Setbacks and Small Victories

Monday, 2 November 1942

Albus slid into the staffroom at precisely five o'clock in the afternoon. The rest of the staff was just moving to take their seats. Albus was happy to note that Dippet was already present, on time for a change, so he didn't have to entertain them all himself while they waited for Dippet to grace them with his presence. As Albus moved to take his seat at the right-hand side of the head seat, he felt Mary Jenison and Galatea Merrythought give him stern looks, but pointedly ignored them. Dippet attempted a smile in his direction, but it came out terse and stressed.

"Now that we're all seated, we can begin," Dippet pronounced with an unusual amount of weariness in his voice. "Mary, start us off, if you would."

The school mediwitch folded her hands on the table, releasing a deep, long-suffering sigh. She looked around at them all gravely, "We still have no diagnosis for Mr. Crowley. Each of you has now come by and done your own analysis. Some of you had some good suggestions, but after exploring those avenues, I've determined none of those were the cause. I've also invited Healers from St. Mungo's to examine him, as well as Sylvia Chase from W.A.D.A., and Adeline Maddox, the mediwitch I trained under. None of them have been able to provide a sufficient explanation for his current condition. It is unlike anything any of them have ever seen."

"There has to be at least one trained medical professional in the wizarding world who has seen these symptoms before," the elderly Charms professor Victoria Dare said dubiously. "Hogwarts is a special place, but the people within its walls are not."

Camelia Marsh, the Herbology professor, regarded her with raised eyebrows, "Are you suggesting that Hogwarts cursed him?"

Dare shot her a withering look, "Yes, and it wrote threatening words in bird blood on the wall."

"It's not completely out of the question that we could be dealing with two separate perpetrators," Greta Gibson said carefully, glancing briefly in Slughorn's direction. "Someone may have come across Mr. Crowley already cursed and decided to use the opportunity as part of some sick joke about his blood status."

Albus frowned as some of the other professors exchanged glances at this, muttering to each other. A few more threw glances Slughorn's way. It was no secret that most of the staff suspected Slytherin House, considering the message on the wall. While Albus did not disagree that a Slytherin was most likely behind this, he felt he must speak up where implications were made unfairly, "I do not think it is likely that we are dealing with more than one attacker. The abundance of bird blood at the scene suggests premeditation. I analyzed that blood; it was not from a Conjured bird, but a real, non-magical rooster."

"Well, then, what do you think, Dumbledore?" Dare asked, crossing her arms. "Do you think Grindelwald is involved somehow?"

All eyes turned in his direction. He looked around at them all, taking the moment to collect himself and pretend as though their scrutiny did not make him tense. Albus replied carefully, "I do not." Mutters started up again at this. He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, prepared to speak again, but waiting for them to become quiet again. "Grindelwald's focus is on those who continue to support the Statute of Secrecy. He does not hate Muggle-borns. Actually, they are his ideal followers, because he wants to use their connections to the Muggle world to reveal our world to them. And then, of course, make them subservient to us."

"Then why did the Walpurgisnacht set fire to a Muggle village on Halloween?" Dare asked, eyes narrowed. "That was quite Muggle-hating, if you ask me."

"They were punishing a group of Muggle-borns who lived in that village that refused to join his cause. They were hiding out there with their families," Albus replied quietly. "He has his goals, yes, but he is also not a sane man."

None of the staff spoke up to counter that. No one said anything, actually, as they digested that.

Attempting to ease the tension, Dippet cleared his throat and asked, "And Camelia? Do you have any news for us?"

Camelia grimaced, "No good news, I'm afraid. I've contacted all of the Herbologists and Potions Masters I know. Mary, of course, contacted St. Mungo's and all of the mediwitches and wizards she knows. No one has any already-matured Mandrakes. Like I said the night it happened, it's not in season, and while the Mandrake Restorative Draught is a sort of cure-all for curses, there are so many more specific, simpler-made cures for the ailments the potion we want can help with that people just don't keep it in stock anymore. It's so rarely needed nowadays."

Dippet put his head in his hands tiredly at this news. Albus glanced to his right at Galatea, who had been quietly listening to the conversation. She met his questioning gaze with a small, sad smile, and then shook her head as if indicating that she had nothing to contribute.

"Well then." Albus looked back around at Dippet and saw that the Headmaster had lifted his head from his hands, although he still looked extremely tired. Dippet continued, "Seeing as we still do not know who or what did this, how, nor potentially even why, we will need to continue to proceed with caution. Extended patrols will continue for you all and for the Prefects, and the Prefects are still not to patrol alone, only in pairs or groups of three. And," he turned on Slughorn, looking regretful, "we will be hosting no more unsupervised guests. Supervised guests may be allowed under special circumstances, but I'm afraid, Horace, that your parties do not qualify. There are too many opportunities for your guests to slip away during the party. I understand that you are giving your students valuable networking opportunities, but those opportunities are not worth their lives. Yes—" he raised his voice as mutters started up again, "—I know it sounds dramatic to say it like that, but we do not understand this curse. We do not know who is responsible for it. We cannot be sure that should this happen again, it won't be fatal."

This declaration quieted the staff. They exchanged uneasy glances. They were not accustomed to not knowing what was going on inside of Hogwarts, nor being confronted with a puzzle that none of them could solve. The witches and wizards that made up the Hogwarts staff were among the brightest in Britain, and the fact that none of them were familiar with what was afflicting David Crowley was alarming.

