July 1940

The shrill, frustrated scream that sounded from the Transfiguration classroom and echoed down the hallway would have given chills to any student from the third year up. Even the ghosts would have floated the other way. But it didn't seem to have an effect on the very man at the center of the blast.

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes continued to twinkle behind his half-moon glasses, making him look much younger than what he was. Of course, at one hundred or so, he was just in the throes of wizarding middle age. His dark red hair hadn't even begun to gray, although he highly suspected that his current (and only) student at the moment was trying her best to change that.

"If I am told to concentrate one more time today, Professor..." Minerva McGonagall was not a happy witch. England was in the middle of a war, and was suffering its worst heat wave in years. The new Charms professor, Flintwick had done his best to keep air moving within the great castle during the school year, but most of the teachers had already gone home a week after the student body left, so Hogwarts was absolutely stifling, even more so when one was wearing black work robes. And to top it all off, Minerva was intensively training to go undercover in France. She was almost ready to go when the Ministry decided that they wanted an Animagus to be inserted instead. Professor Dumbledore had pleaded a fair case, saying that she was talented enough in Transfiguration that she could learn the necessary skills needed, also since she had been raised in France most of her life and had attended Beauxbatons until her third year, she was still the ideal person to be sent in.

"Unfortunately, Minerva, that's all you're going to be hearing for quite some time. Transfiguring yourself into an Animagus can be fatal if you aren't concentrating."

Minerva sighed. "I don't see how looking at an apple for hours is supposed to do anything except drive me up the bloody wall!"

Even Albus Dumbledore had his limits, and he had just reached them. "Minerva, I am attempting to teach you in two months what it took me six years to achieve. The Ministry expects you to be an Animagus by the end of August, and I will not send you into France without all of the skills you will need." He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose after his uncharacteristic outburst. Slipping them back on, he saw the young twenty-year-old woman watching him contemplatively. "If you're not careful, your face will freeze like that," he joked.

A reluctant smile tugged up the corner of her mouth. A mouth he absently noted had grown fuller and more enticing since he last saw her at her graduation. Albus, old boy, you definitely need a break if you're thinking that about a former student, he told himself.

"Enough for today. We could both use a break."

Minerva nodded quietly and gathered her things, still subdued. He hated seeing this spitfire who never failed to try and tax his nerves during class upset. She was standing at the doorway when his voice stopped her.

"Minerva?"

She turned around, still looking for all the world like a seventh-year that was told they couldn't graduate if they didn't pull up their grades. "Yes, Professor?"

"I am sorry about my outburst."

She shook her head. "It's all right, Professor. It just seems like it's been so long since anyone's had a reason to smile, and now all anyone can do is yell at each other. It was bound to get to you sooner or later."

He nodded, understanding the truth in her words. They both needed the break from each other, to reconvene with cooler heads. "Just remember not to leave the school grounds."

Now a ghost of a smile haunted her lips. "I remember." With that, she turned and left.

As the door shut behind her, Albus was left by himself, with the scent of her perfume still hanging in the air. He tiredly reflected that this damn war was making everyone old, including spitfires whom he had no business being attracted to.

August 19, 1940

The small blackish-gray cat sitting on a desk looked as if it had just devoured the proverbial canary. Leisurely, almost hesitantly, it started cleaning its paws, then decided to give itself a full bath.

"Minerva, I know you're enjoying yourself, but please change back," Albus said, enjoying his young pupil's enjoyment of her new form.

The cat disappeared in a shimmer, leaving Minerva McGonagall in its place, her feet swinging jauntily a few inches from the floor. Hopping up off the desk, she spontaneously hugged Albus.

"That was so incredible..." Her brown eyes were luminous, full of the joy he had recently feared had fled her entirely. "I want to do it again."

Smiling indulgently, he knew he couldn't say no to her. "Go explore the grounds," he told her. "Just be careful, all right?"

Nodding, she enthusiastically changed back into the cat, marveling to herself that it was much easier this time. Sliding out the door that had been left ajar, she scampered off down the hallway.

It was getting towards dusk when Albus started looking for her. She should have returned hours ago, and to miss the evening meal wasn't like her. Having searched the entire castle with no sign of her, his worry grew. He could cast a Locator spell on her, but if time had simply slipped her mind, he didn't want to ruin her fun. Walking out the doors, he felt a strange sensation pulling him towards the Forbidden Forest. As he neared the tree line, he heard something, like a soft cry.

