A common tawny barn owl flew through the many towers dodging the gusts of flakes which threatened to tear the feathers from its wings. Attached to its talons was a rather think envelope addressed with scribbles of faded black ink. Knowing the all too familiar route, the owl circled around a particular tower gliding downward in a spiraling fashion in search of its final destination. The owl came upon a beautifully candle lit stain glass window. Though the owl knew the recipient of the letter lay just beyond the ornate glass, it couldn't get through. It began to peck at the widow in hopes that the receiver would hear.

A man sat behind his desk in his high-back armchair. His eyes were closed in silent contemplation as the tips of his fingers met just against his chin as if in prayer. Papers littered his desk and a worn hawk quill say lazily in a tiny bottle of ink, angled perfectly to grab at a moment's notice. Behind him laid shelves upon shelves of leather-bound tomes of various size, color, and style. Scattered across the room in front of him were little trinkets of silver and gold. The whirling and buzzing of the instruments were the perfect remedy for a distressful day. He concentrated on the sounds that enveloped his hearing. The clicking of the miniature Astronomy clock, the humming of his personal whirly-gig, the swishing of a Muggle contraption, and a creaking of metal against metal dominated the sounds reverberating across the room.

The man sank deeper into his chair. He didn't want to admit it, least of all to himself, but he would soon overcome with exhaustion, and it was barely the lunch hour. The Ministry, as it was so prone to do, had been interfering at Hogwarts and caused more trouble than help. Fudge had certainly outdone himself this year sending the aid of the dementors. So far, they had managed to terrorize the students upon their arrival, restricted their liberties beyond imagination, caused many practical jokes (particularly from the Slytherins), lowered the morale of everyone within the castle, and, most grievous of all, they hadn't protected the students from the threat of Sirius Black. With the assault on the Fat Lady, many of the students, including some of the staff, developed the annoying habit of glancing behind them at every available moment. Through no sign of the murderous assailant had been spotted within the castle since, everyone became, if at all possible, more paranoid.

These were the thoughts which ran through the headmaster's mind when the pecking began. Barely audible to the headmaster in his rumination, he did not respond to the pecking. The pecking became more insistent and harsh with each passing moment. It was only when the owl shattered a small section of the window pane did the headmaster's eyes snap open. As the tinkle of shattered glass mixed with the hum of the room, the headmaster groaned softly while massaging the bridge of his nose. The owl, however, did not particularly prefer the deadly cold and proceeded to break more glass panes.

The man sighed audibly before making his way to the window, his joints screaming in protest. He unlocked the hatch and granted entry to the bird. From his perch, Fawkes snapped his beak at the onslaught of cold and moved to hide his head beneath his wing. The messenger owl fluttered to the headmaster's desk and watched as the man repaired the window with a lazy wave of his hand. He stiffly made his way back to his chair where the owl outstretched its leg and the parcel it carried to him. The headmaster sat before untying the envelope and feeding the owl a small biscuit. He frowned slightly at the recognizable scribbled handwriting before opening the envelope.

Unfolding the piece of parchment, he read:

Dumbledore,

In light of recent events, I have deemed it all too necessary to send more dementors to Hogwarts for further protection. It is all too clear that the security that Hogwarts once had does not seem to be a reliable as it once was. I know of your disposition to dementors, which is the only reason I did not send a larger amount at the beginning of term. Yet the Ministry, nor I, can ignore the attack on the Fat Lady. The safety of Hogwarts' students must be kept in mind.

I would also like to…

It was here Dumbledore stopped reading. How could Fudge possibly believe sending more dementors would stop Sirius Black? Wasn't it already cleat that they seem to have no effect of the man as he had already slipped past them twice? And what of the students? Could they possibly handle the presence of more soul sucking monsters?

Dumbledore's mind drifted towards Harry as was of habit lately. Of course, he had been affect more so by the dementors and quite understandably. Young Harry's first encounter ended in his unconsciousness as the painful memories of his past undoubtedly came rushing back to him in that moment. Then, during one of his Quidditch games, he fell hundreds of meters after a swarm of those bests found their way to the Quidditch field. He could still recall the fury that swelled in his chest when he saw the boy free-fall with the dementors teeming above him. And, to top it off, Harry was the primary target for Black. The boy, Dumbledore had no doubt, must have discovered this fact during this term, and it most assuredly added to the list of worries that must be flooding his mind.

