Post by aphelion on Jul 26, 2011 23:03:45 GMT -5
Will Minerva's first year at Hogwarts be all she'd hoped? Be careful what you wish for indeed...
Professor McGonagall was about to find out just how qualified she was to hold that title as she stood outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her first class was already inside and she took a deep breath before striding into the lion’s den (though ‘badgers’ set’ would be a more apt description), shoulders back, chin up, with the bell ringing overhead.
Only half the students were in their seats but the few who saw her enter hastily scrambled to their desks, eyeing her warily. The others were standing around in groups, talking and laughing loudly, unaware that the new DADA teacher had arrived.
‘That is quite enough,’ she ordered, dropping several heavy books on her desk with a bang, her voice cracking like a whip despite the noise level. The room seemed to jump and subside as one, leaving a silence so complete she was afraid they’d stopped breathing, as well as talking, as all heads swivelled towards her. ‘This is a classroom not a common room. You will take your seats promptly at the beginning of lessons and get out your work materials. Well?’ she questioned sharply, when they continued to stare at her.
Her pupils burst into noisy life again, scrabbling to find stools and pulling books, parchment, quills and ink out of their bags under McGonagall’s eagle eye. She looked slowly around at them all as the last scrapes and rustles died away, radiating austerity.
‘For those of you who do not know, I am Professor McGonagall and I am here to teach you Defence Against the Dark Arts.’ She clasped her hands behind her back and paced up the first aisle, square glasses swinging from a fine gold chain around her neck as she continued. ‘Our classes together will not only instruct you on jinxes and counter-jinxes, and other forms of dark magic wizardkind like to employ against each other, but dark creatures. While not always what we would term ‘evil’, many dark creatures can – nonetheless – cause a great deal of damage if not properly handled.
‘It is therefore essential,’ she paused at the back of the room, ‘to pay attention lest we find ourselves unprepared.’ She cast a cold eye over the dark-haired fourth-year boy at her elbow, holding out her hand. The tips of the boy’s ears turned pink as he looked up into her stony face, her lips a thin line, and drew a scrap of parchment out of his lap, placing it in her outstretched hand. ‘Name?’
The class’s focus was riveted on the boy as they waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. He swallowed in the spotlight. ‘Euan Trimble, miss,’ he replied in a small voice.
‘Collect your things together and move to the front of the class, please, Mr Trimble. You – Miss -?’ she trailed off, looking at a mousy girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair, who was sitting directly in front of the teacher’s desk.
‘Abbott, Helen Abbott,’ colouring at being addressed as Trimble moved forward, his friends snickering under their breaths.
‘Would you mind giving up your seat?’ she asked, though it couldn’t quite be termed a request when there was really only one answer the girl could give.
Miss Abbott gathered her things together and moved to a free seat in the second row. Minerva continued her pacing.
‘The magic we are going to be doing together is difficult and potentially hazardous if not performed correctly. This requires your full attention. I will not tolerate distractions,’ she held up the confiscated piece of parchment as she returned to stand in front of her desk and crushed it in her white fist. Euan cast his eyes down and straightened his quill as she threw it into the bin with perfect aim. ‘And if I find anyone endangering themselves or their classmates with foolish behaviour,’ her green eyes flashed dangerously, ‘they will leave my classroom and not return.
‘Is that understood?’
There was a smattering of ‘Yes, Professor’s as the class shifted guiltily in their seats, despite the fact that they hadn’t done anything wrong yet. Minerva fought down a smile. ‘Good,’ she said briskly, sitting on the edge of her desk. ‘Quills out, please.’ She used the few seconds of shuffling to lean across and retrieve her register, marking off Euan Trimble and Helen Abbott before setting it beside her. ‘Now, who can tell me what a kelpie is?’
She wasn’t at all surprised to see Helen’s hand hit the air first; front and centre used to be her own seat of choice.
‘Yes, Miss Abbott?’
‘It’s a water demon,’ she said confidently.
‘Very good; five points to Hufflepuff. And where should I look if I wished to find one?’ she asked, addressing the class. Again Helen’s hand punched the air but Minerva pointed to a boy in the third row instead. ‘Name?’
Patrick Zlinky, Professor.’ McGonagall nodded for him to continue. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘Britain and Ireland, I mean.’
‘Exactly – take five more points. Indeed kelpies can be found in any part of the UK but almost eighty percent of the populations are to be found in the Lake District and the Highland lochs – including one very famous one, even in the muggle world. Can anyone tell me where this creature has taken up residence?’
Euan’s eyes had lit up at this and she looked at him, ‘Mr Trimble?’
He looked faintly startled at being asked, ‘I think it’s Loch Ness,’ he said uncertainly.
‘What? The Loch Ness Monster?’ cried one of the students incredulously. ‘It’s one of these things? But I thought it was a sea-serpent …’
The class laughed. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed – but older and wiser wizards than you and I have made the same mistake,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘Name?’
‘Ryan Dawkins,’ he said quickly, obviously eager to press a point. ‘But I thought kelpies ripped out people’s guts, Professor: wouldn’t someone have noticed if this thing had been eating the tourists?’
‘Indeed they did,’ she nodded, ‘and a team from the International Confederate were dispatched to investigate what they thought was a sea serpent – there had been several sightings. It wasn’t until they witnessed its transformation into an otter that they realised what they were really dealing with and posted a watch-wizard, to ensure the muggles safety.