After a little more discussion on how best to keep the students calm, Dippet ended the staff meeting. Rather than escaping immediately like he typically did, Dumbledore lingered, hoping to catch Camelia. He hadn't factored in his plan, though, the fact that half the staff wanted to ask her about Mandrakes. He frowned lightly as he hovered off to the side of the group of professors around the Herbology professor.

Galatea, who had just risen to her feet and was now standing by his side, raised an eyebrow as she looked up at him, "The meeting ended thirty seconds ago, Albus. What are you still doing here?"

Albus actually snorted at that and turned an amused, twinkling gaze down at the diminutive Defense professor. "I have a question for Camelia."

"Hmm, well, I suppose she has been rather difficult to pin down since she started worrying over her Mandrakes," Galatea replied. "It's been a long time since I took Herbology, but I do recall that they need to be repotted frequently. Merlin knows how she's doing it alone. Feisty little blighters, they were."

"She isn't having the students help?" Albus asked, surprised.

"Well, they're helping a little, certainly, but this is too important to leave room for inexperienced hands to make a mistake."

"Surely the N.E.W.T.-level students are experienced enough," he replied, frowning.

Galatea shrugged, "I think she's simply feeling the pressure to ensure they mature perfectly."

Albus hummed thoughtfully in response. As he watched Camelia push brown curls that had come loose from her quickly done-up bun out of her face with a strained smile on her face, he reconsidered his timing. Perhaps now was not the best time to ask Camelia to sacrifice a Mandrake leaf to a Transfiguration project. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided that was a good deduction. Albus turned back to Galatea. "My question can wait. I wouldn't want to put any undue stress on Camelia at the moment."

Galatea nodded, "I'll come with you." They walked together out of the staffroom and into the hallway, and once there, Galatea asked, "What was your question, anyway?"

"I have a student who has proposed an independent Transfiguration project to me. It requires a Mandrake leaf, though."

Galatea grimaced, "Yes, waiting to ask is probably for the best." Albus released a huff of laughter.

They walked in silence, with Galatea's face screwed up thoughtfully, until they turned onto the next corridor. Albus had noticed Galatea's expression, but had wanted to give her time to say what was on her mind. When he thought she might never speak, he asked, "Is something on your mind, Galatea?"

"Hmm? Oh, well, I was just trying to think of a Transfiguration project that would require the use of a Mandrake leaf. I understand that Mandrakes have transformative properties – that's why we decided to use it to cure Mr. Crowley – but I always thought it was more to do with reversing Transfiguration rather than contributing to the process. I've always seen them as having the ability to return something to its normal state. Or is that the student's project?"

Albus laughed, "I didn't mean to give you a riddle, Galatea. I—"

"I'm a Ravenclaw, Albus Dumbledore. I can make a riddle out of anything," Galatea interrupted, grinning up at him. "But sadly, my knowledge of Transfiguration has diminished over the years that I've been so focused on the Dark Arts and their defense. Would you tell me, if you can?"

"Yes, it's not a secret project at all," he replied, amusement quirking at his lips. "Minerva McGonagall wants to become an Animagus."

Galatea stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to face him. Albus stopped as well, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Galatea stared up at him with her mouth slightly open. Albus simply stared back at her in amusement, waiting for her to speak. Eventually, Galatea shut her mouth and allowed a slow grin to appear on her face, "Really? Fascinating. Isn't that dangerous?"

Albus tilted his head back and forth consideringly before replying, "It can be. But Miss McGonagall is unusually gifted at Transfiguration, and with my extra guidance, it should be perfectly safe."

Galatea made a little sound of appreciation before turning and continuing to walk. Albus folded his hands behind himself and followed suit. Galatea asked, "You're not an Animagus, though. Correct?"

"Correct. I am not. But I am familiar with the process and am more than capable of guiding her."

They now reached the Great Hall and ceased their conversation as they greeted students. Some of the liveliness had been restored to the students after a structured day of classes. They had much more to talk to each other about now, instead of just Crowley's condition. Albus noted that the students who had been particularly close to Crowley were still somewhat subdued, but the rest of the students seemed to slowly be regaining their sense of normalcy.

The head table was mostly empty, as Albus and Galatea had left most of the staff behind at the meeting. Albus took his seat to the right of the empty head seat, and Galatea took her seat directly to Albus's right. Albus did not dare pull out Galatea's chair for her like his mother would've insisted he should; he'd learned long ago that should he ever attempt to do so, he would find himself hexed so badly that he would never be able to sit again. Once seated, a plate of food appeared in front of each of them. Albus started to cut into his roast beef, thinking his conversation with Galatea was over.

Consequently, he was taken by surprise when Galatea asked, "Is Miss McGonagall the reason you're so adamant about not taking on an apprentice?"

Albus spit out the bite of roast beef he'd just taken to avoid choking on it in his surprise. Galatea laughed and patted him on the back. Albus gave her a playfully sour look as he brought his napkin up to wipe his mouth. Galatea grinned back at him. "She is, isn't she?"

"I know of no student who deserves it more," he replied. "Dippet first proposed an apprentice this summer, after any student even moderately worthy had secured a post-Hogwarts plan. If I take one on from this graduating class, then I will not have the time to also apprentice her when she graduates next year."