"Lumos," he muttered and his wand sprang up with a light. "Minerva?" he called.

Only the same soft sob answered him back. "Minerva?" In the looming shadows, he could see a sprawled out human form a good distance away from the gamekeeper's hut. The figure moved, shoving long brown hair out of the way.

"Professor?" she called inquiringly. Relief flooded through him for an instant until he realized that she wasn't getting up.

Rushing over, he was about to ask her what had happened when he saw the noticeable swelling of her right ankle. "How did you twist your ankle?"

Her shoulders were shaking from her sobs. "Pe-peeves started ch-chasing me - and he didn't s-stop even when I changed back and I forgot about the hole back here and I fell and twisted my ankle."

Closing his eyes for a moment out of sheer anger at the poltergeist, he resolved to have a talk with the Bloody Baron soon. Extinguishing his wand, he gently helped Minerva up, letting her lean heavily on him. As her body sagged into his, he was reminded quite forcefully that although Minerva was a former pupil, she was most definitely all grown up.

Minerva woke in the Hospital wing to a strange sight - Albus Dumbledore asleep at her bedside, with a brilliant scarlet and gold bird preening beside her left arm. As her mind awakened further, she realized that this was no ordinary bird, it was a phoenix.

She must have made some noise, because Albus suddenly woke, his blue eyes looking at her first, and then crinkling with amusement as he watched the phoenix preen.

"He just got his feathers back yesterday and already he's obsessed with them," he noted with amusement.

"You have a phoenix?" Minerva asked wonderingly.

Albus nodded his head to her bedside. "Fawkes. Although it's rather debatable about who owns whom."

Minerva, knowing that phoenixes were notoriously picky about the people they kept company with, hesitantly stretched her hand out. Fawkes looked at her for a moment with one of his beady black eyes before bumping his head against her fingers. Stroking her fingers down the brilliant plumage, she was overcome by a sense of peace, hope, and well-being.

Fawkes allowed her to pet him for another minute before moving away, then bursting into flames. Minerva stared dumbly at the spot the bird had just occupied.

"Don't pay any attention to him. He just wanted to show off."

"Where'd he go?"

"Probably back up to my office. He must like you."

A smile split her features. "Really?"

Albus nodded. "So far, he's only gone to me and those that have shown me loyalty. He likes you." As do I, he silently thought. "Now, are you ready to continue your lessons?" he asked, the ever-present twinkle back in his eye.

She swung her legs out of the bed and gingerly tested her weight. Once she discovered that there wasn't any pain, she nodded.

August 31, 1940

Albus handed a large sheaf of papers to Minerva. "Those are your traveling papers as well as several identifications to get you through France. Travel as a cat when you can, and be careful, all right?"

Minerva, dressed in an expensive dress that wouldn't make it to Paris with her, nodded. The Hogwarts Express would take her to King's Cross Station, and from there, she would make her way into France. The whistle blew, reminding her that they were on a time limit. "I suppose that this is farewell, for now."

Albus smiled. "We'll be seeing each other again, I promise."

Hugging her old Professor (Not so old, though, her mind told her), she climbed onboard the train and took her usual compartment. Waving to Albus as the train pulled out, she used her newfound concentration powers to forget odd feelings and to focus on the mission ahead.

The smile remained in place even after the train had disappeared from view. Minerva would hit the roof when she discovered that he was her 'handler' and her sole contact with England during her time undercover and that she was truly working for the Order of the Phoenix instead of the Ministry of Magic. Of course, he reasoned with himself, it is such fun to watch those sparks flare up.

June 2, 1943

It was a dark time for the world, especially in France. Minerva McGonagall crept carefully through the night, the shadows and her own dark clothing concealing her movement. The last thing she needed was to be stopped by one of the many Gestapo patrols that roamed the streets of Paris. The information packet held in one of the pockets of her skirt, if found, would be her death warrant. It would be a lot safer to travel in her Animagus form, but her control that night was more than a bit shaky, an unfortunate side effect of the adrenaline rush she always got when she and her cell of Resistance fighters struck. Tonight, it was a bomb at a factory that was producing ammunition for German guns. Looking at her watch in the dim glow of a streetlamp, she saw that she didn't have much time if she was going to meet her contact.

