Fall, 1987

It was the day of the first Quidditch game of the season.

Severus was glaring at her from across the table. She glared back. Gryffindor is going to win the cup this year. We will! And we'll win this match, too.

Albus inquired, "Who is commentating on the match today, Minerva?"

"A first year, Oliver Wood. Seems quite enthusiastic about Quidditch; he tried to convince me that first years should be allowed to be on the Quidditch teams."

Stanton said with interest, looking up from the crossword in the Daily Prophet, "Why can't first years be on teams?"

"Madam Hooch insists. She says that the first years must actually learn to fly before being allowed to try out for Quidditch."

"It also provides more equality between the Muggle-born students and the ones who were raised magically," Pomona added from farther down the table. "Muggle-borns, after all, do not know how to fly when they arrive at Hogwarts, while most of the half-bloods and pure-bloods do. By second year, however, they all know how to fly, after being taught by Madam Hooch."

Stanton nodded. "Makes sense," he agreed, turning his attention back to his crossword.

Severus sneered, "It's an idiotic rule. It merely keeps talent away from the Quidditch pitch." He scowled in Albus's direction. Minerva knew that Severus had been attempting, without success, to get that particular rule revoked ever since he became Slytherin's head of house.

Albus pretended not to hear him. Albus, Minerva reflected with amusement, was excellent at feigning deafness.

Stanton, in what Minerva realized was an attempt to bring peace back to the table, said quickly, "Does anyone know what the most powerful magical number is?"

"Seven," Albus said, hearing miraculously returned to normal.

Stanton nodded his thanks, fumbling with his quill as he went to write the answer. Ink splattered across the puzzle. He scowled.

Severus said sardonically, "Not much point in doing a crossword if you're too clumsy to avoid covering up the clues."

Stanton said mildly, "Well, I gained ten minutes of enjoyment out of it, so it wasn't entirely pointless, was it? Albus, pass the butter?"

Minerva frowned for a moment, looking at the ink-splattered crossword. Why is he so clumsy? You'd think he's never used a quill before...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a somewhat familiar voice. "Professor McGonagall? Is it time to head down to the pitch?" Wood had apparently managed to come up the the High Table without Minerva noticing. His eyes, when Minerva turned to look at him, were lit up with excitement.

"Not yet. I will inform you when it is time."

Albus chuckled as soon as Wood was out of earshot. "Yes, I see what you mean, Minerva. He is rather enthusiastic, isn't he?"

Severus smirked at her. "Yes, quite. It's a good thing you'll have at least one Quidditch player next year- how many are graduating?"

Minerva glared at him. One of these days- "Three. Two Chasers, and a Beater."

"Too bad Gryffindor won't have much of a chance next year," Severus drawled. "After all, with only four experienced players..."

"We'll still have Weasley," she pointed out, and leaned back in satisfaction as the hit went home. Charlie Weasley was an excellent Seeker- much better than Slytherin's.

Severus's voice was silky smooth. "A Seeker isn't everything, Minerva."

She said coolly, "Yes, but without a good Seeker, it's nearly impossible to win. After all, there are only thirty-seven recorded games in history where the team that did not catch the Snitch won."

Severus glared at her. "Perhaps it will be thirty-eight after today's game."

"We'll just have to see, won't we? May the best team win."

"I'm sure they will."


Chattering students slowly filtered into the stands. Wood stood next to Minerva, hanging on to the microphone and peering around in excitement.

"Now," she said briskly, "You know all the players' names?"

"Yes, Professor," Wood said instantly. "For the Gryffindors, Weasley's the Seeker, the two Beaters are..."

Minerva listened with one ear to Wood, but most of her attention was abruptly diverted by the scraps of conversation floating over to her.

"...Seeker catches the Snitch, a small golden ball that flies around on its own, to get one hundred and fifty points." Albus, she identified immediately.

"So that's why they said the team that catches the Snitch usually wins?" A familiar voice, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Almost always, yes..." The voices faded until she couldn't hear any more. She frowned. Who was that?

"...and the third Slytherin Chaser is Marcus Flint," Wood finished.

Minerva nodded. "Good."

The cheers of the crowd caught both of their attentions. Wood yelped, "Here they come!"

Minerva muttered the spell, tapping the microphone with her wand. "There. Remember to be unbiased."

She turned her attention to the game. I can try to remember who Albus was talking to later.


"...And Slytherin scores!" Wood cried, sounded alarmed. With good reason. One hundred and ten to zero, Slytherin. This is a disaster. We need a better Keeper.

"Gryffindor in possession, heading towards the goalposts- blocked by Pucey! Taylor has the Quaffle, heading back up the field, dodges a Bludger shot by one of the Gryffindor beaters, not sure which, Taylor shoots, and SLYTHERIN SCORES!"

