A/N: I'm in the UK, so you get this five hours earlier. Surprise!

Chapter Seven: May 1975

"Do you think Gryffindor will win today?" Albus asked Minerva on the morning of the Quidditch Cup final. They had decided to treat themselves to breakfast in bed. They didn't often get to spend a quiet morning together—at least, not during term.

And the morning of the Quidditch final was the best way to ensure that the students' minds would not be on their absences at the staff table.

"I hope we'll win," Minerva said, licking some jam off her finger. "Ravenclaw's team has also played well this year, though. It'll be a tough match."

"Perhaps your son will win it for you," Albus commented. A slight grin began to creep across his face.

"Oh, don't even joke about that," Minerva groaned. "I'd love for him to win the Cup. You don't know what it's like; you never played Quidditch. Winning that Cup for your house is the best feeling in the world. It's the culmination of a year's work in one final game."

"It sounds like you miss it," Albus said. "You should go and fly more often."

Minerva shook her head. "It's not the same, Al. I still love flying, but I miss the competitive nature of inter-house Quidditch. There was nothing better than beating another team. And if you'll recall," Minerva added, "I was injured in my last match. I didn't have a natural end to my Quidditch career, if you will."

"No, but you almost met your natural end when you fell to the ground."

"It's not my fault the Slytherins decided to come after me," Minerva defended. "You could have let the remaining players on each team finish the match."

Albus looked at his wife with an eyebrow raised. "All right, Min. Let's change perspective. You're now the Deputy here, as I was then. If a student fell from their broom and was catapulting towards the ground because a group of students decided to injure her, would you—as Deputy, Head of Gryffindor, and Professor—allow the match to continue?"

Minerva glared at him. "I suppose not."

"I thought so," Albus said, too smugly for Minerva's liking, so she took a finger full of his favourite raspberry jam and plopped it on the end of his nose.

"You've resorted to a food fight, Professor?" Albus asked. "Was that entirely necessary?"

"I thought so," Minerva mimicked him. They looked at each other, and then fell apart laughing. She scooped the jam off his face with a napkin. "There you go. Good as new."

He cupped her cheek. "Thank you."

"For clearing your face of jam?" Minerva laughed. "My pleasure, my love. Especially since I put it there."

"Thank you for being my strength. My steady hand through the years." He shook his head. "Sometimes I still can't believe everything that's happened since you came into my life."

"You don't regret it, do you?" she asked quietly. "Knowing everything that's happened?"

"I don't regret one second of our existence together," Albus replied firmly. "Look at me, Min. I have loved every minute of our lives together—that includes when we were together, and when we were apart. Well, I perhaps regret causing you so much grief during your Animagus training, but—"

"I wouldn't change that," Minerva interrupted. "We learned a lot during that time. Both of us. It was a pivotal moment for our friendship. And without our friendship, I daresay we wouldn't have such a solid foundation now."

"You make me so happy when you talk like that," Albus murmured into her hair. "You make me feel like I'm worthy of your love."

"You are worthy of it." Minerva kissed him fiercely. "Don't forget it. You are worthy of it because I deem you to be worthy of it. You don't think I'd give my love to an unworthy person, do you?"

"When you put it that way, it's hard to disagree with you." Albus perked up. "You know, I just thought of a way for you to relive your Quidditch days."

"I hope you're not about to suggest a staff Quidditch match. That sounds like a horrible plan. I don't much fancy watching our colleagues as they do their best to stay astride their brooms."

"Oh heavens, no," Albus chuckled. "No, I was thinking of my Pensieve. Why don't you put some of your Quidditch memories in there? I'll admit, I have never attempted to rewatch a memory of myself flying, but it might make for a fun experience."

"You'd really let me use the Pensieve?"

"Minerva, you know that whatever is mine, is yours." He grinned. "Like my heart, for example."

She laughed. "You are such a softie."

"Why don't you use it tonight?" Albus suggested. "That way, no matter what, you'll end the day with a Gryffindor win. You won an awful lot, if I recall correctly. Surely you have a favourite match?"

"Albus, that might just be the best idea you've ever had." Minerva moved to get out of the bed. "While this was lovely, I suppose we should face the day."

