Author's Note

I put this in my 'to-do' list and promptly forgot about the list, which happens and as as irritating as one might think. This was inspired by a Reddit prompt given by u/Aardwarkthe2nd. It read as follows:

Three Stunners to the chest killed McGonagall. As expected, the Ministry is suppressing the information and falsifying the news. Unfortunately the Ministry didn't expect the opposition that would spring from the incident - Manipulative!Dumbledore, Dark/Lord!Potter, Redeemed!Snape and Tom!Voldemort.

• McGonagall was Dumbledore's favorite student and House Head.

• Harry Potter has a special affection for her since she was unbiased against him.

• Snape enjoyed their rivalry as House Heads.

• Voldemort briefly dated her at Hogwarts and feels the duty to take revenge for his old flame.

I think this one will be a simple one-shot. Of course, given the state of my creative mind, we can never really tell, right?

For One Woman, Chaos

The sounds of battle receded for many as the body of Minerva McGonagall thumped gracelessly to the ground. Three Stupefies had landed on her chest, the red flashes of light melding into her body with a linked malevolence that didn't usually manifest. Other spells had broken her shield. Other spells had divided her attention between attack and defense both of herself and the students under her charge. There wasn't much sound that could be heard when it happened, not over the din of battle, but those close enough had heard enough.

The flutter of her robes had complemented the manifestation of the Battle Transfiguration spitting out from her fir wand. The sound had supported every change of dirt to thorns ripping at flesh, every shift of stone to spears puncturing bodies, and every transformation of water to acid rendering bodies to horrible parodies of life for every wave and stab and flick of the faithful wand dealing out the brutal discipline.

The battle raged on with all the din and noise that came along with it, but nearly everyone knew when Minerva McGonagall fell.

There was a horrified pause. Shock ran through minds on both sides of the conflict and that shock was enough to fuel a ceasefire. Everyone knew the Deputy Headmistress in one way or another. Word spread quickly – in some cases, it reinforced what was already known and in others, it brought a dash of shock. Mumbles, mutters, and quite a bit of buzzing arose from the previously fevered fight. It wasn't something that they, any of them, had really expected to see.

A few people stumbled at the sight of her limp hand and still body, hoping against hope that the Scottish accent would rail against the situation but knowing that it wouldn't be heard again. There were no cries of disbelief or grief, not yet, but there were moans of pain fighting to surface from souls on both sides that held her in high regard for different reasons.

One Death Eater ran over to her as quick as he could and put his wand away as he hustled. He knelt next to her and gently closed her eyes. Her wand was arranged over her chest with her hands over it, whole and unblemished. Everyone watched without comment or effort to stop him, shocked to see that his hands shook. It was even more of a shock when he bowed his head. The loud crack of his Apparition when he finally stood was enough to make people who were already jumpy, fall over in shock.

There was change coming on the next tide of battle. What form that would take, no one could have said or even wanted to. Everyone knew it was going to happen, but as they stood there they would have never guessed what form it would soon take.

People stopped what they were doing and filed past her body, knowing that there was absolutely nothing that could have been done. The peace in her face was at odds with the conflict that until a few moments ago, had been raging severely. The lines in her face had relaxed and they could see that.

Soon, most of the attackers just faded away. Whether from Apparition, Portkeys, or moving under their physical power, they left. Behind them was a scene that was darker for the loss their opponents had suffered. The news of what had happened moved only less slowly at first, and the Ministry falsified all that they could to paint it in the best light to itself in the immediate press releases to the Wizarding News Network.

No one expected what happened next.

X-|-X-|-X

At the Ministry, there was more than one fevered report coming in.

"Attack at Hogwarts!"

"Twelve dead, many injured!"

"Who's dead? I don't know yet."

"Attackers still there… but they're not doing anything!"

"No, they left!"

"Centaurs are trooping the line!"

"Acromantulas are… wait, they're just sitting there."

"The children! What about the children?!"

This went on until a scream on one of the levels silenced everyone. It shouldn't have been possible to hear it from other floors, but it was.

"What happened?"

The confused query was directed to a wizard near the open door of the office space.

