Riddle Me This

Monday, 19 April 1943

Minerva sighed as she lowered her wand from her chest after casting the Animagus Spell. It was the first morning of the Easter holiday, and she had awoken to an empty room. She alone of her dormmates had decided to stay at Hogwarts. Theoretically, that should have made it easier for Minerva to fall back asleep, without the sounds of Clarisse's soft snoring or the occasional mutter from Marjorie to keep her awake. Minerva's mind was restless, though. She laid in bed for several minutes with her face buried into her pillow and her eyes closed, trying to go back to sleep, but only growing more and more awake as her thoughts mulled over, for the thousandth time, everything she knew about the petrifications.

Eventually, Minerva sat up, accepting sleep as futile, and decided to get ready for her day. It was early enough that she didn't expect her friends to be awake yet, but once she was dressed and ready, she made her way down to breakfast anyway, for lack of anything better to do. The Great Hall was sparsely populated when she arrived; there were a handful of Hufflepuffs, a smattering of Ravenclaws, two Slytherins, and at the High Table, only Professors Dare, Gibson, and Marsh were present. Minerva was the only Gryffindor, and so she took a seat at her table alone. She endeavored to take her time and enjoy her breakfast, considering the only other thing she had to do was work on essays. Even though Minerva was a stellar student who enjoyed learning, she was not looking forward to devoting the next two weeks to those lengthy essays.

Despite her intentions, having no one to talk to at breakfast did make the meal pass quicker than it normally did, and she soon grew bored with sitting there, sipping tea. She still hadn't seen Poppy or Rolanda, but decided to move on regardless. Rolanda, at least, would probably not be awake for another hour, and Minerva thought it was possible that she'd already missed Poppy. It wouldn't be surprising if the Ravenclaw had arrived at the Great Hall as soon as breakfast began in the Great Hall, ate a quick meal, and went to the Hospital Wing to see Pomona and potentially help Madam Jenison. So, Minerva decided that was precisely where she'd go. She wasn't quite ready to start on those essays, anyway.

The halls were eerily quiet as she walked from the Great Hall to the Hospital Wing, and she was reminded of how Hogwarts once felt when she'd done her Prefect rounds alone. She'd loved walking the halls of Hogwarts at night after everyone had gone to bed. Hogwarts had felt like a home to her ever since her childhood home had been destroyed by the Walpurgisnacht. Now, though, with the threat of a mystery attacker hovering over the castle like an ominous cloud, an attacker who had recently hit very close to home, walking through the empty halls alone felt more unsettling than soothing.

The Hospital Wing was quiet when she arrived. She didn't see Madam Jenison or the two apprentices she had at Hogwarts, and there were no students lying in any of the beds not occupied by the petrified victims. Minerva hesitated for only a moment before walking over to Pomona's bed. As she approached, though, a strange scratching sound from behind the curtains gave her pause. Her brow furrowed, and she drew her wand. Slower, now, Minerva crept towards the curtains concealing Pomona's bed. She used her wand to push back one of the curtains to peer inside.

Minerva blinked. She wasn't sure, exactly, what she'd expected to see – judging by the pounding of her heart, probably something sinister – but this completely took her off guard. Tom Riddle was sitting in a chair beside Pomona's bed. The scratching sound she'd heard was his Muggle pencil rubbing furiously against parchment. Minerva craned her neck to see what he was doing. Her lips parted in surprise as she realized he was drawing Pomona.

Suddenly, Riddle's pencil stilled, and he looked up. Minerva felt frozen in place as his penetrating gaze landed on her. Though he did not look accusatory, or embarrassed, Minerva still felt guilty for being caught the way she had been. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and commented, "You're very good."

His expression did not change. They stared at each other for a few tense seconds before Riddle turned away and continued working. Minerva came around the curtain to look over his shoulder. Riddle's hand slowed, but he did not stop again. He had captured Pomona's likeness incredibly, though there was something in the way he had done the shading that made the image appear much more somber than it did in real life. She hadn't noticed until now that there was a vague look of surprise on Pomona's face, though Riddle had portrayed it with a touch more fear. Minerva imagined that the fear there reflected more of how she herself was feeling, and the school at large – including, perhaps, Riddle too.

Riddle surprised her by speaking, "I like drawing people." Minerva raised her eyebrows and moved around him so that she was facing him. He glanced up at her and added, "But people usually move too much."

