What if?

[dmf1984]

“What if?”

What if Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore had a son? What if he came to Hogwarts?

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This alternate universe is neither HBP- nor DH-compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating 13+ for now (this may change but the first few chapters won’t be nearly as hot & bothered).

Pairing: AD/MM

Spoilers: None

A/N: This was inspired by numerous ADMM fan-fics by “Lamenting Quill” and so many other talented authors at www.fanfiction.net. This is my first fan-fic posting in a “boards” format; I sure hope I don’t make a complete mess of it.

Chapter 01/??
Homecoming

The start-of-term banquet on Saturday night, celebrating the beginning of another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was coming to a close. Caught up as she was in quiet conversation with the diminutive Professor Flitwick, Minerva McGonagall didn’t pay much attention when Hagrid came walking (surprisingly quiet and graceful afoot for his size) behind Headmaster Dumbledore and whispered in his ear. Albus Dumbledore nodded and smiled at the gamekeeper.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take it from here,” he replied softly. “Enjoy your meal; you must be famished from your travels.” The tall headmaster stood and cleared his throat, preparing to address the entire school. “Ladies and gentlemen? A few words before we dismiss.” There was a momentary pause as several hundred students quieted. Those seated at the staff table were also politely attentive.

“Rest well and get yourselves prepared tomorrow for an exciting new journey! Classes will commence bright and early Monday morning,” Dumbledore looked at each of the four house tables in turn, a slight smile on his face. “Prefects, you may escort your first years to their respective dormitories. Off you go then, chop chop!” He clapped his hands once and the enchanted candles brightened as many dozens of dark-robed young witches and wizards pushed back from their benches at the four long wooden tables.

Organized chaos followed, accompanied by the excited chatter of students leaving the Great Hall. Dumbledore placed a light restraining hand on McGonagall’s shoulder as she was preparing to stand and take one final sip of her warm herbal tea. “Minerva, would you come with me to the hospital wing? A late-arriving student requires our attention.”

“Certainly, Headmaster. Nothing serious, I hope?” She noticed then that Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts’ head nurse had left the banquet early. It was not unheard of for a student to be taken ill on the train from London.

“Hagrid assured me that it was just minor injuries which the young man sustained outside Heathrow Airport. Poppy is tending to him as we speak.”

They walked together through the halls of the castle, nodding greetings to faculty and students whom they passed. Dumbledore paused briefly and held her arm again as they reached the entry door to Madam Pomfrey’s hospital ward. He looked around before he spoke, making sure that none could hear, a bit furtively she thought. As Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, their relationship was strictly collegial. It was considered normal that they would spend a lot of time in each other’s company; running a school of this size took a great deal of organization and management.

As husband and wife of fifty years, however, their relationship was strictly secret. Only a handful of their closest friends even knew, loyal keepers of their secret for five decades.

His bright blue eyes held hers. “Minerva, it’s time. Brian is here, at Hogwarts,” he whispered. He watched as her expressively beautiful face went swiftly through confusion, remembrance and then maternal concern.

“Brian is here? Oh, Albus…” She gasped and staggered into him, tears coming suddenly to her deep emerald eyes. My son? Our son…thought Minerva. At that very moment, thundering herds of dragons could not have stopped her from rushing directly to his bedside, her green tartan robes flapping behind her.

The ward was completely empty except for Madam Pomfrey leaning over one young patient, and he was already fast asleep. Minerva recognized the angelic face and tousled curly brown hair at once, even though she had last seen him as a tiny newborn infant, nearly forty-eight years before.

Poppy Pomfrey stood and nodded with satisfaction as she straightened a bandage and adjusted the corner of the bed sheet, smoothing out a miniscule wrinkle. She didn’t startle when she noticed Dumbledore and McGonagall standing there; she’d heard them come in as her hearing was supernaturally acute.

“Headmaster. Professor,” she said by way of greeting them, smiling slightly. “He’ll be fine—just superficial cuts and bruises. The broken arm was from a fall, I’d imagine.”

Dumbledore heaved a sigh. “Yes, the Muggles call it ‘mugging’ if I recall correctly. Ironic, really.”

Pomfrey tutted softly, gathering her treatment tray and bottles. “Well, the poor dear didn’t even need the Sleeping Draught I prepared, he was that exhausted when Hagrid brought him in from the city. There’s the extent of his belongings as well,” she said, pointing to a wallet, jacket and pile of neatly folded Muggle clothing. “He had no trunk or school things that I could tell.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Dumbledore told her. “I’ll send Hagrid to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Three more late-arriving students are expected in the afternoon, but they’ll have already been to the shops.”

McGonagall still had not spoken, but drew up a chair to the side of the hospital bed and was holding the boy’s uninjured hand, gently stroking his knuckles with her thumb. The Head nurse’s eyes went wide as she finally understood who the youngster really was. She quickly drew the privacy curtains and Minerva placed her pointed hat on the floor beside her chair.

“Min, is it really he? How long has it been?” Pomfrey touched her old schoolmate’s arm, silently offering her support and understanding.

The distraught mother nodded. “Brian was born on the 29th of February, 1960,” she said huskily, her voice breaking with emotion. “A leap day of a leap year.” As a first year student-to-be at Hogwarts, Brian appeared as any other eleven year old youngster would. None of them questioned yet how this was even possible.

“He’ll be right as rain by tomorrow, I personally guarantee it,” said Poppy. Her eyes grew moist with unshed tears as she recognized the rare and special privilege that she had been granted by this particular family scene.

Albus Dumbledore gave her shoulder a fond squeeze. “Thank you, Poppy.”

McGonagall tore her eyes away from her sleeping son and looked with gratitude at her dearest friend. “I’ll stay here tonight.”

The Head nurse beamed as she stepped around the curtain. “Gi’us a shout if you need owt.” The sound of her blowing her nose into a handkerchief drifted faintly back to them.

Dumbledore chuckled and leaned down to kiss his wife’s cheek. “What are you thinking, my love?” He stroked her upper back, both giving and drawing comfort from the warm closeness.

She wiped her eyes and smiled tearfully up at her husband. “He’s glorious handsome, Albus.” He knew at once that she didn’t trust herself to speak much more.

Dumbledore chuckled again, and then winced as he gingerly pushed the boy’s hair back from his forehead, revealing an angry bruise over one eyebrow. “That he is, thanks to his mother.” Albus leaned closer to Brian’s ear, whispering an obscure healing charm. The bruise cleared almost immediately; the boy smiled, wrinkling his nose at an imagined tickle and mumbled in his sleep, but did not awaken.

“There’s a good lad,” his father told him tenderly. He kissed his son and then he kissed his wife, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I’ll see you two in the morning.”

Next morning, Dumbledore arrived back at the hospital wing to find Brian sitting up in bed, attentively watching Madam Pomfrey removing the bandages from his right arm. He nodded affirmatively at something she told him, and flexed the fingers of his right hand. A tired but happy-looking Minerva McGonagall was coming in from the opposite direction, carrying a laden breakfast tray.

“Good morning, Mr. Rollins,” called Dumbledore. “You are looking well.”

Pomfrey smiled broadly at them both. “Good as new, professor.”

“Excellent! We haven’t met; I am Professor Albus Dumbledore,” he continued, holding out his right hand to Brian. The boy’s handshake was indeed, good as new. “I see you’ve already met Madam Pomfrey, our school nurse, and Professor McGonagall, our Deputy Headmistress.”

“Thank you, yes sir, I have,” Brian replied in a distinctive American tone. Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled with amusement at this, even though he knew that his son had been adopted from an orphanage in Salem, Massachusetts. The boy seemed pleasant enough, curious and bursting with bonhomie; his accent certainly wasn’t from any of the British Isles.

McGonagall placed the tray of porridge, tea and toast on the nightstand beside him and Brian quietly thanked her. Minerva returned to her seat, interested to see how her husband would handle this first meeting. To her proud surprise, it was her son who took the initiative.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir? Where am I?” It was a valid question.

Dumbledore took off his hat and rubbed his forehead and thinning hairline, chuckling. “Quite right, I do apologize. We are presently at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he said. “It’s in Great Britain.”

Brian nodded, still puzzled. “I see. And what do you teach here?” he asked politely, fearlessly. Apart from the half-moon spectacles and flowing white beard, Rollins had the same sparkling blue eyes as Dumbledore, and his eyes creased the same way when he smiled. Minerva McGonagall could only watch and wonder, hoping that she wouldn’t start to cry. She knew then that her heart was lost forever to the boy, again, and that it would be very, very difficult to keep the secret of the three of them.

But she would do it gladly; their survival against Voldemort and his Death Eaters depended on it. Brian could never know who she and Dumbledore really were.

“What do we teach?” echoed Albus, sounding faintly surprised. “Why magic, of course.”

Brian Rollins considered this seriously for several heartbeats, his brow furrowed in concentration. They certainly didn’t expect him to throw his head back, laughing with great abandon. He shook his head. “Magical? Me? Not possible, Professor. Not possible.”

Poppy Pomfrey stifled a giggle at his completely unintentional reference to a Gilderoy Lockhart book title. “I’ll check back on you a little later, Mr. Rollins,” she said with a smile. She patted his leg and moved off down the ward. So far, Brian was her one and only patient.

McGonagall was also trying hard not to giggle. “Why ever not? Haven’t you ever done anything, er…magical?” With considerable effort, she forced a serious expression onto her face and looked at him over the rims of her specs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Dumbledore smiling mysteriously and looking rather pleased with himself.

He shook his head, chewing delicately on a fingernail as he began. “No ma’am. I grew up on a farm in Maine helping my father with the animals, and my mother with the gardens.” Brian shrugged. “Sorry, my foster Mom and Dad. They adopted five of us when they lived in Salem; we moved up to Maine when I was about, erm, four years old, I guess.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “Frank and Juliette Rollins.” He cast a sideways glance to Minerva, who immediately understood.

The Rollinses were Protectors: they had volunteered to raise the children of other witches and wizards, protecting them from Voldemort. They reared their adopted children as Muggles, but could contact any Ministry of Magic should the child start to show tendencies of wizardry. From that point, the biological parents, if known (some were after all, truly orphans) could be contacted to further his or her education. Given that Brian’s parents were both extremely powerful in the magical world, and both respected educators of wizardry, it wasn’t any surprise that he should end up at Hogwarts.

And here he was.

“But nothing ever happened that you couldn’t explain, Brian?” pressed McGonagall. “Anything special with the plants or animals perhaps?”

When he didn’t answer right away, they could literally see the wheels turning in his head as he thought about how best to answer the question. “Well,” he began slowly, blushing all the way out to his ears. “For as long as I can remember, I liked to talk to the plants and animals. Mama would tell you that I pretty much did it all the time…cats, dogs, birds, flowers, and trees, whatever.”

“And did any of them ever speak to you?” Dumbledore wanted to know.

“Speak? Not exactly, but communicate, yes. I guess maybe responded to me is a better way to put it,” Brian said modestly. “My folks called it my ‘green fingers’ since I could grow anything in the garden, no problem.” He held up both hands and waggled all ten of his digits by way of illustration, grinning sheepishly.

“Hmpff, of course they responded to you, young man. They are living things, after all,” came a kindly voice from down the ward. The trio looked up to see Professor Sprout hurrying along the central pathway, carrying a tray of healing herb plants. Her robes were covered with a dingy brown smock, and her well-used pointed hat was, as always, worn at a jaunty angle. “It absolutely amazes me how many people forget that.”

“Pomona. Meet one of our new first year students: Mr. Brian Rollins, from America,” said Dumbledore, introducing them. “Brian, this is Professor Sprout, our resident herbologist.”

She nodded and smiled, trying not to get potting soil on Madam Pomfrey’s spotless floors. “How do? I’m of the ‘green fingers’ lot as well, you could say,” said Professor Sprout. “Which house are you?” Pomona Sprout was not only the professor of herbology, she was also the Head of Hufflepuff House.

Rollins shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, ma’am.” He looked to the Headmaster for an explanation.

“Mr. Rollins and our other late-arrivals will be Sorted at dinner this evening,” Dumbledore commented helpfully. “Coincidentally, there are three more that will soon need to learn of their House assignments.”

“Very good. You’d make an excellent Hufflepuff student, Mr. Rollins,” she said, giving him a friendly wink. “Well, cheerio!” She continued down the corridor on her way to deliver the plants to Madam Pomfrey, some of the flowers were laying their heads lovingly upon her chest.

“You need to eat, or the matron here will have my head,” McGonagall said as sternly as she could manage, placing the breakfast tray in his lap and giving Dumbledore a subtle nod toward the exit. Minerva reached down and replaced her hat upon her head, straightening it without looking out of many years habit.

“Yes, yes, we shouldn’t keep you,” added Dumbledore. “Madam Pomfrey is quite protective of her patients, as you will find out.” He leaned to lightly take McGonagall’s arm, helping her from around the bedside.

Brian took a sip of the tea and picked up a piece of buttered toast. He obviously had many questions left unanswered, but one more popped suddenly into his head. “Professors, before you go, please…?”

They turned as one back to him. “Yes, Brian?” asked the elder wizard.

“In which houses are you?”

“Before I became Headmaster of our school, I was Head of Gryffindor House for many, many years,” Dumbledore answered, his eyes glittering with pride at this boy’s sharp mind.

McGonagall smiled kindly. “And I am the present Head of Gryffindor, Mr. Rollins.” She snaked her hand through the arm which Dumbledore offered.

Brian grinned, quickly swallowing the bite of toast he had been chewing. “Then I hope I am chosen for Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall.”

She winked at him and turned with Dumbledore to leave the hospital ward. Before they reached the main door, and out of Brian’s earshot, she whispered to her husband: “So do I, Brian. So do I.”

Albus Dumbledore squeezed her fingers discretely before disengaging her hand from his arm as they went out into a more public hallway. “We cannot bias the Sorting Hat, my dear. It is a trusted and revered magical object,” he whispered back, nearly laughing out loud at the delightfully stubborn set to her jaw. It had attracted him to the gifted and beautiful witch more than fifty years before, and it still did to this day.

She didn’t answer but gave him a knowing smirk as they parted, each heading to their own office to attend to school business before the start of the term on the following day.

Yes I can, thought McGonagall. Oh, yes I can if I have to.

TBC

[mmadcrazyfan]

oh my good lord
i love this story
im serious, i STALK it on ff.net
i lovelovelovelove it

*reveiws comment*
wow, that sounded more then a little creepy
but you get the point
can yu update the one on ff.net SOON please? pretty pretty please? (or post it here, im not all that picky)
ok, im done
luv <33

[dmf1984]

Not creepy at all! I'm glad you are enjoying the story: chapter 16 will be up soon (as RL cooperates) over at ff.net; and, I hope to properly format for this board as well.

