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 - Thanks to all my reviewers! Your reviews make my day! And also just to say that this is the last chapter before he goes back (any suggestions of how he tells Minerva are very welcome), and I'd like to thank Maxennce for their hilarious review…your comment about Jerry Chan was brilliant, and I totally agree. I loved writing it, let me tell you.
I think I've got a little confused about dates, because he'll be going back into his sixth year…someone mentioned about returning to his fifth, and I just realised…he's to go back to 1996 - thanks to the reviewer who said about that.
It will be 1936 when he leaves and 1996 when he returns.
1st September, 1935
Once again, Damien McGonagall entered the grounds of Hogwarts, his Quidditch Captain and Prefect badges, awarded to him in the summer of 1935, glinting in the soft moonlight resonating onto the moving swarm of students that night.
After managing to dodge resident poltergeist Peeves' water balloons, although the ghost, for some reason, respected and slightly feared Damien, and would never target him, the septet took their seats at Gryffindor table, watching the Sorting attentively and clapping happily for each new Gryffindor announced by the Sorting Hat, before joining in with the school song, Damien and Patrick singing loudly to the tune 'She'll be coming 'round the mountain', which was soon joined in by the surrounding students in a loud chorus.
Finally, Professor Dippet, who had been singing with the students to the tune of 'whistle while you work', rose grandly from his chair, his eyes slightly darker, more haunted even, than usual with his robes, a dark green, differing from his usual lighter shades of yellow and the likes.
"Welcome once again to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As usual, we begin with the start-of-term notices, which I stress to you all to please listen to carefully, and take in."
The students fell completely silent at these words. It seemed rather unlike the man to look or speak as solemnly as he was now.
"Dark times have befallen us, with Grindlewald's reign of terror slowly spreading over Great Britain and Wizarding Europe. For these reasons, if outside of the Castle, students must be together in groups of no less than two. The more the better, and the safer you shall be if you stick together in large groups."
He surveyed them all closely while pausing for breath. There were several nervous shivers from the younger years.
"Now, there are several new additions to Mr Filch's forbidden items list, which can be found posted outside his office. The Forbidden Forest, it should be noticed, is strictly and completely out-of-bounds, as is wandering around at night, and magic in the corridors is also prohibited. A final note is that Mr Wilkinson asks that the Quidditch Captains see him for practice rotas and keys to the store.
"Also, it is my pleasure to announce the first Halloween Ball in many years will take place at Hogwarts."
There were several murmurs of excitement around the Hall, and the man's eyes lit up slightly.
"Unfortunately, this is only for fourth-years and above, but lower-years can be asked to attend. Younger years shall also have parties in their own Common Rooms, which shall begin slightly later and end slightly earlier, as our own ball runs until midnight."
A section of third-year girls groaned, much to the man's amusement, before he clapped his hands together.
"And now, let the feast begin."
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"Dippet looked really…depressed would be the right word, I guess." Elizabeth said thoughtfully, reaching over for some chicken legs from the platter next to her.
"There's a war going on…and I bet the Ministry is piling the work onto him. The Minister is completely incompetent if you ask me." Patrick commented with his mouth full of mashed potato.
Elizabeth looked at him in disgust, and slowly wiped some potato off of her face.
Anne scrunched up her nose.
"That was really disgusting, Patrick." She told him, handing Elizabeth a napkin.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly.
"That's alright. But just don't spit it over me if you're going to keep doing it! If anything, spit it over Demon."
Damien looked at her, mock offended, a hand over his heart.
"Thanks, Liz."
"Not a problem, Demon." She near-smirked.
He rolled his eyes and continued eating, unaware of his friend's shared glances.
He was slowly turning back into the Damien they knew and loved.
That brought small smiles to their faces, and they continued to eat, their hearts lighter than before.
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"So, is everyone looking forward to the Ball?" Xiomara asked, laying down on a two-seater chair and refusing to get up to allow Sarah to sit down (she then sat on her legs, much to everyone's amusement bar Xiomara, who reluctantly moved and sat up straight).
"Definitely. It sounds like it could be great. And I heard that Professor Moody was chaperoning." Minerva voiced, twirling her wand around in her fingers, a habit she picked up from Damien.
"I bet you'd have thought it would have been even better if Professor Dumbledore had taken the job." Xiomara voiced teasingly. This earned her a sharp kick in the shins.
