Along the cobblestone road to Hogwarts walked a tall, and lean man with a firm build, and by his side, a small petite girl skipped along side of him, grasping his hand while she sang a sweet note.
It was raining outside, but that didn't seem all that important to the two that slowly made their way up to the Hogwarts main doors, even though the man was drenched from giving his hat to his little girl.
Minerva looked up at her father with squinted eyes from underneath the hat, which looked about two sizes too big for her crown.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, Minnie?"
"Why are we going to the school in the in the rain?"
A flicker of a smile turned the lips of her father.
"I have to speak with the Headmaster, my dear. Then we will go home, and you can tell mother all about your first trip to Hogwarts."
Minerva turned back to the main doors with a smile on her face.
Though young, she had never really paid that much attention to the infamous school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She couldn't see how wonderful her parents deemed it, for on the outside it looked just like any other castle; but as the main doors opened wide for she and her father, Minerva got her first taste of magic.
In her wide eyed wonderment of the foyer, Minerva did not stop to notice the elderly gentlemen approaching.
"Welcome, Mr. McGonnagall."
Her father nodded appreciatively as the other man continued.
"The Headmaster is waiting for you in the library, shall I announce you?"
"No, not at all thank-you. . . but," he glanced down at his enchanted daughter.
"If you wouldn't mind, could you keep an eye out for this one? She has a tendency to wander off." he ended in a drawl, sounding as if he and her mother had spent countless hours fretting when she danced off.
The man nodded kindly as Minerva's father headed up the stairs briskly.
The elderly gentlemen turned back to Minerva with a small smile on his face.
"What is your name?"
"Minerva."
"Hello, Minerva, my name is Clancy, I keep the grounds here at Hogwarts. Would you like something to eat?" he held out his hand for her, and Minerva was in the process of taking it when a small house elf came skidding into view from a thrown open door.
"Mister Clancy Sirs, Taffy slipped on a puddle of soap water, she's hurted, sir!"
Without a second glance at Minerva, the man bolted after the house-elf and it was only when he reached the door he turned sharply to Minerva.
"Minerva, dear, you stay put!" he shouted as he vanished behind the doorway.
Minerva stared after him with wide eyes, suddenly feeling very independent. She had always wanted to do some exploring around this place.
As she turned back around to head for the stairs, Minerva spotted something quite peculiar dancing by the Great Doors. She squinted her small eyes to see that it was a small, monarch butterfly, fluttering madly in an attempt to get out.
Minerva frowned.
"Don't worry, don't worry!" she said aloud for the butterfly to hear as she scampered to the door. "I'll get you out, I'll get you out!"
Minerva's small hands fumbled with the giant handle in panic as she watched the poor butterfly beat with all it's might at the door as well.
Finally, she managed to open the door, though how she did it was beyond her, and the beautiful monarch fluttered down to Minerva's nose. As the small creature slowly beat its wings on her face, tickling her, Minerva giggled.
"You're welcome!" she said happily.
The butterfly then vacated Minerva's nose and began to flutter in circles around the small girl. Minerva watched with confused fascination as the graceful butterfly wove around the girl and then slipped out of the great doors.
"Wait!" yelled Minerva, chasing after the butterfly into the rain.
Ignoring her father's hat falling to the ground and the beating rain on her small figure, Minerva kept going after her prey, panting heavily. Chasing butterflies was a normal thing for a child her age, but considering the circumstances, Miverva did not ever fully understand why she felt so compelled to follow the butterfly into the rain. It may have been her concern for the little creature, (it was raining awfully hard, and the rain could weigh the tiny insect down) or it may have been Minerva's need to quench her thirst for adventure, but whatever the reason, she wasn't about to let up on the chase.
She ran for what felt like hours. To make matters worse, the rain had gone from a mild slew to a mad downpour in minutes. The only good part of the entire crazy race, was that Minerva had finally managed to catch up to the butterfly.
It had perched itself on a great mossy tree, and begun to beat it wings to a slower rhythm. Minerva panted through her smile as she stroked the butterfly's tired wings with her finger. It could finally rest now. But her soft content only lasted a few seconds, as the butterfly disappeared through a hole in the tree, and Minerva was left alone to deal with the downpour.
As she looked around herself, Minerva realized with a seizing horror she had only felt in night terrors that she was lost. Lost in the Forbidden Forest, nonetheless. She must have been so obsessed with catching that silly butterfly that she didn't even stop to think or consider where it was leading her.
The harsh rain that had blocked Minerva's vision suddenly let up to a sprinkle, and Minerva felt the first pangs of panic and fear shoot through her small self.
