I own none of the characters that actually appear in JK Rowling's books, as I'm sure you all know well. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy!

Hidden and Revealed

Though things appeared for all goods and purposes normal, Minerva noticed a definite rift had formed between Slughorn and Abraxas Malfoy. Much as Malfoy attempted to wheedle his way back into the Potions teacher's favour, Slughorn made no attempt to conceal his discomfort every time Malfoy placed a tin of caramelized pineapple on his desk in a vain attempt to win back Slughorn's trust; the professor would almost always excuse himself loudly for a faculty meeting and rush out the door, leaving a disgruntled Malfoy behind. Minerva also suspected that Malfoy's invitation to the Slug Club had been revoked, as he was no longer at the few dinners that neither she nor Jeff could talk their way out of.

Minerva was glad to see that Professor Dumbledore's attitude towards her had not changed in the slightest, regardless of how close he had come to being sacked because of her. Neither ever mentioned the subject of Animagi to each other, though from time to time Minerva could swear she caught a look of slight sorrow gleaming in Dumbledore's eyes as he exclaimed, 'Excellent work, Miss McGonagall!' in Transfiguration class.

And so time wore on, with very little change at Hogwarts. It took very little time for Augusta, Pomona, and Paul to catch on to the fact that Jeff and Minerva were now considerably more than friends, and all three accepted the fact with tacit approval. Though her own private lessons with Professor Dumbledore were now over, Minerva continued to coach Jeff on conjuring his own Patronus; not at all to Minerva's surprise, he managed to get the hang of it after only a few lessons.

What did surprise her, however, was the sudden appearance of Jeff's tabby Patronus in the Gryffindor common room as she coached Augusta through some tricky Charms work one evening. Minerva stiffened a bit as she heard a mewing behind her, certain that it was some cat come to torment her, as she had decided that the little beasts could somehow discern her allergies and thus flocked to her in particular; so when a silvery form leapt lightly onto her lap, she attempted to brush it off with her hand before realising that the form had no real substance.

'Merlin,' she said in bewilderment as Jeff's Patronus curled up on her lap and looked up at her with huge semi-opaque pupils, the tip of its tail twitching.

'What is it?' asked Augusta, still staring down at her essay and reading over what she'd just written with her brow furrowed.

'Jeff's Patronus,' Minerva explained, gesturing awkwardly to the feline on her lap. Augusta looked up, confused, and leaned over the arm of the sofa on which she was sitting.

'Oh, isn't it cute?' she cooed. 'Looks just like his cat, have you seen him?' Minerva rolled her eyes.

'Yes, I have, but you seem to be overlooking the strangeness of the situation, Augusta,' she said. 'I didn't even know Patronuses could be sent so far from their wizards, let alone through walls.'

Augusta raised her eyebrows, absently rubbing the tip of her quill against her chin.

'So you're saying that Jeff is pioneering a new method of Patronus usage?' she asked. 'I'm sure other people have figured this out by now, Minerva.'

'Probably.' Minerva continued to watch the tabby in fascination. 'But in all the research I've done, people usually allow their Patronuses to fade away after a Dementor attack has been repelled. I've never read about anything like this.'

'And of course that means it has to be revolutionary,' muttered Augusta under her breath.

But Minerva's interest was now piqued, and she made her way over to the Ravenclaw table the next morning at breakfast.

'Hello,' she said to the surrounding Ravenclaw students, who by this time were used to Minerva's frequent appearances at their breakfast table and obligingly scooted over on the bench to make room for her next to Jeff. 'What were you up to last night?' she asked under her breath as she slid onto the bench next to him.

Jeff grinned. 'So it worked, then?'

'How on earth did you do it?'

'Well, I was bored, and all the other Ravenclaws had already gone up to bed, and my cat Mourek kept leaping onto my lap and spilling my inkwell all over my Transfiguration book. So I thought I might see how he reacted to having another cat around – albeit a conjured, non-corporeal one – and, well…' Jeff shrugged. 'Once I'd figured out I could send it through walls, I thought I might see how far it could go within the castle.'

