Back with another fic for my "Too many days until retirement"- series about McGonagall and her students: the Marauders. This one's a bit different: it has multiple chapters, and I'm sorry to announce, it's not as funny as the previous one-shots, and as you'll see, it's not supposed to be funny. There will still be plenty of ridiculous situations, but be warned with these tags: Abuse of Authority and Sedatives. Nothing is explicit. But it is there, and I wouldn't feel comfortable to publish it without at least some warning, because I hate, hate, hate bad teachers.

Otherwise, enjoy the fun chapter! And leave a comment or two!

Head, Head Spinning

(Or: McGonagall is sorry)

Chapter 1

A new Hogwarts year brought a new teacher for the ever-cursed Defense against the Dark Arts. It was none but Margania Graham, great auror and the first woman to hold a seat as Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot. McGonagall had immense respect for her, had read all her books, especially her book on Defense for the Amateurs, an 'instructional book for the common wizard and witch to defend themselves in the hopefully low chance they are attacked at home, on the streets or while they are on a broom.' McGonagall had a hard-copy – not signed, mind you; McGonagall wasn't like that to ask for any signature. She followed her column on the Daily Prophet and listened whenever she gave an interview on the Wizarding Wireless Network News.

What a shame she had to occupy the 'cursed' position as a teacher for this subject. McGonagall was very skeptical when it came to curses that affected positions and not individuals. It was true, no teacher had lasted longer than a year since… well, a few decades, but it was a difficult subject; and McGonagall believed that if you immersed yourself in something as dark as… the Dark Arts, even if it was solely for defensive purposes, it would have a bad effect on you. Just like the Potions Masters got ill after taking in toxic fumes for decades.

Cursed or not, she doubted Margania Graham would stay in Hogwarts for long; she was too good for the position. Not that being a teacher was any less challenging than being an Auror or a high member of the Wizengamot (especially with those four being in Hogwarts), but they came with their own, very different set of challenges. The worst McGonagall had to fear was some student letting lose a troll in the Dungeons or slipping from the Astronomy Tower (happened before); Margania, she was sure, had to face tons of death-threats every day with her high-ranking position in the Wizarding World.

McGonagall shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she took notice of those four at their table. Of all days it had to be today. Sure, nothing bad had happened yet; no one had set off fireworks or made their cups explode with a trumpet-like echo, or hexed purple whiskers on a poor student's face.

That's because they're three, not four, she thought. Of course! Lupin, he was… discomposed. Maybe that was the reason for their calmness. They probably didn't want to cause any scene without their dear friend present. That was… sweet.

McGonagall turned to her new colleague, still keeping an eye on those four – three.

"I heard your decision to join Hogwarts was made quite suddenly," she said.

Ms. Margania (as she preferred to be called by her colleagues) nodded slowly, lips touching her cup. "There was another project I was considering," she said, "but it didn't work out."

McGonagall wasn't too sure she liked what she implied; that she took the position as teacher, because there wasn't anything better to be had.

"Surely the Wizengamot keeps you busy," she said, tone an inch cooler than before.

Ms. Margania only raised a delicate brow, but didn't give any other sign she had noticed her change in tone. "It does, but as you know the Wizengamot is very well organized at times, and members do relieve each other from their duties, sometimes. And I'm not Chief Warlock anymore, so that relieves me of many duties. I've had more time on my hands this past year than… in those three years I was in that position."

McGonagall nodded. "Well, if you take your job as a teacher seriously you'll see how busy you'll be."

She smiled. "That's what I'm hoping." Her eyes wandered from table to table, observing the students. "Any advice?"

"Concerning what?"

"Your students."

"Mr. Caviz died about half-way into the second half of the year," McGonagall said. "He was ill and old," she added at Margania's odd look. "He kept classes mostly theoretical, so there might be a lot of catching up to do."

"Hm, and your students?"

"We have a lot," she said.

"I can see that," she replied, as dryly as McGonagall had. "Any trouble-makers I have to watch out for?"

