Bonjour and thank you for deciding to take a look at this story! As mentioned before, this fic is heavily AU, and while I will alter some events to a certain extent, the basics will, ultimately, remain the same.

I also have a certain fancast (if you want to leave everything to your imagination, simply don't google the names or don't read this at all): Sarah Bolger is my Helena, Sophie Turner my Elenor, Lara Pulver my Minerva (since I follow the books on this one), Sian Thomas my Amelia and Bill Nighy my Rufus (following the movies here). I imagine Minerva to be the youngest of the three, while Amelia is the oldest.

Although this one is set in GoF, I already have some plot points extending to DH planned. After all, there are certain deaths — canon and not canon — I want to cover. ;) And more, of course. Maybe a wedding, of sorts…

I love to tease the audience, but let's not forget the disclaimer: Everything and everyone, except my beloved OCs and plot points, belong to Joanne. I don't earn money with writing this; my bank account can confirm my statement. I hope you enjoy the reading experience!

PROLOGUE

"You know how badly I wanted it! I worked hard, all the time — ask Professor Sprout if you want confirmation!"

"I'm sorry, but the decision has already been made. Professor Dumbledore has his reasons."

"Don't pretend all of a sudden you had no part in it!"

"I'm not pretending anything. How about we talk this out like mature adults, since you are one now, before you continue to throw around irrational accusations?"

"Who is it?"

"What?" Minerva blurted out, even further irritated by the sudden question.

"Who's going to be Head Girl?" Helena mentally threw her hands in the air. All of it had to be a joke— she was about to start her seventh year at Hogwarts, and now she was supposed to be happy about her going to graduate a mere Prefect? The young witch knew bloody well she was one of the best in her year. She had a name to live up to, after all. Well, even though she was registered as an Urquart, the McGonagall blood ran deep and fast in her veins. Disappointing her mother — simultaneously the greatest witch of her time — was not an option. But what had she done wrong?

"I cannot tell you and you know that," her mother replied sternly, raising her eyebrows like she always did whenever she wasn't amused with a pupil's antics.

"Yes— Yes… I do," Helena admitted, her voice quietening. She quickly looked down and briefly fought the urge to rub the bridge of her nose. Her mind had begun the process of calming down, and while she was ashamed, she also was relieved she hadn't let her anger spiral into a full-fledged tantrum. (She was still working on the anger issues.)

"I'll go to my room."

The words were uttered so incoherently Helena shortly wondered whether her mother had understood them. But it didn't matter, not really. With quiet steps she left the living room.

Minerva sighed and sat down on a ruby-coloured armchair in front of the fireplace. The parlour wasn't big and only a few things served as decoration. Most of the Professor's prized possessions were standing in her quarters up in Hogwarts since she, as well as Helena, had no practical reason to come down to their house in Hogsmeade during the school year. After Elphinstone, bless his soul, had died, Minerva had been tempted to give up the place — too many memories. Yet, she hadn't wanted little Helena to remember her own office as her childhood home, and moving into another house had simply seemed unreasonable. She had intuitively painted the hallway's walls a pastel yellow approximately a year and a half after Elphin's passing, a subtle acknowledgement of his late Hufflepuff persona. Helena especially liked it, considering her father's house pride now lived through her, along with the brown hair and blue eyes.

In her room, said witch was lying on her bed, face pressed into the white pillow. Helena didn't want to show the inanimate objects near her just how red and wet her eyes were, contenting herself with a black vision, which even now seemed glassy, instead of enjoying the orange evening sun shining through her window. Emotional instability…— a breakup did that to you, not to mention the previous scene she had had with her mother. Her former boyfriend of two years had been a Gryffindor, the same house her best friend Nicky — short for Nicole — was in. Succeeding some "dates" (if you could call it that) between the castle walls, their decision to let their relationship develop in more… intimate ways had become indeed official. After a mistake of his, she had promptly ended the love business they had going. It had torn her apart, but at the time, her dignity had been worth more to her than the bond they had shared — however much unstable it had been towards the end.

Hogwarts had really fulfilled its reputation for being unable to keep secrets at that time. She had known the breakup wouldn't go unnoticed, but Helena had hoped for the news to spread at least a bit more slowly. Her mother had known within the span of two days, as well as the reasoning behind it. The Professor hadn't been exactly cruel to her daughter's ex-boyfriend — well —, but she had made her not-so-amused opinion on the matter clear. The ice in her eyes had always been present whenever the boy had been nearby, and detentions had become more frequent. She also had made sure to not let the young wizard come into close vicinity with Helena, even though the latter had been quite good at avoiding him herself. There had even been rumors about him almost having been expelled — though none of the children had really known what had occurred to make that happen. Needless to say, the brunette had felt more than uncomfortable. Pity, when coming from someone but herself, was not an emotion she was able to handle. And pitied she had been plenty.

The girl lifted her head from the now damp cotton and wiped her cheeks with one arm while supporting her upper body with the other. She really ought to set a focus for herself this year to be able to distract herself from her emotional troubles. This shouldn't be too hard since she was going to take the N.E.W.T.s this year. Rolling herself onto her back, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 on her nightstand fell into her vision. She had yet to buy the seventh edition, but she still had more than a week of time for that. Helena was supposed to catch up on subjects she had no 'Outstanding' in yet, but then again, she wasn't really up to working right now. She pressed the black book to her chest after having picked it up, and then, because she didn't really want to simply read now either, she covered herself with the red-green tartan blanket her mother had once bought her and looked at the blank ceiling for a moment before closing her eyes.

A few minutes later, Minerva opened the door, holding a tray with a cup of fruit tea. She herself greatly preferred the traditional black one, but she knew this one was her daughter's favourite. She hoped it would help cheer the lass up a bit. The woman's hopes were quickly dashed with a look at the Helena's bed, however — she was sleeping. Minerva emitted a low sigh, but put the tray on the girl's nightstand nevertheless. She knew the latter was no stranger to heat spells. Taking a look at the brunette's blotchy face, the elder witch stroked the top of her head worriedly. It didn't take long for her to notice how Helena's eyelids fluttered slightly at the touch, or the sudden unevenness of her breathing.

(The Professor would be amiss in her duties if anything at all escaped her notice, anywhere, ever.)

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Minerva prompted quietly, though she already suspected what the answer was going to be.

"No," Helena mumbled. There was a rawness to her voice. Her eyes remained closed.

"Alright. Drink the tea before it gets cold," Minerva advised, sneaking a last glance at the bairn before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her softly.