'But you've never seen the Gryffindor common room,' Minerva pointed out.

'True.' Jeff shrugged again. 'I just told it to go find you.'

Minerva blinked. 'It takes directions from you?'

'Makes sense, though, doesn't it? I mean, not that I've ever had to use a Patronus against a Dementor, but aren't you supposed to be able to, I dunno, tell it to charge at them, and whatnot?'

'Jeff, this could be a whole new form of magical communication! I mean, could you hear me and Augusta talking?'

'No! No, of course not,' Jeff laughed. 'I wasn't even sure it had worked till you just told me it had. Maybe in the future, though…'

'Hm.' Minerva pursed her lips. 'Well, I won't deny it caught me off my guard, but so long as it doesn't start shedding on my robes, I don't mind any further appearances.'

Within no time, Minerva and Jeff were sending Patronuses about the school regularly after hours; even when trying to study without distraction in the Gryffindor common room, Minerva still found it comforting to have Jeff's Patronus keeping her company, napping on the back of her armchair as she worked. A major breakthrough came when Jeff discovered that verbal messages could be sent via Patronus; neither he nor Minerva could determine if it was possible to speak continuously ('Like with a telephone!' Jeff tried to explain to a very confused Minerva), but it was still very satisfying to be able to send each other whispered bits of gossip or complaints about schoolwork throughout the course of the day when no one else was looking.

The winter holidays came and went; Minerva and Augusta both opted to stay at Hogwarts with Jeff, and the three soon began a vicious snowball war that lasted the entire break, during which each tried to catch the others off their guard outside and assault them with snowballs in what Jeff ironically termed 'snowball blitzkrieg'. This war continued long after the holidays ended and the rest of the students returned, mainly because Peeves had caught onto the practice and had taken to bombarding bewildered first years as they walked to the greenhouses, sending them flying in all directions with shrieks.

Snow was falling lightly one evening in mid-January as Minerva trudged a short ways into the Forbidden Forest to put some Bludgers away in the Quidditch shed. She had been afraid that her team would have become lazy after spending a few weeks doing nothing but eat large festive meals at home with their families, but to her delight they had had a better practice this evening than before the holidays had begun – perhaps they had just gotten some much-needed rest, Minerva speculated, as she'd rarely seen Judith look so awake at practice, and to her great delight Jason and Matthew had spent more time hitting Bludgers than discussing girls. Darkness was falling quickly, but Minerva took her time, enjoying the sharp slap of the cold on her face and the crunch of the lightly-packed snow beneath her feet, feeling an incongruous combination of elation and tranquillity.

However, as she locked the Bludgers safely into the shed with a brisk tap of her wand, Minerva distinctly heard voices arguing a short ways away through the trees. Frowning, and hoping very much that Peeves hadn't just assaulted one of her Quidditch players with a snowball attack, she lit the end of her wand with a muttered 'Lumos' and headed in the direction of the sound.

In only a few moments, Minerva arrived on the edge of a small clearing, extinguishing her wand quickly so that she could get a better sense of what was going on before intervening. A massive figure was crouched on the ground, clutching something to its chest, and before it stood a tall, thin silhouette, a harsh, bright light glowing from the wand it held aloft.

'Give it here, Rubeus,' said the cold, commanding voice of Tom Riddle as the boy stretched out his hand. 'You know it's what's best for it.'

'Hands off, yeh murderer!' growled the huge boy, shrinking a bit further back. 'Yeh may've gotten the rest of 'em, but yeh're not touchin' her!'

'Having dogs in the dormitories is strictly against school policies, Rubeus,' explained Riddle in the patient tone with which one might address a stubborn child. 'You wouldn't have been allowed to keep them anyway, had Professor Dippet found out; it was inevitable that they would have been killed. Now, hand the last puppy over to me…'

'Never!' howled the boy. 'I'll tell Professor Dumbledore what yeh did, how yeh drowned the rest of 'em in the lake, yeh great bully! He'll make sure yeh pay the price for it!'

'No one will ever find the bodies,' said Riddle quietly, 'and Professor Dippet wouldn't object to it if I told him I'd drowned a number of werewolf pups you were raising in your room, would he?'

The boy blinked in confusion. 'They were boarhounds,' he said, 'not werewolves.'

'I'd like to see you explain that to Professor Dippet when the evidence has sunk to the bottom of the lake.' Riddle smiled icily. 'Now for the last time, Rubeus, give me the little bitch before I take her from you by force…'

Riddle raised his wand in a swift jerk as Hagrid threw himself forward with a roar. Minerva sensed that now was as good a time as any to intervene, and stepped swiftly from the trees.

'Is there a problem here?' she snapped briskly. Riddle's hand froze in midair, and the boy fell backwards, staring appraisingly at Minerva as if trying to decide whom she would help.

'Nothing at all,' said Riddle smoothly, pocketing his wand. 'I was just having a little talk with Rubeus here about school policies regarding pets.' He threw a sneering glance towards the giant huddling defensively on the ground, and the boy instinctively recoiled in fear and hatred.

'Well, I see no reason why such a discussion should be held in the middle of the woods at night,' argued Minerva briskly. Her eyes met Riddle's; the challenging gleam in them made her feel as if he knew that she had overheard more than he had told her, and she briefly considered confronting him before deciding against it; an impromptu duel with Riddle could only cause trouble and would not bring back drowned puppies. 'Might I suggest you move your orations back towards the castle, before I have to take points from Slytherin? It's not safe to be this far into the woods when it's this dark outside.'

Riddle glanced towards Minerva's wand, which she was holding quite steadily at an angle pointed directly at Riddle's chest; with a curt nod and a dangerous smile, he quickly disappeared into the woods. Minerva stared after him, eyes flashing, her breath coming in quick puffs visible in the cold and her cheeks reddened in anger. It was at moments like these that she hated Riddle the most, when he bullied younger students and intimidated his victims into silence. Once she had regained control of herself, she looked down at the boy huddled on the ground.

'It's Hagrid, isn't it?' she said kindly, offering the boy a hand, which he accepted awkwardly, nearly pulling Minerva over as he heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. 'I'm Minerva McGonagall, one of your prefects.'

'Yeah, I know,' the boy muttered, glancing sheepishly at Minerva and then back down at the tiny puppy he held squirming inside his coat. 'Thanks for helpin' me.'

'Of course,' said Minerva, dropping her voice sympathetically as the two started back towards the castle, Minerva's wand lighting the way. 'I've been on the receiving end of Riddle's bullying often enough to sympathize with any other Gryffindor in that situation.'

'Idiot,' Hagrid scoffed. 'If I were him, I'd know better than to provoke yeh, Miss McGonagall. Common knowledge yeh're more than a match for him.'

Minerva smiled wryly. 'Well, let's just say he doesn't care too much for my associates.'

'Yeh should've taught him a lesson,' grumbled Hagrid. 'I'd've done it a long time ago, if I could hold a candle to him in terms of magic.'

'Does he target you often?' asked Minerva, frowning in concern.

'Yeah.' Hagrid sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 'He don' like people who're different, Riddle.'

'I know,' said Minerva softly. 'Well, if anything like this ever happens again, come and find me, will you?'

Hagrid nodded, still sniffling; Minerva pretended not to notice. They continued on in silence till they reached the castle doors and Hagrid stopped.

'Riddle said they'd kill 'er if they found 'er in my room,' he muttered, pulling the puppy out of his coat and letting her eagerly lick his broad neck.

'Nonsense.' Minerva pulled open the door with some difficulty and held it open for Hagrid. 'I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore; perhaps he could get a pen set up on the grounds for her.'

Hagrid's eyes beamed gratitude. 'Yeh'd do that?' he asked excitedly, for all the world like a great puppy himself.

'Certainly.' Minerva held out a hand for Hagrid to shake; Hagrid took it, blushing furiously.

'Thank yeh, Miss McGonagall,' he stammered, looking at his toes. 'Best be off now… see yeh around…'

And away he skidded down the entry hall in his damp shoes, the little puppy yipping cheerfully in his arms.

True to her word, Minerva spoke with Professor Dumbledore about Hagrid's puppy, and the Deputy Headmaster obligingly set up a little pen near Ogg's hut for the dog; Hagrid was often seen rushing to and from the pen after meals to share little portions of meat with his pet. Minerva suspected that Professor Dumbledore had also given Hagrid tacit permission to bring the dog into the common room on the coldest nights, for it became a common sight to see the rapidly-growing boarhound curled up asleep in front of the fire.

Minerva was both embarrassed and mildly flattered at how enamoured of her Hagrid had become; he was always eager to lend her a helping hand, holding doors and the portrait hole open for her whenever possible, and immediately flushing scarlet whenever she thanked him. Augusta loved to tease Minerva about her obvious admirer, asking cheekily, 'So, Minerva, how jealous should Jeff be of all this?'

'For the last time, Augusta,' Minerva snapped one day as the friends struggled out of the Three Broomsticks, 'will you just let the whole thing drop?'

Augusta smirked. Jeff nudged Minerva in the ribs with his elbow. 'Just ignore her,' he whispered, giving Minerva a quick kiss on the cheek.

It was a bleary afternoon in late March. The snow had melted into slush throughout the streets of Hogsmeade; the air was crisp and a general mood of grey lay over the entire village. Pomona shuddered as a gust of chilly air swept through the frozen lanes, pulling her cloak tight around herself as she did so.

'Goodness, it's cold!' she chattered. 'I vote we swing by Honeydukes, and then get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible.'

'I told Paul I'd meet him at Madam Puddifoot's,' said Augusta, blushing. 'Sorry, Pomona.'

Pomona raised an eyebrow at Minerva with an expression that quite clearly asked if Minerva and Jeff were going to follow suite, but to Minerva's disappointment, Jeff took a swig of his butterbeer and said that he had to finish a Transfiguration paper and should probably return to Hogwarts. Though Minerva herself had work to do, she had decided to take the day off from school, and so opted to wander the deserted streets of Hogsmeade for a bit, with only her thoughts for company.

Though Minerva knew the world was changing for the worse, it was impossible to believe such things on days such as these. Removed from reality, surrounded by the village charm of Hogsmeade and guarded by the knowledge of a warm fireside awaiting her back at Hogwarts, it seemed to Minerva that thus the countryside had existed since the beginnings of time, and thus it would remain. She stopped to lean against a picket fence, enjoying the absolute silence that ensued when the sound of her boots squelching through the mud had ceased. A large lot, filled with the delicate green of young grass, spread before her, and Minerva wondered why no one had ever bothered to build anything there; it was at least large enough for a good-sized house…

'Might I be so rude as to interrupt your thoughts for a moment, Minerva?' a voice said just behind Minerva, making her jump in surprise.

'Oh, Professor!' she said, turning round. 'Sorry, you startled me…'

Minerva stopped, staring in curiosity at the man standing next to Dumbledore. He was a sturdily-built man, wrapped in a heavy cloak, with roughly-hewn features and appraising black eyes that glanced swiftly up and down Minerva's personage as she did the same.

'Minerva, I'd like you to meet my good friend Alastor Moody, Head of the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic,' Dumbledore explained. 'Alastor, this is Minerva McGonagall.'

'McGonagall, eh?' Moody nodded approvingly, extending a hand to Minerva; his handshake was strong and confident. 'Aeneas McGonagall's daughter, I assume. Good man – one of the best in the Ministry, I daresay. I've tried to convince him to run for Minister more times than I can count, but he's too damn smart to want to go into politics. Too smart, and a sight too honest.' Moody let out a barking laugh.

'Thank you,' said Minerva, unsure of how to respond.

'And your mum's Alexia McMillan, isn't she,' Moody continued in his gruff voice. 'Can see the resemblance. Saved my life once, your mum did… some blackguard had slipped poison into my drink at a pub, and I can say with some certainty that I wouldn't be here talking to you right now if your mum hadn't been nearby with a spare bezoar in her pocket. One of the few people I'd actually accept a drink from – can't be too careful nowadays.' He held up a drinking flask by way of explanation and took a long swig out of it. Minerva nodded politely.

'Minerva has expressed interest in becoming an Auror after leaving Hogwarts,' Dumbledore said, 'and she's already more than proficient at summoning a corporeal Patronus and fending off the Imperius Curse.'

'That so?' Moody grinned. 'Excellent. We need new blood in the Auror Department, and young people with talent… Merlin knows we've got enough new recruits severely lacking in that. Dark times ahead, no doubt about that, but if your parents are any indication of your talent – and if Professor Dumbledore hasn't been lying to me all afternoon in his praise of you – I daresay we'll be expecting great things from you, Miss McGonagall.'

'You know, Alastor, if we're going to make it to the Three Broomsticks before it closes, we'd best go now,' Dumbledore said as Minerva blushed. 'Unless, of course, you don't mind going to the Hog's Head…'

'I'll take the former,' snorted Moody. 'Not that I ever have anything to drink, of course, but damn it, Albus, can't you tell Aberforth to clean the goat smell out of his bloody pub…?'

'I've hinted at it to the point of bluntness, and still no results.' Dumbledore sighed theatrically. 'Care to join us, Minerva?'

'Oh, no thanks,' said Minerva hastily. 'I was just thinking of heading back to the castle.'

'See you in a few years, McGonagall,' growled Moody with a wink; and, with the whirl of two cloaks, Minerva was again left alone by the picket fence.

April dawned bright and warm, and Minerva accepted Ravenclaw's narrow victory over Gryffindor in the Quidditch House Cup with good grace, swearing to herself that next year would be Gryffindor's year as she shook Jeff's hand somewhat more forcefully than perhaps was necessary. Before she knew it, exams were looming in the foreseeable future; accordingly, she and her friends took to the Library for diligent study, trying their best to concern themselves as little as possible with the turbulence of the outside world.

Though murmurs about the war had been sweeping through common rooms and about the Great Hall during meals, creating an undercurrent of anxiety amidst the students, nothing could have prepared the school for one morning in May. Owls swooped and glided beneath the bewitched ceiling as students down below caught parcels and letters as they chatted with their friends over breakfast. Minerva had just slipped a coin into the pouch of a large great-horned owl in payment for her Daily Prophet when a strangled cry emanated from the professors' table. Heads turned as Professor Merrythought, attempting to stand, swayed slowly on the spot with an unfocused gaze; then, her eyes rolling back into her head, she fell to the ground. Hushed exclamations hissed through the crowd of staring students, and as Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore rushed immediately to the aid of the unconscious witch crumpled between them, Minerva glanced down at the newspaper in her hands, whose headline read: 'DARK WIZARDS INVADE FRANCE; RESISTORS KILLED.' Beneath the caption was a photograph of a witch sobbing over the body of her dead child, and the grieving mother's face looked uncannily like that of a young Professor Merrythought.

'Look,' she muttered, shoving the paper towards Augusta, who was gaping open-mouthed at the drama unfolding at the front of the hall. Minerva would not have thought it would be possible for Augusta's eyes to grow any wider, but so they did upon seeing the photograph.

'Her daughter?' whispered Augusta, glancing up in shock.

'Must be… didn't Jeff say that Professor Merrythought's grandchildren were in France?'

'Merlin.' Augusta bit her lip, which was beginning to quiver. 'Can you imagine anything more horrible.'

The two friends turned in tandem towards the professors' table, where Professor Dumbledore had succeeded in reviving Professor Merrythought and was escorting her out of the Great Hall, one of her trembling arms draped unsteadily over his shoulder. The murmurs around the hall grew louder upon this exit, and out of the corner of her eye, Minerva saw Jeff leap up from the Ravenclaw table and sprint towards the door through which the professors had exited.

