What Happened to David Crowley?
Sunday, 1 November 1942
"If you have any further questions, please consult your house Prefects or Head of House. As always, your Heads of House and Madam Jenison are available should any student need to talk. Thank you, again, for remaining calm during this stressful time."
Minerva pursed her lips and tiredly looked down at her barely-eaten breakfast. Headmaster Dippet was doing the best he could. She wasn't sure if a less formal speech would have been helpful; what she was sure of was that the students were not calm. First-year Hufflepuff David Crowley lay petrified in the Hospital Wing, and it looked as though he was going to be there for a long time. This was different from the standard bad news that came with Owl Post. Hogwarts had always felt separate from all of that; no matter what happened out there with the war, they had been assured of the continued safety of the castle itself. This time, the danger had penetrated the castle walls, and not even the teachers could explain the cause of David Crowley's malady. None of the Prefects were allowed to admit this to the students, though. They had been given strict instructions last night about how much they could say in order to maintain calm within their houses.
Breakfast was a subdued affair. Professor Gibson, Head of Hufflepuff, was missing that morning, along with about half of the Hufflepuff students. Last night it had been decided that she should talk to her house in the morning directly and offer her support to anyone who needed it. Minerva suspected she was being held back in the Hufflepuff common room for this very reason. She would also be holding extended office hours in order to accommodate this. As for the rest of Hogwarts, anyone who spoke did so in a whisper.
A quiet peal of laughter caused Minerva to jerk her head up. She was disgusted to note it came from Walburga Black; the Slytherin girl and Abraxas Malfoy were grinning at each other about something. They looked completely unconcerned. Minerva's nostrils flared angrily as she watched them. She clenched her fist tightly around her fork. A hand gently touched her fist, and she turned to find Oliver looking at her, his face grimmer than she'd thought possible for her usually cheerful boyfriend. They both turned to glower at the Slytherins together.
A flutter of wings drew their attention upwards. The sight of hundreds of majestic owls flying overhead had once awed her to the point of giving her goosebumps. Now, they gave her goosebumps for an entirely different reason. The sight of them inspired quiet dread in the average Hogwarts student. It had a particularly silencing effect on an unusually somber group of students this morning. No one was interested in receiving more bad news. Nonetheless, the students paid for and accepted their copies of the Daily Prophet and similarly unburdened the owls of their letters and parcels. All of the students in Minerva's year had developed a system for getting the Prophet by now, whether by subscribing to it themselves or sharing with a friend. Minerva received her own copy.
Mutters sprung up around the Great Hall. Minerva's stomach dropped. She had hoped that the universe would spare them on this particular morning. Warily, she unrolled her copy of the newspaper to read the frontpage headline: "WALPURGISNACHT SET FIRE TO MUGGLE VILLAGE, 22 DEAD." She closed her eyes slowly and set down the paper, unable to read the details. Oliver took the paper from her to read for himself; he usually shared with Donnie, but he and Augusta were leaning over that copy together with furrowed brows. Minerva felt sick. She felt angry. She wanted to be out there, helping. She was old enough, but frustratingly, she still had another year and three-quarters of schooling left.
Minerva had a strong urge to push her food away and storm out of the Great Hall. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then opened her eyes. As much as she wanted to help, she could not. Not directly, at least. Still, she was needed here, at Hogwarts, perhaps more than ever before. Keeping the fears of the younger students in check was an important duty, particularly now that danger had reached Hogwarts itself. It may not be one as clearly significant as preventing attacks like the one splashed across the frontpage of the Prophet, but it was important all the same.
With that in mind, Minerva turned to her friends and said, "I think I'm going to go sit with the younger ones and make sure they're alright." They nodded sympathetically. Sighing, Minerva stood and walked down the table to where the first years sat clustered together, looking like they were trying not to look fearful and failing.
She stopped beside them and asked, "May I sit?"
They all turned to stare at her before most of them mumbled their assent and scooted aside to make room for her on the bench.
"Are any of you close with David?"
They exchanged glances. A girl named Elizabeth Ollerton spoke up, "We have class with him, of course, but I wouldn't say any of us are his friends." She raised her eyebrows at the other first years as if looking for someone to contradict her.
Malcolm MacVanish added, "He was always friendly. We were partners in Herbology last week. He helped get us both points for our houses."
"He'll be back in class soon, won't he?" Elizabeth asked.
"I'm not sure. Professor Marsh said the herb he needs isn't mature enough yet to help him. She didn't say which one she was talking about, specifically, so I don't know how long that will take."
The first year Gryffindors were uncharacteristically quiet at this. They sat in subdued silence before Malcolm quietly asked, "Do you think it will happen again?"
Minerva sighed, "Well, the professors know more than me about all this." This was mostly false. "They haven't told me what they think caused it. We need to trust that they have the situation in hand, though. This won't happen again if they have anything to say about it, you can be sure of that."
"But what are they doing to stop it?"
"Ah, well. For one, they've increased Prefect patrols. Double the number of Prefects will be patrolling the hallways each night. The same goes for the professors. More of us all will be patrolling, and for longer. Other than that, I'm not sure what the professors are doing."
"Dad said Hogwarts was the safest place I could be right now," Elizabeth whispered. Minerva's heart ached for the girl. The other first years had expressions of mixed sympathy and gloominess.