‘Now, the kelpie is capable of changing into a great many things but the most common form is that of a horse. It attempts to lure its victims onto its back before dragging them down to the bottom of the lake and devouring them, letting the intestines float to the surface,’ she said, seeing a smug look flit across Ryan’s face as he nudged his neighbour. ‘The only known way of subduing a kelpie is to get a saddle on it by use of a placement charm, which we will be practising in the Great hall since we have limited space in here. So if you’ll copy down the instructions on the board (she flicked her wand and three neat paragraphs appeared there) then pack away your things and follow me …’
Minerva entered the staff room at break-time with a satisfied smile on her face, helping herself to a sandwich and a cup of tea. There had been no major accidents and she hadn’t had to take a single point which, in her book, was a jolly good start to the day. A dozen teachers were gathered in the lounge, some she knew, some she did not, chowing down on sandwiches or smoking a quick pipe before classes resumed. Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore were seated at a corner table, deep in conversation, but she was hesitant to impose her company on her former teachers.
Slughorn had frequently tried to draft her into his ‘Slug Club’ when she’d been a student and she could already picture the smug look on his face when he realised that she hadn’t put her talents to much use till now. He’d probably think she couldn’t get along without a leg-up …and Dumbledore. She had a deep admiration for her old Transfiguration professor but she felt distinctly awkward towards him after two rather less than formal letters she’d felt compelled to write – even if that had been eleven years ago.
‘Minerva isn’t it?’
She turned to find herself being waved over by a mahogany-haired witch sitting by one of the fires. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t –‘
‘Poppy,’ said the woman, smiling as Minerva sat down and set her plate and cup on the table at their knees. ‘Poppy Pomfrey – I’m the trainee Healer. Which basically means I do whatever Brax tells me. He’s a bit of a grouch but he knows what he’s talking about – well he’s been here nearly thirty years, hasn’t he? I just started in September so I’m new, too. I was so glad when Dumbledore said you were about my age – not that I don’t get on with the others but it’s nice to have someone, well, younger to talk to, you know. So, how was your first lesson?’
The grey-eyed bubbly young woman was so friendly that Minerva couldn’t help but return her smile as she warmed her hands by the fire. Being December, the temperature inside the castle was scarcely better than the weather outside, which had been threatening to snow for the last few days.
‘Great,’ she nodded enthusiastically, ‘fun. I didn’t expect it to be this easy-going straightaway.’
‘So this is your first teaching job then?’ asked Poppy. ‘Fancy a career change?’
‘Oh no, I always intended to teach, it just, it wasn’t the right time before.’ She shrugged and sipped her tea, ‘You know what it’s like when you’re young.’
‘Too busy having fun,’ Poppy nodded with a sly grin.
‘Something like that,’ said Minerva, glancing at her watch and realising she only had ten minutes before her next class. ‘So are you here on a placement …?’ she asked, taking a bite out of her chicken and cucumber sandwich.
Poppy sat up a bit in her chair, seeming pleased that she’d asked. ‘Well that was the original plan – I was supposed to be here for a year and then back to St Mungo’s for my final year before I’m fully qualified. But Brax is planning to retire in the next couple of years and he thinks it’d be better if he trained his own replacement. He doesn’t think a brand new candidate would do the job properly,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘But it’s great for me – I mean, a job like that doesn’t fall into your lap every day, does it? And by the time Brax leaves I’ll be a full Healer with a couple of years Hogwarts experience under my belt. Pays well, too, and you know that’s never a bad thing – especially with Hogsmeade down the road. It was all I could do not to spend my entire pay packet on this gorgeous set of robes I saw in Gladrags last month. It’s just lucky Malcolm was there to hold me back.’
Minerva raised her eyebrows enquiringly, mouth full of sandwich.
‘Malcolm’s my partner,’ said Poppy, correctly interpreting Minerva’s expression. Her eyes fell on the gold band adorning Minerva’s finger, ‘You’re married?’
‘Uh huh,’ nodded Minerva. ‘Going on fourteen years now.’
‘You must have been young,’ observed the medic, scrutinising her as if trying to guess her age.
‘And head over heels,’ she said, smiling at a far away memory.
Poppy sighed, ‘I’ve been dropping hints for months but Malcolm doesn’t seem to be picking them up. Men,’ she added, with a ‘can’t live with ‘em, can’t Imperius them into marriage’ type roll of her eyes. Minerva chuckled.
‘You could always ask him,’ she suggested, brushing a few errant crumbs off her bottle green robes.
Poppy looked scandalised, ‘Oh no, no, no – I’m a traditionalist. I think every good marriage should start with the man on his knees.’
Minerva chortled a little louder than she’d meant to, drawing several curious glances. She clapped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head at Poppy.
‘What?’ she asked innocently, her expression belying her tone.
‘You,’ said Minerva, still shaking her head, patches of colour on her pale cheeks.
‘What about me?’
She grinned, picking up the remains of her sandwich, ‘I think I’m going to like you.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ beamed Poppy, raising her teacup with a satisfied nod. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ said Minerva, raising her cup, too.
‘We’d better get going,’ said Poppy, noticing the string of teachers leaving the staff room and consulting the clock at the far end of the room. Minerva followed Poppy’s lead, gathering her empty cup and plate and returning them to the long table beside the door. ‘I’ll save you a seat at lunch,’ promised Poppy.
Minerva smiled as they parted ways in the corridor. It had been a long time since she’d made a new friend.
Darkness had already fallen by the time Minerva left Hogwarts that evening, weighed down by her heavy leather bag but buoyed up by the success of her first day of teaching. The sixth-year Slytherins had been a little harder to control than her Hufflepuff class but she had expected and planned for as much. The threat of detention was enough of a deterrent this time, though they had lost their house fifteen points in the space of half an hour. Still, even half-a-dozen slippery Slytherins couldn’t dent her good mood. She was surprised at how quickly the day had flown by.