Thank you for keeping up with Brian in this rather slow-moving story. :-)

[Junora]

I just want to say I LOVE this story, I'm looking forward
to any updates on ff.net or here. Please *bounce up and down* ;D

many hugs Lottchen

P.S. This was also my sisters favorite.

[mmadcrazyfan]

its my pleasure
brian seems to be such a sweet little boy lol

[tabbykittenkat]

I really really really...x's infinity squared love it!!! I love where it is going and what is going on!!!!! I am really really excited for you to continue!!! I love it!! keep it up.....Brian is very cute!!! and I feel bad for Min, and Dumbledore!!!! I don't think I could keep it a secret!!! hahahahaha, okay I am done rambling!!!!
<3 it
[glow=red,2,300]<3 tabby[/glow]

[dmf1984]

Thanks very much! I'm still re-formatting for posting here on the ADMM boards, but it is up to Chapter 16 on ff.net

I must learn someday how to make a proper banner for this "What if?" story. Any suggestions or advice would be most welcomed (and I'm a computer idiot to be honest).

“What if?”

What if Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore had a son? What if he came to Hogwarts?

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. This alternate universe is neither HBP- nor DH-compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating 13+ for now (this may change but the first few chapters won’t be nearly as hot & bothered).

Pairing: AD/MM

Spoilers: None

A/N: This was inspired by numerous ADMM fan-fics by “Lamenting Quill” and so many other talented authors at www.fanfiction.net. This is my first fan-fic posting in a “boards” format; I sure hope I don’t make a complete mess of it.

What if someone born on the 29th of February only aged a year on that exact date? Magic. “Brian” will be 12 on 29 February, 2008. Ginormous thank you to all of those who have read & reviewed; I appreciate your encouraging words!

Chapter 02/??
Gryffindor Golf

Professor Minerva McGonagall needn’t have worried over the Sorting Hat’s placement of her son in Gryffindor House. On the rare second sorting ceremony that Sunday evening, he and three other late-arriving students learned of their House assignments. In fact, each house at Hogwarts gained a more international flair that night: an American, a Nigerian, an Albanian and an Argentine rounded out the foursome.

There was not even a moment’s hesitation when she placed the shabby-looking magical hat upon his head; it shouted “GRYFFINDOR!” with unmistakable enthusiasm. McGonagall chanced a look up to the head table and saw Dumbledore joining in the applause as the rowdy young people welcomed Brian to their table; Minerva could tell that the elder wizard was pleased when he gave her a tiny salute with his wine goblet.

Gabriel Unegbu, a tall, handsome Nigerian boy, was placed in Ravenclaw; Tandi Hysaj, a delicately-featured Albanian girl, in Hufflepuff; and, though there was more of an indecisive delay from the Sorting Hat, Argentine Leilia Barberis was sorted to Slytherin House. She practically dwarfed her classmates when she joined Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle at the end table.

Dumbledore was leaning over to congratulate Professor Sprout on her new student when Minerva returned to the staff table. He turned to McGonagall and whispered: “Happy now, dear Tabby?” He couldn’t help teasing her at every opportunity, but he knew she was overjoyed at the homecoming of their son. If the truth be told, so was he.

She took a sip of her tea. “Very. And I had absolutely nothing to do with it, Sunshine,” she whispered back. Dumbledore knew beyond all doubt that she was to be believed; he felt and heard her sigh of happiness at his right shoulder. “Brian is so handsome in his school robes, Albus.”

His eyes twinkled at her with affection. “Thank you, my love,” he said quietly, knowing that he was going to get a smack later for that one. Even at their ages, they could still flirt with one another, and had actually gotten quite good at being subtle about it with decades of practice. Though she turned from him to speak to Professor Flitwick seated at her right, Minerva snuck a hand under the tablecloth and squeezed Dumbledore’s thigh. To her immense pleasure, Albus jumped guiltily and covered it by shifting his chair. She heard him groan softly, and knew she had touched a nerve, literally; it sounded like he was clearing his throat, but she knew him well enough to know what it really meant.

Much later that evening, after the second sorting dinner, he returned the favor in their private quarters and reminded her just how much he appreciated that Minerva McGonagall had agreed to be his wife. Not that they needed it, but seeing Brian again reminded them of how much, and for how long, they truly loved each other.

The month of September at Hogwarts shone crisp and cool, and Brian joined his first-year classmates in having the times of their lives. And busy times it was: with no less than seven courses and an introduction to broomstick flying, there were many lessons and assignments to work through.

Monday through Thursday mornings were always Gryffindor first year students in Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall (first period) followed by Charms with Professor Flitwick (second period). Friday mornings were a challenge since they had Double Potions with Professor Snape, and were scheduled with Slytherin first years at the same time. Not many of the young Gryffindor lions would claim this one as their favorite: the Potions Master was also head of Slytherin House and favored his own pupils above all others.

By the time the noonday bell sounded, all of the students were ready for a break; there was only so much you could cram into your brain before your body started complaining. It took Brian and his classmates a few days to become accustomed to the manner with which their food arrived to the long table, but after that, no one startled the way they had on the first dinner night. They even grew accustomed to the company of the castle’s ghosts: Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpinton was the Gryffindor ghost and he often joined them at mealtimes and in study hall. Following the older students’ lead, Brian made sure that he addressed him as “Sir Nicholas” and not “Nearly Headless Nick”. Ghosts had feelings too.

Monday through Thursday afternoons saw the Gryffindor first years concentrating on Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell, a nervous sort of wizard who always wore an odd purple turban wrapped around his head. As a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor of some renown, he also smelled strongly of garlic; it was said that vampires all over Europe would love to chance a meeting with him to, well, “repay” what he’d done to some of their brethren in the past.

Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, they finished their classes for the day with Professor Sprout in Greenhouse number one and Herbology. Monday and Wednesday, their last class of the day was History of Magic with Professor Binns, the only ghost instructor at Hogwarts. Fortunately or not, this period was ideal for a bit of a nap as he droned on and on (and on) about this or that Goblin war. It was a good thing too, since Gryffindors were scheduled for Wednesday Astronomy at midnight with Professor Sinistra, a pale witch who rarely came down from her tower in the daytime. She was stern but fair, and most students liked her courses.

Brian fit in well with his classmates; some were from Muggle families, some were from so-called “pure blood” wizarding families, and some were from families that fell in between. As both McGonagall and Dumbledore quietly noted, he seemed to be making friends and struggling along just as the other students did in trying to acquaint themselves with the magical world. Within the first two weeks, he was just as swamped as they were in homework: rolls and rolls of parchment needed to complete essays, research papers and worksheets which were assigned to them. And who was it that seemed to give out the most homework? It was neck and neck between Professors Snape and McGonagall, but at least he included his own Slytherin students in the suffering.

Rollins labored under enormous books checked out from the library, often helping Hermione or Neville or one of the others in his year to carry some of them back to the Gryffindor common room. Other than his distinctly American way of speaking, there was nothing extraordinary that really set him apart from the pack; his homework and his handwriting were nothing special to look at. His parents worried illogically about this, Minerva more than Albus, but Dumbledore explained this to himself as her “mother-hen” tendency. Of course, he never actually said this aloud; she’d probably not like the joke.

That is, until Harry Potter started training as the youngest Quidditch Seeker in centuries. While some students were practicing their broomstick flying under the supervision of Madam Hooch (she offered extra sessions after each group of first years had met in the first week of school), Brian was swimming the lake that lie adjacent to the school grounds. While other students were practicing their wand skills or reading volumes upon volumes of wizarding history, Brian was befriending the giant squid which lived in the lake. In short, if it was daylight and free time, he was in the lake, as much at home in the water as he was on land. He reckoned he could write essays when it was too dark to swim.

A few of the other students (even some who were not in the first year) tried to go for a dip when he did, but they soon discovered two very important things. One, that they were nowhere near as strong a swimmer as he; and, two, that the water was really, really cold. Whenever someone asked Brian about this, he just shrugged and laughed in his self-deprecating way, saying that he was used to cold water from back home in Maine. All he ever wore on these excursions was an old pair of blue swim trunks, borrowed from one of his dorm-mates.

He seemed to have no reason to fear the merpeople or the grindylows either. Once, when a pack of grindylows got too close and nearly had his swim trunks off, half of them got whomped severely by the giant squid. Just remember: grindylows aren’t too bright.

It was customary for Hogwarts faculty to gather together on a late Friday afternoon, once a month, for cocktails, camaraderie and gossip. The staff conference room had a nice balcony overlooking the lake, and Dumbledore arranged for light snacks and drinks to be served while they enjoyed the sunset before dinner in the Great Hall. There was no theme for the gathering, and neither was attendance required, but nearly the entire faculty made it a point to show up and at least speak to the Headmaster for five minutes. Some of them genuinely liked each other and had worked together since their own student days. A few of them had to work on their social skills, and temporarily declare no hostilities during the “second Friday truces”.

On this particular Friday, the second one in September, Hagrid joined the party, and found himself on the balcony with Professor Sprout discussing bird life of Great Britain. Both armed, so to speak, with Omnioculars, they were scanning the near shore for any new species to add to their respective life lists.

“Oh, look!” exclaimed Hagrid to his birding partner. “Go laddie! Go!”

She misunderstood his enthusiasm and tried to find the bird in the direction he was searching. “A new one, Hagrid?”

He chuckled. “Nope, not exactly, Professor. The Yank has just about reached the other side of the lake this time.” The Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts fell easily into using the student-given nickname for Brian. Not original, sure, but descriptive enough to suffice; and, he was the only American at Hogwarts, ever.

“My stars,” said Professor Sprout. “I’ve heard some of the students talking about this. Apparently Brian set himself a high goal right from the start of term. A few of my Hufflepuffs are hoping to work up to just getting in and getting wet.” She giggled at the thought.

McGonagall just heard “Brian” and “lake” and was out on the balcony in a flash, rushing from the hors d’oeuvres table inside. She hid the worried look in her eyes by asking to borrow a set of Omnioculars. Sure enough, there he was; her son’s arms angling out of the water in a powerful crawl stroke followed by a graceful glide. It seemed effortless. Moments later, as she and several others (who had by now conjured up their own viewers) watched with bated breath, he waded out and sat on the far bank of the lakeside. Minerva zoomed in as much as she could across the mile or so distance and froze the view frame on his smile of triumph. Professor Flitwick and one or two of the others burst out into spontaneous applause.

Dumbledore laughed, delighted. “Well done, boy! Well done.” He had moved quietly to McGonagall’s side and elbowed her gently in the ribs. She ignored him but he heard her sudden gasp as Brian dove back in and started across again. Below them on the near shore, a dozen or more student spectators were still cheering and cat-calling to him across the lake. Fred and George Weasley had somehow conjured up small brass airhorns apiece and were blowing them raucously.

“Huh, not much rest for the trip back,” commented Hagrid, taking a sip from his huge tankard of ale.

“I hope, Headmaster, that you are not considering a special award for this feat,” said Snape waspishly. “Provided that he survives, of course.”

Albus turned to look at his Potions Master, still smiling benignly. “Not at all, Severus. I certainly couldn’t do it. In fact, I don’t think it’s ever been done without magic.” He fervently hoped that Minerva wouldn’t give herself away by clawing the man’s eyes out for speaking so ill of her child.

Flitwick sniggered from the deckchair he was standing on, delicately tasting his cocktail. “Without magic? No, thank you.” Several around him chuckled and raised their glasses, including Professor Binns (his ghostly goblet had nothing in it, but a toast is a toast).

Snape inclined his head slightly, a tight non-smile upon his lips. “I meant no harm to Mr. Rollins, clearly. What I should have said is that his time might be better spent on his studies. His spectators might consider the same.”

McGonagall forced a sardonic chuckle. “The lake is not out of bounds, Professor Snape, and the students of my House seem to make the most of their recreation.” Professors Sprout and Hooch shared a glance of raised eyebrows at this concession by their old schoolmate. She’d justifiably earned a reputation as a very studious witch, both as a student and as a teacher.

“Besides,” added Dumbledore lightly, “Mr. Rollins was raised by Muggles and does not yet know of our…amusements.” He laughed again and returned to his Omnioculars as Snape quietly went back inside.

“It is as you say,” Snape finished, sotto voce.

For the faculty spectators who remained on the balcony, the next quarter hour was spent watching Brian and making quiet comments to each other, remarking on his swimming style or on his persistence (or both). Some of them even found themselves muttering encouragements to him, not that he could hear.

Hagrid, taking up the role of commentator, spoke more loudly as Brian got closer to the near shore. “Here we are, Yankee. Nearly home.” He paused dramatically as the water behind the swimmer began to churn, tiny waves splashing here and there. “Uh oh. Grindylows.”

“Come on,” muttered McGonagall, urging him to the finish. Most of those who heard mistakenly thought she was concerned as his Head of House. Albus knew better.

As they watched, Brian kicked harder once or twice, and nearly faltered. Someone on the shore screamed as they probably saw the grindylows trying to distract him from his goal by tugging on his feet or legs. And then, just as suddenly, a giant tentacle swept from below the water and not fewer than five grindylows flew through the air and landed high in a tree. The students cheered, turning in surprise when they heard the faculty above them doing the same. Brian reached the bank and waded out of the water, breathing hard but grinning, gratefully taking a wool blanket from one of his comrades. They could see him give Fred a surprised look before he courteously waved up to the faculty who were viewing from the balcony.

“Well played, Squid. Well played,” said Dumbledore, admiration in his voice. “That nickname sounds so much more jolly than Yank don’t you think?” He caught his wife watching him and he winked. All she could do was wink back, shaking her head in fond exasperation. As they looked on, Brian leaned down and patted the giant animal’s tentacles, obviously having one more conversation before he left the lake for the day.

Above them all, the tower bell sounded, echoing across the water and bouncing off the mountain peaks on the other side. Albus held out his arm in a gallant gesture; Minerva on one side and Pomona Sprout on the other. “Ah,” he said brightly. “Dinner and a show.”

TBC

A/N: kinda weird, I know, but I needed a set-up chapter! Honest.

[dmf1984]

Dusting off old files and trying to re-format them to work here at ADMM. Hope it turns out okay...I'm up to 25 chapters at this point. Concrits always welcome!

“What if?”

What if Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore had a son? What if he came to Hogwarts?

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students’) magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it. This alternate universe is neither HBP- nor DH-compliant.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Rating 13+ for now (this may change but the first few chapters won’t be nearly as hot & bothered).

Pairing: AD/MM. I can’t help myself; I always think of Richard Harris as Dumbledore, so that’s how I write him!

Spoilers: None

Chapter 03/??
Felis familiaris

The Head of Gryffindor House held her forehead in her hands, her elbows propped up on the desk in front of her. She was shaking her head and muttering some very Gaelic mild oaths under her breath. The Weasley twins, Hogwarts and Gryffindor House students in their third year, were going for a record in detentions, and September wasn’t even over yet.