Malcolm, though, was fixated on something across the Great Hall. Minerva followed his gaze. Walburga was snickering with Malfoy again. They were being a little quieter this time, but the grins on their faces were still obnoxious and highly insensitive. Further down the table, Minerva saw Lucretia walking along the Slytherin table purposefully. Rolanda was trailing behind her somewhat, looking gleeful. Lucretia's expression was unusually blank, but her stride was determined. Minerva watched as she reached Walburga and placed an arm around the other girl's shoulders. Minerva knew that they must be related somehow, as they were both pureblooded Blacks, but she was unsure of their exact connection. All she knew was that they weren't sisters. Walburga turned to frown slightly at Lucretia, who smiled thinly back at her. Minerva watched as Lucretia said something to Walburga, the friendly expression not leaving her face. What she said must not have been friendly at all, though, for Walburga looked incensed; her nostrils flared and her mouth contorted in an ugly way as she scowled at Lucretia. Her face turned a deep shade of red. Lucretia merely smiled widely at the other girl, before turning primly and flouncing off, with a greatly amused Rolanda Robinson in tow. Minerva looked around to see if Prewett had noticed this exchange, and saw him staring determinedly down into his porridge, his shoulders shaking silently and a smile quirking at his lips.
This silent exchange cheered Minerva slightly, helping take her mind off the present terrors.
It was a Sunday, and as such, Minerva didn't know what to do with herself. She would almost prefer to have classes to distract her. In reality, though, she probably would have a hard time paying attention to class if she had to try today. She did have Quidditch practice to look forward to, with no plans to cancel it. After all, Gryffindor was playing Slytherin that upcoming Saturday. They needed to be ready.
Minerva did not end up needing a structured plan for her day, as all of the Gryffindors seemed to have decided on a schedule for her. She was passed from friend group to friend group as the Gryffindors milked her for information about the Hufflepuff first year. It was exhausting. She felt as though she could not move five feet through the halls without being stopped to have someone chat with her. Some students stopped her more than once, as if thinking she must have learned more since they last questioned her. The one silver lining in all of this was that ever since Lucretia confronted Walburga in the Great Hall, that particular Slytherin had been as quiet and subdued as the rest of the school. She was desperate to know what Lucretia said to Walburga; Merlin knew how much Minerva had longed for a way to make Walburga shut up throughout her six years of taking classes with the Slytherin girl. How Rolanda survived this long sleeping in the same room as Walburga without hexing her, Minerva could not imagine.
She got a modicum of peace during lunch in the Great Hall. She had no appetite, but she put food in her mouth to give herself the impression of being very busy and unable to talk. Keeping the students of Hogwarts calm may feel like an important task, but it was also exhausting. They were nosy little blighters, and she could not answer all of their questions with the complete truth. There was a delicate balance at play.
Donnie, who was seated across from her, eyed her with a sympathetic half-smile on his face and asked, "You alright there, Captain?"
Minerva gave him a distinctly grumpy look as she stuck a spoonful of peas into her mouth. She continued to make withering eye contact with Donnie as she slowly slid the spoon out of her mouth and lowered it back to her plate.
Donnie cleared his throat uncomfortably and broke eye contact, "I see."
"Oh Donnie, don't rob me of life's little pleasures," she sighed, smirking at him as he glanced nervously back at her.
"Sadist," he mock-whispered to Augusta. Augusta quirked an eyebrow at him, smirking herself.
"So, we're definitely still having practice?" Hank asked.
Minerva nodded, "They have no plans to cancel or postpone the match." The other players nodded and looked down at their plates somberly. Minerva looked around at all of her usually boisterous friends, a pang of sadness shooting through her heart. She plastered a smile on her face and said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, "I'm looking forward to flying. I think we could all use the stress relief."
The team gave her small smiles.
Practice was scheduled right after lunch, and so the team walked together down to the broomshed. As Minerva carried her Cleansweep Three out of the shed, she looked up at the Quidditch pitch looming before her, an idea forming in her head. Smiling slightly, she glanced around at her unusually quiet team. Seeing them that way helped solidify her decision. Minerva turned to face them as they filed out of the shed, brooms over their shoulders, and smiled brightly at them. They eyed her warily, discomfited by this out-of-place grin. Ignoring this, she swung her leg over her broom and prompted, "Ready?"
She received stunned looks in response. Amelia started, "But we're not allowed –" She was cut off as Minerva rose into the air and sped away towards the Quidditch pitch.
Minerva heard laughter and shouts of disbelief behind her and grinned. Amelia was right; it was against the rules to fly broomsticks outside of the Quidditch pitch. Minerva decided, though, that improving her team's mood was more important than strictly following the rules today. She looked over her shoulder and was delighted to see the rest of her team flying after her, grinning and laughing. By the time they all landed on the field of the pitch they looked bright-eyed and exhilarated. She examined each of them, smiling happily at their pleasure. Her eyes lingered on Oliver, who was beaming at her with joy and pride, and her heart fluttered happily before she broke the connection.
Donnie slapped a hand on her shoulder, grinning, "Captain Prefect's gone rogue, I love it."
She rolled her eyes at him, but the effect was ruined by the fact that she was still grinning, "I thought we could all use the thrill. Now, I think we should all warm up by doing a few laps around the pitch. We have a Quidditch match against Slytherin on Saturday. I want to see enthusiasm from each and every one of you."