"You can use the bathroom first." Albus nodded in the direction of the bathroom. "I would like another croissant."

Minerva rolled her eyes and started withdrawing her clothes from her wardrobe.

"You know," Albus said thoughtfully, "James truly is a wonderful flier."

"He is certainly better than he was during his first round at Hogwarts. Dalton was too tentative. He lacked a real competitive edge, and that hurt him." She winced. "Physically and strategically."

"Dalton didn't really want to play Quidditch, so I doubt he cared whether he won or lost."

Minerva whirled around. "What do you mean? We spent so much time practicing after he was cut from the team in his second year!"

"Yes, but he only wanted to play to make you proud."

"And how would you know that?"

Albus arched an eyebrow. "He told me."

"Now I feel terrible," Minerva muttered. "I didn't want him to feel pushed into anything."

"He didn't," Albus said calmly. "It was Dalton's choice to play. He had his reasons for doing so, but it wasn't that he had an affinity for the game. Not an affinity like your own, at least."

"Well, then," Minerva huffed.

"It's not a bad thing, my dear. And besides, it would appear James loves Quidditch for the sake of the sport. You could use that love to bond with him."

"Albus," Minerva warned. "We keep having the same argument, and I'm not inclined to repeat it today."

"I know I told you to keep your distance where possible, and I still think that's the best course of action. However, I see that it pains you to have a close relationship with Lily and not James." Albus looked at her earnestly. "I would like to see you happy, Tabby, even if I'm not always capable of conveying the sentiment."

"You're advising me to strike up a personal relationship with James?"

"I'd suggest starting with a personal conversation," Albus corrected. "Perhaps you should go and wish your team luck after breakfast. You care so much about them, Tabby. All of your students. You should let them see that."

"Hmmmm," Minerva said, disbelieving. "We'll see."

Albus merely raised an eyebrow until she added, "Oh, fine. But I'm not sure the students will want a pep talk from their Head."

"You never know until you try!" Albus called as she finally made it to the bathroom.

A little while later, Minerva was standing outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, attempting to work up the courage to enter the common room and speak to her team. She knew she had absolutely no reason to be nervous. Minerva had obviously taught every one of these students, and they each knew her. If anything, they would all fear her.

"Are you going in or not, Professor?" the Fat Lady asked rather pointedly. "Because if you're not, I'd like to go and talk to Sir Phillip in his portrait over there."

Minerva glared at the portrait. "I'll enter, please."

She climbed through the entryway until she was standing in front of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with various other students preparing to head to the pitch.

"Er, Professor?" Lupin asked her nervously. He stood slightly away from the others. "Is everything all right?"

Minerva smiled. "Yes, everything is fine."

"It can't be, not if she's smiling," Black muttered. Lupin elbowed him in the ribs, and Minerva made a mental note to find a reason to give Lupin house points in the next week.

"I'm here because I wanted to wish you all luck," Minerva said, addressing the room. "It's been a while since I've had the Quidditch Cup in my office, and it would be nice if you could rectify that today."

"Wait, are you a fan of Quidditch, Professor?" James piped up.

"A fan?" Minerva scoffed. "I'll have you know I was captain whilst I was a student, Mr. Potter, and I won the Cup five times."

"Woah, awesome." Black looked at her appraisingly. "You just became a lot cooler, Professor."

"I'm glad I have your approval, Mr. Black." Minerva arched an eyebrow at him. "Not that I'm sure I needed it."

It took everything in her not to smirk as the usually unflappable teenager blushed.

"As I'm sure you've all gleaned during your time here, I'm not necessarily one to give you all a pep talk," Minerva said, once again looking at the entire team. "Having said that, I've had the pleasure of watching you all over the past year. You certainly have the talent to win today, and if you go out there and play the way I know you can, I'm sure I'll be shutting down a victory party later this evening."

"Or maybe even tomorrow morning!" shouted the team captain, Cynthia Woodsworth.

"Just win the Cup, and then we can negotiate the length of the party, all right?" Minerva asked. She wore a smile on her face. "I look forward to the match. I'll see you all shortly."

As she left the common room, Minerva heard James whisper, "That was cool of her to come."

Her smile turned into a grin.