She yelped.
Minerva blushed beat red, and Damien raised an eyebrow.
"Is there something we should know?" He enquired.
Xiomara grinned wickedly and was about to say something whenever Sarah silenced her with a look.
"Nothing." Sarah smiled innocently.
She glanced at Xiomara with a look that clearly said 'Agree-or-you-will-suffer-a-painful-death', and, catching this, the girl nodded.
Damien looked at Minerva, disbelieving and amused, and could barely hold back a grin.
"You have a crush on Dumbledore!" He asked incredulously.
Minerva sent a scathing glare at Xiomara, who looked away.
"It's nothing…" She mumbled.
"Nothing, my neck!" Patrick near-shouted, causing half of the occupants in the Common Room to fall silent and look at him.
The group looked at him, exasperated.
"Sorry." He sighed. "Nothing to see or hear people...get back to your gossiping." He said louder, and they continued their conversations.
They still looked at him.
"What can I say?" He grinned. "It's a little bit of Fletcher Magic."
Damien patted his friend sympathetically on the back.
"You just believe that."
Patrick glared jokingly at him and swatted his hand away before diving at him.
Damien, who had very sharp reflexes, moved out of the way, causing him to fly over and behind the chair, landing with a soft thud.
Concerned whenever his friend didn't automatically get up, Damien leant over the chair, finding himself pulled down by a grinned Patrick, and pinned to the ground.
"Check and mate." He laughed, before he was kicked off and Damien pinned him neatly.
"You were saying?"
2nd September
Their first OWL classes that year had consisted of lengthy speeches about the exams, and the effects that they would no doubt have on their lives, before bulky homeworks assigned.
The OWL pressure was beginning.
Damien had just managed to finish the homework assigned that day (Transfiguration, Charms and History of Magic) before he had to go on his first Prefect duty with Anne, the female Gryffindor Prefect, bar showing the first-years to their dorms the previous day.
The two had duty from nine o'clock to eleven o'clock, before the sixth-years took the eleven to one shift.
Damien had thought that being a Prefect would be a little less…dull.
But then again, the students for the Astronomy Tower wouldn't go this early in the year, and the bullies who targeted young, lost students were most likely fast asleep.
Overall, however, this was looking to be one hell of a year.
22nd September
The month had passed rather slowly, the fifth-years already feeling the pressure of the OWL examinations.
However, on this sunny Saturday afternoon, Damien escaped such pressures, and was instead holding, along with Patrick, the only other remaining player on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Quidditch trials, to find three chasers, a goalkeeper and a seeker.
Honestly, the two were in for a long day, judging by the sheer amounts of people.
"LISTEN UP EVERYONE!" Damien said, his voice amplified several times by a sonorous charm.
"ANYONE WHO WANTS TO TRY OUT FOR SEEKER, GO OVER TO BY LEFT…ANYONE FOR CHASER, IN FRONT OF ME…ANYONE FOR KEEPER ON MY RIGHT…YOU ARE ALLOWED TO TRY FOR MULTIPLE POSITIONS, AND SINCE WE'RE DOING THEM ONE AT A TIME, YOU'LL GET A CHANCE, SO THOSE IN THAT GROUP WHO WANT TO TRY FOR CHASER GO TO THE CHASERS, WHO WE WILL BE STARTING WITH FIRST. EVERYONE ELSE GO AND TAKE A SEAT IN THE STANDS."
Around half of the students left, leaving around twenty chaser candidates.
"Ok." He continued, his sonorous charm now taken off. "I want you all to line up, alphabetical order by surname, please. Give Patrick your names, and then you will go up and attempt to try and score as many goals as you can out of twenty, against me. Then, come down and tell him your score. But first, I want you to have a warm-up flight, so get going."
The hopefuls took off, allowing Damien to walk over to Patrick.
"And this is where we see if they can fly well." Patrick said aloud. "I must say, a rather ingenious plan."
"I was rather proud of the idea." Damien grinned. "Do you recognise anyone there?"
"Well…that's Xiomara…and Minerva!" He said in shock and, true enough, the two were flying around.
Damien was rather shocked.
"Xiomara must have dragged her along…she'd never do this of her own free choice."
"Well…you better save all the goals as you can, or people will be thinking you play favourites."