With that, the seven starting players and two reserve players for Gryffindor shot into the air and started racing around the pitch. Most of the players had brooms with comparable maximum speeds – there weren't significant differences between the Cleansweep Three and Four, nor the Comet 140 and 180 – and so they raced very evenly. Minerva flew beside Oliver for a while, exchanging playful elbow jabs every now and then, until Catriona flew past them all on her Cleansweep Four, the newest broom on the market. Minerva's mouth twisted in determination and she flattened herself against her Cleansweep Three. She shot past Oliver, past Amelia and Hank, and urged her broom nearer to her newest Chaser. She grinned as Catriona glanced over her shoulder. That would slow her down, if only slightly. Minerva pulled up beside Catriona and grinned at the younger girl. Catriona grinned back, and then pushed her broom faster. Minerva matched her in speed. She eyed the curve of the Quidditch pitch ahead of them and dropped lower, so she was below Catriona. The girl's broom may be newer, but so was she to the Quidditch pitch. New players always overcompensated their turns. Minerva, though, was more experienced, and consequently more reckless. She had dropped lower so she and Catriona would stay out of each other's way as they turned differently.
As predicted, Catriona slowed early to ease into the turn. Minerva, conversely, went into the turn at top speed. She rolled ninety degrees in the air so that she was flying sideways. She used this position to turn her broom against the curve of the pitch more quickly. She flew far past Catriona as she maintained this position and speed around the entirety of the pitch's curve. Minerva was grinning the entire time she performed this maneuver. This was what she loved about being a Seeker. Being able to perform at top speeds was essential to Seeking. Catching the Snitch could come down to who could maintain their speed in difficult situations. There was nothing more thrilling to Minerva than the experience of performing dangerous maneuvers at breakneck speeds on her broomstick.
One more lap later, Minerva touched down on the field. The rest of the team followed her, all looking windswept and happy. Minerva was pleased to see that the stresses from the morning seemed to have left them all. Amelia laughed out loud as she pushed flyaway hairs out of her face, grinning at Minerva, "Have a death wish, do you?"
Minerva laughed, "I'm a Seeker, so I suppose I must."
The rest of the team laughed. With the stress relief out of the way, Minerva set them to drills more specific to their positions. They applied themselves to their drills with the enthusiasm she'd hoped for, and as she watched from her position hovering on her broom, she felt hope for their chances at the match on Saturday. They'd lost to Slytherin last year – Rolanda had whipped her team into shape as she'd felt like she had something to prove as a fifth-year captain – but this year, Gryffindor was in better shape than she'd ever seen them. She was excited about the upcoming match.
As she hovered on her broom, Minerva had a growing feeling that she was being watched. She first scanned her team, but they were all engrossed in their drills. She looked to the ground, thinking that perhaps someone had walked into the pitch below. She then eyed the stands in her line of sight, but there was no one there. Minerva pursed her lips. She'd have to turn around, making it more obvious she knew she was being watched. Slowly, Minerva turned, trying to look as casual as possible as she inspected the stands behind her. Her heart jumped in surprise as her eyes landed on a familiar auburn-haired and bearded wizard seated directly behind her.
Dumbledore waved at her. Minerva flew over to his place in the stands and landed next to him. "Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."
He smiled, "Good afternoon, Miss McGonagall. Practice seems to be going well."
Minerva sat next to him and turned back to watching her team, "Yes, I'm feeling very confident about our chances."
Dumbledore also spoke while fixing his eyes on the team, "I saw your little warm up drill." Minerva's face flushed as she thought back to her reckless flying. "I'm glad Gryffindor still has our Seeker after that display."
"Things like that may happen during the game with the Snitch. I need to be ready," Minerva replied defensively, still red in the face.
"I doubt Miss Black would be so risky."
"Then if I am, we win."
Minerva chanced a glance in Dumbledore's direction and was relieved to note the small smile curling at his lips. He glanced over at her as well, perhaps sensing her gaze. His blue eyes were twinkling at her in amusement. He replied, "Only if our Keeper holds up against their Chasers."
Minerva smiled and bowed her head, feeling the weight of his scrutiny lift from her shoulders. She said nothing in response but recollected herself and turned her attention back to her team.
Dumbledore spoke again, "I am glad, though, that you were able to brighten their spirits. I worried about how the combined pressure of the war and the incident with Mr. Crowley would impact the students."
"I'd say at this point I've spoken to all of the Gryffindors about it. They were distressed in the morning, certainly, but I think that by now most of them have filed it away with all of the other things they've grown desensitized to because of the war," Minerva replied frankly.
Dumbledore tented his fingers, his elbows resting on his knees, "I worried about that, too."
They sat together in silence for a few moments, watching the team practice. Minerva was pleased with how well Amelia and Hank adapted to having Catriona join their ranks, and how well Catriona worked with them. The girl was a natural Chaser. After watching Catriona catch a pass from Amelia as the older girl dodged a Bludger, Minerva turned back to Dumbledore and asked, "Are practices supervised now?"
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. Minerva watched as his expression changed from pleasantly engaged in watching the Gryffindor team, to serious in a matter of seconds. Eventually, he replied, "Yes." Minerva pursed her lips slightly, wondering if she would get more than that out of him. Dumbledore glanced over at her and smiled ruefully. "We still do not know the cause of Mr. Crowley's ailment. We would rather be overcautious than let it happen again."