The match was a lot closer than Minerva would have liked. The score was 80-70, in favour of Gryffindor, but Ravenclaw was playing with more gusto than she had seen in a long time.

It was clear that both teams wanted the win.

"You seem nervous, Minerva," Albus muttered in her ear.

"I would like us to win," Minerva admitted through gritted teeth. She narrowed her eyes as she watched a Ravenclaw chaser swipe the quaffle away from James. "Come on, Ro, that was a foul!"

"I'm not entirely sure about that," Albus chuckled. "Filius seems to believe it was fair."

Minerva spared a moment to look at Filius out of the corner of her eye. True to Albus' word, Filius was cheering.

"He would think it's fair," Minerva grumbled. "He has a clear shot at—yes! Good save!"

"And it came to nothing in the end," Albus laughed as the Gryffindor keeper threw the quaffle to one of their teammates.

"I don't know how you can stay so neutral," Minerva snapped.

"I'm Headmaster. It's my job to stay impartial," Albus said idly. "I support all of my students equally."

"It's a good thing I'm not Head. I would be horrible at being impartial." Albus laughed again, so she said, "What now?"

"Well, my dear, as Deputy, you're widely considered next in line for the job."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "You love to use my own words against me."

"You said that to me once, and you were quite right. Whenever I am no longer Headmaster, it will be you who takes the Headship."

Something about his tone made Minerva turn her head to look at him. "What are you talking about, Albus?"

"At some point, I will no longer be Headmaster." To her annoyance, he looked amused. "Surely you considered the notion."

"Not seriously, no." Minerva lowered her voice. "Besides, what makes you think I wouldn't go with you? If you left Hogwarts, I would go with you."

"Minerva—"

"No, Albus." She looked at him fiercely and hissed, "You are my husband. Obviously any putative decision you would make would be made by both of us! I would hope so, anyway."

"Minerva!" Albus raised his voice. "Look at the pitch!"

"What?" Minerva looked at the pitch, and to her delight, she saw the Gryffindor seeker flying toward the ground with an outstretched arm. "Oh, my! Oh—goooooo!"

She screamed jubilantly as the Gryffindor section of the stands erupted into cheers. Minerva looked at Albus with a wide grin on her face.

"Congratulations, my dear," Albus said. The twinkle in his eye seemed to be brighter than usual. "Very well done indeed."

"Albus!" Minerva yelped. "Can you go and get the Cup? I want to go down and—"

Albus laughed. "Yes. Go. Go and see your team." She turned to do that, but he gripped her arm gently before she could head down to see the pitch. "You have too much to give to the school to think about leaving when I do."

"That'll keep for now," Minerva assured him, and she ran down the stairs until she joined the melee of Gryffindors on the grass.

"Well done!" Minerva exclaimed proudly as she approached the team. "Very, very, very well done! I couldn't be happier!"

"Thanks, Professor!" Betty Johnston grinned. "Oh, hello, captain—I can't believe it!"

Woodsworth laughed as she hugged Johnston from behind. "Believe it, because it's what happened!" The captain turned to Minerva. "To finally win in my sixth year on this team—this feeling is the best!"

"Nothing beats it," Minerva agreed. "That was a splendid match, Miss Woodsworth."

"We really wanted to win," Woodsworth said, laughing. "After you visited, we decided we wanted to win for you."

"For me?" Minerva asked, surprised.

"Yeah." Woodsworth shrugged. "We figured we owed you."

"Oh, well. You certainly didn't owe me," Minerva murmured. She smiled slightly. "But I must admit that I am quite touched."

"Don't you know we like you?" Johnston laughed, a wry smile on her face. "Besides, we talk to the other teams. No one has ever mentioned their Head coming to talk to them before a match."

"Trust me, we would know about it, too," Woodsworth added. "We always talk about who gets more support. We don't often get support from our professors."

Minerva felt a sudden burst of shame. "I apologize for not having told you this before, but I will always support the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I may not be on the pitch anymore, but I can be an eighth player."

"That's why you rock," James yelled, bounding up to the group. "You're way better than ol' Sluggy!"

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I can condone that kind of talk, Potter. But," she said quickly, "because you played so well today, I'll overlook it just this once."