Damien frowned, but nodded in agreement.
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"HOOCH, XIOMARA!" Patrick yelled, causing several people in front of him to wince.
He grinned apologetically before watching the girl take off, Quaffle in hand.
He hoped she did better than the others…Damien was an outstanding keeper, and the most scored had been a measly seven.
But then again, most of them weren't very good.
One had fallen off and had broken a wrist, another couldn't fly at all, and, well, he didn't even want to get started on how young Peter Longbottom had done…the boy was just plain accident-prone.
Xiomara, paused inside outside the scoring area before Damien gave her the nod to start, and she shot forward, swerving, feinting and the likes, and her first shot, a neat lob, was just tipped over the top of the hoop by Damien.
Another lob, a feint, a back-handed throw…there were so many different types of shot the girl played.
She had made it very difficult for him, and had managed to get fourteen past him.
After several more candidates, a third-year boy, Thomas Weasley, scored twelve.
After several more, Minerva flew up, and he prepared himself.
Basic male pride clearly stated that little sister should not whip big brother's arse in anything, especially in sport.
Little sister shot a cool fifteen goals out of twenty past him, and no-one could say that he made it easy for her. If anything, he had been the hardest on her, and had really pushed himself. But she really was just that good.
After the Chasers had finished, Damien and Patrick then took their three selected Chasers, Minerva, Xiomara and Thomas, and instructed them to shoot 20 goals at the ten Keeper hopefuls.
Their salvation came in James Mahaffy, a third-year (and good friend of Thomas), who saved sixteen goals.
And finally, for seeker, they selected Matthew Redpath. He was not the first to the Snitch, coming in a very close second, however, he had a longer lasting ability than the first, a natural coolness under pressure and a keener eye than their first-place, and after a lot of deliberation, he was been selected.
The new Gryffindor Quidditch Team had been formed and theywere clearly on a mission to win the cup again.
31st October, 1935
The first Hogsmeade trip of the year was on Halloween.
It was admittedly hard to leave the mouth-watering smell of pumpkin pies which was once again, as like every year, wafting through the corridors.
However, somehow, the seven managed to drag themselves away, and after waiting anxiously in the long queue at the door, and, finally passing the scrutinising inspection of Filch and his cat (lovingly named Mrs Norris), hurried to a carriage, which started moving along at a steady trot as soon as Anne closed the door as was comfortably seated.
They were all in thick jackets, gloves and hats, the incredibly bitter day very biting on naked skin that dared peeked out from beneath coat, glove, hat or sock.
Whenever they arrived, the bitter cold drew them to flee into the warm (and very packed) stores, firstly venturing into Honeydukes.
It had been there for many years, but no-one could stop feeling a child-like excitement whenever they entered the store. It truly was like a dream-come-true, especially for Muggleborns, who had dreamt of such things their whole lives.
They left a half-hour later with their money bags considerably lighter than before.
They also ventured into several other stores, only browsing, before they entered Gladrags Wizardwear, which was bustling with students desperately looking for dress-robes.
Damien ducked away from his friends, to search in the second-hand robe section, which was a lot less crowded than the main section.
In his ever-showing kindness and generosity, he had wordlessly given Minerva a handful of his saved-up galleons, sickles and knuts, definitely enough to buy a nice dress-robe plus matching accessories that he knew girls needed, before he had left.
He had sensed her shocked eyes on him as he blended into the crowd.
He went through the rack slowly, trying the find a pair he liked.
About half-way through, a woman with a small nametag on her lapel entered, and smiled kindly at him.
"Hello, young man. Do you need a hand?" She asked.
He looked at her, a helpless expression on his face.
She laughed, his question wordlessly answered, and started to look at him closely.
"You have lovely eyes." She commented.
He smiled and thanked her quietly, blushing slightly.
"I think that a dark blue would work well…yes, definitely…let me see what I can find."
Several minutes later, whenever his hope was near gone, she came from the other side of the rack, a large smile on her face, a pair of dark blue robes in hand.
He immediately took a liking to them.
They were obviously made of a nice material, and had silver trimmings running around them.
"These were brought back, unused. Apparently, the person found a another for a better price…" she scoffed. "Anyway, do you like them?"
He nodded wordlessly.