Minerva nodded solemnly and looked away, looking in the direction of her team without truly seeing them. She was worried. She had grown to know that her teachers were fallible, but still, the knowledge that they had not yet determined a cause for Crowley's current state was quieting. She doubted she would ever forget the sight of his small body frozen on the floor with wide, surprised, glassy blue eyes. Minerva shivered as the memory of the night before resurfaced.
Shaking her head and clearing her throat, Minerva stood. Excusing herself, she said, "Thank you for your honesty, sir. I should return to practice, though. I need to make sure my reflexes are prepared to dodge and weave among all these moving parts."
Dumbledore inclined his head and gave her a small smile, "Have fun, Miss McGonagall."
Minerva couldn't help it; she grinned at him before taking to the air.
After practice, after her shower, Minerva made her way up to the seventh floor. She was hoping to find her friends in their room. She had been so busy all day that she hadn't spoken to any of them, but she desperately needed to. Once she reached the appropriate tapestry, she paced three times, asking for the room for her and her friends. When the door appeared, she took a deep breath as she approached it, hoping they were behind this door.
Stepping inside, Minerva's eyes roved across the room. At the sight of three heads curving around three chairs to look at the door, she felt as though her heart might burst with joy and relief. She let out a huge sigh as she walked towards her chair, "I am so glad to see you three."
Minerva sat down heavily and examined each of their faces. They all looked as exhausted as she felt. Minerva's heart went out to Pomona as she laid eyes on the ragged Hufflepuff. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it slowly, uncertainly. Minerva wasn't certain how long they'd all been here, and she didn't want to make them rehash everything for her sake.
Poppy spoke instead, "How has it been for you?"
Minerva grimaced and leaned back in her chair, "Well, I've been getting a lot of questions, of course. The Gryffindors are very curious. They want someone to blame. Then, when I can't answer their questions, they come back a few hours later, as if they think I've gone and found out the whole mystery since they first asked." Rolanda snorted at this. Minerva continued, "The most distressing thing, though, is how subdued it's made them. They're usually so boisterous. Seeing them this quiet is unsettling."
Pomona nodded silently, staring into the fire. Minerva reached over and placed a hand on her friend's knee. Pomona looked down at it solemnly. Minerva's heart ached for Pomona. She asked quietly, "How's Hufflepuff doing?"
Pomona blinked slowly, but that was the only indication she gave that she'd heard the question. Minerva wondered if she was going to get an answer. Finally, Pomona replied softly, "Rough." Minerva looked down at her own lap but did not remove her hand from Pomona's knee. She was surprised to hear Pomona continue, "A lot of the young ones are very upset. David is popular among them. He's made an impression. They want answers. They want to know what to be afraid of. Not knowing who or what or how or even why has put them in a state. It's hard to watch. I'm doing the best I can to help them, but…"
As Pomona trailed off, Minerva squeezed her knee comfortingly. Poppy sighed quietly on Pomona's other side, eyeing her best friend with sympathy and concern.
On Minerva's other side, Rolanda said darkly, "Slytherin's a difficult place to be right now. Half the house is crowing about our founder's legacy and about the fact that Crowley's Muggle-born, while the decent half mostly bite our tongues unless they say something particularly stupid or awful."
Minerva straightened and looked over at Rolanda, "How's Mason fitting in to all of this?"
Rolanda grimaced, "He already got into it with Dolohov. Just verbal fighting, for now, but it got pretty heated before Riddle separated them. Since then he seems to be keeping his mouth shut."
Poppy, scowling, asked, "So they think this has something to do with Salazar Slytherin?"
Rolanda nodded, "It got out that there was writing on the wall above Crowley." She eyed Pomona, gauging to see if she knew this. Pomona straightened and looked over at Rolanda curiously. Rolanda sighed, "Well, Minerva and Poppy can confirm this, but evidently above Crowley, the words 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware' were written in blood on the wall."
Pomona's eyes went wide and she jerked her head around to stare at Poppy. Poppy nodded solemnly at her. Pomona said, "Gibson did not tell us that. What does that even mean?"
"Well," Rolanda replied with a grimace, "if you ask the pureblood arses in Slytherin, it refers to Slytherin's secret room, where it's said he kept a monster. It's all legend, but they're positively gleeful about it."
"So…the 'heir,' then, would refer to the heir of Slytherin?" Minerva asked.
"That's what they're saying," Rolanda replied, nodding. "I don't believe it."
Silence fell between the four friends for a while, until Minerva remembered the scene at the Slytherin table at breakfast that morning. "I take it Walburga Black is among those who believes in this?"
Rolanda actually laughed out loud, "You saw that, did you?"
Poppy and Pomona looked between their friends curiously. Minerva asked, "What did Lucretia say to Walburga? She looked murderous."
"Yet also embarrassed?" Rolanda added cheerfully. Minerva nodded, a smile quirking at her lips. "Well, Lucretia didn't think her cousin was behaving appropriately at breakfast this morning, and so she told her that if she didn't carry herself with more decorum, she'd tell her parents that Walburga has been fucking Malfoy."
Poppy's eyes widened, and Pomona's face turned scarlet. Minerva's jaw dropped in shock. Rolanda grinned at them all. Shaking her head, Minerva asked, "Why would Lucretia's parents care that Walburga is having sex with Malfoy?"