James grinned. "Thanks, Professor." He turned to his teammates. "Dumbledore is gathering everyone together for our picture with the Cup."

As Woodsworth and Johnston left, Minerva felt the desire to talk to James alone. "You played well today, Potter. I was very impressed."

"Thanks. Did you play chaser, too?" James asked as they walked slowly towards the podium.

"Yes, actually, I did. I also tried out for seeker, but chaser suited me best."

"I get that," James said, laughing. To Minerva's surprise, he reached into his uniform and pulled out a snitch. "Seeker is a fun position. I play it at home all the time."

"Is that snitch the one from this game?" Minerva nodded at the snitch in his hands.

"Yeah, it is. Claire dropped it on the ground, and I picked it up. I think I'd like to keep this snitch, Professor. If that's okay," James said quickly. "I'd like to keep a memento from my first-ever Cup win, and I don't reckon a quaffle would fit into my trunk. I know I should give it back to Madam Hooch, but she won't miss one snitch, will she?"

Minerva laughed. "No, I doubt she will." She winked. "I'll keep your secret."

James' eyes widened. "Woah, thanks, Professor McG!"

Minerva felt a pang of longing as she remembered how Aidan would call her his McG. Hearing James say it, it was like Aidan was back with her for a moment.

She shook the memory away. "You're welcome. Just don't give me any reason to take it away, all right?"

"I won't." James grinned again. "I think I need to go and take that picture, Professor."

Minerva looked towards the newly constructed podium, where Albus and the rest of the Gryffindor team were indeed gathered.

"Go ahead, Mr. Potter. Enjoy your win."

"I will. Oh, and Professor?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure we'll see you tonight, but don't shut us down too early!" James yelled as he ran to meet his teammates.

Minerva chuckled in his wake. It was almost fun for her to realize that while Dalton was gone, James was very much here, and he enjoyed Quidditch. He may not need much guidance in her Transfiguration classroom—Minerva had her own DNA to thank for that—but she had found something over which she could bond with this iteration of her son.

As she turned to ensure the students all returned to the castle, Minerva reckoned this was the best day she had had in years.


After dinner, Albus and Minerva were sitting in Minerva's quarters. He had brought the Pensieve to them in anticipation of Minerva accepting his earlier offer.

"Are you sure you still want to relive your Quidditch memories?" Albus laughed. "I figured you'd be up all night waiting to break up the party currently raging inside Gryffindor Tower."

"I need to stay up doing something," Minerva said. "I finished my grading early in the week so that I wouldn't feel too terrible about spending all of last night and this morning with you."

"I'd say that sacrifice was well worth it," Albus murmured.

"Indeed." Minerva raised an eyebrow, smiling. "And yet, I am quite left without something to do this evening, and I rather like your offer of looking at Quidditch memories."

"What if I made another offer?" Albus looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Albus, if we were to head to the bedroom, we would undoubtedly be interrupted more than once this evening thanks to Gryffindor's party. I'm fine if my memory watching is interrupted, but making memories?" Minerva smirked. "I'd like that to be undisturbed."

Albus released a hearty laugh. "As you wish, my dear. You're comfortable with the Pensieve?"

"I believe so," Minerva said, nodding. "Here, let me open it before you disappear. Just in case there is something for which I need you."

"It's not like I'm in any rush to review the minutes from the last Board of Governors meeting," Albus grumbled. "I'd much rather spend my evening with you."

"Well, our night is destined to be full of interruptions—potentially just enough to put me in a foul mood. I doubt I'll be the best company tonight." Minerva opened up the Pensieve and frowned. "Actually, I think I'm in a foul mood already."

"Why?"

"Albus, why the hell do you have a list of memories here with Athena's name on them?" She turned to face him and glared.

He paled. "I thought I had removed that."

"That's your excuse? That you thought I wouldn't see it?" Minerva snarled. "Are you serious?"

"In my defence," Albus said slowly, holding up his hands, "I didn't do anything bad."

"Then what exactly did you do, dear husband of mine?"

"I started to put memories of Athena—and Lily—into the Pensieve shortly before Christmas during their first year at Hogwarts."

"Why?"