Minerva grimaced awkwardly, glancing at her frozen friend. She remarked quietly, "I suppose this is a golden opportunity for you, then."

A short huff of laughter escaped Riddle's lips at that, drawing Minerva's attention back to him. His eyes were focused again on his work, but there was a small, amused smirk on his lips. He murmured, "You could say that." His pencil stilled again and he glanced up at her, "Does it bother you?"

The look he gave her was one of curiosity. Minerva had a sense that he didn't particularly care either way whether it bothered her that he was sketching her friend, but he simply wanted to know the way a Potions Master might want to know how adding just one more beetle to a potion would change the color.

"No," Minerva answered honestly, after considering his question. "At least something good's coming out of this."

Silence fell between them. Riddle returned to his sketching, and Minerva turned her attention back to Pomona. It was strange to see her positioned this way, in such a stiff, uncomfortable-looking pose. She had the urge to force Pomona's arms down and straighten out the slight curve in her back, but she knew it would be futile to try. Pomona's limbs could not be moved.

"What do you think?"

Riddle's question drew her attention again. When she turned to face him, he was presenting her with his completed drawing of Pomona. Minerva took it in her hands and studied it. Something about it made her overwhelmingly, inexplicably sad. She couldn't bear to stare at it for long. Handing it back briskly, she cleared her throat and said, "It's good."

He nodded, "It's nice to have such interesting subjects remain so still."

"I suppose that means you wouldn't draw me?" Minerva was only half-joking with the suggestion in that question. She couldn't help but admit she'd be curious to see how he'd draw her.

Riddle raised his eyebrows at her and asked, "Do you want me to?"

Minerva hesitated, tilting her head to the side, wondering if he was setting her up to make fun of her. She decided to reply, "I wouldn't say no to it."

He gave her that little amused smirk again, and then turned the page of his bound-parchment sketchbook. His dark brown eyes met hers intensely for a moment and, with a single, intimidating eyebrow raised and a charming, roguish half-smile at his lips, he said quietly, "You have to stay very still, though. Don't make me Body-Bind you."

Minerva laughed nervously, but adjusted her position so she was sitting more comfortably. Silence fell between them again as he started sketching her. Minerva's shoulders were tense as she watched him, paranoid about sitting still. He would glance up at her every now and then, and Minerva had the strange sensation that he was studying her without seeing her at all. As time went on, though, Minerva allowed her shoulders to relax. She was good at sitting still in general; she shouldn't have to feel so tense while trying for his sake.

Riddle seemed to notice, too. He took her by surprise by remarking, "You're quite good at sitting still."

Minerva wasn't sure if she was meant to respond to that, but she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. Without changing her expression, she asked, "Does that mean I'm allowed to talk?"

The half-smile returned to his face, and a huff of laughter escaped through his lips. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes, "Does me complimenting your ability to sit still and remain quiet mean you may speak?" Minerva laughed softly. His smirk grew wider, "I would blame the ridiculousness of that question on you being a Gryffindor, but admittedly, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are as incessantly talkative as your lot."

Minerva could not suppress the urge to drop her jaw at that. He raised his eyebrows at her and sat up straighter in his chair, pulling his pencil completely away from his parchment. Minerva replied, "I'll have you know that among my friends, Rolanda Robinson is the most talkative."

His shoulders shook once in response to that, though his mouth remained closed. He continued staring at her with that single quirked brow, as if waiting for her to follow a command he had not given. She knew what it was he wanted, though, and sighed, rolling her eyes and resuming her former position. His shoulders shook again, and he bent over his parchment once more to continue sketching her. As he worked, he commented, "Robinson is a Slytherin because she is incredibly ambitious and decent at deception. She has not managed to grasp the art of subtlety, though, nor the lesson that sometimes it is better to listen than to speak."

Silence fell between them again as Minerva pondered that. She was not sure that was a completely fair analysis of Rolanda's personality, but she also didn't feel like there would be any point to arguing with him. He seemed a bit arrogant, the sort of arrogance of a wizard whose mind could not be swayed when he thought he was right about something.

A few minutes passed in silence until, eventually, Riddle spoke again, "Why does Dumbledore like you so much?" He glanced up and added with a smirk, "And yes, you may speak."

