A/N: Hey! This is the first part to a fanfiction I actually started ages ago, and I've posted a few chapters of it- its called Mysterious Circumstances, and it needs a lot of work and editing, so forgive me! It seemed natural to write it as the fifth year of the wonderful characters (a lot of which aren't mine. Sadly) but now it seems stupid because I keep having to do flashbacks and it SUCKS.
A/N II: Also, I'm not sure if it's 1971 that the Marauders started Hogwarts, but I know it was around that time.
Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling, I'm not rich, I do not write amazing books… Life's a bitch, innit?
First Circumstances
Prologue
'So, Minerva, the last of the letters have been sent. What are your initial thoughts on the year group as a whole?' Albus Dumbledore asked seriously, but with a hint of a smile on his face as he swirled the silvery contents of a strange basin.
'Well, it's a small one. That has to be a good thing,' Minerva McGonagall said tiredly.
'Yes, it is. Less than a hundred students, I believe,' said Dumbledore, smile gone entirely.
'And that's a bad thing?' asked McGonagall incredulously, not believing her ears. After the year group she'd had, with about two hundred and fifty screaming first years, she thought a minuscule year group would be bliss. This year had been pure hell.
House Cup lost, thanks to the first years.
A first year receiving a record breaking nine detentions in a week. In her house. It was mortifying.
A serious prank by a certain Jason Daniel Cleaver- the idiotic boy had climbed the roof!
Her class had caused the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to have a mental breakdown. He wasn't made of tough stuff, but still. Minerva had no idea why the class had thought it was amusing to hide under the desks, and scream 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' at the poor man when he walked in the room. He fell face first into his desk, and when he found the entire first year class laughing, burst into hysterics. It wasn't even his birthday, as far as anyone knew.
And worst of all- Gryffindor had lost the Quidditch Cup. Minerva had wanted to thump Sprout, or preferably push her face first into her dragon dung fertilizer. How could that have happened? Hufflepuff? Winning Quidditch? This was not going to be a recurring thing.
She was praying there would be lots of new, amazing talent. Seeing as she would need an entire new time after their abysmal performance. You couldn't keep a team like that. You needed a team that won. How else would she be able to cope with the wild parties her House loved to throw? Any excuse to break out the Taboo Vodka.
After a shameful year like that, the class beginning 1971 would be angels.
'How bad could they be?' Minerva wondered aloud.
Dumbledore smiled again. 'We shall find out. The Hogwarts Express left eleven minutes ago.'
Bringing Minerva McGonagall's "angels" with it.