She began to run back to where she had come. . . or at least, she thought it was back. It could been east, west or north for all she knew. Every tree in the foreboding forest looked the same as the one beside it; tall, dark, suspicious and threatening. As she ran even faster, the trees seemed to be closing in on her, blocking any light or chance of escape, and Minerva could take no more fear in her heart.
She began to cry.
Minerva couldn't breathe; sobbing and running stole every breath that her lungs offered her, and her tiny body fell down with a splatter into the mud.
Had small Minerva been but a decade older, she would have appreciated her current situation with a sour, ironic laugh; but seeing as how she was only five, no wit and no humor could have sufficed for a description of what laid before her when she raised her small head.
She had never seen anything quite like it.
A dark tower loomed above the trees, soaring into the grey sky for what seemed like leagues and leagues upward. It was a grand sight to see, but none to welcoming. Upon seeing the huge tower, Minerva felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck, her heart stop, her spine tingle, and her teeth chatter even harder and louder than before. In a matter of seconds, Minerva's predatory responses flew into action, and the small child reeled back at the sight of the menacing tower.
As she scampered backward on her small hands and feet, Minerva's escape was suddenly and unexpectantly blocked by something hard. Breathing hard from the cold, sobbing from her fear, and whimpering with hopelessness, Minerva decided to be brave, and look up.
Behind her, and looking down on her with a sweet half smile on his face, was the most peculiar man Minerva had ever seen. He had a beautiful face; soft in features, yet dramatic enough to last through the tests of time, his eyes were a dark chocolate color that seemed to absorb and reflect warmth. His hair was long. Longer than her mothers, in fact, as it went down past his waist. He was wearing a green cloak and tunic, lined with silver threads and encrusted with silver leaves.
Upon seeing him, every last fiber of fear that Minerva had, seemed to fade into a lesser threat. The rain even seemed to suddenly stop. She had met someone strange looking, but nice looking as well, in a dark time. He could help her out. . . couldn't he?
The man looked at Minerva for a few seconds longer, before his eyes turned cold and looked back at the tower. Minerva admired him, for there wasn't a trace of fear to be seen on his flawless face.
"Such cold nights are brought into cold lights. Menaces may stir as times grow dark, but Mirkwood's archers and Kings will claim your downfall."
His voice was low. So low that Minerva had to strain to hear his words through the backdrop of rain and thunder; but his words were profound. It was likely he had not meant for her to overhear his own personal thoughts, but didn't mind even if she did.
He looked back down on Minerva and gave her a funny look.
"What's your name?" he asked softly.
Vainly, Minerva struggled to use the words her father and mother had told her to use when confronted with strangers, but now. . . they did not seem to apply.
"Minerva McGonnagall."
"Minerva McGonnagall. . . .would you like to go home now?"
Minerva nodded eagerly.
The man leaned over and hauled Minerva to her feet gently.
"My lady, your valiant steed awaits."
Minerva giggled as she was picked up by the man and laid sideways across his back and shoulders. He had pretended to gallop like a magnificent horse for a little while, as he miraculously wove his way through the trees, as if he knew exactly where he was going. As they trekked on, the man took Minerva down from his shoulders and into his arms and began to lull her to sleep with a beautiful song sung in a tongue that she did not understand the words, but understood the meaning by it's universal tune. Minerva become quite drowsy, and it was only before she drifted off into a warm slumber that she asked a question.
"Who are you?" asked her quiet sleepy voice.
The man stopped his singing as softly as he could.
"Your valiant steed, my lady."
"Knockturn Alley!" grunted Ern, the Knight Bus conductor as the bus lurched to a violent stop. Everyone else on the bus went sailing forward into their seats all except Arwen, who remained sitting up straight in her seat beside a sleeping Professor McGonnagall.
"Professor. . . Professor . . . Minerva. . ?"
Arwen gently shook Professor McGonnagall awake. How anyone could fall asleep on such a rambunctious contraption like the Knight Bus was beyond her, but somehow, it wasn't an issue for the elderly woman.
"Minerva . . " she shook her once again, and the Professor awoke with a start.
"Professor, are you all right?" Arwen asked her eyes trying to examine the Professor as she sounded genuinely concerned.
Professor McGonnagall seemed distraught, but mumbled something along the lines 'i'm fine' as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up straight.
Arwen looked down at her, still a bit concerned.
"Are you sure, Professor?"
"Quite. Do you have the list, Professor Averill?"
"Please, the Professor part is hard enough to believe, my name is Cassandra, and yes," Arwen pulled out the long piece of parchment.