Minerva raised her eyebrows slightly, though she lowered them quickly to resume her previous expression. She replied, barely moving her mouth, "I'm good at Transfiguration."

He scoffed and looked back down at his parchment, bringing his pencil up to add a line. "It's more than that."

"I don't know," she replied. She paused, and then added, "I have worked hard to earn his regard."

He actually grinned at that, nodding at his parchment, "I see. You lick his boots."

Minerva scowled, and an offended scoff escaped her throat. He looked back up at her, smirking. Minerva's nostrils flared and she retorted, "As if you don't lick Slughorn's?"

Riddle shrugged, smirking still, "But I'm a Slytherin."

"And were you not just telling me five minutes ago that I am an incessantly talkative Gryffindor?" Minerva retorted.

"You are," Riddle agreed. "That doesn't mean you can't display some Slytherin qualities."

Minerva pursed her lips at him, but did not respond to that. Only the sound of Riddle's pencil against parchment filled the air between them for a few moments before Minerva decided to ask, "So you decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday?"

"I am the one asking the questions, McGonagall," he replied, not looking up from his work.

She raised her eyebrows, and that was the expression that he found when he looked up at her again. He scoffed when he saw her expression, and remarked, "You had to prove yourself to be an irritating Gryffindor, did you?"

A light smirk formed at Minerva's own lips at that.

Riddle looked back down at his drawing and said, surprising her, "I usually spend holidays with the Malfoys, but they actually celebrate Easter. I am not a religious person, so I'd rather not participate."

"Your family, then…" Minerva started to ask. She was silenced by the sharp look he gave her. His eyes seemed to pierce right through her, and it took her breath away.

When he looked down again, he replied, "My mother is dead. My father's a bastard, and I'm the unlucky sod who bears his name."

Minerva swallowed hard, "I'm sorry."

"Perhaps that will teach you not to be so nosy," Riddle commented. He glanced up at her briefly, smirking lightly at her contrite expression. He added in a much more casual tone, "I'm almost finished."

She'd expected to hear that he'd lost his family to the Walpurgisnacht, like so many of their schoolmates, but the bitterness in his tone when he'd explained his family situation gave Minerva the impression that this was something else entirely. It made her feel embarrassed for asking, though it was an all-too-common line of questioning when people were getting to know each other these days. Minerva remained silent while he finished sketching her, and he did not ask her any more questions.

Eventually, she watched him drop his pencil to his side and eye his work critically, nodding. He put his pencil between his teeth and used both hands to carefully rip the piece of parchment from its binding. He then passed it to her with an impassive expression that Minerva eyed curiously before looking down at the finished product he'd given her.

He'd drawn her from the waist up, with her hands folded in her lap and her wand in one of her hands. She noticed he'd drawn her with Great Aunt Minerva's watch, and with the pendant hanging around her neck. Minerva thought it looked quite like her, though she was surprised by the expression he'd drawn on her face. There was a certain heaviness, a seriousness in the way he'd drawn her eyes, and her lips were pinched together in a way that suggested anxiety. Minerva thought it would forever be a reminder that he'd drawn it while she'd sat at the edge of her petrified friend's bed.

She looked up at him and gave him a small smile, "Thank you."

He nodded and closed his sketchbook, shouldering his bag and then standing. "I'll see you around, McGonagall," he said casually, and with that, he left.

Minerva looked back down at his drawing of her as he disappeared, and noticed he'd signed it. She held it closer to her face, wishing she had her reading glasses, because while most of the signature looked like an indistinguishable scribble, the first letter looked like a V and that couldn't possibly be right.

Tuesday, 20 April 1943

Minerva stood with her arms crossed, looking out a window in the Hospital Wing at the falling rain. Her nostrils flared and her jaw clenched as a bolt of lightning sliced a path across the sky. When the thunder rolled a few seconds later, Minerva shook her head and averted her gaze. Her eyes met Dumbledore's, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

"This lightning storm offends me," she remarked drily.

He chuckled and folded his hands behind his back as he came to stand beside her, "It's quite rude of it to not have waited until tomorrow."

Minerva harrumphed. Tomorrow, she would be able to attempt the Animagus transformation if there was a lightning storm. Today, unfortunately, she could not.

"The waiting will make your success that much sweeter," Dumbledore assured her. Minerva gave him a weak smile.