"I don't have a clue."

"Well, you're standing there, Ezra! Go find out!"

"I suppose I could," was the laconic reply but that was cut off by another scream. This one was male and followed by the sound of several pairs of feet slapping their way down the hallway.

"Get the Minister to safety!"

"It's activated! Move! Move, move, move!"

There wasn't much indication of what exactly had activated as there was a lot of unexplained things there besides whatever the Unspeakables did, but there was a deep buzzing noise that settled into the bones of many in the building and set their teeth to scraping against each other in their jaws. There was no real way to tell where it came from except to face toward the most powerful sonic disruption and call it even despite the pain.

Ezra didn't get much chance to find out anything. He was ripped from his spot through the doorway by untold hands and carried along as people fled from the noise. His discordant cries of "What the hell is going on here?" echoed down the hall. Those left in the room could hear him being jostled from the way his voice faded in and out through the demand he voiced.

"I guess you're up, Jake."

"Me? Why me?"

"You're closer to the door and I'm closer to the coffeepot. Plus, I outrank you. Go find out."

Jake left, muttering about Purebloods and their shriveled brains. He didn't come back.

X-|-X-|-X

The source of the noise was a large square. Aside from the construction of rooms with four walls, this was actually the only four-side ritual polygon in the entire building. Various triangles, stars, hexagons, and other such existed for various such purposes – some just said excuses to waste time on the Ministry's clock – but this one had a purpose that no one knew. If it had been known in the past to someone in the Ministry of Magic, it had been long in the past and far, far before the birth of the oldest magical human in the country.

It was possible, of course, that a Centaur or a Goblin or any of the longer-lived species that utilized Magic knew. If so, they kept the knowledge to themselves. It was not important that any of the 'idiots' in the Ministry knew. Depending on who one asked, the word 'idiot' was replaced with something stronger and perhaps more descriptive. Also depending on who asked, this was done often.

The Square, such as everyone knew it as, was active for the first time in anyone's memory. Why was anyone's guess, although guessing wasn't the first priority. The pain that emanated from the boundaries of the four sides to whip through the air made sure of that. The gleam that ran from corner to corner, side to side, following the perimeter of the ancient square transitioned from the stern orange it had started with to the flames of red that reacted to the noise it was making.

There was enough power coursing through it that the building itself was trembling on its foundation.

X-|-X-|-X

Windows shattered, both glass and magical.

Here and there, bits of ceiling and decorative moulding fell, along with some rather ostentatious statuary that no one had cared about one bit in a very long time.

The occasional crack ran through a few rooms on the floors. This was more of a concern, especially for those in unfortunate proximity.

Those left in the building, trapped, covered their heads and whimpered. The noise was loud enough to preclude any rational thought.

X-|-X-|-X

Around the square, there were circles at each corner that resisted all efforts to peer inside. Whatever was in the area inscribed around those circles simply couldn't be seen.

No one knew when the Square filled itself with an item that no one had carried into it. There was a bas-relief of Minerva McGonagall at her most severe propped on a short stone column, rotating around on a base of wild magical energy. Sparks flew from that energy and flamed to each circle. Gold to one, blue to a second, green to a third, and blacked red to a fourth. Thin tendrils of smoke followed each spark, lining out the path taken with an uneasy finality.

A voice pealed out, deep and foreboding. It reached into every corner of the building and even outside a short way. Everyone who could hear it shivered mightily and tried to find somewhere to hide that wasn't already shattered.

"My servant has been taken before her time and before my tasks I set for her have been completed. I will scour time and space to draw into these spaces those who will complete those tasks. There will be no quarter given. Be warned: they have the same tasks but have been given leave to fulfill those tasks according to their own ways."

People looked at each other across the clutter of the earlier events. No one had a clue what was going on.

What?

X-|-X-|-X

He looked at his wand as he awoke in the confines of a circle with no way to see past the walls. It was the one that Nehemiah Ollivander had sold him a century ago. The original, you might say. It had been twenty years since Minerva McGonagall had been cut down and he was old. So very old. There had been many times when he should have been cut down as had Minerva, but there was something that had always prevented that from happening. Even if it was from the barest of a fraction of whatever it was, he was prevented from being killed. It hadn't prevented him from losing a foot or an eye, but it reinforced his outlook on life.

