Disclaimer - You all know the drill. HP and all related characters belong to the mighty JK bows. Songs, companies and other people etc. belong to whoever they belong to.
Warnings - Swearing
Author Notes - Yes, I can take constructive criticism - it is actually rather refreshing - I must say, it is admittedly hard to think of things that should stand out - so, in light of this, this chapter will contain several flashes over the next couple few years of his life- making Harry Potter plain is pretty hard work, you know.
1st February 1934
Fate would always screw over Harry James Potter in some way or another.
Whether it be as Harry or Damien, Potter or McGonagall, 1995 or 1933, Fate always found a way to do it.
It guided, it helped, it healed, it destroyed and brought joy, hope, love, life and death to all within it's grasp.
But it seemed to find ways even beyond this to put to it's use, especially for him.
Saving the world was one thing, but there was one other thing that was really trying to screw him over.
And that was boys hitting on his little sister.
And because of this (and thankfully, Minerva was completely and blissfully unaware to this small fact), Damien had threatened to castrate (very painfully) any young man who even attempted to do anything that she may dislike, or if they hurt her in any way, shape or form, with a very blunt knife.
Needless to say, no boy dared to hurt or annoy Minerva McGonagall.
However, it was on this day of Halloween that Damien had found that one young man had slipped through his grasps, one Jerry Chang, a very popular young man with a way with the girls. He was very arrogant, a third-year, and grated on Damien's nerves in his Ancient Runes class, which he unfortunately shared with him.
This, he found out, whenever he found Minerva in tears and barely able to form words, and Sarah trying to comfort her, while explaining the situation.
Apparently, he had admitted to her that he liked her, and then she had found him with another girl, sprouting the same sweet talk and laughing about her.
And Damien, despite not carrying out his castration threat, had bloodied and broken the boy's nose, along with matching black eyes, which he could swear blind made the boy look like a raccoon.
Chang never lived it down (as many who had taken pictures with glee repeatedly shoved them under his nose), and those who had never taken his warnings seriously before had now learnt to never piss off Damien McGonagall.
22nd December, 1934
Damien McGonagall was a highly respected young man amongst both staff and students.
The students saw him as a carefree, friendly, handsome and intelligent young man, who happily tutored younger years (and helped older students with Charms, Defence and Transfiguration) with no complaint. He was seen as the protector of Muggles, Muggleborns, Half-Bloods and 'Blood-Traitors', and part of the 'Destructive Duo', the star Beaters of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.
The staff saw him as a bright light amongst the students, his clear thirst for knowledge, love of books and natural ability at all subjects (his three best being Charms, Defence and Transfiguration) making him every teacher's dream student. He gladly helped classmates, answered questions (although not all the time) and excelled in practical and theoretical work.
So much so that in his best three subjects he was given advanced lessons by Professors Moody, Dumbledore and Flitwick, who also took it upon themselves to teach him how to duel, and how to make the use of his talents.
However, it was on this day, three days before the Christmas of 1934, that something happened that would see several changes in the boy, making him more of a man than a child.
The McGonagall's were home for Christmas, and Damien and Minerva had been called downstairs by their father, who had been in charge while their mother had been out at her sister's house for a few days, where she had been since before they came home.
The two had been surprised, but had shrugged it off, and as they entered the room and sat down, catching sight of their father's solemn face, they knew something was wrong…very wrong.
"What's wrong?" Damien asked, unable to stand the tense silence.
"It's…it's your mother…she's…she's…" Demetrius said, his voice cracking.
"She's what?" Minerva prompted.
"She's very ill at the moment. She's been ill for a long time, but recently it became so serious that she had to go to the hospital for a check-up…she's been there ever since…they ran a lot of tests on her, and were puzzled until one doctor, a specialist, found the problem…they said that she had…that she had breast cancer…and that, because they have caught it so late, it has spread…"
Demetrius paused, emotion catching his voice for a few seconds.
"The doctors aren't very optimistic…they say that she has a few months at the most…her condition has deteriorated dramatically over the last few months…that's why I started to write the letters for her, and got sympathetic furlough."
Damien felt as though a weight had been dropped on her stomach, and he tried to understand, but his mind was too dazed to do any such thing.
He was too shocked to try and stop the tears running blindingly down his face.
He was too shocked to try and stifle his sobs.
He was too shocked to sense the small sense of familiarity he felt in such grief, however, the feeling of knowing that she was suffering terrible pain and that he could do nothing about it, and knowing that she would die, was by far worse, and he desperately hugged a sobbing Minerva, who in turn clung to their father.
