We all have those weeks, right? ;) It's been a busy start to the year but we're doing good now! Yay!

24 December 1993

"Hello?"

"Yes? Oh—Minerva, come in." Remus half-flung himself across his desk in an effort to either instantly organize or hide the disheveled piles of parchment. Then he recovered himself and began to neaten a stack with a faintly embarrassed grin on his face.

"It's all right, we've all had weeks like that," she said with a chuckle. "I wanted to ask if you were joining us for Christmas dinner tomorrow evening."

Remus looked surprised. "Oh—I—well, I'd like to, but… dinner is cutting it a bit close for me. Tomorrow's the night, I'm afraid."

Minerva nodded, wincing in spite of herself.

Remus smiled self-deprecatingly. "It's all right. The potion really does help. It'll be a quiet evening for me."

"It'll be a small party for us," Minerva told him. "We've only got six students in the castle. Albus asked the house-elves to set just one table."

"I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione," said Remus, sitting back in his chair. "Quite inseparable, aren't they?"

"You've no idea," Minerva said with a chuckle. "The three of them, plus Adrian Pucey, Derek Digby, and Demelza Robins."

Remus laughed. "That's quite a collection."

"Decidedly," Minerva agreed. "Well, I'm sorry we won't be seeing you."

He smiled. "As am I. Actually," he said slowly, "I had something I wanted to ask you about."

Minerva tilted her head curiously. "What was that?"

"That Quidditch match in November… it's the second time Harry's fallen apart, almost literally, at the approach of a dementor," he said. She stared at him and nodded once. "This is untenable, as I know you and Dumbledore are aware. But I've—being affiliated with Dark creatures, however, you can imagine… I know these creatures better than anyone on staff—except Dumbledore, probably—and I know Harry is young, but he's bright, and I wouldn't be a teacher if I didn't—well—"

"Out with it," Minerva said, but her tone was gentle, her gaze even. Remus met her eye at last.

"I want permission to teach Harry the Patronus Charm. He's approached me and asked for a lesson in defending himself—over a month ago, actually. He doesn't want to suffer from this anymore. Since—Black hasn't been caught yet, and the dementors will not be gone until he is, I've been thinking about it, and next term would be the ideal time for him to start learning."

Minerva raised her eyebrows.

"I know it's advanced, that he wouldn't ordinarily learn it until his N.E.W.T. year, but—" Remus pushed his hands through his hair, suddenly frustrated. "He's experiencing something terrible, nothing like what—what the others or you or I feel or see—and he's bright, and I think he could learn at least—something that will help him with this—I have to help him with this."

"I'm not surprised you feel that way," Minerva said, feeling her mouth twist slightly in a smile. Remus looked at her. She lifted her hands. "Remus, there is no rule against a student learning magic that's advanced, though we hope they strive for at least a modicum of safety when they do. The mere fact that he's approached you rather than attempting to learn it himself…" she shook her head. "When Potter puts his mind to something, it's fairly impossible to stop him from doing it, regardless of any boundaries he might be crossing. Sound familiar?"

A bit of color filled Remus's pale cheeks.

"You don't need my permission," Minerva continued. "But you have it. I think it's a very good idea."

Remus smiled and nodded. "Thank you. I'll make sure to keep you and Dumbledore—"

Minerva waved him off and smiled, heading for the door. "Feel better. We'll see you in a few days."

In spite of everything, Christmas dinner the next day turned out to be one of the nicest Minerva could remember having in the castle. This was quite a pleasant group to have; even Severus had deigned to show up in something that could be mistaken for a pleasant—if not cheerful—mood. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were among the last to arrive, just as Albus sat down between Severus and Derek Digby. Albus managed to get Severus to pull on the other end of a Christmas cracker, which produced a deafening bang and a hat that resembled—a bit too closely for coincidence—Augusta Longbottom's best hat. The table laughed as Albus accepted it graciously from a sour-faced Severus and donned it at once.

"Dig in!" he announced enthusiastically.

Minerva didn't need telling twice—she and Pomona had started their Christmas celebration a bit early, and she was now a half-bottle of mulled mead into her holiday. She was between Severus and Pomona at the table. On Pomona's other side sat little Demelza Robins, who looked quite stunned to be sitting among the staff—but grinned when Pomona offered her the other end of a cracker.

"Professor?"

Minerva looked around and saw Hermione Granger standing beside her chair. "What is it, Miss Granger?"

She bit her lip anxiously. "I wonder if I might have a word—after dinner? In private?"

Minerva smiled and patted Hermione's arm, feeling the cheerful, relaxing effects of her aperitif. No doubt the girl was anxious about her marks at the midterm—well, that was all right, wasn't it? "Certainly. Come to my office, we'll have a chat."

Hermione threw a furtive look around and then thanked her, hurrying away to sit down on Harry's other side.