Galatea pursed her lips at him, but her eyes were sympathetic. She patted his hand and said, "I understand wanting to give our best and brightest the best education that we can, but Albus…we're at war. We must make sacrifices. You need help."

"She wants to teach," he replied, unswayed.

Galatea sighed and picked up her own fork and knife. She cut her roast beef with a little more force than necessary, but she said nothing. Albus turned stiffly back to his own food. After taking a bite, Galatea said quietly, "You've always been an idealist, Albus, ever since you were a student."

"I've been told it's one of my more redeeming qualities."

Galatea laughed softly into her food, "And there's the cynic I've watched this war turn you into."

"That's hardly cynical."

"It is when you consider how much you seem to hate yourself at times."

Albus's fork missed the roasted potato he was attempting to spear, but that was the only outward sign he gave that her words hit home. He said nothing in response. He didn't know what to say. Of course he hated himself. He blamed himself for the man Grindelwald had become, and nothing even Nicolas or Perenelle said could absolve him of that. Galatea, though, knew none of his history with Grindelwald. She couldn't understand, and he didn't want to help her to. He knew she wondered. She was an intelligent woman who was involved in the fight against Grindelwald. He knew she felt like she was missing a piece of the puzzle. He just couldn't bear to give it to her, or to see the look on her face if she ever found out.

He could almost hear his brother's gruff, bitter voice in his ear as he studiously focused on his roast beef: Your whole life is all secrets and lies.

Friday, 6 November 1942

As the week had progressed, the energy at Hogwarts had slowly returned in anticipation of the upcoming Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The students, trusting in their professors and Prefects, pushed concerns for Crowley out of their minds as life at Hogwarts proceeded as normal. Bad news with the morning post, morning classes, lunch, afternoon classes, break, dinner, curfew. That was life at Hogwarts as they knew it, and how life went on despite the fact that a first-year Hufflepuff still lay petrified in the Hospital Wing.

Life for most of the students, anyway. Minerva still felt the pressure of the uncertainty of what had really happened within the walls of Hogwarts. She could see it weighing on her professors, no matter how much they tried to hide it. Still, she tried to carry on with her life as she usually would. That's how she ended up back on the Quidditch pitch the day before the match with her team. Plumpton supervised this practice, and she knew they'd all have to walk back to the castle with him together. She wished she didn't have to. She could really use some time to herself, just flying around the pitch.

She was in a distant mood, her thoughts on Crowley, when Oliver snaked an arm around her waist from behind as they stepped in the common area between the boys' and girls' locker rooms. Minerva jerked slightly at the unexpected touch and tried to crane her neck around to look at him, but his lips on her ear stopped her progress. She stood stiffly as he murmured in her ear, "What do you say we sneak out later and come back here tonight?"

Minerva knew Oliver thought he was being seductive, but he was only making her feel tenser. She shimmied out of his grip and replied shortly, "We can't be out after curfew."

Oliver caught her hand as she attempted to walk away from him. She pursed her lips as she turned back to face him. She resisted as he tried to pull her closer, so he took a step in her direction instead. His other hand came up to stroke her cheek, "I miss you, Minerva. We haven't had a proper snog in days."

She freed her hand and replied, "I've been busy."

"You've been like this since the day after Halloween. Talk to me," he implored, his brown eyes wide.

Minerva glanced around them. Their teammates had divided into their respective locker rooms, leaving the strategy room empty save for them. She sighed and ran her hand over the top of her head, pushing back flyaway hairs that had escaped her braid. "I just can't stop thinking about Crowley."

Oliver sighed deeply, "Minerva, you know there's nothing you can do about that. Don't work yourself up so much."

"The fact that I can't do anything is what makes me feel this way!" she replied, exasperated.

"It's not your place to do anything, that's up to the professors," he urged her, trying to take her hands again.

Minerva pulled away, "And the professors still don't know what caused it."

Oliver frowned. He wasn't sure what to say to help her take her focus off of this. Silence fell between them. Minerva turned her back and started pacing. Oliver remained where he stood, clutching his broom and Beater's bat uncertainly. He watched her worry at her braid, picking at the strands and loosening them. Even now, with her hair messy from flying and her face taut with worry, she was beautiful to him. He just wished he could make her relax.

Making up his mind, he rested his broom against the wall and left his bat on a bench. He took a few steps forward so that he was in the way of the course she'd been pacing. When she nearly walked into him, he grasped her upper arms and looked earnestly into her eyes, "Crowley's going to be okay. Hogwarts is going to be okay."

Minerva deflated, looking down at their feet and sighing. Once it was clear she wasn't going to pull away from him this time, he removed one of his hands and used it to guide her chin up to face him again. He searched her eyes concerningly and asked, "Do you think you're okay to fly tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," she replied. She averted her gaze again, shaking her head. He didn't urge her to look up at him this time, but she did it on her own. She gave him a rueful smile and leaned against his chest, "Maybe I do need a good snog, though. For my health."

He grinned down at her.