“Quidditch season will begin the month after next, Minerva. That always keeps the idle lot more…involved,” said Dumbledore reasonably. “Or at least, less likely to get into mischief, right?” He couldn’t have kept the amused tone from his voice if he’d tried, knowing that Fred and George were able to play Quidditch and do any number of things simultaneously if they so chose.

McGonagall sighed and removed her glasses, gently squeezing the bridge of her nose. She smiled at him with affection. “You’re right, Albus; I know. Thank you.” With a subtle flick of her wand, she made room for the hovering tea tray on the side table next to her desk. Dumbledore watched quietly, sitting back in the well-cushioned armchair across from her. Preferring to pour the tea herself when it was just the two of them, he waited until she handed him the cup and saucer, then prepared another as her own.

“And thank you, my dear,” he said, brushing her fingertips with his. He crossed his legs and got comfortable. “You know full well it’s always the same thing in the first few weeks of term, Minerva. We just haven’t had a wrecking crew like these boys in years.”

She laughed irreverently as she sat across the readied chessboard from him, gathering her robes more comfortably around her lower legs. “Too bloody true!”

Saturday mornings at the start of the school year had become very special for the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. At the moment, there were fewer papers that needed marking, and they took the opportunity to share a few precious hours of quiet time together, playing wizard’s chess or just chatting. There would be time enough later to answer owl posts from various concerned parents or from various concerned ministers, wherever they may be.

“I don’t know how Molly does it. Bill, Charlie and Percy were never this…” she paused, blowing across her cup of tea to cool it, searching for the right adjective (or expletive as the case may be).

Albus tilted his head to one side, sucking thoughtfully on a lemon drop, a tiny smile on his lips. “Creative?” he offered. They both laughed at this but were interrupted by a knock at her office door.

“Enter,” she said crisply, taking a sip of her tea and raising both eyebrows at her husband. Speak of the devil, she thought.

It was Percy Weasley, a fifth year student and one of the Gryffindor prefects, with none other than Brian Rollins in tow. Her heart leapt at the sight of her son, but she felt a twinge of worry when she saw that he was holding something in both hands all the while surreptitiously wiping away tears on the upper sleeves of his sweatshirt. When they were not in classes or school gatherings, students were allowed to wear clothing to which they were more accustomed; in Brian’s case, his usual Muggle-world attire.

Together, she and Dumbledore stood as the young men came in. “Oh dear. What is it, gentlemen?” asked McGonagall more calmly than she felt just then.

Percy nodded respectfully to each in turn. “Professor, Headmaster. I apologize that we’re interrupting your morning, but this couldn’t wait.” He gently urged a reluctant Brian forward. The elder witch and wizard shared a glance as they watched him trying to compose himself, and looked with favor on the fact that the red-haired prefect kept a friendly hand across the younger boy’s shoulders. Inwardly, Minerva awarded Percy housepoints for this; he could come across as pompous, but Molly and Arthur Weasley’s middle son was studious and kind. So what if he was a bit of a stickler?

“Go ahead, Brian. It’ll be okay,” he continued in a soft voice.

Visibly steeling himself, Brian shuffled a step or two, looking up at her with a very sad expression on his face. “I found a kitten, Professor, out by the greenhouses. And I was told she needed to be, um…” he paused, sniffling. “…checked out for Dark magic.”

Her eyes grew moist as she nodded; she hated to see him so troubled and it tugged heavily at her heart-strings. “That is true. We have to be very cautious,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley. We’ll take it from here.”

Percy straightened in acknowledgement but before he left, he patted Brian on the back, hoping to encourage him. “It’ll be okay,” he repeated. “See you later, right?”

Brian nodded mutely, trying to give a brave smile. “Yep, thanks.”

Dumbledore returned to his armchair and his teacup as McGonagall came forward to take the kitten in hand. The boy looked with obvious worry at the tiny animal which she now held and was unable to meet her gaze. “Please, have a seat, Brian,” she told him kindly as she went back around to her desk, setting the kitten down to walk on the blotter and low stack of papers. Immediately, the little black and white cat “meowed” happily and began to play with one of the feathered quills she found there.

Brian looked up, still with sadness in his crystal-blue eyes, and moved to the vacant armchair opposite the Headmaster. “Yes ma’am, thank you.” His feet barely brushed the floor when he sat in the tall chair. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted Dumbledore politely.

Dumbledore inclined his head and returned the greeting in silence. From her seat at the desk, McGonagall cleared her throat, ignoring the amused look of irony that Albus was now giving her.

“So,” she began. “Tell us about the kitten, please.” The Head of Gryffindor House was momentarily distracted as she rescued an unopened inkpot from the little cat’s attentions. It was a really cute kitten: mostly black coat with four white “socks” and a penny-sized white spot on her chest. Her bright orange eyes gleamed with comical naughtiness as her ears pricked forward at McGonagall’s hawk feather quills once more, completely ignoring for the moment the three humans in her presence. Her tail flicked back and forth as she prepared to pounce on an imagined foe.

Brian took a deep breath. “I found her outside the greenhouse as we were leaving Herbology the other day. I thought…well, I thought I could keep her. Can I? She’s really clean and well-behaved; she sleeps in my bed and everything.”

“First years are allowed pets, true,” commented Dumbledore. “Mr. Longbottom’s toad is quite a specimen.”

“Trevor, yes sir. But some of the guys in study hall this morning told me that Zoë should be checked out first, by a teacher,” he went on, indicating the frisky kitten and blinking back tears again. “They said it meant, um, taking her apart or something.”

McGonagall clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Absolutely not. Who is telling you these dreadful things?” she asked, though she didn’t have to be a Legilimens to know who it was.

Looking down at his sneakers, Brian replied: “I’d rather not say, Professor McGonagall. I don’t want anybody to get into trouble.” He blushed furiously.

The Headmaster chuckled softly. “Don’t worry for an instant Brian; it’ll just be a series of checking spells. Professor McGonagall is an expert in these kinds of things.” He meant to be reassuring, but the boy looked up suddenly, worried.

“Zoë won’t be hurt will she? I just…”

“She won’t be harmed in any way, Brian, I promise you that,” said McGonagall firmly, giving Dumbledore a “help-me-out-here” look. The Transfiguration Master reached to retrieve the kitten from inside her tartan green witches hat where she had just curled up for a nap. “But it will take some time, and I do want to be thorough for your safety and that of your housemates. You may wish to return to your…”

“I’d rather wait here, ma’am, if that’s alright,” Brian interjected, looking at the tiny sleeping kitten.

“We could play chess while we wait, young man, if you don’t mind the company,” suggested Dumbledore, gesturing at the board between them. Some of the enchanted chess pieces came alert at this and were voicing their agreement of the idea.

Brian nodded as McGonagall stood, holding Zoë to her chest with one hand. The kitten had awakened for a short time but was now snuggled contentedly against her, purring loudly. “I will return as soon as I can then,” she said as she left. What she didn’t tell him was that some of the checking spells would probably upset him at this point in his magical career.

After McGonagall left, Albus positioned his armchair at the chessboard, and indicated with a nod of his head that Brian should do the same. When the boy cast his glance to the side door through which McGonagall had exited, Dumbledore reached over and patted his arm lightly. “It’ll be fine, son. Didn’t you learn about Animagi in class?”

“Yes, sir. We did,” he replied. “And Professor McGonagall transfigured into her cat physical form. It was really cool, to be honest.” Dumbledore just nodded patiently and let Brian mull this over. “Aaand we have to be sure that Zoë isn’t an Animagus, or anything like that?”

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes shining over the half-moon spectacles. “Full marks. Here, try a lemon drop; they’re one of my favorite, you’d call them ‘candies’ in America I suppose.” He offered the packet, reaching over the chessboard.

Grinning, Brian did finally seem to relax as they shared lemon drops and played wizard’s chess. The Headmaster took the time to casually ask the boy about his other classes, and about his experiences thus far at Hogwarts School. Albus hoped that he would have plenty of news about their son to share with Minerva later that day; he felt not a small amount of self-satisfaction at having thought of it as a way to cheer the boy up as well.

It was more than an hour later when Brian started to yawn, yet he carried on playing and courteously trying to hide his tiredness from the elder wizard. “I’m sorry, sir. We had an Astronomy review last night. It ran pretty late.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly, and found that he was yawning reflexively back, stifling it with the back of his hand. “I know what you mean. It’s rather hard to review practical star-gazing in broad daylight isn’t it?” Neither of them had moved a chess piece in several minutes, and even the intact ones were complaining to the players to get back on with the game.

“Cheeky,” said Albus to his king, queen and remaining bishop who were glaring up at him with their hands on hips. “Go on and have a sleep, you lot; go on.” Brian snickered along with him when the chess pieces each gave a mildly rude gesture and marched themselves back to the box.

By the time McGonagall returned to her office with Zoë the kitten, she found the two most important men in her life sound asleep, the chessboard now emptied between them. Both Brian and Dumbledore had stretched out in their armchairs in the same poses, their feet propped up on a shared ottoman. She shushed the kitten that “meowed” at the sight of Brian, stroking her and calming her as she placed Zoë on the desktop. The kitten chewed hungrily on her fingertips, so the witch conjured a bowl of kibble and saucer of milk. With a quiet squeak of thanks, Zoë began immediately to enjoy her lunch.

Minerva wanted to hold this picture forever: her son and her husband sleeping peacefully in her cozy office. Her heart thudded with love for the two of them, and she sat as quietly as she could, content just to watch. Albus felt her tender gaze upon him and opened his eyes, smiling sleepily at his wife. He so enjoyed waking up to the beauty of her face, and he made it a point to tell her this often.

McGonagall put a finger to her lips and inclined her head towards Brian, who was still asleep. To her dismay, though, the noonday bell sounded loudly across the castle grounds and he woke with a start.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said, reddening as he got up from the chair, stretching rather cat-like himself. Brian noticed his kitten lapping at the saucer of milk and smiled tentatively at his Head of House. “Is she…?”

“I pronounce this cat completely free of Dark Magic, young man,” she said with a conspiratorial wink at Dumbledore. “She is a normal, healthy kitten, and looks to be entirely willing to be your pet. Congratulations.”

Brian gave her a grateful smile as he reached to pick up Zoë; the kitten had finished her lunch and had just started to groom her face and front paws, purring with contentment. “Thank you, Professor. And thank you, sir. I really enjoyed our chess,” he said when Dumbledore stood, also having a good stretch.

Albus tickled the kitten’s ear and placed a benevolent hand on the boy’s head. “We’ll have to play again sometime then.”

“Right. Off you go, Mr. Rollins,” said McGonagall. “Don’t forget your Transfiguration homework due Monday.”

“No ma’am. I’m working on it today,” Brian assured her as he left, smiling happily.

When the boy had gone, Dumbledore turned to make sure the chess pieces were tidied up, humming to himself. He looked up with concern when he heard what sounded like a stifled sob coming from the woman who stood beside the desk.

“Minerva? What is it?” he rushed to her side, looking at her with worry as she burst into tears. He caught her up in his arms and felt her shaking. “Did something happen with Brian’s kitten?”

She sniffled and shook her head. “No, no, the kitten is totally normal. It’s just…” Minerva drew her lacy green handkerchief from a pocket of her robes, dabbing at her eyes.

“Tell me, please,” he asked when she hesitated again. He kissed her damp cheeks softly, and kissed her on the lips before holding her where he could look in her eyes. “Dearest, what is it?”

She gazed at him tearfully, tasting lemon drops from his kiss. “Brian was so very upset when he came to us, Albus. That was a difficult thing to do to him, and I nearly told him who I was. I just wanted to hold and comfort him. I couldn’t…”

Dumbledore hugged her more tightly to his chest and stroked her hair. “So did I, Minerva. Hush, I know it was difficult, but he’s fine, right? You checked out his little Zoë, and she’s fine, right?”

“Yes, but…”

Dumbledore kissed her cheek again. He chuckled suddenly at a thought that came unbidden. “You’re not jealous of that wee little cat, are you, Tabby?”

McGonagall put her hands on his broad chest and looked aside, seeming embarrassed as she remained in his embrace. “No…yes…I don’t know. Oh, it’s ridiculous!”

“You could always visit him, as a cat I mean,” he suggested, eyes twinkling gaily at her.

“Don’t be silly; the students already know my markings,” she replied, blushing. Then she laughed and kissed him again. “I’m sorry, Albus.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” said Dumbledore. “I know! You could always change your markings and head up to the tower for a chat, couldn’t you? I personally would love to see you as a ginger tabby sometime.” He gave her a provocative look.

Minerva didn’t answer, but continued to blush as he could tell she was considering it a possibility. She chuckled at herself.

“Then invite him to play chess. He’s not bad for his age,” he told her sincerely. “And don’t you want to hear what I learned today from your bright and beautiful boy?”

TBC

[dmf1984]

“What if?”

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6), started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students’) magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures. Darnit.

Pairing: AD/MM. I can’t help myself; I always think of Richard Harris as Dumbledore, so that’s how I write him. Dame Maggie Smith is one of my favorites as well.

Spoilers: None

Author’s notes: This chapter’s title really is a town slogan in Maine. I ran across it the other day and thought it might be useful.

Chapter 04/??
Cherryfield: Blueberry Capital of the World

Several days after the successful examination of his pet kitten Zoë by Professor McGonagall, Brian and his Gryffindor classmates were at lunch commiserating over their lack of finesse in that morning’s Transfiguration lesson: turning geckos into wallets.

“Polka dots?! exclaimed Seamus Finnegan, slipping into his thick Irish dialect, shaking his head and grinning broadly at Ron. “You’ve got to be kidding, mate. I wish McGonagall had let you keep that one as a souvenir.”

The youngest Weasley boy (and there were six of them) blushed furiously but joined in the rowdy laughter anyway. Not one in the entire class but Hermione had performed a decent transfiguration, even after a week’s warning, much to their Head of House’s dismay. She gave them a stern talking to for not reading ahead in the chapter as she’d assigned (of course, Hermione had read parts of it on the train journey to Hogwarts even before the start of term).

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” said Ron over their laughing, trying to defend his effort, and searching in vain for a clever retort. His gecko transformation had been somewhat incomplete and the resulting wallet still had four legs and a tail. And, inexplicably, fluorescent lime green polka dots.

Brian, Dean and Harry shared a conspiratorial glance as they tried to stop laughing long enough to speak. “At least his guy didn’t catch on fire, Shay,” Brian commented, an impish twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

“Brian, stop,” admonished Hermione, trying not to giggle herself. As was her habit at lunchtime, she was reading Hogwarts, A History, propping the book open against a jug of pumpkin juice and marking her place with a clean butter knife. But it was true: Finnegan was becoming famous (or infamous, depending on one’s perspective) for the fact that even the simplest of the spells which he cast ended up sparking or bursting into flames. It was a wonder that no one had been badly hurt yet. Few outside of Gryffindor House were willing to partner with him in combined lessons, in any of their classes.