"Although you'll probably want to know more about them before you buy them…let's see…made of silk…several charms by the original maker are in place, to prevent rips, tears and the likes. Self-cleaning, and weather-resistant. They are also adjustable to temperature, so you don't swelter up, and I can adjust the length to fit you."
He admittedly had no clue about shopping or fashion in general, but it did sound like a good deal. The only problem was how much. Even for second-hand they must be expensive.
"Before you would measure me up, how much are these robes? They look really expensive, and I haven't got much…"
"This is the two galleon rack…now around fifteen Muggle pounds due to the inflation rates. We base our prices for this section around Muggle clothes stores, for clothes in similar conditions. Hence why this is such a good bargain…second-hand clothes can actually be very nice. So, would you like them?"
Still wordless, and in disbelief, he nodded once again, and she led him over to get measured.
Five minutes later he left the second-hand section to find his friends, having also purchased smart, shining black shoes and a shining silver clip for the accompanying cloak, still shocked at such a great bargain.
He had no idea that the woman had seen his generosity to Minerva and had taken a set of robes from the front of the store that she knew would fit him, and that she was sure he would like.
Good deeds and kindness really can be rewarding.
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Damien and Patrick waited several minutes for the girls before, admittedly, getting rather fed-up and bored, having no idea what would take such a long time.
"Min, we're going to head on to the Three Broomsticks, to get us a table." Damien called, and after receiving a affirmative that the group would meet there, the duo left.
A bitter coldness, stronger and more deceptive than the cold just ten minutes ago hit them.
It swept past their many layers with practiced ease, striking them within their hearts, souls and their very cores, grabbing a hold of any joy they may possess and trying to rip it violently away, trying to distract the victims by pushing forward their worst memories into the mind's eye.
Damien, having fallen to his knees, witnessed, once again, his father telling him about his mother, his mother in a hospital bed so weak and pale, the news of her death, her funeral…
He shook his head, trying to ignore the tears of ice frozen on his face.
"D-D-Dementors." Damien stuttered in fear, trying, in vain, to reach his wand.
He turned to face Patrick, only to come face-to-face with the foulest creature that degraded the Wizarding World, floating in from the slums of the earth, where they lived in the sickening glory of death and decay.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a fallen Patrick slowly being approach by hooded figure, which had lowered its hood, obviously going to kiss him.
The Dementor which had gone after him grabbed him forcefully, it's own hood down.
He struggled to remain conscious, and watched in horror as the creature was about to clamp it's grey-scaly jaw around his mouth, whenever he felt a flicker of something in his mind, and he pulled out his wand in new hope, pointing it right in the creature's mouth.
Conjuring the euphoria of the moment he lifted the Quidditch Cup the previous year, which filled him with adrenaline and a small bead of hope, he shut his eyes and yelled "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
To his shock and surprise, a silver dog leapt from it, grim-like and shining silver, making the Dementor drop him and flee.
"O-Over there!" He yelled, pointed to Patrick, who was seconds away from having his soul sucked out.
The dog quickly changed direction and charged towards Patrick, knocking the Dementor in the stomach with it's mighty paws, causing it to flee away from him and drop him with a mighty thud.
He was bordering on passing out as the Dementors fled, another ten or so being chased in the same direction by the mighty dog, and as it came back and lay down next to him, licking his face with it's corporal silver tongue, he whispered "Padfoot…" to himself, before entering the clasps of unconsciousness that had eagerly awaited him since the Dark Creatures had arrived.
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He drifted slowly back from the world of dreams, aware of the slowly building crescendo of voices around him.
"How…Dementors…fought…?"
"…don't know…Dumbledore?"
"Your brother…Patronus…strong…saved students…just entered…don't worry…be ready for dance…bag found…"
He cracked an eye open, almost flinching at the bright ceiling above him, as well as the sudden smell of disinfectant that hit him like a brick.
"Would someone mind getting me a glass of water?" He croaked into the now silent room, his throat parched and raw.
There was a flurry of sound, and, after a few seconds, he sat up and thankfully took the outstretched glass, grateful for the cool liquid.
Finishing it quickly, he set it down upon his bedside table and finally turned to see his friends, plus Professor Dumbledore, sitting around him.
Dumbledore sensed his unease and began to speak.
"Today, Lord Grindlewald ordered a group of rogue Dementors to attack Hogsmeade, in the hope of catching us unprepared and obviously wanting to make a big impact."