That's how Minerva found herself in the sixth-year Gryffindor boys' dormitory later that night, laying in Oliver's bed on her back with him on top of her. The curtains around his bed were shut and they'd cast Silencing Charms on themselves and on the bed to give themselves a modicum of privacy in case one of his dormmates walked in. This was a new experience for them; Minerva had never before dared to go up to his room and join him in his bed. It felt exponentially more intimate, even though Oliver did not push the boundaries she'd previously established. Horizontally, though, the way that he squeezed her breasts over her clothing and kiss her neck did feel different. She arched her back, pressing up against him, and moaned silently as Oliver ravished her neck. His tongue teased sensitive spots he'd discovered over the past two months, and he sucked on others. Their legs tangled together out of their need for closeness, and although this was something they'd done before, it now felt so much more serious. It thrilled Minerva.

Still, she was determined to sleep in her own bed tonight. She cuddled with him for a few minutes after the kissing stopped, before peeking out from behind Oliver's curtains to make sure none of his roommates would see her leave. As Minerva did so, Oliver held onto her hand stubbornly. She glanced around and grinned at him. He was silently miming for her to stay melodramatically. Minerva shook her head at him, but he continued to look at her with his face scrunched up in a caricature of pleading. His hand that was not firmly grasping her wrist was fisted and held against his chest. Minerva laughed silently at him. He brought her fingers to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on them, blinking at her innocently. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away gently. He pouted but leaned back against his pillows without further fighting. Minerva stood and leaned down to give him one last light kiss on the lips before departing.

She didn't remove the Silencing Charm from herself until she was safely in her own bed, hoping to avoid as many potential rumors as possible.

Saturday, 7 November 1942

"We've been looking great at practice. You've all impressed me and have made me proud," Minerva said, looking out at her scarlet-clad team. They were seated on the benches in the Gryffindor common area in their changing rooms in the Quidditch pitch. The noises of the crowd assembling for the match seeped into their space, getting their blood pumping with adrenaline. "While I'm confident in your abilities, it would be foolish not to acknowledge that Slytherin is in great shape, too. Rolanda is a good captain, and an even better Keeper. There are scouts out there in the audience today. She has something to prove. Chasers, you are going to have to be relentless." She grinned over at Amelia, Hank, and Catriona, "Give her hell."

Oliver and Donnie whooped at that. Roy Reeves and David Llewelyn, the reserve Beaters, laughed and clapped.

Richard's amplified voice made Minerva check her watch. Almost time. "Gooood morning good morning everyone!" Minerva rolled her eyes at his showmanship as she took up her own broom and started walking towards the door. Her team followed suit. "Welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season! It's Gryffindor versus Slytherin and let me tell you, after sitting in on both teams' practice, I can promise you a nail biter of a game."

Minerva glanced back at her team, her eyes searching for Catriona. It was the fourth-year girl's first game. Catriona stood in a row with the other Chasers behind the Beaters – Oliver flashed her a grin, thinking she was looking for him – practically vibrating where she stood. Her knuckles were white around her Cleansweep Four. Her eyes were unfocused, looking deep in thought. "Catriona," Minerva called. The girl's eyes snapped her direction. Minerva gave her a reassuring smile, "You're a natural. Don't get inside your head too much. Fly with your gut. I know you can do this."

Catriona puffed up her chest and grinned at Minerva. Amelia put one arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. Catriona turned her smile on her fellow Chaser and briefly leaned into the side-hug.

"Without further ado, let's bring out our players!" The starting Gryffindor team mounted their broomsticks. "First to enter the pitch are the Gryffindors!" The Gryffindor team zoomed out onto the pitch. "Beaters Oliver Brown and Ignatius Prewett! Chasers Amelia Livingston, Hank Cunningham, and newcomer Catriona McCormack! We've got Donnie Longbottom at the goalposts, and Captain Minerva McGonagall on the hunt for the Snitch!"

The Gryffindors in the stands exploded as Minerva's team did a lap around the pitch, cheering and yelling and whooping and clapping and stomping their feet. Polite cheering came from the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws as well, but, of course, the Slytherins were booing loudly. Minerva just grinned at it all.

"Now let's bring out the reigning Quidditch Cup winners, the Slytherins!" The Slytherin stands erupted as their team shot out from the opposite side of the pitch from where the Gryffindors came. "It's Richard Nott and Odysseus MacNair as Beaters! Chaser Tereus Rosier with newcomers Delroy Zabini and Patrick Parkinson! That's Lucretia Black doing the Seeking, and Captain Rolanda Robinson as Keeper!"

As Minerva watched the Slytherins make their lap around the pitch from her place with her team in the center, she wondered about the absence of Richard's usual flirtatious comment about Rolanda. Last year he'd become known for it, but she supposed that this time Rolanda must have warned him off embarrassing her with scouts in the stands.

The Slytherins flew up to face the Gryffindors at the center of the pitch. Minerva and Rolanda locked eyes and grinned at each other. Minerva then scanned the rest of the Slytherin team and noticed Nott and MacNair smirking threateningly at Catriona. Glancing over at Catriona, she was proud to see the girl's chin up in the air, studiously ignoring them. Plumpton flew up between them, the Quaffle in one hand. "Captains, shake!" Minerva and Rolanda flew towards each other with their hands outstretched. They couldn't help but grin at each other again as they clasped hands and shook. "Players, ready!" He brought his whistle to his lips and blew two times before throwing the Quaffle into the air. The Chasers dove for it. Minerva proudly watched as Amelia snatched it out of the air and flew off, racing Rolanda to the goalposts with the other five Chasers in hot pursuit.

