9. Before the Fall
"Can we get my wand next? I don't want one with unicorn hair in it. Unicorns are for girls!"
Wishing for the umpteenth time that she could have done her shopping in Diagon Alley alone with only one of her parents as she had done the two years previously, Minerva glared at her younger brother.
"That's rubbish! I'm a girl and my wand doesn't have unicorn hair in it," she told him.
Robert Junior looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, you don't always look like much of a girl."
Swallowing her anger, Minerva settled for a wicked grin. "Fine, then don't come running to me when they make you sleep in the dungeons for forgetting to do your homework. Because evidently, I'm not your big sister."
Junior, who always managed to forget one thing or another because he was too eager to move on to the next, paled. "They can't make me sleep in the dungeons, can they? Mama!"
He ran back to their parents who had stopped outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to discuss something. Minerva expected to be told off for lying to her brother (it was just so hard not to sometimes), but her mother merely waved Junior off.
"Go get some ice cream and wait here for us, yes?" She said, handing him the money.
Suspicious, Junior looked from the Sickles in his hand to his parents. "Where are you going?"
"We'll be just a moment, lad. Get me a vanilla-flavoured one, if that's something they sell here," Robert McGonagall Senior said. Then he rested a hand on Minerva's shoulder and steered her away with him.
"Er, we're not just leaving him there, are we?" she wondered, looking back over her shoulder. "Because he wasn't that annoying."
"Oh, honestly, Minerva," her mother snorted.
She knew her parents wouldn't just leave Junior, but she was a little confused by what was going on. "Then what...?"
"We've told you this before, but we really are very pleased that you've finished top of your class two years in a row now," her mother said, smiling proudly.
"And you'll be turning fourteen in October, meaning you're well on your way to becoming a young woman," her father added.
"That's why we decided to get you your birthday and Christmas present a little early this year," her mother continued.
Minerva looked back and forth between them and then she noticed the shop their parents had stopped at. It was Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Her eyes lit up with excitement. Suddenly, trailing her brother as he took forever to get all of his first-year equipment was completely worth it. "You're buying me a broom? And you won't mind me playing Quidditch anymore?" The latter was directed at her father.
"I can't say I understand the fascination, but I do understand that you're talented, and I wouldn't dream of holding you back, so..."
He broke off because there really was no holding Minerva back when she wrapped her arms around him to hug him and then her mother.
And there was definitely no holding her back when Noah Royston saw her fly on her new broom at their first Quidditch practice of the year. By the end of the night he had moved her from the reserve to the starting line-up, and Minerva felt like she was flying even when she wasn't.
In her next Transfiguration lesson they started working on simple Switching Spells. They were supposed to make the golden and silver goblets on each of their tables switch colours. When Minerva lowered her wand, her goblets had done just that. They had also sprouted wings and lifted off her desk, zooming through the classroom like oddly shaped and not very aerodynamic Snitches – much to the amusement of Minerva's fellow classmates who preferred to watch Minerva's creations rather than keep working on their own.
"Sorry, Professor," said Minerva to Professor Dumbledore, who had just been forced to duck to avoid a collision with the previously silver now golden goblet. "I'll get them back down," she added as she clambered onto her chair for additional height.
"This isn't a Charms lesson, Miss McGonagall. Perhaps you better save your personal creativity for Professor Sowerby's class this afternoon," Dumbledore advised her, but he sounded neither bothered nor concerned.
Minerva's teammates thought it was a very funny story and suggested practising with her "Goblitches," as they had dubbed them. That idea was quickly nixed, but they had a good practice all the same. The team was in great shape. Minerva was the only new addition to the starting line-up, but she worked well together with Marigold Appleby and Troy Forrester, her fellow Chasers. They gave Kenny Howes, who still played Keeper for them but had long since stopped laughing at Minerva, quite a hard time. Noah Royston, who returned for his second year as team captain, and Kyle Tarney sent Bludgers flying all over the field. Duncan Bayfield showed off on his broom as usual, circling high above the field, waiting to do his part as Seeker.
