Molly Prewett was a storm of new and confusing emotions.
She didn't know what had come over her lately. She had been going out with Arthur Weasley since the middle of their fourth year, but during the past few weeks, his company and his kisses had made her aware of feelings she had never experienced and didn't fully understand.
Increasingly, she would arrive at the end of one of their dates feeling full and hollow at the same time, as if she had been prevented from finishing a feast placed in front of her after weeks of famine. She knew the nameless want had to do with Arthur's physical proximity to her, but she hadn't the slightest idea how to assuage it.
That was why, on a recent Saturday night, in a dark corner of the Astronomy tower, she hadn't objected when Arthur moved a tentative hand over her right breast as they kissed. As the hand had begun to gently squeeze, she had grown warmer than she could ever remember. When a finger brushed over the nipple that had hardened through her clothes, she felt something that was like a burst of colour down there, and it left her breathless with the need for more. She wanted his hands all over her because it felt so good the way he was touching her—oh, she wanted! … something for which she had no words. Then she had got frightened and pushed the hand away. She had been on the verge of something forbidden, something dangerous.
She had excoriated herself later, in her bed with the curtains drawn to shut out the other giggling, gossiping girls in the dormitory.
What had she done? Why had she felt like that? All at once, a terrible dread had come over her. What if she was … in trouble? She didn't quite know how it was meant to happen, but her brothers, Gideon and Fabian, had warned her to watch out for boys. That if she "messed around" with them, she could find herself "with a bun in the oven" and in disgrace. They had never defined "messing around", but Molly was certain that what she had done with Arthur qualified. Only something serious—something earth-shattering—could have made her feel like that, she reasoned. She was smart enough to realise she was woefully uninformed on the subject and needed the help and advice of an older woman—not one of her friends, who were likely as not to give her bad advice out of the best intentions. But there was no one to turn to. She was alone.
Professor Lemmas had found her crying alone in a corridor the following Monday afternoon when she should have been in class. When he was unsuccessful at persuading her to either stop crying or to tell him what the problem was, he had suggested perhaps she might like to speak with a female professor, and she had agreed.
Later, though, when he had given her the instruction to appear at Professor McGonagall's office that afternoon, she had cursed herself bitterly. Not Professor McGonagall! The prim, stern Transfiguration professor was the last person who would understand. Not only that, the Deputy Headmistress would probably persuade the Headmaster to expel her immediately. Worst of all, though, was the idea that Professor McGonagall would lose all respect for her—a respect Molly knew she had earned through her hard work over six years of Transfiguration classes and duelling club matches, and something she valued highly.
When it had turned out that the professor's reaction was not what she expected—not at all—Molly had begun to reappraise both her estimation of Minerva McGonagall and her own feelings about what the older witch had told her.
After her embarrassing but enlightening talk with Professor McGonagall, Molly had gone to the library to see what more she could find out about … it. There was depressingly little about it—just a slim, pink volume, The Young Witch's Guide to Marriage and Household Management, which only advised the young witch in question to make sure she was freshly bathed and "at her most alluring" in preparation for the wedding night. There was, however, a fair amount of material dealing with the effects of pregnancy and childbearing, although the steps one had to take to get there were frustratingly opaque.
After devouring the available information, Molly cast an appraising eye at Professor McGonagall. She wasn't sure, but she thought she had noticed a change in her teacher's normally slender figure as her robes moved and parted while she was giving instruction in class, allowing Molly fleeting glances at the body normally hidden within the voluminous teaching robe. And the way McGonagall's hands had paused to rest on her abdomen just below the fastening of her outer robe several times during their talk the other day—it wasn't one of the repertoire of habitual gestures Molly had grown accustomed to seeing from her teacher over the past six years. Moreover, when she had hugged Professor McGonagall that day, Molly thought she had felt something through the woman's robes.
With all these thoughts and questions tumbling through her head, and without quite intending it, Molly found herself once again at Professor McGonagall's office door.
She took a deep breath and knocked before she could lose her nerve.
"Enter."
Molly peeked around the door. Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, quill in hand, busily writing something on a roll of parchment.
When the professor looked up from her work, the glasses perched on her nose making her eyes look small and stern, Molly decided that this was a terrible idea. What had she been thinking?
"I'm sorry, Professor. I can come back another time if you're busy," she said hopefully.
"No, Miss Prewett. Please come in." Professor McGonagall put down her quill, Banished her papers to a drawer, and took off her glasses. "What can I do for you?"
There was no getting out of it now, Molly thought as she reluctantly approached the desk. She considered making up some trifling question about her Transfiguration homework, but at the sight of Professor McGonagall's now less-forbidding expression, Molly decided she might as well take the plunge.
"I had some questions about … what we talked about the other day."
"I see," said Professor McGonagall. "Then perhaps we should close the door." A flick of her wand accomplished it.
Molly's words failed her as her teacher looked at her expectantly. Summoning her courage, Molly spoke.
"I think I might be changing my mind," she said.
"About?"
"About … um … what we talked about. It sounds … interesting."
"Interesting," repeated Professor McGonagall. "And are we speaking theoretically, or did you have a more practical application in mind?"
Molly was afraid McGonagall was mocking her, but there was no hint of levity in her expression.
"I was wondering if you could tell me what to do when … if I decide to … so I don't have a baby," said Molly.
Professor McGonagall stared at her intently for a moment, as if she were looking right into Molly's soul.
"I think, Molly, that we had best continue this conversation in my quarters," McGonagall said finally.