The school gates clanged shut behind her and her breath rose in drifts of steam as she lit her wand, illuminating the winding lane into Hogsmeade. A fortnight ago she’d been panicking that she and Silas wouldn’t be able to find accommodation on such short notice. She’d half expected to be boarding at The Three Broomsticks for the next six months but luckily the estate agent had managed to come up with a small cottage on the edge of the village that needed ‘a bit of renovation’.
That had been an understatement. It needed knocking down and rebuilding if Minerva was honest with herself but it was all they could afford. Still, she wasn’t afraid of a bit of hard graft and she had a few tricks up her sleeve yet. Silas wasn’t the DIY type but she’d managed to coerce him into helping her with the bathroom when they’d discovered that it wasn’t so much a bathroom as a breeding ground for every type of mould going. She itched just thinking about it.
She was glad to see the lights on as she approached the cottage, picking her way carefully across the overgrown garden. There might even be a cup of tea waiting for her, which she sorely needed after the biting cold. She’d been on to the Floo Commission to get them connected to the network but after a week she was beginning to wonder if they were getting her owls. She’d decided that if it wasn’t sorted by the end of the week, she’d go in for the personal touch.
‘I’m home!’ she called, extinguishing her wand as she made her way up the gloomy, box-littered hall. ‘Silas?’
‘In here,’ a voice rumbled towards the back of the house. She dropped her bag in an armchair on her way though the living room, following the enticing smell of food into the kitchen. ‘Hi, love,’ smiled Silas, stooping to plant a scratchy kiss on her cheek. ‘How’d it go?’
She nodded, smiling as she unbuttoned her heavy black cloak and hung it by the door. ‘Pretty good I think.’ She wandered up behind him, peering into the large pot bubbling on the stove, ‘Something smells good.’
‘Nothing special, bit of beef stew, warm you up,’ he said, poking a large wooden spoon into the pan and giving it a good stir.
‘I could use it. Cup of tea?’ she asked, clapping her hands together and looking for the tea pot amongst the debris of empty wrappers and dirty dishes that had accumulated since she’d left this morning.
‘I bought a bottle of wine to celebrate your new job,’ he said, nodding towards a dusty bottle on the kitchen counter. ‘Why don’t you crack it open? Food should be ready soon.’
She eyed the bottle with distaste but made no comment as she began chucking rubbish in the bin, noticing as she did so an already empty green bottle in there. Silas seemed not to notice his wife’s sudden silence, humming over the stew as the wireless played in the background. Minerva rolled up her sleeves and filled the sink with hot soapy water, tapping the scrubbing brush with her wand to get it going as she piled the dishes in.
She found the teapot obscured behind a box of cereal and busied herself with gathering the ingredients for her tea, placing the half-filled copper kettle on the back ring of the stove with a clang. ‘You sure you don’t want a cup of tea?’ she asked hopefully, rummaging in the cupboard next the Silas for a cup and saucer.
‘Nah – fetch us a glass while you’re in there, will you, love?’ he said, sidling around her to grab the bottle of wine and popping the cork with his wand.
‘Certainly, dear,’ she muttered, placing the goblet on the counter with a solid clunk. ‘Did you manage to sort that doxy nest in the spare room?’ she said, knowing the answer before she’d finished asking the question when she saw the spray and bucket untouched in the cubby by the back door.
‘Ah no, sorry love. Got caught up talking to that Vesta Lawrence, lost track of the time. By the time I got back it was time to put the tea on …’ he apologised, not looking at her as he pulled a couple of bowls from the cupboard. ‘I’ll do it later though.’
Minerva stared at the back of his shaggy brown head with a look of deepest scepticism but again chose not to comment. She didn’t want to be a nag, she didn’t like being a nag. ‘What did Vesta have to say for herself, then?’ she asked, turning back to the table and exerting a considerable amount of effort to keep a note of annoyance from her voice.
‘Apparently her son’s due home in a couple of days,’ he said, ladling stew into the bowls. ‘You know he’s with the Department for International Cooperation – seems he caused a bit of a stir in Nigeria so they’re sending him back ahead of schedule.’
‘Lock your daughters up,’ she said with a small smile, pulling the whistling kettle off the stove. They may have only been in Hogsmeade a week but Tallyn Lawrence had quite the reputation.
‘More like lock your wives up,’ he grinned, glancing sideways at her as he set the food on the table.
‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ she groaned, grimacing.
‘Apparently he sneaked off with some ambassador’s wife during a shindig in the capital, had to make a run for the border when they caught him with his trousers round his ankles, so to speak.’
‘Vesta must be so proud,’ she said dryly.
‘Oh she doesn’t believe a word of it, of course. Thinks he’s been set up by some junior angling for his job. Her precious son couldn’t possibly be the toerag everyone says he is.’
‘Of course not,’ she rolled her eyes and sat down.
‘So,’ he said, dropping into the chair beside her, ‘You going to tell me how your first day went? Kids give you any guff?’
She shook her head, toeing her shoes off under the table with a little groan. ‘No, it went really well. A couple of the older students thought they’d try it on but your wife soon straightened them out.’
‘I’ll bet she did,’ he said, a soft unexpected smile playing on his lips. ‘I’m proud of you, Min. I know how much you wanted this.’
She rested her chin on her hand, disarmed by the rare compliment. ‘Come ‘ere,’ she ordered, smiling broadly. Silas leaned in obediently, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss. She rubbed her nose against his, ‘Love you.’
‘Love you, too,’ he said, pulling back and picking up his spoon. ‘Now eat your soup before it gets cold, yeh soppy bugger.’
Last of the great romantics, she thought, lifting a bread roll from the basket and ripping it in half.
The stew wasn’t half bad, which was surprising since she couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked. She briefly wondered if she could talk him into making it a regular occurrence as she polished off her second bowl. ‘That was good,’ she complimented, getting up to clear the table, her robes a little tighter than they had been an hour ago.