Minerva closed her eyes, resisting the urge to groan loudly. I can't take any more. Weasley, why can't you hurry up and catch the Snitch?

"Edwards has the Quaffle, heading up the field, and GRYFFINDOR SCORES!" Wood yelled with relief. "Finally- way to go, Edwards- oops, sorry Professor."

Minerva was too relieved to scold him. At least it isn't a complete shutout. Severus would be insufferable. Not that he won't be anyway.

"And it's Flint to Taylor, heading down the field- has Higgs seen the Snitch?"

Higgs dove directly through the Chasers, narrowly avoiding hitting Flint. Weasley was after him in half a second, and they were hurtling towards the ground at top speed, and then up again, around the Gryffindor goalposts until out of nowhere-

CRACK! The Bludger slammed into Charlie, flinging him off his broom, he was falling-

-and then he wasn't. He was hanging, perfectly still, in the air.

The crowd was deadly silent. Even Wood was struck dumb. The only movement was Higgs (he must not have seen it-) shooting towards the Snitch, his fingers closed around it-

And Charlie was floating to the ground. Minerva turned to look at the stands. Albus was standing, wand pointed at Charlie. I thought so- but why did Albus freeze him, then? Why not just slow down his fall?

The crowd unfroze. Everyone was yelling, but Minerva ignored it, shaken at the close call. That could have turned out very, very badly.

"And Weasley is being taken to the hospital wing by Professor Dumbledore," Wood called, finally recovering his voice at Albus conjured a stretcher for Weasley, walking towards the school. He completely ignored the Slytherin win. I don't blame him.

Minerva sighed, and stood. The game was over, and she had to check in with Poppy, make sure Weasley would be all right.

This game, she thought sardonically, was such a disaster that Severus might even take pity on her, and not rub Slytherin's victory in at all.


Minerva entered the hospital wing somewhat later than she would have liked. She'd been held up by hordes of students demanding to know if Charlie would be all right.

She'd had to fight back the urge to say, Maybe if you would get out of my way and stop asking, I would actually know by now! Instead, she'd ordered everyone back to their common rooms, telling them that their teachers would inform them as soon as possible.

Suddenly she heard the same voice that she had heard speaking before the match. Who is that?

"...think anyone noticed?"

"I believe everyone was too busy looking at Charlie to spare you a glance. Thank you, incidentally, for acting so quickly- I'm afraid it shocked me enough that I did not react immediately. I will have to fix this, in the future... I will not allow my students to be harmed because I did not act quickly enough," Albus said quietly. She should have known he would be here.

A sigh. "I'm glad I did it... but I'm worried about the consequences if anyone finds out. After all, it's not everyone who can point at someone and freeze them where they are."

"True. I will take the credit, if you'd like; I believe nobody will doubt me."

"Thank you, Albus." Relief in that voice.

Minerva hesitated, and then silently withdrew out of the wing. Taking care to make more noise, she walked back in.

"Ah, Minerva. I thought you would show up sooner or later," Albus said, smiling at her. Her eyes were not on him, however. They were on the person standing next to him.

Will Stanton.

Before Minerva could say anything, Poppy hurried in, carrying a tray with several potions.

"How is he?" Minerva asked.

"He has several broken bones, but he'll be quite all right by tomorrow. Actually, he will be fully healed by tonight, but he should stay until tomorrow, just in case."

Minerva nodded, relieved. "Good. Has the rest of the team shown up yet?"

"Not yet," Stanton said. "I suppose they have to get changed, though."

"Actually," Albus commented, listening to the footsteps and voices heading their way, "I think they may be coming now."

"I think I'll head back to my rooms, then. This room can only hold so many, after all," Stanton said. With a nod to the three of them, he left the room.

Albus said lightly, "Yes, I think I'll do the same. Coming, Minerva?"

"Yes," she agreed, and followed him outside.


Minerva reached her office with a sigh of relief. She'd had to go to the Gryffindor common room and reassure the students, and they'd bombarded her with question for half an hour. She'd also been stopped no less than fourteen times on her way to her office.

Well, I made it back here in the end.

She sighed.

I wasn't expecting it to be Stanton. Then again, she didn't know anything about the man, aside from the fact that he seemed perfectly normal. Which probably should have clued me in that he isn't.

Minerva sighed again. She still knew very little about him.

He doesn't know how to play Quidditch. He can apparently freeze people by pointing at them. And, she added to her mental list, remembering breakfast, it seems like he isn't familiar with using a quill to write.

Disconnected facts that told her nothing. But I'll find out more.

Whatever Will Stanton's secret was, she would figure it out.

"And that's a promise," Minerva muttered.