Meaning, if he could get something done by someone else without having to do it himself by whatever means, he was good with that. Luck was a thing but it was something that he couldn't rely on, so he influenced where he could.

She had been the check on some of his more creative schemes. He considered them creative, but she was wont to tell him otherwise with that Scottish burr ripping into him in ways that he still winced to think of. Min had been gone for far too long and it still hurt.

Well, she wasn't here now and he had a job to do. From what he'd been told in the haziness of the ethereal plane, he was to do it his way since her way was rejected by those here in this reality. It was just too bad that others hadn't had the sense to listen when they had the opportunity.

It was time for the Greater Good to find its way again. Dumbledore fingered the old friend that he remembered from decades in the past and grinned with malignity in the twinkling depths of his remaining blue eye.

He would avenge Minerva McGonagall, or his name wasn't Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Master Warlock.

X-|-X-|-X

He looked at his hands as he awoke. A gleaming ring proclaimed his status as the Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Others announced his accession to others. Six years had passed since the death of the meddler Dumbledore, five since Voldemort was utterly destroyed. Eight since Minerva McGonagall had been cut down like wheat.

Without her guidance, he and Hermione had delved into knowledge that was possibly best left alone. Hermione had survived the Blood War, although even with her unshakable bond to him, she sometimes had given him the shivers afterward.

That was fair, since he gave everyone else the shivers.

Luna had been the first to die and the first reason for the path that they chose to walk. She didn't cross over but remained as a spy of sorts into things that even the most stout Unspeakable would be afraid to learn. They grieved her but continued on.

Ginny and Ron had been next, and yet not. They had been the target of a twisted Death Eater that hurled a large bottle at them filled with a loathsome potion. That had melded them together into one body, sharing emotions, memories, and words. For a time, it had actually been useful… until the combination of two Weasley tempers had caused a horrendous stroke.

Neville was still here, but he was vicious. The Sword of Gryffindor and its brother the Sword of Slytherin were deadly in his hands and he wasn't too particular in how much blood he spilled to get to whoever wronged him. He had learned well from the man now looking at his hands.

Those hands could feel the energy that sparked within him. Every bit that he'd every had was there and he smiled. There was no warmth left in the lift of his lips or any in his eyes, nor had there been in a decade after her death. Luna had been the first, but Hermione was the last.

He looked at the curtaining ring of magic arrayed around him. Lord Potter knew exactly what he was going to do when it fell away and he knew who he was doing it with. He'd known it when he'd heard the task in that otherworldly plane.

He would avenge Minerva McGonagall, or his name wasn't Harry James Potter, Duke of Rowan Dale, Earl of Blackhaven, and Vicomte de la Morte Verde.

X-|-X-|-X

He looked at his robes as he awoke. Six months had passed since his friend had been cut down. Something didn't seem right and he wondered what was going on. The black eyes cut from side to side, his brain taking in information and ordering it in neat files. He was in a circle with a boundary that denied him all efforts to discern more other than what he'd been told. The voice had been stern but understanding for what he'd been through. There was no denying the task laid before him.

Potter had been there as he died. Snape clearly remembered looking into the green eyes of the woman than he loved, housed in the dirty war-blackened face of the son she bore. The snake had struck enough times and hard enough that he still remembered the pain vividly. He remembered playing a role twice over that he hated, but did anyway for the memory of Lily, she of the auburn hair and emerald eyes.

The placing of the Sword of Gryffindor, the action of being the Headmaster, of killing Dumbledore, of toadying to the half-blood bastard, everything before that.

He remembered it all and was wondering what was going on.

As his mind settled into its usual speed, a memory surfaced. It was of Minerva McGonagall being killed, and his hands clenched with unconscious intent. She had played the game just as well as he, if not better, given her longer experience as an educator and a Head of House. Still, she had become his friend, even with the vast differences in their ages. He had grown up and the circumstances of his life had let him mature in a way that neither of them thought about those temporal differences.

