A/N: Updated as of April 2021. Happy reading!
For disclaimer, please see the prologue.
Chapter Seven: June 2, 1940
Minerva was nearing the end of her third-year, doing what she could to forget that it was also Callum's last. Having never known Hogwarts without her older brother, she was nervous about the ramifications of his graduation. She worried that Aidan would want nothing to do with her when his role model wasn't hanging around them both. There was the whole issue of Tom Riddle to consider as well, because while he hadn't bothered her again since the Christmas party, Minerva had a sneaking suspicion it was solely because Callum rarely left her side. And in the basest of human needs, Minerva realized she would just miss having her big brother around. So, Minerva did what she did best: she poured her heart and mind into studying for her final exams. Even though she knew she was ten times more prepared than anyone else, maintaining the appearance was a welcome distraction. It worked, up until her final examination for Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Defence was one of Minerva's favourite subjects; it had been since she first started at Hogwarts. All of the students loved Professor Carter: she was wicked smart and had the humour to match. Best of all, she pushed Minerva to do more, to be better. Minerva knew she had a superior grade in the bag, so she wasn't too worried. The exam was practical, and she blew through the Grindylows and Red Caps easily. The Mooncalves took a bit more time, but Minerva knew that they were meant to be a trickier obstacle. Finally, chucking the last one out of the way, she faced down an old cupboard.
Minerva opened it, not really sure what to expect. Professor Carter loved throwing surprises at them at the end of their exams. It was her way of keeping them defenceless, of ensuring they could think on their feet. She was horrified when Tom Riddle walked out of the wooden frame.
"What are you doing here?" Minerva raised her wand, her left arm tingling, remembering the mark he had given her. She shook off the sensation, trying to focus on the devil in front of her. Tom just stared at her and turned his wand towards the cupboard, eyes never leaving hers. Slowly, horrifyingly, out walked everyone she loved. Callum. Diana. Mum. Dad. Aidan. Rowena. Lucy. "What are all of you doing here?"
Tom sneered at her, and impossibly, Dumbledore's voice escaped his lips. "I tried to warn you, Miss McGonagall." The pain in her arm swelled and in a flash of green, her family and friends fell, dead.
"NO!" Minerva screamed, lunging to push Riddle away. She realized with horror that he didn't feel quite right, just off-kilter enough for her to know something was wrong. Looking back at her family, Minerva permitted herself to cry for a moment, chest heaving. Straightening up, she released a wild laugh when she remembered where she was. Of course, Professor Carter would assign a boggart. It was an extra project from March, assigned when everyone had started to feel uneasy about the war going on in the world. The essay was meant to ensure people could tell facts from fiction; that students would know how to find the funny in the face of fear.
Hiccuping wildly, Minerva shouted, "Riddikulus!", hoping it would change. To her horrified amusement, the boggart transformed into a tiny, mouse-sized person, running around and squeaking. "I hate mice," she hissed, casting a reducto to blast the wretched thing back into the wooden frame. Once it was safely secured again, Minerva felt the tears flow down her face. Knowing she had passed the exam and not caring for much else, she collapsed down on to the ground, hoping the sneer of Tom Riddle would stop bouncing around her head.
Minerva awoke to bright lights and murmured voices. Straining, she heard someone say, "Albus, I don't know what's going on, but that boggart affected her like no one else. She's my best student, and I know that every other Professor here would say that, too. Something is clearly wrong, and as her Head of House, you need to figure out what it is. Minerva shouldn't have been so depleted after some Grindylows and a boggart. I've seen her do much more and come out right as rain. You've seen her do more."
"I know, Clara," Minerva heard Dumbledore's quiet voice, "I know. I'm not quite sure what to make of it."
"Albus, if you don't know, there's no hope. I have to get back to my exam. I can't encroach on Wilhelmina's time anymore. Let me know how she gets on," Professor Carter walked away, her high heels clicking farther and farther away.
"Miss McGonagall, you can drop the pretense," Dumbledore addressed her tiredly. "I know you're awake."
"Professor? Am I in the Hospital Wing?"
"Yes." He pulled a chair closer to her bed, settling in for the conversation. "What do you remember?"
"I remember doing my Defence exam," Minerva rolled her eyes through the fatigue. "I got to the end, and then...oh."
"Professor Carter found you, strewn about the floor, eyes red and puffy. She said that the final challenge of your exam involved confronting a boggart. I will not do you the disservice of asking what your boggart was. I will only ask if you remember how you felt before you fell." Dumbledore placed his elbows on his knees, leaning in. "How did you feel?"
"Professor, that's rather a stupid question, coming from you." He raised his eyebrows at that, but mercifully stayed silent. "I felt horrible. I don't mind telling you my boggart, you know," Minerva added, shrugging. "Maybe you can help. It was Riddle. He...well, he killed my family. And Aidan, Lucy, and Rowena as well."
"Have you seen Mr. Riddle since the Christmas party?"
"Just in passing. Callum and Aidan were in a right state when they found out what happened," Minerva winced, remembering the conversation, "and so usually, I can't go anywhere without one of them around. Riddle hasn't bothered to approach me since."
"No, he's not one for a dramatic scene," Dumbledore mused. "He's more of the silent but deadly type."
Minerva gawked at him, bursting into laughter. "That was funny, Professor. I didn't know you were funny." She went to wipe a tear from her eye, screeching in pain when she rubbed her arm against her face. "Ow!"
"Is that the same arm that Mr. Riddle injured at the party?" She nodded and held her arm out to him, correctly guessing that he would want to inspect it. "Did it hurt before you fainted?"
"Yeah, actually, it did," Minerva remembered. "It felt like there was this pain travelling up my arm."
Dumbledore examined her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her robes. "It's red, Miss McGonagall. And it's inflamed. It will most likely bruise."