Plumpton flew down to release the Bludgers, and as he did so, Minerva took the brief window of opportunity to fly up to Prewett and say, "Watch Catriona. Nott –"

Prewett nodded sharply and interrupted, "I saw. I will." With that, he flew off, bat posed to strike.

Minerva rose into the air to circle the pitch. She knew that Prewett was always more comfortable monitoring the Chasers' interactions with the Bludgers than the Seekers'. Minerva had relied upon Oliver last year to protect her from Bludgers, and this year would be no different. Prewett simply avoided having to hit a Bludger in Lucretia's direction, which was sweet in a way but also abundantly frustrating to her as a captain. He and Oliver had organized some kind of strategy for this, though, that had not yet resulted in disaster, so she was content to not get involved.

"It's Livingston with the Quaffle. Robinson's made it to the goalposts. Livingston passes to McCormack. MacNair, with a nice hit, sends a Bludger careening towards McCormack. McCormack makes a clean pass to Cunningham and moves out of the path of the Bludger – Prewett intercepts and sends the Bludger after Rosier, coming up behind Cunningham. Cunningham to Livingston – Livingston to Cunningham – to McCormack – to Livingston – Livingston shoots – and Robinson catches the Quaffle and tosses it to Zabini. Zabini's off, with the Gryffindor Chasers surrounding him, isolating him from his team."

Minerva's attention was divided between monitoring her team, keeping tabs on Lucretia, and searching for the Snitch herself. The Chasers went back and forth like this for a long time without a single goal being scored. There were many near-misses and heart-stopping maneuvers, keeping the crowd on the edge of their seats. Rolanda may have been the best Keeper on a broom that day, but Donnie was still quite good. All of the Chasers were fighting hard to get the Quaffle past one of them.

"And Rosier scores! 0 – 10, Slytherin!"

Minerva whirled around and saw Donnie diving behind the goalposts for the Quaffle he'd failed to block. Her stomach dropped. She needed to end this soon. If Slytherin was finding their rhythm, that didn't bode well for Gryffindor.

In her moment of distraction, she was alarmed to hear the crowd gasp. Her eyes sought Lucretia. Her heart pounded as she saw the Slytherin Seeker diving. She shot off after her, scanning the pitch for the Snitch. She was vaguely aware of Richard shouting and the crowd screaming, but she let all of that fade to a buzz as she focused on barreling after Lucretia. She saw the Snitch; it wasn't a feint. No! Minerva urged her broom to its top speed, flying at a dangerous angle towards the ground. Lucretia still was ahead of her by several feet. Minerva's heart pounded, worried that she wouldn't make it. Oliver, where are you?

As if in answer, a Bludger came whistling on a crash course with Lucretia. Minerva saw Lucretia glance its way, and back at the Snitch. Come on, Lucretia, don't be a fool! Minerva growled mentally. The tension knotting in Minerva's stomach and chest immediately released as Lucretia banked left, swerving up and out of the way of the Bludger. The Snitch darted right, and in the second Minerva took to take stock of Lucretia's position and the Bludger's, she lost sight of it. Lucretia looked back around and made eye contact with Minerva. A satisfied smile briefly flashed across the Slytherin Seeker's face, and she flew back up to search again for the Snitch.

"There seems to be a disagreement happening between the Gryffindor Beaters. McGonagall, are you seeing this?"

Minerva snapped her head up, irritated, and found Prewett and Oliver shouting at each other off to her right and above. She waved at Plumpton, signaling for a timeout. He blew his whistle and all the players grounded as Richard announced the timeout to the spectators. Minerva angrily ran up to her Beaters, who had taken their argument to the ground. Their brooms and bats lay abandoned in the grass at their feet.

"I was doing my bloody job, Prewett, maybe you should try it!"

"You aimed for her head –"

"– I did no –"

"Boys!" Minerva shouted, pushing herself between them. "This is highly inappropriate!" She placed a hand on each of their chests, forcing them both to take a step backwards. Her nostrils flared as she looked between them. She felt their chests heaving under her hands. Once it was clear they weren't going to start shouting over her, she rounded on Prewett and said, "If you can't play, I won't hesitate to replace you with Llewellyn in your final year."

Prewett's face turned red with anger, "I can play. Tell your boyfriend to play fair."

Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose with the hand that had been on Oliver's chest and shot her boyfriend a sharp look. His jaw dropped at that, and his own face flushed, "But –"

"Oliver, please."

His lips went thin and white and he scowled at Prewett over Minerva's shoulder. Minerva shook her head and looked away from them both with her hands on their chests again. She saw Rolanda and Lucretia standing halfway across the pitch, between them and where the rest of the Slytherins stood, waiting to play again. Rolanda had a staying hand on Lucretia's shoulder. Minerva and Rolanda's eyes met. Pursing her lips, Minerva made a decision. She removed her hand from Prewett's chest and grasped his arm instead, marching him towards the center of the field, towards Rolanda and Lucretia. Oliver trailed behind them. Lucretia crossed her arms as she awaited her boyfriend. Rolanda dropped her hand from Lucretia's shoulder.

"Lucretia –" Prewett started.

"Don't," Lucretia interrupted. "You need to stop doing this. I like Quidditch. I accept the danger. Brown made a fair shot at me. You know that."

Prewett deflated. Minerva watched the exchange with interest; Prewett always seemed to be wound so tightly when she was around him. She'd had very little opportunity to observe how his behavior changed when he was around his girlfriend instead.