Carefree times would seem, too soon for children so young, a thing of the past, and pain too fresh in their minds the present and the future would hold for them.
3rd January, 1935
Damien and Minerva sat solemnly at Gryffindor table for the beginning of term feast, drowning out their friend's concerned and questioning glances and talking quietly amongst themselves.
Seeing their mother so pale and weak in the Hospital on that Christmas Eve afternoon, which seemed to be taunting them with sunny skies, hot temperatures and the cheerful shouts of young children waiting for the miracles of Christmas to come upon them raining gifts into their homes, under their large Christmas trees, and small delights in their stockings, was a painful and shocking experience.
They had not been allowed to enter her private room even, and had to enter the ward in protective garments, looking at her through a window.
A Christmas miracle would not happen for the McGonagall's that year.
Presents seemed dire and unimportant, stockings meaningless and the hopes of something special mundane.
The only miracle they had wanted that year was for their mother to get better…but it was untreatable. The doctor had told them that no method had been found to help treat cancer in any form.
Damien had desperately searched his books on magic, to find anything that could work, but, as he had read, wizards and did not suffer from such Muggle diseases, and Muggleborn witches and wizards who had become healers had not yet found a potion that could work with Muggles.
And so, dejected and silent, the McGonagall's had returned to Hogwarts.
Damien, who was usually so attentive during Dippet's speeches, stared into space, and whenever the food was served out, he moved the food around his plate with his fork.
He had not eaten properly since that day.
His stomach and head felt the dread that his mother would die, and die soon, and anything he had tried to eat had been brought up again.
It was safe to assume that eating something now wouldn't help.
"Demon? What's up with you?" Patrick asked gently, seeming so different from his usual emotions-the-depth-of-a-teaspoon approach to everything.
He was shocked whenever he met Damien's eyes, glazed with tears.
"My mum's really sick…I just…I just don't want to talk about it."
His bowed head hid his tears, but his shaking back gave them away in a heartbeat.
Elizabeth and Anne, sitting opposite, looked at Damien, having heard the conversation, in shock and pity, and together, the quartet left the Hall, followed soon by the third-year trio.
28th March, 1935
Damien knew that she was going to die.
He had tried to prepare himself, but preparing for the death of a loved one was near laughable.
The young man hadn't laughed in months.
Quidditch, once been a fun past-time, had morphed slowly into a way to release his pent up emotions and fear, not that he would ever admit that he was scared.
Pranks, yet another fun past-time, had been completely drowned out of his life, his free-time now spent looking up large medical books, incase there was even one small thing that could help.
He had searched with no success.
His training was proving very successful, his emotions transformed into determination to so as well as he could. He started to practice martial arts once again with Moody, quick to come back into his championship-winning form, as well as, surprisingly, he was starting to win in duels again Professor Flitwick, who was admittedly the weakest of the three.
He was rather proud of this fact, however, and he worked even harder afterwards, despite his friend's obvious concern that he was overdoing it. They were always concerned for him.
Also, his protectiveness of Minerva and the Muggleborn/Half-Blood/Blood Traitors had increased dramatically, and any person who so much as looked at them wrong found themselves at the end of his frayed temper and his dangerous wand.
And this was only to increase after that day, whenever Damien found himself dressed in a black suit, a soft black shirt underneath, a black tie securely placed around his neck and shining black shoes upon his feet. His black hair had been tamed to the fullest extent it could, making it only slightly messy, shining thanks to the gel placed in it.
He had woken up early that morning and sat alone by the fire, lovingly stroking Azrael's soft black and grey fur to try and take his mind of what was to come later that day.
Today was the day that they returned to home via Portkey for an event that the small McGonagall family had dreaded for several months.
The funeral of Athena McGonagall.
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The duo landed inside their small kitchen, which was laying in a state of disarray that not even ever-orderly Minerva noticed nor cared for.
"Dad?" Damien called out, his voice raw, as was his throat.
In response, Demetrius came into the kitchen, dressed in his own suit and shining shows.
"I'm here…there's a car outside, to take us to the church…we should go."
Without word, they followed him.
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The drive to the church was short, but seemed like an eternity times two for Damien, who looked nowhere but at his shoes.
He was barely aware of getting out and standing in the cold wind, following the coffin and pallbearers into the small church.