They stared out the window together in silence for a few moments. Another bolt of lightning shot through the sky. After the thunder rumbled, Minerva asked, "What are you doing in the Hospital Wing?"

He sighed and glanced towards the curtained beds in the back of the room. "In my free time, I often come here to study the petrified students."

"Have you learned anything helpful?" Minerva asked.

He grimaced, "Not particularly, but whenever I have a new idea I feel as though I must try it." He paused, though the way his lips were parted indicated to Minerva that he was not done speaking. Moments later, she was proved correct as he continued, "I have a friend – a former student – who is an expert magizoologist. Perhaps you've heard of Newt Scamander?"

Minerva raised her eyebrows and nodded, "I got an OWL in Care of Magical Creatures. We used his textbook."

"Ah, that's right, I forgot," Dumbledore replied, nodding. "Well, considering that the legend is that a beast is behind these attacks, I've decided I ought to send him my analysis of the symptoms, if only to rule that avenue out. I wanted to analyze Miss Collins more closely, to be absolutely sure I can glean nothing new from her before I send him my letter."

Minerva nodded again. She glanced over at Dumbledore and gave him a sad half-smile, "Honestly, I hope he can provide you with an explanation. The uncertainty is part of what makes me most anxious."

"I understand that," Dumbledore agreed, nodding too.

Movement behind Dumbledore caught Minerva's eye, and she tilted her head sideways to look around him. Dumbledore turned to see what had drawn her eye. They both watched as the curtain around Pomona's bed moved, and peered at the little space between the bottom of the curtain and the floor, where its wheels were. They could just make out a figure kneeling on the ground.

Minerva stepped around Dumbledore and the two cots they'd been standing between to approach Pomona's bed. "Poppy? What are you doing?"

Poppy's head popped up as Minerva came around the curtains. She was down on her hands and knees next to Pomona's bed. Minerva blinked at her, perplexed, and put her hands on her hips. Poppy sat up with her legs folded beneath her and explained, "Pomona's ring is missing."

"Her ring?"

"Yes, her ring. The one I gave her for her birthday last year?" She held out her right hand, where a simple gold band with a small yellow stone rested, "It looks like this. Will you help me look for it?"

Minerva quirked an eyebrow and raised her wand, casting verbally to make a point, "Accio Pomona's ring."

Poppy scoffed and gave Minerva an exasperated look, "You think I haven't tried that? It must have some kind of anti-theft protection that prevents that from working."

Sighing, Minerva hitched up her robes and got on her knees, too, peering under the bed.

Above her, Dumbledore asked, "Is Miss Collins missing something?"

"Yes sir, her ring, and we've already tried the Summoning Charm," Poppy replied with a tense smile.

Dumbledore frowned. Minerva glanced up at him, trying to read his expression as he stared thoughtfully at Pomona. As Poppy ran her hands across the ground, trying to feel for the ring that she couldn't see, Minerva sat up and asked, "Do you think her attacker took it?"

He jerked his head in her direction and frowned. "Perhaps. I would be interested to know if the other victims are missing things." He tilted his head consideringly, "It is also possible, since it is a ring, that the constant pressure of the water on her hands after she was petrified could have pushed it off her finger."

Poppy sat up and rested her forehead against one of her hands, "I didn't even think about that."

She looked upset, and Minerva's heart went out to her. Poppy and Pomona had a bond unlike what they had with Minerva or Rolanda. It must be hard on Poppy to not have Pomona around as her constant companion, and on top of that, to now have a tangible symbol of their friendship missing. Minerva crawled along the floor to sit beside Poppy, and put her arm around her friend as she rested her head against her shoulder.

"Let me know if you find it," Dumbledore said quietly. Minerva nodded at him, and he inclined his head in return before excusing himself to give them privacy.

Wednesday, 21 April 1943

Since she seemed to have developed an annoying habit of staying awake after casting her Animagus Spell at the crack of dawn despite being on holiday, Minerva decided to make the most of that time by working on her Transfiguration essay in the Great Hall. She sat alone, with her books, parchment, and ink spread out on the table beside her plate and teacup. The textbooks were her personal copies, so she felt no guilt about bringing them around food. That was why she'd chosen to do Transfiguration at the breakfast table; she owned enough books on the subject to not necessarily need a trip to the library.