Prewett reached out, offering her his hand. Lucretia sighed and took it. Their fingers laced together. Lucretia looked up at him expectantly. Prewett said, "I'm sorry, Lu. I just – I love you, and I don't want to lose you to a stupid Quidditch injury. And I guess," he rubbed the back of his head nervously, "I've been feeling that more acutely recently. I…" He glanced uncomfortably at the teammates assembled around them. Rolanda averted her gaze. Minerva grasped Oliver's hand and took a step back, urging him to step with her.

"Iggy…" Minerva's eyebrows shot up at this nickname. She made eye contact with Rolanda, who grinned at her knowingly.

Prewett pulled his hand away and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robes. He regarded her silently for a few seconds longer. Minerva observed that he looked like he was steeling himself for something; she'd recognize that Gryffindor determination anywhere. Finally, he spoke, "I was going to wait until the end of the match, but I think now might be a better time."

Lucretia blinked at him, opening her mouth to question him. The words never left her mouth, though, as her jaw dropped open further as Prewett took a knee in front of her. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Minerva and Rolanda exchanged gobsmacked looks. Minerva grasped Oliver's hand tighter. The crowd roared in approval around them as they watched what was happening in the center of the pitch. Lucretia brought her hands to cover her mouth as Prewett pulled an ornate brown and gold box out of his pocket.

"Lucretia Black," he grinned nervously at her stunned expression, "I've been acting so tense about your safety because I was afraid you'd be carried off to the Hospital Wing before I had the chance to kneel before you and tell you just how much you mean to me, and how I want to spend the rest of my life worrying about you. Lu: will you marry me?"

Lucretia nodded vigorously. The crowd cheered, and Prewett stood, beaming in a way Minerva had never imagined him capable of. Lucretia disregarded the proffered ring and threw her arms around Prewett's neck. Prewett grasped her tightly around the waist with one arm and lifted her up a foot off the ground for a few seconds, eliciting a squeal from his new fiancée. Minerva placed a hand over her heart as she noticed tears on Lucretia's face.

Rolanda stepped closer to Minerva to be heard over the roaring of the crowd, "Did you know?"

Minerva shook her head.

"Oh, I think you should keep that for now," Lucretia giggled. Minerva looked and saw Prewett attempting to give her the ring again. Lucretia grinned up at him, "I wouldn't want one of Brown's Bludgers to damage it."

Prewett snorted and put the box back in his pocket. He glanced around, his eyes falling on Oliver. Oliver cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, "You know I don't aim for body parts specifically, Prewett."

Prewett nodded, "I know. I was just –"

"I know."

The two Beaters nodded at each other, coming to an understanding.

"Can we get back to the game?" Rolanda asked, looking amused.

Prewett nodded. He squeezed Lucretia's hand one last time and turned back to fetch his broom and bat. Oliver followed suit. Sighing, Minerva gripped her broom and gestured to Plumpton that she was ready to resume the game.

Once the players were in the air again, Minerva quickly noticed that the tone of the game had changed. Prewett seemed to have a fire lit under him. He kept the Slytherin team on their toes with aggressive Beating, and Oliver was only too happy to help coordinate his attacks. Minerva was happy to see them working together again, rather than independently.

"And Prewett whacks a Bludger over the Chasers' heads, sending it towards Robinson. Cunningham throws the Quaffle on the same path as the Bludger. Robinson ducks low, leaving the hoop wide open. The Bludger sails through the goalpost and – ROBINSON SNATCHES THE QUAFFLE OUT OF THE AIR! Nice save! The score is still 0 – 10, Slytherin."

Minerva shook her head in disbelief. Sometimes, Rolanda felt unbeatable.

This went on for longer, with no further sightings of the Snitch. Slytherin scored on Donnie again, much to both Donnie and Minerva's frustration. Then, Minerva's eyes widened as she watched Catriona enter the scoring area, feint backwards, as if leaving, and let the Quaffle leave her hands briefly, as if throwing it, but then catch it. Rolanda shifted sideways, anticipating a toss from Livingston instead. She realized too slowly that the rookie Chaser had feinted her, and the Quaffle sailed through the goalpost she'd just abandoned. The Gryffindors roared in approval, and Richard shouted, "AND MCCORMACK SCORES! The score is now 10 – 20, with Slytherin still in the lead."

Minerva whooped loudly and laughed in delight. In her glee, she flew her lap around the pitch a little faster than she had been circling before.

Lucretia and Minerva circled the pitch in opposite directions, searching for the Snitch. Despite Catriona's goal, Minerva wanted to end this game as soon as she could. Donnie was getting tired, and Prewett and Oliver couldn't keep the Chasers off him all the time.

Minerva's heart leapt as a flash of gold caught her eye. She fought to keep her expression neutral as she focused on what she'd seen. Lucretia, flying slightly below her, was about to cross her path. What looked like the Snitch was fluttering towards the Slytherin goalposts, behind Lucretia. The other Seeker would not be able to see what Minerva was seeing unless she turned around. Minerva maintained her pace, waiting to pass over Lucretia without alerting the Slytherin. Come on…come on…pass me… Minerva's heart pounded in her ears as time seemed to slow down.