Silas leaned back comfortably in his chair, contemplating the empty bottle on the table, dark eyes glittering in the lamplight. Minerva worked around him, putting away the dishes from earlier and placing a preserving charm on the leftover stew.
‘You alright, pet?’ she asked, pausing at his side as she retrieved her shoes. ‘You’re very quiet.’
He shook his head, looking down into her concerned green eyes. ‘I’m fine, Min. Don’t fuss.’
She pursed her lips, standing up. ‘I’m not fussing, I asked a simple question.’
He got to his feet, too, tucking the chair under the table. ‘Fancy a swift one in The Three Broomsticks?’ he asked, ignoring the irritated look on Minerva’s face.
‘I can’t. I’ve got about a thousand pages of notes to read through,’ she said, thinking of the heavy book bag in the living room for the first time since she got home.
Silas shrugged, tugging his cloak down from its hook. ‘Well I said I’d meet Trent for a drink, says he might have a job for me.’
‘What about the spare room? She asked, pursuing him through the living room and into the dark hallway. ‘I suppose you expect me to do it? Like I do everything else!’
‘It’ll still be there when I get back,’ he said, an impatient bite to his voice. An icy draught swept through the passage as he pulled the door open. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘But-’
The door slammed shut on any other protests she had been planning to make and she cursed under her breath, knowing full well that that was the last she’d see of him till closing time. ‘Great,’ she muttered, sighing heavily.
Too worked up to settle to reading (and quite sure her darling husband wouldn’t get round to it until at least next week) she decided to vent her frustration on the doxies in the spare room. And the bundimun in the cupboard under the stairs. And what she’d thought had been a boggart in the attic but which turned out to be a ghoul – something else the estate agent failed to mention. Fabulous.
She crawled into bed at half eleven, hair still damp from the shower, with Helen Abbott’s DADA notes for a bit of bedtime reading. She’d asked the top student in each of her classes to lend her their notes in exchange for exemption from homework until they were returned. Her predecessor hadn’t really had time to leave detailed lesson plans and she herself had had precious little time to prepare, having only landed the job two weeks ago. This had seemed like as good a way as any to catch up on what had been covered so far.
If she could keep her eyes open long enough to read them.
Which – evidently – she could not, because the next thing she knew she was being woken by a loud crash downstairs. She leapt out of bed, scattering papers as she recovered her wand from the bedside table and made her way down the creaky, cobwebbed stairs. ‘Silas?’ she called, shining a beam of light over the hallway from above just in case it wasn’t.
She saw him sprawled over a box she hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet, unsuccessfully trying to right himself. She hurried down the last few steps, hooking her arm under his and pulling him into a sitting position. ‘Silas, are you alright?’ she asked, looking him over for any obvious signs of injury.
He weaved slightly despite being sat down, squinting as if trying to bring her into focus. ‘Min,’ he hiccoughed. Well at least he recognised her.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, reeling back a little from the stench of alcohol on his breath. ‘Can you get up?’
‘I’m fine, Min. Fine …’ he slurred, patting her clumsily on the shoulder. ‘You alright?’
‘Oh I’m fine, pet,’ she sighed, lighting the lamps and stuffing her wand into the pocket of her nightdress. ‘Come on, let’s get you up.’
She pushed the box out of the way, getting her shoulder under his and struggling to get him to his feet; he was a lot bigger than her. His clothes were chilly against her bare arms as she supported him to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hold on to the banister,’ she warned, placing a splayed hand against his back. The staircase was too narrow for her to do anything but walk behind him in case he toppled backwards.
‘I’m not an invalid,’ he said gruffly, the banister creaking as he pulled himself up the first few stairs.
‘I know,’ she said quietly, not removing her hand as he gave another unsteady heave. ‘Let’s just get you into bed.’
‘What did I just say?’ he roared suddenly, turning sharply to glare at her and almost taking her head off with a carelessly heavy hand. Minerva ducked back a step.
‘I heard you,’ she said, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. She was used to his fits of temper. He continued to glower for a moment before turning groggily to peer up the stairs again. He dragged his foot onto the next stair, Minerva following with one hand on the banister and the other hovering unseen at his back.
Several long minutes later they had finally made it to the bedroom. ‘No, don’t lie down, I need to get your cloak off,’ she said, pulling him straight again when he teetered precariously over the bed. She undid the buttons for him, throwing the heavy winter cloak over a straight-backed chair in the corner. ‘And your robes,’ she added when he once again started to bend towards the inviting feather pillows.
He stared mutely over her head, blinking heavily as she unbuttoned the front of his robes and slid them off his shoulders, laying them on top of his cloak. She pulled back the bedcovers, holding his elbow as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. By the look of his undershirt he’d worn somebody’s drink and she pulled that off him as well, revealing a broad chest and a smattering of hair interrupted by a large stretch of scarred skin running down the left side of his body. Lastly, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off, tucking them beneath the chair-come-clotheshorse.
‘Okay, you can lay back now,’ she said softly, pulling the covers over him as his head hit the pillow. She went back out onto the landing to extinguish the lamps and gathered Helen’s notes off the bedroom floor where they’d fallen, placing them with her wand on the bedside table, before climbing back into bed.
She’s thought Silas was already asleep until he reached across the bed, pulling her easily into the middle of the mattress and laying his head on her chest, clinging to her as if afraid she would try to escape. ‘I’m sorry, Min,’ he said miserably, pressing his face into her nightdress. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shh, it’s alright …’ she murmured soothingly, smoothing his hair back. ‘It’s alright, pet, I’m here … no worries …’ She closed her eyes as he took a great shuddering breath. ‘Why do you do this to yourself, eh?’ she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he choked again.