Cutting through alleyways, she ran, her footfalls not making a sound. Perhaps it was appropriate that her Animagus form was a cat. Arriving at the designated point, she mentally rolled her eyes. She was standing across from Pont Neuf, agreed almost the world over as one of the more romantic spots in Paris. Checking her watch again, she looked around. Hearing the familiar *pop* of an Apparating wizard, she whirled, her hands automatically going for her wand, and the tiny Walther gun she had scavenged from a dead German soldier.

Sighing in exasperation when she caught sight of the shock of dark red hair and the twinkling blue eyes, her hands returned to her side empty-handed. "Must you do that, Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow. "Do what? And stop calling me Professor. Not only does it make me feel much older than I am, you graduated five years ago."

"Old? You don't even have any gray hairs yet, Albus."

He looked at her dryly. "I'm sure that you will give me quite a few by the time this war is over with."

She merely smiled proudly, since it had been her personally sworn duty to fluster her Transfiguration professor as much as she could. "More than likely."

"Ah, well, to business."

Pulling out the small sheaf of papers, she was about to hand them over when she heard the unmistakable sound of leather boots on the smooth cobblestone street. Looking over her shoulder, the adrenaline rush she had recently fought to get under control flared back up.

"What is it?"

"A Gestapo team. And there's no way to avoid them. They're coming straight at us."

The normal twinkle in his blue eyes faded, and a spark of something else flickered there. "Perhaps there is. Do you trust me?"

"What kind of a fool question is that?" she shot back in a whisper.

"Do you trust me, Minerva?"

"Yes, I do, dammit. Now what's your idea of getting out of here?"

"By hiding in plain sight." Pulling her close, he saw her big brown eyes widen before capturing her lips in a chaste kiss. Come on Minerva, use that brain of yours to figure it out, he thought to himself.

After her initial shock, her brain rapidly connected the dots, and she pressed herself closer, adding to the illusion. But that wasn't enough, and she knew it. Pulling up the courage that had made the Sorting Hat put her into Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw, she threaded her fingers through his hair, the hair he continually claimed would turn gray thanks to her, the silky texture surprising her a bit. Pulling back for a second to suck in a gasp of air, she was the one that initiated the kiss again, letting her lips part slightly.

The three men in the German patrol stopped for a moment to watch the couple kissing so passionately near the famous Pont Neuf. "You there!"

The two, once breaking off their kiss, looked appropriately terrified of being caught by the menacing soldiers in their German uniforms.

"What are you doing out here?" the obvious leader asked.

The red headed man smiled a bit sheepishly. "My wife and I wanted to celebrate our anniversary by visiting the very spot we met," he replied in flawless French, no accent noticeable.

The Germans snorted, but deferred to their superior. Minerva, cowering behind Albus, gripped her Walther even tighter. "You'd best get going home, and be thankful that we don't arrest you for breaking curfew."

"Merci," they both replied and walked off.

Once safely away from the Germans, Minerva dropped her 'meek little wife' facade. "Your wife?" she hissed quietly.

Albus merely shrugged. "I wasn't aware that you had any better ideas."

Minerva didn't want to admit that she didn't have any, so she kept silent.

"What interests me more is why the Gestapo was there in the first place."

"Coincidence? They did start randomizing patrols."

"Too much coincidence for my tastes."

They walked in silence for another few minutes until they reached another safe Apparation spot.

He smiled at her. "Merci infiniment de l'information, Minerva."

"De rien. Je n'ai pas su que vous avez parlé français."

His smile widened as he brought her hand up and pressed a kiss onto the back. "There is a great deal you do not know about me, Minerva."

She could do nothing except watch him merrily Apparate away, since an unexpected punch of raw desire had traveled up her arm and settled low in her stomach. As she walked silently away, she couldn't help but wish he had kissed her - instead of her hand.

July 13, 1943

"Ainsi, Minerva, qui sont votre ami vous sont si désireux de se réunir?" Jean-Marc's eyes twinkled merrily as he watched the twenty-three year old woman struggle not to blush.

"You know damn well that I'm meeting my contact from England tonight, Jean-Marc." Minerva replied in English.

Jean-Marc's eyes were still dancing. "Yes, but you've seemed to enjoy these little excursions of yours more in the past month or so. A young Parisian gentleman catch your eye, hmm?" he replied in kind, more quietly, so as not to alert their other companions.

Minerva looked at the older Muggle man, who was almost a second father to her. Jean-Marc was always willing to listen to her, and having had a witch for a wife, he was one of the few she could spill all of her non-Muggle problems to. Looking pointedly at the open door behind him, she telegraphed her willingness to talk - behind closed doors. Only when Jean-Marc had taken a seat across from her did the confident woman mask drop.