When they had settled into Professor McGonagall's sitting room, tea in front of them once again, McGonagall asked, "Am I to take it that are you considering having sex with Mr Weasley?"
Molly's cheeks heated up. "I don't know, Professor. Not right away. But I want to be ready … if we decide to."
"You realise that you and Arthur would be breaking school rules if you were to do so here?" Professor McGonagall's eyebrows drew together to form the frown that made her look severe.
Molly looked away, but she could feel the professor peering at her in the silence that followed.
McGonagall's tone was surprisingly gentle when she said, "Molly, this is rather a sudden change of heart. When we last spoke, you were absolutely certain you could never 'do that', as you put it. Now you are asking me to tell you how to obtain contraception. I'm sorry, but I'm a bit confused."
"No, I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have bothered you about this."
"It isn't a bother," McGonagall said. "I am simply trying to understand so I can help you."
She was obviously expecting Molly to say more, but Molly found herself tongue-tied.
Professor McGonagall sighed. "You and Arthur are very young. I know you think you love him—"
"I do love him. Don't tell me how I feel, Professor."
Merlin, but Molly was tired of hearing from everyone that she was too young to know her own mind! Even her best friend, Virginia Clearwater, kept bothering her to go out with other boys besides Arthur, but that was only because Virginia had been out with lots of different people and seemed to think anyone who liked just one at their age was abnormal.
Professor McGonagall looked taken aback, and Molly thought she was about to scold her for her impertinence, but McGonagall just folded her hands on her lap, and said, "I'm sorry. You are quite right. I shouldn't presume to think I know how you feel. I'm just concerned that you may be racing into something you are not yet ready for."
Molly was ashamed at her outburst.
"I know, and I'm sorry for shouting," she said. This was a bad idea, she thought again. What had possessed her to think she could ask Professor McGonagall these sorts of questions?
But she wanted—no she needed—some guidance, someone to help her sort out her chaotic feelings, and she was afraid to ask anyone else, afraid to show them her pitiful ignorance of the things the other girls seemed to just know.
She gathered her courage and asked, "How will I know when I'm ready … when Arthur is ready?"
"To be honest, I don't have an answer for you."
Really? Molly thought. After all this, the Professor was going fob her off with this feeble evasion?
Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "Then how did you know?"
"I don't think—"
"But you are pregnant, aren't you?"
Molly could almost hear her heart pounding in the silence that followed.
"Yes." Professor McGonagall was perfectly calm.
It stunned Molly that her suspicion—one she hadn't intended to voice—had been correct.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered.
"Don't be. I'm not."
"Are you going to have to leave Hogwarts?" Molly asked, suddenly anguished at the prospect of losing Professor McGonagall.
"No. Although I will be on leave from my duties for a few weeks after the baby is born."
"But the scandal … does Professor Dumbledore know?"
"Given that he is the responsible party, I rather think he does," McGonagall said drily. Before Molly could digest this information and all it implied, the professor added, "And I assure you there will be little scandal. Professor Dumbledore has been my husband for nearly ten years."
Molly blinked several times, then an involuntary smile lifted her cheeks. "Oh … I thought …"
McGonagall's lips pursed. "Yes, I can see what you thought. You made an assumption and have subsequently discovered how wrong assumptions can be. Now that we've got that straightened out, perhaps we could turn the conversation back to the subject of your love life."
"Sorry, Professor."
Professor McGonagall surprised Molly again by taking her hand, the warmth returning to her voice.
"I can't tell you whether you should go to bed with Arthur. As your teacher and Deputy Headmistress of this school, it's my duty to tell you in no uncertain terms not to. As a woman, I can only tell you to follow your heart but that it is also imperative to let your head have a say in the decision." She rose from the settee. "As for contraception, I can't give you what you seek. However …" She went to a bookshelf and pulled out a book. "I see no reason to prevent an advanced student from accessing texts that may provide enlightenment beyond the standard curriculum." She handed the book to an astonished Molly. "You may wish to charm the title to something less … precious."
"Thank you, Professor," said Molly, staring at the cover of the book, which was entitled Married Love for the Modern Witch and Wizard, in shock.
"You're quite welcome. You can thank me by making sure you read that before you come to any important decisions."
"Oh, I will," said Molly. Sensing that the bizarre encounter was nearly over, Molly suddenly wanted to hold on to the warm, maternal feeling that had enveloped her.
"Professor?"
"Yes, Molly?"
"Could I touch it?"
The professor blinked several times. "Touch what?"
"The baby. I mean … never mind. I'm sorry," Molly said, blushing.
Professor McGonagall said nothing. She opened her teaching robe, took Molly's hand, and placed it over her rounded belly. The two women stood there, saying nothing for a few moments, until the baby inside Professor McGonagall kicked its mother squarely in the navel, making Molly cry, "Oh!" in surprise and delight. She looked up into her teacher's face in wonder, and the two smiled at one another.
Molly removed her hand, saying a soft "thank you" to her professor.
McGonagall said, "I don't need to tell you that this is not to be shared with anyone else yet—not even Mr Weasley. Professor Dumbledore and I intend to inform the other students soon, but we would prefer to do it in an orderly fashion rather than by gossip and word-of-mouth. I assume we can count on your discretion?"
"Of course."
In later years, Molly would pinpoint that as the moment her adult friendship with Minerva McGonagall had come into being. At the time, however, as she slipped out the door from the professor's quarters, Molly only knew that she would walk through fire for Minerva McGonagall.