Minerva had just secured the Quaffle and was on her way to the goalposts, thinking about how she might fake going for the right hoop and then actually aim for the left, when she heard Royston yell, "Pull up! Pull up!"
Confused, she broke off her attack, but then quickly realised that Noah wasn't talking to her. The Snitch had appeared at the other end of the pitch near the bottom of the goalposts and Duncan was diving for it. But he was going way too fast and getting too close to the ground, trying out a faint that was supposed to confuse the opposing Seeker in a real match. It looked good, but Noah was right. Duncan needed to pull up now, and he did. But it wasn't fast enough.
And then he crashed to the ground.
The whole team landed next to him in an instant, anxiously huddling around their fallen Seeker. He was unconscious, but that was probably a good thing because his arms and legs stuck out in very odd angles.
Marigold let out a scream when she saw that.
Noah was white-faced and muttered, "We need to get him to the hospital wing quickly!"
While he and Kyle argued whether they could carry him back up to the castle, Minerva had already figured that they would need a stretcher. She didn't dare try to conjure one because they hadn't even got close to Conjuration in class yet. Instead, she looked desperately for something she stood a chance of transfiguring. Her eyes landed on one of the school brooms.
Well, close enough. She waved her wand and prayed that the stretcher that obediently floated towards them would actually hold Duncan and not turn back into a broom halfway there. Mercifully, it worked and Madam Hailstone wasted no time disappearing with Duncan behind a curtain when they arrived at the hospital wing. They were told to wait outside while she worked. Only Professor Dumbledore was allowed to enter and later Noah, too.
When he came back out, he gave the team a shaky grin. "He'll be okay, but he'll have to stay in the hospital wing for a couple of days and take some time to recover. No practice until then." He held up a hand before anyone could start arguing. "I know. I know. Dumbledore's orders. He didn't take it very well when I asked how long we'd have to wait. Said I'd do well to remember that there are more important concerns than winning a Quidditch game."
"He's right, isn't he?" Minerva said quietly. She wished she hadn't heard the sound Duncan had made when he had hit the ground.
"Either way, I'm not going to pick a fight with Dumbledore. I'm not mad, am I? So yeah, we wait until Duncan's all healed up," Noah nodded.
Troy tried to cheer them up by saying, "Don't worry. Madam Hailstone can fix anything. He'll be right as rain in no time."
Unfortunately, Troy's optimism wasn't quite warranted. Duncan was released from the hospital wing, yes, and he got permission to play Quidditch again just in time for their first match. They even got a couple of practices in before then. But Duncan wasn't flying the way he used to. He was trying to stay close to the ground and he kept braking way too early, if he accelerated at all, which he avoided as much as he possibly could.
"Sorry, mates," he said when they were all changing back into their school robes after practice. "I know I really suck right now."
No one had wanted to say anything, though they had all exchanged dark looks. They seemed to be in agreement, however, that making Duncan feel worse about himself was not going to help.
"No worries," said Kenny. "You know what they say. Bad practices make for good games."
"Who says that?" asked Marigold, frowning.
"No one says that, mate," Kyle agreed with her.
"Well, I do," Kenny insisted and patted Duncan on the back. Not too hard, though.
"Me, too," Troy agreed and they walked Duncan back up to the castle in a show of solidarity.
As soon as they had left the changing room, Noah sighed. "I'll have to bench him."
Shocked, Minerva turned around to glare at him. "You can't! He worked so hard to get healthy in time for the game!"
"That's great, but it won't do us any good if he doesn't get his head back in the game, too. I mean, look at him! The only way he's going to catch the Snitch is if someone uses an Impedimenta Hex on it first!"
"Maybe Kenny's got a point. Maybe he'll be better when the actual game is on the line," Minerva said, trying to sound hopeful.
Noah looked sceptical. "And what if he doesn't?"
"Then... we'll lose the game, but at least we'll do it as a team. Benching Duncan is not right," Minerva insisted. "It's what the Slytherins would do," she added for good measure.
"Fine," Noah agreed, throwing up his hands. "But I really hope you're right."
Minerva really hoped she would be right, too.
But she wasn't.