She'd wanted to work on her essay in the Great Hall specifically because waking up this early meant she was less sure of when she would see Poppy or Rolanda. If she waited for them in the Great Hall, though, she was sure to see them eventually. Both of them seemed to be taking advantage of having no classes to wake up for and were sleeping in later than they usually did. Minerva wished she could do that.

So, her little camp at the Gryffindor table was where she was when the owls flew into the Great Hall that morning. Minerva looked up as they entered, looking far less impressive when it was only a handful for the few people scattered throughout the Great Hall. A Daily Prophet owl landed in front of her, like always, and she paid it as she took her newspaper. Just as she was flipping the newspaper around to read the frontpage headline, another owl startled her by landing directly on top of her copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. Minerva took the letter the owl carried and double-checked the name on the back. Sure enough, it was addressed to her in neat cursive that was vaguely familiar to her. She and Oliver were exchanging letters in his absence, but this wasn't his handwriting. She ripped open the envelope, curious to see its contents.

Dear Minerva,

I hope you're well. I'm writing because I've just had tea with your school matron, Madam Jenison, and we had a curious conversation. She's asked me to take on her granddaughter, a seventh-year in your house named Christine Geris, as my apprentice in July. When I asked her why she wanted me to apprentice her instead of doing it herself, she told me she has more interested candidates than she has time, and that of all the candidates, she thinks Christine in particular could benefit from my tutelage. It seemed to me that she was choosing her words carefully at this point for fear of offending me, so I do have an idea of what she meant by that, but I wanted to reach out to you to be sure of what I would be getting myself into. I'm supposed to meet Christine next week, and I'd like to know any insight you can give me about what I should expect. I know you'll be much more blunt than Mary was at tea.

Feel free to tell me how you're doing, too! I'd love an update on your life. Your mother tells me what you write in your letters home, but hearing from you directly is always a treat.

Much love,

Aunt Sylvia

Minerva set the letter down, amused but thoughtful. Well, this solved the mystery of what Madam Jenison had been talking to herself about after Poppy had asked for an apprenticeship. She'd decided to try to pass responsibility for her granddaughter on to another mediwitch. As Minerva thought about it, though, Sylvia might be the best person to take Christine under her wing. Sylvia was the last person anyone would expect to judge someone for their sexual habits, and so any advice she might have for Christine, to perhaps put her on a better path, would probably be seen as less of an attack.

She glanced back down at the letter. She would definitely be encouraging Sylvia to take Christine on, but she would be very honest with what she knew about the older girl. Sylvia would need to know that she and Christine didn't exactly get along, because that might color Christine's reaction to her. Nodding to herself absently, Minerva pulled out a fresh roll of parchment from her bag and began to write her response to Sylvia on top of her Transfiguration essay.

Just as she was finishing, a voice above her drew her attention away from her final thoughts, "Good morning, Minerva."

Minerva looked up and smiled, "Good morning, Poppy."

Poppy glanced up at the High Table. Minerva followed her gaze to Merrythought, who waved her hand dismissively and turned away from them. Poppy smiled and took a seat across from Minerva at the Gryffindor table, helping herself to some breakfast.

Minerva's brow furrowed as she watched Poppy fill up her plate, "Aren't you fasting?"

"What?" Poppy asked. Without Minerva having to clarify, a look of realization crossed her face and she shook her head, "No, I don't fast during Passover. I just can't eat things like bread."

"Oh, sorry," Minerva replied, feeling a little embarrassed and as if she should know these things by now.

Poppy gave her a kind smile and replied, "It's alright, we never sit together at meals. I fast during Yom Kippur, which was back in September." Minerva gave her an awkward smile, and Poppy decided to change the subject, "What are you up to?"

"I was working on my Transfiguration essay, but then I received a letter from Aunt Sylvia, so now I'm writing her a response," Minerva replied. "Actually, her letter indirectly involved you."

"Me?" Poppy asked, perplexed. A forkful of eggs stopped halfway to her mouth as she stared at Minerva.

"Yes, you. Evidently Madam Jenison has more interested candidates for apprentice than she has time," Minerva informed her, raising her eyebrows significantly. Poppy's eyes widened and she leaned forward eagerly. "So, she asked my aunt to take one of them on."