“Stop what?” Brian asked, all innocence until Seamus gave him a playful punch on the arm, knocking him lightly over into Neville (who pushed back with a distracted “give over”). He was reading anxiously, trying to prepare for their next class: Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. Other than Herbology, Neville really wasn’t close to passing anything.

“Uh huh. Remember, Yank,” Seamus said, beaming at him like a daft, freckled leprechaun. “Fire is fascinating.” This got the boys laughing again; Hermione just shook her head and went back to her reading.

“Finally, mail’s here,” Dean told them, happily catching his newspaper from an owl as it darted over his head. Dean Thomas’ parents were both Muggles, living in London, and had only recently learned to use the Owl Post. The tall dark-skinned boy was a devoted soccer fan, and pored over every sports page he could get his hands on; his favorite team was West Ham, and he kept their poster over his bed up in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory.

Hermione, Ron, Harry, Neville and the rest all received parcels and letters; Ron’s was a bit larger than usual since his Mom had sent her monthly batch of fudge. He opened it straight away, sharing with the others while he read his sports page from the Daily Prophet (always looking out for international Quidditch scores, and news of his team, the Chudley Cannons…most often in the bottom of the league standings). Ron and Dean had started the school year with numerous passionate disagreements over which sport, soccer or Quidditch, was more worthwhile. In support of Harry, though, who was now in training as the Gryffindor House’s team Seeker, the youngsters had agreed to disagree and let it go. Most students buzzed with anticipation regarding the start of the season come November. Even Minerva McGonagall, their Head of House, was a rabid Quidditch fan, and had been for many years, or so they had been told.

Brian was rather surprised when a tawny school owl landed at his place and dropped a thin envelope on his plate. “What’s this?” he asked, showing it to Hermione. “I never get mail.” It was true; this was his first ever Owl Post.

“You do now,” she said kindly. “Maybe it just takes longer to come across the Atlantic from your folks.” Her parents were both Muggle dentists and had learned at her patient insistence to use the Owl Post over the summer before Hermione started at school.

He shrugged and flashed a big smile. “Cool,” he said, slipping the envelope open with his fingers. The owl hooted softly at him, nodding curiously at the half-eaten sandwich. “Yeah, of course you can try it.” The owl nibbled gingerly, taking a few bites of ham and cheese, and then flew off back to the owlery to rest.

“Who’s it from, Bri?” asked Harry through a mouthful of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent fudge. He passed the box back to Ron, who scooted it over to Dean and Seamus. Harry himself had only recently received his first Owl Post: the delivery of his Nimbus 2000 broomstick, in honor of his making the Quidditch team as a first year.

“Uh, Professor McGonagall,” he replied, ignoring their whispered groans of mock agony as he read down to the signature line. “Interesting.”

“What’d you do, Yank? That could be trouble, like detention trouble for your crap performance in class today,” Ron teased him, pleased with himself that the retort he’d needed earlier had, literally, been dropped in his lap.

“Dude,” Brian told him, smirking, “you have such a guilty conscience. No, I am to report to her office at 4:15 this afternoon after last period. Herbology’s last today, right?”

“Yep,” Neville interjected, barely looking up from his textbook. “More re-potting and techniques for pest resistance.” Dean rolled his eyes at the shy, pudgy boy’s enthusiasm for the subject but both Brian and Hermione always made it a point to defend him. Herbology seemed to be the only class subject so far that Longbottom was actually good at. He and Brian spoke at length in the Gryffindor common room about herbology, and were thinking of asking Professor Sprout to take them on as assistants for her projects. That, and Neville was fascinated by the idea of gardening non-magical plants like tomatoes and aubergines which Brian kept telling him about.

Brian passed the note to Hermione to read for herself. “Professor McGonagall also asks if you would please come with me. Whaddya think?”

“Sure,” she said, giving Ron a sly look. “We can’t both be in trouble for our crap performances in Transfiguration, can we?” Ron grimaced but laughed with the others, all the while turning pink with embarrassment.

The bell tower sounded the end of lunch break, and Brian joined his friends as they headed to their first afternoon class. As he passed the staff table, McGonagall raised her hand slightly to get his attention.

“Mr. Rollins?” she asked, turning briefly from her conversation with Headmaster Dumbledore. Brian came quickly nearer, Hermione at his side, waving the others on so they wouldn’t be late. “You received my note, then?”

“Yes, ma’am; 4:15, we’ll be there.”

She gave a slight smile, eyeing the two youngsters over the rims of her glasses. “Sharp, if you please. And bring your wands, both of you.” He and Hermione looked at each other, grinning. Now their curiosity would have to wait another three and a quarter hours, but first, they had to get to Quirrell’s class on time.

Watching the two Gryffindor lion cubs as they left the Great Hall, Dumbledore chuckled faintly, so that only Minerva could hear. “They look good together, don’t you think?”

She tried to glare at her husband, but found herself stifling a sudden snicker at the matchmaker sparkle in his eyes. “Stop it, Albus; you’re such a yenta. They’re only eleven for Merlin’s sake.” He just gave her an infuriating wink as his reply, all the while smiling serenely.

On the way to the dungeons for their upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Brian asked his companion: “How long do you think they’ve been married?”

She looked puzzled and shifted her book bag to a more comfortable position over her right shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.”

The girl almost stopped short as they rounded a stone pillar, heading downstairs, and a smile of disbelief on her face. “What makes you think that?” For some reason, she found herself reddening at the thought of the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress in that way.

“I dunno, but they’re always together, dinner and school stuff,” he replied, shrugging. “They seem like they get along well, you know, things like that. They were both in Gryffindor, but I don’t think they were at school in the same years.”

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking it over. “They do look good together, don’t they?”

Brian had to laugh at the pensive look on her face. “Nah!” But he decided to reflect on it more later; right now he had to worry about his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and wondering what Professor McGonagall wanted to see him about. Thinking about the Headmaster and his Deputy would have to wait.

Herbology was another excellent lesson, in Brian’s opinion, and afterwards, both he and Hermione gratefully agreed that Ron and the rest would carry their heavily-laden book bags back to the common room. The negotiated exchange was a full report on all of the gory details regarding their summonses to Professor McGonagall’s office.

Brian actually waited on the doorstep outside the Transfiguration Master’s office until exactly 4:15 before he knocked. Even Hermione rolled her eyes at him with this over the top punctuality; his reply was a cheeky grin. “What?” He showed her the digital and waterproof face of his wristwatch.

“Enter,” came the stern voice from inside. They made their way in and stood anxiously in front of her desk, not quite sure what to expect. She held one hand up to ask for a quiet moment or two while she finished what looked like a letter of some sort, then she glanced up and favored them with a small smile. Minerva softened when she saw their somewhat worried looks. “You’re not in trouble, you two.”

They both expelled the breath they had been holding and looked rather sheepishly at their Head of House and at each other.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” said Hermione.

Brian inclined his head slightly. “Ma’am.”

She stood and retrieved a rather large box from behind her desk, placing it where Brian could read the labels. “You have received a package from America, Mr. Rollins.”

He goggled at the size of it; much larger than any of the parcels he’d seen delivered to students in the Great Hall. “Whoa,” he said, laughing. “It’s from my folks!” His bright blue eyes were dancing with delight and surprise.

“I told you it must just take longer across the ocean,” Hermione commented, smiling at his reaction. This earned a smile and nod of agreement from McGonagall.

“Indeed. However, Mr. Filch is occupied elsewhere on the grounds just now, otherwise I would have asked him to deliver it to Gryffindor tower this morning. It’s rather heavy so you two’ll have to levitate it back,” she told them. “Professor Flitwick assures me that you are both proficient at this particular charm?”

As one, the two youngsters pulled their wands from an inside pocket of their robes and made ready with the appropriate swish and flick motion.

“Wingardium,” began Brian.

Hermione finished “Leviosa.”

McGonagall’s smile had a touch of pride, for both. “Well done. Five points to Gryffindor. Now, cast together and stay together. Here, I’ll get the door.”

They grinned at each other as they cast the levitation charm, guiding the brown-paper wrapped box between them. “Thanks, Professor McGonagall,” Brian said sincerely. He made sure to keep in step with Hermione so the parcel didn’t wobble into anything.

After the two had gone, Minerva stood at the closed door for a few moments, a tender smile on her face as she held the doorknob. Brian is so much like Albus, she thought. So enthusiastic and so genuine. Still smiling to herself, she crossed to the fireplace and spoke clearly into it: “Albus, are you there?”

“Here, Minerva,” came the immediate reply as his head appeared in the flames. His robes, head and wizard’s hat all had an eerie red-orange hue.

“Brian has received his package from the Rollinses, as promised. Did Frank or Juliette already contact you?”

“Indeed they did. He is to reply by owl post; there should be a note inside.”

She nodded. “I believe so; he was very happy to get the package after all. I think it was his first Owl post.”

“Very good,” he said with a chuckle. “See you at dinner, my dear?”

She bent closer to the fireplace and his flame-engulfed head watched her with even more love in his eyes. “Of course; until then.” Albus blew her a fiery kiss and then was gone from the fireplace.

When Brian and Hermione arrived back at Gryffindor Tower, they passed Harry on his way out to Quidditch practice. His reaction of surprise was a precursor of what was to come: “Wow! Is that from your Mom?”

Brian beamed then grunted as the box dropped into his outstretched arms, and he was nearly falling over with it. “Oops, dammit. Yeah, I think so.”

“Cool. Tell me all about it at dinner,” said Harry, as he made his way down the staircase, holding his Nimbus 2000 broomstick, and rushing to make his way out to the Quidditch practice arena.

The other first-year Gryffindors were sitting around the common room in the cushy chairs, trying to read for the next day, but this was long forgotten when they saw what Hermione and Brian were hauling through the Fat Lady’s portrait. Their eyes all went wide with surprise.

“Brian!”

“Hey!”

“Here, over here you guys,” said Ron, helping them to the hearthrug.

“Why don’t we give you some privacy,” Hermione suggested, standing to usher the others over to the long table, stacked with books.

Brian smiled at her from where he was sitting on the floor. “It’s okay. I like the company,” he said, ripping the outer wrapping from the large box. Dean, Ron, Seamus and Neville remained nearby; Neville was still reading an assignment for the next day’s Potions lesson.

The lid of the box came off and Brian passed it to one of the other boys. Inside were several smaller packages, all individually wrapped and labeled from each of Brian’s older siblings. “Oh, here’s the note from Mom. I’ll save that,” he told them, pocketing it. The first item he removed was a dark blue baseball cap, which he immediately put on.

“B for ‘Brian’?” asked Dean with raised eyebrows.

“No, B for ‘Boston Red Sox’,” he said, winking. “That’s my pro baseball team back home.”

Ron grunted, pretending to be disgusted. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you Americans don’t have Quidditch or a decent football league to root for.”

Brian laughed out loud, tossing his head back. “Well, I don’t know about Quidditch, but what you call football, we call soccer. It’s okay, I guess, but baseball is better.”

Dean punched him on the arm for that. “So is this baseball magical or what?” He was grinning, glancing between Ron and Brian.

Brian adjusted the baseball cap, and smirked at his buddies. “Not exactly magical, but there was this curse on my team once…” He spent the next ten minutes explaining to them the “Curse of the Bambino” (cast by the famous slugger Babe Ruth and which lasted from 1918 to 2004, the long duration between World Series wins by the Red Sox team…and it looked like they were doing well enough in September of 2007 to win another) as he unpacked and unwrapped the items from the care-package, arranging them on the floor around him.

Hermione pointed at a framed photograph that included seven people and two large dogs. “Great photo. Are these your parents?” She had moved to sit on the floor beside him.

He leaned over to see what she was holding. “Oh yeah! Um, that’s my Mom and Dad. My oldest brother, Joseph, he’s 18. Kelly, my sister, she’s 16,” he told them, pointing out each person: an older couple, short and plump; a tall dark-skinned boy and a blonde-haired girl. “That’s Archie, 15 and Tommy, 13, and our dogs. Oh, and me, of course, between Rex and Fly. I’m the youngest.” Brian smiled fondly as he looked down at the family portrait (an ordinary, non-moving Muggle photo), rubbing the edge of the frame with his thumb.

Dean was impressed by the fact that Brian had an older brother who was black. “Your folks adopted, what, five kids?” All five of the children looked very different from one another, and none of them favored the stout couple.

“Yes, from this orphanage place in Massachusetts, then we moved up to Maine when I was a little kid. My Dad, Frank, he used to teach at the University of Orono, but then he just did stuff around the farm when we moved to Cherryfield; it’s closer to the coast by a few miles. Anyway, we got my letter from Hogwarts back in June, I guess. Mom didn’t seem too surprised really, now that I think about it.” He didn’t notice the shared look of friendly understanding that passed between Hermione, Seamus and Dean: Hermione and Dean both had Muggle parents; Seamus always said he was “half and half”.

“Hey, more presents,” said Brian rummaging through the pile of individually wrapped smaller parcels. “Oh, geez Mom,” he murmured, blushing as he hid a package of brand new underwear and socks behind his back.

He unwrapped the next one, a rather lumpy package that contained a scarlet red ski cap, entirely ordinary-looking apart from the fact that it had a huge plush lobster sewn to the top of it. “Dear Squid,” he read aloud. “Don’t want you to get cold over there, love from Joseph.”

Neville giggled when Brian handed it to him, gesturing for him to put it on. “My Gran has this giant vulture hat she likes to wear.” He posed with the lobster tuque to the applause of his fellow first years, beaming with shy pleasure at the way he was being included in the fun.

“Your brothers call you Squid?” asked Ron. “I thought you were going by Yank?”

Brian shrugged, grinning. “Either one is fine; tall, skinny, swimming…Squid.”

“How ‘bout Squank?” Seamus teased. They all laughed at this. “What the hell is that?” Finnegan was pointing to the next package Brian had opened containing soap and other toiletries (lemon-mint toothpaste, toothbrush and a small yellow comb from his sister). “Irish Spring?”

Rollins sniffed the shamrock green soap in its wrapper and held it out to him. “Yeah, it smells good, here.”

Seamus grinned but refused to touch it. “Crappy name, boyo.”

“Oh, this is the best one, you guys,” Brian exclaimed, picking up the last package which contained a box of Oreo cookies, a zipper-sealed bag of freeze-dried blueberries and cheese spray in a can. “It’s from Archie and Tommy…” he paused, picking up the note that fell on his lap, and reading it aloud to his friends. “Don’t tell Mom we’re mailing you junk food. Be good Squid.” He sprayed some of the unnaturally orange cheese on his finger and ate it with great relish. The others were taken aback when he offered to pass it around.

“No thanks, Bri,” said Hermione, grimacing a little, then looking up with relief when the bell tower sounded across the campus grounds; dinner hour.