"I have Snape's ingredients, Sprout and Hagrid's magical fertilizer, and Merlin knows what else all right here."
Minerva smiled faintly, and the two women got up from their seats and made their way off the bus into Knockturn Alley.
From the moment Arwen's foot touched the rain drenched cement, an empty feeling dropped into the pit of her stomach. Unlike the feeling of returning peril she had gotten from the Forbidden Forest, different from the familiar pangs of homesickness she had received while walking on Hogwart's grounds, this feeling was one of suspicion and an unsettling anxiety.
"I don't like this place." She murmured, looking around at the scattered wizards and witches, draped in black hooded robes and queer folk eyeing her and leering at her.
McGonnagall seemed stiffer and sterner than usual.
"You're among many, Prof-. . . Cassandra. Knockturn Alley isn't your average welcoming shopping plaza. We should split up, and get these errands done faster. The longer we're here, the more noticeable we'll be. Why don't you get Snape's teaching materials at Grimm and Drear's Bookstore, I'll try and get everything else."
"Are you sure that's fair?" Arwen asked.
McGonnagall gave her a look.
"Believe me, I'm getting the upper hand in this one. Meet me back here in two hours."
And with that, McGonnagall turned down a cobble alley, and was swallowed in fog.
Arwen sighed.
So Knockturn Alley thought it could scare her away, did it?
Her eyes flickered across the pave way to the Grimm and Drear's Bookstore as a mischievous smile softly played on her lips.
Obviously, Knockturn Alley had never tried to scare away elves before.
"You didn't tell me you were sending them!" Elrond gasped, as he looked up from Galadriel's pool.
Galadriel offered him nothing but a shrug.
"Oh, my lady, tell me you didn't send them!" he groaned, his grip on the pool's edge becoming tighter with his every breath.
"Fie on you, Elrond, and foreshame! How could you say such untrusting words?"
"No, lady, not untrusting, sensible! Why them? Why, why, why?" he went on, sounding like a child about to throw a tantrum.
"They are wise, excellent hunters, brave soldiers, caring beings-"
"Mischievous, immature-"
Galadriel held up a hand to silence him.
"It is done now, and whatever disagreement you have with my choice is redundant."
"You could have told me, lady." Elrond said exasperated, and falling on the bench for a rest.
"And have this very same quibble with you as two lives were in the balance? I think not." Galadriel pointed out.
"You realize of course, sending those two back may very well jeopardize Arwen and Legolas even more?"
"It is not a laughing matter, Elrond," Galadriel said in a dangerous voice. "I have taken into account their flaws and strengths, and just as fair, their brave demeanor and selfless deeds. These acts in the past are proof enough that they are fit to fight and fight valiantly. Whatever argument you have with them when they return is none of my concern."
Elrond sighed, defeated once again.
Galadriel smiled and dipped her vase into the pool, and murmured a silent prayer to Varda.
"May the Valar and Eru have mercy on those that cross the paths of Elladan and Elrohir." Elrond murmured to no one in particular.
"That's the spirit my son!" said Galadriel, with enthusiasm.
Elrond looked up at her dourly.
"It was havoc cleaning up the dung and egg-yolk off the person who last
did it."
Legolas moved through the main lobby of the Ministry of Magic in a strange kind of awe. It reminded him of the central roads in Ithilien. Everyone bustling, gibbering away with important talks of Quidditch security, missing memos. . .
All right, so it wasn't exactly like Ithilien, but close enough.
Despite his amazement, Legolas managed to walk the strides that Professor Snape walked, and keep his fascinated expressions inside.
Snape's brisk and impatient voice suddenly reached Legolas' ears.
"Professor Harrison?!"
"Oh, I beg your pardon, what were you saying?"
Snape gave a glare that would give the grim reaper chills.
"I was merely asking what department you worked at prior to your new position."
"Oh, yes, Dark Arts Enforcement. . . why the curiosity, if I may be as so bold to ask?"
Snape gave a small reserved sneer.
"Too bold, Professor. If you must know, however, your former position may come into use here."
Legolas thought a moment.
"Of course, it always useful to know certain people and be of acquaintance to others, but why would the Headmaster need such politics? Whether or not the administration of the Ministry likes him, isn't he respected nonetheless?"
Snape nearly stopped in his tracks as they neared the elevator that would carry them to their intended destination. He looked at Legolas with a kind of hard speculation that Snape had used when the two had first met, only this time, it was more curiosity than distrust. Legolas looked back at him with a subtle defiance veiled through an innocent stare.
Snape decided to let it go, as he started walking again.