"I don't know what to do, Jean-Marc."

"About what, child?"

"He - he makes me want to strangle him one minute, and the next he's making me laugh."

"Ah, jeune amour," Jean-Marc said, a wistful smile on his face.

"That's the problem. He's not young. He's a former professor of mine that just happens to be my only contact with England."

Jean-Marc's eyes widened a bit at this new information. Sitting silently for a moment, he released an almost-silent breath of air. Young men with more hormones than sense Minerva could handle with ease, but it was sounding more and more like she had fallen hard for this former professor of hers. The age differences were something to be taken in consideration - even if this professor had only known Minerva since she was fourteen and blossoming into a young woman. "The head cannot choose who the heart falls for," he finally said.

"But why did it have to be him? It's almost a forbidden thrill to me, snogging my Professor after class." A small curve ghosted her lips as she remembered their half-petrified, half-eager kiss more than a month before. Since then, they had been more affectionate towards each other - greeting each other with a kiss on each cheek, touches, glances, letting their fingers brush more than was necessary while handing over information packets, even a hug or two before Albus had to Apparate away. But their kiss across from the Pont Neuf had completely blown her mind - and she wanted more. "He is a good kisser," she found herself randomly saying.

Jean-Marc's eyebrows attempted to reach his receding hairline of his salt-and-pepper hair. "And you came across this information how?"

"He kissed me." She became slightly flustered when she remembered that that she had been he one initiating a deeper kiss. "Well, we kissed each other - but it was to avoid the Gestapo."

"You were stopped by the Gestapo?"

"Stopped from snogging and probably performing indecent acts in a public place? Yes. Stopped as in our cover was blown? No. I even took three different routes back here that night. No one could have followed me. Or have you forgotten about my alter-ego?"

Jean-Marc had to smile. When she was calm, Minerva was a pleasure to be around. But if one riled her, the claws came out as silently as a cat did everything else. "How is our delightful Chat?"

The few times the strictly Muggle fighters had seen her, they had affectionately called her "Chat" and had taken to leaving scraps of food outside the door.

"Eager to get this damned war over with."

"De votre bouche aux oreilles de Dieu. I, too, will be glad when this war is over with and I can once again have my wife and children with me. But as for your problem, you have two clear options: one, continue as you have been, until the desire between you is so thick that it chokes, and it either destroys you or makes you wonder what took you so long, or you can grab all of the happiness you can. From what I hear, a certain Hogwarts Professor is expected to be the one to fight your Grindelwald." The blush on her face and the fear in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. "I see. Minerva, I would highly suggest that you go for the second option. There is no guarantee that we will all survive this war. Even if I die tomorrow, I will be happy, simply because Bridgette decided that she wanted me, over the objections of all of her family, and despite the fact that we came from different worlds. Get your Professor and make many memories, in case you don't have another day."

Minerva nodded, needing to think some more before she went out. "Merci, Jean-Marc."

Jean-Marc, sensing her need to think, rose and closed the door behind him, sending up a prayer that the young girl his youngest daughter used to watch after school would not suffer as a result of her choice.

As the sun set and the blackout curtains blocked any form of artificial light from the surrounding houses, Minerva slowly stood in her lonely room. She had come to realize a simple truth. She wanted him, and age difference or no, she intended to have him. A rueful smile tugged her lips as she realized he had come to this particular revelation some time ago. The smile slipped off when she remembered he was just here for information - not to have a good snog with her. Besides, it was safer if he didn't remain in Paris longer than necessary, since Grindelwald had Dark Magic spies everywhere - looking for witches and wizards who Apparated in and stayed for longer than about ten minutes. She, along with many others had only been able to slip in the Muggle way - no magic involved.

Albus was such a target for whatever reason, it was completely unsafe for him to travel the Muggle way. On one raid, before they torched the building, she had ransacked a German officer's office, looking for information they hadn't already gathered, when she saw a high-level German communiqué with Albus's photo on it (a Muggle one, which had startled her when he didn't move), demanding that he be followed and/or captured.

But could she live with herself if he died in a battle with Grindelwald, never knowing how she felt? Could she live without feeling his touch for the rest of her life, knowing that she could have had more, but decided that she couldn't take the risk? The answer whispered through her brain with the speed of a Seeker spotting the Snitch. No. She couldn't live with herself and her regrets. Tonight, she would toss the Quaffle to Albus, leaving it to him to decide if the risk of staying was worth it.