Brian shrugged again, not offended. “I know; it’s an acquired taste.”

TBC

[dmf1984]

Happy Thanksgiving all!

“What if?”

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students’) magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairing: ADMM

Rating: K+ to T

Author’s notes: JKR has expressly mentioned in other sources some of the canon characters’ dates of birth, but never Albus Dumbledore’s consistently. So, I’m going with what would be Richard Harris’ birthday of October 1 (e.g., MM on 4th October 1924 and AD on 1st October 1840).

Chapter 05/??
Birthdays and surprises

The Head of Gryffindor House had just received a note from the Head of Hufflepuff House, regarding the voluntary work assignments in her greenhouses that had been undertaken by Brian Rollins and Neville Longbottom. Minerva made a mental note to speak to the boys about not neglecting their other classes, but this involvement with other Hogwarts instructors was good for both of them. She chuckled to herself at Pomona Sprout’s use of the word “enthusiasm” in the note in reference to her son and his gardening from seeds (the Herbology Master didn’t know of the boy’s true parentage; she was merely sending a progress report to his House mentor). Headmaster Dumbledore had pulled some strings to allow the boys and Professor Sprout to order from the Thompson and Morgan Seedsmiths (U.K., Ltd.); Hagrid was able to pick up their purchases on his errand trips to Diagon Alley (and his own gardening supplies…he was readying the gigantic Halloween pumpkins among other fruits and vegetables for the school celebration at the end of the month).

October entered swiftly at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, cold and rainy-gray, and Brian had to cut back on his daily swimming in the Black Lake to Friday through Sunday afternoons, when it was only slightly less busy than the rest of the week. He promised his friend, the giant squid, that he would at least visit as often as he could, and that he was not neglecting him for other things. Elliot, as Brian was pleased to learn his name from the animal himself, had a very understanding and forgiving nature for an invertebrate.

Brian and Neville had just arrived back to the Gryffindor common room that Saturday morning, both of them grimy from hauling plants and seedlings around and looking forward to a wash up before lunch. The afternoon was already planned with a study hall that had been organized for them by Hermione Granger. His young black and white kitten, Zoë, jumped up from her cuddle-knot in an armchair with Crookshanks when the boy plopped down tiredly in front of the fireplace; she “meowed” plaintively, giving voice again to her disagreement that he’d not taken her along that morning.

“Hi, pretty girl, I’ll take you down later to see the greenhouse, alright,” he said, stroking her cheeks with both hands as she purred and kneaded on the chest of his soil-stained sweater. “Have a good nap?” She chirruped in reply, then settled down to groom herself right there on top of him while he lay stretched out on the hearthrug, sighing contentedly as the warmth emanating from the fireplace started to spread over him.

Neville scooped up his toad, Trevor, before collapsing into another cushy high-back chair nearby, holding the giant toad in his lap. “Where’d you learn about those Jiffy-pot things?”

Brian laughed, tilting his head to look around Zoë. “Oh, my Mom swears by them, and we used to use them for everything, even flowers and stuff. It’ll work…tomatoes are usually a summer crop but Professor Sprout tells me the greenhouses are pretty good for climate control.”

Longbottom tickled the amphibian on the chin, eliciting what sounded like a happy murmur of thanks. “D’you think they’ll work for magical seeds, if Professor Sprout will let us have some? Nothing too crazy, maybe some mandrake or foxglove seeds.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Watch it, please, Crookshanks,” warned Brian as the large ginger cat settled on the crotch of his blue jeans, purring loudly. “Did Hermione go to the library?” He took the slight pause in purring as an affirmative answer.
The two boys, two cats and a toad sat quietly for some time, enjoying the crackling of the fireplace logs. Brian had to shake himself awake a few minutes later. He gently moved the cats to one side before he got up; they resumed their sleepy snuggle right in the middle of the hearthrug.

“Okay, kitties. I’m getting in the shower,” he told them, heading up to the boys’ dormitory to get cleaned up for lunch. Neville waved him off, saying that he was going to snooze for another five minutes.

While the rest of the school dined in the Great Hall that noontime, Albus Dumbledore was hosting a picnic for two in his office, a birthday picnic in fact. He had transformed the uppermost level of his office into a flower meadow of thistle and heather, not bothering to disguise his telescope, but the bookshelves had been charmed and transformed into a landscape view. Albus hoped that it would re-create the moors and meadows that Minerva knew from around Edinburgh, where she grew up.

With the typical boyish grin that always took her breath away, he had welcomed her into his office/meadow at the appointed time, and ushered her to the blankets and over-stuffed cushions he had conjured for the two of them. She smiled, delighted at his surprise and allowed him to escort her to their picnic area.

“It’s beautiful, Albus. Is that Arthur’s Seat off in the distance?” she asked him, pointing to a large rock formation. The extinct volcano in the center of Scotland’s capitol city had always been one of her favorite views.

He laughed, his eyes twinkling over the half-moon spectacles. “Well spotted, my dear!” Once she was seated and settled on a cushion, he sat down beside her, gathering his dark blue outer robe more comfortably. Their wizard hats had been discarded downstairs on his large antique desktop. “What would you like to drink? Champagne perhaps?”

She swatted him gently on the leg. “It’s a little early yet. Tea please?”

Albus smiled provocatively, raising an eyebrow at her. “As you wish, Milady. Tea for now and champagne for later.” The growl in his voice gave her an intoxicating tingle, all the way down to her toes; and it was a good thing she was seated, her knees were weakening at the look on his face. He leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips, his hand caressing her chin; Minerva tasted lemons, as usual, and this added to the butterflies of pleasure she was feeling. Dumbledore conjured two teacups, brewed with her favorite “Lady Grey” blend.

“Cheers,” she said as they touched rims of the delicate china teacups. “And Happy birthday, dearest.”

“Happy birthday to you as well. Shall we eat first, or open our presents?”

She chuckled happily; it was always the same question, and as far as she was concerned, always the same birthday gifts which they gave to each other. Minerva knitted him a dozen pairs of the most colorful woolen socks she could think of, each year trying to outdo herself with bright color combinations of yarn. And then there were sweets, especially the Muggle “Lemon drops” he had become so fond of over the years. Year after year, Albus gave her delicately scented bath beads, and her favorite butterscotch candy disks. Some traditions, she thought, were well worth keeping.

Her stomach growled loudly, reminiscent of the Gryffindor lion whose house she headed; she’d skipped breakfast to mark essays that morning. “I really am hungry, Albus. Let’s eat.”

He tried to pout at her, but failed when he saw the teasing passionate gleam in her dark eyes. “As you wish,” he whispered, leaning closer, silently accepting her promise and invitation. “Presents and dessert later then.”

With a flourish, he opened the picnic basket at his side, and presented her with tiny sandwiches and crudités. At his subtle signal, Fawkes the phoenix (Dumbledore’s magical familiar) began to sing, very quietly. Minerva relaxed even more, and soon they were laughing softly and feeding each other bites of the delicious food from the wicker hamper, behaving like much younger lovers than they were.

They chatted a little, but were more content to be in each other’s company, allowing the worries of Hogwarts School to wait in the hands of others on staff for a short while. Fifty years of marriage had taught them that they didn’t always need to fill the silences when they were together. Their love spoke loudly enough to be heard.

When she had eaten her fill, he got rid of the picnic basket with a dramatic wave of his hand, grinning as he levitated several parcels toward their cushions, allowing them to softly land at her feet. “Now, presents,” he told her. Minerva snickered at his impatience.

“Alright, alright,” she said, smiling. McGonagall leaned over the low railing, carefully guiding his gifts upstairs from their hiding place in her witch’s hat. She caught them and handed him one. “You first, Mr. Patience and Restraint.”

Albus chuckled at her teasing tone of voice, giving her a big grin as he opened the bulgy parcel to reveal the rolled bundles of knitted socks. He unrolled a dark blue pair, holding them to the front of his robes; she’d managed to knit yellow stars into them and the blue matched almost perfectly. “These are brilliant, my dear. Thank you.” He leaned in for a kiss, which she readily obliged, his silvery moustache tickling her nose. “Your turn.” He handed her a gold-foil wrapped cylinder.

“Asian spice,” she commented, reading the label on the bath beads. “This is new?”

He nodded affirmatively. “Indeed it is. The young lady at the shop highly recommended this particular scent.”

Minerva sniffed the cylinder more carefully, evaluating the subtle combination of fragrances. “Yes, that is nice; I can’t wait to try it out.” She reached around and handed him the next one. “And your turn again, Albus.”

Dumbledore ripped off the decorative paper and opened the lemon candies, tasting one straightaway. “My favorites, thank you,” he held the container for her while she chose a sherbet lemon and popped it into her mouth, giggling. He caught her hand before she could swat him again, kissing her knuckles, and passed her another wrapped package.

She opened it to reveal a chocolate assortment, including butterscotches, which he knew were her favorites. McGonagall sighed with happiness, looking with adoration at her husband of so many wonderful years. She reclined on the cushions and closed her eyes briefly, hoping to rest a little after their lunch before heading back to essay marking in her office. Her eyes snapped open again when she heard him get up, moving to the windows and muttering additional privacy charms.

“Albus? What is it?”

He smiled as he returned to her side, gently waving to his hand a leather-bound book and sitting so that he could face her. “I have one more for you. It’s a surprise.”

Minerva looked at him, a little puzzled. She opened the tiny metal clasp at his silent gesture, finding it to be a wizarding-photo album. The charmed and life-like photos were all of her former students; Gryffindors from many years past, including James and Lily Potter among others smiling and waving out at her. “This is lovely, Albus, but I think I have these upstairs in…”

He held her hand in both of his, long elegant fingers stroking hers in a calming gesture. “Shhh, these are not the gift, but merely the disguise.” Albus now held her gaze in his, brilliant blue eyes looking at her very seriously. “I cannot stress how dangerous this could be in the wrong hands; you must guard it with your very life. Do you promise me, Minerva?”

She frowned but nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t ask such a thing unless he truly meant it. “Of course, but…”

“There is an incantation to open it, and you must say it three times: amore di una Madre.”

Tears sprang to her eyes as she repeated it, translating in her mind: the love of a mother. He held up three fingers, urging her to repeat the incantation, which she did twice more. “Amore di una Madre. Amore di una Madre.” When the last syllable had been uttered, the wizarding-photos shifted to ordinary still ones, but the images made her gasp as she clutched a hand to her bosom. “Oh, Albus…”

The images were of Brian: dozens upon dozens of them showing the boy with his adopted family in Massachusetts and Maine. Her vision blurred with unending tears as she saw her son, growing from infancy to his present age, all through the photographs which Albus had so lovingly attached to the pages of the book. This dark-haired little boy was incredibly beautiful in her mind, and even more she was reminded of her husband when she saw his sparkling blue eyes and his cheeky, endearing grin.

He had been on a competitive swim team at some point, and was often in the company of two very large and very shaggy brindle-coated dogs; the Border collies which were labeled “Rex and Fly” in one of the captions. Though most of the photos were only of Brian, a few included his older siblings and their adoptive parents, especially with the youngsters in their Muggle school uniforms. What Minerva noticed most was how happy they all seemed, regardless of their circumstances.

She had to stop less than halfway through the book, pausing to remove a lacy green handkerchief from a pocket of her robes. Minerva saw then that her husband’s cheeks were also damp with tears of joy. Without speaking, they found themselves in each other’s arms, weeping silently, each trying to comfort the other with softly murmured words of affection.

After many heartbeats, they pulled apart slightly, sniffling and smiling tenderly. “How did you get these, Albus?”

He beamed at her and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes. “I wrote to Juliette Rollins last month. She must have sent copies of everything she had!”

“That wonderful woman…”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “There is also a closing incantation, alright?” Minerva reluctantly nodded. “Three times: cuore di una Madre.” Tears threatened again as she translated in her mind, without speaking it aloud: the heart of a mother.

He kissed her, chastely at first, but as she clung to his broad chest, he deepened the kiss in response to her groan of pleasure. When they finally broke apart, trying to catch their breath, he held her face lovingly in both hands. “Happy birthday, Minerva, darling wife.”

She smiled tearfully up at him, leaning further into his caress. “And to think I only got you socks and sweets this year, Albus.”

He grinned, giving her a smoldering look. “I think we can negotiate that upstairs, my dear.” She blushed at his innuendo but did not protest in the least. “Besides, we haven’t had dessert yet.”

TBC

[dmf1984]

“What if?”

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students’) magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairing: ADMM

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for some coarse language)

Author’s notes: JKR has written two delightful Hogwarts “schoolbooks” titled Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages that supplement the seven larger volumes of the Harry Potter saga.

Chapter 06/??
Squid Quidditch and Shuntbumps

The student body welcomed the first weekend of November for several reasons, not least of which were the first frosty mornings of the school year, but more importantly, the beginning of Quidditch season and the real competition for the Hogwarts’ House Cup. The Gryffindor common room was still buzzing on Sunday morning after their team’s stunning Saturday victory over their main rival, Slytherin. Harry had caught the Golden Snitch, exhibiting brilliant broomstick skills, and thereby assuring their win. The story of how it had nearly gagged him (he’d caught it in his mouth of all places) would quickly reach legend status if Fred and George Weasley had anything to say about it.

Neville had just reached the Fat Lady’s portrait on his way back from the library when it swung open, and a rushing crowd of Gryffindor boys swept him along. “Hurry up, hurry up!” someone was calling as they left the common room.

“Leave the books, Nev,” Ron told him, his face reddening with excitement. “Come on with us down to the lake.” Brian, Dean, Seamus, Harry, Fred, George and the twins’ best friend Lee Jordan were all hurrying out; two of them carrying the elder Weasley’s old broomsticks which they’d brought along from home that year.

“OK, OK, one sec,” he said, flustered and tossing his library books just inside the portrait doorway. “What are we doing at the lake?”

Fred shared a conspiratorial glance with his twin brother, giving Neville a wicked grin as a reply. “Shuntbumps,” he whispered. It took the younger boy several moments to translate what he’d been told, and then he ran to catch up with the others as they headed out to Black Lake.

“Shuntbumps” is an ancient wizarding broomstick sport, rather similar to the better-known jousting on horseback which was practiced by Muggles in Medieval times. The object is simple: two participants mount their brooms and then race toward each other hoping to knock their opponent from his broom, without losing their own seat or getting injured in the process. A match consists of three “runs”, with one point awarded for each “knock-off”. There were risks, of course, including but not limited to: broken broomsticks or other blunt force trauma to the head, face or body.

Most “shuntbumpers” preferred to compete at a maximum 6-12 feet elevation, but this was never a hard and fast rule. Falls from this height or greater added to the thrill, so to speak, and it was wise to choose a soft landing surface such as fluffy grass or snow. It’s also important to note that the sport was once very popular in Devonshire, now played primarily by wizarding children who were in the early days of their broomstick flying (most pre-teens moved quickly on to the glory that was Quidditch, if they were so inclined).