Then, without any warning at all, the Great Hall doors swung open, and in fluttered Sybill Trelawney, resplendent in robes and jewels of glittering green. Minerva groaned, and Pomona elbowed her.

"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Albus. He rose and opened his arms, his vulture-topped hat wobbling.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Sybill, her eyes enormous and unblinking as she affected her most ridiculous voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…"

"No audience in her tower," Minerva muttered to Pomona, who snorted into her goblet.

"Certainly, certainly," said Albus, looking slyly at Minerva and Severus. "Let me draw you up a chair—"

Before Minerva could do anything, a chair popped into being directly between her and Severus. They exchanged a brief look of horror—

But Sybill suddenly gave a strangled gasp. "I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

Derek Digby and Demelza Robins looked at each other, panic-stricken. Pomona leaned over and murmured something reassuring to them. Minerva, however, was not in the mood for this performance.

"We'll risk it, Sybill," she said, arching an eyebrow. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."

There was a snort from somewhere in the vicinity of Ron Weasley, but Minerva did not look at him. Sybill came close to the chair and stood, apparently bracing herself for the final cataclysm, before finally lowering herself into it. Minerva drummed her fingers on the table and had to remind herself that Vanishing the chair would be childish and rude.

When Sybill had made it all the way down, Minerva took a serving spoon and inspected the contents of a dish in front of her. "Tripe, Sybill?" she asked politely.

Sybill opened her eyes, but said nothing. She looked around the table with great curiosity. "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

Minerva opened her mouth in disbelief, about to retort.

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, cutting her off neatly. The rest of the table began to fill their plates. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sybill?" Minerva frowned at her. Sybill was many things, but stupid was not one of them. Her attention-seeking, however, was rapidly approaching Minerva's limit.

Sybill glared back at her. "Certainly I knew, Minerva. But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," said Minerva; this earned her a stomped foot from Pomona.

Suddenly, Sybill adopted a much more normal tone. "If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him—"

"Imagine that," Minerva said sarcastically.

"I doubt," Albus called, his voice reverberating in a way that Minerva knew was meant to be calling her back to her best behavior, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster," said Severus. However, he looked at Minerva, vague amusement in his features. Sybill and her theatrics had always been a point of agreement for them.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be up and about in no time." He seized a platter of bright red sausages. "Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."

Dinner resumed its normal course from thereon, and for two hours, they enjoyed delicious food and an unusual collection of conversation; Demelza and Derek, who, it transpired, had been friends since a very early age, had decided to stay at school for the holiday because Derek's parents had gone to Turkey on business, and Demelza's parents had gone with them. Demelza was very interested in advanced Transfiguration, and was asking detailed questions about her school years to come, when, at the other end of the table, both Potter and Weasley rose from the table, and a high-pitched scream deafened Minerva in her right ear.

"For goodness' sake, Sybill!"

Sybill pointed a shaking hand at the two boys, who were frozen in the act of balancing their armloads of prizes from their Christmas crackers and looking bewildered. "My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"

"Dunno," said Weasley slowly, looking worriedly at Potter.

Minerva was still rubbing her fingers against her throbbing right ear. "I doubt it will make much difference, unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the entrance hall," she snapped.

The entire table erupted into laughter, and Harry and Ron both laughed. Sybill looked scandalized, and the party went on. Minerva, however, had noticed that Granger hadn't left with the boys. Frowning, she too stood up from the table. Sybill seemed determined not to notice, as though she felt that Minerva could take on as many mad axe-men as she liked. With a gesture, Minerva summoned Hermione, who followed her from the Great Hall.

"Professor—"

"Just a minute, Miss Granger," said Minerva as they climbed the stairs. "Whatever it is can wait until we're in my office."

They reached her door and Minerva let Hermione in first. She stood, fidgeting nervously on the hearthrug, until Minerva had lit the lamps and sat down. "Now. What do you need, Miss Granger?"

"Harry was sent a broomstick for Christmas," Hermione burst out, looking inexplicably close to tears.

Minerva blinked, wondering if her senses were still a bit dulled. "You aren't first years anymore, Hermione. Broomsticks are allowed. And Potter needed a new one, I'm not surprised he's ordered—"

"No, that's just it—" Hermione made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a sigh, clutching at her hair. She began to pace. "I went to see them this morning, and Harry said it was just a gift, that it was just there when he woke up—they were going to ride it, but then Crookshanks—well, he tried to kill Scabbers again, and then Ron tried to kick him—oh, but they're going to be furious I'm here—maybe I'm being stupid—"

Minerva stood up and held out her hands, steering Hermione into a chair. "Go back. Explain to me exactly what you think happened. Who is Crookshanks?"

Hermione stared up at her for a moment, and then blinked. "Oh—that—doesn't really matter, I suppose. He's my cat. But the reason I'm here is that Harry was sent a broomstick, Professor, a really, really good one—a Firebolt. But he doesn't know who sent it, and there was no note. I thought that—what if—Sirius Black sent it?"

