After dinner that night, Minerva and Albus made their way back to his office. Minerva set up the board in front of the fire while Albus went about making tea for her and hot chocolate for himself.

When they finally got settled, Albus moved a pawn forward, playing, as always, with the white pieces. Out of courtesy, he always offered Minerva the white pieces and first move, but she would not allow it. Every since she discovered that Albus meant 'white', she insisted that he live up to it. The fact that she went second did not matter, as she usually defeated Albus anyway.

Between moves, they kept up easy conversation. Neither noticed the other's furtive glances.

"How is life, Professor?"

Albus smiled. "Hectic. Stressful." Lonely, he added mentally. "And you?"

Minerva looked uncomfortable. She picked up her castle, examined it for a moment, and replaced it. "I have a confession, Professor." She shifted in her chair. "I'm afraid I have…broken a law."

"What?"

"I…well…I am an Animagus, Professor."

Albus was speechless. "But…how? Since when?"

"I was…bored, I guess, so I decided to try it. This was…months ago. I know you are supposed to inform the Ministry of attempts of this nature, but I was afraid to because I'm underage. I'm sorry, Professor."

Albus shook his head. "Minerva, don't be sorry for such an extraordinary accomplishment. I have never met a witch of more talent than you, Minerva, older or younger. This is amazing." He gazed at her for a few minutes. "I will help you register."

He stood up. "Now, then…what can you become?"

His answer appeared in the form of a small cat in Minerva's chair.

Albus tentatively reached out and stroked its head. "Amazing," he whispered. Usually unsupervised attempts at transformations yielding misplaced tails or something of that nature, but not this time. It was perfect.

Minerva changed back smoothly. She looked into Albus's eyes and then at the floor. "Thank you, Professor."

Albus opened his mouth to reply, but he was stopped by an owl pecking at the window. With a smile, he stepped away from Minerva and admitted the owl.

Minerva gasped. "That's my father's owl!"

Albus took the letter from the owl and gave it to her.

She slit it open and promptly looked confused, then shocked. Her eyes darted from side to side while Albus watched her with a felling of great apprehension. Minerva was not one to show very much emotion, and he had never seen her look weak before.

She looked empty, like the world had fallen from under her feet and she had remained still. Without a word she handed the parchment to Albus.

Albus reluctantly took his eyes off Minerva and examined the letter. From the first glance he knew something was terribly wrong. Drops of blood splattered the otherwise yellow parchment. In Minerva's father's handwriting were the following words:

My dearest Minerva,

It is over for us. He is too powerful. You must

protect yourself, Minerva. You are stronger

than I could ever be. Goodbye, my daughter.

I love y

After the 'y', there was a rip in the parchment and then, the most horrifying yet- in blood was written: THEY ARE GONE, AND YOU ARE NEXT.

Albus dropped the letter on his desk. Minerva had not moved. He had never been more terrified before, not even when he, not the McGonagalls, had been facing Grindelwald. For the first time in his life, Albus had no idea what to do.

Suddenly, Minerva snatched the letter from the desk and thrust it into the fire. It burned in the flames, reflected in Minerva's eyes.

Albus stood completely still, cursing himself for not knowing what to do or say.

Minerva broke the heavy silence. "Oh, my God," she whispered. She looked down at her hands. Blood from the parchment was on them. She let out a quiet scream and muttered, "Scourgify. Scourgify! SCOURGIFY!" Albus saw that her hands were raw.

He suddenly knew what to do. He went to her and gathered her into his arms. He expected her to fight to get away, or perhaps just stand there, but he never expected her to lean into him and rest her head on his chest. Albus held her tightly, feeling her slight frame trembling against him.

Minerva did not cry. She was beyond tears; she had never been so horrified.

Albus felt Minerva go limp in his arms. He gently picked her up and carried her to the couch. He settled her on it and pulled up a chair next to her.

He sat in silence, studying her. He did not know what to think; he did not want to think. To delay the inevitable, Albus summoned his book and a quill. He looked at Minerva, thinking of nothing but her.

As his quill danced across the parchment, Albus marveled at the young woman in front of him. He had often thought about their age difference, and he knew that his feelings were lacking in propriety, but he could not help it. He was, and had been for a long time, in love with Minerva McGonagall. He had never met a witch of more charm, intelligence, power, or beauty. Her biting wit cheered him when he was in the deepest of depressions, but not so much as her mere presence. Her piercing green eyes were hypnotic, and Albus loved getting lost in them.

He forced himself to think about the trials at hand. Minerva was in danger, and he did not know how to protect her. He would just have to keep a closer watch on her.

Just as the sun began to rise on what, to most, was a beautiful Saturday, Albus drifted off into troubled, terrifying dreams about Minerva and her blood on his hands.