"I can have it back?" Harry said weakly. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," said Professor McGonagall, and she was actually smiling. "I daresay you'll need to get the feel of it before Saturday's match, won't you? And Potter — do try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night..."*

"Are you sure, then, that there is nothing wrong with this broom?" Minerva McGonagall said, looking at the Firebolt Flitwick was holding.

"Absolutely. We tried everything we could, we looked for every possible jinx, course, or even regular malfunction and there was none," the tiny professor said.

At her back, Minerva heard a snort but she decided not to turn around and give Snape the satisfaction. He had hardly ever been openly aggressive with the other professors, but since the beginning of the school year, his attitude had been even less pleasant than before.

She did not need to be a genius to know the reason. If memory served for something, she was quite sure that this year Defence Against the Dart Arts' master had a lot to do with Snape's attitude.

"There was nothing on the purchase of the broom, either," she told Flitwick. "I wrote to Quality Quidditch Supplies and the manager replied that the order had been placed through their owl delivery service."

"Maybe it's just an admirer who sent it," Flitwick suggested. "Potter is not exactly unknown, isn't he?"

Snape snorted again, louder this time, and McGonagall had to make a huge effort to stop herself from offering him a handkerchief. The staff room was almost full with the rest of the professors; it would not do to humiliate one of them in front of the rest, lest of all to show she was bothered by Severus.

"I guess this will have to suffice..." she said hesitantly.

"Don't worry, Minerva," Flitwick squeaked. "I mounted the broom myself. I must say it's quite an experience. Not entirely pleasant, no. Too much speed for my taste," he shivered, but Minerva barely noticed. Had the tiny professor actually ridden that Firebolt? It was hard to imagine.

"I shall give it to Potter, then," she said, taking the broom from Flitwick's grip.

Just like the first time she had held the Firebolt, when she had confiscated it from Harry, she felt the handle vibrate very slightly on her palm, and she could not help feeling a tad of excitement. It was a racing broom, the fastest there was, what would it be like to mount it?

She stood up and walked towards the door, but had to stop on her tracks. Snape had stood up as well and was blocking her path. Minerva had to fight very hard the urge to roll her eyes.

"It is indeed a very fine broom," Snape said with a voice that was almost a sneer.

"I daresay it is," Minerva replied briskly.

"I do hope it helps Gryffindor team this year. It would be a pity if they were to be out of the running for... what is it? Eighth year in a row?"

Minerva this time had to actually close her eyes and count to three before speaking. For a wild second she wished she could go back in time and give Severus detention. When was it exactly that he had decided he could taunt his old teacher like this?

"The Gryffindor team hardly needs this sort of help to win. I am confident they are quite good players on their own," she snapped, and before she could give in to the temptation of wiping Snapes' smirk for good, she went to the door and exited the staff room.

She walked down the corridor quickly, trying to forget what Snape had just said, and focus instead on the homework she needed to grade for the next day. Sure enough, on top of her desk there were two small piles of parchment, and if she did not hurry up with it, that would mean she would have to go to bed late.

Through the window of her office the Quidditch pitch was almost completely visible. This was hardly a coincidence. She remembered the day, many years ago, when Dumbledore had come to see her during the holidays with the news that Professor Ross was retiring, and offering her his old office. It had taken all of Minerva's self control not to cry at the offer. She knew that office on the first floor very well, she had actually asked for it, only once. It was the only one from which the pitch was clearly visible.

To the actual matches she would always go. It was the practices she did not want to miss; only her own very busy schedule and some sort of sense of propriety prevented her from doing so. From this office, her desk conveniently facing the windows, she did not need to miss any of it.

Even though it was dark, she could see that the Gryffindor team was on the pitch, as it had been at this hour five nights a week since they had lost to Hufflepuff. Minerva admired Wood's persistence, and the way he would make the team fly and organise. Now he was yelling something at one of the beaters, Fred or George, she could not tell. Potter was circling the field a little bit higher, probably looking for the snitch.

He really needs this broom, Minerva thought, that old one is hardly good for a thing!

He was going very slowly indeed, and she could practically see his frustration with his ride.

You'll have a decent replacement soon enough, Potter.

She looked at the Firebolt resting on the corner if her desk. Decent, to say the least!

Minerva shook her head and took the first essay of the pile, trying to concentrate on Ernie Macmillan's terrible handwriting. It was more difficult than usual, though. Were the Quidditch players circling the pitch in front of her eyes distracting her, for the first time, from the task ahead?

Of course not! I'm used to see them all the time!

Maybe it had been Snape's remarks... No, she would most definitely not allow herself to be affected by anything Severus Snape would say about Gryffindor's team, even if it was sadly true.

Then...

Her eyes rested on the broom again.

Had Filius actually mounted this broom? On his own?

The image of the small professor clutching the handle and practically bouncing on his flight was both ridicule and endearing. And yet, there was something that disturbed Minerva.

She looked out the window again. He could distinguish the team dismounting their brooms and heading to the changing rooms.