Damien's heart sank. Had anyone been kissed? Or hurt?
"Unfortunately, although fortunately for us, the first people they came across were yourself and Mr Fletcher. From the sightings of your friends, who observed from a locked-down Gladrags, two Dementors found you and were about to perform the Kiss whenever you managed to get your wand and produce a corporal Patronus. This made the Dementor flee, as well as the one you ordered your Patronus to attack. It then rounded up the others and chased them away into the countryside before it returned to you and faded as you passed out. Do you remember this?"
Damien's face scrunched up in thought, his memories, unusually, only stretching to the point whenever he was in the Dementor's clutches. He told Dumbledore this.
The man nodded slightly.
"It was perhaps the trauma of the situation…you have fine instinct to conjure a Patronus under such conditions, even if you don't remember such a thing…however, away from such demoralising events, Gryffindor has been awarded fifty points for your actions and, thankfully, you have been classed as fine and able to go to our Ball tonight…but not before, as I have been ordered, to give you this."
The man held out several large bars of Honeydukes chocolate.
"You must eat this all, or Madam Laurence will have my head on a platter." He smiled, and Damien cracked a small grin.
"I will, Professor. Thanks."
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling once again.
"Not a problem, Damien. Although I must insist you call me Albus in private. We see each other so much, after all, and I personally hate being called Professor…it makes me feel rather old, I'm afraid."
Damien hid a laugh.
"Um…ok…thanks Albus."
It felt unusual to say.
"Again not a problem. I hope to see you later."
The man then left the Hospital Wing, and Damien counted down from three under his breath before his friends started to ask questions.
He rolled his eyes but laughed, answering them while sharing around some of his chocolate.
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At a quarter to eight, Damien and Patrick were both pacing in the Gryffindor Common Room, which had been emptied long ago by students apparently eager to wait for the eight o'clock opening a long time beforehand, to mingle and to find their dates.
Both of the boys were going stag that night, and looked very sharp.
Damien was wearing his blue dress-robes with the silver trimmings, as well as his now broken-in black shoes (due to his pacing). He had obviously attempted to tame his hair again, although it was hard without gel, which he disliked greatly. It was also hard to get out of his hair…there was no winning with his hair, Minerva had commented jokingly one day.
She was definitely right about that.
Patrick, meanwhile, was in soft red dress-robes, with gold trimmings, with matching shoes to Damien's. His own shaggy hair had been neatly combed, and Damien thought he looked rather like a Wizarding James Bond, minus the gun, the car and the torrents of women.
However, both stopped pacing whenever the girls came, one-by-one, down the stairs from the girls' dormitories.
Xiomara was the first, adorning aqua blue dress-robes with small brown snitches on it and her hair, usually short and spiky, had been grown-out and placed into an elegant bun.
Sarah followed her, her robes similar although lavender, with small flowers of dark purple noticeable around them, working well with Xiomara's blue. Her own hair was in bun, although it was much looser than her counterpart's.
Anne came next, with robes of dandelion yellow, with a matching dandelion flower at the lapel. Her mousy-brown hair was pulled up into two pig-tails, looped together at the top.
Elizabeth, her hair tamed and two plaits at the back of her head, was dressed in robes of pastel pink, with purple and pink flowers intricate delicately around it, and were thankfully not too shocking a shade.
And finally, Minerva came down, and Damien's jaw dropped as he surveyed his little sister, who had so suddenly in his mind become a young woman.
Her own robes were forest green with gold trimmings, simply but truly elegant, and they fit her perfectly. Her shoes, he vaguely noticed, were dark green, and peaked out from the bottom of her robes. Her hair, usually down, was pulled into a single plait at the back of her head.
If this wasn't enough, her porcelain skin was covered with delicately-done make-up, some light eye-shadow and some make-up for her lips that he couldn't identify adding to her overall beauty.
Behind the know-it-all exterior of Minerva McGonagall, a hidden beauty had been dormant, finally released, in all it's glory, that cloudless night.
He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling, before addressing them all.
"All of you lovely young ladies look very beautiful tonight."
They all blushed at his compliment.
He winked at Patrick.
Patrick raised an eyebrow by returned the gesture.
"So we shall accompany you to your dates…" Damien continued gallantly, bowing before them.