Minerva frowned. "You're sure that none of you misplaced the card?" Even as she asked it, she knew that Potter, in spite of his family inheritance, was not in possession of relatives, or even friends, who would have the means—or the desire, in the case of Lily's sister—to make such an extravagant purchase for him. The Black family fortunes, on the other hand, were extensive and legendary… but how could Sirius Black have accessed his family's vault at Gringotts without being noticed?

"I wasn't there when they unwrapped it, but…"

Minerva decided, then and there. She wasn't interested in risking Potter's neck over a broomstick, even a Firebolt. It wouldn't take more than a few weeks to determine its safety, after all. "Come with me, Miss Granger."

"Wait—Professor, maybe—maybe you could wait a few days—they're going to hate me—"

"You've acted in the best interest of your friends," Minerva told her as they walked. "They will have to get over it. And after all, this isn't a permanent confiscation, if the broom is safe."

"Confiscation?" Hermione squeaked, horrified.

They had reached Gryffindor Tower, and after a moment in which Hermione stared up at Minerva anxiously, she gave the password—'scurvy cur'—to a very drunk Sir Cadogan. In the common room, they found Potter and Weasley gazing as though hypnotized at the Firebolt.

Clearly panicked, Hermione hurried to sit down at the far side of the room from Minerva, lifting a book—upside-down—to hide her face.

"So that's it, is it?" Minerva asked, frowning at the Firebolt. Potential dangers aside, it truly was beautiful. "Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter. May I?"

She plucked it from Potter's grip and scrutinized the broom carefully. A registration number… surely those could be faked… but if the broom was a fake, it was a good one. "Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?"

"No," said Potter, with the look of someone who knows something is closing in on him.

"I see," Minerva sighed. "Well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."

"W-what?" Potter jumped to his feet. "Why?"

"It will need to be checked for jinxes," she explained calmly. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—"

"Strip it down?" repeated Weasley, looking horrified.

"It shouldn't take more than a few weeks," Minerva assured them. "You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free."

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Harry insisted. "Honestly, Professor—"

"You can't know that, Potter," Minerva told him gently, but firmly, "not until you've flown it, at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed," she promised.

And with that, she left the common room, heading directly for Albus's office.

"How unreasonable have I been?" she asked ten minutes later, when she had explained everything that had transpired. Albus was gazing at the Firebolt, which hovered just above his desk.

"I don't think you've been unreasonable at all," Filius said, as he too scrutinized the broomstick. "It would be an unnecessarily complicated way to get to Potter, of course, given that Black has proven his ability to enter the castle… but then, he hasn't attempted that a second time…"

Minerva nodded. "I'd thought of that." She was frowning curiously at Albus, whose expression was inscrutable. "Albus."

"I think… that all precautions are good ones… at least until we have more information." His silver eyebrows were knit thoughtfully.

"What on earth does that mean?" Minerva asked bluntly.

Albus seemed to pull out of his reverie, though he still looked—concerned, somehow, as though he were considering something weighty and difficult. "Filius, take the broom and do what you can. Working with Rolanda is a very good idea."

"I don't mind telling you, from first glance, this looks like a bona fide Firebolt," said Filius, shaking his head. Clearly wanting to restore some levity, he added, "but I'll be happy to hold onto it until after the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw match."

"Chang is stiff competition, even against a Firebolt," Minerva said with a slight smile, as Filius reached up and took the broom. "Thank you, Filius."

"We'll have it sorted out soon. Good night!" he squeaked as he left the office.

Albus rose and walked to the fireplace, his hands clasped behind him. Minerva crossed her arms and frowned at him. "What are you thinking?"

He shook his head. "Far too many things, I'm afraid."

"You're wondering why, when breaking into the castle failed, Black would attempt to kill Potter from a distance," Minerva guessed. "I'm wondering the same thing."

Albus's nod was noncommittal. He looked at Minerva, and she had the feeling that he was not entirely present—that some part of him was examining the events of a Halloween night more than a decade ago. "I am wondering if I have been very, very wrong."

"What?" she asked, nonplussed.

"It's been known to happen, you know," he chuckled unexpectedly. "It's certainly possible now." Minerva didn't smile. Albus sighed. "Sometimes, pieces I've felt were arranged correctly… can make a very different picture on reexamination."

Minerva considered this for several moments. Then, she snapped her mind shut to the possibilities Albus hinted at and stood up. "Don't let Remus hear you talking like that," she said, her tone even but firm. "It was hard enough for him to accept what Black did to Lily and James. I don't know what alternative versions of history you're considering, but you have to be very careful, Albus."

He looked at her and then opened his palms in an honest, open gesture. "I have no alternatives to consider, at present."

Minerva's hand was on the door. Still feeling troubled—not by Albus, but rather by something she could neither see nor name—she slipped out of the office with a quiet, "Happy Christmas."