Checkmate

Professor Dumbledore straightened as he heard the rustling and low rumble of his seventh year NEWT Transfigurations class advancing. The low murmur of voices continued to grow and the sharp clicking of eager students' feet increased. One in particular seemed to stand out. A steady, confident walk. Professor Dumbledore could recognize any aspect of Minerva McGonagall, his most intelligent pupil, without difficulty.

The class entered, chatting idly to one another. Minerva conversed easily with Ryan McKenzie as they took their seats. Ryan was usually quiet and timid, but seemed quite at ease with the pleasant Minerva. Albus followed their conversation involuntarily.

"Have you read the latest Transfiguration Weekly?" Minerva asked.

"I have."

"There was quite an interesting article in there about transfiguring whole Quidditch stadiums. Imagine!"

"That would be an entertaining job," McKenzie said with a rare smile.

"I've started a little project with a mini-Quidditch stadium. Just the size of my hand," she gestured, swinging her hand. "But I can't seem to get the coloring part down. When I transfigure it, everything turns all grey."

"Really? Have you tried the Coloring Charm?"

"Of course, but it doesn't work."

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Dumbledore," Ryan suggested.

"Oh - yes. Professor Dumbledore?" Minerva turned her gaze onto Albus, who had quickly snapped his head in another direction when Ryan had recommended his opinion to act as though he had not been listening. He turned his head around. "Yes, Miss McGonagall?"

"You were listening to the conversation, weren't you, sir?"

"I was, Miss McGonagall," he answered with a slightly guilty grin.

Minerva beamed back. "Perhaps you could. . ."

"Of course."

With a looping swish of his wand, Albus created a rotating model of the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium in the air. He guided it to his desktop, clearings papers and books out of the way. Minerva went back behind his desk to join him, explaining to the other students who were gathering round with interest.

"Now, what incantation have you been using?" he asked her.

"Vera Verto. Just basic."

"Ah. I'm afraid that particular spell doesn't function correctly if you want to change the color of the transfigured object afterward," he explained to the class. "This will be a lesson later in the year, so listen carefully. This spell will both transfigure and change the color all at once. See here. Alteracon color!"

The model suddenly turned white, looking like a stencil, then color started to fill in from the corners. The red, yellow, blue, and green banners of the House colors disappeared into white, and then a deep violet background appeared with a detailed golden star in the center. The stands filled in with a grey, ancient stone tint.

"Oh! The Pride of Portree's Quidditch stadium!" Minerva said delightedly.

"Yes. Your favorite team, if I remember correctly. Of course, if you had taken the time to look in your book, I wouldn't have had to go through this, wasting valuable class time," Professor Dumbledore teased Minerva as the students excitedly examined the model; Albus had casually created tiny figures on broomsticks.

Minerva glanced at the model and then gazed at him with a smile of admiration. "Oh, I'm sure you don't mind at all, do you, professor?"

Albus flushed slightly. He twinkled his eyes mischievously. "Anything for you, Miss McGonagall," he said with a flamboyant bow. Then, unable to keep his gaze on her any longer, he turned away. "Mr. McKenzie?"

"Yes, sir." Ryan tore his eyes away from the heated international-level game.

"Since Miss McGonagall will no doubt try this spell on her own model, she has no need for this one I've conjured. Would you like to keep it?"

The rest of the class moaned quietly with jealousy as Ryan nodded his head vigorously. "Oh, yes, sir!"

"Excellent. Now, take your seats, everyone."

Minerva hurriedly took her seat in the middle of the front row. Ryan clutched his model and placed it regretfully below his desk so he wouldn't be distracted. All eyes turned to Professor Dumbledore attentively.

"Today we'll be learning a very key spell. It is used to turn a transfigured object back to its original state. Does anyone know it?"

Minerva's hand was up, straight and tall, at 'original state.'

"Forma Verdad."

"Correct. Five points. Forma Verdad means "true form." It can also be used as a weak revealing spell." He allowed a pause for the students to scratch down notes.

The lesson continued. No one noticed a form in the back of the room rise and disappear.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Albus swirled in his memories, closing his eyes as the liquid thoughts ran over him. Then, very suddenly, he was brought back to the present time, standing in front of his Pensieve in his office. He watched the classroom scene a moment longer before drawing his wand out of the deep pocket of his robes and giving the stone basin a tap. The view vanished and was replaced by the spinning silver substance. He took the large bowl in his arms and brought it back to its case with care. He closed the door with a snap.

