Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or universe within the story. They are the property of J. K. Rowling.

AN: I've got a new job, a little wine, and a happy little plot bunny. So, here we go!

"Very good, Miss McGonagall, very good! A few more weeks and you should have your form down pat." Minerva leaned back against the foot of his desk, her ankles crossing in front of her. Sweat rolled down her cheek and stung her eyes, which were bright from excitement. After six months of trying and five months of frustration, she had finally managed fur. She was soft and sleek, but the growing process inched terribly. She looked up at her professor, smiling widely, and her grin widened when she saw the twinkle in his eyes.

"And will I spend my time chasing my tail, or do I need to warn my parents about potential hair balls in their slippers do you think?" She grinned and reached a hand up to him, asking silently for help.

He grasped her hand softly, laughing all the while, and helped her to her feet. "Oh, the hair balls, most certainly! I will have to remember to stay on your good side; I wouldn't want any surprises on my chair!" He patted the back of her hand and gave it a squeeze. He went to pull away, but she didn't release him. Her eyes were fixed on his wrist; the sleeve of his robes had pulled up, revealing a good portion of his forearm. Her eyes were fastened on his wrist, or more accurately, the scar that wrapped around it. It was white with age, and slightly raised. But, it was the sheer size and odd shape that seemed to captivate her.

She continued to stare and didn't seem to notice as her thumb trailed along the underside softly, slowly. But, he did. Albus watched in morbid fascination as the hair of his arm began to stand on end and the skin twitched.

She seemed to notice his sudden silence and released his hand, jerking her own away. "I'm sorry, Professor, I..."

Albus cleared his throat, but didn't move his hand. "Quite all right, miss McGonagall. I've always found scars to be most instructional. This one I received when I was but a lad of eight. My parents had taken me to the zoo for my birthday. You must remember, my dear, zoos were still a fairly new idea at the time. It was the first time I had ever seen a penguin, you see. Marvelous creatures. They used to keep the animals in cages no larger than the Quidditch shed, no matter the size of the poor animal. I was split between awe at the little beauties, and despair. They looked so sad to my eight-year-old eyes, and I wanted to make them feel better. My mother warned me; she warned me to keep my hands to myself, but I was so stubborn, so sure of myself. I was certain they only needed a little caring, a small pet on the head. Needless to say, I was wrong. The penguin took exception to my intrusion, and the result is as you see. It was quite the shock, I must admit, but most instructive."

"And what lesson did your new scar teach you?" Minerva looked up and tried not to laugh. Mauling by bird was not supposed to be amusing.

"A very important one indeed. Feeling compassion, doing what we think is right can lead to unexpected consequences, sometimes good, sometimes painful. But, ignoring these moments can be far more painful than the alternative." He stopped and gave her a wink. "And, if you ever wish to pet a penguin, toss a fish in behind it first. The result presents a far less imposing target!"