She blinked back tears, his desolation as palpable as his embrace was crushing. ‘I know you are, pet, I know you are …’
CHAPTER ONE - LONG TIME COMING
Professor McGonagall was about to find out just how qualified she was to hold that title as she stood outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her first class was already inside and she took a deep breath before striding into the lion’s den (though ‘badgers’ set’ would be a more apt description), shoulders back, chin up, with the bell ringing overhead.
Only half the students were in their seats but the few who saw her enter hastily scrambled to their desks, eyeing her warily. The others were standing around in groups, talking and laughing loudly, unaware that the new DADA teacher had arrived.
‘That is quite enough,’ she ordered, dropping several heavy books on her desk with a bang, her voice cracking like a whip despite the noise level. The room seemed to jump and subside as one, leaving a silence so complete she was afraid they’d stopped breathing, as well as talking, as all heads swivelled towards her. ‘This is a classroom not a common room. You will take your seats promptly at the beginning of lessons and get out your work materials. Well?’ she questioned sharply, when they continued to stare at her.
Her pupils burst into noisy life again, scrabbling to find stools and pulling books, parchment, quills and ink out of their bags under McGonagall’s eagle eye. She looked slowly around at them all as the last scrapes and rustles died away, radiating austerity.
‘For those of you who do not know, I am Professor McGonagall and I am here to teach you Defence Against the Dark Arts.’ She clasped her hands behind her back and paced up the first aisle, square glasses swinging from a fine gold chain around her neck as she continued. ‘Our classes together will not only instruct you on jinxes and counter-jinxes, and other forms of dark magic wizardkind like to employ against each other, but dark creatures. While not always what we would term ‘evil’, many dark creatures can – nonetheless – cause a great deal of damage if not properly handled.
‘It is therefore essential,’ she paused at the back of the room, ‘to pay attention lest we find ourselves unprepared.’ She cast a cold eye over the dark-haired fourth-year boy at her elbow, holding out her hand. The tips of the boy’s ears turned pink as he looked up into her stony face, her lips a thin line, and drew a scrap of parchment out of his lap, placing it in her outstretched hand. ‘Name?’
The class’s focus was riveted on the boy as they waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. He swallowed in the spotlight. ‘Euan Trimble, miss,’ he replied in a small voice.
‘Collect your things together and move to the front of the class, please, Mr Trimble. You – Miss -?’ she trailed off, looking at a mousy girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair, who was sitting directly in front of the teacher’s desk.
‘Abbott, Helen Abbott,’ colouring at being addressed as Trimble moved forward, his friends snickering under their breaths.
‘Would you mind giving up your seat?’ she asked, though it couldn’t quite be termed a request when there was really only one answer the girl could give.
Miss Abbott gathered her things together and moved to a free seat in the second row. Minerva continued her pacing.
‘The magic we are going to be doing together is difficult and potentially hazardous if not performed correctly. This requires your full attention. I will not tolerate distractions,’ she held up the confiscated piece of parchment as she returned to stand in front of her desk and crushed it in her white fist. Euan cast his eyes down and straightened his quill as she threw it into the bin with perfect aim. ‘And if I find anyone endangering themselves or their classmates with foolish behaviour,’ her green eyes flashed dangerously, ‘they will leave my classroom and not return.
‘Is that understood?’
There was a smattering of ‘Yes, Professor’s as the class shifted guiltily in their seats, despite the fact that they hadn’t done anything wrong yet. Minerva fought down a smile. ‘Good,’ she said briskly, sitting on the edge of her desk. ‘Quills out, please.’ She used the few seconds of shuffling to lean across and retrieve her register, marking off Euan Trimble and Helen Abbott before setting it beside her. ‘Now, who can tell me what a kelpie is?’
She wasn’t at all surprised to see Helen’s hand hit the air first; front and centre used to be her own seat of choice.
‘Yes, Miss Abbott?’
‘It’s a water demon,’ she said confidently.
‘Very good; five points to Hufflepuff. And where should I look if I wished to find one?’ she asked, addressing the class. Again Helen’s hand punched the air but Minerva pointed to a boy in the third row instead. ‘Name?’
Patrick Zlinky, Professor.’ McGonagall nodded for him to continue. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘Britain and Ireland, I mean.’
‘Exactly – take five more points. Indeed kelpies can be found in any part of the UK but almost eighty percent of the populations are to be found in the Lake District and the Highland lochs – including one very famous one, even in the muggle world. Can anyone tell me where this creature has taken up residence?’
Euan’s eyes had lit up at this and she looked at him, ‘Mr Trimble?’
He looked faintly startled at being asked, ‘I think it’s Loch Ness,’ he said uncertainly.
‘What? The Loch Ness Monster?’ cried one of the students incredulously. ‘It’s one of these things? But I thought it was a sea-serpent …’
The class laughed. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed – but older and wiser wizards than you and I have made the same mistake,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘Name?’
‘Ryan Dawkins,’ he said quickly, obviously eager to press a point. ‘But I thought kelpies ripped out people’s guts, Professor: wouldn’t someone have noticed if this thing had been eating the tourists?’
‘Indeed they did,’ she nodded, ‘and a team from the International Confederate were dispatched to investigate what they thought was a sea serpent – there had been several sightings. It wasn’t until they witnessed its transformation into an otter that they realised what they were really dealing with and posted a watch-wizard, to ensure the muggles safety.