They grinned at him and he held out two arms, taken by Minerva and Sarah, while Patrick took Anne, Xiomara and Sarah.
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The girls soon left to find their dates, although Damien was admittedly reluctant to let Minerva go. However, he was comforted by the fact that she been asked by Thomas Weasley (and although he was a third-year, he was used to the traditional boy-asking-girl thing), who she had accepted quickly. He liked Thomas, the young boy definitely beginning to grow on him during Quidditch, and he gave him a sharp warning after practice a few days before.
Thomas, much to his surprise, told him that he completely understood, and he wouldn't hurt her.
Needless to say, Damien was impressed, and the young man got his vote of confidence.
Because of their lack of dates (despite unknowingly being two of the most sought after boys in the school), the two hung around the food table, watching the girls with small smiles on their faces.
"They look so happy." Patrick smiled, eating several cocktail sausages.
"They do…they should look happy. But I don't think we should look happy while watching them, or other people, dance."
"Why?"
"People will think we want to dance."
Patrick's eyes lit up as he laughed to himself.
"Good point, Demon. I think we'll just stick to the food table."
"Definitely."
1st November, 1935
Damien awoke suddenly the next day, his eyelids heavy and trying to block off the sudden flood of light that penetrated this barrier and had woken him up.
"Rise and shine, birthday boy!" Patrick yelled in his ear, only to be hit with a pillow on the face, which was instantly pulled back to cover the back of Damien's head.
Patrick picked himself up from the floor and stood up again, still cheerful, and pulled the pillow off of Damien's head.
Damien, in reply, buried his head under his quilt cover, which was instantly pulled off.
"I'm too tired, Paddy. Bugger off." He muttered.
Patrick looked confused, mouthing 'bugger off' to himself before shaking his head and waving his wand.
"If you don't get up you'll regret it."
Damien lay still in a ball.
"Fine, don't say I didn't warn you."
He flicked it, and a bucket of cold war dropped on Damien's naked upper body.
Damien's yells rang out around Gryffindor Tower, and many people appeared in the Common Room just in time to see Patrick Fletcher running for dear-life, chased by a soaking-wet Damien McGonagall, tackled down as he was about to make his escape.
"I spent half of the bloody night up with you, because you couldn't stomach a glass of fire whiskey." Damien said angrily, poking his finger in the boy's chest.
"I went and STOLE a hang-over cure and a lot of other potions to stop you throwing up at four o'clock in the morning. And what thanks do I get? Being woken up at half past seven by being yelled and having freezing-cold water poured over me! You should be thankful I don't have my wand, or you'd be a pink poodle right now! You should also be thankful it's my birthday, because I'm feeling generous today. But believe you me, wake me up again like that and I'll take no mercy on you. Understand?"
Patrick swallowed, turning pale, now understanding how he had threatened so many people in his time, and why they took them seriously, and nodded quickly.
Damien suddenly grinned and got up, holding a hand out for his best friend.
"Good. Now get up and get a shower. You stink of alcohol, and sick, and it isn't nice."
25th December, 1935
Like an excited child, Patrick woke him up on Christmas morning jumping up and down on the raven-haired young man's bed early that morning like a five-year-old child waking their parents.
Damien resisted from cursing the boy with pink hair and a clown outfit…he would save that for the next day…but until then, he might as well get up…it was Christmas after all.
He pulled out his dressing-gown, slipped on his slippers and came to the surprisingly large pile at the end of his bed before, just as he was about to open them, Patrick interrupting him.
"Hey, bring your presents downstairs, we're going to open them together."
There were only four Gryffindors staying for Christmas that year; Damien, Patrick, Minerva and Sarah.
"Ok, go on down and I'll catch you up." Damien said, beginning to gather his received presents and the presents he was going to give his friends.
"I'll wait for you. I might as well." Patrick shrugged, before helping him gather his presents into a pile with his spare hand.
Damien thanked him and, several minutes later, the two made their way downstairs, just in time to see two figures sitting by the fire, which lit up, revealing Minerva and Sarah in their own dressing-downs.
"Merry Christmas!" Damien said happily, setting his presents down under the tree as the girls had done, Patrick following his example.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas!"
"Ho, ho, ho!"
The three turned to Patrick, who shrugged.
This was a common occurrence.