Poppy's face fell slightly. Minerva felt a little cruel stopping there, but she wanted to see how Poppy would react. "Do you think she meant me? I'm probably the last to ask, she probably meant me. But she seemed enthusiastic about apprenticing me. Maybe she was enthusiastic about me being a mediwitch in general? I was really hoping to work with Madam Jenison – not that there's anything wrong with your aunt—"

"—I'm going to stop you right there," Minerva interjected, amused. Poppy's mouth snapped shut and her cheeks turned pink. "Madam Jenison asked my aunt to take on Christine."

Poppy blinked. It took a few seconds for her to process this, but then she replied, her surprise clear in her tone, "Christine? Christine Geris? Her granddaughter?"

"Precisely," Minerva confirmed, a smirk quirking at the corners of her lips.

Poppy stared at Minerva, stunned, for a moment. Minerva watched her friend's frozen face with amusement. Poppy put her elbows on the table and pressed her fingers to her temples. Eventually, she murmured, "Why would she…?" She shook her head, a smile forming on her face, "She really wants to work with me."

Minerva smiled and reached across the table. Poppy took her hand and repeated, louder now, "She really wants to work with me."

"I'm happy for you, Poppy. You deserve it," Minerva replied with warmth.

Poppy beamed, "I can't wait to tell—" She stopped, her face falling. Minerva's heart dropped, her own smile slipping from her face. She squeezed Poppy's hand comfortingly. Poppy gave her a bracing smile, but then turned back to her food without another word.

Friday, 23 April 1943

After lunch on the first Friday of their holiday, Minerva, Rolanda, and Poppy decided to take a walk along the lake together. They'd gotten a lot of their assignments done over the past couple of days, and each only had one more essay left to write. They all felt they were due a break, and since it was finally not raining outside, they decided to take the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air. They walked silently, a little somberly, each of them feeling the absence of Pomona and unsure of how to address it.

Eventually, Minerva sucked in a breath and said, "Pomona would be trying to brighten the mood right about now."

Poppy and Rolanda cracked smiles at that. They all glanced at each other awkwardly. It wasn't as though they'd never spent time together without Pomona before, but something about her being petrified simply made her absence heavier.

"Come on, then," Minerva said encouragingly. "What – I don't know—" she floundered for a topic of conversation, "—what do you think my Animagus form will be?"

Poppy and Rolanda both gave her small, appreciative smiles before exchanging another look between themselves. Rolanda then cleared her throat and asked, "I don't know, does it usually have some kind of meaning?"

"It does," Minerva replied. "Animagi tend to have forms that represent their personality."

Rolanda hummed thoughtfully. They walked in silence for a few more paces as she and Poppy considered Minerva's question.

"Maybe an owl," Rolanda suggested. "You're a great flyer, and the way you catch the Snitch could be compared to the way an owl catches its prey. They're symbols of wisdom, too, so since you're so smart, I think that makes sense."

"Yes, they're a symbol of the goddess Minerva," Poppy added with a smile.

Minerva smiled at that, "It would be wonderful to be a bird and be able to fly without the aid of a broom."

Silence fell between them again. Minerva thought they would not make any other suggestions and grappled for another topic of conversation. Poppy surprised her, though, by saying thoughtfully, "I don't know, though. I think your Animagus form is going to tap into a deeper part of you."

Minerva raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Poppy as they walked. "What about me?"

"I'm trying to think about what parts of you are animalistic, and…I keep coming back to your curiosity. I think about how you light up when you're solving a problem or learning something new, or how avidly you pursue a mystery like the Chamber of Secrets, and the occasions I've known you to be caught eavesdropping," Poppy threw a pointed look Minerva's way. The Gryffindor suppressed a sheepish grin. Poppy continued, "So that led me to think about what animals are curious, and, of course, there's the famous one—"

"—the cat," Rolanda interjected, nodding.

"Yes, precisely," Poppy nodded. "And I think it's perfect for you, because while cats are curious and playful, they are also quite…regal, and…particular."

Rolanda let out a bark of laughter at that. Minerva shot them a look, "What does that mean?"

"By particular I mean that you have a certain way you like things. You're very responsible, you're a perfectionist, you're extremely neat, and you're choosy about your friends—"

"—Nicholas Pomfrey—" Rolanda coughed. Minerva rolled her eyes.

Poppy allowed herself a sheepish grin before continuing, "What I'm trying to say is that I realized while trying to reconcile both your playful side and your serious side, that cats encompass both of those qualities all at once."