He was barely aware of the sympathetic looks he was receiving from the mourners as he followed the coffin, his head still bowed.
He was barely aware of standing next to his Aunt, who was crying freely, and the service itself, until the Priest was asked if anyone would like to say a few words.
Damien stood up at this, his stiff shoes squeaking on the ground and his gentle footsteps echoing even in such a small space as he made his way onto the podium, unfolding a piece of paper from his inside breast pocket.
"I-it was hard to think of something I could say." He said, before clearing his throat, trying to make it sound less gruff and raw.
He wasn't successful.
"They say that no parent should ever have to bury their child…no child should ever have to bury their parents."
He took a calming breath before continuing.
"My mother was a strong woman. She was brave and smart, funny and kind, loving and helpful, caring and, to put it simply, amazing. She was never afraid to put forward her belief of something if she thought it was right, and held no fear over doing so. You were never afraid to go to her for help, because she was just so accepting, and truly believed in redemption for what we have done wrong.
"I came across a quote once. 'Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life'. My mother never deserved to die…she never deserved the pain that came with it… but it happened, and we can do nothing about it, no matter how much we wish, pray and cry. But she will always be with us in spirit. She will always be watching over us, and we will never loose her. Her body may perish, but her spirit will live on amongst us all, in out hearts. She will never truly leave us…"
He blinked furiously as he stepped down off of the podium, unaware that his short speech had made a big impact on the mourners that day. Tears still ran freely, but the daggers stabbing many souls seemed less blunt that day.
Athena was watching over him with a small smile on her face, and on some level, she knew, he felt her presence soothing him.
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"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The priest said quietly, concluding the service, and as the mourners slowly left, the McGonagall family stayed on, surrounding her grave and laying several flowers upon the fresh soil.
Demetrius, taking out a handkerchief, wiped a bit of soil from his gravestone.
'In loving memory of Athena Minerva McGonagall
Daughter, sister, wife, mother
19th June 1901 - 25th March 1935
Aged 33 years'
Damien hugged a sobbing Minerva tightly, trying to comfort her, once again, even slightly.
He was unable to do so.
Demetrius was trying to wipe his tears away as he stared blankly at the stone which marked his wife's resting place.
Damien slowly led Minerva away, to let their father deal with his grief alone, and together they walked back to the house, which they left several days later, to return to Hogwarts.
31st May, 1935
A little over two months had passed since the funeral.
Damien, who had stopped working just as hard as he slowly started to work past his grief thanks to his friends, who left him the option of talking to them but never pressuring him into such a thing, which he had taken gratefully.
It brought him and his friends even closer than before.
Today, however, was a day whenever he felt all his grim feelings leave him, replaced with nervousness.
Today was the day of the deciding match for the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw.
And since most the Gryffindor Quidditch Team were leaving at the end of the year, they desperately wanted to win.
It was revving up to be an exciting game, and as Damien paced the changing room, Johnston entered quietly, only saying, "Let's do it" with a steely determination shown in the stance and eyes of the Gryffindor team.
"WELCOME ALL TO THE LAST QUIDDITCH GAME OF THE SEASON, THE DECIDING GAME OF THE YEAR, GRYFFINDOR VS. RAVENCLAW!"
The school roared, half in red and gold (Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs), the others in blue and bronze (Ravenclaws and Slytherins). Many banners were being held up, and even the teachers were in the spirit, Dumbledore and Flitwick having made a friendly bet on the outcome of the match, much to everyone's amusement, especially since Dumbledore had opened a betting pool.
The odds were in Ravenclaws favour,
"THIS IS THE LAST YEAR OF THE BEST GRYFFINDOR TEAM IN MANY YEARS, WHO ARE CURRENTLY FLYING OUT. WE HAVE PETERS…JOHNSTON…PREWETT…LONGBOTTOM…FLETCHER…MCGONAGALL…AND WEASLEY!"
The cheers, shouts and hoots from the Gryffindor section increased, drowning out the boos from the other end.
"AND FOR RAVENCLAW WE THERE IS CORNER…BOOT…DAVIES…MCDOUGAL…QUIRKE…MCDOUGAL…AND CHANG!"
The Ravenclaw section's cheers increased.
Mr Wilkinson strode into the middle of the pitch after the warm-up laps, and Johnston and Davies, the Ravenclaw Captain, shook hands friendlily (the two were friends) before the balls were released, the players shot up and the match began.
