Huge thanks to everyone who read / reviewed Chapter 1!

Chapter 2

Two days later, the owl came.

Minerva McGonagall sat in her newly restored parlor, frowning over the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. As usual, the paper was reporting the Ministry line – and what a sinister line it had quickly become. Required registration of all muggle-borns, hearings for those of questionable blood-status . . . and already, the disappearances of half-blood families. Minerva shivered in spite of the warm afternoon breeze that was fluttering the curtains of the mended parlor window.

She could hear Xiomara whistling out in the garden. She was tuning up her broom, though Minerva didn't see why it would need much work. They'd scarcely done any flying over the summer holidays. Minerva stretched and straightened the pages of the paper. Even on a day free from meetings with the Board of Governors, it seemed impossible to relax.

"Min!" Xiomara's voice called suddenly from outside, and Minerva felt an instinctive flutter of panic in her chest. She leapt from her seat and was halfway to the front door with her hand on her wand, when Xiomara appeared in the doorway with an owl perched on her arm.

"You've got a letter," she said. Minerva reached out and untied the scroll of parchment from the owl's leg, and Xiomara raised her arm to the sky as it flew off.

"Who's it from?" Xiomara asked, following Minerva back into the house.

"Matthias Merriweather . . . head of the Board . . ." Minerva murmured, her eyes narrowing as she read.

"Well . . . what does he say?" Xiomara prodded her, leaning against the parlor doorframe. Minerva read aloud:

Dear Professor McGonagall:

It has been decided, by unanimous decision, that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will commence with the Fall Term on September the 1st. It is on recommendation of the Ministry of Magic that we have agreed to make attendance at Hogwarts compulsory for all school-aged witches and wizards in Great Britain.

We ask that you notify new and returning students immediately. Please also be advised that students will be asked to comply with a Ministry-approved survey upon returning at the start of term.

We shall keep you informed of any further changes in procedure as we move forward.

Yours Sincerely,

Matthias M. Merriweather

"Are they mad?!" Xiomara crowed.

"No . . . but I wouldn't be at all surprised if they were Imperiused . . . or simply blackmailed," Minerva breathed, continuing to frown at the piece of parchment in her hands.

"Making Hogwarts compulsory . . . parents aren't going to like that, especially now . . ." Xiomara muttered. "And what in bloody hell is a 'Ministry-approved survey'?"

Minerva sighed heavily.

"I don't know . . . and I'm loath to find out," she muttered. "I suppose they'll be building on this new tactic of registering everyone's blood status . . . by forcing people to send their children to school and then interrogating students once they arrive, they can account for the great majority of wizarding families in the country."

"What about muggle-borns?" Xiomara asked softly.

Minerva's stomach gave a lurch. It was a bad enough situation for those of half-blood status . . . but muggle-born students coming to Hogwarts, especially those first years coming for the first time, were like lambs being led to a pack of wolves. How could she, in good conscience, send notification letters to those children who currently safe and sound in the muggle world, unaware of their magical abilities and the possibilities – and potential dangers – of their future?

Minerva could feel Xiomara's eyes watching her. She passed her the letter to read for herself.

"What are you going to do?" Xiomara asked quietly.

"I don't know," Minerva sighed. She stared out the window, watching two squirrels chasing each other up and down the trunk of the tree at the end of the garden.

"If you don't comply with them, Min, they'll come after you," Xiomara said. There was a hesitance in her voice that Minerva was not used to. She could tell Xiomara was as torn and confused as she was.

"If I send Hogwarts letters to muggle born students, Xiomara . . . I might as well hand them a death sentence . . ."

"Will they know?" Xiomara asked, her voice rising slightly as the idea came to her. "If you don't send Hogwarts letters to new, muggle-born first years . . . will they be able to check? You're the one with the book of names, after all . . . they'll have no way of knowing . . ."

"Yes. . . but I suspect . . . they'll be looking for them, won't they? The newest generation of muggle-born witches and wizards . . . it'll be the very first step in their – their operation," Minerva said bitterly, sinking to the sofa.

"I can't do it, Xiomara. I can't knowingly put children in danger."

"I know you can't," Xiomara said solemnly.

A long silence followed her words. Minerva turned back to the window, watching the brilliant sunflower blossoms along the front gate dip and sway in the breeze. Xiomara stood with the letter in her hand, her eyes moving from the parchment to Minerva's tense, troubled face.