"I think that's a very good analysis," Rolanda agreed nodding. "But what kind of cat? There are so many."

Poppy grimaced, shrugging, "I'm at a loss there."

"Maybe a black cat," Rolanda suggested, her eyes flicking to Minerva's black hair.

"I don't know about that," Poppy replied, biting her lip. "I feel like black cats have an entire other layer of symbolism that I don't think Minerva fits."

"A black and white cat, then," Rolanda amended, shrugging. "It does have to look like you, doesn't it?"

Minerva shrugged, "To an extent, yes. It will have to have some kind of identifying mark, for sure, that I have in my human form. As for the breed, with animals like a cat, that is often determined by the Animagus's appearance unless there's a situation like Poppy pointed out where the breed has its own meaning."

"See? If she's a cat, she'll definitely have dark fur, I'm sure of it," Rolanda said.

Poppy smiled at Minerva, "Well, whatever it is, I can't wait to see it."

Minerva gave her a nervous little half-smile as she tried to manage her excitement, trying to remind herself to keep her expectations reasonable.

"Where will you do it?" Rolanda asked.

"It needs to be a large, open space. Dumbledore suggested the Entrance Hall," Minerva replied. "He said he'll make sure anyone there clears out."

"So we wouldn't be able to watch you if we hear the thunder?" Rolanda asked, pouting.

Minerva laughed, "I think you could, if you watched from the stairs."

Poppy smiled, "I'll be eagerly waiting for the next lightning storm, then."

Minerva smiled at the two witches, and then reached out to wrap her arms around them both. She felt grateful to have such supportive friends.

"Hello!"

Minerva, Poppy, and Rolanda drew apart and turned around.

"Hello, Hagrid," Minerva smiled in greeting at her housemate. "Enjoying the sunny day?"

"O' course," he grinned. "We have to, after all tha' rain, don' we?"

"I suppose," Minerva replied with a smile. "Though I've heard Care of Magical Creatures has been continuing on regardless of the rain, so I'm sure you've had a lot more time outdoors than we have."

"Tha's true," Hagrid chuckled. "'S fun, though, I think."

"You think class in the rain is fun?" Rolanda asked, dubious.

"'Course I do! Ter be ou' there with the creatures in the mud? I dunno, there's summat abou' it I love," Hagrid replied, his genuine enthusiasm shining through in his ruddy cheeks and shining eyes. "But Care o' Magical Creatures is me favorite class. Firs' time I've read ahead!"

"That's wonderful, Hagrid," Minerva said.

"If a bit mad," Rolanda quipped, grinning.

Poppy smacked her playfully on the arm, "Oh, be nice. Don't you still love Quidditch in the rain?"

"Quidditch in the rain's a bitch. Minerva'll tell you," Rolanda scoffed, jerking her head towards Minerva, who grimaced. The memory of the match against Hufflepuff still stung.

Poppy rolled her eyes, "But you still love it."

Rolanda sighed, "I suppose. But I don't think there's 'summat abou' it' that makes it more special."

"That's fair," Poppy conceded. She turned back to Hagrid and said, "You remind me of Pomona. She'd run out to the greenhouses in all kinds of weather, and say dodging mud puddles makes it all the more fun."

Hagrid smiled, "I was sorry ter hear she was attacked."

"Yes, it was a bit of a shock," Poppy agreed, averting her gaze.

Minerva was uncomfortably reminded of her idea that Hagrid's mystery project could be behind the attacks. As casually as she could, she asked, "What do you think of the idea that a creature is behind the attacks?"

Hagrid scowled, "Codswallop. Creatures are jus' misunderstood. Tha's why people are afraid o' them."

Minerva gave him a tense, toothless smile in response, not appeased.

"Well, I hope yeh have a good day, then," Hagrid said, suddenly very awkward. They wished him well and waved as he walked on past them around the lake, his long strides carrying him far away from them quickly despite his casual pace.

Poppy and Minerva exchanged a significant, tense look behind his back.

"Maybe we should do a little more research on magical creatures once we're done with all our essays," Poppy suggested quietly. Minerva and Rolanda grimaced.