The game was rough – as games between Gryffindor and Slytherin always were. Minerva almost got knocked off her broom when the two Slytherin Beaters singled her out and aimed both Bludgers at her at the same time from two different angles. Later Sevazlian, one of the Slytherin Chasers, elbowed her right in the face and split open her lip. Gryffindor was awarded a penalty for it, but Minerva played the rest of the game with blood in her mouth. The rest of the Gryffindor team didn't fare much better, but they all held their ground. They were neck to neck.
Until Slytherin caught the Snitch. Duncan was nowhere near it at the time.
The Gryffindor side of the stands went very still and so did the team as they fled into the changing rooms, followed by Slytherin taunts and jeers.
Minerva was furious that she had lost her first official Quidditch game, and with her brother (who had also been sorted into Gryffindor) watching, too. She knew Junior wouldn't stop teasing her for weeks. She really should have kept her fingers crossed for him to end up in Hufflepuff.
The only thing that could be done about it was to stop it from happening again. "We just need to practise more," she said. "And I mean all of us," she added when Duncan looked ready to strangle himself with his Quidditch robes. "Yes, you didn't catch the Snitch, but we didn't score enough points either." She looked at Troy and Marigold. "And you didn't save enough goals," she said in Kenny's direction. "So we're all equally at fault."
"What about us?" Kyle asked, pointing at him and Noah. When Kenny gave him a look that clearly suggested that he was stupid for asking to be criticised, Kyle shrugged. "What? I was feeling left out. If you guys suck, I want to suck, too."
Suddenly everyone was laughing again.
Noah got to work on their new training schedule. It was quite simple, really. He scheduled practices every night unless the pitch was unavailable because the other house teams, especially Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, whose game was up next, wanted to practise as well. In that case the Gryffindors practised in the morning before breakfast instead. And never mind the weather.
Pretty soon, members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were easy to spot in the corridors because they were the ones looking bleary-eyed or leaving a trail of mud and rainwater all the way from the Entrance Hall to Gryffindor Tower. At least the boys did. Minerva usually tried to remember to go last so she could point her wand at the floor, muttering a Cleaning Spell. Sometimes she forgot, though, because as far as missing sleep was concerned, she got the worst of it. As it turned out, she was the only one on the team who took ten subjects on top of Quidditch.
She thought she was handling it until one morning when she suddenly noticed that the Transfiguration classroom had gone completely quiet. Blinking away her drowsiness, Minerva realised that Professor Dumbledore must have asked a question and now everyone was waiting for her to raise her hand to answer it. But for once, she couldn't because she hadn't been listening. She wanted to feel bad about that, but then again, she couldn't be expected to do all the work in this class on her own, now could she?
After what felt like an uncomfortably long moment of confusion, Holter raised his hand and answered the question, giving a rather poor definition of Switching Spells, not worth the five points Professor Dumbledore awarded him with. Or so Minerva thought. Dumbledore asked them to read a chapter in Intermediate Transfiguration and she dozed off again, having already read the book from cover to cover three times.
When the bell rang, Minerva would have left the room with Augusta, but her bag ripped open and scattered her books all over the floor. Heaving a sigh, she told Augusta to go ahead without her. Minerva had only just bent down to pick up the first book when her bag repaired itself. Her books rose off the ground and neatly arranged themselves inside of it, which should have been impossible because her bag was too small. Since Minerva sometimes lost track of which day it was, she had begun to carry all of her books around with her all the time. They had never fit into her bag this well before.
"Er, thanks, Professor," she said as she shouldered her new bag and looked up at Professor Dumbledore. She was a little worried that he might be upset that she hadn't participated in class today the way she usually did.
"You're perfectly welcome," he replied cheerfully. "You do have a lot of books in there, though, which makes me wonder if I should really give this to you. I don't want Madam Hailstone to come after me for giving you too much to handle."
He was holding out a book that was entitled Why Switching isn't Swindling – an in-depth look at Switching Spells and other switcheroos by Nik Abrahamian. Dumbledore had mentioned it in class last week as an interesting and entertaining way to learn more about the subject. Minerva was once again ahead of the rest of the class and had asked to borrow it.