"It was too much for me to handle," Albus admitted. "I felt overwhelmed. When I place memories into the Pensieve—or into its corresponding vials and storage area—the feelings associated with the memories are dulled. The longer the memories are in there, the more you forget about them."

"You wanted to forget your own daughter?" Minerva asked, horrified.

"I wanted to forget about the feelings. I wanted to be able to help you without becoming overwhelmed by my own emotions. I wanted to be able to go to the Great Hall for meals and not feel my heart lurch every time I saw Lily. I needed to dull the pain, Minerva."

"Albus, you need to deal with it in other ways! Healthier ways!" Minerva shook her head. "I thought you were talking to Poppy."

"Yes, I was. I conveniently didn't mention this habit of mine during our sessions."

"Because you knew it was unhealthy," Minerva remarked, as neutrally as she could.

"Because I needed to keep doing it! I needed to get rid of my anger and hurt! I wanted to maintain some semblance of myself." Albus seemed to crumple before her. "I couldn't turn into Aberforth. So embittered by loss that I become...cantankerous."

"Oh, Al. We need to tell each other these things, all right?"

"I know," Albus muttered. "It became routine, and I wanted to avoid disappointing you—I wanted to avoid that look on your face."

"What look?"

"Pity mixed with exasperation and anger," Albus grumbled.

"I don't pity you, Al. I feel sad that you didn't think you could come and talk to me."

"I didn't want to make your pain worse."

Whilst Minerva knew this was a rather large and uncharacteristic admission for her husband, she was frustrated.

"Al," she explained with a great degree of patience, "I will say this one more time, and that is it: your emotions are important to me. You are important to me. You may be the great Albus Dumbledore, but you are my husband. That means I want to hear about the good and the bad." She jerked her head in the direction of the Pensieve. "Especially anything that makes you feel the need to dull the memories of your daughter."

"I understand," Albus said quickly. "I do."

"I know that you have your secrets," Minerva continued, "but we will only get through this by leaning on each other. I'm not asking for you to tell me everything about your childhood or your greatest fears. All I'm asking is that you tell me about anything that will have an impact on you and your well-being."

"Can I make it up to you?" he asked softly.

"You can stop doing this. I'm sick of this conversation," Minerva said bluntly. She sighed as his face fell. "I'm sorry, Al. That was harsher than I meant it to be."

"You're right, of course. I'm incapable of change."

"Not incapable. Merely...inflexible." Minerva smiled wryly. "I have an idea."

"Yes?"

Minerva said, "I would like to put my own memory in your Pensieve, and I would like it if you wouldn't judge me. Quid pro quo, if you will."

He eyed her carefully. "Go on."

"I'll be putting some memories of the Triwizard Tournament in here," Minerva decided. She had no desire to remember how Tom Riddle had hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire or the task that had led to her friend Charlotte's death. If Albus wanted a clean slate, she would have hers, too.

After all, she had her own secrets. Minerva had never told Albus that Riddle had been the one to cause there to be two Hogwarts champions, and she didn't particularly want to think of it again. She wanted her life to be as free of Tom Riddle and his machinations as possible.

Albus responded, "I don't see why depositing your memories of the Triwizard Tournament would be detrimental. That was a very trying time. I can't imagine you'd want to remember it. When I reflect on the danger you were in, I am uncomfortable. I certainly can't blame you."

"Thank you." Suddenly feeling nervous, Minerva added, "Would you do it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What, withdraw the memories?"

"Yes."

"All right." Albus rose from his chair, withdrew his wand, and pointed it at her head.

Slowly and gently, Minerva felt the memories leaving her brain. She sighed in relief as she watched Albus place them carefully into vials.

"Would you like these noted at all, my dear? We could watch them and make labels for each one, if you wish."

"No," Minerva responded quickly. "You can simply write my name on them. I'm not planning on removing any more memories. I'll know what they are. I do not intend to rewatch them."

Albus nodded his understanding. "That's perfectly reasonable. Now, do you still wish to watch your Quidditch memories?"

Minerva laughed. "Yes. And, for your lack of trust in me, you can come with me."

"Minerva, I hate flying," Albus protested. "I don't have any desire to fly around on a broom in your head."

"I know," Minerva chuckled. "We'll only watch a couple—I'll have to break up that party at some point." She adopted a stern look on her face. "Then, tomorrow, you and I can go through your memories of Athena and put them back in your head."