"So…presents…" Damien said, edging away from Patrick.
The girls laughed, Patrick stuck his tongue out and, together, the four gathered beside the tree.
"Ok…Min, why don't you go first." Sarah suggested, handing her a package with purple wrapping paper. "This is from me."
She handed two similar packages to Damien and Patrick, who resisted from opening them until Minerva unwrapped her own.
Minerva carefully unwrapped it, not wanting to rip the paper, and, to her surprise, found a small, silver charm bracelet, with small charms of a star, a moon and a wizard's hat already hanging off of it.
"You said you liked mine," she said simply, showing her the matching one on her own wrist.
"The charms are really cheap, so you can get a lot of them."
Minerva marvelled at it for a few seconds before engulfing Sarah in a hug of thanks.
Damien and Patrick, during this display of feminine appreciation, had taken the time to open their own presents.
To Patrick, she had given a pocket telescope (which, she hoped, would not be used to spy on girls swimming in the lake), and to Damien, she had given a book about astronomy (her favourite subject and one of Damien's keen interests).
"Thanks, Sarah!"
"I love it!"
The girl blushed.
"Ok…what about mine next?" Patrick voiced.
He had given Minerva a book about Animagus, entitled 'Finding your Inner Animal', Sarah a new brass telescope (her old one had been dented, and since it had been spelled, it couldn't be repaired by magic), and to Damien he gave a large supply of sugar quills (enough to get him on a sustainable sugar-high for several weeks, he was sure).
"And mine." Minerva cut in, handing out her three presents.
It was apparent that Sarah's love for Astronomy was well-known, owing to that fact that Minerva gave her a book detailing and showing the constellations in their seasonal shifts. To Patrick, Quidditch fanatic, she gave 'Quidditch Through the Ages', which, despite the fact that he was not a huge reader, he started to skim, a grin on his face. Finally, to Damien, she gave him a black-leather covered diary, with accompanying quill and inkwell.
He looked at it in surprise.
"It has different sections for the journal part, and then other parts…you can select how many and what they are for, as well as if you want passwords for them. Also, it has unlimited pages, unlike your old one, which is about to run out."
Patrick's head snapped up.
"Which is well hidden from prying eyes." Damien said calmly.
Patrick's shoulders slumped.
Damien rolled his eyes before giving out his own presents. He watched nervously as they opened them.
To Sarah, he had given a small glass ball which would project the night sky into the air, as well as show constellations and the likes. To Patrick, he had gotten, thanks to his brother Marcus, a signed Quaffle from the England Quidditch Team, who had only last year won the World Cup. However, Minerva's was the most important, and he held his breath as she opened it.
It was an elegant silver necklace, with silver cat, like Azrael (who was currently running around, tearing up the already shredded wrapping paper), dangling from it, a real emerald for it's eye.
She stared at it in shock.
"If you don't like it I can always get it changed…" He started, only to be cut off by her.
"No…no…it's beautiful…"
He subconsciously let out a breath in relief, and helped her put it on.
"It has a protection charm on it as well," he continued, "so that only strong curses and Unforgivables could get around it while I'm nearby, and, if others get through, will dampen the effects, even if I'm not there."
She looked at him, tears in her eyes as she pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned, catching sight of Patrick and Sarah's approving and serene looks before smiling, and pulling away, reaching for another present.
"Now, let's go and get some turkey…I also want to give Professor Dumbledore my present…"
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"Socks! How on earth did you know?" Dumbledore asked incredulously.
Damien grinned.
"I remember you once saying to me about how people always get you books," several teachers looked away at that statement, "and that you would love socks…and it struck me as I was shopping in Hogsmeade. I'm not trying to bribe you…yet…but it's to thank you for helping me, with my duelling and with transfiguration."
Dumbledore waved it off, staring at the blue socks with golden snitches flying around them in pure bliss, whenever he felt something hard inside, pulling out a box of lemon drops.
"My dad always gets a crate-load, and sends them on, so I thought you might like them." He shrugged.
And so many times he had cursed those infernal sweets, unaware that he had introduced them to him. There would be a large number of people after his blood if that got around.
25th June, 1936
To everyone's surprise, Gryffindor had once again won the Gryffindor Cup (Damien still felt the euphoria of being Captain of the winning team, having been presented the cup only two weeks ago, the roar of the crowds, even louder than the previous year, still ringing in his ears.