If only he could have protected the boy. He had already been put in far too many life threatening situations that an outsider would most defiantly believe him to be an omen. It was not the poor boy's fault, however. He certainly could have intervened on many of these occasions, but something within him wanted to see what Harry could do. He had tried to give Harry as normal an up-bringing as he could, hoping beyond all doubt that he could extend his innocence and childhood. But it seemed, through all his efforts, Harry was still forced to take on a maturity most of his classmates would not discover until their mid-twenties. If only he could…

But Dumbledore never finished the thought as the owl, becoming annoyed at the headmaster's reluctancy to continue reading the letter, nipped at him drawing a bit of blood. Dumbledore jerked his hand back to examine his knuckles before eying the bird. Gently lifting the owl onto his arm, he headmaster made his way out of his office. He would finish reading Fudge's letter after lunch when he felt he would have more patience for the Minister and his nonsense.

As he made his way down the staircase, Dumbledore noticed the rigid stance of one of his colleagues.

"Minerva?" he questioned as he came closer. He must have startled her as she jerked slightly at her name. She turned to face him, and he noticed the merest hint of a glazed expression fading in her eyes.

"Dumbledore!" she gasped slightly at the headmaster, still recovering from her initial shock.

"Might I ask what you are doing?" he inquired.

"I could ask you the same," she responded her eyes indicating the owl on his forearm.

"I'm merely taking this lovely creature to the Owlery where it can eat and rest before I send it back with my currently unfinished reply," Dumbledore answered.

"I see," she nodded.

Not allowing her to change the subject, he pushed, "You have yet to tell me what you were doing, my dear."

"I was admiring the artwork," she said simply with the faintest shrug, a most uncharacteristic motion for the Transfiguration professor.

"Minerva, you have been in this castle for decades. Surely you have become acquainted with every painting in this staircase by now."

"You would think so. Yet I find it refreshing to, as some Muggle-borns have to elegantly put it, 'stop and smell the roses.'"

"So you were imagining the scent of those flowers in Lady Farrimore's painting? Dumbledore indicated to the picture McGonagall had been to intent on earlier, a small twinkle caught in his eye.

McGonagall's lips thinned slightly. "No, headmaster. I was studying the many details of the flowing fields and grasses of green in contrast to the lavender ripples of Lady Farrimore's robes and the individual brushstrokes laced with magical aura. The fact that the painting happens to contain roses has nothing to do with my previous comment," she said rather coolly. "In addition to admiring the paintings, many of the portraits are quite pleasant and I enjoy have an occasional conversation with some."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at this. "I would never have considered you the type to gossip, Minerva, least of all with portraits."

Surprisingly, her lips did not thin when she retorted, "I don't approve of gossip, Albus. Besides, many of the portraits have been here for centuries. Even you'd be amazed at what has happened in these corridors. Additionally," she leaned in closer as she said in a low voice, "they have told me of certain passageways that have helped me move around the castle with more stealth."

Dumbledore chuckled at his colleague. "I have always wondered how you managed to catch so many students out of bed."

"Well, I am on good terms with many of the portraits," she said with a sly smile. "Perhaps once in a while they tip me off on an unruly student or rogue when I'm on night duty."

Dumbledore openly laughed at his discovery as McGonagall burst into a broad grin, a sight not many of her students were privileged to witness.

"Oh my dear," Dumbledore said wiping a small pool of teats collecting at the corner of his eye, "I never knew how like your Animagus form you really are." He clapped her gently on the back saying, "Would you mind accompanying me to the Owlery? I would very much like to hear more about those secret corridors the portraits have kept hidden from me."

"Certainly Albus." She fell easily in step with him down the staircase. "One I find most intriguing is the one hidden behind Sir Kenneth the Friendly Elf. I'd never realized just how long a journey it was from Ravenclaw Tower to the Astronomy."

They walked together casually, acknowledging the 'good afternoons' and 'Happy Christmas Eves' from a few students they passed. The castle was rather quiet that Christmas as only a small group of students stayed for the holiday break. It was astonishing the two professors passed so many students on their way to the grounds.

Once they stepped out of the Entrance Hall and into the bone-chilling winter air, McGonagall took the liberty of transfiguring tiny spheres of heat and placing them in a jar (which she conjured out of thin air) for her and Dumbledore to huddle next to. The weather was bearable except for the whipping gusts which constantly threatened to carry McGonagall's pointed witch's hat away. The trudge to the Owlery went surprisingly fast despite the ankle deep snow. The two professors ascended the icy steps to the Owlery. On the fourth step from the final landing, Dumbledore missed his footing almost causing him to fall, crush the messenger owl he was still carrying, and pull McGonagall with sown with him. After the initial shock of his almost accidental death, Dumbledore laughed heartily causing his colleague to join him.