"Come," Xiomara said suddenly, tossing the letter onto the front hall table with an air of distain. Minerva turned in surprise . . .she'd almost forgotten Xiomara was in the room. She raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"We're going for a fly," Xiomara said firmly, in a voice usually reserved for disciplining rambunctious first years and over-zealous Quidditch fans. Minerva, however, simply stared at her.

"Xiomara, I hardly think now is an appropriate time -- "

"Min, we're at war. There's never going to be an appropriate time," Xiomara replied, her voice softening slightly but her golden eyes smoldering.

Minerva looked down at her hands, and then back to the window. Her jaw was set and her lips pressed tight in the severe glare she'd been practicing on generations of Hogwarts students. Then, she rose to her feet.

"Only as far as the school," she said sternly. "I need to get a few things from my office, in any case."

***

Flying had always helped Minerva clear her head. As the she and Xiomara soared high over the rooftops of Hogsmeade, she could feel the constant weight of stress she'd been carrying over the past few weeks melting away. Her thoughts gradually began to settle. In the sky, nothing could touch her.

Looking down on the village below, Minerva was surprised to see so few pedestrians on the main street. Certainly people had been staying indoors after dark . . . but here it was, a perfect July afternoon, and there were only a few hurried looking figures bustling down the lane, staying close to the shops. In the distance, she could make out the source of their distress. A thin mist hung in the sky just north of the village, a sign of the growing dementor contingent. Even at this distance, Minerva could feel a slight chill in the air as the wind carried the insidious vapor trail in her direction.

She turned her eyes forward and focused instead on Xiomara, who was a bit further ahead and clearly in her natural element. She was riding the gentle air currents like a sailboat on the water, diving and swooping every now and again. On the Quidditch field, Xiomara was an aggressive flier – fast and fearless, an astonishingly good Chaser. But when there were no points to be scored, or matches to be refereed, she was grace itself on a broomstick. Minerva loved watching her. She trailed slightly behind until they approached the Hogwarts grounds, and then leaned forward with a burst of speed to pass her.

"Ha! You're only just catching up?" Xiomara crowed.

Minerva did not reply, but murmured a quiet incantation to lift the protective enchantments around the castle boundaries. As soon as they passed over the Hogwarts gate, she plummeted into a perfectly executed dive. She could hear Xiomara whooping with approval behind her.

They landed side by side in front of the stone steps leading up to the imposing castle doors. Xiomara was still chuckling as she dismounted, running a hand absently through her windblown hair.

"She's still got it!" she said, winking at Minerva. Minerva shook her head, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips as she tucked her broom under her arm and hurried up the stairs.

These days, Minerva did not need a password to enter the castle. The moment her hand touched the worn, iron door handle, there was a grinding noise as the enchanted locks drew back and the door swung open of its own accord.

Minerva and Xiomara's footsteps echoed loudly in the empty Entrance Hall. Hogwarts had always taken on a different energy during the summer months . . . there was a sense of anticipation in the air, as though the very building itself was waiting expectantly for the students to return. The castle was never truly vacant, however. There were the house elves, of course, and Filch, who prowled the corridors even during the summer months, waging battle with Peeves and supposedly undertaking repairs.

Hagrid, too, was a permanent resident of the castle grounds, though Minerva had not seen much of him in the past few weeks. She suspected he'd been spending a good bit of time in the mountains with Grawp.

"I've never much liked this place in the off season," Xiomara murmured, looking up at the towering staircase before them, its landings silent and empty. "It's far too quiet."

"Yes," Minerva agreed, marching purposefully towards the stairs. Being in the castle reminded her too much of her tremendous new responsibilities, and the reality of Dumbledore's death. The tension she'd managed to shake while flying was quickly returning – she could feel the tightness in her shoulders and the growing knot in the pit of her stomach.

They hurried along the empty corridors, encountering no one except for the ghost of the Grey Lady, who merely nodded as she glided through a closed door at the end of a hall. They came at last to Minerva's office – the same familiar room off of the Transfiguration corridor. Though the Headmaster's quarters had been accessible to her since the night of Dumbledore's death, she couldn't face moving her possessions into the place. It still didn't seem real, somehow . . . that he was gone forever from their lives, and that Hogwarts would now be entirely in her hands.