"No, really, it's fine, Professor. It's not that heavy," Minerva said quickly. Actually, it had been heavy earlier, but it wasn't now that Professor Dumbledore had repaired her bag. Either way, she wanted to read that book and she grabbed it before Dumbledore could change his mind. She would simply have to move some things around. She was halfway done with her Arithmancy essay, she hadn't started on her star charts for Astronomy yet, and that translation for Ancient Runes wasn't due until Friday... Or was that Wednesday?
"Are you quite all right?" Dumbledore's voice interrupted her thoughts and pulled her back to the present.
"Fine, Professor," Minerva said and only then realised that she was repeating herself. Use a different word, Minerva, she thought. "I mean, yes, I'm all right, sir."
Dumbledore didn't comment on her rather uninspired answers. "Are you still enjoying your new subjects?"
"Yes, sir. I'm still very happy I didn't take Divination." Augusta was taking it and she kept trying to predict Minerva's future by reading her empty teacups. So far, Minerva was going to marry a dragon, lose an arm or possibly a leg, and become Minister for Magic.
"I thought you might be," Dumbledore nodded and smiled, but he said, "I talked to Professor Oldroyd the other day. He mentioned a particularly difficult test he'd set his new third-year students that not one of them would have passed had it been an actual exam."
Unaware that the teachers talked about her behind her back, Minerva cringed. That test in Ancient Runes had been a disaster, not because she hadn't grasped the grammar, but because she hadn't found the time to catch up on the vocabulary. That sounded like a pretty pathetic excuse now, and Minerva was too embarrassed to say anything.
"There's no shame in asking for help. One might even say it's just the opposite," Dumbledore said softly.
It was meant as a kindness, Minerva knew that, but it only made her want to hide under a table. "I'm fine, Professor," she muttered. There was that word again. Apparently, it wasn't only her Ancient Runes vocabulary she needed to brush up on.
It served her well in ending this conversation. "Very well, I'll be letting you go then," Professor Dumbledore dismissed her quietly.
That night Minerva studied Ancient Runes until she fell face first onto her bed and simply passed out.
There was no mistaking a Quidditch morning at Hogwarts. One would have to go temporarily deaf to miss all the excited conversations in the corridors. Students were eagerly adding up points scored, comparing broomsticks and strategies and placing bets (only if the teachers weren't looking, of course, or at least pretended not to be looking).
At breakfast in the Great Hall before the start of the match one would have to notice the signs at the latest. While there was always competition between the four houses and tensions were running high as the school year progressed, students only wore their hearts, or in this case their house colours, on their sleeves when it was time to pledge their support for their Quidditch teams. This was also the only time it was really deemed acceptable for the teachers to show their true colours.
Nevertheless, it was quite unexpected and equally entertaining to watch Horace walk up and down the Gryffindor table in an attempt to acquire a Gryffindor scarf from one of the students. It took him a good ten minutes, but eventually he returned to the staff table victorious.
"Green no longer your colour, Horace?" Albus asked innocently as he sat back down.
"Only temporarily, Albus, so don't you bother getting used to this," Horace replied boomingly. "You see, I need Gryffindor to win this game so Ravenclaw won't surpass Slytherin and take first place in the Championship. That's why I thought I would pledge my support to your house today."
"How very generous of you," Albus replied drily.
Horace seemed to take his words at face value. "Right, so what's the deal with that Seeker of yours? Is he going to up his game or what? Because if he's still feeling shaky, well..." Horace lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "I have an Invigoration Draught all mixed up. Two to three drops in his pumpkin juice should do the trick."
Albus leaned back, his brow furrowed. That Gryffindor scarf suddenly looked highly offensive around Horace's neck. "Surely, you're not seriously suggesting that I should encourage my students to make use of performance-enhancing substances?"
"Oh, come off your high Hippogriff, will you? It's only a mild stimulant to cheer up the poor boy," Horace argued. "We all know Gryffindors don't cheat, yada yada yada, but you do need a win today. If you lose two games in a row..."
"Then at least we will have done so honestly," Albus cut him off, quite ready to be done with this conversation.