"Because Walburga is arranged to marry Lucretia's little brother Orion," Rolanda explained loftily. At her friends' looks of shock, Rolanda grimaced, "That was my reaction. They're second cousins. He's a third year, though, so he's still too young for her. She doesn't want to marry him, but her branch of the family needs his branch's money. If Lucretia's parents called off the engagement because of her relationship with Malfoy, it would not only ruin Walburga's parents, but they would disown her. Malfoy wouldn't take in a disgraced pureblood even if it was his fault, and even if he would, he's already arranged to marry second-year Titania Yaxley."
Pomona rubbed her head tiredly, "Pureblood traditionalists are complicated."
"Well, I'm glad she was brought down a peg," Minerva said. "She was behaving disgustingly at breakfast."
The friends quieted as they remembered why.
"He was the boy who asked us about the trophy case," Poppy commented quietly, staring into her hands. Her friends looked over at her. After a few moments of no one saying anything in response, Poppy looked up and added, "The first week of school. Pomona had run in for a book. Do you remember?"
"I remember," Rolanda murmured.
Minerva stared into the fireplace thoughtfully. She remembered that day. He and his friends had been exploring the castle for the first time. They were so curious, and, she imagined, full of excitement. It didn't seem fair that his first year was now marred by an experience like this. Perhaps that was part of why the school seemed so frustrated. They all remembered what it felt like to be a first-year, wide-eyed and enthusiastic about what was to come. As the day had gone on, and she hadn't been able to answer many of the students' questions, she'd grown frustrated herself. She wanted to know more, too.
As if she'd read her mind, Pomona said, "I need to know more about what happened to him." Poppy, Rolanda, and Minerva all turned to her. She glanced at each of them, and then looked down at her hands in her lap. "I need to."
"Then let's find out more," Poppy replied quietly. Pomona turned to her. Poppy gave her a small, sympathetic smile, "We have an extensive library at our disposal. There has to be something about his symptoms in there."
Minerva thought back to the conversation she'd had with Dumbledore. The professors didn't know what happened to Crowley. How were four students supposed to figure it out? Seeing the hope and determination settling onto Pomona's face, though, she didn't have the heart to discourage them.
Poppy stood and offered Pomona her hand, "We'd better get to it, then. Ladies?" She looked to Rolanda and Minerva as she said this. The Slytherin and Gryffindor stood. Pomona smiled at them all, grasped Poppy's hand, and stood, too. With her shoulders squared in determination, Poppy led the way out the door. Pomona rushed to fall into step beside her. Minerva and Rolanda walked together behind them.
As they walked out into the hall, Rolanda leaned closer to Minerva and asked, "Don't you think it's odd that when Pomona said that she needed to know what happened to Crowley, the room didn't give her an answer?"
Minerva blinked. She hadn't noticed, but now that Rolanda mentioned it, she did agree that it was strange. She didn't respond while she mulled this over. They reached the stairs before Minerva replied, "It is odd. Perhaps we don't understand the restrains of the room as well as we thought we did."
Rolanda frowned, not satisfied.
They walked in silence for a bit, listening to Poppy and Pomona discuss potential subjects to research in the library. On the fifth floor, Minerva remembered a question she'd had for Rolanda at Slughorn's Halloween party. The party felt like it happened a week ago, but it had been just two nights ago. She'd almost forgot her question. "Oh, Rolanda. I saw Slughorn introducing you to some people at his party. What was that about?"
Rolanda's face split into a grin. Minerva was glad she'd asked. Rolanda answered, "They were Quidditch scouts! I met someone from the Arrows, the Kestrels, and the Harpies. They're coming to the match on Saturday."
"I better tell my Chasers to make you work especially hard then," Minerva teased, smiling at her friend.
Rolanda clapped her hands together. Minerva eyed her with amusement; she'd never seen her friend look this stupidly happy, not even over Richard. Rolanda sighed happily and said, "Oh Minerva, this is it for me. I mean, I know I have another year, but this is where it all begins. I've known with certainty that I've wanted this since the first time I flew and now it's happening. Merlin, I'm so happy."
"I'm happy for you," Minerva replied, smiling widely. "I'll warn you, though, my team was looking great at practice today."
Rolanda waved dismissively, "Bring it on, then. The greater the challenge, the better I look when I block all their shots."
Minerva laughed.
Rolanda gave her a half-hug as they descended the stairs from the fourth to the third floor, "Oh, and Richard got to talk to the editor of the sports section of the Prophet. He might be getting an internship this summer with them. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
"That would be a great opportunity for him," Minerva agreed.
Rolanda slipped her arm through Minerva's and sighed happily, "Everything is falling into place."
Sometimes, Minerva felt like the only one of her friends who factored the war into her plans.
Minerva and her friends spent the rest of their day in the library, aside for a quick break to go to dinner. They searched through Hogwarts, a History, as well as other books specifically on Salazar Slytherin and the history of Slytherin House. There was not much more information on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets than Rolanda had already told them in those books, though. Poppy led the charge in searching through the medical tomes she'd learnt to rely upon for Crowley's symptoms. After hours of searching, they came up disappointingly empty. Poppy walked out of the library a half-hour before curfew looking stricken at the fact that her books had failed her. Minerva, though not surprised, put an arm around her Ravenclaw friend comfortingly. Pomona walked ahead of them to the trophy case just down the hall from the library.