"The Headmaster is respected by many, and disliked by few. Though those few that do not hold him in their favor will not admit their respects for him, not surprisingly." he added dourly.
"I will tell you, Professor Snape," said Legolas as they stepped onto the elevator. "My department, when I last left it, was in a state of near chaos."
There was a pause as the elevator began to jerk upward.
"Go on," Snape said lowly.
"I do not believe I am at full liberty to release such confidential information, but recently, our department has been detecting some disturbances some ten miles outside of the school of Hogwarts, in the Forbidden Forest to be exact."
Snape turned to look at Legolas once again, and once again, Legolas was met with cold meticulous black eyes.
"I will warn you now, Professor," Snape said softly, "I do not take kindly to lies."
"If you can clearly see any benefit I have to gain from such a lie, I would hear it."
"If you can clearly state how any person, whether or not their perception is acute, could see such a lie so early in a web such as the Ministry's, I would hear it as well." quipped Snape.
"Assumptions tend to make arses out of people quite frequently, Professor. I do not believe you to be a fool, do not make a fool's mistake."
"Is that a threat, Professor?"
Legolas smiled.
"Advice, Professor. From one elder to another."
At that moment, the elevator door sprung open, and the department of Dark Arts Enforcement lay before the two Professors. Simultaneously, the two men stepped off the elevator to find the entire office deserted. Cobwebs cluttered dusty books and desks, while quills lay untouched in their empty inkbottles. Chairs lay on the ground upturned and forgotten next to volumes upon volumes of manuals, their pages spilling upon and neglected upon the floor.
Snape's mouth drooped open at the sheer unexpectedness of the situation, while Legolas merely tried to improvise an excuse.
Before any words of surprise or outrage could be spoken, something caught the attention of Legolas in the corner of his eye, and soon a merry voice was heard saying;
"Well, well, well, if it isn't our old cousin Alex! Come my dear brother, take a gander at our friend now!"
Legolas looked over to his right oddly, only to see, standing up in the dark shadows of the abandoned office, Elladan and Elrohir, the twins of Rivendell, in wizard attire.
Now it was Legolas' turn to drop his mouth.
"What a long time it has been. . ." murmured one of the raven eyed elves.
Legolas swallowed.
"Time indeed."
Draco Malfoy slowly made his way up the winding spiral staircase at Grimm and Drear's bookstore. This was the one day he could leave his home without the shadow of his father lurking nearby, and yet, he still trudged his way through the world. What made him so uncomfortable? Was it the ominous look on Lucius Malfoy's face before he had left? Then again, Lucius had grown colder these past weeks. A recent disarming of himself and three other deatheaters had troubled him, and the attack had been led by some old wacky wizard, nonetheless. Along with Malfoy's particular bitterness this week, he had also been out serving the Dark Lord more frequently, and Draco and Narcissa were left to their own imaginations. Feeling particularly restless on this damp summer day, Draco had decided to floo his way to Knockturn Alley and entertain himself there.
As he stepped upon the landing on the upper floor and Grimm and Drear's bookstore, Draco noticed, to his great annoyance, a woman was all ready there, in his normal seat, nonetheless.
Sitting proper and prim, her eyes placidly and snobbishly scanning the pages of some book, the woman was dressed in a black dress robe, with a navy tie at her throat. She wore a hat that had a small fishnet veil attached, covering her porcelain face and dark eyes as she read her book with ease.
Draco made a point of rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically.
The woman's eyes remained on the paper, so Draco tried again.
"Ahem."
Two jewel blue eyes flickered up at Draco, and a warm smile spread across the lips of the strange woman.
"May I help you, young sir?"
Draco was deeply offeneded by this woman's politeness. There was something about her dark azure eyes, her raven hair, and her sweet, smart smile that irked Draco thoroughly, but at the same time. . . there was something intriguing about her.
"You're in my seat,"
Lucius Malfoy's cold stinging voice and balled fist reminded Draco of his manners.
"Madam."
The odd woman smiled at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Is that so? Oh, I am so sorry." she said, and then continued to read.
Draco looked at her incredulously.
Once again, he opened his mouth to snap at this empty-headed hag, but her soft voice cut him off midair.
". . .What's this? A young Malfoy, hmm. But where is your father?"
Draco looked at her suspiciously.
"Who are you?"
The woman smiled again, this time more broadly, and Draco noticed for the first time just how beautiful she was.
He glared, but could think of nothing to say.
"You see, Mr. Malfoy," the woman said, slipping in a silk mark in her book and carefully closing it, "Both you and your father are quite well known in the wizarding world-"
"And?" Draco cut in rudely, not seeing her point.