At the lakeside meadow, George quickly marked off a jousting line with his container of foot powder (twenty paces) while Fred divided the other boys into two teams: Brian, Dean and Ron against Neville, Seamus and Lee. Harry started to protest his apparent exclusion but was quickly held back by one of the lanky Weasley boys.

“Oi, where do you think you’re going, Sunny Jim?” Fred demanded, grinning wickedly.

Harry looked at the two teams on either end of the powdered line and did a fast mental calculation. “Well, George can go with them and I’ll go with the other guys; you’re reffing, right?” Potter indicated that he should join Ron, Dean and Brian’s team.

“As much as it pains me to say, no Shuntbumps during Quidditch season, sorry mate. Oliver would completely blow a gasket if any of us got injured in non-Quidditch activities,” said Fred, shaking his head sadly. Oliver Wood, a burly fifth year student, was the House team Captain and Keeper. He was known to be a fervent Quidditch fan and had his team training at a minimum of three sessions per week.

“And then McGonagall would hex you into next week,” added George. “And then they’d take turns killing you in every way they can think of.”

“Rotten Scottish tempers, both of ‘em,” Fred continued, shuddering dramatically.

“Very nasty to see, laddie,” they finished together in the same tone of voice (an odd and somewhat disconcerting habit for the identical twin Weasley boys). They did a fair job at a Highland Scots accent though.

Harry frowned, hoping they’d laugh and let him off the hook, but they didn’t. “So what are we supposed to do, sit and watch?” He grimaced inwardly at the rather selfish irony of what he’d just said (especially in light of the fact that Hogwarts school Quidditch matches drew spectators from far outside their campus).

George chuckled heartily, thumping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, don’t worry about being bored, Harry.”

“We’re the flying coaches, color commentators, referees, scorekeepers,” Fred interjected. “And medi-wizards. We’ve got Oliver’s team meeting later anyway, remember?” Harry shrugged, following their better judgment and trusting that his teammates wouldn’t tease him about something like this. He watched curiously as Ron and Seamus were preparing themselves at opposite ends of the joust line; for some reason, they had both removed their sneakers and socks, leaving on their sweatpants and hooded sweatshirts. Harry decided to just sit back and enjoy the show.

“Right,” shouted George as the pair of them mounted the borrowed broomsticks. “Make it a clean flight, boys, no higher than twelve thousand feet!” He acknowledged their protests with a friendly wave. “Ah, my mistake, no higher than twelve feet, alright? Fred?”

“Thank you, Mr. Jabberwocky,” Fred called loudly. “On my left we have Weasley the Wicked, and his opponent on my right, Finnegan the…”

“Flammable!” shouted Lee, getting into the spirit of the game. The other boys cheered and whistled; Seamus raised his fist like a gladiator about to do battle, grinning madly.

“Well said, Sir, well said! On three, lads…One, two, three!” Fred nudged Harry, dropping his voice. “Watch this; they’ll be the best fliers of the bunch, I reckon.”

Ron and Seamus lifted off at the same time and then flew at each other as fast as they could, probably at a height of about eight feet. Harry flinched involuntarily when they passed within inches, without contact. It reminded him a bit of Quidditch, but without Quaffles, Bludgers and the Golden Snitch. He thought he’d seen knights jousting in a film once.

“Oh, we’re tentative this morning, gents,” George taunted, clucking his tongue in admonishment. “A pass; nil to nil.” As the pair of them touched down and walked back to their respective starting lines, they gave a sportsmanlike brief slap of their hands, grinning sheepishly at each other.

Fred took up the commentary for the second run. “Just warming up slowly this chilly November day, on three…one, two, three!” This time, from a height of about six feet, Ron knocked Seamus to the ground with his forearm as they passed, flying faster this time around. Finnegan landed on the cushy grass, flat on his back, but got up uninjured.

“And a point for Weasley!” The cheers from Brian and Dean were music to Ron’s ears, and Harry couldn’t help shouting along with them, thoroughly enjoying the rowdy morning away from schoolwork. He’d never seen this wizarding sport, but apparently some of these boys had played it for many years (he was still learning Quidditch, after all).

Seamus took the third run’s knock-off, thus ending their match in a draw. He was still brushing grass from his shirt when he handed the broom to the next man on his team, Lee Jordan. Ron passed his broom to Dean Thomas, accepting a handshake from his other teammate, Brian.

George resumed his self-appointed task of assistant commentator: “A draw so far, gentlemen. One point for Weasley the Wicked, and one point for Finnegan the…”

“Flammable!” the other boys shouted as one (including Seamus himself), laughing hysterically. The match was starting to draw some curious passersby, a few Gryffindor upperclassmen and students from other Houses. It wouldn’t be long before their loud and high spirits attracted the attention of one of the teachers; Shuntbumps wasn’t strictly forbidden at Hogwarts, but students were strongly cautioned against injuring one another.

“OK, Dean, you’re up. Lee, if you please,” said George, calling them to the line.

“Hey, how about a good name for me this time? Give a guy a chance, huh?” Lee requested. George smiled wolfishly, nodding over to Fred.

“As you wish, Sweetheart,” Fred told him. “Up next, we have Dean Thomas, Terror of the Skies flying against Jordan the Juggernaut!” He paused as the two teams, and some of the spectators roared their approval of the nicknames. “On three…one, two, three!”

And so began the second match, and Harry noticed right away that Ron and Seamus had indeed, been the best broomstick fliers of the bunch. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as Dean and Lee flew toward two passes before Lee unseated his opponent in the third run. Just as Dean was handing off the broomstick to Brian, Hermione arrived with three cats following her: Zoë, Crookshanks, and a new tortoise-shell female cat that must have wandered up from the greenhouses. Harry jogged over to greet her, grinning as Ron stumbled getting his feet back into his sneakers.

“Ron, that was brilliant!” Harry told him sincerely. “You looked great up there.”

“What’s up?” Hermione wanted to know, indicating the well-worn broomstick Brian was sitting on precariously (he wasn’t known for his broomstick skills among the Gryffindors; she was even less confident on one than he).

“Thanks, mate. It’s called Shuntbumps,” Ron said. “Hermione, we…”

“We read about it in Quidditch Through the Ages,” Brian added, perfectly mimicking her tone when she told them (often) about Hogwarts, A History. Her cheeks flushed pink but she had to laugh in spite of herself. “Wish me luck, guys.” Rollins took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to relax.

Fred called Brian and Neville to the line, and Harry knew at once that this match would not be pretty. “Ready lads?” he asked the two of them, both looking anxious at the prospect of flying on a broomstick, especially in front of an audience. “Alright, in the final pairing we have on my left, Mr. Squid Rollins all the way from America (the poor bugger) against Mr. Neville the Longshank…on three, one two, three!”

Both fliers had gotten bad cases of the sillies when Fred announced their nicknames to the crowd, and some of the students were whispering behind their hands, giggling (“geez, Freddie. There are ladies present…” someone was heard to call over to him). Trying to salvage their match, Brian and Neville both over-compensated when they pushed off from the ground: Neville shot straight up in the air, plummeting nearly straight down again, while Brian flew right out over the lake a fair distance, lost control of the broom and promptly fell overboard into the frigid water.

The spectators onshore rushed to see if he was alright; it was nearly half a minute before he came up spluttering and laughing at himself. “Dammit! Now that’s cold!” he hollered while making his way back, awkwardly holding the borrowed broomstick. As they watched, a giant tentacle came up and smoothly pushed him to the shallower water.

Brian climbed out of the water, shaking icy droplets from his hair. He leaned over to pat the giant squid, murmuring softly as if to a beloved pet, something a few of the students had never seen him do before. “Thanks, Elliot. Should I try it again?” He smiled when the squid seemed to answer him (no one else heard anything, however), turning to look for Neville. “Hey, Nev! Whaddya think? Go again?”

Neville got up a little gingerly, a wide-eyed and surprised look on his face when he discovered that he was uninjured; he couldn’t help but remember his broken wrist in Madam Hooch’s introductory flying session during the first week of the term. “Sure, yeah. Why not?” He shrugged and grinned sheepishly at the encouragement from his fellow Gryffindors.

The Shuntbumps match between Brian and Neville quickly disintegrated (a total of three passes, so no score), owing in large part to their poor skill as broomstick fliers. Fred, George, Lee and Harry reluctantly had to beg off, departing in time to get to Oliver’s team meeting in his dormitory room (so they could watch and discuss game films from the day before; Lee Jordan as a Quidditch match announcer was also an A/V aficionado). Brian learned, oddly enough, that launching himself into the Black Lake while riding on a broomstick was a great deal of fun; Neville even tried it once, as did the other Gryffindor boys. Nearly all of the spectators found this rather boring (and none of them could work up the courage to ask to have a go) and so they cleared out, leaving the six Gryffindor first year students to their own thrill-seeking devices. It had grown cloudy by now, with rain threatening, and most were ready for a hot chocolate to warm them.

The tricky part of this new game was getting the broomstick back to shore without the grindylows trying to steal it from them. Elliot the giant squid was a big help in this; he elected himself to run (or rather, to swim) interference against the pack of grindylows while Brian or one of the other boys swam back, with single-armed strokes, and holding the broomstick up out of the water. It was Hermione who solved this little problem: she volunteered to try a summoning spell she’d just read about. Giving the three felines a friendly good-bye pat each, she positioned herself at the shoreline, wand at the ready (the cats all decided it was time to head back up to the castle in search of a pre-lunch snack; none of the students paid any attention when the pretty tortoise-shell female made her way back to a private classroom in the castle, and transfigured herself back into none other than Minerva McGonagall).

“Okay, Seamus. I’m ready,” Hermione told him as he positioned himself on the broomstick for launch. He kicked off hard, and moments later, had surfaced and was laughing and cursing loudly against the icy chill of the lake, the broomstick drifting away from his numb fingers. “Accio broomstick!” The boys cheered her loudly as the broom obediently made its way back to her hand, and Seamus hauled himself out of the water with Elliot’s help, his teeth chattering loudly.

“I’m done, lads,” he said, pulling on his dry woolen hoodie. “Aren’t you blasted freezing?”

Ron, Dean and Brian all looked at each other questioningly. Ron grinned as he leaned over to retrieve his sneakers. “Yeah, you’re right Shay. My Mum will flip her lid if she hears I’ve got pneumonia.” And I sure don’t want another Howler, he thought to himself.

“So, guys, I’m guessing that’s not how Shuntbumps usually turns out?” Brian asked the group in general, gathering up his socks and sweatshirt; he was the wettest of the bunch, and his shoes produced plenty of squishing noises as he made his way up the meadow.

Dean and Neville shouldered the broomsticks for the walk up to the castle. The pair of them looked at each other and chuckled. “Uh, no,” said Dean. His short, curly hair looked like it had been sprayed with dewdrops. All but Hermione were covered with grass- and mud stains from the morning’s fun.

Maybe it was just bad timing, but as the Gryffindor students were heading up the stairs, Draco Malfoy and a handful of his Slytherin housemates were coming down. It was an honest mistake when Longbottom bumped into one of them, but Malfoy didn’t see it that way. Sneering, he pushed back, sending Dean and Neville tumbling painfully all the way down. Neville landed badly and they heard a loud crunch as his ankle snapped at the base of the stairs.

“Argh! Ahhhhhh, shit-shit-shit!” he yelled in pain, tears welling in his eyes as he clutched his injured ankle.

“Hey, you greasy little git!” Ron shouted, running up to help his roommates, followed closely by Brian and Seamus. Miraculously, Dean was unhurt as he landed at the foot of the stairs, both broomsticks crashing down on top of him.

“Oh, you’re fine, you fat crybaby,” Draco snarled. “And who’re you calling greasy, Weasel?” His five cronies, including the enormous Crabbe and Goyle, looked a little shocked as the smaller Gryffindor boys seemed to be gathering themselves for a fight.

“Knock it off, Malfoy! Neville really is injured, you bloody wanker,” shouted Hermione, hugging her classmate as he rolled in his agony.

Draco didn’t seem to notice that Neville wasn’t faking. “How dare you even speak to me, you filthy Mudblood,” he told her through clenched teeth. “You know you don’t belong here. If my father…”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady, you bastard,” Seamus said angrily, his fists clenched tightly. “Come on lads.” And with that, Seamus, Ron and Brian hurled themselves at the six Slytherin boys.

It quickly turned into a full-out brawl right there on the rainy castle steps, three against six. Dean and Hermione had all they could handle trying to get Neville (and the borrowed broomsticks) safely out of the way so that they could help him to the hospital wing; his injured ankle bruising and swelling rapidly. Unpredictably, the three Gryffindor scrappers gave far better than they got, but soon all nine boys were well and truly bloodied before teachers and staff came running from every direction to pull combatants from the fray. Some of the students who gathered to watch were shocked into silence at the violence of it all.

Snape ended up with a Slytherin struggling in each hand (“Enough you idiots!!” he bellowed at them), as did Professor McGonagall, much to their chagrin. Argus Filch grabbed Ron and Seamus by their collars, and jerked them up short; both were bleeding from cut lips. Hagrid got his hands on Rollins and Malfoy, and barely kept them from throwing further punches. These last two had blackened eyes and blood was pouring from Brian’s newly crooked nose.

Barely registering at the moment that her son was involved, McGonagall was positively livid. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing? Fighting amongst yourselves like common hooligans?” Eyes flashing with fury, she gave the two boys in her grasp a good shake before she released them, urging them inside none too gently. “Summon Headmaster Dumbledore to the hospital wing, now!” she shouted at one of the portraits as she swept the entire group ahead of her. Minerva also sent word for Professors Flitwick and Sprout to join them there; a fight involving this many students was reason enough for an immediate disciplinary hearing, and all of the Heads of Houses would sit on the panel.

The students nearby made sure that they did not catch her eye, hoping to watch the excitement without being recognized. They scattered as best they could and the noonday bell helped out in this. With backward glances at the nine who were about to be punished severely, the youngsters headed off to lunch and armed with the juiciest story they’d had in months.

Once in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey took one shocked look at the bunch of them, and had Dean and Hermione help Neville to the first empty bed on the ward. She dismissed them with an impatient wave, her lips pursed into an angry thin line, conjuring eleven hard-backed wooden chairs that arranged themselves into two separate groups at the open end of the hall.

“Sit, all of you,” she ordered, taking Professors McGonagall and Snape in her stern glance, and shaking her head at all of the blood, mud and injuries she saw. Pomfrey waved her hand again, conjuring a pile of scratchy woolen blankets and towels. “I’ll be back after I’ve sorted Mr. Longbottom’s injuries.” She huffed crossly and directed her medi-wizard assistant to start checking over the others.