However, after this, he had been doing increasing Prefect duty, three nights a week with alternating weeks of having the Wednesday off, his additional lessons, his mountain-range of homework (practice papers for the OWLs) and his own study for the exams, which had started the previous week and would end today, with Defence Against the Dark Arts.
He had, unknowingly, breezed through his other subjects, and, for his strongest subject, would obviously do better.
And he did not disappoint, his examiner watching in fascination at his demonstration (which she kept going slightly longer than usual, to see what he could do) as he cursed, jinxed and shielded with practiced ease.
And as he left, meeting up with Patrick and Elizabeth (they were waiting for Anne, who had complained about her surname for a good half-hour before they went into the exam) and talking amongst themselves until Anne came out, and then, together, they ran outside, cheering in delight, much the amusement of the other fifth-years who were outside the Hall at the time (although many followed their example afterwards).
30th July, 1936
Damien felt a hovering presence beside him, even while half-conscious, and he opened his eyes slowly, squinting.
His glasses were handed to him before he could say anything and he pushed them on while sitting up.
His vision focused, showing Minerva in her nightgown.
"Min? What are you doing here at…well, what are you doing here? It's rather frightening being woken up by that…Patrick done that to me once and I nearly punched him…although that was reflex…" He added wickedly.
Minerva rolled her eyes as he slowly got off-topic.
"Your Hogwarts letter and OWL results are here…but if you don't want them…"
He was suddenly more alert and snatched them without word, trying to settle the nausea attacking him.
He ripped them open, his jaw dropping as he got further and further down.
Minerva started to grow impatient after a few minutes.
"Well? How did you do?"
"I…I got straight O's…and the examiner for Defence noted that I could take it at NEWT level with ease!" He gaped, and she fell silent for a split-second before suddenly smiling brightly and hugging him.
"That's brilliant! Father will be so proud of you!"
Damien flushed, but his grin didn't fade.
He couldn't believe it, if he was honest.
"And…wait, you took Muggle Studies? And Arithmancy? And Divination?" She asked in disbelief.
"You only took Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures…"
"Well, I knew about them, so why not take them?" He shrugged.
She looked at him.
"Divination!"
He grinned.
"Well, it was a load of codswallop anyway…I predicted that the examiner trip over a chicken on the way out. They marked me badly, I think, until they tripped over, in the way out, an escaped chicken from the Transfiguration classroom…" He burst out laughing.
She had to laugh.
She thought Divination was a complete waste of time, and had no value.
Especially after she saw Damien helping Patrick describing several different types of deaths he could use in his homework.
"But seriously, let's go."
Damien relented, pulling on his dressing-gown and slippers before being dragged downstairs, a silly grin on his face.
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Damien watched as the seconds hand slowly moved towards the 12, bringing midnight and, with it, the 31st of July, not aware of the significance of such a date in his life.
However, he was aware something unusual was going on around him.
The tingling of magic prickled his skin, even though he was doing no magic of any kind.
His wand, which was in it's sheath on his wrist, started pulsating, emitting a golden mist, slowly, not enough to get his attention just yet, although his odd feelings were enough to cause him to put his back against the wall, leaning against his trunk (which, although he didn't know it, had packed itself with all his belongings earlier the night) in fear of what might happen.
He always trusted his gut, as it never led him wrong, and it told him that he should do this.
And while, slowly, a golden mist enveloped him from the bottom up, his emerald were never once torn away from the ticking seconds hand, which seemed to be going slower than it should be.
Twenty…ten…five…four…three…two…one…"
His eyes followed the seconds hand to the last tick until midnight, whenever his vision was obscured completely, and the gong of the grandfather clock downstairs echoed around him, enveloping him slowly with each ding, and finally, at the twelfth, the golden light flared around him, and it vanished as suddenly as it appeared, taking, along with it, an unconscious Damien McGonagall.
Damien McGonagall would never return to the McGonagall home again.
I got another chapter out before I go…I really am hoping for another…I've got nothing else to do all day, what can I say?
It's not perfect, but it's the best I can churn out with this chapter…I expanded on his last year, and it was a lot of hard work.
Also, in reference to James Bond, I just had to include the reference…de-ja-vu, we'll say.
Let me know what you think!