Minerva made her way down the stairs, listening for indications of who was in the house. Jean-Marc, she knew was still there, along with a couple other Resistance members - it sounded like Luc, Michel, and Séraphine, all of whom were part of what Minerva had termed the double Resistance. Not only did they fight the Germans, but they were also fighting the more secretive magical war.

As she appeared in the basement, she did in fact find the very four she heard coming down. Returning the greetings, she grabbed one of the mugs set around the room and filled it up with fresh coffee. Idly glancing over both the Muggle maps of German patrols and the magical ones, indicating Dark Arts surveillance, or, in some cases, battles fought. If one placed both maps over the other, there were very few spots not covered by the Germans or by the Dark Arts. Sipping on her coffee, she stared intently at the maps on the wall, especially at the spot she was to meet Albus at. There was a German patrol not too far from there, and she highly doubted that they could pull off a romantic couple routine again. Her eyes went to Pont Neuf, noting that there was now Dark Arts surveillance there.

Pity, she thought. It was nice kissing him. And he is a damn good kisser. Rubbing an absent finger over them, she imagined she could still feel the hard press of his lips against hers, the way he sampled her mouth like one of his ever-present Muggle sweets, and how he had encouraged her own sampling of him. Damn, I've got to stop thinking about that. You've got a job to do, Minerva. Keep your mind on it for the time being. You can think about that later.

"Minerva?" Jean-Marc's voice indicated that it wasn't the first time he had called her name.

"Oui?"

"Are you back from where your mind took you?" he teased gently in English.

She was about to respond when an odd song started up throughout the room. Her skin puckered and her spirits soared. She knew that it was Fawkes, even before he appeared in a burst of bright flame on the middle of the table. Flying towards her, he dropped a rolled-up parchment into her hand, and then made himself at home on her shoulder.

"Est-ce que c'est ce que je pense qu'il est?" Séraphine asked.

"Si vous pensez phoenix, puis oui."

"Phoenixes are quite rare, and even rarer are those that a phoenix consents to be with," Jean-Marc said.

"I'm told that Fawkes likes me," Minerva replied, amused. Her amusement abated when she read what Albus had to say on the parchment. "He's insane," she commented to no one in particular.

Fawkes seemed to understand her and sang a solitary note, boosting her spirits again. Rolling her eyes in defeat, she flipped the parchment over and wrote.

Albus,

Even though I think you're mad for staying, even for a week, I know that you will do what you want, so I might as well help keep you alive. Since Dark magic is used to keep track of any wizard that Apparates in, the only safe place for you would be the catacombs. The Germans don't know about them, and Dark magic won't work there for some reason. It should mask your presence enough, along with any magical items that you bring along. Don't forget to bring some supplies also. We need them.

See you soon,
Minerva

"Luc, où sont les cartes pour le catacombs?" Luc, their resident mapmaker, quickly found the maps and handed them over. Minerva took out her wand, pointed it at her half-full coffee mug and Transfigured it into a piece of parchment roughly the same size and shape of the map, then with a simple Effingo charm, the information reprinted itself on the new piece of parchment. Making a few notes and notations about locations, Minerva rolled the two pieces together and handed it to Fawkes, who almost looked disappointed to have to move from her shoulder. With one last spirit-boosting note, he launched himself from her shoulder, once again bursting into flames over the table.

"This is going to be interesting," she muttered to herself before turning to the others and filling them in on the change of plans in French.

While she waited anxiously for Albus, she reviewed the plan once more in her mind. Luc and Séraphine would go ahead and keep a lookout for German patrols while Jean-Marc and Michel would bring up the rear. It was a simple enough plan, but with too many unknown variables that force a change quickly. Breathing deeply to calm herself, her heart rate tripled when Albus Apparated in right in front of her. Skipping their usual kiss on each cheek, she kissed him solidly on the lips quickly.

If that doesn't give him a clue, nothing will, she told herself as she grabbed his hand. Quietly explaining that the nearest entrance for the catacombs was near Notre Dame and that they would have to dodge German patrols all the way, he merely nodded quietly, trusting her knowledge. He was also still too shocked - and pleased - to speak. His blue eyes twinkled even as he hefted a long bag over his shoulder. He could feel the powerful magic flowing from the bag into him, but years worth of training with the staff the bag held had taught him to ignore it for hours at a time. Minerva though, was still being exposed to it, and he had to admit that she was doing a credible job of trying to ignore the feelings provoked.