The woman's eyes flickered to him ominously.
". . .I would be honored if you sat down beside me."
Draco opened his mouth to spit a condescending and snide remark at her, but when he looked at her face, something motherly appeared, something so alien and curious, he found himself moving to sit in the chair opposite of her.
She smiled as he sat down, and continued flipping through her book.
"Fan of William Shakespeare, young Mr. Malfoy?"
"Never heard of him."
"Not unusual, I suppose, most children your age aren't all that eclectic when it comes to literary taste, take this."
She slid the giant book she was flipping through across to him, and Draco glanced down at it suspiciously.
"The Riverside Shakespeare?" he asked callously.
"Complete works," she quipped, "I suggest you begin with "The Tempest," and on from there with "King Lear," it is best if you read a comedy and then a tragedy, and then a comedy again. It isn't nearly as much overkill."
Draco's brow furrowed as he opened the book and started reading aloud;
"To be up late is to be up before betimes, therefore to be up late is to be up early. . ." he snapped the book shut and pushed it back to her callously. "Sounds like bloody trash to me."
The woman raised an eyebrow as her hand slid across the table and retracted the book.
"On second thought . . . you seem to be more of a "Macbeth" person. . . let's see here. . . oh yes, here we are, 'By my finger and my thumb something wicked this way comes. . .'"
As her deep rich voice read the dark words, Draco found himself entranced by this odd yet enchanting woman. As her voice slid over the words of turmoil, Draco, as inconspicuously as possible, slid his chair closer to her.
Legolas had no idea what to expect.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the figure of Gandalf the Grey came to him, reminding him about those select allies that were to come to them in the course of their journey, complements of Mandos the High.
He swallowed quite loudly and opened his mouth to explain to Snape about his 'cousins'-
"Well, Alexander. I do say you have some explaining to do." Said Elrohir (or was it Elladan?) folding his arms expectantly.
Legolas wheezed as he tried to smile.
Elladan turned to a very upset looking Snape and gave a smirk.
"Old boy never was very articulate, let me introduce myself and the other me. I am Edwin Averill-"
"And I'm Edgar Averill," said the other midnight haired twin, extending his hand and grasping Snape's limp and cold palm.
"You're Professor Averill's brothers?" Snape said, not sounding a bit excited at the prospect of having more of the snooty Professor's relations around him.
They both paused a moment, and in the darkness, a glimmer appeared in both of their eyes, and something told Snape it wasn't just the mischievousness.
"Yes. . ." murmured Edwin, barely audible to even Legolas. "Tell me, Alexander. . . How is our dear sister?" came the voice that Legolas recognized more as Elrohir than any other alias.
"My dear cousin," said Legolas. "She is just as you left her. Kind, beautiful, and as witty as her father."
The twins grinned.
For a moment, there was silence, before Snape impatiently and loudly cleared his voice and drew the attention of everyone to the black-robed professor.
"Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind, one of you could inform us about what happened here and why your department is. . . so unorganized, to say the least."
The twins looked to Legolas, who shrugged.
"I told him my department was in upheaval."
"Well, Professor-"
"Snape." Snape said curtly.
"Ah, yes, Professor Snape. The Department of Dark Arts Enforcement has been a bit preoccupied keeping tabs on well, you know, and other troublemakers. His increasing activity near the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade areas has led many of our agents to do some. . .er. . . field work, so that's where they are, and they certainly do take their time." Edwin seemed to sum things up in a neat little package, but Snape wasn't in a mood for fooling.
"Mr. Averill, I do not need to remind you that there are other departments in this Ministry that were specifically designed for such 'field work' as you so aptly put it."
Edgar grinned.
"Professor Snape, is it too much to presume that you haven't paid our humble little Ministry a visit in some time?"
Snape's lip curled at the condescending tone in his voice.
"I haven't had the pleasure for some time."
"We're under new management, at least, in this department."
"Under whom?"
"Us, of course!" said Edwin cheerfully.
Snape's face fell.
"You. . .? two?"
"Indeed. And, well, we have a bit of differences in taste for our recruitments, of course, our policies and agents are quite different from the previous department head."
"Which was. . ?"
"Oh, that's not important, what's important is you're here, and we're here, and now that we've all gotten a chance to get acquainted, we can leave!" said Edgar happily, taking Legolas and Snape by the elbow.
"Mr. Averill, your department is-"
"A bit rusty, oh yes, we're humble enough to admit when it needs a bit of spring cleaning, but that can wait, don't you say?" said Edwin, kicking a box that was in his way and splitting it in two as he did.