The boys, and Hermione, were grouped by House, and were directed to choose a blanket or towel and to remain silent in their seats. Snape and McGonagall stood over their respective pupils, arms crossed in nearly identical angry poses. Minerva saw then that Brian was bruised and bloodied when Hagrid finally released his grip and steered him to a chair (though he’d handled the whining Malfoy not nearly as delicately). With considerable effort, she did not change the stern expression on her face.

“That will be all, Hagrid, Mr. Filch,” said McGonagall in a quiet voice, looking down at Brian, Ron and Seamus; all three were unable to meet her gaze. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Hagrid nodded and snuck a wink at Hermione before he strode from the ward. Argus Filch did nothing to hide his sheer enjoyment at the thought of the punishments that would soon be meted out. “Oh dear, we are in trouble, aren’t we?” He bared his gnarly yellow teeth at them; his version of a friendly smile. “This might well be the last night you children spend in this castle.”

Dumbledore arrived with Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Hooch trailing him; someone had told the Flying instructor that broomsticks had been involved. He stopped short when he noticed the bedraggled students sitting meekly (including to his great surprise, his own son), some of them dripping water and mud onto Madam Pomfrey’s usually immaculate tile floors. Without a word, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at McGonagall and conjured six cushioned chairs and a long table in front of them. Albus gestured for his faculty members to make themselves more comfortable, then turned to address the young people.

“Professors, if you please. Fighting at Hogwarts is a most serious offense, all of you are well aware of this fact,” he began sternly, looking at each one in turn over the rims of his spectacles. “We’ll begin this disciplinary hearing as soon as Madam Pomfrey assures me that you are fit to continue.”

TBC

[dmf1984]

Happy New Year, all. I hope that 2009 is starting off well.

“What if?”

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students’) magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters, and I do not make money from these fictional adventures.

Pairing: ADMM

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for some coarse language)

A/N: this chapter picks up where we left off in the “cliffhanger” that was chapter 6.

Chapter 07/??
A Knight’s Tale

Dumbledore soon arrived at the hospital ward with Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Hooch trailing him; someone had told the Flying instructor that broomsticks had been involved in the fight. He stopped short when he noticed the bedraggled students sitting meekly in their straight-backed wooden chairs (including to his great surprise, his own son), some of them dripping water, blood and mud onto Madam Pomfrey’s usually immaculate tile floors. Without a word, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at McGonagall and conjured six cushioned chairs and a long table in front of them. Albus gestured for his faculty members to make themselves more comfortable, then turned to address the young people.

“Professors, if you please. Fighting at Hogwarts is a most serious offense, all of you are well aware of this fact,” he began sternly, looking at each one in turn over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. “We’ll begin this disciplinary hearing as soon as Madam Pomfrey assures me that you are well enough to continue.”

Not much later, Madam Pomfrey returned pushing Neville along in a creaky wheelchair, making her way down the ward. He had changed into dry clothes: a pair of plain black sweatpants and a white t-shirt (with “Hogwarts” emblazoned in black scripted letters across the chest). His right ankle was heavily bandaged and propped up on the padded chair attachment; he looked bashfully around at his housemates and nodded when Hermione greeted him with an encouraging pat on the hand.

“Give that Skele-gro plaster one hour, Mr. Longbottom,” Pomfrey told him. “You know the drill.” He nodded, embarrassed and painfully aware that she was referring to his frequent visits to her treatment wing of the school. Neville had had at least one injury accident a week since the start of the school year.

The Head nurse turned her attention next to Rollins and Malfoy. “You and you, come with me, please,” she said firmly, ushering them ahead of her. “These are the last two, Headmaster.” Her medi-wizard assistant had treated all of the other minor injuries (mainly bruises, cut lips and bloodied knuckles); Brian and Draco were actually the worst of the lot other than Longbottom, each sporting a black eye, cut eyebrow (and Brian’s newly broken nose). His ruined shirtfront was covered in blood from the wounds on his face.

Dumbledore nodded, looking up from a parchment that McGonagall had passed to him. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. The rest of you will now state your names for the record so that all four Heads of Houses may hear your testimony,” he told them, pointing to the Gryffindor side. Minerva readied a fresh quill and parchment, taking the role of scribe for now as the disciplinary hearing officially began; she would charm the quill to record testimony when the time came.

“Uh, Neville Longbottom, sir,” he said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in the wheelchair.

“Hermione Granger,” she stated briskly, reddening.

“Dean Thomas.”

“Seamus Finnegan,” said Seamus, his face looking pale and sweaty under the thick dabs of purple healing salve. It was beginning to itch mightily and he was determined to ignore it, but it was getting increasingly difficult.

“Weasley, Ronald Weasley,” stammered Ron, his ears pink. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he kept his hands clenched in his lap, hoping to quell their shaking. His lip was stinging where the medi-wizard had treated the cuts.

“And I will record ‘Brian Rollins’ and ‘Draco Malfoy’ while they are receiving treatment at this time,” McGonagall added, the quill she held scratching rapidly as she made additional notes.

Dumbledore turned to her, inclining his head slightly. “Thank you, Professor. We needn’t delay,” he said before pointing to the Slytherin house side. “You there, continue.” The five stocky boys from Snape’s house, including Crabbe and Goyle, each gave their names sullenly, unwilling or unable to look up and meet their Head of House’s disgusted glare.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey silently returned Draco and Brian to their seats, cleaning the puddles and debris under the chairs with a subtle wave of her wand. Sitting there in their identical dry clothes, Neville and the other nine boys who had received treatment looked rather like Azkaban inmates already. Even Hermione and Dean, who had changed out of their wet things at the matron’s insistence, looked as miserable as the rest.

The Hogwarts matron came forward to the table to give her report to the panel. “That’s the lot, Headmaster,” she began, conjuring screens to section off the area for the disciplinary hearing (she had other patients on the ward that day, all of whom needed their rest). “These students will be fit for punishment in 24 hours, as you deem necessary. I see no need to keep them in hospital.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” said Dumbledore and she eased around the closest screen. He murmured additional privacy charms so that they would not disturb her patients who legitimately needed to be on the hospital ward. That, and he was hoping to minimize the rumors that would be flying around the school soon enough.

“I will caution you all to be truthful in your testimony, under pain of perjury, as fighting such as this may be considered an expulsion offense in certain circumstances. It will be up to this council to decide if you have or have not met those certain circumstances,” he continued, his face grave. “Minerva, do you have an opening statement as Head of Gryffindor House?”

McGonagall leaned forward, folding her hands on the table in front of her as she spoke, her expression grave. “I have already written to each of your families explaining the potential expulsion situation, and will correspond with them again to notify them of the results of this hearing,” she said sternly. “We on this panel must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done.” The quill made its own way across her parchments, now in dictation mode. The documents would be kept in the secure school files, recording the disposition of the hearing and any punishments given accordingly; dismissals were fairly rare at Hogwarts, but it had been known to happen.

“Severus?” Dumbledore said, turning to the Potions Master on his left, who was also the Head of Slytherin House.

“I’m sure the students are well aware of my feelings on this matter, Headmaster,” Snape said coolly. “And they should rest assured that they will be dealt with according to their offenses.” He glared at each one of the “dirty dozen” in turn, his eyes resting the longest on Ron Weasley for some reason.

“Very well. Do you all understand the proceedings?” he directed this last question to the students as an entire group, both houses, and waited for their acknowledgment. “Miss Granger, tell us in your own words what happened today.”

Nervously clasping her hands together, Hermione stood and faced the faculty panel. Her Gryffindor classmates could see her knees shaking in her black sweatpants. “Yes, Headmaster,” she croaked, clearing her throat carefully before continuing in a stronger voice. She indicated herself and the five boys at her side. “We were returning to the castle from our morning at the lakeside, and as we were coming up the stairs Draco pushed Neville and Dean; Neville broke his ankle in the subsequent fall. Harsh words were exchanged, sir.” Hermione’s face reddened as she recalled them silently, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to elaborate.

Draco leapt to his feet in protest, full of self-righteous indignation. “Longbottom took a swing at me, sir, with that bloody great broomstick he was carrying! I was attacked!”

His further words were drowned out when the five Gryffindor boys shouted angrily back at him; Dumbledore immediately silenced them with a hard look and snap of his fingers (not to mention the laser-beam glares which they were receiving from Minerva McGonagall). “Enough! Mr. Malfoy, you will have your turn to speak in due course, do you understand me?” The pale blond boy nodded pseudo-contritely, chancing an obnoxious smirk at the fuming Gryffindor students, out of the teachers’ view. The five other Slytherins looked as if they wanted to crawl from the room, as unnoticed as possible.

Dumbledore continued calmly, nodding at Hermione to return to her seat. “Mr. Longbottom, why were you carrying a broomstick on the castle stairs?”

Neville, unable to stand, straightened as best he could in the wheelchair. “We had been down at the lake all morning, sir, playing Shuntbumps,” he said softly. “Dean and I were carrying them… we borrowed from Fred and George, their old ones from home, I think.”

Albus favored the boy with a small smile, casting a sideways glance at the Flight instructor, Madam Hooch, who inquired: “And has your flying improved any, Mr. Longbottom?” Her hawk-like features were unexpectedly kind, and most students liked her a lot as a demanding, but fair teacher. She was also the primary Quidditch referee for the school matches.

“Yes, Miss, greatly,” he said with a touch of pride. “The guys were helping Brian and me since we’re the worst ones on broomsticks in our class.” He was heartened at the wink and nod of encouragement from Madam Hooch. Even Professors Flitwick and Sprout flashed tiny smiles in his direction.

“Fred and George Weasley were not playing Shuntbumps this morning, were they?” asked McGonagall sharply, concern creeping into her voice regarding her House team Quidditch players.

“Oh no, ma’am,” Neville told her quickly. “They, Harry and Lee all had to go to meeting with Oliver; only Lee actually played. But after Brian crashed into the lake the first time, they had to leave anyway, so we ended the match and did something else…” He trailed off guiltily as he misinterpreted McGonagall’s sudden intake of breath and look of concern.

“I was practicing the Summoning Charm, sir,” Hermione added politely. “I had just read about it, and we wanted to get the broomsticks out of the water safely.”

“Well done, Miss Granger,” squeaked Professor Flitwick enthusiastically. “Oh, I apologize for the interruption: we haven’t covered that in class yet, Headmaster.” Dumbledore expressed his appreciation of the explanation and looked at Hermione with pride, adding his acknowledgement of her work.

“They were no doubt disturbing the residents of Black Lake, Headmaster, with their noise, swimming and broomsticks. That’s what started the whole matter in the first place…” commented Snape, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Rollins got swiftly to his feet. “But sir! Elliot really likes our company; he’s lonely and…”

Snape gave Brian a harsh, piercing look. “Irrelevant to the… who in Merlin’s name is Elliot, Mr. Rollins? Another one of your invisible friends?” Some of the students involuntarily snickered, especially those of Slytherin House; Minvera happened to see the side of Dumbledore’s beard twitch in amusement when she glanced over at him.

“Elliot is the giant squid, sir,” Brian replied calmly, shrugging his shoulders as he remained standing. “He told me his name weeks ago, and he also told me that Merchus promised to get him a wife from the North Sea so he can have kids. He’s terribly lonely here; I mean even the grindylows have families.” Nearly all of the students laughed at this. To their surprise, all of the teachers but Snape almost did as well, appreciating the passion and unmistakable truthfulness of Brian’s answer. Professors Sprout and Flitwick covered their mouths with their hands, trying to hide their broad grins.

Dumbledore’s eyes were now sparkling brightly at the amusing development but he wanted to finish with the more serious fighting charges. He held his hand up for quiet, looking down the table at Severus. “I don’t think that is germane to the issue at hand, but I will speak to the Merchieftainess later today, if you would care to join me, Professor Snape.” He gestured for Brian to continue. “Tell us what happened on the castle stairs, Mr. Rollins.”

Brian took a deep breath, and looked respectfully at each teacher seated at the front table in turn. “We were coming back to the castle to get changed and warm up before lunch; Seamus said he was freezing, and honestly sir, so was I. Neville bumped into Draco, who pushed him back down the stairs. I heard his ankle break when he fell…”

Draco jumped up again, protesting rudely. “Headmaster, I was attacked by these madmen, wait until my father hears about this! He’ll…”

The Headmaster was about to intervene when he heard what sounded like an angry cat’s snarl. He instinctively glanced to his right, toward his wife, but it wasn’t Minerva who had made the noise. It was Brian, of all people. He was stomping mad all of a sudden, his blue eyes flashing Gemini-fires under his short, untidy brown hair, still damp from his repeated dunkings in the Black Lake. This gave the disconcerting impression that those same dark locks were standing on end as he unleashed his frustrations.

“You pompous and arrogant little shit-head, Malfoy!” shouted Brian furiously, forgetting himself and jabbing his finger in Draco’s direction. “You pushed Neville down the stairs because he accidentally bumped into your whiny ass, and then you called Hermione a ‘filthy Mudblood’ when she was trying to help him.”

Those watching fell into a shocked silence at his profanity, students and teachers alike with their jaws dropping open. Brian had never lost his temper in their recollection and seemed to transform into another person right before their eyes, his arms and shoulders appearing to swell as he raged. Some of the students, even his Gryffindor housemates, found the transformation a little frightening, it was that sudden.

“And since Daddy isn’t here to wipe your snotty frickin’ nose, you send your moronic little boyfriends to do your dirty work,” he continued in scathing tones, adrenaline buzzing in his ears. “Spoiled rotten piece of…”

Brian froze when at last he heard gasps from some of the faculty at the front table, suddenly aware of where he was and what he was doing. He grew pale and silent when he saw the astonished (but not altogether displeased) look that Professor McGonagall was giving him. The only noise in the room for the next few heartbeats was the sound of the dictation quill scratching across the parchment; Minerva noticed that it was having some difficulty with his Americanized euphemisms.

Dumbledore cleared his throat trying to stifle a chuckle, and pointed at Ron and Seamus to stand beside Brian (which they did, knees and hands quaking). “And as Mr. Rollins has just so colorfully described to us, this is what started the fight, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “Yes sir, that is correct,” Seamus answered for him, straightening his shoulders.

The Headmaster gestured with some irony toward the Slytherin students, five of whom were quite big for their age. “You three on these six?”

Ron finally found his voice, a touch of satisfaction edging into it. “Um, yes sir, that’s right, Professor.”

Dumbledore grunted noncommittally. “Interesting. Mr. Thomas, do you have anything to add? I notice that you and Miss Granger were the only ones who did not require a Madam Pomfrey treatment of any kind.” The tall, dark-skinned boy stood, quite a bit taller than his three housemates. He had been watching the Headmaster’s reactions closely, and did not seem nervous in the least.

