Chapter Two

"Minerva, have you ever doubted me?" Dumbledore asked, smiling gently as he set his cup of tea down

"No, I suppose not." McGonogall replied, sipping her brew, preferring to look off towards the east side of the castle, just over Hagrid's Hut, than meet the eyes of her long-time friend who's smile had turned wry

It was only a breath past six in the morning, and Dumbledore had finally convinced Minvera to join him for tea in the courtyard. One of his favorite activities before the start of term, Albus promised that watching the Sun peak its weary rays above the Forest while enjoying a fresh cup was unlike any other. It was even better with a friend, which was something Albus was happy to say the two were. Though he could not recall ever saying it out loud. Even though Minerva turned down the offer to teach many years ago, it did not drive a wedge between them, as it would have for countless others. Perhaps it was a matter of respect that kept them close. When two minds meet that are at the top of their profession, there is a deep understanding that cannot be shared with anyone else, unspoken, and even though they spent many years apart, there was always that comfort there. That many miles away there was at least one person out there that knew what it was like to be smarter, stronger and more regretful than all the rest.

Of all which bound them, their shared history with familial heartbreak was what resonated the most. The first person who contacted Minerva following the death of her husband, Elphinstone, was Dumbledore.

It had been an expected death, the poison from a Venomous Tentacula is fatal in almost all circumstances. And, even for those who survive the deadly beast, the nerve damage it inflicts is oftentimes beyond Healers. Elphinstone came into contact with the Tentacula while enjoying a leisurely stroll through Hogsmeade. After stopping by the Three Broomsticks to socialize with a fellow Ministry employee, Elphinstone found himself walking through a patch of grass that, while unkempt, did not look suspicious. However, after stepping on one of its arms, the Tentacula seized Elphinstone's right ankle and expelled a total of nine spikes, injecting venom so potent, so deadly, that it could bring a Mountain Troll to its knees, directly into his bloodstream.

It was pain beyond pain. And as a swirl of darkness began to overtake him, a group of onlookers managed to deduce what occurred, and ran to J. Pippin's Potions in the hopes of procuring an antidote. There is a reason why Tentacula's are a Class-C, Non-Tradable Pet. While valuable, they were the second leading cause of death among household injuries prior to their restriction. In the short time that all of this transpired, Elphinstone had lost the majority of his bodily functions and even with the Healer's miracles, he died, not three years later.

"Come home, Minerva," Albus said, resting both hands on her tear soaked palms, "Hogwarts will always have a place for you."

There had been whispers of unexplained deaths in Dumbledore's past. There was the sister who vanished from the public eye, and who could ever forget his father's crimes? Long before Albus would confess he secrets for the greater good, Minerva was one of the first to know what happened to Ariana, and how Dumbledore knew in his heart, he was to blame.

Minerva rested the tea cup on her lap and turned her gaze to Albus, who was now looking to the horizon, trying to find something out there, she imagined. Something greater than they are.

Dipping her head, she smiled and set the cup down alongside his, "though, with something as trivial as this, I can't say I blame myself."

"There's nothing trivial about relaxation, Minerva. We, as professors, get precious few moments to breathe. Especially this close to term," Dumbledore replied, shifting to meet her, "I can only assume you've received owls from parents already?"

With a deep sigh, Minerva's eyes grew wide and gave a shudder as though she had just walked over a loved one's grave. Dumbledore gave a gentle, reassuring laugh. It was the kind that his students and co-workers, and even more so, soldiers looked for in recent times. The kind that told them everything was going to be alright, nothing was going to harm them anymore. And for the briefest of moments, in a world consumed by darkness, everything felt right.

"Some parents don't believe You-Know-Who is truly gone. They won't send their children back unless a body is found, and even then, I fear people won't be convinced."

"I can only guess why Voldemort's body was never found. But I would be lying, Minerva if I thought he was gone forever," Dumbledore said gravely, "if not in body, mind or spirit, at least memory. Memories are among the most powerful tools we have, and the fear in them will never go away, that I can assure you of. However long of a reprieve we have from Voldemort, we must carry on as we did before the Darkness rose. We have no choice if we are to ever recover."

"Of course then there are the parents who want to write the syllabus themselves. Only this time it's because we aren't teaching their children enough defensive spells. So far, those are the only ones I've responded to."

"And what message did you give them that I will undoubtedly hear about in the coming days?"

Minerva appreciated the levity, but grew serious with her response, "children are not soldiers, that was the sentiment."

"A wise one. But, rest assured, from now until the end of time, parents will want their children to be on guard for the Dark Arts in ways not seen since Herpo the Foul."

"That seems a bit...dramatic, doesn't? You know history as well as anyone Albus, Herpo pushed the boundaries of magic in ways no way before him thought possible."

