"Mr Crowley, please to remember your wand is not a Beater's bat. You are perfectly capable of changing that hedgehog into a pincushion without striking the poor creature about the head," Professor McGonagall said.
She sighed to herself. The fall term was only two weeks old, and the fourth-year Hufflepuff had already been to the infirmary three times with a variety of burns, cuts, and one alarming case of eyebrow mange. She wasn't at all sure how she would get the poor boy through his O.W.L.s, even if they were a full year and a half away.
As class was wrapping up, she said, "Homework is a foot of parchment on the challenges presented by spines in mammalian Transfiguration. On my desk Thursday, no excuses. Miss Chattergee, unless you'd like to discuss the contents of that note with me during detention this evening, I suggest you wait until you are outside my classroom to open it."
As the students were filing out, the Arithmancy professor and Head of Gryffindor, Diophantus Lemmas, entered the classroom. When the last student had gone, Minerva said, "Yes, Diophantus, what can I do for you?"
His hands were clasped behind him, and he rocked nervously from his heels to the balls of his feet, which gave her an inkling of what he was there to ask.
"Do you think you could speak to Molly Prewett for me? I'm afraid she may have a … um …"
"Female problem?" asked Minerva.
"Quite."
During her four years as Deputy Head, Minerva had often been called on by Hogwarts's male Heads of House to help sort certain problems with the girls in their charge. These had ranged from helping twelve- and thirteen-year-olds navigate the onset of menstruation, to older girls' love problems, and, on one particularly awful occasion, a confession from a terrified sixteen-year-old that her father had been molesting her for years.
"Of course," Minerva said. "Ask her to meet me in my office after classes end for the day. Unless you think it can't wait?"
"No, no. After classes should be fine. Thank you, Minerva."
She nodded, and he left in a cloud of relief.
At four-thirty came a timid knock on Minerva's office door.
"Enter."
In came a short, auburn-haired girl of seventeen, head down.
"Molly, thank you for seeing me," Minerva said, using her student's given name in an effort to put her more at ease. "Professor Lemmas seems to believe you have a problem of some sort. Would you like to discuss it with me?"
"Oh, Professor …" Molly began, her hands wringing the edges of her student over-robe. "I c … can't …" she said and started sobbing.
"Now, Molly," Minerva said, coming out from behind her desk and gesturing for the girl to sit. "I'm here to help you, but I can't do that if you won't confide in me." She Summoned an extra chair and sat down next to Molly, offering her a handkerchief.
Molly took it, her wet, red-rimmed eyes looking pleadingly into Minerva's.
"I think I might be …" Her eyes dropped to her shoes again. "Having a baby," she whispered.
Minerva closed her eyes, the first pinpricks of a headache forming behind them. She had heard this confession before on a handful of occasions, but she would never have expected it from this quarter. Molly Prewett was a smart witch and a good student who was being raised by her two older brothers after the accidental death of their parents five years earlier. If she was pregnant, the hot-headed Prewett brothers would be out for the blood of the boy responsible.
Molly continued to cry quietly. Minerva stood.
"Come, dear. Let's go into my sitting room. We'll be more comfortable there, and we can talk." She opened a door behind a bookcase and ushered Molly through it. It was rare for Minerva to invite a student into her private quarters, but in her experience, there were a few occasions that called for a less intimidating location than her office.
She sat the weeping girl down on her sofa and settled next to her, Conjuring a clean handkerchief and handing it to Molly. When the latest burst of sobs had ebbed, Minerva spoke gently.
"What makes you think you might be pregnant? Are you late?"
"Late?" said Molly, wrinkling her brow in confusion.
"Yes. Your monthlies—are they late?"
Molly shook her head.
"Then what is it?"
"I … I did something," Molly said, her lower lip trembling.
"You and Mr Weasley?" Minerva coaxed.
Molly nodded. "I'm sorry, Professor." She began to cry again.
"Calm down, Molly, please. What's done is done. Forgive me, but were you unsafe? Did you not use a potion? Or a charm?"
"A charm?" asked Molly, still confused.
"Yes. To prevent conception."
"No … I didn't know …"
Minerva sighed. Of course she didn't. The girl had no mother to tell her, and it was a near certainty her brothers hadn't bothered.
I must speak to Albus about giving some kind of talk to the girls, Minerva thought to herself. Not that the Board of Governors would approve.
"When did this happen?" she asked.
"Saturday night."
"But that's only two days ago. Why would you think you were pregnant after only two days?" The germ of a suspicion had formed in Minerva's mind.
"Because I let Arthur touch me." Molly sniffled, unable to look at her professor.
"Touch you … how?"
"Here," Molly said, bringing her hand to her breast.
"I see. And what else?"
"What do you mean?" asked Molly, shocked.
"I mean did you and Arthur do anything else that might have made you pregnant?" asked Minerva with more patience than she felt.
"No."
Minerva prevented an audible sigh from escaping her.
"Molly, it takes more than a boy touching your breast to fall pregnant."
Molly just looked at her blankly.
"You and I need to have a talk," Minerva said. "But I think I need some tea first. Would you like some?"
"Yes, please, Professor," Molly said meekly.
When the tea was prepared, Minerva brought it over to the tea table with a jar of milk, a dish of sugar cubes, and some lemon.
"How do you take it, dear?" she asked.
They had their tea, and when Minerva had finished explaining the mechanics of intercourse and conception to an increasingly pink Molly Prewett, the girl sat looking at her teacher in slack-jawed amazement.
"Merlin's balls!" Molly exclaimed, then slapped a hand over her mouth, to Minerva's amusement. What she said next nearly sent Minerva into gales of very unprofessional laughter.
"Those bloody idiots! They told me … they told me … those imbeciles!"
Gone was the meek, frightened child of a few minutes ago, replaced by the fiery young woman Minerva had come to know and like over the past six years.
"As you know," Minerva said, stifling her laughter, "brothers have a tendency to be overprotective when it comes to their younger sisters."
Once Molly seemed over her initial shock, Minerva asked, "Is there anything you'd like to ask me? About what we've just talked about?"
"Just how anyone could ever do that," said Molly, more to herself than to Minerva. "It sounds so … ugh!"
Minerva didn't stop her gentle laugh this time. "Yes, well … I think you'll find in time that the idea has its appeal."
Molly looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. "I doubt it," she said with a shudder. In years to come, Minerva would have occasion to remind Molly of her scepticism on that point.
"You'll just have to take my word for it, then. When the time is right, you'll know it," said Minerva.
Molly was still staring at her. "Have you ever …" She shook her head as if clearing it. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."
"No, it isn't," said Minerva. "But you must promise me that when you change your mind, you'll make sure of two things."
"What?"
"One, that you'll do it because you care for the boy and you want to do it—not just because you think it's what he wants, and two, that you'll take appropriate measures to make sure you don't end up with a baby before you're ready for one."
Molly nodded her agreement.
"Good," said Minerva. "Now, you'd best be getting back. It's almost time for dinner."
Molly stood. "Thank you, Professor. For everything." Then she hugged Minerva, who, after a startled moment, put her arms around the girl and hugged back.
"You're quite welcome."
After Molly was gone, Minerva cleared away the tea things. As she did so, she thought to herself, I just might be good at this motherhood business after all.