hunch. And I had to follow it. I'm glad I did, even if it caused you worry or pain."

Minerva stared at the man, the ache in her chest unavoidable. "That's a rotten thing to admit."

He nodded, "Perhaps. But you've helped me. You've helped all of us."

She didn't want to help if it meant feeling this way. "I don't want to help. I want to be informed."

"Next time," he stated with assurance, "I will inform you if I am leaving. Both out of duty and love."

A heavy sigh escaped the woman's lips. "Where was your duty and love two nights ago?"

Exasperation crossed his mouth. "I did not plan on leaving. And again, I apologize. I cannot change the past, only promise to learn from it."

The girl swallowed the pain in her throat. No, he very well couldn't. "You haven't answered my question. Why didn't you tell me? Surely that's the purpose of having a Head Girl, of prefects, even." She blinked and watched him wrestle with concocting an answer. He could think of no suitable response, that much was evident.

"I suppose," he sighed and scratched his neck uncomfortably, "I didn't want to worry you."

"Right." She clicked her tongue and fell into the back of her chair. Her eyes darted down to her foot tapping unconsciously against the floor. How disappointed she was!

Minerva pursed her lips together and decided to let it pass. It was true, she slept very well that night. But she would not let it at that: so help him if he did that again without telling her. "If you had not come back, I never would have forgiven you."

"Does that mean that I am forgiven?"

She threw her head back over the chair and let out an exasperated sigh.

No!

Yes.

She flicked her head back up to look at him. She hated that the only way to resolve this was for her to swallow the hurt she felt. They could not openly argue and at the end of the day, she would rather have him than not.

Her green eyes met his blue ones and the moment that she felt certain that she spoke the truth, she stated quite clearly, "Yes, I suppose so."

Albus nodded, "I am sorry for upsetting you. But you must see what good my leaving will have."

Of course; there was no other way to look at it without causing more anger and annoyance.

"I do," she stated tersely.

She was finished with this conversation. Minerva had no interest at all in continuing to take up class with their complicated personal life. Frankly, she should have berated him for that, too, but her energy to fight waned. There were too many things angering her to force her lover to be an enemy. She needed him on her side.

"Might we get back to class?"

The man cleared his throat, growing ever more professional in his demeanor. "One more thing: Professor Elvsted will be taking the petition. I fear that it's a bad decision to keep it here, given the relationship we are fostering," Albus raised an eyebrow and nodded. "The Headmaster will think to look here, first."

Minerva blinked, thought his logic through, and then nodded. "Will you be giving it to her after class?"

"I want you to take it to her, in your own time."

Of course he had already made up his mind, never mind how she wished to go about it.

With that, Albus opened his desk drawer and produced the piece of parchment paper. She looked over it carefully: they weren't numbered, but surely there were at least seventy signatures on the page. The woman looked up at him with a surprised look.

He shared a gentle smile, "They've been very receptive."

"I see that," she nodded and took it in her hand, acknowledging with some certainty the repercussions that would come of carrying the contraband. "To Professor Elvsted?"

"Yes," Albus nodded, "In your own time. She expects you to deliver it."

"Very well," she stated and then stood up from her chair with the parchment in hand.

It was Minerva, not Albus, who opened the door to the classroom.

No one paid any attention to her as she slid back into her desk and skimmed the paper that she already committed to memory.

R&R SVP