Her thoughts immediately conjured the image of those four, but she made an effort to be fair. "There's a difference between trouble-makers in class and outside of class," she answered. "You have to be careful, because not all students are equal. Some take longer to learn, others manage the spells almost by instinct." Pettigrew and Black came into mind. "The challenge will be to keep them all on the same level.

"Homework is another challenge. You'll learn that some which do almost perfect in class, butcher their homework as if they're just learning to write – or did their homework on the last minute." She thought of Potter, who always did exceptionally well in class, but his homework was always illegible and with gross grammatical errors.

Ms. Margania smiled. "I remember school, McGonagall," she replied. "And I remember what you were like, too."

McGonagall huffed. "I always did well in class and on my homework."

"I didn't," Margania said, nipping her drink. "But I did well in life."

McGonagall's brows furrowed. "What are you saying?"

"But you didn't answer my actual question," she said with a small smile. "I know about all the challenges a student can face in class, because I've been on both ends – the good and the bad student; but you didn't tell me what students I should watch out for."

"Watch out for," McGonagall snorted. "These are children, not criminals, Margania."

"I'll have you know, many troublemakers in school become troublemakers in life later, Minerva."

"Well that is the wrong attitude, Margania," she said, coldly, and took a deep breath. "There is no point in arguing about this. All you should know is this: treat your students fairly and they'll respect you. I'll be the first to admit, there are a few repeat-offenders, but it's the usual pranks-"

Her lips curled. "Hm, the usual pranks…that would be…"

"Oh the usual jinks: turning people's hair purple, jinxing people so their heads grow like balloons; scaring off Mrs. Norris; ignoring curfew…"

"Hm, am I right to assume the usual culprits are boys?"

"Well, yes, but you know how boys are at that age."

She raised a brow. "Turning people's hair purple, torturing a cat, twisting the natural features of a human person…"

McGonagall frowned at her.

"… do they also pull at the girls' hair?"

"You know what they're like," McGonagall said. "And you know what the girls do then."

Margania said nothing, so McGonagall saw herself compelled to answer her own question. "They kick them and hex them. Seriously, you cannot compare school with the streets. If you do you'll start seeing dark wizards everywhere."

Margania shrugged. "You've heard the rumours, Minerva," was the only thing she said, and McGonagall dropped the subject.

Of course, dinner would have been incomplete without a bit of drama. At some point, right after Dumbledore had finished his welcome speech, those four – three covered themselves with their hoods, until their faces where almost invisible, and stood up with a dramatic air.

McGonagall's body became as tense as a board. Her eyes followed their every step forward, and one by one the rest of the student body caught on this odd situation; they gradually fell silent.

The three reached the teachers' table, and stood solemnly before Dumbledore, whose beard trembled dangerously, and whose eyes twinkled. If McGonagall could, she would have killed him then and there.

The three boys cleared their throat, and as one (she suspected Potter) took out a stick with a picture of Remus Lupin, and another (Peter Pettigrew, naturally) took out a stick with Remus Lupin's name written in large letters, the other (Sirius Black, of course) announced loud and clear,

"We shall fast for our dear friend Remus Lupin!"

Pettigrew and Potter hit the floor with their sticks. "Remus Lupin!"

McGonagall lowered her head.

"And if you don't…" Black raised his fist, long sleeve slipping and revealing a pale arm. "Thou be damned!"

"Thou be damned!" They hit the floor with the sticks again, and shuffled out of the hall like repentant monks.

Dumbledore looked delighted and chuckled under his beard, but McGonagall… McGonagall was enraged and embarrassed, which one she felt more strongly was hard to tell.

She wanted to punch Dumbledore for taking this so lightly. Sometimes she felt like he didn't take the boys seriously at all. She hated always being the bad witch; when was his turn?

She heard Margania snort beside her, and looked at her.

"Boys will be boys, huh, Minerva?"

McGonagall ignored her for the rest of the night.

I love McGonagall.