"I must say, I'm dreadfully sorry for almost crushing you, Minerva," the headmaster apologized as McGonagall closed the door behind them.

"There's no need, Albus," she replied. "The look on your face was most entertaining."

He chuckled as he could only imagine what expression had flashed on his face during his fall. Dumbledore made his way across the Owlery, each step he took marked by the sound of tiny bones crunching beneath his feet.

McGonagall's brows narrowed in disgust. "This place really is filthy, Albus. How often does Filch come to tidy up?"

"I'm afraid, my dear," he sighed as he gave the owl a treat," that Argus only cleans up here during the summer holidays. Far less owls coming and going form the school you see." He turned and walked back to her, noticing she hadn't taken a stop since entering the tower.

"It's rather disgusting," she whispered more to herself than Dumbledore.

"I believe it is essential to have a touch of disgust in life. How else would we know what cleanliness is?" he stated whimsically with a smile.

"Yes, yes, I understand," McGonagall waved dismissively at him whilst rolling her eyes. "It is impossible to have balance without opposites. Without filth, there cannot be cleanliness, courage without fear, love without hate, light without dark, and good without evil. Without one, we could not understand the true beauty or horror of the other. It is essential to have an appropriate mixture of polar opposites to obtain true balance within the world or perhaps, more importantly, within one's self."

"My dear professor, I doubt I could have phrased it any better."

She fixed her gaze on Dumbledore. "Oh, I'm positive you would have been far more poetic with exquisite prose and eloquence in your explanation," she said as she held the door open.

"You flatter."

"I appreciate."

Their eyes met. The ever present twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be infectious as a spark lit in McGonagall's eyes. Each grinned and turned to make the voyage back to the castle wrapping their wool cloaks tightly to them and huddling near the comfort of the hovering jar.

"You seem to be in a very chipper mood, Minerva. One might even say the Christmas spirit had finally snagged after years of being a scrooge," Dumbledore joked.

"I've never been a scrooge. I merely disapprove of the lack of control during the holiday. Perhaps you're right though; my mood has become more pleasant."

The headmaster nodded at his small victory.

"Yet, as we were just discussing, there cannot be good without the bad," she pushed. Dumbledore has the feeling he trapped himself into an inquisition.

"I take it that owl carried unpleasant news," McGonagall murmured losing some of the cheer in her voice.

"How can you be so sure, my dear?" Dumbledore feigned innocence.

"Had it been anything by unpleasant, your reply would be finished and strapped to that owl already on its way back to, most likely, London," she finished.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Very astute, Minerva. Your logic has bested me once again."

"May I ask what the letter is about?" she pressed.

"You may."

She waited for him to continue, but noticed a small twitch at the corner of his mouth and his eyes brighten.

"Very clever, Albus," she mocked. "Allow me to rephrase: What did the letter say?"

His eyes dimmed as Dumbledore began to focus on his feet trudging along. "I received a letter from the Minister."

McGonagall gave a small snort. "It seems it is far worse than I previously expected," she hissed.

"Aren't you being a bit catty, my dear?" Dumbledore asked with a furtive glance at the woman.

"You know full well I no less than despise that man, Albus. Fudge has absolutely no backbone and a lack of confidence, two qualities that a Minister of Magic must possess in my professional opinion. Personally, he is simply a git." McGonagall growled in response.

Dumbledore continued, "I do believe you two were once on friendlier terms. Would you care to remind me of how such an acquaintance soured?"
But McGonagall wouldn't be easily distracted. "Do not attempt to change the subject, Albus," she ended in an accusatory voice.

"You are a stubborn woman."

"Thank you."

He smiled despite himself. He paused slightly in hopes the professor may drop the subject as a lost cause, yet she gave no sign of relenting. "It appears the Minister will be sending more dementors to guard the castle in response to the recent attack on the Fat Lady."

"That pompous, impetuous fool! How dare he believe more of those beasts could be beneficiary to the protection of this school? Can he honestly think any good could come of those things floating about?" McGonagall all but shrieked.