A nervous feeling tightened in Minerva's chest as she watched her Muggle-born friend approach the same trophy case David Crowley had been in front of when he was found. Unbidden, her friend's name bubbled out of her throat warningly. Pomona ignored her and stopped in front of the trophy case, peering inside. When nothing bad seemed to happen to her, Minerva marched quickly over to join her, Rolanda and Poppy right at her heels. She looked into the case as well. Old trophies and plaques, all awarded for academic achievements from centuries before sat on the shelves. Minerva found herself staring directly into a plaque dedicated to Ignatia Wildsmith, dated to 1245, for "Outstanding Innovations in Charms and Potions." Minerva wondered what those innovations were but doubted that she'd invented Floo Powder while still a Hogwarts student. That probably would have come later.
Minerva's own face stared back at her off the shiny, well-polished bronze of the plaque. She wondered if Crowley had seen his attacker's reflection, like Minerva was now seeing her own, before he'd been petrified. Maybe he would be able to identify his attacker when he woke up.
She glanced over at Pomona. Her Hufflepuff friend's face was expressionless. She placed a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to catch her eye. Pomona did not move. Then, she said, "He stood right here. And someone – probably some nasty Slytherin – came up behind him and thought it would be entertaining to curse him so bad that he's still in the hospital wing, frozen like a statue." She turned to face Minerva, who gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. "Our professors haven't fixed this. How can they not have fixed this by now?"
Minerva tightened her grip on Pomona's shoulder. Poppy and Rolanda came up on either side of her and placed their hands on her comfortingly. Minerva sighed, "They're not perfect. But I know they're doing the best they can for him. Marsh did say she has an herb for him, it just needs to mature."
Pomona leaned on Poppy, looking tired and distraught, "If the best they can do isn't good enough to solve this, though, how are we going to be of any help?"
Rolanda squeezed Pomona's hand and said, "We should at least try."
Pomona gave her a small smile and squeezed back. They then started to walk together towards the Entrance Hall, where they exchanged goodnights and hugs before going their separate ways to their separate common rooms. Rolanda and Pomona split off to go to the lower levels, while Poppy and Minerva mounted to stairs to go to their towers.
It was a weary Minerva McGonagall who stepped through the portrait hole that night. Part of her wanted to just curl up in bed and sleep for ten hours. Another part of her wanted the comfort of her friends. At the very least, she felt like a hug from Oliver was in order. He was not hard to find, as he was sitting around a table off to her right, laughing, with Donnie, Richard, and Theodore Brighton. As Minerva neared, she raised her eyebrows, realizing they were laughing over a game of Gobstones. She hadn't realized that any of those boys still cared for the game. Typically, boys grew out of Gobstones once they became Quidditch-mad, and she didn't know any boys more Quidditch-mad than these four.
Oliver turned and grinned at her as she drew nearer. She waved uncertainly at him. He stood and waved her over, "Hullo, Minerva! I feel like I've barely seen you today. Do you want to play?"
She stared in disbelief at his nonchalance. I've barely seen you today? she repeated in her head. I bloody wonder why!
"No thanks," she replied shortly, eyeing a newly wet gobstone with distaste. "I've had a pretty tiring day."
"Aw, okay. Another time then. Goodnight!" He said this all very innocently, and then reached forward to clasp her hand briefly and place a quick kiss on her cheek. She watched, dumbfounded, as he sat back down and returned to his game just like that. She didn't notice the way Donnie looked between them, nor the long, warning look he gave to an oblivious Oliver.
Minerva stood behind her boyfriend, speechless. She opened and closed her mouth several times as she struggled to find the words she wanted to say. The longer she stood there, the more enraged she became. Didn't he hear her say she had a tiring day? Didn't he want to make sure she was okay? Didn't he hear Dippet tell the whole school to turn to their Prefects with their questions? Didn't he remember what happened?
Donnie glanced back at her and finally nudged Oliver. Oliver looked at his best friend and saw him jerk his eyes in Minerva's direction. Surprised, Oliver turned back around to find Minerva still standing there. "Are you alright, Minerva?"
Minerva's cheeks flushed angrily, "Of course I'm not alright."
Oliver's head jerked back in surprise, and he stood again, "Oh – er – what's wrong?"
She blinked at him, baffled. "Well, for starters, I just told you that I've had a tiring day and you dismissed me."
"What? I thought you were saying you wanted to go to bed and didn't want to be bothered!"
"I would've just said goodnight if that's what I wanted!"
"Well what do you want?"
"I want my boyfriend to not be so oblivious to the mood of the school and what it's required of me as a Prefect and show me some support!"
"I'm not oblivious –"
"Really? Because it sure looks like you've forgotten already!"
"This is how I'm coping!" Oliver shouted. Minerva closed her mouth abruptly, her retort dying on her lips. She took a step back; she'd gotten in his personal space during their argument. They stared at each other, breathing heavily. His friends were all determinedly looking down at their game, but she could feel the eyes of everyone else in the common room staring at them.
Minerva turned to the room at large and snapped, "Don't you have any last-minute assignments to do?" Heads immediately snapped away at this pronouncement.
Turning back to Oliver, Minerva rubbed her face with her hands tiredly. She took a few calming breaths before saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions about why you were being so lighthearted. Hell, I even encouraged this sort of behavior at practice today." She slid her hands back down her face and dropped them heavily at her sides. Her shoulders slumped tiredly. "I just really needed a hug and an ear. That's all."