"And Voldemort broke through those boundaries, did he not?" Dumbledore replied, with no sympathy in his voice

Just as this solemn statement began to set in, the calls of the creatures who stand guard all along the castle grounds began to echo through the halls of the castle, and made their way to the courtyard. Within the chorus was a Phoenix, who's song swelled high above the rest. The message was lost in its beauty to most. Curious professors and caretakers poked their heads out to try and catch a glimpse of the bird which at one point would burn brighter than the Sun, but it was nowhere to be found, not even Dumbledore could find the majestic beast.

"Always appears to a Dumbledore when in need," Albus thought to himself, "I hope that isn't the case."

The Sun had now risen high enough to where the Black Lake shimmered like diamonds. In these early morning moments, the sand around the lake had a luminous glow to it, enchanted from the creatures beneath the waves. It was so white, one might mistake it for snow. Though their morning songs were drowned out by the shimmering sea, if one listened closely you could hear the Merpeople of the deep. The only noise which pierced the water was the yawning of a Siren, amusing itself with the thoughts of who it might ensnare today.

With Minvera and Dumbledore both silent, listening to the chorus around them, it came as no surprise that the caretaker of the castle, Argus Filch was able to approach them without any notice.

There was a tremendous amount of sweat beading from his brow. With several labored, hacking breaths, he shuffled the remaining distance to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster," Filch said, reaching into the breast pocket of his brown, leather coat. A letter, still sealed by wax was produced, the crisp, lightly tanned envelope had been scuffed and received multiple stains from Filch's handling, "a letter, it came not ten minutes ago."

Dumbledore took it without hesitation. The task done, Filch bowed his head and ended the conversation with a brief acknowledgment of his counterpart's titles. By the time Filch had turned to leave, Dumbledore had already read the two sheets of parchment twice, his face turned dower by its contents.

"What news?" said Minerva

Dumbledore tucked the envelope into his cloak and rose to his feet, eying the entrance to the castle, "nothing worth dampening today's mood with. It was whispers, rumors, nothing more."

Undeterred, Minerva pressed for more information as the two made their chairs, table and tea vanish with a flick of their wands. Despite her persistence, all that Dumbledore would offer was that he has a friend near Greece that he has kept in contact with.

A light morning breeze gathered their cloaks and brushed the trims off the ground while the two entered the castle proper. Minerva followed Albus to the Front Hall, where the two finally parted. Dumbledore began the slow ascent to his office, where he planned to spend the rest of the morning studying wildlife. While Minerva turned back to return to hers. As she walked down the corridors, many of the paintings had finally found the strength to wake up. There were several that still remained empty, as the figures in paintings often left their own little worlds, especially when term has ended. Looking at one of the empty frames, a water color of the countryside where a man and his newly betrothed should be, Minerva thought back to a conversation she once had with a painting.

"Why stay when no one will admire your beauty?" The artwork proclaimed

"Because every time you leave, it becomes harder to come back." Minerva replied

Allowing her memory to guide her, Minerva did not notice the rest of the enchantments along the way. Barely did she even feel the increase in temperature as Peeves dropped oil into one of the torches. The flames shot high into the corridor, and certainly in the distance Flitch was screaming a combination of foul language and insults that constituted a hex of its own. Once back at her desk, Minerva saw a stack of letters which bore the Ministry's seal. No doubt they were letters suggesting she return to her old post, the Ministry had been trying to claw her back, offering higher pay and better assignments.

Though Minerva enjoyed her work in the field, she was always the first to confess that unsurprisingly, having to teach several rooms full of children was more stressful than attempting to remain undercover. Once, she had been sent by the Ministry to investigate rumors of potential Death Eater activity in the United States. And it was there that she heard the best description for acting as an undercover agent. She learned of a funambulist who described a particularly high walk by saying, "it was no more dangerous than walking across an eight story building. If you fall, the result is the same."

That sort of mindset helped Minerva remain calm in the field, knowing that regardless of how dangerous the mission was, if her cover was blown, the outcome would be the same. One of her largest accomplishments while working with the Ministry was the infiltration and ultimate takedown of a Death Eater channel, spread across five different cities in the UK. Minerva managed to integrate into a group that smuggled Death Eaters into high security locations without the means of detectable magic. Although it eventually led to the arrest and imprisonment of eleven Death Eaters, her work was almost cut short on just the fourth trip. One of the wizards running a band of Death Eaters recognized Minerva from a description given to him as part of a bounty program. If not for her skillful wandwork, the now forgotten wizard likely would have at least blown her cover, and her story ends there.

Despite that, Minerva will be steadfast in her belief that navigating hundreds and hundreds of children in their development, while avoiding the countless potential negative outcomes that life throws at them, is far more difficult that casting a few spells to silence a measly Death Eater.