Over an hour later, and at least seven German patrols behind them, they entered the catacombs one by one. Once they had reached 'their' area of the ancient crypts, they all relaxed. Opening the door of the small room Minerva had built through magic, they all trouped inside.

Albus easily transfigured a rock into a table, a near imitation of the one in the basement of the house the fighters shared. Setting the bag down on the table, he unzipped it and pulled out several smaller bags. Enlarging them to their normal size, Jean-Marc stuffed the bread and cheese into one bag while Michel checked the new equipment they received. Séraphine and Luc were guarding the door, should anyone suddenly appear. Once the supplies had been unloaded, all of the fighters, save Minerva, left the room. Jean-Marc was the last to leave, needing to speak to Minerva.

"I will see you in one week, oui?"

Minerva nodded. "Be careful. I'll feel absolutely horrible if anything happens to any of you while I'm gone."

Jean-Marc smiled. "We will be careful, je promets." With a slight look over at his shoulder, he turned back to Minerva. "Tell him, Minerva," he whispered as he kissed both of her cheeks.

"I am," she whispered back. Then Jean-Marc was gone, and she was alone with Albus. Closing the door, she grabbed the courage Fawkes had left her with and turned. He was looking at her with a mix of curiosity and something else - something that she couldn't define. "Since you're staying for a week, I'm going to be your guide around Paris, so you don't get yourself captured," she explained.

Albus smiled at her, a smile that knocked another punch of desire through her. Smiling back, even though she really wanted to be snogging the hell out of him, she moved beside him to pour over the maps and the sheets of parchment with information printed in her neat handwriting.

As the hours dragged on, the candles burned lower and lower, and the tension in the air of the small room grew thicker and thicker. Minerva kept looking towards the bag Albus had arrived with, which was leaned against a wall.

"What have you got in the bag?"

He opened the bag, letting it fall to the ground in a heap, leaving an ancient-looking staff appear with a large, smooth crystal globe on the top.

"Where did you get this?" Minerva asked in awe. She had never before seen such a staff, since practically all wizards used shorter wands. The last staff she knew of being made was well over one hundred years before she was born, since it took a very powerful wizard to even consider wielding one.

"It's been passed down in my family from generation to generation. My great-grandfather gave it to me."

"It's beautiful."

"So are you."

The simple comment magnified the tension three-fold. Minerva looked up at him with her brown eyes, and his infinite patience ran out. Cupping her face, he wanted to give her plenty of time to pull away if she wanted to. But to his pleasure, she leaned towards him, almost eagerly. All pretense was gone as their lips met, immediately opening to let their tongues duel. Long minutes later, they both had to break off the kiss to suck in great gasps of air, and he was unfortunately brought back to reality by the feel of Minerva's fingers fumbling at the buttons of his robe.

"Minerva..." His eyes nearly crossed when Minerva answered by pressing her body against his, alluring and innocent all at the same time. Grabbing his wrists with his hands, he waited for her eyes to meet his. "That staff is very powerful, and I know that it conjures up very powerful emotions..."

She stopped his words by a finger against his lips. Her eyes were dark with desire, and some of her hair had come loose from the braid she habitually wore it in, courtesy of his hands running through it. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her breath came in short bursts. "Albus, I swear on my wand that I wouldn't dream of sharing my body if I hadn't already given you my heart, staff or no staff."

Every man had his limits and he had just reached his. "And you have mine," he said roughly before hauling her close and recapturing her lips.

Translations:

Merci infiniment de l'information, Minerva. - Thank you very much for the information, Minerva.

De rien. Je n'ai pas su que vous avez parlé français. - No problem. I didn't know you spoke French.

Ainsi, Minerva, qui sont votre ami vous sont si désireux de se réunir? - So, Minerva, who is this friend you're so eager to meet?

De votre bouche aux oreilles de Dieu. - From your mouth to God's ears.

jeune amour - young love

Est-ce que c'est ce que je pense qu'il est? - Is that what I think it is?

Si vous pensez phoenix, puis oui. - If you're thinking a phoenix, then yes.

Luc, où sont les cartes pour le catacombs? - Luc, where are the maps for the catacombs?

je promets - I promise.

-Fini. (aka The End)