Finally, Lucretia flew past Minerva in the opposite direction, scanning for the Snitch in the wrong place. Minerva counted to five in her head, building distance between them, before diving. The crowd roared around her. She grinned at the sounds of approval coming from where the Gryffindors watched, behind the Slytherin goalposts. Minerva flew down to the same altitude as the Snitch, on a mission. She could practically feel Lucretia on her back. Minerva focused on nothing but the Snitch, and grinned as she saw it fly close to the wall of the pitch, hugging the curve. Dumbledore's about to eat his words.

Lucretia held on to the dangerous curve Minerva was taking for longer than Catriona had last weekend, but she too – as Dumbledore predicted – turned early. Minerva was vaguely aware of Lucretia flying off towards where she predicted the Snitch would go. Trying to head off the Snitch was always a gamble because it sometimes took unpredictable turns out of nowhere. It was much safer to follow its progress and move where it guided. Like at practice, Minerva hugged the curve of the pitch, using her foot against the broomstick to leverage more control over the turning. Her nostrils flared as another player dove down beside her, and she tensed for a moment until she caught a flash of scarlet in her peripheral vision, and then the distinctive shape of a Beater's bat. Oliver. Minerva relaxed. Oliver took the curve of the pitch much gentler and at a safer distance than Minerva. She was vaguely aware of movement to her right as Oliver swung his bat, followed by the unmistakable crack of bat against Bludger. Minerva grinned, reaching forward. Lucretia had overshot the Snitch and was now backtracking. Minerva was closing in. She was in the clear. She reached –

"MCGONAGALL CATCHES THE SNITCH! The final score is 160 – 30. Gryffindor wins!"

Minerva lifted the Snitch up into the air triumphantly, swooping up so that she was level with the crowd. She was nearest the Gryffindors, still, and they cheered wildly as she flew by them. As she came up to the staff section, she met Dumbledore's eyes and was pleased to find him grinning at her as he applauded.

"McGonagall! McGonagall! McGonagall! McGonagall!"

Minerva spread her arms and threw her head back, grinning, as she soaked in the chanting of her housemates, seated on the shoulders of Oliver and Donnie. It was only the first match of the season, but it was a match that they'd lost just one year ago. To say that the Gryffindors were pleased would be an understatement. The Gryffindor common room was filled with all of the Gryffindors, crowded around Oliver, Donnie, and Minerva.

After playing up their enthusiasm for as long as she felt was appropriate, Minerva waved for them to quiet down so she could speak. They did, eventually, quiet down, and Minerva said, "And let's not forget how our newest player scored the only goal on Rolanda today!"

That sent the Gryffindors into another round of cheering. Minerva grinned down at Catriona, whose face turned red despite the pleased grin on her face.

Oliver and Donnie gently set Minerva down. As soon as she was on her feet, Oliver wrapped his arms around her. Minerva beamed back at him, her victory high making her unconcerned about the crowd of people watching them. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him in the middle of the common room, surrounded by their entire house. Donnie whistled behind her, but that sound was nearly drowned out by the roar of approval coming from their housemates. Oliver tightened his grip around her waist and kissed her back enthusiastically. She placed a hand on his cheek and pulled away, smiling impishly at him. He pouted but released her, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers through hers instead.

At that moment, the portrait hole opened, revealing Richard carrying a crate of butterbeer and Prewett holding a basket in one hand and Lucretia's hand in the other. Rolanda brought up the rear. Minerva pushed through the crowd to greet her friend. The crowd quieted at the sight of the Slytherins, and Minerva worried that the Heir of Slytherin nonsense was going to make her housemates reject Rolanda and Lucretia's presence.

Ignoring the tension in the room, Richard announced, "We brought food and butterbeer!"

Most of the Gryffindors cheered at this, breaking the tension. Minerva hugged Rolanda, and then went with her, Richard, Prewett, Lucretia, and Oliver to set up the food and drinks. Lucretia, despite being a Slytherin, was soon surrounded by a group of sixth- and seventh-year Gryffindor girls eager to see her engagement ring. Someone put a record on the gramophone that was always set up near the stairs to the dorms, and the Gryffindors started dancing.

Minerva turned on Oliver, taking both of his hands in hers. He laughed, "I know that look, McGonagall, you want something."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, straightening her shoulders mock-pompously. The effect was ruined by the smile playing at her lips.

He leaned forward and whispered, "That look, right there." He placed a kiss on her forehead.

Minerva pulled away and tugged on his hands, "Dance with me."

He gave her a faux long-suffering sigh and permitted himself to be dragged back to the middle of the common room among the twirling couples who'd made the space an informal dancefloor.

She smiled up at him as their arms settled into position, "Don't you like wrapping your arms around me in public?"

Oliver grinned, "Yes, but you've been letting me do that more, recently."

"Don't give me incentive not to!" she laughed. Oliver laughed too.

He indulged her for a few songs before leading her back towards the food and drinks to grab a pair of butterbeers. Minerva spotted Richard, his arm draped over Rolanda's shoulders, standing near the wall and chatting with his best friend and dormmate, Theodore Brighton. Minerva waved and pulled Oliver along with her to join them.

"There she is!" Richard said in greeting, grinning at Minerva. "Nice catch, Minerva."

"Thank you, Richard," she replied, inclining her head. "Great announcing, by the way. You were so unbiased against Gryffindor that if I didn't know which house you were in, I might have guessed you were rooting for Slytherin."