‘Now, the kelpie is capable of changing into a great many things but the most common form is that of a horse. It attempts to lure its victims onto its back before dragging them down to the bottom of the lake and devouring them, letting the intestines float to the surface,’ she said, seeing a smug look flit across Ryan’s face as he nudged his neighbour. ‘The only known way of subduing a kelpie is to get a saddle on it by use of a placement charm, which we will be practising in the Great hall since we have limited space in here. So if you’ll copy down the instructions on the board (she flicked her wand and three neat paragraphs appeared there) then pack away your things and follow me …’
Minerva entered the staff room at break-time with a satisfied smile on her face, helping herself to a sandwich and a cup of tea. There had been no major accidents and she hadn’t had to take a single point which, in her book, was a jolly good start to the day. A dozen teachers were gathered in the lounge, some she knew, some she did not, chowing down on sandwiches or smoking a quick pipe before classes resumed. Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore were seated at a corner table, deep in conversation, but she was hesitant to impose her company on her former teachers.
Slughorn had frequently tried to draft her into his ‘Slug Club’ when she’d been a student and she could already picture the smug look on his face when he realised that she hadn’t put her talents to much use till now. He’d probably think she couldn’t get along without a leg-up …and Dumbledore. She had a deep admiration for her old Transfiguration professor but she felt distinctly awkward towards him after two rather less than formal letters she’d felt compelled to write – even if that had been eleven years ago.
‘Minerva isn’t it?’
She turned to find herself being waved over by a mahogany-haired witch sitting by one of the fires. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t –‘
‘Poppy,’ said the woman, smiling as Minerva sat down and set her plate and cup on the table at their knees. ‘Poppy Pomfrey – I’m the trainee Healer. Which basically means I do whatever Brax tells me. He’s a bit of a grouch but he knows what he’s talking about – well he’s been here nearly thirty years, hasn’t he? I just started in September so I’m new, too. I was so glad when Dumbledore said you were about my age – not that I don’t get on with the others but it’s nice to have someone, well, younger to talk to, you know. So, how was your first lesson?’
The grey-eyed bubbly young woman was so friendly that Minerva couldn’t help but return her smile as she warmed her hands by the fire. Being December, the temperature inside the castle was scarcely better than the weather outside, which had been threatening to snow for the last few days.
‘Great,’ she nodded enthusiastically, ‘fun. I didn’t expect it to be this easy-going straightaway.’
‘So this is your first teaching job then?’ asked Poppy. ‘Fancy a career change?’
‘Oh no, I always intended to teach, it just, it wasn’t the right time before.’ She shrugged and sipped her tea, ‘You know what it’s like when you’re young.’
‘Too busy having fun,’ Poppy nodded with a sly grin.
‘Something like that,’ said Minerva, glancing at her watch and realising she only had ten minutes before her next class. ‘So are you here on a placement …?’ she asked, taking a bite out of her chicken and cucumber sandwich.
Poppy sat up a bit in her chair, seeming pleased that she’d asked. ‘Well that was the original plan – I was supposed to be here for a year and then back to St Mungo’s for my final year before I’m fully qualified. But Brax is planning to retire in the next couple of years and he thinks it’d be better if he trained his own replacement. He doesn’t think a brand new candidate would do the job properly,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘But it’s great for me – I mean, a job like that doesn’t fall into your lap every day, does it? And by the time Brax leaves I’ll be a full Healer with a couple of years Hogwarts experience under my belt. Pays well, too, and you know that’s never a bad thing – especially with Hogsmeade down the road. It was all I could do not to spend my entire pay packet on this gorgeous set of robes I saw in Gladrags last month. It’s just lucky Malcolm was there to hold me back.’
Minerva raised her eyebrows enquiringly, mouth full of sandwich.
‘Malcolm’s my partner,’ said Poppy, correctly interpreting Minerva’s expression. Her eyes fell on the gold band adorning Minerva’s finger, ‘You’re married?’
‘Uh huh,’ nodded Minerva. ‘Going on fourteen years now.’
‘You must have been young,’ observed the medic, scrutinising her as if trying to guess her age.
‘And head over heels,’ she said, smiling at a far away memory.
Poppy sighed, ‘I’ve been dropping hints for months but Malcolm doesn’t seem to be picking them up. Men,’ she added, with a ‘can’t live with ‘em, can’t Imperius them into marriage’ type roll of her eyes. Minerva chuckled.
‘You could always ask him,’ she suggested, brushing a few errant crumbs off her bottle green robes.
Poppy looked scandalised, ‘Oh no, no, no – I’m a traditionalist. I think every good marriage should start with the man on his knees.’
Minerva chortled a little louder than she’d meant to, drawing several curious glances. She clapped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head at Poppy.
‘What?’ she asked innocently, her expression belying her tone.
‘You,’ said Minerva, still shaking her head, patches of colour on her pale cheeks.
‘What about me?’
She grinned, picking up the remains of her sandwich, ‘I think I’m going to like you.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ beamed Poppy, raising her teacup with a satisfied nod. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ said Minerva, raising her cup, too.
‘We’d better get going,’ said Poppy, noticing the string of teachers leaving the staff room and consulting the clock at the far end of the room. Minerva followed Poppy’s lead, gathering her empty cup and plate and returning them to the long table beside the door. ‘I’ll save you a seat at lunch,’ promised Poppy.
Minerva smiled as they parted ways in the corridor. It had been a long time since she’d made a new friend.
Darkness had already fallen by the time Minerva left Hogwarts that evening, weighed down by her heavy leather bag but buoyed up by the success of her first day of teaching. The sixth-year Slytherins had been a little harder to control than her Hufflepuff class but she had expected and planned for as much. The threat of detention was enough of a deterrent this time, though they had lost their house fifteen points in the space of half an hour. Still, even half-a-dozen slippery Slytherins couldn’t dent her good mood. She was surprised at how quickly the day had flown by.
The school gates clanged shut behind her and her breath rose in drifts of steam as she lit her wand, illuminating the winding lane into Hogsmeade. A fortnight ago she’d been panicking that she and Silas wouldn’t be able to find accommodation on such short notice. She’d half expected to be boarding at The Three Broomsticks for the next six months but luckily the estate agent had managed to come up with a small cottage on the edge of the village that needed ‘a bit of renovation’.