"How did he manage that?"
"I believe that at Christmas, I mentioned to you that he released some accidental magic onto your arm when he grabbed it." Dumbledore waited for her nod to confirm it and then continued. "I merely have a hypothesis, but I would wager that when he took your arm, he managed to brand you."
"I don't like the sound of that, Professor. Not one bit," Minerva warned. "What does that even mean? It hasn't hurt before, and I've passed him in the hallways."
"In my admittedly limited knowledge about dark magic, branding would mean that you are, in some ways, linked to Mr. Riddle. He can't read your mind or invade your privacy," he added hastily, heading off her question. "No, your souls would need to be linked for that to happen. I believe that when you get close enough to him, or perhaps when you feel threatened by him, it begins to inflict pain upon the affected area. It alerts you to his presence, much like the Protean Charm. I couldn't have imagined it would be strong enough to affect you while he was a boggart, though," Dumbledore pondered.
"Fantastic," Minerva snorted, somewhat hysterically. "And is he aware of this power of his, or what?"
She appreciated that Dumbledore tried to smile, but she felt that much worse when it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't think so, Miss McGonagall. He hasn't been near you since he inflicted it upon you, and I would be flabbergasted if the boggart incident alerted him to it. It was purely accidental, and I suspect that Mr. Riddle doesn't know enough about dark magic to recognize what he did."
"Not yet, anyway," Minerva muttered.
Her eyebrows raised when he agreed with her. "Not yet, at the very least. Thank Merlin for small mercies."
"Professor, why are you so scared of him? Okay, maybe scared is the wrong word, but he doesn't sit quite right with you. Every other Professor loves him. What did he do?" Minerva inquired.
"Ah, Miss McGonagall, I shall not divulge the business of others," Dumbledore replied, a loose smile playing on his lips. "I will simply state, off the record of course, that he has a storied past that has left him angry. The anger has festered long enough that he has become reckless in pursuit of power. I've seen it before," he sighed, "and it doesn't lead one down a good path. What's past is prologue, as it were."
"Shakespeare," Minerva murmured appreciatively. "Who do you know that did the same thing? What happened to them?"
Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "You're smart enough to know that we're at the beginning of a war, Miss McGonagall. I know I can count on your good sense to recognize that those who are eager for war are both fearful of and angry at their ghosts."
"I know you're not telling me something, Professor. That was a good attempt at distraction," Minerva pursed her lips. "However, I also know that you won't tell me anything else."
"You're too intelligent for my games," he agreed. "But you are only fourteen, and there are some things that even the most precocious of my students don't need to worry about."
Minerva opened her mouth but snapped it shut when Callum opened the curtains surrounding her bed. "Minnie?" he asked after her, but his eyes were glued to where Dumbledore's hand was still wrapped around her arm. "Professor?"
"Ah, Mr. McGonagall." Dumbledore rose, quickly releasing her arm and smoothing out his robes. "It would appear that your sister fainted and hurt her arm in the process. She will survive with nothing more than a bruise. I'll leave you two to talk."
"Professor?" Minerva called tentatively. "Thank you." He nodded and swept out of the curtains, closing them tightly behind him.
"What was that all about?" Callum grumbled, climbing on to the bed beside her. "Your wrist doesn't look that bad."
"I released some accidental magic when I fainted, and he wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any lasting effects," Minerva lied, grimacing at how easily it left her mouth. The last thing she needed was her brother knowing that Riddle had somehow managed to mark himself upon her skin.
"Oi, Minnie. You've got to watch it. I won't always be here to protect you," Callum was joking, but it wasn't funny to her.
"Don't remind me, Cal," she whispered.
"You know, this is why I worry about you, Minnie. For all of your bravery and intelligence and that stern facade, you really need someone to protect you." He held up his hand when she bristled at his words. "You're strong on your own and can take care of yourself. I know that, and I know you know that. But it's okay to admit that sometimes you just want to share your feelings and have someone know when you're in pain. Something's going on with you. If it's Riddle, you need to tell Dumbledore."
"Dumbledore knows. I think he's looking out for me now, after everything that's gone on," Minerva realized.
"Good. Someone has to. Riddle," Callum shook his head, "is not good news, Minnie."
"Bad news bears?" Minerva smiled softly, referencing an old childhood story.
"Bad news bears," Callum grinned back. "Seriously, though- make sure Aidan, or even one of his roommates -maybe Jaime or Michael?- keeps an eye on you."
"Aidan won't want anything to do with me once you're gone," Minerva laughed humourlessly.
"He was your friend first. Besides, he's hopeless without you. Honestly, that boy has brains, but he doesn't have the slightest clue how to use them," Callum sighed. "I need to know that you'll be okay while I'm out there in the big bad world."
"I'll be fine. I'll hold everything down here. We'll win the Quidditch cup again," Minerva smirked, relishing her perfect 2-0 record.
"Yeah, I bet you will," he snorted. "And when you do, I want to be the first person you owl."
"I'll be sure to write to the Ministry's newest Auror," Minerva teased. After that conversation with Dumbledore two years ago, Callum had, in fact, pivoted and decided to join the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an Auror after graduation. He would be moving to London to start training. Lucy would be going with him, having also accepted a role with the Ministry.
Callum blushed. "I'll need all the good news I can get. That war out there," he shook his head, "is not going to be pretty."
"For the next three weeks, can we just pretend that everything is normal? That you're not leaving and that the world outside isn't that scary?" Minerva leaned on her brother, inhaling deeply. "Please?"
"Of course, Minnie." He rested his head on top of hers. "Now, what are the chances we'll win the House Cup this year?" Callum bit back a laugh when Minerva's eyes opened animatedly, and he knew that he would miss her even more than she would miss him.