"Gracious, it will be painful," Albus murmured.

"Yes, it will. But the pain means you loved someone, and that should give you strength and comfort. That's one lesson your brother never learned."

With that, Minerva used his wand to place one of her Quidditch memories in the Pensieve, took his hand, and plunged her head into the basin.


Tom Riddle was annoyed.

Scratch that. Tom Riddle was infuriated.

Of course, he didn't go by Tom Riddle anymore. He was Lord Voldemort to all of his followers. Even the few amongst them that he counted as true friends had taken to calling him by his new moniker.

But sometimes, when he was by himself and thinking about his past, he liked to think of himself as Tom.

He would never, ever, use his silly father's surname again—not even in his head.

But Tom, yes. Sometimes, life had seemed much more straightforward when he was merely a boy with a thirst for knowledge and great power.

But Tom was not one to wallow. So, Tom wandered around the field and wished he could set fire to it. He knew from his memory that Scrimgeour Manor was nearby. This is where he and his late accomplice Katrina Rowle had murdered Aidan Scrimgeour and his parents.

It was when he had truly lost Minerva McGonagall. To his dismay, this fact still annoyed Tom.

In his youth, it was a schoolboy crush. Even Tom would admit that to himself. Teenage Minerva McGonagall had been beautiful and intelligent, and she had had a quick wit and the temperament to match.

What Tom had liked most about her—and what still eluded him to this day—was her power.

Any notion of romance had long since left his mind. Their shared kiss had been pleasant enough, but he was more fascinated by the way her mind worked.

"You can't love if your soul isn't whole."

Minerva had no way of knowing that those simple words that she had uttered—no doubt intended for him to improve himself—had instead made Tom turn to dark magic. He had discovered Horcruxes. He had coerced old Slughorn into talking to him about them. And Tom Riddle had made his first Horcrux—the diary he gave to Minerva that she rejected—so that any feelings of love would leave his brain.

He thought it was quite fitting, really.

Tom kicked the ground beneath him. He knew, without a doubt, that Scrimgeour Manor was somewhere in the area. The fact that he couldn't see it meant only one thing.

Someone was using the bloody place again, and had placed the Fidelius charm on it.

He knew it had to be Minerva, or someone in her family. He just couldn't figure out why. Through some subtle inquiries over the past few years, Tom knew that the place had practically been abandoned. It was kept up, and certainly looked stately enough, but none of his Pureblood friends had neither seen nor heard of anyone entering Scrimgeour Manor since the tragedy in 1951.

It was a tragedy. Tom had enjoyed killing Aidan Scrimgeour and his parents because it had pleased Katrina and angered Minerva. However, Tom still felt uneasy at his role in ending one branch of a prominent, Pureblood wizarding family.

As he wandered the area, the answer struck him like an Avada Kedavra.

Tom had heard rumours of an underground resistance to his movement. Logically, he knew it could only be led by one person: Albus Dumbledore. He believed that Dumbledore would want to exact revenge on Tom for all of his transgressions.

Tom wasn't scared of Dumbledore. He had taken steps to ensure that whilst Dumbledore may still be slightly more powerful, Tom would not die at the hands of his old Headmaster.

Instead, it was thoughts of Minerva McGonagall that made him uneasy. She still made his head spin. He had thought he hated her, for a while—he certainly hated her idiotic brother.

It was her power that gave Tom pause. Everyone knew Dumbledore's power, yet Tom had a suspicion that Minerva hadn't unlocked all of hers. She wasn't tempted by it, unlike Dumbledore or Tom, which meant that it would continue to grow quietly, untested.

Unlimited.

No, nowadays, Tom's thoughts about Minerva McGonagall only centred on her power, and the fact that he didn't have it at his beck and call.

What a lost opportunity.

It always came back to power with Tom. His movement, his battles, his life—it always would be about his potential to obtain more power. Sighing woefully, Tom stopped dwelling on the past, and with a swoosh of his cloak, he Apparated away.

He might not have been able to find the location of these secret meetings—and consequently was no closer to Minerva—but at some point, someone would make a mistake.

And Tom knew he would be ready when they did.