"Are you happy?"
Albus stops reading to look at Minerva over the top of his glasses. She's not looking at him but out the window, as she is wont to do when she asks these sorts of questions. He follows her gaze and sees small red figures flying through the sky. A Gryffindor Quidditch practice, he assumes. The final is approaching rapidly, and he's heard their chances are good.
"Happy with what?" he asks, looking back to her.
"With your life, of course," she says.
"I am content," he says easily.
"I asked if you were happy."
Her eyes are still fixed on the students, her brow furrowed as it so often is. Her smiles were rare even when she was a student herself, by far one of the best Transfiguration students he's ever had.
"Is there something you wish to tell me, Minerva?" he says, gently, like he does when there's a student in trouble.
She looks at him then and he thinks she's finally going to tell him. The sunlight brings out the rich brown of her hair, softens the lines around her mouth. He looks into her eyes and wishes, not for the first time, that it could be this easy. That he could admire the sun on her hair as he once admired it on a head of gold. That he could see her in the flowers that grow in the grounds, hear a piece of news and want nothing more than to tell her. But, honestly, he doesn't think about her much at all outside her role as a teacher and his staff.
Perhaps she sees this, she's always been observant, because she looks back out the window.
"Nothing, Albus," she says briskly. "The end of the year is making me sentimental, that's all."