"I agree with you in every way, my dear," Dumbledore answered gravely. "But as it seems Black has already breeched our defenses, I believe Fudge feels the need to help/ It would be almost devastating to the credibility of the Ministry to not interfere with the protection of Hogwarts' students. I wouldn't be surprised if some parents had removed their children from the school if the Ministry didn't do something."

"Of course you're right Albus," McGonagall shook her head, "but what of the students and the staff? We are already feeling some of the effects of the dementors. I can't imagine how much more we could take if Fudge sent more. You're the Headmaster for Merlin's sake! Couldn't you do something else?" She gazed at him eyes wide and nostrils flared.

"Alas," Dumbledore sighed, "I don't think I will be able to convince the Minister this time, if the past is any indication," he referred to the beginning of term in which Dumbledore and Fudge had a heated argument about first allowing dementors onto the school grounds.

McGonagall remained silent in defeat. The hush lingered for a while until McGonagall asked, "And what of Potter?"

Dumbledore bowed his head. "My dear professor, I believe there is no more we can do for the boy. As I understand it, Professor Lupin has agreed to teach Harry the Patronus Charm. From what the professor has told me, the boy has a natural ability for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You know I was not referring to the effects of the dementors on Potter," McGonagall said flatly.

"Yes I know."

She glared at the headmaster. "Does he know? About Black I mean."

"I'm sure he managed to connect the facts or at least has listened in on a conversation he probably wasn't supposed to hear," he shot a knowing glance towards McGonagall.

"That could very well be," McGonagall agreed not fully understanding why Dumbledore glanced at her. She had never said anything to the boy. In fact, the last time she spoke of such things was the last visit to Hogsmede, which she knew for a fact Potter was unable to visit. She decided to ignore the accusatory look. "But does he know Black is his godfather?"

"That I cannot say," Dumbledore answered inwardly smiling to himself.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "It's terrible to think Harry's legal guardian betrayed his parents. It's despicable," she almost spat.

"I do not believe everything is as it seems." McGonagall simply looked at him. "It always struck me as odd that Black, a man who despised his family, Voldemort, and who was devoted to his friends, especially James, would suddenly fall prey to the Dark Arts, betray the Potters, and kill one of his friends. Perhaps there is more beneath the surface."

McGonagall simply nodded. "Again, that may be, but it does not explain why Black is so determined to get to Potter."

"I don't know, Minerva. I don't know," Dumbledore shook his head.

They walked in silence again.

"Well," McGonagall broke in, "It seems this conversation has dimmed my cheerful spirit."

She walked a few paces before she realized the empty space to her right. She stopped abruptly at her discovery and looked around for her now lost companion.

"Minerva!"

She whipped around at the sound of her name only to have a wad of snow make contact just below her left breast. Stunned, McGonagall stood gaping at Dumbledore. He stood a few meters away, cradling a slowly melting snowball in his hand. She could detect a glimpse of a broad smile forming, but it was obvious he was resisting the urge.

"What are you doing?" McGonagall asked, still unable to believe what just happened.

"It appears you are right about your holiday cheer abandoning you," he answered playfully.

"So you find that grounds to throw a ball of snow at me?" She placed her fists on her hips as her lips began to thin severely.

"I find that a good-natured snowball fight helps one release frustrations and remind one of the simple pleasures from youth."

"I never resorted to such nonsense as a child," McGonagall retorted standing a bit rigid.

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded, tossing the ball in the air and catching it," but you were no ordinary child as I recall, Minerva. I don't believe you were capable of such merriment when you were my student." He abandoned his attempt to mask his smile as he watched the spark in her eyes ignite.

Hermione was making her way to the Gryffindor Common Room, the echoes of her footsteps the only sound in the corridors. Normally, she wouldn't be at the castle this time of year, but Hermione's parents decided to visit an estranged aunt, and she didn't feel much like making the journey to the continent. Her parents understood and even advised her not to come (said aunt despised Hermione for being an 'odd' child). So, she found refuge within the walls of Hogwarts, or more specifically, the walls of its library. Hermione had finished her homework ages ago and had begun to catch up on her reading. Though it was time she met up with Harry and Ron before going down to the Great hall for the lunch hour, she didn't want to part with her book on impractical charms. Madame Pince, however, refused to let said book leave the confinements of the Library. She did promise to hold the book for Hermione so she could finish after lunch. So, it was with a little spring in her step that she climbed the tower steps.