The practice was over. She could go and meet them, to give Harry his new Firebolt. Their next match against Ravenclaw was days away and he needed to get used to this new broom before that. Only... their practice was over, what use would it be for Harry to have the broom now? It would distract him from the homework he would most surely have to do. No, it would be better if she would give him the broom tomorrow.

Not tomorrow morning, though, she thought, that would just keep his mind off lessons. No, giving him the broom in the afternoon would be better, right before his practice.

With a decisive movement, Minerva took the next essay of the pile. She needed to get a move on if she wanted to finish before midnight.

Only, her eyes seemed to have plans of their own. She looked at the broom on her desk again, and this time she did stretched her hand to touch the handle. It was a very pleasant vibration, almost a low rumble, barely perceptible.

Minerva shook her head, and took her quill to scratch a mistake she had found on the essay.

Silly girl, she thought, looking at Hanna Abbott's name at the top of the essay, the scales are supposed to wear off before the transformation is finished.

She sighed, and again her eyes darted towards the broom.

Slowly, almost as if somebody else was directing it, her hand stretched again. Only, this time she did not touched it. She pushed it off the table. Less than an instant later she was standing up, reaching for it to avoid it hitting the floor. There was no need. The broomstick was hovering mid-air, exactly at the right high for her to mount it.

This is not a thirteen year-old height. This is my height, she thought, marvelled at the precision of the broom's magic.

How long had it been since the last time she had mounted a broom?

She could not tell.

She had used brooms as her main mean of transportation for a very long time, even when she was no longer a Quidditch player. Lately, though, she had taken to use the Floo network or to Apparate quite often.

What a pity.

With a deep sigh, Minerva sat down again, her eyes fixed on the hovering broom.

She really missed it. The excitement, the feeling of the wind around her, even the numbness in her fingers when it was very cold... and not for the first time, she wondered what would have happened if the situation had been different? She had been a very good chaser and not a bad captain either.

Only, by the time she had left Hogwarts, there was little Quidditch around. The war had hit wizards and Muggles alike, and she had felt back then that it was her duty to help as much as possible.

Later on, when then war had finished and everybody had tried to carry on with their lives, she had been offered a post as a Chaser for the Pride of Portree. However, she had been right in the middle of her Transfiguration advanced studies and on her way to become an Animagus. Even though it had been one of the most difficult decisions in her life, she had refused. And now, after all those years, was she regretting it?

She looked at the piles of homework to grade and sighed. No. Even with the perspective of a long night deciphering impossible handwritings, she did not regret it.

And yet…

It was very late and because of the security measures, all students should be inside their common rooms or dormitories by now. Nobody would see her…

Almost as if somebody was directing her, she stood up, and in one swift movement, she walked towards the door, taking the broom on her way.

Getting into the pitch took her no time at all, and now that she was standing there, right in the middle, with Harry Potter's new Firebolt on her hand, she felt a little self-conscious.

Of course this was not her first time in the pitch. Not only as a player, but later on, as a teacher of the school, she had never missed a match in which Gryffindor would play. She had even more than once volunteered to referee when Madam Hooch had needed a break.

There was something eerie, though, in the empty stands and the dark grounds.

What am I doing here?

She could always say she was making sure there was nothing wrong with the broom before giving it to Harry, should somebody see her and ask what was she doing. Yes. That sounded reasonable.

Minerva let go of the Firebolt and, just as it had done in her office, it stood in mid-air, at precisely the right height for her to mount it. It would take no effort. She only needed to…

And with a jump she did not know she still could manage, she was sitting on the broom, and less than a second later, she was flying upwards, faster than her wildest memories, her hat forgotten on the ground, her hands gripping the handle. Zigzagging between the goal posts she remembered what Flitwick had said about this being "not entirely pleasant" and snorted. He did not know, he did not understand. How could he?

Laughter, wild, laud laughter reverberated on the empty stands and it took Minerva a second to recognise it as her own. With the slightest movement of her body, she aimed the broom towards the ground and made it go even faster. Right at the last second she pulled the handle upwards and heard her robes brushing against the grass.

Exhilarating as this was, something was missing. She took her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it towards the changing rooms.

"Accio Quaffle!"

Her outstretched hand waited for the familiar texture of the ball, and it felt as of time had not passed since that last game, when she had scored those ten points that had made her team win, once again.

She closed her eyes for a moment and threw the red ball with all her might. Less than a second later, she was flying towards it.

Her happiness at Gryffindor's victory over Ravenclaw had to wait. There were students to punish and her fury mixed with her pride at a well played match. Later, though, she celebrated. Alone in her office, she looked down the now empty pitch and replayed in her mind each and every one of the goals, the best passes.

Much later, the celebrations on the Gryffindor common room continued.

With a resigned sigh Minerva McGonagall was forced to exit her quarters. She wished she could join, but being one in the morning, somebody had to be the responsible, sensible adult.

Hers was a different role to play.

* Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban