Minerva McGonagall and the Chamber of Secrets

by MinnieCat5

1942- In the middle of the war against Grindelwald, Hogwarts was a refuge. Minerva McGonagall entered her 6th year ready to make more memories with her friends, expand her prowess in Transfiguration, and even fall in love, hoping it all would distract her from thoughts of her family fighting on the front lines. A shocking attack on Halloween night, though, changed all that...

1. Family, on the First of September

Family, on the First of September

Wow wow. I honestly can't believe I'm posting this. A version of this story has been in the works since at least 2011, pre-Pottermore. So, non-Pottermore compliant (and definitely non-FB compliant, good gracious).

Enjoy and review, please! This has been a huge part of my life for more than 10 years.

xx

Tuesday, 1 September 1942

The McGonagall family ancestral home in the Highlands of Scotland had been loved and lived in for centuries. At times it had been occupied by several generations, bustling with the noise and activity of a small parish. Other times – quieter times – elderly couples with more space than they could ever imagine using. And other times still, young couples with their broods of children dreamed of creating a new legacy, being the new foundation that would bring the great home back to livelier days. Throughout the centuries, it had grown to accommodate its occupants, expanding into an impressive manor.

In recent years, McGonagall Manor's residents – an elderly couple who'd been married for forty-seven years – had welcomed their two adult sons back into their home with their families in tow. They sought the increased safety that the old wards of McGonagall Manor offered, for the wizarding world was at war. Most of the war was being fought on the continent, but there were still supporters of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald causing unrest on the British Isles. The McGonagalls, in particular, were concerned because they were considered blood-traitors in the pureblood community. Even worse, they'd heard a whisper that they'd been identified as members of the underground resistance movement in France. It had proved to be a wise decision to move when they did, because barely a week later, the eldest McGonagall son's home had been attacked and destroyed.

Though now his children had more personal space and much nicer beds, they also had holes in their hearts. One of these children was a sixteen-year-old witch named Minerva McGonagall.

Minerva rubbed her eyes tiredly as she sat down in front of her vanity the morning of the first of September. She hadn't had a vanity in her childhood home – there wouldn't have been any room for one in the room she'd shared with her little sister – but it was a luxury she could live without if it meant going home. If, of course, she had a home to return to. She gave the reflection of the black-haired, green-eyed girl in the mirror a small smile, and started getting ready for the day. She was excited to be going back to Hogwarts today to begin her sixth year, the first of the ominous N.E.W.T. years. Inexplicably, though, she would be taking the Floo from Scotland to London, and then an eight-hour train ride from London back to a different part of Scotland. While it made little sense to her, she didn't mind because it meant she had eight hours to catch up with her friends before term began.

A rap on her bedroom door made Minerva turn as she was finishing getting ready. "Minerva? Are you ready to go down?"

"Nearly," she called back. "Come in, Miranda!"

The bedroom door opened, revealing a black-haired ten-year-old girl with her hair done in braids. Minerva gave her little sister a small smile as she closed her cosmetics. Miranda smiled back, and Minerva glanced in the mirror one last time before standing to meet Miranda.

As they walked out the door, down the corridor lined with paintings ranging from rare originals by famous artists to paintings created by talented members of the family, Miranda said, "You know, I've been doing some reading, and I think if you cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on your trunk, I could—"

Minerva laughed, and Miranda stopped talking to grin up at her sister, her hazel eyes shining. Minerva shot her a sharp, amused look and replied, "I'm not supposed to do magic outside of school for another month, you know."

Miranda rolled her eyes, "Gran is the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, you are not going to get in trouble."

"That would be abusing the system, lassie," Minerva replied sternly, though her lips were quirking in amusement.

Miranda sighed dramatically, "You are a sickeningly honorable Gryffindor."

"And what are you?" Minerva quipped. She lost the battle waging at the corners of her lips.

"Aunt Diana says I'm a Slytherin like her," Miranda replied, puffing up her chest.

"I'd believe that," Minerva laughed.

They began their descent to the ground floor. After a few steps, Miranda asked, "So you won't help sneak me into the castle?"

"Absolutely not."

Miranda pouted up at her, but Minerva simply shook her head in amusement. They reached the wood-paneled dining room shortly, where the rest of the family had already assembled. Charles and Gliona McGonagall, the grandparents of the four underaged witches and wizards in the house, sat at one end of the table with Charles at its head. Charles had inherited McGonagall Manor from his parents earlier than most of the previous owners, at the age of twenty, after the tragic deaths of the rest of his family in a fire.

At the other end of the table, with the back of his black-haired head facing the door, was William McGonagall, already reading the morning's Daily Prophet. Minerva came around to the side of his chair and snaked an arm around his shoulders. He smiled up at her as she leaned in for a hug and said, "Good morning, Dad."

"Good morning, Minerva," he replied, placing a kiss on her cheek. Once Minerva pulled away, she was replaced by Miranda, who William hugged and kissed as well.

Minerva moved to greet the redheaded woman with her hair pulled back into a bun seated to William's right. "Good morning, Mum."

Halina McGonagall squeezed her daughter a little more tightly than she usually did in the morning, which drew a light laugh from Minerva.

At the other end of the table, Minerva's aunt and uncle, Diana and Jon, were still standing, conversing in low tones. They glanced up when Minerva and Miranda entered, but turned back to each other to quickly finish their conversation. Jon said one last thing to Diana, and then pulled out the chair nearest him – the one directly beside his mother – offering it to his wife. Jon came around the table to take a seat across from his mother and next to his son Mason, a Slytherin about to start his fourth year at Hogwarts.

Minerva walked around the table as well, dropping a kiss on the top of her little brother's head, who scrunched his nose and ducked. Michael McGonagall was a Hufflepuff, and was going to begin his third year today. Minerva took the empty seat between Michael and Mason, and Miranda the one between Halina and Diana, directly across from Minerva.

As soon as they sat down, a plate appeared in front of each person with a full Scottish breakfast, with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, haggis, and tattie scones. Charles, Gliona, Jon, William, and Michael also had baked beans.

"Are you excited, Minerva?" Halina asked, cutting into her black pudding.

Minerva opened her mouth to reply, but Miranda spoke up first, "I'm not excited, thank you for asking."

Halina sighed and gave Miranda a long-suffering, pointed look. "Well, I already know you're not, Miss Miranda, it's all you've been talking about for the past week."

"I talk about other things," Miranda replied, offended.

"It's a manner of speaking, dear," Halina said before taking a bite of her black pudding.

"It's so lonely here in the manor when they're all gone. You're all always working," Miranda complained. The adults glanced around at each other, unsure of what to say to that. Miranda, her eyes directed at her eggs, did not notice, and she continued, "I don't understand why we can't live at the Academy during the school year. It's much more fun there."

Halina sighed and exchanged a significant look with her husband. She was the singing teacher and Deputy Headmistress of the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, and while Halina had always traveled to and from work every day, there was an option for Halina to live at the Academy with her family.

"We can't, because if your father and I are called for a Resistance meeting, we need to be able to leave quickly. If we had to drop you here first, that would take time that could be crucially important," Halina replied.

"But why can't I stay with another teacher?" Miranda pressed.

Minerva turned her head down towards her plate uncomfortably, though her eyes darted up to watch her parents' expressions. They both looked hesitant and unsure of how to respond. Minerva imagined they were thinking that they did not want to explain to their ten-year-old daughter that during war, it was hard to know who to trust, even amongst your colleagues. That was the same reason programs put in place to help magical Highland children meet had ceased to exist recently.

Taking pity on her parents, Minerva interjected, "Mum and Dad must have thought about that, Miranda. You know they want to keep our lives as normal as possible. If they're not doing it, they must have their reasons, and we should respect that."

Miranda scowled across the table at her, but she did not argue. She stabbed a sausage moodily and muttered, "I guess."

Minerva chanced a glance in her mother's direction, and received a small, sad, grateful smile.

After a few minutes where the only sounds filling the room were that of forks and knives against plates, Miranda asked, "Does that mean you've considered asking Headmaster Dippet if I can start Hogwarts a year early?"

William laughed out loud at that and glanced across the table at his mother, "I think the Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office might have something to say about that. Something about childhood development and magic, I'm sure."

Gliona McGonagall chuckled, and then grimaced apologetically as Miranda turned a pout on her.

"I'd be careful with how much I complained, if I were you," Jon remarked in a playfully warning tone. Miranda turned a scowl on her uncle, and he grinned, "Your dad might take you to work with him. I've heard of wee lasses like yourself entering the Department of Mysteries and never coming out."

"You're lying," Miranda accused.

Jon raised his eyebrows at looked down the table at his brother, "I dunno, William, don't you do research on naughty bairns down there?"

William grinned, "Wouldn't you like to know." Minerva snorted into her food as her mother backhanded her father playfully. Of course, none of them knew for sure because as an Unspeakable, William's work was, well, unspeakable. They knew enough about his character, though, to be sure he would not have stayed in his job for more than two decades if they were doing experimental research on children.

"That was a positively Slytherin answer," Diana teased her brother-in-law. Her son Mason grinned at her, and then threw a smirk at his uncle.

William brought a hand to his chest in mock-offense, "How dare you!"

Diana rolled her eyes, though she was grinning, "And what are you going to do about it?"

"I shall challenge thee to a duel," William replied, waving his fork in the air dramatically.

Jon snorted, smirking across the table at his wife, "I'd pay to see that." Mason laughed.

Diana turned an amused smile on her husband and son. Though William kept his dueling skills sharp for the Resistance, Diana was an Auror, specially trained to fight in ways he was not. Jon was confident his wife could beat his older brother in a duel any day.

"You don't have faith in me, brother?" William asked teasingly.

"Of course not. I've dueled both of you, I know who would win," Jon laughed.

"Mum? Dad? What do you think?" William asked, a grin growing on his face.

Gliona and Charles both raised their eyebrows at him. Gliona's shoulders shook silently in amusement and she glanced at Diana on her left. Charles gave William a pointed look, one side of his mouth twitching upwards, and said, "It's not wise to challenge an Auror to a duel, lad."

"Oh, wisdom. You want to bring your house into it? Then I'll put it to my favorite Ravenclaw – Halina, you think I could beat Diana in a duel, don't you?" he asked, turning sparkling eyes on his wife.

Halina's eyebrows shot up as she chewed her food. She lifted her napkin out of her lap and lifted it to his face, wiping a bit of egg from the corner of his mouth while she finished chewing. Once she drew away, she replied, "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, love."

The rest of the table erupted into laughter at that, Minerva included. William mock-pouted at Halina, who smiled at him and leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. Michael, seated across from his mother, grimaced and looked pointedly down at his food, his face reddening.

As the laughter at the breakfast table died down, Charles spoke up, "Speaking of Aurors and favorite Ravenclaws," the McGonagalls turned to him, "Mitchell should be starting his final year at the Auror Academy today, shouldn't he?"

Halina smiled proudly, "Yes! Yes, he's excited to almost be through."

In all, William and Halina had four children: Mitchell, Minerva, Michael, and Miranda. Mitchell hadn't lived with them since he'd started Auror training the autumn after graduating from Hogwarts two years ago, though he visited often and also volunteered with them as part of the Resistance.

"It feels like only yesterday that he was…" Gliona hesitated as she realized the reminiscent tone had created a little bit of tension at the table, but plowed forward, "…graduating Hogwarts."

An awkward silence followed as the McGonagalls remembered what else Mitchell had brought the family into that year, filled only by the clinking of glasses and utensils against plates.

Minerva took a deep breath, more interested than the average McGonagall in putting that behind them, and looked up at her grandmother with a tight smile, "Yes, and before you know it, I'll be graduating, too."

"Oh, I know," Gliona sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you're turning seventeen in a month."

Minerva smiled, a feeling of excitement tickling in the pit of her stomach.

"Any birthday requests?" Jon asked.

Minerva raised her eyebrows and replied, smirking slightly, "Keep renewing my subscription to Transfiguration Today, and you'll always be my favorite uncle."

Jon barked a laugh at that before taking a sip of his tea. Once he swallowed, he drawled, "I'm your only uncle."

"You never know, Aunt Sylvia might change her mind about marriage one day," Minerva replied airily.

Halina scoffed quietly at the thought of her sister ever getting married.

Laughing too, Jon replied, "Though I doubt that will ever happen, until that day, I'm still your only uncle." He took a bite of bacon and winked at her. Minerva smiled.

The rest of breakfast in McGonagall Manor passed with much of the same banter as the residents enjoyed their last meal together before three of their number left for Hogwarts. When Minerva finished with her breakfast, she asked to be excused so she could finish packing for school. Her parents let her go, and she ran upstairs to put some final items in her trunk, and make sure she had all the pieces of her uniform together in her schoolbag so she could change out of her Muggle dress on the train. Minerva triple-checked for the shiny Prefect and Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badges that she was the proud owner of, smiling each time her fingers brushed against the metal.

A sudden, uncomfortable warmth against her chest caught her attention, and she lifted the opal pendant around her neck up, flipping it over to look at the smooth gold surface on the back. A jolt of excitement shot through her as she read the words, "Time to go! – H."

She dropped the pendant to her chest and called, "Rosie!"

A house-elf appeared and curtsied, "Miss Minerva?"

"Could you send my trunk to the entrance hall, please?" Minerva asked.

"Rosie would be happy to," Rosie replied, and with a snap of her fingers, Minerva's trunk disappeared.

"Thank you, Rosie," Minerva said with a smile. Rosie curtsied again, and popped away.

A warmth against Minerva's chest again prompted her to look on the back of her opal pendant once more. There was a new message there: "Can I come? – Mi1."

Minerva laughed softly through her nose at her older brother Mitchell's message. Even from miles away at the Auror Academy, he was still connected to his family through the Protean Charm on the necklaces they all wore. It had been a McGonagall family tradition to wear their birthstone on pendants since the eleventh century, despite the fact that at that time, most people did not recognize the stone of the month of their birth as theirs. The McGonagalls, though, had recognized the significant magical power that came from their connection to their own birthstone, and started wearing them infused with magic. Over the centuries the family continued to add to the charms, wards, and spells on their stones, to the point where the exact purpose behind some of the magic was lost, though the tradition lived on so as to not disturb the delicate balance of layering the magic.

"Have a good year, son! – W," came a new message, which Minerva read as she walked out her bedroom door to join her family downstairs to Floo to London.

---

Azkaban Prison held criminals of all sorts for the British wizarding community, from petty thieves to mass murderers, though they were not all treated the same way. When convicts arrived on the island prison, they were assigned a level of danger, usually based on the severity of their crime and the length of their sentence. Prisoners considered to be least threatening, who would typically be out of Azkaban in under ten years, were guarded by fellow wizards on the bottom few floors of the prison, where they had a common area, recreation time, and wore yellow robes. The moderately dangerous prisoners, who would be staying in Azkaban typically for more than ten years but not for life, lived on the middle levels of the prison and had dementors swooping through their halls once a week. Human guards delivered their meals to their cells, and they were permitted a cold shower once a month. They wore grey and white striped robes. The most dangerous prisoners occupied the topmost levels of the prison in high-security cells, where dementors guarded them all hours of the day, every day, and even delivered them their food. They all wore solid grey robes.

In a dank cell in a middle floor of Azkaban, a prisoner in striped robes sat on her cot with her arms wrapped around her knees, leaning against the wall and staring at the one opposite. For someone who had could not remember the last time she showered, she looked decent – though she didn't smell it – due to her heritage as a half-Veela. Although her long blonde hair desperately needed a comb, it took longer to grow greasy and dirty than human hair. Her skin did not have such magic, and in some areas, it was blackened with filth. Her blue eyes were dulled with sadness and self-pity at her lot in life.

"Robinson." A deep male voice from the other side of the bars of her cell drew her out of her silent introspection. Robinson turned towards her guard, a strong-jawed wizard with salt-and-pepper hair. He eyed her with a look of unveiled dislike and continued, "You've a visitor."

The half-Veela, half-witch blinked in surprise, but after a moment of frozen incomprehension, she swung her legs over the side of her cot. Once she made her way to the bars, her guard tapped a seemingly random bar twice in quick succession with his wand. It divided horizontally, and the top half of the magically severed bar rose an inch off the bottom half. The guard instructed, "Place your hands on either side of the gap."

Robinson did as she was told, and he snapped handcuffs onto her wrists. As he did so, she wondered who could possibly be visiting her. She had never had a visitor in the almost eighteen months she'd been existing in her cell. Not her parents, who she had so severely disappointed, nor her younger brother, who had stared at her with an expressionless, pale face as she was convicted guilty and sentenced to forty years in this hellhole. Perhaps it had been long enough that they were able to put what she'd done behind them, and were finally ready to visit her. She couldn't imagine anyone besides her family visiting her. For a wild moment, she thought that more time had passed then she'd thought – she didn't have a calendar, after all – and her younger sister was finally old enough to come visit her. As soon as that thought entered her head, she scoffed privately to herself at the preposterousness of the idea. Time moved slower in Azkaban, not faster.

The guard had her pull her now cuffed hands back into the cell, and he fused the two halves of the severed bar back together before opening the door. He took her by the arm and began to lead her to the visitor area. Robinson thought the tightness of his grip was rather unnecessary, considering she had no desire to try to escape.

As she walked to see her mysterious visitor, she reflected on why she was there in the first place.

She sat at a table with her mother on her right and her sister on her left. Her sister's best friend sat with them too, looking down at the parchments they were going over together. While the Robinson women were smiling and looking joyful, the best friend looked awkward and a little uncomfortable with being included.

"So, Rebecca, this should be the final copy of the guest list," her mother was saying, touching one of the parchments gently. "I don't think we need to make any changes to the seating arrangements…your aunt was the last to respond, and we were confident her family was coming…"

"Rebecca?"

A voice from the doorway drew the attention of the four women at the table. The future prisoner of Azkaban smiled up at the black-haired man in the doorway, though her smile faltered at the tension evident in his shoulders and the serious look on his face.

"Can I speak with you, alone?" he asked.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows and glanced around at the other ladies. Her mother's lips were twisted distastefully, but she said nothing. Rebecca's eyes lingered on her sister's best friend, who was the man's sister, to gauge if she knew what was going on; she looked more surprised than Rebecca felt.

"Of course," Rebecca replied with a tense smile, standing and following him out of the room.

He didn't speak until he'd led her into another room for privacy. Once the door was shut behind them, he clasped his hands together and rounded on her with flared nostrils. Rebecca squared her shoulders bravely, though her heart was pounding nervously in her chest. She desperately hoped this was not about what she feared it was about, but she kept her mouth shut so as to not expose herself on accident.

"Rebecca," he began in a firm tone. He closed his green eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, he continued, "Do you remember, the day we – the day Isabella and I broke up, and you said you were due for your next dose of Contraceptive Potion," Rebecca's palms grew sweaty, and she folded her hands behind her back to conceal them, "I watched you take that potion—"

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry, I must've been a day off," she sighed. "We've discussed—"

"I know it wasn't a Contraceptive Potion, Rebecca," he snapped.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Stop lying!"

Rebecca's jaw snapped shut.

"It's all over your face, you're terrified!" he exclaimed. He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head, "You know, I found the vial. Under my bed. I was concerned Madam Jenison had a faulty batch, so I brought it to her. She told me it wasn't the right color for a Contraceptive Potion – which made me feel rather stupid – but she didn't recognize it. She gave it to Slughorn to analyze for me," Rebecca blanched, "and he just got round to it. His findings were bloody interesting, if you ask me."

Rebecca closed her eyes, inhaling slowly. She placed a hand on her abdomen comfortingly, though she wasn't showing yet.

"It was a Fertility Potion. And you knew that," he ground out, his fists clenched. Rebecca bowed her head. "I have been supportive of you every step of the way since you told me you were pregnant. I have accepted my fault in this and have been willing to fulfill the expectations my family and yours have put on us because of this situation – but that was when I thought we were both unwitting victims. But to find out that you have manipulated me, trapped me—"

"—are you going to accuse me of rape, now, too?" she snapped.

"Of course not," he scoffed, running a hand over his hair. "But Rebecca – it's illegal to self-prescribe that potion. For this very reason."

Rebecca turned away from abruptly, "I'm not getting rid of our child, Mitchell—"

"I'm not asking you to," he replied. "But it's not fair for us to continue on this way. It's not fair to me, to you, or to our child for us to pretend like us trying to play at happy family is a good idea." Rebecca turned back to face him sharply, her eyes widening. Mitchell raised his voice as she opened her mouth to interject, "I'll help you, but I won't marry you. I'm sorry."

Rebecca's mouth shut angrily. They stared at each other, one a little wary, the other growing more furious by the second. Then, taking Mitchell by surprise, faster than he had time to react to, Rebecca slapped her hand across his face. Mitchell rubbed his face, looking at her with disdain. He shook his head at her, and then turned to leave without another word. Rebecca's jaw dropped as she watched him walk away from her like that.

With anger still coursing through veins, clouding her thoughts, it took her a moment to recover from her shock. When she finally walked forward and opened the door to look down the hallway for him, she found him jogging down the hall. And where the devil does he think he's going? she thought to herself.

"Mitchell Jonathan McGonagall!" she shouted. He only increased his pace in response, turning sharply.

Jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and hot anger pulsing through her, Rebecca hitched up her robes and ran after him. As she turned the corner she'd watched him take, she had a brief glimpse of him taking another corner. She pushed herself to run faster, to catch up, her head throbbing with adrenaline and fury. Following him through the halls of Resistance headquarters in France, she started to get an idea of where he was going, and it only made her angrier.

As they neared his final destination, she heard his footsteps slow and a surprised female voice with an Italian accent exclaim, "Mitchell? What—?"

A burst of rage shot through her as Mitchell came into view, jogging up to this other witch who was obnoxiously nearly two feet shorter than him and looking quite surprised, and wrapped his arms around her without further preamble and kissed her. Rebecca wanted to scream, but she didn't have the breath to because of the exertion from running. She paused in the doorway, her face hot from the running and her anger, with her hands on her knees, watching as Mitchell pulled away and the witch stared at him again with that stupid, shocked expression. Rebecca's heart broke as she watched Mitchell give this other witch a familiar, small, endearing smile, which the witch slowly returned before pulling him back down to kiss her again.

That was the last straw for Rebecca. Without even being fully cognizant of her actions, she drew her wand and pointed it at the embracing couple, focusing only on the intention to separate them. Mitchell flew backwards, across the hospital wing of the Resistance, and hit his head against a bedframe. Rebecca paid no attention to him as she disarmed the other witch and discarded both of their wands, marching directly up to a shocked Isabella Borzellieri.

"Rebecca – please – wait—"

Rebecca was not interested in what Isabella had to say. Isabella gasped as Rebecca's hands closed around her neck, squeezing tightly. Isabella's hands came up to grasp Rebecca's wrists, struggling for air, but Rebecca was bigger and stronger than her. Rebecca had no idea of the fastest or most effective way to strangle a person to death. All she knew was that she was receiving great satisfaction from watching Isabella struggle. When Isabella's eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp, Rebecca could still feel a pulse, so she kept squeezing.

Abruptly, though, Rebecca's attempt at murder was cut short by a strong force on her back. That force was the last thing she knew before her world went black.

Later, Rebecca would learn that the force was a Stunner from Mitchell, who had come to during the seconds Rebecca had her fingers closing around Isabella's neck. Though Rebecca's barristers had tried to use examples in court of pregnant women who had received light punishment for similar behavior, and others who had been sentenced to ten to twenty years for attempted murder, they had been unable to sway the Wizengamot's position that she should receive closer to a full sentence. They were preoccupied with her status as a half-Veela, saying that the part of her that wasn't human was clearly too dangerous for regular wizarding society. They had only conceded on the point that her pregnancy hormones may have influenced her behavior a little bit, and shaved ten years off the usual fifty-year sentence for attempted murder. With Mitchell's testimony that Rebecca had continued to squeeze Isabella's neck after Isabella had gone limp, there was no saving Rebecca from a guilty verdict, though her barristers had tried to present it as assault, which would have earned her a lesser sentence.

She had not known precisely how much she would regret her actions until the first time she laid eyes on her son.

After an agonizing labor, Rebecca cried tears of joy to hear the sound of her son's first cries in the world. She laid on her back, panting, and looked around at the Healers handling her baby, trying to get a glimpse of him.

"Can I – can I please—?" she gasped.

The Healers glanced back at her, and at each other. They all knew her situation. They'd all been informed, though the Auror posted outside her door was a good indicator, too.

Rebecca whimpered happily as one of the Healers picked her son up again and carried him over to her. A wobbly smile formed on her face as she looked down at him with tears in her eyes. Already, it looked as though he would take after her strong Veela genes, though Mitchell came from a long line of black-haired McGonagalls. She'd manipulated this child into the world as though she were playing chess, all in service of winning back the love she'd thought she had and lost. Now, with her eyes raking over the face of her newborn son, she knew that she had never felt love until this moment. A horrible feeling twisted in her gut as she realized the true consequences of her actions. She was going to miss the first forty years of his life. He might not know of her existence for a long time, as Isabella would likely take her place in his eyes. She wondered if he'd realize he didn't look like either Mitchell or Isabella, and the significance of that.

The door opened, and Rebecca held her son to her chest a little closer, protectively. Her jaw clenched as she watched Mitchell step into the room with a Healer and the Auror. His eyes were trained on their son. Rebecca pressed her lips together firmly, trying to hold back a new wave of tears. Mitchell approached her bed slowly. He stood next to her, looking down at his son in silence for a few moments.

Rebecca broke the silence with a pained whisper, "What will you name him?"

Mitchell didn't answer at first. She didn't glance up at him once while she waited, not wanting to lose a moment of committing her little boy's face to memory. Eventually, Mitchell asked a question in response, "What would you have named him?"

Rebecca released a shaky laugh, "I barely let myself think of names." She sniffed, her face scrunching up and her voice cracking, "But I know I've always wanted to give a son my father's name as a middle name."

Mitchell nodded. They were quiet again. Slowly, Mitchell reached a hand forward and gently touched the top of his son's head. Rebecca watched his fingers. When Mitchell spoke again, his voice was thicker than usual, "Perhaps…Christopher Norman McGonagall would be a good olive branch of a name."

Rebecca finally looked up at him again, stunned that he'd suggested her father's name as their son's middle name.

He didn't meet her eyes, but he continued, "I want you to know…I have every intention of including your family in his life."

Rebecca's face crumpled again, and she looked back down at her son – Christopher Norman – with fresh tears in her eyes. She whispered, "Thank you." Silence fell between them again, but Mitchell's gesture gave her the courage to say what was on her mind, "Mitchell…you…you have the next forty years with him. Can I – can I please have today?"

Mitchell's hand dropped from Christopher's head. He hesitated. She chanced a glance up at him. He was finally looking at her again. Rebecca held her breath as she waited for an answer, and finally, after seconds that felt like minutes, Mitchell nodded. He turned back to the door, which the Auror opened for him.

Rebecca turned her attention back to her son, the center of her universe, and her tear-streaked face crumpled again as she reflected on all that she would miss. She'd miss his first word, his first steps, his first accidental magic, taking him to get his wand, seeing him off to Hogwarts, his first crush, his first date, his first kiss, his first girlfriend, his wedding…

Enveloped as she was in the mixture of love, pain, and guilt that she was feeling as she stared at her son, she hardly noticed Mitchell pause one last time to stare at them, and she certainly did not notice the short Italian woman standing in the doorway held open by the Auror, peeking in to see the baby she was going to help raise in the arms of the woman who'd tried to kill her.

Rebecca and her guard reached the door to a mid-level visitation room. The guard unlocked the door and held it open for Rebecca to go through first. She did so, eyeing the guard with the same suspicion he was giving her, before she turned her head to see this mysterious visitor. Who she saw stopped her in her tracks. This was the absolute last person she expected to see.

Brown eyes stared up at her from a tanned face framed by brunette hair. Rebecca realized her mouth was hanging open in shock and shut it before expressing her disbelief vocally, "Borzellieri?"

Isabella sat up straighter in her chair and simply watched the woman who'd tried to strangle her to death. Rebecca's guard came up behind her and pushed her towards the empty chair across from Isabella. As soon as she sat, chains at her feet came alive and attached themselves to her ankles. Once Rebecca was seated, the guard retreated to the wall, leaning against it like the guard parallel to him, who had presumably escorted Isabella to this room.

The two women stared at each other for a long moment. Isabella seemed to be sizing up Rebecca, while the prisoner merely tried to collect herself. Eventually, Rebecca overcame her shock enough to ask, "What are you doing here?" When Isabella didn't answer immediately, Rebecca continued, "Did you come to stare? To mock me? I'm not an animal in a zoo here for your entertainment, you know."

Isabella frowned, "Maybe I should not have come."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Rebecca snapped. Everything about this woman irritated her. From her polished pureblood look, to her Italian accent, to her short height, she irked Rebecca. Now this woman was most likely helping Mitchell raise her son. Rebecca eyed her across the table with her jaw clenched and her back rigid.

"When I went with Mitchell to St. Mungo's when Chris was born," Isabella began after a pregnant pause following Rebecca's retort, "I had a chance to look into your room." Rebecca shifted slightly, uncomfortably. "I saw the look on your face when you looked at him. I saw how important he was to you."

"You can't know," Rebecca ground out, trying to rein in her emotions. She didn't want to cry in front of Isabella.

"Please let me finish," Isabella replied quietly, patiently. Rebecca scowled at her with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Isabella nodded once and continued, "I saw your regret, and your pain. I saw you would give anything to know your son." Isabella took a deep breath, and finished, "I came to see that version of you, and to give you a chance to know your son, even if it is through me."

Rebecca's brows pinched and she pressed her lips together in a thin line, looking away from Isabella. She blinked furiously as treacherous tears sprung to her eyes. As she sniffled and wiped them away, she heard a crinkling sound coming from Isabella's direction that drew her attention. Her eyes focus on an envelope that Isabella had produced, not wanting to meet her eyes with her own red ones. Wordlessly, Isabella passed the envelope to her cuffed hands.

The prisoner managed to open it with little trouble and removed its contents slowly. As she saw what was inside, her eyes closed tightly and her face crumpled. She shook her head, but forced her eyes open so she could see the photographs of this beautiful, angelic, blond boy. She slid through them slowly, drinking in every detail of the moving pictures. There were pictures of him from what seemed to be every month of his life. A sob escaped her throat as the boy, nearly eighteen months old now, smiled up at her from the photographs.

Eventually, it became too much for Rebecca and she had to put the pictures down to rest her face in her hands as she sobbed. Isabella said nothing, not while she looked at the photos and not while she cried. When Rebecca finally was able to get a grip on herself, she raised her head to look at her visitor. With her red face and tangled mess of hair, she was sure she looked like a madwoman. She wouldn't blame Isabella for feeling a little afraid as she stared her down, but she noticed that Isabella's eyes, too, were red, as if she were holding back tears of her own.

"Why are you doing this?" Rebecca croaked.

Isabella cleared her throat and took a deep breath, "Because I know you want to know your son."

Rebecca stared at her, "I'm here because I tried to kill you."

"I know," she replied. "I also know that if you could go back in time, you would not do it."

"What makes you so sure?"

Isabella studied her for a moment, "You are not a murderer, for one thing. For another…because you want to be able to raise Chris yourself."

The prisoner's gaze lingered on her visitor briefly, and then she lifted the photographs again. Swallowing back the tears that immediately sprang to her eyes, as if they had been ready for this, she smiled for the first time since she'd arrived at Azkaban, "He's so big."

As she came upon a photo of her little sister holding Chris, her face crumpled again, "Rolanda…"

"Mitchell makes an effort to include your family in his life," Isabella commented quietly.

Rebecca nodded. "He told me he would. He's a good…" she trailed off, glancing uncomfortably up at Isabella before both women averted their gazes awkwardly. The prisoner broke the tense silence with a weak smile, "That's why we never worked together, no matter how many times we tried. We fought so much because he's too…too good, too kind…too noble."

Isabella seemed to hesitate, as if she wanted to say something but was unsure if she should. Eventually, she seemed to decide that it was alright for her to say it. "That was one of the first things I noticed in him. I saw it in him when I suggested that to win you back, he should make you jealous, and he worried about hurting the feelings of some poor girl."

It took Rebecca a moment to fully comprehend the tidbit of information that Isabella had hesitantly handed to her, but when she did, she lurched forward in her chair with her mouth open wide. "You two started dating because he wanted to make me jealous, didn't you?"

Grimacing, Isabella nodded. As Rebecca leaned back in her chair, stunned, Isabella added, "We should have expected something like this."

"Like this?" Rebecca exclaimed, raising her cuffed wrists.

"Not that… I mean that we would…grow? – sorry, I cannot think of the word – feelings for each other. We had rules," she added quickly, defensively. Rebecca listened with interest, "We never kissed."

"But I saw—" Rebecca began, her brow furrowed.

"—we kissed each other on the cheek or the head or the hand. Never on the mouth. We pretended to whisper in the other's ear, but it was all nonsense or comments about the people around us. Never sweet nothings, never snogging, and never without an audience," Isabella explained. She hesitated before adding, "That is why he kissed me. That day. He knew I would understand everything if he kissed me."

Rebecca glanced down a little awkwardly at that.

Isabella cleared her throat uncomfortably and said, "They will not let you keep those, so…"

She seemed to be struggling for an English word or phrase to express her meaning, but Rebecca nodded in understanding, murmuring, "Make sure I get enough of them?" Isabella nodded. Rebecca leaned back in her chair and raised the photos to her face. "I'll never get enough of them."

Isabella grimaced and looked down.

The unlikely pair sat in silence for much longer than they had previously. This time it was not as awkward or even as uncomfortable as before. They were privately beginning to enjoy each other's presence, although neither was prepared to admit it to the other. Periodically, Rebecca would make a comment about a particular photo, and Isabella would give an anecdote about that day. Rebecca felt jealousy burn again in her heart listening to this woman who knew her son better than she did, but she did her best to suppress it.

All too soon, Isabella's time was up. The guards informed them of this, and Rebecca reluctantly packed away Isabella's pictures. Rebecca's guard came over and flicked his wand at the chains binding her feet to the floor, and they released her. She stood, and her guard took her by the arm and guided her to the door. The guard who had brought Isabella to this room held the visitor's door open for her. Both women paused at their respective doors, although Rebecca's guard attempted to get her to move.

The prisoner asked, "Will you come back?"

"Do you want me to?" replied the visitor.

Rebecca opened her mouth and averted her gaze, too proud to admit how much she wanted this woman – the woman she was in here for hurting, whose pureblooded upbringing and Italian accent still annoyed her – to return to keep her company. Isabella seemed to understand, though, and smiled slightly with a short nod in acknowledgement.

As Isabella turned to leave, Rebecca called, "Isabella, wait!" Isabella stopped and turned back. Rebecca hesitated. She opened her mouth, but then closed it quickly. Swallow your pride, Rebecca! she thought to herself. Finally, she managed, "Thank you."

Isabella smiled and nodded again, "You're welcome."

With that, the two women turned away from each other to return to the places they called home.

---

Isabella Apparated into the village of family homes near the Auror Academy. She had moved into one of the two-bedroom homes for rent after she had agreed to move in with Mitchell to help him raise Chris while he took classes at the Auror Academy. Generally, students lived in dorms in the Academy, but since it was a school of higher-education, it was expected that a few students had families. Those students were allowed to live in the neighboring village that rented small homes owned by the Academy. Mitchell, Isabella, and Chris were an unusual case, since Mitchell and Isabella were unwed and Isabella was not Chris's mother. It was scandalous, for Isabella to be living with Mitchell even though she was not his wife, but the couple did not care. Normally, Isabella would not be allowed to live in the home with Mitchell and Chris, but since the child's birth mother was in prison and he had no other primary caretaker, the school merely gave the couple a deadline for which Isabella had to formally adopt Chris, and did not mention marriage. Mitchell and Isabella had discussed the adoption, as it was quite a serious thing, especially since they weren't married, but they eventually agreed that it was the best thing for Chris. He needed to have two parents legally in case something happened to him and Mitchell was not around to approve of any important medical decision, but Isabella was. Rebecca was not aware that Isabella was not only emotionally Chris's mother, but legally, since she had lost all legal right to him when she had been sent to Azkaban for the entirety of his life as a minor.

As she walked through the street from the designated Apparition point – the neighborhood was, after all, the training center for future Aurors, and they were in a time of war, so they had wards – Isabella smiled and issued greetings to those she passed. All of the people in the neighborhood at the moment, while classes were in session, were women and children. Isabella did not know if this was always the case with Auror trainees, but none of the female trainees had husbands. If they did, they were not staying in the village, or were in training with them.

A smile appeared on Isabella's face as she walked up the path to her house. Her and Mitchell's house. The houses were, for the most part, uniform, but there was simply something about this one that made it special. There was a certain, indescribable personality about the house that made it distinctly their home. Even though his parents had absolutely insisted on paying for it and wouldn't listen to Isabella's protests that she should at least pay half the rent, the couple still thought of it as theirs. They were living in it together, and it was where they would be raising Chris for the first three years of his life.

"I'm home," she called in Italian, closing and locking the front door behind her.

Her mother rounded the corner with Chris in her arms. The eighteen-month old grinned and squealed, "Mamma!" He squirmed in Bianca Borzellieri's arms until the older Italian woman set him down, at which point he awkwardly gallop-ran to Isabella's waiting arms.

Isabella lifted him into her arms and stood, smiling down at him, and asked in Italian, "Were you good for Nonna?" She had been speaking Italian to him from babyhood at Mitchell's request, in the hope that he would grow up to be bilingual. They had purchased books on raising a child in a bilingual environment, and knew that Isabella could not combine both English and Italian in her conversations around him, or else he would become confused. If he discovered that she could speak English, he would not feel as if he needed to communicate with her in Italian, and the development would stop. She only spoke English to Mitchell when Chris was out of the room. Mitchell was attempting to learn Italian, himself.

"He was an angel," Bianca answered for him. Chris grinned, "He slept for the most part, and then showed me all his toys."

"So, you were showing off," Isabella teased.

"Play!" he suddenly enthused, associating speaking to his mother with speaking in Italian. He squirmed, insisting to be put down, and when Isabella did, he tugged on the skirt of her robes, "Play, Mamma, play!"

"Alright, I'm coming." Isabella grinned at her mother, and Bianca smiled fondly back as she followed the pair into the living room, which had been completely taken over by Chris's toys and toddler-sized furniture.

Chris picked out a hollow wooden cube with shapes cut out of the sides where small wooden blocks of those shapes were meant to fit through. He picked up one of the shapes and worked to find the proper hole. Once he eventually got it, he smiled proudly and looked at Isabella, "Like that, Mamma!" He pressed a cauldron-shaped block into her hand. "Try!"

"Just like you did it?" she asked. He nodded. "Okay, I will try." Isabella took an unnecessarily long time to find the cauldron-shaped opening, deliberately taking longer than he had and trying to fit it in the Quaffle-shaped hole when she knew it wouldn't fit. When she finally slid it through the proper hole, Chris clapped for her and babbled another demonstration.

While Chris did that, Bianca asked, "How are you and Mitchell?"

Isabella looked up at her mother and smiled, "Wonderful. I mean, I do not get to see him often since he is in class, and then when he is here, Chris monopolizes most of his time, but we have our moments. We are making it work. I'm happy."

"I honestly thought you would at least be engaged by now," Bianca confessed, watching her daughter's face carefully.

Shaking her head, Isabella replied, "We are taking this slow. We do not want it to be the situation forcing us together, you know? I love him, but…we want to know for sure that we will have things to do together, even when Chris is not forcing us to do it."

"The child has three sets of grandparents, Bella." Isabella's face twitched at the nickname; she didn't like being called Bella. "Any of us would be happy to babysit him if you and Mitchell wanted some time to yourselves, if that is what it is."

Isabella eyed her mother in consideration. She had a feeling she knew what Bianca's motivation was, but she was interrupted by the sound of wood clattering against wood. Looking back over at Chris, she saw that he had gotten the Beater's bat into the cube. She clapped, "Good job, Chris!" He handed her the wizard's hat. "My turn again?" Chris nodded enthusiastically. "Alright, then."

As she slid the piece across the surface of the cube, getting it caught in the various holes but never going through, she addressed Bianca, "You care too much about what other people think, Mamma. What are they saying about me now?"

Bianca shifted uncomfortably from her position on the couch, looking away from her daughter. Finally, she looked back to Isabella's position on the floor. "That Mitchell is only using you as a free nanny and ah…playmate…and you are a fool in love."

Isabella rolled her eyes, "I feel like I heard that one a few months ago." She finally slid the wizard's hat block into the cube, and Chris took his turn. "And even though Mitchell and I are sharing a bed, that does not mean that we are playmates, as you say."

The two women stared at each other, brown eyes on brown eyes, skeptical eyes on challenging eyes. Isabella looked remarkably like her mother; the only noticeable thing she inherited from her father was his darker brunette hair. Her mother had a lighter brown hair color, with a few golden highlights here and there. Finally, Bianca admitted the source of her skepticism, "You have been together for over one and a half years, and have dated before. You are not engaged, you are not married, and you are not having sex?" she broke off and glanced at Chris, who was scowling as he tried to fit the wooden wand block into the Snitch's hole by banging the pieces of wood together loudly, which would've worked if the wand wasn't so long, "And you are trying to tell me that you have no problems?"

"Of course we have problems," Isabella defended. "But normal things. Things like the time he wanted to buy this ridiculous eagle wall ornament, and I told him no. I told you, we are simply taking things slow."

"There is a difference between taking things slow, and going so slow you let the relationship die, dear," Bianca insisted. "When was the last time he kissed you?"

"This morning," Isabella immediately replied.

"Goodbye kisses do not count. I mean really kissed you, more than a peck."

Blushing slightly now, Isabella repeated herself, "This morning." Bianca's eyebrows rose. Isabella shrugged awkwardly with her eyes pointedly fixed on Chris.

When it was clear her mother had nothing to say to that, Isabella continued, "Mitchell and I love each other, and we love Chris. We are happy the way things are. Do not worry about me, Mamma." She smiled fondly at Chris as he finally figured out that the hole long enough for the wand was on the opposite face of the cube. He squealed with happiness, and looking up at her with Rebecca's blue eyes with laughter dancing in them.

---

Halina McGonagall squeezed her oldest daughter tightly, and Minerva returned the hug with just as much force. While Minerva loved being at Hogwarts – living mildly independently, spending time with her friends, and learning things that excited her – the climate of fear she grew up in made goodbyes always difficult. Knowing that her parents were in the thick of things only served to increase the emotion in her goodbyes. And, although her parents always put forth a strong front, she knew that at times they were as afraid as she was. Fighting Grindelwald was no easy task. They had lost friends in the years they had been at war.

Mother and daughter eventually pulled apart, grasping each other by the upper arms and looking into each other's eyes one last time before daughter left for boarding school. Halina was comforted in the knowledge that Hogwarts was one of the safest places – if not the safest – her children could be during these troubled times. They gave each other tight smiles.

"I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, Minerva." Halina leaned forward for one last kiss on the forehead. "Have a good term. Remember to take a break from being brilliant every now and then."

Minerva laughed, and Halina's smile widened as she patted her oldest daughter's upper arm affectionately before turning to her youngest son. William traded places with his wife. Minerva felt a lump rise in her throat. While Minerva loved her mother, she felt there was something special about her relationship with her father. They were the only two Gryffindors in their little family of six. He had also been her first tutor in Transfiguration; she had shown an interest in the subject early on in life, and he had latched onto that interest and had shown and taught her things that made her fall in love with the subject before she even stepped foot into Hogwarts. He had always encouraged her curiosity, creativity, and bravery. She was raised to expect respect, to demand it, and to have faith in her own strengths. He encouraged her to be fearless.

William smiled comfortingly at his daughter and pulled her into a hug as tight as her hug with her mother had been. Minerva's eyes felt warm as she squeezed her father, and she whispered, "You be careful out there, alright?"

"You know my goal is always to come home to my family," he whispered into her hair, his Scottish brogue thicker than usual. He inhaled deeply and pulled away, smiling at her again, grasping her upper arms like his wife had before him. "Look after your brother and your cousin. Make sure they don't get into too much trouble," he teased, winking at her.

She smiled slightly, "Of course."

William grinned at her and patted her shoulder, "That's a good lass." He leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I love you, lioness."

"I love you too, Dad."

They pulled away from each other, and Minerva looked around for her little sister. She smiled when her eyes met Miranda's hazel ones, and saw that the ten-year-old was standing, a pout on her face, by her aunt and uncle with her arms crossed around the doll she'd had since she was a baby and had named Minnie after her sister. Her expression lightened a little when she locked eyes with Minerva. They stepped towards each other at the same time, and Minerva wrapped her arms around her. Miranda threw her arms around Minerva, her doll thumping against Minerva's back. "I love you, you sneaky little devil."

"I love you too, Minnie."

Minerva pulled away far enough to scowl playfully at her sister, "You know I don't like it when you call me that."

Miranda grinned impishly, "But I'm cute so you won't stop me!"

Minerva shook her head in amusement, "I won't stop you because you've been doing it since you were cute."

"Hey!" Miranda exclaimed in offense.

Minerva laughed and dropped a kiss on her sister's forehead. "Stay strong, little snake."

Miranda sighed and gave her sister a lopsided smile, her eyes sliding across the adults she would be left alone with for the third time now, and then longingly towards the shining red Hogwarts Express, with students already hanging out of it, talking to family and calling out to friends. Minerva returned the half-smile. She did feel sorry for Miranda. Their living situation was not ideal. Sure, they had living accommodations that anyone would lust after, but they lived very isolated lives in that manor. There were not many opportunities for mingling with children their own ages – despite the McGonagalls' connection to the larger MacVanish clan, Miranda had the misfortune of being the same age as only one person in the clan, a boy who she could never find common ground with at gatherings – and programs to help magical Highland children meet each other had essentially ceased to exist in light of the war. No one trusted each other anymore. So, Miranda truly was stuck alone with adults.

Minerva grasped Miranda's shoulder supportively, "One more year."

Miranda sighed, but nodded. Minerva smiled, and gave her sister one last hug. "Write to me!" Miranda begged.

"Every week," Minerva promised.

Minerva, her brother Michael, and her cousin Mason said their final goodbyes to the family they were leaving behind before boarding the train. The McGonagalls had their own groups of friends, so once onboard they went their separate ways. Mason was waved down by a boy his age with dark hair, and Minerva and Michael walked the other direction, searching for their friends in the parts of the train they usually occupied. Michael left Minerva to enter a compartment with some of the other Hufflepuffs in his year.

As Minerva continued down the hallway, she was suddenly startled by a compartment door flying open and a blonde head popping out. Minerva jumped and found herself face to face with her grinning best friend. Once their eyes locked, the blonde whispered, "Boo."

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Minerva pushed her way into the compartment. Rolanda Robinson backed up, still grinning, her blue eyes sparkling with laughter. Their other two friends evidently hadn't arrived yet.

"Careful, Rolanda, or people might start whispering that the Hat should've made you a Gryffindor," Minerva teased.

"A Gryffindor would've shouted at you," Rolanda countered, taking the other end of Minerva's trunk and helping her hoist it into the overhead compartment.

"Refraining from bursting my eardrum doesn't make what you did subtle."

"Well maybe you're rubbing off on me."

"Hardly. More likely a certain Gryffindor male who I happen to know has devoted a lot of time to rubbing off on you," Minerva smirked. Rolanda shot her an admonishing look for her crudity, but a smile curled at her lips. Minerva laughed softly and sat down. As Rolanda took the seat opposite her, Minerva changed the subject, "You're here early. Your parents avoiding mine?"

Rolanda grimaced, and her eyebrows twitched upwards, "A little." When Minerva raised her eyebrows, an amused smile slowly creeping onto her face, Rolanda continued, "They appreciate that your parents are being very welcoming and inclusive about Chris, but they still feel uncomfortable spending more time around them than necessary. You know, Rebecca…"

"Right, of course." Minerva smiled understandingly. "My parents didn't ask."

There was a slight awkward silence, which Minerva finally broke, "So, when is Richard coming?"

Rolanda's expression brightened, "Any minute now. He said he'd get to the station early too."

"You must be excited to see him, considering."

Rolanda tilted her head up, rolling her eyes, "Ergh, yes. My parents have been extremely irritating about chaperones all summer. They're so afraid that they've raised promiscuous daughters ever since Rebecca…" Rolanda averted her eyes from Minerva's, "The point is, I miss kissing my boyfriend. Is that really so wrong?"

Minerva laughed, "Not at all."

The compartment door opened, and a teen with gelled brown hair poked his head in, grinning boyishly, "Did I hear my girlfriend say something about kissing me?"

Rolanda beamed, "Richard!"

Richard came into the compartment, dragging his trunk along behind him. He leaned down to give Rolanda a kiss on the lips. Minerva raised her eyebrows and averted her gaze as they shamelessly gripped each other. She counted to thirty in her head before clearing her throat, and saying drily, "Should I go on my patrol early?" Minerva raised her eyebrows significantly at Rolanda. The hopeful look Rolanda bestowed upon her as she separated from Richard made Minerva scoff, "I was joking!"

Rolanda blushed, and Richard pulled away, grinning again. Rolanda helped him lift his trunk into the compartments above, side-eying Minerva. Minerva rolled her eyes, "Poppy and Pomona will be here any minute. You two will have plenty of opportunities for privacy once we're at school."

The couple sat opposite Minerva, Rolanda with her arms crossed and Richard with his arm draped casually over her shoulders. "So how was your summer, Minerva?" Richard asked.

"It was alright. I got to ride my broom on my grandparents' land a lot, and I went riding – on horses – with my family a bit. My parents spent a lot of time away, though, the war you know, which was a little…nerve-wracking." She paused, her face clouding as she reflected on that. After a few seconds, she shook her head and continued, "Like last summer, I saw my brother Mitchell almost every other weekend, mostly because my family wants to see Chris." Minerva grinned, "Mitchell likes to joke that he's old and irrelevant now that he has a baby. He warns me that I'm next."

Rolanda had a slight, amused smile curling at her lips. Richard had glanced at his girlfriend, gauging her reaction to Minerva's mention of Mitchell and Chris. He didn't fully understand the dynamic of their families, of how Minerva and Rolanda now shared a nephew, a nephew that had three sets of grandparents. This was partially because he had not yet been involved with Rolanda when the drama between Mitchell and Rebecca occurred, but truly, to an outsider, their family dynamic was bizarre. It was true that things between Minerva and Rolanda had been awkward at first, after the fiasco that culminated with Rebecca's trial, but they had been friends since they were eleven; their friendship was too deep, had endured too many Quidditch squabbles, for them to be torn apart by their older siblings' drama.

"I think you'd need to date someone before you can be 'next,' Minerva," Rolanda teased.

Minerva scowled at her. "I have dated people!"

"Yes, you and Peter Green had such chemistry, sitting next to each other in the library, studying for O.W.L.'s."

"And we played Quidditch together."

"You played Quidditch against each other. He's a Ravenclaw Beater. You're the Gryffindor Seeker. He hit you with a Bludger."

"He was doing his job!"

"Yet you ended it?"

Minerva scoffed, "Not over that." She blushed, "He didn't…well, he didn't seem interested in the…the physical side of things." Rolanda raised her eyebrows, a gleeful grin spreading onto her face. Minerva sighed. "I've told you this, Rolanda. He seemed to only be interested in the idea of me. I still don't believe he was ever actually attracted to me physically."

There was a lull in conversation. The sounds of the platform filled the silence between them. Friends were laughing, parents were shouting advice and farewells to their children hanging out the windows, owls were screeching, and the occasional croak of a toad accented the ruckus. Familiar giggling in the hallway drew the girls' attention, announcing the presence of their other two friends, Poppy Nadson and Pomona Collins. Poppy and Pomona were neighbors, but Poppy was a half-blood and Pomona was a Muggle-born. Poppy's family noticed Pomona perform accidental magic as a child and had told her family about the wizarding world before Pomona got her Hogwarts letter. The pair had been inseparable since childhood, and not even being sorted into two different houses – Poppy in Ravenclaw and Pomona in Hufflepuff – could make them any less close. Minerva, Rolanda, Poppy, and Pomona had sat together on the Hogwarts Express their first year, and had become fast friends. Poppy and Pomona's closeness, though, was special and impenetrable, so Minerva and Rolanda became closer as a result, their own house rivalries – Gryffindor and Slytherin, respectively – aside.

Pomona, round faced and smiling, entered first, blowing her ginger hair out of her face since she was using both of her hands to drag her trunk inside. Poppy, who had held the door open for her friend, entered next, her brunette hair rolled and tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck.

"You're all quiet," Pomona remarked while Richard stood to help the newcomers with their luggage.

"Oh, no, we were talking about Peter Green, actually," Rolanda replied, throwing a smirk at Minerva.

Poppy whipped her head in Minerva's direction, an incredulous look on her face, "You are not thinking of starting that up again, are you?"

Minerva rolled her eyes, "Of course not. Rolanda was simply making me out to sound like I'm on the path to becoming a spinster and so I reminded her of my last relationship."

Pomona laughed, "Hey, and he's not her only ex-beau, play nice, Ro! She dated Oliver Brown—"

"—when she was thirteen—" interjected Rolanda.

"—I was fourteen—"

"—when he was thirteen."

Pomona put her hands on her hips and sighed, but she was smiling, "I missed having us all together like this. One time was not nearly enough this summer!"

They all settled in, laughing and chatting until the train departed. When the train signaled that it was about to start moving, Poppy and Minerva bid their friends goodbye and pinned their Prefect badges to their robes before making their way to the Prefects' carriage for the meeting. The Head Boy and Head Girl, Henry O'Brien of Gryffindor and Gloria Scott of Hufflepuff, were already there, taking roll. Most of the Prefects already there were fifth-years, eager to start their new prestigious position. The Head Boy and Girl were welcoming them, and giving them a more detailed rundown of their responsibilities than they would officially be getting at this first meeting. A dark-haired girl sat near where Henry stood, her arms crossed and watching him and Gloria with the slightest of frowns. She glanced at Poppy and Minerva as they entered, and her expression brightened, "Poppy! And Minerva!"

Poppy approached the older girl, who stood to hug her, "Lillian, it's good to see you." Poppy and Lillian were cousins. Poppy glanced at Henry and Gloria before returning her gaze to her cousin. "You alright?" she murmured.

A forced smile appeared on the seventh-year's face, "Yes, of course." Poppy and Minerva both knew that Lillian had wanted the Head Girl position. The Ravenclaw seventh-year had worked hard to be the best in academics, and the most diligent and responsible about her position as a Prefect. Gloria, however, had opened herself up to the younger students, making herself both available and approachable for whatever problems they needed resolved, while also maintaining high marks. Lillian was more of a disciplinarian, and it seemed that in this time of war, Hogwarts valued a softer Head Girl, who the young students could cry to when they were afraid. Lillian's jealousy was amplified by the fact that she was dating Henry, and she now saw Gloria as a threat in that area as well.

The three of them sat together in silence while the rest of the Prefects trickled in. Minerva surveyed the room and saw the fifth-year Gryffindor Prefect hovering around Henry, glancing over at her awkwardly. Minerva smiled and waved him over. He smiled back and approached. Minerva introduced him, "Poppy, Lillian, this is David MacVanish." The two Ravenclaws greeted him, and he responded in kind. Minerva had found out that David would be a Prefect this year at the annual MacVanish Clan Gathering, which was orchestrated in part to help young clan members meet each other and make friends before going to boarding school, and in part to help the adults with networking.

"The McGonagalls are part of Clan MacVanish, right?" asked Lillian. Minerva and David nodded. "So, are you related?"

They glanced at each other. Minerva replied, "Yes. Ah…David's…grandfather, yes? Yes, David's grandfather is my grandmother's nephew." Poppy blinked and shook her head as if clearing cobwebs, indicating how complicated she thought that sounded. David grinned at her reaction.

Lillian titled her head up, looking at the ceiling contemplatively, "So, you're…second cousins once removed."

Minerva raised her eyebrows with an amused half-smile, "I'll take your word for it."

Poppy rolled her eyes, "Pedant." Lillian stuck her tongue out at her cousin.

Just as Lillian's tongue snaked back into her mouth, the three Slytherin males entered the carriage together; Minerva's eyes slid over Bulstrode and Malfoy to the new addition to their posse: Tom Riddle. She had no strong feelings either way about this appointment, as she knew very little about Riddle. From her experience in pureblood circles, she knew that Riddle was not a pureblood surname, but he had interestingly gained the respect of his pompous peers. Still, she had not heard much at all about him from the Slytherins she regularly interacted with, Rolanda and Mason. She knew that he was a member of Slughorn's little networking club, but Minerva did not place much value in that considering she had not been invited to join; she had quite the high opinion of her worth and potential.

All three boys surveyed the room. Bulstrode nodded in acknowledgement to Lillian, who was in his year, but walked to the other end of the carriage. Abraxas Malfoy followed him without even looking directly at Minerva, although she knew he'd seen her. Minerva rolled her eyes. The McGonagalls and the Malfoys had a long history of conflict, which came to a head only a few decades ago, when Minerva's grandfather Charles McGonagall accused the Malfoys of being responsible for the fire that killed his family, and nearly killed him. Their long rivalry caused a great deal of tension and division in the pureblood world, with entire families taking sides, and eventually maintaining those alliances out of precedence. The way they chose sides also seemed to have been influenced by how they divided themselves based on their beliefs on the treatment of people of other blood statuses, including Muggles.

Riddle stood at the front of the carriage a little longer, lingering to fully take in this part of the train that he'd never seen before. As Minerva turned her attention away from Malfoy to Riddle, she was startled to find him staring at her. His stare was not threatening, or aggressive, but simply penetrative. There was no malice in his expression. If anything, there was curiosity. His gaze did not linger long once their eyes met, but it still made Minerva feel very exposed, like he could see straight through her. Only seconds later, Riddle broke the connection with a slight upward turn of one corner of his mouth, before turning to follow Bulstrode and Malfoy. Minerva blinked and shook her head.

"So, I suppose it's our turn to become acquainted with Slughorn's wonder boy," Lillian remarked. Minerva and Poppy turned their attention to her. Lillian was the only one among the three of them who was a member of the Slug Club.

"You don't know him very well?" Poppy asked.

"Not really. The boys keep to themselves at gatherings, mostly. The girls frequently talk about trying to make them mingle, but we've learned that most of them are varying levels of misogynistic and don't seem to think we should be there at all," Lillian's lip curled slightly. "I do know that he seems to be their center of gravity, even Slughorn's to an extent. He loves to boast about Tom Riddle." Minerva and Poppy looked over at Riddle appraisingly with this new information.

"Alright everyone, could I have your attention please!" Henry O'Brien's voice projected over the low rumble of conversation among the Prefects. He beamed around at them all, and a gentle, proud smile appeared on Lillian's face as she watched him. "Now that we're all here, we're ready to start with our start of term announcements."

Gloria continued where Henry left off, and Lillian expression soured, "I'm passing around our patrol schedules for the first week, including for the train ride. If you have any questions or later conflicts with your personal schedules – I know one or two of you are also on your house Quidditch teams – please see one of us and we'll work something out." She walked around as she said this, giving out sheets of parchment.

The rest of the meeting flew by. It was much of the same information and expectations that Minerva had received last year, primarily about being guides for the first-years in these first few weeks, and general expectations and powers of the position of Prefect. Once Henry and Gloria finished with their announcements, they opened to questions, almost all of which were asked by fifth-years: Can we give detention? No. Do we get paid? No. How frequently will there be meetings? Monthly. How many hours a week will we patrol? Variable, but typically only one or two. Minerva's eyes kept drooping, but every time they did, she would receive a sharp jab in the ribs from Poppy, who was diligently paying attention. Still, Minerva could see the relief in Poppy's eyes when they were dismissed. The two friends said goodbye to Lillian before leaving the carriage to return to their friends' compartment, since their patrols were not until later along the train ride.

Once they were out of the carriage and in the hall, Minerva sighed heavily, "I'd thought that with Henry as Head Boy, meetings this year would be a little more interesting."

"It seems engaging charisma is not a trait shared by all Gryffindors," Poppy remarked. Minerva grimaced.

As they walked down the hall, they noticed they were coming upon a rather rowdy carriage. The sounds of chatter and laughter grew louder as they neared. Poppy smirked at Minerva, "One Galleon they're Gryffindors?"

Minerva laughed and shook her head, "I know my housemates well enough not to take that bet!" Sure enough, the compartment in question was full solely of Gryffindors, four of whom were members of the Quidditch team. A few different conversations seemed to be going on between the four boys and two girls, but they were all smiling and laughing. A smile tugged at Minerva's lips as she watched them, as she felt genuine affection for the people within the compartment – well, five of the six people. Minerva was the Captain of the Quidditch team, and one of the girls within the compartment was dating the team's Keeper, so she knew those five well; the sixth, one of the boys, had a reputation that was distasteful to Minerva. A few of the people within the compartment looked up as they realized someone in the hall was looking in, and one of them waved.

"I think I'll stop to chat. You go ahead," Minerva said to Poppy. Poppy smiled and nodded, heading on her way. Minerva opened the compartment door, "I could hear you all down the hallway."

"And the discipline begins!" Donnie Longbottom joked, winking at his girlfriend Augusta. Donnie's joke aside, Minerva was welcomed with warm smiles by the five people she was close to through Quidditch. The sixth sat in the corner by the window with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face, eyeing Minerva with a look that made her skin crawl. She ignored him.

"I hope you all are ready for the season! I certainly can't wait to get back on the pitch with you to prepare to crush the competition," Minerva proclaimed with sparkling eyes, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

"Hank and I met up this summer to practice our formations," supplied Amelia Livingston, who was a Chaser.

"And you know Donnie and I always practice together," added Oliver Brown, shoving his best friend playfully. "He's fun to use as target practice." He made a swinging motion with his hands as if swinging a bat. "Prewett came over a few times, and we worked on our formations as well."

Minerva nodded, encouraged, "And Hank and Amelia, you're ready to train up a new Chaser with those formations you've been practicing?"

"Absolutely," Hank assured, grinning.

"Good. I want to have tryouts within the first month, but I also want us to have a practice before then so we can fall back into our rhythm and are all on the same page before we bring in a new element."

"Aye-aye, Captain!" Oliver teased, winking. Minerva shot him a playful scowl, a soft smile curling at her lips.

"Alright, well I'll be sitting with Rolanda, Poppy, Pomona, and Richard down the hall. I'll let you return to whatever you were up to – probably no good – before I interrupted. I'll be patrolling in about two hours so don't let me catch you in a compromising position," Minerva teased. Amid a chorus of goodbyes, Minerva turned and exited the compartment.

Just before it closed behind her, Minerva heard, "Hey, Minerva!" and turned. Oliver Brown's ginger-capped head was poking out of the compartment door, a boyish smile on his face. Her attention caught, Oliver stepped out fully from the compartment and closed the door behind him. "I was thinking the other day how long ago third year feels, even though it was only three years ago."

"It does feel like a long time, doesn't it?" Minerva agreed, crossing her arms and smiling slightly.

"We made good memories that year," he added leadingly. Minerva smiled a bit wider. Oliver grinned, and then he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture Minerva knew revealed nervousness. "I was just…reflecting, you know? We've changed so much in those three years. And, those memories we made were great, but they were, you know, juvenile?"

Minerva tilted her head to the side, eyeing him with amusement, "You mean our relationship was innocent." A bit of color filled Oliver's cheeks, and Minerva reassuringly added, "Well, it was. We were so young, too young for a real relationship."

"Right!" Oliver agreed, relieved. "And I'm grateful it was innocent enough that it didn't hurt our friendship, and we've had such a great time playing Quidditch together…" He sighed, "What I'm really trying to say is that…I've grown to fancy you again. And it feels different this time. I know I'm taking a risk in telling you that, but…I'd like to try again. Now that we're more…mature."

It was Minerva's turn to blush, and her heart raced faster. She had noticed that towards the end of the last year, their friendship had grown more flirtatious than it had been in the two other years following their attempt at a relationship. She had thought, even, while she was dating Peter that Oliver was jealous, but she had refused to let herself go down that path and be the girl who painted her ex-boyfriend, who she got along quite well with, in that way when it wasn't warranted. Perhaps, though, she had been right. On top of that, she could not deny how flirting with him had made her feel those last months.

"I think it's worth a try," Minerva replied softly.

Oliver beamed, "Fantastic! Well – er – I'll have to plan a date, then. I didn't think this far," he admitted sheepishly.

Minerva laughed, and touched his arm affectionately, "I'll see you around, Oliver."

Oliver bowed his head in acknowledgement with a smile, "And you, Minerva."

As he turned back to his compartment looking triumphant, Minerva stopped him, "While I have you here," Oliver turned back around. Minerva glanced into the compartment at that sixth person she disliked, and noticed everyone within was pretending not to have been paying attention to the conversation just outside their glass door (and failing – none of them were talking and they were looking anywhere but at the door with smiles on their faces). "Tell your friend Nicholas Pomfrey that I saw the way he was sizing up Poppy and that if he so much as looks at her that way again I will Transfigure him in a place he does not want to be Transfigured, so that he won't feel the need to manipulate women ever again."

Oliver burst out laughing, "Will do."

Minerva nodded in a businesslike manner. "Well then. Talk to you later."

Oliver grinned and returned the sentiment, and they finally parted ways. Minerva turned her back on his compartment with a smile, feeling giddy. Her emotions were still evident on her face when she returned to her friends, and Rolanda's first remark when she entered was, "Well hello there. Did someone hit you with a Cheering Charm?"

"Hmm? No," Minerva replied dismissively, sitting in the empty seat across from Rolanda, who was leaning against Richard with his arm around her shoulders. Minerva's three female friends raised their eyebrows.

"You look positively giddy, Minerva. What happened?" Pomona prodded.

Poppy eyed her contemplatively, "Does this have anything to do with Oliver Brown?" Rolanda and Pomona's heads shot in Poppy's direction in astonishment at that question, before snapping back towards Minerva to gauge her reaction. The Gryffindor girl did not disappoint. A faint pink color spread across her cheeks, and her smile widened.

"Sweet Merlin!" Rolanda exclaimed, sitting up straight. "Where did this come from? How did you know, Poppy?" She looked at the Ravenclaw with wide, amazed eyes.

Poppy shrugged, smirking, "I saw the way she looked at him last year, and I did just leave her at the door of his compartment with most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Minerva, what happened!" Pomona asked excitedly.

Trying to be coy, Minerva shrugged and refused to make eye contact with her friends, "He said he wants to try again. I agreed we should."

Pomona sat back in her chair, an amused grin curling at her lips. Rolanda shook her head in disbelief. Poppy, with her arms crossed, said loftily, "I saw it coming."

Rolanda rolled her eyes, "O Great Ravenclaw, I, a mere mortal, shall never be as wise as you. Bless me with a quarter of your gift." Pomona laughed, and Poppy, who was sitting diagonal to Rolanda, reached forward and smacked her on the knee. Minerva smiled in contentment. It was good to be back with her friends. She had a feeling this was going to be a great year, regardless of the war.