"AND RAVENCLAW GET THE FIRST QUAFFLE…DAVIES TO BOOT…BOOT TO MCDOUGA-PREWETT GRABS THE QUAFFLE AT MIDWAY AND CHARGES UP THE FIELD…HE'S ABOUT TO BE HIT BY A BLUDGER!…BUT HE'S PASSED TO LONGBOTTOM…DAVE LONGBOTTOM FLIES QUICKLY INTO THE SHOOTING AREA…HE SHOOTS…HE SCORES! 10-0 IN GRYFFINDOR'S FAVOUR! TAKE THAT YOU TOO-SMART-FOR…"
"Mr Jordan." Dumbledore interrupted.
"Sorry, Professor. Anyways…THE QUAFFLE IS PUT INTO PLAY AGAIN…DAVIES IS CLEARLY FRAZZLED BY THE LION'S EARLY LEAD AND SHOOTS DOWN THE FIELD…HE'S NEATLY DODGED A BLUDGER HIT BY FLETCHER…HE SHOOTS…AND PETERS SAVES THE DAY WITH A SUPERB SAVE. STILL 10-0 TO GRYFFINDOR."
However, the cheers suddenly were averted to the Seekers as Weasley shot down suddenly, Chang desperately following him as he shot across the pitch.
Damien grinned to himself as he noticed Weasley leading him away from the Snitch which had only been a few metres behind him.
And Weasley pulled off a very nice Wronski Feint, much to his credit, although Chang managed (unfortunately, Jordan stated) to pull up before crashing.
There was polite applause, and the game got into swing once again.
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Two hours in and still no Snitch was in sight.
The score of the breakneck match was 210-180 in favour of Ravenclaw, and both teams were obviously exhausted.
Damien and Patrick were currently hitting bludgers as hard as they could at the opposition, to try and take any of their players out of action, and had just missed taking out McDougal by a few inches.
In return, Damien was currently rushing after a bludger aimed at Weasley, who hadn't noticed it quite yet.
He shot in front of the boy and brought his bat back, a soft thud reaching his ears before he brought it forward full force, hitting it safely away.
"GRYFFINDOR BEATER MCGONAGALL, AS HE THROWS BACK HIS BAT TO HIT A BLUDGER AIMED AT SEEKER WEASLEY, HIT'S THE SNITCH AND SENDS IT NEATLY INTO WEASLEY'S AWAITING HANDS! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON THE QUIDDITCH CUP FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO DECADES! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON 330 - 210! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON! GRYFFINDOR HAVE WON!"
These words were ringing in his ears as he turned around and saw Weasley, Snitch in hand, flying towards him, his red hair glistening in sweat and his red face flushed in delight, and he pulled him into a one-armed hug.
They landed together and were engulfed firstly by the members of the team, all of whom were near crying and jumping up and down in ecstasy, and lastly by the supporters, who were shouting themselves hoarse and also jumping up and down, and they lifted each member of the team upon their shoulders and moved them over and onto the raised platform, where Armando Dippet stood, cup in hand, and handed it over to Johnston, who was near crying in joy, who held it sweetly in the air before passing it along to Weasley, Longbottom, Prewett, Peters, Patrick and, finally, to himself.
He raised it above his head as the roar grew even louder, and savouring this moment of pure joy and bliss, savouring the roar of the crowd, savouring the sight of his friends jumping up and down, their banners and Gryffindor flags waved around madly, savouring the sight of the first true smile, grin and happy moment that his sister had had for a long time, unaware his friends and sister were thinking the same about him.
He savoured each moment.
The team, after handing the cup to an overjoyed Dumbledore, were once again put onto the shoulders of their housemates, and were slowly led up to the largest, loudest, wildest and best party that Gryffindor had and would see for many years to come.
Every cloud has a silver lining, and this one was Fate's.
I was having such a block with this, I was worried how long it would take to get a chapter out, but, strangely enough, my inspiration was going from midnight to, the time I've finished at, twenty to two.
I'm very pleased with this chapter.
This was his third and fourth years.
His fifth year will have the war mentioned (perhaps even some attacks)and, at the end, his going back to his normal time.
What I'm thinking about right now is how he'll tell Minerva…that'll definitely be interesting.
I know Athena's death was sudden, but illness was shown through hints during the earlier chapters (which one very perceptive reviewer pointed out).
(Btw, I'm going on holiday until the end of July, hence why there won't be any updates before then (unless I have another one up before Sunday...it is Tuesday now...so you never know...but just a warning incase)
Let me know what you think.