"Fine, you're incorrigible, as always." Horace heaved a sigh, and funnily enough he, too, now seemed to think that the red and yellow scarf around his neck was wrong. "No, really, this won't do." He pointed his wand at it to change it back into a Slytherin scarf, but it turned blue and bronze instead.
"What? Merlin's Beard, not Ravenclaw colours!" Horace cursed and tried to change it back to its original crimson. The result was a rather bright magenta.
"Very lovely," Albus commented, munching on his grilled tomatoes. "I think you might have found your colour, Horace."
The Head of Slytherin House narrowed his eyes at him. "You did this! I may not be Head of the Transfiguration Department, but I can turn a bloody red scarf into a green one! It's never turned blue before!"
Albus gave a little shrug. "Ah, well, you never know with these types of spells. They can be very temperamental, especially on a morning such as this. Can't you feel the energy in the castle walls?"
Horace huffed and refused to answer. He also refused to sit next to Albus in the stands, so he sat next to Cyrille instead, and yes, perhaps he was trying to prove a point. Quidditch was, after all, still only a game. There was no reason whatsoever to stop being civil. Seeing as Cyrille was dressed from head to toe in blue and bronze, Albus hoped he wouldn't come to regret that choice at the end of the match.
The two Heads of House didn't have time to talk much. The game started off very fast and it never slowed down once because there were hardly any fouls or penalties. When Gryffindor and Ravenclaw met on the Quidditch pitch, it was usually one of the cleaner games. Albus enjoyed watching it a lot more that way. Both teams were strong on offense, which meant that all eyes were on the Quaffle that sometimes changed hands so fast it was nothing but a red blur.
The Ravenclaw Chasers played very well, but they were still outmatched, not only when it came to speed and accuracy, but also, and perhaps more importantly, when it came to determination and endurance, or so Albus thought in his, admittedly, slightly biased opinion.
The Gryffindor trio was playing as though they were of only one mind. Passing the Quaffle between the three of them, picking it up whenever a teammate was forced to drop it because of a well-aimed Bludger, and blocking opposing players to clear the path to the goalposts. McGonagall in particular was all over the field today, scoring twice as many points as Appleby and Forrester, Albus did not fail to notice.
It was 60 to 30. Then 140 to 60. Gryffindor was not only pulling ahead but getting away from Ravenclaw, and still they showed no signs of slowing down. It was 180. 200. And finally, 230 to 80. By now Albus thought he knew what the Gryffindor team was doing and why they kept playing as though someone had set their brooms on fire. Other people in the stadium had done the math, too, and it was now that tensions were highest that the Golden Snitch was spotted. Albus had long since suspected that it was really a bit of a drama queen, only showing itself when it stood to gain the most attention.
If Ravenclaw caught the Snitch now, the game would be tied. Considering that Gryffindor had played lights out for close to an hour, that would be an absolute steal for Ravenclaw and a major disappointment for Gryffindor. Naturally, all eyes were on the two Seekers who were diving for the Snitch now.
All eyes, except for Albus' that was. He had never liked the sensationalist nature of ending games like this. After all, it wasn't as though the remaining twelve players had simply stopped in mid-air. Gryffindor was still playing. Forrester had the Quaffle. One of the Ravenclaw Beaters sent a Bludger his way, rather annoyed that they wouldn't stop coming. Forrester was forced to pass the Quaffle to Appleby. Gryffindor captain Royston defended her by sending the Bludger right back where it had come from. Appleby suddenly had the chance to score one last time.
But the second Ravenclaw Beater hit another Bludger with all his might. His aim didn't have to be perfect, he just needed to delay Appleby's approach towards the goalposts, and it looked as though his Bludger would do just that. But then McGonagall flew right into the Bludger's path, nearly doubling over from the impact and barely hanging on to her broom. Appleby was free to throw.
Madam Hooch's whistle blew. Dale, the Ravenclaw Seeker, had caught the Snitch and punched the air with his fist. The Ravenclaws cheered mightily. Until they noticed the scoreboard. It said 240 to 230 for Gryffindor. Appleby had scored while everyone had watched Dale grab hold of the Snitch.