The office was dark. Minerva waved her wand absently at the sturdy, iron chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. A dozen candles sparked to life, bathing the room in a cheery glow. Xiomara wandered over to the window, tugging back the curtain to look out on the grounds beyond.

"Hmmm . . . no sign of the giant squid," she reported, gazing out towards the lake.

"Perhaps its on holiday," Minerva snorted, searching through the contents of her bottom desk drawer.

"Lucky sod," Xiomara muttered, leaning back against the windowsill and watching Minerva. "What are you looking for, Puss?"

"Resumes," Minerva said, her voice muffled slightly as she reached further back into the depths of her desk. "I need procure a new Muggle Studies professor on short notice . . . and an interim Transfiguration professor, come to that . . ."

"Do you really think Charity Burbage is . . .?" Xiomara began softly, her voice trailing off. Minerva glanced up, understanding the unspoken question.

"I sincerely hope that she has gone into hiding . . ." Minerva said, sitting back in her chair for a moment. "But I fear . . . otherwise."

Xiomara sighed, rising abruptly from her seat at the window to pace around the room. Minerva knew she was distressed . . . she could never stay still when she was anxious.

"When are you going to move office?" Xiomara asked, stopping to rub at a bit of soot on the fireplace mantle. Minerva did not answer her immediately. She had turned, instead, to the bookshelf behind the desk.

"Min?" Xiomara prompted her. It was Minerva's turn to sigh.

"Before the start of term, I expect, Xiomara," she said, rather sharply.

"Term starts in a few weeks time."

"I am well aware of that," Minerva snapped. They lapsed into silence for a moment. Minerva kept her back to Xiomara, scanning the bookshelf unnecessarily.

"You'll make an excellent Headmistress, Minerva . . . and you know he always thought so, too," Xiomara said quietly.

Minerva exhaled sharply. She did not want to have this conversation now. She couldn't afford to get emotional, not when there was so much to be done. Pulling a tattered, dragon-hide bound book from the top shelf, she turned back to Xiomara, addressing her as though she had not spoken.

"Shall we go?" she asked her, briskly. Xiomara gave her a piercing look, as though she could force Minerva to answer her with the power of her gaze.

But, in the end, Xiomara merely waved her wand at the chandelier, extinguishing the candles. Minerva stood back to allow her to exit first, and then turned to take one last, wistful look around the office before letting the door swing shut behind them.

***

They did not speak again until they were back outside. Minerva squinted as she exited the castle into the deepening afternoon sunshine. Her mind was already buzzing with tasks that would need doing . . . tonight, she must prepare start-of-term notices to be posted tomorrow . . . and arrange interviews with potential Muggle Studies and Transfiguration teachers . . . and notify her returning staff of the Board of Governors decision . . .

"Hagrid's back."

Xiomara's sudden words interrupted her thoughts. Minerva turned to see the familiar, hulking figure of the Hogwarts groundskeeper, digging in the pumpkin patch behind his cabin. She watched him for a long moment, and then strode off across the lawn in his direction. Xiomara followed in her wake.

"Well, g'afternoon, Professor . . . Xiomara," Hagrid called as they approached. He leaned heavily on his spade, while Fang the boarhound bounded past him towards the two women. Minerva shooed the dog away with the wave of her hand, and it went instead for Xiomara, leaping up to greet her with wet, slobbery kisses.

"Fang! Get down now, you great beast . . ." Hagrid called.

"Ahhhh, now, he's all right, Hagrid," Xiomara laughed, stopping to scratch the massive dog behind the ears. He immediately rolled over onto his belly, panting with approval.

"Hagrid, I wanted to have a word," Minerva said, skirting the manure pile at the edge of the garden. Hagrid, wiping his forehead with a spotted handkerchief, regarded her with an air of nervousness.

"I know I haven't been around much these past weeks," he started, "but it's Grawp, ya see . . .he gets awf'lly lonely, Professor --"

"No, no, Hagrid . . . that's quite understandable . . . it's the summer holidays, I don't expect you to remain tethered to the castle all year long," Minerva said gently. A wave of relief passed over his face.

"I wanted to tell you that the school will be reopening for Fall term," Minerva continued. "And I need to ask you a rather large favor."

"Blimey . . . well, of course, Professor – I mean, Headmistress . . ."