That had been an understatement. It needed knocking down and rebuilding if Minerva was honest with herself but it was all they could afford. Still, she wasn’t afraid of a bit of hard graft and she had a few tricks up her sleeve yet. Silas wasn’t the DIY type but she’d managed to coerce him into helping her with the bathroom when they’d discovered that it wasn’t so much a bathroom as a breeding ground for every type of mould going. She itched just thinking about it.
She was glad to see the lights on as she approached the cottage, picking her way carefully across the overgrown garden. There might even be a cup of tea waiting for her, which she sorely needed after the biting cold. She’d been on to the Floo Commission to get them connected to the network but after a week she was beginning to wonder if they were getting her owls. She’d decided that if it wasn’t sorted by the end of the week, she’d go in for the personal touch.
‘I’m home!’ she called, extinguishing her wand as she made her way up the gloomy, box-littered hall. ‘Silas?’
‘In here,’ a voice rumbled towards the back of the house. She dropped her bag in an armchair on her way though the living room, following the enticing smell of food into the kitchen. ‘Hi, love,’ smiled Silas, stooping to plant a scratchy kiss on her cheek. ‘How’d it go?’
She nodded, smiling as she unbuttoned her heavy black cloak and hung it by the door. ‘Pretty good I think.’ She wandered up behind him, peering into the large pot bubbling on the stove, ‘Something smells good.’
‘Nothing special, bit of beef stew, warm you up,’ he said, poking a large wooden spoon into the pan and giving it a good stir.
‘I could use it. Cup of tea?’ she asked, clapping her hands together and looking for the tea pot amongst the debris of empty wrappers and dirty dishes that had accumulated since she’d left this morning.
‘I bought a bottle of wine to celebrate your new job,’ he said, nodding towards a dusty bottle on the kitchen counter. ‘Why don’t you crack it open? Food should be ready soon.’
She eyed the bottle with distaste but made no comment as she began chucking rubbish in the bin, noticing as she did so an already empty green bottle in there. Silas seemed not to notice his wife’s sudden silence, humming over the stew as the wireless played in the background. Minerva rolled up her sleeves and filled the sink with hot soapy water, tapping the scrubbing brush with her wand to get it going as she piled the dishes in.
She found the teapot obscured behind a box of cereal and busied herself with gathering the ingredients for her tea, placing the half-filled copper kettle on the back ring of the stove with a clang. ‘You sure you don’t want a cup of tea?’ she asked hopefully, rummaging in the cupboard next the Silas for a cup and saucer.
‘Nah – fetch us a glass while you’re in there, will you, love?’ he said, sidling around her to grab the bottle of wine and popping the cork with his wand.
‘Certainly, dear,’ she muttered, placing the goblet on the counter with a solid clunk. ‘Did you manage to sort that doxy nest in the spare room?’ she said, knowing the answer before she’d finished asking the question when she saw the spray and bucket untouched in the cubby by the back door.
‘Ah no, sorry love. Got caught up talking to that Vesta Lawrence, lost track of the time. By the time I got back it was time to put the tea on …’ he apologised, not looking at her as he pulled a couple of bowls from the cupboard. ‘I’ll do it later though.’
Minerva stared at the back of his shaggy brown head with a look of deepest scepticism but again chose not to comment. She didn’t want to be a nag, she didn’t like being a nag. ‘What did Vesta have to say for herself, then?’ she asked, turning back to the table and exerting a considerable amount of effort to keep a note of annoyance from her voice.
‘Apparently her son’s due home in a couple of days,’ he said, ladling stew into the bowls. ‘You know he’s with the Department for International Cooperation – seems he caused a bit of a stir in Nigeria so they’re sending him back ahead of schedule.’
‘Lock your daughters up,’ she said with a small smile, pulling the whistling kettle off the stove. They may have only been in Hogsmeade a week but Tallyn Lawrence had quite the reputation.
‘More like lock your wives up,’ he grinned, glancing sideways at her as he set the food on the table.
‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ she groaned, grimacing.
‘Apparently he sneaked off with some ambassador’s wife during a shindig in the capital, had to make a run for the border when they caught him with his trousers round his ankles, so to speak.’
‘Vesta must be so proud,’ she said dryly.
‘Oh she doesn’t believe a word of it, of course. Thinks he’s been set up by some junior angling for his job. Her precious son couldn’t possibly be the toerag everyone says he is.’
‘Of course not,’ she rolled her eyes and sat down.
‘So,’ he said, dropping into the chair beside her, ‘You going to tell me how your first day went? Kids give you any guff?’
She shook her head, toeing her shoes off under the table with a little groan. ‘No, it went really well. A couple of the older students thought they’d try it on but your wife soon straightened them out.’
‘I’ll bet she did,’ he said, a soft unexpected smile playing on his lips. ‘I’m proud of you, Min. I know how much you wanted this.’
She rested her chin on her hand, disarmed by the rare compliment. ‘Come ‘ere,’ she ordered, smiling broadly. Silas leaned in obediently, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss. She rubbed her nose against his, ‘Love you.’
‘Love you, too,’ he said, pulling back and picking up his spoon. ‘Now eat your soup before it gets cold, yeh soppy bugger.’
Last of the great romantics, she thought, lifting a bread roll from the basket and ripping it in half.
The stew wasn’t half bad, which was surprising since she couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked. She briefly wondered if she could talk him into making it a regular occurrence as she polished off her second bowl. ‘That was good,’ she complimented, getting up to clear the table, her robes a little tighter than they had been an hour ago.