He had been viewing the Pensieve idly in hopes of learning something new when that certain memory popped up. He didn't know what to think of it. He had been feeling an odd way about her ever since he got to know her and her hopes to become the youngest Animagus in the century, during her fifth year. Mixed emotions were running through his mind.

The headmaster sighed resignedly. She is simply your deputy headmistress, advisor, and friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

A knock sounded at his door. "You may enter."

The woman in question stepped through the threshold. Minerva had changed much, too much, between her seventh year and now. He studied her slender form as she walked toward him, made unnoticeable to her students by her bulky teaching robes. Her face was no longer soft and expressive. It had become firm and strong, with crow's feet at her eyes and numerous forehead wrinkles. Her hair that used to be black and wavy now seemed to be a part of her head as it was pulled so often into her bun. Several grey hairs lined it.

The portraits on the wall greeted her as she walked past them. She gave each a polite nod.

"Evening, Professor."

"I hope you're well, Deputy Headmistress."

"I am, thank you Professor Derwent."

"Albus," she said to him with a nod and a small smile. If there were three things that were gratefully still unchanged about her, they were her eyes, smile, and voice. The smile was the same soft upturning of the corners of her mouth. The eyes were still a dark green hue and her voice was gentle, yet commanding, with the slightest Scottish inflection; the most natural sound in the world to him.

She sat herself familiarly upon one of the myriad of armchairs in his room, not far from him. "I've come for that game of chess you promised me."

Albus gave a mock gasp. "You mean my dear professor is not too busy grading essays and telling students off?" He slid his hand across his forehead, closing his eyes. He opened one of the eyes a peek to watch her.

She laughed, the rarely occurring light noise pleasing him. "Yes, I've graded all the papers to grade and all of the children are in detention anyway, so I can't punish them any more."

He opened his eyes and laughed, too. "All right, then."

Albus conjured up a small square table in the middle of the room. He levitated a chair for himself on one side, and then gleefully levitated the chair Minerva was occupying, much to her chagrin.

"Oh! Albus!"

"Hee hee!"

"Watch out, Headmaster, you do not want to make Professor McGonagall fall!" one of the portraits yelled.

He lowered the chair carefully. He glanced at her with a grin before turning to one of his packed bookshelves.

"Accio!" The square, flat chess box rattled into Albus' hand. He walked over to the table and seated himself. He opened the box and each set up their pieces methodically.

"Lead us to victory, good lady!" one of her white knights cried. She chuckled. Albus always played the black side and always won, so the white side was getting rather desperate. "Don't worry, I'll beat him this time."

"I doubt it, my dear," he said pompously. They finished setting up. "Ladies first."

"Pawn, C4."

"Only one space? Tsk. Pawn to A5."

"Knight, A3."

"Pawn, H5."

"Knight, C5."

"Ah, I see. Castle, H2."

The game continued. Soon, to Albus's surprise, he lost his rook. "Ha!" said Minerva as the castle was pulverized by her much smaller pawn. The portraits and her pieces cheered.

"Oh, good show, Professor!"

"Victory is near!"

However, Albus fought back with his queen, taking the life of Minerva's bishop. "Ha!"

"Ah, bad form, Headmaster, especially with a lady."

"Oh, keep quiet, Everard, I'm trying to enjoy this moment."

Half and hour passed. Minerva was currently losing the battle. Her few remaining pieces were getting discouraged. She was deep in thought.

"We don't have all night, Minerva. . ."

She remained silent, bent over the board. A minute longer. . .

"Yes! I've got it!" she sprang up with triumph. Her pieces looked up hopefully. "Castle to H8!"

Albus had anticipated this move. "Bishop, H8," he said smugly.

However, Minerva cackled gleefully. "Queen, G4. Checkmate."

Albus looked up at her with horror. His look of vexation disappeared as she gave him a small smile. He smiled back warmly. "I admit defeat," he declared simply.

The pieces broke into cheer and Minerva laughed. She reached her hand across the table for a handshake. He clasped his hand into her warm one and shook it lightly, looking into her eyes for a moment. They stayed fixed in that position for what seemed to be eternity, seeing deep through each other.

"Good game."

She rose and left with a contented smile on her face. Albus watched her go. There was a long silence.

"Quite a good catch, if I do say so myself, Headmaster."

"That's enough, Armando."