Rolanda laughed. Richard winked down at her, "I wonder why that could be?" Rolanda leaned into his embrace and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"And Rolanda, as always, you were unstoppable," Minerva said, raising her butterbeer in her best friend's direction.

Rolanda smiled, "I did underestimate your new Chaser, though."

Minerva shrugged, "That's what new Chasers are for."

"True!" Rolanda laughed.

"How was it in the stands, Theodore?" Oliver asked the other Gryffindor sixth-year.

Theodore, who had been sipping his butterbeer while the two couples exchanged pleasantries, raised his eyebrows in surprise at being addressed and gulped his sip quickly. He covered his mouth with his hand as he replied, "It was a nail biter. Those goals made the Gryffindor section very nervous. But, everyone loved your little tag-team play at the end," he said, gesturing with his butterbeer between Minerva and Oliver.

Minerva smiled at Oliver and gave him a one-armed hug. She then glanced back over at her friend and saw Richard whispering in her ear with a smirk on his face. She started to look away from the private moment, but her attention was abruptly called back in their direction as Richard spoke up, saying, "Hey, you guys don't mind if Rolanda and I head upstairs, do you?" He raised his eyebrows significantly at his dormmates.

Theodore and Oliver exchanged glances. Minerva met Rolanda's eyes and found her friend giving her a small smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously. She then felt rather than saw Oliver look over at her, and so she spoke up, "Well, I know it's not my dorm but I certainly don't mind. I'll have the chance to talk to you tomorrow, Ro. Go have fun."

She then glanced over at Oliver, raising her eyebrows at him. Prompted, Oliver added, "Yeah, go ahead, it's alright with me." Theodore nodded and took another swig of his butterbeer, looking out the window he was leaning against with mild discomfort.

Richard and Rolanda then practically ran up the stairs to the sixth-year boys' dormitory. Minerva turned back to her boyfriend and saw him pout at her. She rolled her eyes and murmured, "They never have the opportunity to go up to the dorm. We can whenever we want."

"You're right," he sighed with mock-heaviness.

"Have you congratulated Prewett and Lucretia yet?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Ah, no, I don't think I have."

"We should."

With that, they walked together over to where the newly engaged couple were holding court in front of the fireplace. Minerva didn't think Prewett had ever been this popular; he tended to isolate himself from the rest of the Gryffindors. She suppressed a grimace of distaste at the sight of Nicholas Pomfrey languishing in an armchair adjacent to the couch the couple shared. Ignoring Nicholas, Minerva turned a smile on Prewett and Lucretia.

"I just realized I never properly congratulated you two," Minerva said in greeting. Lucretia smiled widely, and a hint of a smile even played on Prewett's lips.

"Thank you, Minerva," Lucretia replied. "And congratulations to you, too. That was an impressive catch." She raised her butterbeer up in a toast.

Minerva inclined her head and raised her butterbeer in response, "Thank you. I think your big moment though may have stolen the whole show."

Lucretia laughed lightly and glanced around at the partying Gryffindors. She turned back towards Minerva with a quirked brow, "Perhaps for the rest of the school."

"I'm sure you must be thrilled," she commented, leaving it open for Lucretia to talk.

Lucretia squeezed Prewett's hand and smiled at him, "I am. We are." When she turned back to Minerva, though, she grimaced slightly, "Now, though, I need to start thinking about the wedding. I'm not sure how traditional my parents are going to insist on this wedding being, but I hope they'll be a little relaxed about it considering I'm not their heir and at least I'm marrying a pureblood. I'll have to send out owls with the news tomorrow. Tonight, though, I want to be ours." She smiled again at her fiancé.

"What would you want to be less traditional?" Minerva asked, curious.

"Well, traditionally at pureblood weddings, the attendants all have the be pureblooded, and the bride is supposed to have a Matron of Honor who can guide her into being a good pureblooded wife. Rolanda is my closest friend, though, and I would like her to at least be standing up there with me, if she can't be Maid of Honor. But, of course, as you know, she's a half-blood."

Minerva looked down at her drink to try to hide the wave of jealousy that reared its ugly head within her at the notion of her best friend being someone else's Maid of Honor before she was hers. Of course, Rolanda was supposed to have been Rebecca's Maid of Honor, but Rebecca was her sister. Minerva understood that. Lucretia, though, was no relative of Rolanda's.

"Did you tell anyone beforehand, Prewett?" Oliver asked, oblivious to the emotions roiling within his girlfriend.

Prewett nodded, "I told my parents, and I asked her parents this summer." Lucretia beamed at him.

"Did you know that you were going to propose this way?" Oliver asked.

Prewett grinned slightly, looking at Lucretia as he replied, "I did. Quidditch was what brought us together in the first place. I thought it only fitting." He looked over at his fellow Beater and added, "Of course, I thought I was going to do it at the end of the match, but I realized that the nerves of what I was planning were affecting my game. So, I changed the plan."

"Well, I don't think anyone is going to be able to top that, as far as Hogwarts proposals go," Oliver said. Minerva looked over at him, sensing a note of bitterness in his tone. "If anyone does that for at least the next seven years, people are going to think they're just copying you."

Minerva was sure of it now: Oliver definitely sounded bitter. She blinked in surprise and looked away from him abruptly before he noticed her staring. She fought to suppress the feelings of discomfort at the implication of his words and his tone, and any ideas about what her discomfort might mean.