The fourth conversation should not have lasted forty minutes.

Minerva was quite certain of that.

It had begun with a simple question regarding magical theory and the limitations of human transfiguration.

A perfectly reasonable topic.

Unfortunately, the young professor asking the question possessed the alarming habit of treating intellectual discussion like a competitive sport.

"No, but that's exactly my point," the younger witch said, leaning forward in her chair. "If intent shapes transformation, then theoretically emotional states should influence spell stability."

"They do."

"Not enough."

"They do."

"Not enough."

Minerva lowered her teacup.

The woman beamed.

As though winning an argument against Minerva McGonagall was a delightful possibility rather than an act of madness.

Most people found Minerva intimidating.

This one seemed to find her fascinating.

A deeply suspicious quality.

"You're impossible."

"Thank you."

"That was not praise."

"I know."

The reply arrived entirely too quickly.

Minerva stared.

The younger witch simply smiled.

Merlin preserve her.

She was either exceptionally brave or catastrophically reckless.

Possibly both.

The conversation continued.

Theories became counter-theories.

Counter-theories became debates.

At some point they stopped discussing transfiguration altogether and wandered into ancient magical architecture, wandlore, and whether dragons possessed a rudimentary understanding of symbolic magic.

The younger professor had an opinion about everything.

Even worse, some of those opinions were interesting.

Minerva found herself listening despite herself.

A dangerous development.

Most conversations exhausted her.

This one somehow energized her.

"You're doing it again."

The younger woman blinked.

"Doing what?"

"Waving your hands."

"I am not."

"You are."

She looked down.

Indeed, both hands were currently illustrating some entirely unnecessary point.

"Oh."

Minerva's lips twitched.

Barely.

The woman looked absurdly pleased by this microscopic victory.

Another troubling development.

The silence that followed felt unexpectedly comfortable.

Rain tapped softly against the office windows.

The castle was settling into evening.

Students hurried through corridors below.

Neither moved to leave.

The younger professor tilted her head.

"You know, I was terrified of you."

"Were?"

"Well. The first week."

"And now?"

Now came that smile again.

Bright.

Earnest.

Dangerously genuine.

"Now I think you're brilliant."

Minerva nearly choked on her tea.

The younger witch appeared completely unaware of the effect she had caused.

Or perhaps she wasn't.

That possibility was somehow worse.

Minerva set her cup down carefully.

"You should cultivate more sensible opinions."

The office felt strangely quieter.

She disliked noticing that.

Most of all, she disliked the fact that she was already wondering what absurd theory would begin their fifth conversation.