As the sun's last golden rays sank from the twilight sky, already dotted with bright, shining stars that managed to shine in the splotches of sky that were not covered by lingering rain clouds, the curfew bells of Hogwarts sent a resonating tone through the halls and fields. The deep resonation penetrated every square foot of the grounds, giving students a final warning to be inside before dark.
Beyond the castle, the lake, and Hagrid's modest hut, two solitary silhouettes still flitted about the Quidditch field, chasing after the round objects that struggled to evade their grasp. As the somber bell tolled, the figures sped up ever so slightly, seemingly more anxious to capture their goals. One made a remarkably steep dive, reaching for a barely discernable object in the twilight of the evening. Just as it seemed the person would crash, the fist suddenly closed, the broom was pulled up, and the figure landed smoothly on the soft grass of the Quidditch field. It looked up, shouting something indiscernible to its lone partner in the air.
As the remaining ball hurled itself to one of the golden hoops that still shimmered, reflecting the last light of the evening, the person in the air suddenly let go of the broom with half of its upper body, keeping hold of the handle with its left arm, while it extended the right downwards. The ball landed smoothly in the outstretched arm, causing the individual on the field below to expel a loud cry of happiness, jumping and clapping. Carefully, the second person descended, and together the two slung their brooms over their shoulders and proceeded to open a large trunk. They seemed to talk animatedly while putting their gear away.
Now, as the darkness slowly settled across the grounds, a third figure could be seen walking across the field, approaching the Quidditch pitch. Obviously female, her silhouette was thin and angular, drawing the eye upward to the witch's hat that sat atop her head. She walked briskly to the two other figures, and seemed to catch them by surprise with their presence. One made multiple hand gestures, pointing to the hoops, then the Quidditch trunk, shaking his head. The other stood taller, talking calmly and occasionally referencing the field with a nod of his head. Finally, the witch shook her head and waved her hand at them, proceeding to talk without interruption. While she spoke, the two figures that looked nearly identical in the moonlight with their brooms and Quidditch cloaks, exchanged several glances, folding their arms. When the taller woman finished, she turned on her heel and began walking back towards the castle, with the other two in tow.
Together, the three took the shortest route to the castle, entering into the North Tower. As the light from the building washed over them, it revealed their features. The woman, walking quickly, was quite older, with square monocles sitting on a small, thin nose. Her dark hair, streaked through with gray, was pulled into a sleek bun, nearly hidden by her hat. Her robes were of a deep emerald color, reaching down to her pointed and heeled black shoes. She gave an unmistakable aura of authority and strength.
Behind her, the two other figures were revealed to be older teenagers, in the prime of their young adulthood. On the left was a thin, lanky young man with tousled red hair, a massive amount of freckles splashed about his red cheeks, and brown eyes that occasionally flickered towards his partner, obviously wondering what was going on. Like the boy walking next to him, he wore muddied and grass-stained crimson Quidditch robes, still complete with the sturdy gloves and kneepads. The broom he carried nonchalantly had seen better days, but it served its purpose well, and was suited to its owner.
Walking next to him, the other boy was a good three inches shorter than his friend, and while thin, he was much more solid. His dark brown hair was a complete mess over his head, sticking out in patches in every direction it could find. He, too, had a face smudged with dirt, but the dirt failed to cover the thin, jagged scar on his forehead and the piercing green eyes that shone through his round glasses. His usual, winning smile was nowhere to be found as he followed behind his teacher. His grip on his broom, a sleek, expensive-looking model, was tighter than necessary.
The three walked in this order in silence down the hallway, until they finally arrived at the last door on the right. The older witch uttered one word, and the door opened gently. She walked in, and the teens followed.
Inside, the room was quaintly furnished; there were multiple bookshelves lining the stone walls, and torches were placed intermittently throughout the room. On the right wall was a roaring fireplace, and on the mantle atop it stood several trophies. The cold stone floor was covered with a large scarlet Persian rug that occupied most of the room. In the center of the room was a large desk, covered with neat piles of papers and various paperweights and tins. Next to the desk was a small wooden waste bin, empty but for a few crumpled papers. Behind the desk was a rather plush chair, and two simple polished wooden armchairs in front of it.
The woman walked straight to the padded chair behind her desk and sat down, immediately motioning for the two others to take a seat in the two other chairs. Tentatively, they did so, placing their brooms to rest against the desk. The Professor picked up a small metal tin and opened it, revealing a quantity of chocolate squares. She held it out to the two boys, who graciously refused with a wave of their hands. Shaking her head, she held out the tin further, shaking it slightly. Each boy smiled and took a piece, and sat back while they munched them.
The boy with the glasses sat straighter and asked the woman a question, concern written across his face. Slowly, the teacher closed the tin of chocolate and set it back in its place. Not saying anything for a moment, she folded her hands in front of her and began to speak.
As she began, the boy with the glasses paid attention, while the other seemed to half-listen, staring at his chocolate while she spoke, occasionally glancing up at her. After a moment, however, both pairs of eyes were trained on her, chocolate forgotten. Both of the teens' jaws were clenched tightly, their cheeks growing redder by the moment. The boy with the darker hair began breathing deeply, the other clutched his chocolate so tightly it began to crumble, and began gritting his teeth.
As McGonagall continued to speak for the next few minutes, however, the color slowly drained from their faces, and far from clenching what they were holding, the boys' muscles relaxed in disbelief, their jaws falling away from their mouths gently, their breaths growing shallower. The red-haired boy continually shook his head, and interrupted the woman, tears welling up in his eyes. The Professor broke eye contact with him and shook her head slowly, and began to speak further. The other teen removed his glasses and buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.
After a moment of complete silence, the redhead lifted his red eyes to the teacher's, and with a trembling lip, asked her another question. To this, she again shook her head slowly, uttering a single word.
As tears fell from the boy's eyes, he began taking deep, shuddering breaths, and holding his hand over his open mouth. Quite suddenly, his eyelids fluttered quickly, and he made a quick bolt for the waste bin by the desk, and vomited into it. He remained there for a moment, breathing raggedly into the small wooden receptacle, before rocking back on his knees and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robes. By that time, the teacher was kneeling at his side, forcing more chocolate into his fist. The other boy still remained in his chair, his face firmly buried in his hands, body trembling. Everything remained still for a moment, as the news sank into the two men. The boy in the chair finally lifted his face, and cast a weary glance with his reddened eyes at his friend, who was still staring in horror at the floor, his chocolate melting in his tight fist. The teacher lay a hand on his shoulder, urging him to eat the chocolate, but he didn't respond, lost in the nightmare of his mind.
Finally, the boy with the glasses stood and wiped his eyes before collecting both of the brooms and slinging them over his back. He crossed over to his friend, and with the help of the professor, helped the boy to his feet, slinging one of the trembling white arms around his neck for support. He talked to the teacher for a moment, nodding intermittently between speaking. He then turned and guided himself and the redheaded boy out of the room, closing the door behind them softly.
When she was sure they were gone, the Professor sat at her desk, and opened a drawer with an imperceptibly quivering hand. From it, she pulled a single tissue, and held it to her eyelids firmly, her shoulders beginning to tremble.