Minerva regarded him carefully for a moment. There was a smudge of dirt across his forehead, and his great hands and the knees of his work trousers were stained with earth. He certainly cut an imposing figure . . . but his dark, gentle eyes watched her with an air of quizzical concern. There was something very steadying about Hagrid. She understood, now more than ever, why Dumbledore had put so much trust in him.

"Hagrid . . . I would like to ask if you would consider being Head of Gryffindor house next term," Minerva said, her voice quiet and serious. Behind her, Xiomara stopped cooing at Fang in order to listen. Hagrid remained rooted on the spot, staring at Minerva as though she'd just sprouted wings.

"Obviously, I can't remain Head of House if I'm now to be -- Headmistress," she hesitated with her new title. "It would be a tremendous help, Hagrid, if you would be willing -- "

"Me?" Hagrid finally breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Head of . . . Me?"

"Yes, you," Minerva said, briskly. "I can think of no better qualified candidate. Of course, traditionally, Heads of House reside inside the castle, at close proximity to their respective dormitories, but if you'd prefer to remain here," she gestured to Hagrid's snug little cabin, "I can arrange the appropriate means of communication between your house and Gryffindor Tower, in case of emergencies -- "

The whole time she'd been speaking, Hagrid's eyes had been filling with tears. At the words 'Griffindor Tower', they spilled over completely, and he gave a great, shuddering sob.

"Oh, there now, Hagrid," Xiomara said gently, coming over to pat him on the arm. "Minerva's right . . . you deserve it!"

"H-h-head of G-Gryffindor . . . I can't believe it . . . its m-m-more than I coulda ever . . ." his voice trailed off into another hiccupping sob, and he mopped at his eyes with his handkerchief.

"So you'll accept the position, then?" Minerva asked with a little smile, extending her hand for him to shake. He gave a great sniff, blinking at her with red-rimmed eyes, and then took her small hand gently in his own.

"It – it'll be my honor, Headmistress," he croaked. Xiomara stood by, beaming at them both.

"Good," Minerva said warmly, giving Hagrid's hand a final little squeeze before releasing it. "Very good, Hagrid. I will stop by on Monday afternoon to review the particulars of the position with you . . . and we'll make the final arrangements for your living quarters --"

"Fine, fine . . . I'm just . .. thank you, Headmistress . . ."

"You know, Hagrid, you have known me for over 50 years -- and you are a Professor and now a Head of House," Minerva said, wryly, "There's no need for such formality."

"Yes, yes . . . 'course . . . thank you – er – Minerva," he said, blushing slightly. Xiomara chuckled, giving his arm a little squeeze.

"Would you ladies like a cuppa? I was gonna put the kettle on," Hagrid started, suddenly realizing that they were standing out in the garden, beside the manure pile.

"Unfortunately, I have a thousand things to attend to, Hagrid, but thank you," Minerva said, shifting her broom under her arm.

"You should come by for dinner some evening, Hagrid," Xiomara added. "We've scarcely seen you this summer."

"Tah, Xiomara. That'd be nice," Hagrid said with a grin, his face still flush with happiness. "You both get home safe now . . . no telling what those dementors are up to . . ."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

"Yes, see you soon, Hagrid!"

Xiomara gave Fang a parting pat, and the two women mounted their brooms and kicked off into the afternoon sky.

"What do you say, Min – once around the Quidditch pitch for luck?" Xiomara called, hovering in midair for a moment. Minerva hesitated, but then swooped around in the direction of the distant stadium.

This had been their tradition after every Quidditch practice, so many years ago. Minerva looked down at the empty stadium seats, remembering the thrill of competition and the roaring of the crowd. Xiomara passed her, zooming towards the goalposts at the far end of the pitch with impressive speed. Minerva quickly caught up with her, however, and they lapped the pitch, once, twice . . .

"Enough, Mara – I need to get back," Minerva cried over the wind, but she was laughing. Once more, around the goalposts, where Xiomara did an impressive loop-de-loop, and then the two witches soared up over the final row of seats and away from the castle.

"That was brilliant, Min," Xiomara sighed, as they flew side by side over the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. "Promoting Hagrid to Head of Gryffindor."

Minerva gave a sad little smile, her eyes focused on the horizon.

"It's what Dumbledore would have done," she said simply.

Xiomara reached out, and took Minerva's hand in her own. And they flew on, side by side and hand in hand, towards home.