Oliver stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. She stiffened at first, but as he persisted, she relaxed, returned the hug, and breathed in deeply the smells of his lavender hair oils mixed with Gobstones juice clinging to his robes. He murmured into her hair, "I'm sorry, too. I have seen how hard you've been working. I guess I just…you're the strongest person I know. I didn't realize how hard it was on you."
Minerva's heart melted at those words. She placed her chin on his chest and looked up at him, smiling softly, "The strongest person you know?"
He flushed lightly and averted his gaze, but he mumbled, "I think so." His eyes snapped back to meet hers, suddenly sparkling mischievously. She knew he'd thought of a sufficient comeback to cover his embarrassment, and steeled herself for it, "Well, perhaps not now that you've snapped."
Minerva rolled her eyes, grateful for how she'd prepared for that jab. If she hadn't expected it, it very well could have set her off again. She drawled, "I'd like to see you try enduring questions you don't know the answers to from everyone in Gryffindor, and more than once from some, on top of schoolwork, Quidditch, friends, and Prefect responsibilities."
Oliver grimaced, "That is a lot."
"Tell me about it."
He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, "I really am sorry, Min."
She pecked his lips, "I'm sorry too. And don't call me Min."
He grinned, "Sorry."
Minerva pulled away, sighing. "Goodnight, Oliver. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Minerva."
Monday, 2 November 1942
Minerva had Transfiguration first thing Monday morning. Usually, this was a wonderful way for her to start her week that always left her feeling energized and ready to tackle everything else. Today, though, she felt as if nothing could lift her spirits. David Crowley was spending another day frozen in the Hospital Wing, and Minerva felt helpless. She prided herself on her intelligence and firmly believed she would take her place beside the rest of her family in the fight against Grindelwald when she graduated, but she was of-age now. She was the age some people were when they joined the Resistance. Yet she could not figure out what curse that someone – probably a student – cast. To be fair, it seemed that the staff could not, either, but still. She wanted to feel like she was helping.
She eyed Dumbledore. He looked tired, too. She wondered how this must feel to him. She knew he loved this school. From watching her family during her breaks from school, she also knew the kind of toll being part of the Resistance could take on a person. Minerva imagined that Hogwarts was probably a kind of refuge for Dumbledore, where he could focus on something other than the war, something that he seemed to enjoy. Now, though, he had to manage an uncertain danger within Hogwarts as well as all the dangers beyond the castle walls.
Just thinking about this was stressful to Minerva. She couldn't imagine living it.
"Can anyone tell me what happened to Margaret Meadowcroft when she attempted to transfigure herself into a centaur?" Dumbledore asked.
Minerva rested her chin on her hand. Of course, she knew precisely what happened, but she didn't have the energy to answer. She watched Dumbledore look around the room for a raised hand. Evidently no one else had the energy either; that, or they didn't know. After scanning the room twice, Dumbledore's eyes fell on Minerva. She sighed quietly to herself, resigned to the fact that she was about to be called on. "Miss McGonagall?"
She sat up straighter and rested her hands on the desk in front of her before replying, "She attempted an immensely difficult transfiguration while intoxicated and failed so miserably that she spent the rest of her life in a wheelchair with legs similar to a horse's in appearance but not in strength."
"Correct. I have been impressing upon you all the difficulty of Human Transfiguration for the past two months. We started small with Color-Changing Spells, but we must move forward to Texture- and Structure-Changing Spells. In order for you all to be successful, you must focus," Dumbledore said. His eyes roved the class again. Minerva doubted he would find anyone with the appropriate amount of focus. Dumbledore sighed and leaned against his desk, sliding his hands into the pockets of his robes, and said quietly, "I see you are all still preoccupied with the events of this weekend."
Minerva observed that the students perked up at this change of subject. Dumbledore regarded them all seriously, and continued, "I understand how you must feel. You have had the misfortune of having to grow up with the threat of Grindelwald and his followers looming over you, but you have always been comforted by the fact that you would be safe here at Hogwarts. Things like this simply don't happen at Hogwarts. I am both saddened and heartened to see the toll Mr. Crowley's condition is taking on you – yes, heartened. I've watched you learn to expect the horrible things that are happening in the world because of the war. I've watched you learn to brush them off and move on with your days. It is heartening to see that you are not completely desensitized to tragedy and injustice. Still, it is saddening to see young people who I have previously thought were remarkably resilient so subdued. Mr. Crowley will be just fine. He requires the Mandrake Restorative Draught – which, now that I have your attention, could have reversed Margaret Meadowcroft's condition if it had been invented – and the simple reason he is not yet awake is that due to the season, there are no Mandrakes mature enough to be harvested for the potion.
"I have taught you much in the five, going on six years you have been my students. But you, along with your other peers, have also taught me something, and that is the value of remaining positive, and remembering how to laugh, in the face of great darkness." The sixth-year students' backs straightened at this. "I remind you of this lesson that you have taught me now in the hopes that it will help you move forward with your lives. You need to move forward, not just for your own happiness, but for your success in your N.E.W.T.-level courses. Your education is important. Human Transfiguration, in particular, is vital for those of you who want to be Aurors. But it is also dangerous. I will not proceed with this lesson until I have your focus."