Temporal. That was a thought. He also remembered the supernal being – that was the only way he could describe it – relating to him what was going on, how, and why. He was given a task, but unlike the ones that Dumbledore and Voldemort had been shoveling at him, he was willing to undertake not of necessity.

She was his friend, one of very, very few he'd had, and he would do this for her.

He would avenge Minerva McGonagall, or his name wasn't Severus Tobias Snape, Potion Master and Hogwarts Slytherin Head of House.

X-|-X-|-X

He looked at his face as he awoke. Seventy years had passed since he last kissed Minerva McGonagall. The shimmering energy encasing him in the circle had just enough reflectivity to show him the difference. The last time he had looked at himself, he'd seen a face ravaged by the battles of time and magic. Scars and pockmarked skin, reminiscent of scales, and a missing nose had been his presentation to the world as he went about his business.

Now?

The face that he hadn't seen in many a decade stared back at him. Not the face of a teenager in Hogwarts' Head Boy uniform, but one slightly older. Lush black hair, blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and slightly frowning lips. He raised a fairly thick eyebrow at the unexpected sight and cast his not-unintelligent mind upon the conundrum presented here.

The memory of an easily-cast Avada Kedavra rushing back at him and the searing pain of being ripped into the ethereal plane presented itself for inspection. It was pondered upon but not long before other things shouldered it out of the way. In reverse chronological order, the things of his life were paraded without judgment, and he remembered the presence of the being that held the file of his life.

That being had explained the situation to him and pointed out things that he had done wrong in order to accomplish the assignments set forth for him at his birth.

Suffice it to say, there had been quite a bit of mistakes.

The first mistake wasn't really his, nor the second, third, fourth, or even tenth. Those were things that had happened before his conception and while he couldn't be held to account for those, they did figure upon him. They were addressed and held to their own account, he had been assured. This did help him in his thoughts now, as he didn't have to worry about dealing with that on his own initiative.

Meanwhile, he was given instructions on what he was here to do now. He retained his power, all of it. The reason for his return and the method was accepted without quibble, although he wouldn't have been as smart as he was if he didn't wonder a bit. That was beside the point.

He would avenge Minerva McGonagall, or his name wasn't Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Sorcerer's Bane.

X-|-X-|-X

The four stepped out of the circles that had bound them. Each had received their separate instructions but hadn't been told who would be shouldering this task with them. They stared at one another in shared shock, noting the differences and similarities to who they thought they were staring at.

It didn't take long for each of them to realize that this was a new opportunity and details could be discussed later.

Things could be done now, and the Ministry's mistakes would be addressed forcefully. Power could be molded or taken. Influence could be spread. Knowledge could be used. Choices could be made, decisions could be applied, revenge could be taken.

And for Minerva McGonagall's sake, revenge was the first thing on the agenda for each of them.

Without a word, they fell in together as they headed for the door. Shoulder to shoulder, there would be changes for those foolish enough to make all the decisions and taking all the actions that culminated in that one mistake called 'ending Minerva's life.'

Each moved with their own purpose, with different combinations of single wands or multiple wands or blades in their hands. Each blended in with each other in ways that would have greatly surprised them in their previous lives but accepted for now in order to get their job done quickly. It could and would be puzzled out later.

For now, there was something to do that each of them was eager to get done. No thoughts about what would happen after that was finished troubled them. There was too much to do.

The frantic screams and ignored pleading were already starting around them before the exit door leading away from the Square gently closed into its frame.

X-|-X-|-X

The sun rose the next day upon a smoking ruin. Those visiting London from the other areas of Britain wondered what had happened and shivered in their shoes as they looked at the pit. The common thought that ran through many a mind was clear.

What happened here?

There was no answer and the mystery was never solved, although the few survivors told tales of flashing green eyes, lurid robes, ghosting black death, and raging incantations. No one could come to an agreement if it was one or many that fit the descriptions. It took a long time before the Ministry was reconstituted in a different place. It never recovered completely.

The area was avoided for years after that and survived only in hushed tales that fueled many a sleepless night afterward.

The End