Silas leaned back comfortably in his chair, contemplating the empty bottle on the table, dark eyes glittering in the lamplight. Minerva worked around him, putting away the dishes from earlier and placing a preserving charm on the leftover stew.
‘You alright, pet?’ she asked, pausing at his side as she retrieved her shoes. ‘You’re very quiet.’
He shook his head, looking down into her concerned green eyes. ‘I’m fine, Min. Don’t fuss.’
She pursed her lips, standing up. ‘I’m not fussing, I asked a simple question.’
He got to his feet, too, tucking the chair under the table. ‘Fancy a swift one in The Three Broomsticks?’ he asked, ignoring the irritated look on Minerva’s face.
‘I can’t. I’ve got about a thousand pages of notes to read through,’ she said, thinking of the heavy book bag in the living room for the first time since she got home.
Silas shrugged, tugging his cloak down from its hook. ‘Well I said I’d meet Trent for a drink, says he might have a job for me.’
‘What about the spare room? She asked, pursuing him through the living room and into the dark hallway. ‘I suppose you expect me to do it? Like I do everything else!’
‘It’ll still be there when I get back,’ he said, an impatient bite to his voice. An icy draught swept through the passage as he pulled the door open. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘But-’
The door slammed shut on any other protests she had been planning to make and she cursed under her breath, knowing full well that that was the last she’d see of him till closing time. ‘Great,’ she muttered, sighing heavily.
Too worked up to settle to reading (and quite sure her darling husband wouldn’t get round to it until at least next week) she decided to vent her frustration on the doxies in the spare room. And the bundimun in the cupboard under the stairs. And what she’d thought had been a boggart in the attic but which turned out to be a ghoul – something else the estate agent failed to mention. Fabulous.
She crawled into bed at half eleven, hair still damp from the shower, with Helen Abbott’s DADA notes for a bit of bedtime reading. She’d asked the top student in each of her classes to lend her their notes in exchange for exemption from homework until they were returned. Her predecessor hadn’t really had time to leave detailed lesson plans and she herself had had precious little time to prepare, having only landed the job two weeks ago. This had seemed like as good a way as any to catch up on what had been covered so far.
If she could keep her eyes open long enough to read them.
Which – evidently – she could not, because the next thing she knew she was being woken by a loud crash downstairs. She leapt out of bed, scattering papers as she recovered her wand from the bedside table and made her way down the creaky, cobwebbed stairs. ‘Silas?’ she called, shining a beam of light over the hallway from above just in case it wasn’t.
She saw him sprawled over a box she hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet, unsuccessfully trying to right himself. She hurried down the last few steps, hooking her arm under his and pulling him into a sitting position. ‘Silas, are you alright?’ she asked, looking him over for any obvious signs of injury.
He weaved slightly despite being sat down, squinting as if trying to bring her into focus. ‘Min,’ he hiccoughed. Well at least he recognised her.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, reeling back a little from the stench of alcohol on his breath. ‘Can you get up?’
‘I’m fine, Min. Fine …’ he slurred, patting her clumsily on the shoulder. ‘You alright?’
‘Oh I’m fine, pet,’ she sighed, lighting the lamps and stuffing her wand into the pocket of her nightdress. ‘Come on, let’s get you up.’
She pushed the box out of the way, getting her shoulder under his and struggling to get him to his feet; he was a lot bigger than her. His clothes were chilly against her bare arms as she supported him to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hold on to the banister,’ she warned, placing a splayed hand against his back. The staircase was too narrow for her to do anything but walk behind him in case he toppled backwards.
‘I’m not an invalid,’ he said gruffly, the banister creaking as he pulled himself up the first few stairs.
‘I know,’ she said quietly, not removing her hand as he gave another unsteady heave. ‘Let’s just get you into bed.’
‘What did I just say?’ he roared suddenly, turning sharply to glare at her and almost taking her head off with a carelessly heavy hand. Minerva ducked back a step.
‘I heard you,’ she said, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. She was used to his fits of temper. He continued to glower for a moment before turning groggily to peer up the stairs again. He dragged his foot onto the next stair, Minerva following with one hand on the banister and the other hovering unseen at his back.
Several long minutes later they had finally made it to the bedroom. ‘No, don’t lie down, I need to get your cloak off,’ she said, pulling him straight again when he teetered precariously over the bed. She undid the buttons for him, throwing the heavy winter cloak over a straight-backed chair in the corner. ‘And your robes,’ she added when he once again started to bend towards the inviting feather pillows.
He stared mutely over her head, blinking heavily as she unbuttoned the front of his robes and slid them off his shoulders, laying them on top of his cloak. She pulled back the bedcovers, holding his elbow as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. By the look of his undershirt he’d worn somebody’s drink and she pulled that off him as well, revealing a broad chest and a smattering of hair interrupted by a large stretch of scarred skin running down the left side of his body. Lastly, she unlaced his boots and pulled them off, tucking them beneath the chair-come-clotheshorse.
‘Okay, you can lay back now,’ she said softly, pulling the covers over him as his head hit the pillow. She went back out onto the landing to extinguish the lamps and gathered Helen’s notes off the bedroom floor where they’d fallen, placing them with her wand on the bedside table, before climbing back into bed.
She’s thought Silas was already asleep until he reached across the bed, pulling her easily into the middle of the mattress and laying his head on her chest, clinging to her as if afraid she would try to escape. ‘I’m sorry, Min,’ he said miserably, pressing his face into her nightdress. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shh, it’s alright …’ she murmured soothingly, smoothing his hair back. ‘It’s alright, pet, I’m here … no worries …’ She closed her eyes as he took a great shuddering breath. ‘Why do you do this to yourself, eh?’ she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he choked again.
She blinked back tears, his desolation as palpable as his embrace was crushing. ‘I know you are, pet, I know you are …’