Minerva peeled open the first two letters and found them to be what she expected. They were both addressed by her former boss. The first one simply wished her well, while the second offered her a position slightly higher than she had before. Discarding these, the third one contained information she had been waiting for, for several weeks. Minerva had requested a list of all the remaining suspected Death Eaters that she was unaware of. To her dismay, the list was much longer than expected, a full four pages to be exact, containing eighty-six names of witches and wizards along with a collection of suspected clans of dark beasts.

It was this, more than anything, which worried Minerva. True, the Ministry had a history of prosecuting people who were likely innocent. During the War, the unpopular, but deemed necessary idea was if ten people are convicted but only six are guilty, that's still six Death Eaters. Looking at the names, several seemed certain to be guilty, but others were longshots at best. Without having to check, Minerva knew that at least nine would be having children attending Hogwarts this year.

Setting the letter down, Minerva grimaced at the future these children had, and those that would follow them would have as well. Just one of the many negative possibilities life throws at them has already occurred. It was not their fault they were born into a family devoted to darkness, but there was only so much she could do to keep them from traveling down the left hand path.

"Children are not soldiers." Minerva repeated to herself

The War was not over, unfortunately, Dummbledore was right in the notion that people would never forget the years leading up to what could pass as peace.

It's just a shame that peace can never last.

Elsewhere in the castle, while Minerva pondered the lives of her students, the Groundskeeper of the school, Rubeus Hagrid was tending to a patch of Bubotuber which had been planted at the end of the previous term. With its black, sluggish like skin shimmering in the early morning Sun, Hagrid delicately checked to see how full the protrusions were. In just a few short weeks, the fourth years would be huddled in the Herbology greenhouse and told they were to collect the pus from these plants. Inevitably, all but a choice few would think it was a joke, as by that time the Bubotuber will have started to show yellowish blots on its skin, which when squeezed correctly would expel a foul smelling pus that needed to be collected in a special jar due to the destructive properties the liquid contained.

While Professor Pomona Sprout remained absent from the castle, she often left Hagrid in charge of tending to her plants for the following term. Though there were far more advanced witches and wizards at her disposal, it was his knowledge and care for the creatures that earned her trust. Though, he could be a bit reckless, such as now, where he cupped his bare hands at the base of the plant and lightly squeezed them. Disregarding the dragon hide gloves that had been left for him.

"They won' harm no one, Professor Sprout, mam. Not unless yeh mean 'em harm." Hagrid said to Pomona once as he attempted to hide the bite from a Fanged Geranium

Rising to his feet, Hagrid planted one of his dinner plate sized hands on a wooden table beside him which moaned in pain as he gingerly found his bearings. He brushed off what little dirt he could from his hands, and gave his brow a heavy wipe as sweat had begun to pour from it. The greenhouse, despite it being very early in the morning, was still considerably warm. It was enchanted to remain within a certain temperature year round, and while the heat would simply be uncomfortable for the average witch or wizard, it was quite frankly not designed for someone of Hagrid's size. With a practiced hand, Hagrid swooped his brown, leather coat which would cover a buffet table, and exited the sauna.

A cool, welcomed breeze brushed his red face as Hagrid felt the weight of his giant sized body heave forward as the stone steps leading up to the grounds moaned beneath him. Once he had found the grass, Hagrid straightened himself and threw the overcoat on, it landed with a thud on his back that he barely noticed, but in the distance a small flock of birds scattered.

The remaining of Hagrid's early morning tasks were in the Forbidden Forest. Despite its ominous name, Hagrid had learned through years of experience that during certain hours of the day, the woods which encompassed the fears of many First Years, was no more harmful than the countryside muggles camp in for leisure.

"They won' harm no one. Not unless yeh mean 'em harm."

After stopping by his Hut to gather a few supplies for the mission, Hagrid soon found himself along one of the familiar and ancient paths of the Forest. The early morning mist had finally lifted, allowing for a clear view of the path ahead, though there were still several sections that needed to be traversed through due to the overgrown foliage. Not ten minutes into his walk, Hagrid grew suspicious as to how quiet the Forest had become. The early morning whines had ceased, and the chit chat of the beasts who call this realm their home was absent.

Looking up, the trees felt foreign to Hagrid. The canopy grew higher and higher, casting a dark shadow. The air became quite cool, and feeling his brow chill with sweat, Hagrid wiped it away in a panic. What drove the panic even further was that with every step, there should have been a snapping of twigs or crunching of leaves. Instead, silence. And believing himself unseen, Hagrid attempted to reconcile the silence with some magic he had not heard of yet. After all, trust in Dumbledore. Trust the plan.

This thought calmed him down.

Straightening his back, Hagrid found his sense once more, and in doing so, realized he was not alone. And screamed.