'Give me a moment, will you?' she said to Augusta, whose attention was glued in horror to the photograph on the front page of the Prophet. Slipping out from behind the bench, she dodged through the teeming mass of students and followed Jeff up the stairs before finally catching him by the elbow in a second-storey hallway.

'Where on earth do you think you're going?' she panted.

'I have to see Professor Merrythought,' he replied distractedly, trying to tug his arm from her grip.

'Good heavens, Jeff, they wouldn't let you in to see her right now!' Minerva exclaimed. 'You should talk to her later, after she's recovered from the shock.'

'You don't know what this is all about!' snarled Jeff, wrenching himself from Minerva's grasp. 'When I'd lost my parents and my grandmother, and my uncle and my sister, she treated me like I was practically her own grandson, and I owe it to her to be there for her!'

'Oh, Jeff…' Minerva sighed. 'Don't talk about your uncle and your sister that way, they're still alive and fine.'

'Are they?' Jeff snapped. 'Can you really call it living, what they're going through? Deprived of virtually every right that a human being deserves, not allowed to even own a radio, for God's sake – and branded with a yellow star, like cattle!' Jeff slammed his fists against the wall. 'I keep telling myself they'll survive this, but people are dying every day over there, Minerva, and I can't believe it any more, I just can't. And that means that you and Augusta and Pomona and Paul and Professor Merrythought are the only family I have left.'

To her surprise, Minerva realised she was on the verge of slapping Jeff for this warped logic, in the hopes of returning him to his senses, but Jeff leaned suddenly against the wall as if exhausted.

'I just want to make sure she's all right,' he said flatly, and he glanced at the front page of the newspaper, crumpled in his fist.

Minerva took a step forward and gently pried the newspaper from Jeff's hand. 'Come on,' she said softly. 'Professor Merrythought will be fine, I promise you. You'll see her later, and everything will be fine.'

After a moment, Jeff nodded; Minerva could only imagine the horrible memories he was reliving in that moment. She crumpled the newspaper article and threw it to the ground; then, taking Jeff's hand in her own and giving it a tight squeeze, the two made their way slowly back down to the Great Hall in silence.

The flames flickered in the hallway, though there was no breeze to speak of. A moment later, a slim figure moved from the shadowy doorway from which he had been watching his two nemeses; with long, spider-like fingers, Tom Riddle picked the crumpled article off the ground, smirked at it, and destroyed it in a flash of smoke and flame. Funny how sentimental people could get over problems that really weren't even their own. He would have devoted more attention to the scenario, had he not more important things on his mind.

With even steps, Riddle strode purposefully down the hallway, his exterior not betraying for an instant the frantic drumming of his heart. After years of careful research and clandestine speculation, perhaps he had finally reached the solution to his burning question – the mere notion was exhilarating. He paused before the bathroom door, glancing from left to right quickly before entering… not that anyone would be in here, after the ruckus in the Great Hall. Still, Riddle knew better than to take his chances; he had done so much already that it was unthinkable that his plans should be arrested by something as ridiculous as being seen entering a girl's bathroom.

The interior of the bathroom was unremarkable; tiled, cold, almost hospital-like in its austerity. Riddle scanned the walls carefully, searching for some sign, any sign. It had to be here, he was certain… Breathing deeply, Riddle leaned back against the sinks, and his fingers brushed something carved into one of the taps.

Riddle smiled a cold, mirthless smile. Of course it was too late to launch his plan now; with only a few weeks of school left, it would be foolish to begin an overt attack on impure bloodlines, no one would return after the summer holidays. But he could wait. He had waited this long; what more could one summer be? He had waited for this his whole life; as the last of the line of Salazar Slytherin, it had been his destiny from the moment he was born. His eyes gleamed with a sort of eerie fanaticism, his heart was pounding with a surge of excitement – beneath his fingers lay the keys to power, to fame, to becoming someone who would never be forgotten by the world.

'Open,' he hissed.