All hell broke loose as the scoreboard filled the stadium with a lion's roar and the Gryffindors followed suit with a mad clapping and screaming of their own. There were red and golden flags everywhere.
Cyrille looked understandably miffed, but she turned around to shake his hand. "Well, congratulations, Albus. That was quite the performance. But I guess your team did have something to prove, didn't they?" She winced when the scoreboard roared again. "Oh, is that really necessary? Since when does it do that?"
Albus didn't say anything and accepted her handshake with a smile.
After a highly contested game like that, the school always needed some time to quiet down again. Since it just so happened that his first lesson on Monday morning would be with the Gryffindor third-years, who were still practising Switching Spells, Albus decided to let them have their fun. He would give them a set of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw banners and have them switch the two, which would most certainly result in a number of entertaining mix-ups.
When he let them enter the classroom, he quickly noticed that Minerva McGonagall was missing. For a moment Albus worried that she might have sustained a more serious injury in her heroic last-minute collision with that Bludger. He hadn't been informed of such an injury by Madam Hailstone, however, and since he had seen Miss McGonagall celebrate their victory with the rest of the Gryffindors, it seemed rather unlikely that her absence was health-related. And so he started his lesson.
Fifteen minutes in, the door to the classroom was hastily pushed open and his missing student appeared, clutching her side.
"Class started fifteen minutes ago, Miss McGonagall," Albus informed her, looking up from Mr Furlong's Gryffindor banner. He had turned the lion into a griffin.
"Sorry... Professor... overslept..." Miss McGonagall said, sounding very direct and very much out of breath.
Albus sighed. He had rather hoped that his classes were more important to her than Quidditch. Then again, he knew how easy it was to forget what it was like to be young and excitable. "Please leave your homework on my desk and sit down then," he said, turning his attention back to Mr Furlong.
Out of the corner of his eye Albus noticed that Miss McGonagall had stopped dead on her way to her seat. When Albus looked at her again, he saw that her eyes were glued to the scrolls of parchment that he had collected from her classmates at the beginning of the lesson.
"I... uh... don't have my homework, sir," she confessed. "With Quidditch and everything, I..."
"You forgot?" Albus guessed.
"Ah, not exactly, I just thought..."
"You thought it wasn't important?" Albus once again finished her sentence for her. He admired her honesty, but that was the only good thing he could say about her right now.
Miss McGonagall winced, uncomfortably aware that everyone was staring at them. "No, I just didn't have enough time. But you know that I know the difference between Switching Spells and Transformation Spells, Professor. I wrote about that in the very first essay you ever told me to write, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I focused on Quidditch instead."
After all the noise that had filled the castle this past weekend, the room was now almost unnaturally quiet. The class seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting to see what he would do or say, as if this was almost as exciting as watching a Quidditch match. In truth, Albus felt nothing but tired. Tired of always either rising above or failing to fulfil people's expectations. No one ever seemed to care if people had met his expectations.
"I see," he said eventually. "Then I hope in addition to knowing everything there is to know about Switching Spells, you also know how to find your seat and ask Miss Longbottom if she'll be kind enough to fill you in on what we're doing today. Oh, and I suppose that will be twenty points from Gryffindor."
Once again, Miss McGonagall froze on her way to her seat. "But you've never taken off points for forgetting homework before!" she said rather bluntly.
"Ah, but you didn't forget. You assumed I wouldn't mind and, I'm sorry to say, you assumed wrong," Albus told her, fully aware that this was really about the fact that he had never taken points from her for anything before.
Clearly, he should have, because now her eyes were ablaze with fury. Albus had often marvelled at how quickly teenagers could turn back into petulant little children. "But I had already done a homework like that! You're punishing me for being better than the rest of the class!"
There was some truth to her words. But it wasn't the right kind of truth. And it was rather disappointing that she was too wrapped up in her own accomplishments to understand that. "I don't see how I could possibly punish you for something you're not," he thus told her outright. "A witch's or a wizard's greatest weakness will never be a lack of skill but a lack of humility."
His words marked the end of their unpleasant little exchange. It also marked the end of any fun Albus had thought his students might have in this particular lesson.