Sunday, 2 May 1943

"Miss Collins is not the only one with something she'd been wearing before she was attacked go missing," Albus explained. The faces of his fellow staff members stared back at him with varying degrees of contemplation and concern. The students had returned from their holiday the day before and the new term would begin the next day, so the staff was having a meeting. While this was a meeting time that they kept every year, the subject matter being discussed this year was very different from that of previous years. "Mr. Black confirmed that Miss Locke is not wearing the earrings that she had on earlier that day, and Mr. Crowley's dormmates all agree that he'd worn a watch that he no longer has."

"So, you're suggesting that this is all connected, and that their attacker took these things from them," Galatea Merrythought clarified.

"I am," Albus nodded, a small grimace twitching his beard. "Which," he continued in a significant tone as a handful of members of the staff opened their mouths with furrowed brows, "leads me to a suspect."

Eyebrows rose around the table at this. Noticing Albus's hesitation, Galatea pressed, "Well, who then?"

"This is not going to be a popular suggestion," Albus warned them, "but I beg you to keep an open mind. I believe that Tom Riddle is behind these attacks."

As soon as Dumbledore said "Riddle," mutters and scoffs nearly drowned out the rest of his words. Albus clenched his jaw in displeasure, frowning lightly, as they turned to each other, shaking their heads and muttering their thoughts on this. Slughorn spoke up, "Now, Albus, I know you and Tom are often at odds with one another—"

"Still, I ask that you keep an open mind," Albus interjected sternly.

Slughorn shut his mouth, though he looked highly skeptical.

Albus fixed a patient smile on his face and looked around at the staff. He held his hands open in front of him as he explained, "When I met Riddle, when I delivered his Hogwarts letter and explained to him that he was a wizard, he was a disturbed boy with a strange collection. He had a cabinet with odds and ends he had taken from other children in the orphanage, and both he and the woman who ran the orphanage gave me the impression that he had tormented the children he'd taken those things from."

"'Gave you the impression,'" Slughorn repeated skeptically.

"Many magical children raised in the Muggle world have difficult childhoods," Dippet remarked, also frowning. "Just because he acted out before he understood his identity doesn't mean that he ought to behave that way forever. It seems that your bias from that meeting has colored all of your interactions with him ever since, whereas those of us who met him once he understood that he's a wizard have found him to be a remarkable boy. Against the odds of his upbringing, he has flourished here, and I've thought for a long time that you are willfully blind to that fact."

Albus clenched his jaw in frustration. The staffroom was silent. Some members of the staff looked between the two Heads of School with bated breath, while others stared into their laps uncomfortably. After taking a few seconds to control his breathing and tone, Albus added, "He told me he can talk to snakes."

The staff exchanged uncomfortable looks at that. Dippet scowled, "When?"

"When I first met him," Albus replied.

"It could have been a flight of fancy of an imaginative child," Slughorn suggested. Albus gave him an exasperated look. "No, truly. We have explored the possibility of there being a true Heir of Slytherin. Slytherin's line ends with the Gaunts, who live in Yorkshire. Tom Riddle comes from a Muggle orphanage in London. It is highly improbable that he has anything to do with them. Children like to imagine they can talk to animals; it's likely a coincidence."

"That's quite a big coincidence, Horace," Galatea remarked quietly. Albus's heart soared to hear someone speak in his favor. He turned a grateful look on her.

"If being a Parselmouth was more common, I would agree that it's a bit of a stretch, but I've met many a child who thinks they can talk to animals and fairies and all other kinds of real or imaginary creatures in my life," Victoria Dare countered.

"Precisely!" Slughorn exclaimed. "And if your basis for these accusations simply lies in the fact that as a child he stole from other children, and you believe this attacker is stealing from their victims, that's not much to go on at all. It's just as well that Miss Collins's ring could have slipped off into the sink before Galatea found her, or that Miss Locke removed her earrings herself that evening, or that Mr. Crowley's dormmates are wrong about the frequency with which he wore his watch. If not, even still, he has been in the Hospital Wing the longest, and that is a long time for someone to take the opportunity to steal from him after the attack."

Albus was incensed to see other members to the staff nodding to themselves and each other as they listened to Slughorn. To him, they all seemed blind to something he saw so clearly. Unfortunately for him, he had no concrete evidence, and it seemed their faith in Tom Riddle could not be swayed by anything less than him being caught in the act.

"Unless you have tangible evidence that a Prefect of this school is behind these attacks, I won't hear another word of it," Dippet added with a firm look. Albus looked away from the Headmaster, fighting hard to prevent the cold fury building up within him from showing outwardly.