Dumbledore's mouth opened to say something but he was interrupted by the sound of the door flinging open and then slamming shut. Before Florence could turn around the visitor had regained his composure and started to walk, his black robes billowing...
Florence stood there feet glued to the floor and eyes gradually widening at the sight of the professor's elegant headquarters.
"Miss. Helens are you alright?" the older woman asked in a proper voice.
Florence blinked and answered,
"Oh, yeah sorry, Professor McGonagall."
"No problem dear."
••• It was early January and Florence was curled up in the velvet red armchair with a first year's transfiguration book, suggestion made by her professor. The room was medium sized with red furniture and wooden framed objects. Professor McGonagall had a baby grand piano and many books that lined the orderly shelves. There were so many decorations and new to Florence were the moving pictures. Ever since Dumbledore had made arrangements for her to move into his colleague's headquarters the portraits had kept a close eye on Florence.
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McGonagall seemed to enjoy the 28 year old's company enough. Florence never fully understood what went on in the mind of her outspoken professor. The wiser one was in the kitchen warming up some kind of tea in her night robes with a slender braid falling to the right shoulder.
"Miss. Helens would you care for a cup as well?"
"Yes thank you, oh and professor you can call me Florence."
"I hardly find that suitable."
"Please I insist!"
Florence already thoroughly enjoyed being around Professor McGonagall. She was honest, kind, brave, witty, intelligent, serious, and maternal. She reminded Florence of her Valeri. She barely knew the student and yet she acted as though she were her own flesh and blood. McGonagall cooked for her even though Florence said she'd be cool with helping. Professor McGonagall let her read her books and took her shopping for essentials that Florence hadn't brought from America. She didn't judge the late twenty year old on the fact that she couldn't do magic and in fact she had patience beyond belief. This made the paramedic wonder if she had kids of her own. The busy woman finally sat in the identical arm chair to the right of Florence gracefully placing the two cups of tea on the table. She too pulled out a book and began to digest it. It was a quiet Sunday and Florence's last free day for a while because she would start her private tutoring tomorrow. Her schedule was a teensy bit confusing but she was certain to get it down. It wasn't the most ideal; it was the only way to go about it. Dumbledore didn't want Florence to sit in with the children and he had high hopes that she would learn fast; therefore he had her pick some topics, that would be privately taught by the teachers.