And, Minerva noted, he did. The lesson proceeded as normal following Dumbledore's speech. They were starting small with the Texture and Structure Spells by transfiguring their hair into feathers. It was very low-stakes work, but some of the sixth-years were afraid of permanently damaging their hair. Dumbledore assured them that no matter what they did, short of setting their hair on fire, this was a low-level enough spell that he could easily reverse any damage.
After class, Minerva lingered. Poppy and Rolanda hovered near her as she slowly gathered her belongings, not yet realizing her true intent. As the rest of the class filed out, chatting about the class and what Dumbledore had said, Minerva murmured to her friends, "I need to talk to Dumbledore. I'll see you later?"
"Yes, of course," Rolanda returned, adjusting the shoulder strap of her bag and turning to leave. She stopped, though, when she noticed Poppy didn't move.
Poppy was regarding Minerva with raised eyebrows. She asked, "What about?"
Minerva glanced nervously at Dumbledore before replying quietly, "About the book you gave me for my birthday."
Poppy's face split into a huge grin, "That's what I was hoping to hear."
Minerva rolled her eyes and shooed her friends away. She watched them go with an amused smile on her face. Rolanda leaned closer to Poppy as they walked out the door, no doubt asking what book she had bought Minerva for her birthday.
Now, alone with Dumbledore, her nervousness increased. She took a deep breath and approached his desk, where he sat waiting, pretending like he didn't know Minerva was hanging back to chat. "Professor Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore looked up from the parchments he had been reading with a welcoming smile, "How can I help you, Miss McGonagall?"
Minerva took another deep breath. "Well, what you said about moving forward had an impact on me. There's something I've been dreaming about doing for some time now, but I never thought I could do it so I didn't try. I think my skills in Transfiguration have progressed a lot, though, and I think, with the proper instruction, I could do it. I thought that perhaps, with the idea of moving forward in mind, there's no better time than the present to ask if you would help me."
"And what would I be helping you with?" he asked, smiling up at her in amusement.
Minerva squared her shoulders and responded firmly, "I want you to help me become an Animagus." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Sir."
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up and he leaned back in his chair. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his fingers against his auburn beard. She stood her ground under his scrutinizing gaze, trying to look calm despite the fact that her heart was racing rapidly in her chest. She wished he would say something. The seconds ticked by agonizingly as he considered her. She started to doubt she'd said it out loud. Finally, he replied, "I shouldn't be surprised that you want to do this." Minerva relaxed slightly at this. He chuckled at her. "Yes, I should have known. I'm sure you've already mastered at least the theory for all of the N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration, hmm?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. Minerva flushed; she had.
"I know you're not an Animagus," she interjected quickly, "but you have written about the transformation in Transfiguration Today. I know you're qualified to teach me."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Yes, I am." He paused, leaning forward and folding his hands on his desk, "Since you know I've written about it, I assume you've read thoroughly into the theory and process behind the transformation?"
Minerva nodded vigorously, "Yes, sir."
"Recite the steps to me."
Minerva sucked in a breath, more anxious with excitement now than with nerves. She took a calming breath and began, "At a full moon, I must place a single Mandrake leaf in my mouth. It must stay there, not swallowed, not taken out for eating or sleeping or for any other reason until the next full moon. Visible full moon," she clarified quickly, seeing Dumbledore's raised eyebrow. "The full moon must be visible, or I must get a new Mandrake leaf and keep it in my mouth until the next full moon. I'll repeat this until there is a visible full moon, unobscured by clouds or fog. I then need to go outside and spit the leaf into a phial that is touched by the light from the moon. Oh, and before this, seven days before the full moon I need to collect dew before sunrise and protect it from sunlight for those seven days. I need to add that dew, one of my hairs, and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth to the phial with my Mandrake leaf. I must keep this mixture in a safe, quiet, dark place until I need it next. Then, I can begin to recite the spell – Amato Animo Animato Animagus – at sunrise and sunset every day for at least a month, with the tip of my wand over my heart. Then, I need to wait for a lightning storm, at which time I need to immediately, before the storm stops, move to a large and secure space, where I recite the spell one final time and then take the potion."
She waited for his approval with bated breath, worried she'd forgotten something. Dumbledore, though, merely smiled at her reassuringly and said, "You've clearly studied this thoroughly already. I am sure that you, of all people, would take the dangers of the transformation seriously and follow these instructions to the letter. However," Dumbledore said sternly, popping Minerva's bubble of happiness at his praise as quickly as he'd helped manufacture it, "you did forget one important step."
Minerva's face drained of color. She thought her heart might have stopped. "What?"
He gave her a small, amused smile as he dangled that over her for a breath before saying, "You must add the dew to the phial with a silver spoon."
Minerva felt as though she could hit herself. She knew that. "Right, of course, my apologies, sir. I promise, though, that I will take this seriously. I've read about the accidents and the dangers as well as the method. That's why I'm coming to you rather than trying to do this myself."
He chuckled and looked over his reading glasses at her with mock-sternness, "And I'm sure you would never consider doing it any other way."
Minerva couldn't help herself; she grinned.
"Well," Dumbledore said, standing, "I don't suppose there has been any time when Professor Marsh has been more careful with our Mandrakes. I will talk to her about sparing a leaf or two to your project."
Minerva beamed at him, "Thank you, sir, thank you!"