Movement from the corner of her eye made Hermione stop to look out of the window. She spotted two figures making their way back from the Owlery. If she squinted, she could identify the figures as Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. A smile escaped her lips as she watched the two professors huddle closer over some floating jar that was probably radiating heat. She was about to turn from the window when she noticed the figure of Professor Dumbledore had stopped to scoop down. Hermione gasped in horror as she saw the tiny ball of snow fly through the air and hit Professor McGonagall square in the chest. She could make out the playful grin on Professor Dumbledore's face.

Part of Hermione wanted to turn away before she became witness to the Headmaster's murder, but the other part couldn't resist the urge to watch the Transfiguration professor transform him into a slug. She stood frozen to the spot in anticipation as she held her breath. Then, Hermione's face twisted into an expression of shock mixed with glee as she released her breath. She watched as McGonagall crouched down and retaliated with a well-aimed snowball to Dumbledore's stomach. Then, both professors were running around the grounds throwing and dodging snowballs.

Hermione leaned against the window's ledge and watched the battle unfold beneath her. Somehow, Dumbledore had managed to construct a small, makeshift barrier between himself and McGonagall. He had succeeded in hitting the professor on a couple occasions, but it seemed each snowball that made contact with his target, McGonagall would hit him with three as a result. It appeared she had the upper-hand in the battle. That all changed when Dumbledore transfigured a small army of three snowmen to attack Professor McGonagall. She had taken refuge behind her own makeshift barrier. Dumbledore was laughing profusely, somewhat doubled-over no doubt from the stitch in his side. Hermione giggled to herself when she saw McGonagall flick something out of her robes and slowly faded into nothingness. A little over a minute passed before Dumbledore ordered his snowmen to cease fire. She watched as he said something inaudible to her. A confused look crossed the headmaster's face when he didn't seem to get the response he wanted or a response at all.

Suddenly, McGonagall materialized right behind Dumbledore. He whipped around, but was pushed to the ground as McGonagall gave him a hefty shove. Hermione's giggles proved harder to control as she saw her headmaster land spread-eagled in the snow. It was now McGonagall who was laughing profusely as she made to run from him. She didn't get far, however, as Dumbledore's hand reached out and got a firm grip on her ankle. McGonagall tripped and landed on all fours in the snow net to Dumbledore. McGonagall obviously had not been expecting to be tripped, so Dumbledore took advantage of her confusion and jumped at her. He grabbed her waist securely in his arms as his body went sailing over hers, causing McGonagall to roll with him until she found herself looking up at the headmaster pinned beneath him. Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought that perhaps Professor Dumbledore was telling Professor McGonagall something as he pinned her. She saw the professor shake her head.

Hermione's giggles finally became uncontrollable as Professor McGonagall took a handful of snow and smacked it against Professor Dumbledore's temple, forcing him off her. She was instantly on her feet running from the befuddled headmaster. If Hermione thought her laughter was uncontrollable at that point, then it was utterly hysterical when she watched Dumbledore send a snowball towards McGonagall only to be left gaping as she transformed into a small tabby cat. It was when Hermione was doubled-over with laughter Harry and Ron found her on the staircase.

"Oi, Hermione!"

"What are you laughing at?" Harry looked confused at her then at Ron who simply shrugged.

"I'm sorry Harry, Ron. I was on my way to meet you in the Common Room when," Hermione said slowly taking control of her giggles, "I noticed the professors out the window. You won't believe what they're doing."

Harry and Ron quickly glanced at each other before walking over to the window Hermione indicated with a jerk of her head. Ron let out a roar of laughter and a broad grin spread across Harry's face as they watched a very amused Dumbledore pelting snowballs at a small, grey tabby cat as it quickly and systematically destroyed his three snowmen.

"I can't believe McGonagall is having a snowball fight," Harry said trying to keep his voice from breaking up with laughter. "I can understand Dumbledore; he's always been strange like that."

"May-maybe she's finally snapped," Ron said unable to hold back his own laughter.

All three looked out the window again and were struck with a new wave of snickers as the tabby cat began doing figure-eights between the headmaster's feet making his head swivel absurdly on his shoulders.

"You have to admit though," Hermione was the first to regain speech, "McGonagall is getting the best of him."

"Yeah," Ron and Harry answered simultaneously wiping tears from their eyes.

"Let's go down to the Great Hall then," Harry suggested.

"Could we go back to the Common Room so I can drop off a few things?" Hermione asked.

"Alright then." They took one last fleeting look out the window before heading back up the stairs.