“I was helping Hermione with Neville, sir; the lads looked like they were handling things alright to me and waved me off. He was hurt pretty badly, and she was already rather upset by the whole situation,” the boy said confidently, looking with pride at his classmates. “And I sure didn’t want to bust up Fred and George’s broomsticks, either,” he finished in a quieter voice.

Albus nodded in acknowledgement, indicating that the four of them should take their seats, and then turned toward the six Slytherin students. “Have you anything to add, gentlemen?” Draco looked like he was about to say something further, but stopped when he caught Snape’s baleful eye on him.

“No, Headmaster,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes downcast with embarrassment.

The elder wizard pressed both palms flat on the table as he stood, the other faculty rising with him as well. “Right,” he said, checking his unusual twelve-handed pocket watch. “You will please remain here, quietly, while the panel deliberates. I daresay Madam Pomfrey will be here momentarily to check on you.”

And with that, he ushered the five teachers ahead of him as they made their way around the nearest screen.

Ignoring the Slytherins on the other side of the room, Seamus leaned closer toward Dean, seated in the middle chair of their row. “It’s been grand knowing you,” he said softly to his fellow Gryffindors, smiling sardonically. “We should try to meet up once we’re on the outside.”

Ron grunted humorlessly. “Yeah, Mum and Dad will probably lose their rag over this mess. Fred and George never made it in front of a panel even with all of their…you know…” He, Seamus and Dean got up to speak to Neville, who was shifting around uncomfortably in his wheelchair. The Skele-gro plaster on his ankle was nearing its completed task and had become very itchy on his skin (which of course, he knew from previous experience was a good sign).

Hermione had eased nearer to Brian, who hadn’t stirred since he’d resumed his seat at the end of the hearing. He sat pale and silent, hands resting on the tops of his thighs, and was staring at a point on the floor some three feet beyond the toes of his sneakers.

“Brian, are you alright?” she asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She shook him lightly when he didn’t respond. “Brian? You okay?”

He shivered as if someone had poured icy water down his back, and finally turned to look at her. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” he replied in a barely audible voice. Brian blinked several times and smiled at the concern in her eyes. “Thanks, Hermione. Really, I’m fine.”

Madam Pomfrey came around the screens then, guiding two carts of food alongside of her. “You have missed lunch, gentlemen and lady,” she said, her tone fairly light now that all of their injuries had been properly treated (and she’d overheard some of the faculty panel’s deliberations).

One cart stopped itself near the Slytherin boys, while the other made its way to the Gryffindors: hot soup, bread, and hot chocolate or pumpkin juice were the simple but tasty fare.

She knelt at Neville’s side and had to unwrap his ankle to examine it. “There, much better, laddie,” she told him kindly, helping him to stand and put weight on the healed leg. “Go ahead and eat something, alright?”

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,” said Neville, then he smiled slyly. “See you next week?”

Her eyes danced merrily at his joke. “Aye, probably. Brian?”

“Yes, ma’am?” She had noticed that he was the only one who had not moved to the lunch carts; even the Slytherins were almost cheerful as they dined over on their side of the room.

“You need to eat a little something, alright? I don’t want you getting run down because of some donnybrook and ending up in my sickbay for true,” Pomfrey said. “Your parents would never forgive me.” And with that, she left, but he couldn’t help wonder at her mysterious smile.

Rollins did as he was told, and selected a steaming mug of the soup before returning to his seat. Hermione kept casting worried glances his way: Brian was rather quiet and subdued since he’d lost his temper so spectacularly. She chatted with the boys, all six of them keeping their voices down, and utterly refusing to notice the Slytherin half-dozen on the other side of the room.

It was thirty or so minutes later, after the students had eaten lunch, when Dumbledore and the other members of the faculty panel made their way back to the front table and sat down. The students immediately quieted, giving their full attention to hear the verdict as it was handed down.

The Headmaster looked at each student in turn before he spoke. “We have reached our decision; no doubt your fertile imaginations have come up with any number of possible outcomes,” he began. “Ah, excellent!” said Dumbledore in response to the loud “crack!” which sounded as work boots and leather gloves apparated under nine of the students’ wooden chairs.

“Thanks to our house-elves on staff, you should find these to be your correct sizes. Miss Granger?” he spoke directly to Hermione, who was one of the three students to not receive heavy work boots and gloves underneath their seats. “Professor Flitwick has awarded five points to Gryffindor for your accelerated mastery of the Summoning charm, and I concur. You are dismissed. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom? You are dismissed as well. Might I suggest a quiet afternoon of study in your dormitory? You’ve had enough excitement for today, I’d reckon.” Dumbledore waited patiently while they exited, not continuing until they were out of earshot.

The three of them stood, looking thunderstruck, and obediently made their way out of the room. They couldn’t help casting anxious glances back at Seamus, Ron and Brian, but dared not risk the panel’s displeasure just then. They’d catch up on the rest of the story back in Gryffindor tower soon enough.

Dumbledore clapped his hands once, and the lunch carts disapparated back to the kitchens. “Now, for those of you who are left. Professor Sprout tells me that it’s nigh time to winterize the gardens and greenhouses before the first snows arrive, and that’s where you gentlemen come in.” He paused, turning to cheerfully nod at the Head of Hufflepuff house.

“Your task is to assist Hagrid and Professor Sprout in the spreading of the seasoned dragon dung, which will protect the garden beds from frost,” he told them. “I recommend Monday through Friday from 4 to 7 in the evening to allow time for your studies, and then Saturday from 8 to 4; no magic allowed. I urge you not to test me on this.” Albus stared hard at Malfoy who had just elbowed Crabbe and Goyle, smirking. Their smirks faded almost instantly as realization dawned.

Ron raised his hand tentatively. “Sir? What about Quidditch on Saturday?”

“Ah, you’ll be giving it a miss Mr. Weasley, I’m afraid, unless you and your colleagues have finished this gardening project in time. It might well give you an ideal channel for your physical aggressions, won’t it? And Professor Sprout tells me that she was lucky enough to acquire, what was it again Pomona, one ton of dragon dung?”

She laughed unselfconsciously. “Oh, it’s two tons this year, Headmaster. Our supplier had a banner season with increases in his dragon wildlife care programs.”

Dumbledore beamed. “Excellent! Before I forget, fifty points each will be taken from your House totals in addition to the aforementioned detention. I do hope that this impresses upon you the serious nature of a fighting offense.” He looked to his left and right, nodding at the faculty panel members. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen, we are adjourned.” He stood, and politely took his leave, heading back up to his office to catch up on Owl Posts for the upcoming week of school business.

Ron, Seamus and Brian rose slowly, looking at each other, pleased with their fairly good fortune at avoiding expulsion. The Slytherin boys, on the other hand, looked deathly pale and as if they might be physically sick at the thought of so much physical labor. They left silently, avoiding Snape’s disgusted glares (and this cheered the Gryffindors even further).

McGonagall waited a moment for some of the people to clear out, and then called to Brian before he eased around the privacy screen. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnegan? A quick word with you and Mr. Rollins, if you please.” The boys stopped, and shared a guilty glance with one another; their work boots now slung over a shoulder each, the laces tied up neatly.

Minerva placed a gentle hand on Ron and Seamus’ shoulders, but she looked directly at Brian when she spoke, leaning in to whisper to the three of them. “I understand why you were fighting today, but I cannot condone it at all, gentlemen. There are better ways to resolve… disagreements.” Seamus and Ron grinned fiercely at her conspiratorial wink.

She reached to hold Brian’s chin, coaxing a tiny smile from him, then she chucked Ron and Seamus lightly on the chins as well. “I need my Gryffindor lions to have their wits about them, alright? Good, off you go, lads.” After they had gone, she stayed behind to help Poppy Pomfrey get her hospital ward back in order, disapparating the twelve wooden chairs and the rest of the furniture that had been needed for the disciplinary hearing.

Much later that evening and long after the dinner hour, Minerva and Albus sat in their private quarters, reading and relaxing in their pajamas before heading off to bed. Minerva sat in her favorite loveseat by the softly crackling fireplace, feet propped up and reading the latest issue of Transfiguration Today. A cup of hot chocolate steamed delicately on the table beside her.

Unfortunately, Albus was too keyed up at the moment to sit very still. He paced nearby, his satiny maroon pajama pant legs scraping quietly as he moved, excitedly recollecting the day’s events, especially the parts that included Brian.

“He was brilliant, my dear, absolutely brilliant, don’t you think?” he asked her for the third time. “And that temper! Magnificent; a little frightening I’ll admit, but absolutely magnificent.”

Minerva made a mild sound of disagreement and chuckled in reply. “I’m not exactly pleased that our son would have inherited that particular trait of mine, Albus. I’d prefer something like a nice talent for transfiguration, or even writing or perhaps Animagus transformation, but certainly not my bloody hot-headedness!” In spite of herself, she smiled, shaking her head.

Dumbledore came to sit beside her, kissing her forehead and hugging her shoulders while she put the journal face-down in her lap. “Well, now he has my crooked nose, hasn’t he? In addition to my fabulously azure eyes that you so devotedly admire.” She pushed him on the arm, teasing at the poetic tone he’d adopted.

“You might have come up with a detention that your son won’t enjoy quite so much.”

Albus tasted his hot chocolate, and smiled benignly at her over the gold-leafed rim of the cup. “Dearest, listen. Pomona assured me that even with magic, it takes her at least six hours to spread that much dragon shi… excuse me, manure… properly. It’s four thousand pounds; these boys will be hard pressed to finish up by Saturday at the earliest!”

“I didn’t say they wouldn’t finish quickly, but I’ll bet you ten galleons and all the sherbet lemons you can carry that Brian will completely love this little gardening project of yours and Professor Sprout’s,” she said, grinning at his obvious confusion.

He shrugged unpretentiously. “Tabby, darling, I haven’t a clue what you mean by that.” Dumbledore watched, curious, as she summoned the birthday gift photo album from her nightstand, then whispered the appropriate incantation to open it. Pushing her reading glasses back up on the bridge of her nose, she riffled through the pages carefully until she came to one in particular.

It wasn’t often that Albus Dumbledore was caught speechless, but he certainly was then. After a few moments looking closely at the photograph, he threw back his head and roared with laughter, hugging her even tighter about the shoulders. She leaned back into his chest as he held her close.

And what was so funny? The ragged-edged photo she found was of Brian, about age seven years, with his three older brothers; they were dressed in work clothes, holding pitchforks or shovels, completely covered in muck, and standing atop the biggest pile of cow manure and mulch that either the witch or wizard had ever seen. All four boys were grinning devilishly at the camera, as if it was the best day of their lives. It probably was.

TBC

A/N: I don’t know why but this chapter has been my favorite so far in Brian’s story, and we’ve gotten the Hogwarts’ school year into November. My muse and I are having fun writing and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

[dmf1984]

“What if?”

A Harry Potter story (AU, set during HP-ATSS but with trickles here and there from years 2-6) started July 2007, just before the release of Book #7. I know that some of the spells cast and other (students’) magical abilities are slightly out of order from the books, but the AU designation pretty much covers it.

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I do not own these canon characters

Pairing: AD/MM

Spoilers: None

Rating: K+ to T (just to be on the safe side: for implied sexuality and some mild coarse language)

A/N: I may be arriving to the party late on this one, but there is a really sweet video over at www.youtube.com that uses the song “Someone” by D.H.T. for ADMM (a.k.a. MMAD, especially the adorable Yule Ball scene). It is fantastic; thank you to Ladywraith99 (a.k.a. Catwoman99) who put it together.

Chapter 08/??
Common scents

“Dumbledore and…? Where do you get these ideas?” Ron asked, incredulous. “Ugh, no way, Brian. No way they’re married.” He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment to continue working on his assignment.

Brian and Hermione smiled at each other, growing more interested at this turn in the conversation. “It’s just my theory,” said Brian. “It’s not like I have proof or anything, dude.” He checked his reference book again, scratching a note in it with his quill.

It was a weeknight evening in early December, and the Gryffindor common room was full of students chatting, relaxing and trying to work through an unending pile of homework before their holidays. Outside, Hogwarts castle and school grounds were blanketed with several feet of snow; the wind blew hard against the windows, reminding them of the cold across the mountains to the north and east of Black Lake. Judging by the odd, almost metallic smell on the air, even more snow was on the way.

But the students didn’t mind it too much. A cheerful fire blazed in the fireplaces, and most of them sat comfortably in sweatshirts and light sweaters. Classes in the dungeons, such as Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts, could be rather unbearable with the chill, as well as Astronomy up on Professor Sinistra’s tall tower since it was an outdoor class, but for the most part, they were getting on fine with the weather and their studies.

Besides, Christmas was coming. They had only another week of classes before they’d be free for three weeks, returning to school for the second Sunday in January for resumption of the term on the following day.

On this particular evening, Brian, Hermione, Ron and Harry had their heads together working on their star charts for Astronomy, while Dean, Seamus, Neville and some of the others studied different subjects. The long table was stacked high with books and parchments as usual; and, Hermione had visited Madam Pince’s library wing after dinner to check out a few more (she, Ron and Harry had a private on-going research project regarding one Nicolas Flamel).

Gryffindor prefect Percy Weasley had just told off several third-year boys for playing their music too loudly over by the windows, so Brian leaned closer before he spoke again.

“Listen, they’re always together; watch at breakfast tomorrow, or dinner. Professor McGonagall takes his arm sometimes when they’re walking in the hall,” he offered, still amused by Ron’s skepticism. “Maybe it’s more than good old fashioned chivalry, huh?”

“What’s the big deal? I think it’s great if they’re married,” Hermione said, adding a few more planetary notations to her star chart of the winter sky. “What do you think, Harry?”

Harry shrugged, dabbing excess ink from his parchment. “Fine by me. It’s not like they need our permission or anything, seeing as they are grown-ups and all.” This caused quiet giggles from the youngsters.

Ron reddened a bit, fully aware that they found his squeamishness rather funny. He pointed a finger at the table, sensing a victory on at least one minor issue. “Okay, that’s another thing. They’re both pretty old, mind you. What about…”

“Ronald! Old does not mean dead, for goodness’ sake,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. “Older people can still be in love you know. It’s not illegal.”

“How old do you reckon they are?” Harry wanted to know. “Professor Dumbledore has got to be at least a hundred if he’s a day.”

Brian shrugged. “Wow, yeah, I keep forgetting that wizards live so much longer than Muggles. But Ron, aren’t your parents getting older? Mine sure are, and they love each other and all five of us kids too. You guys have, what, six kids total back home?”

“Seven, actually,” Ron replied, blushing again. “My sister Ginny will start here next year.”

Just then, Zoë and Crookshanks made their way down from the dormitories, slinking through the mass of legs and book bags to the large study table. The still tiny but thriving kitten made the leap to Brian’s shoulder effortlessly, and once settled there, she began licking his hair and ear with her raspy tongue. He leaned to kiss her pink nose, accepting the tickles from her whiskers. The enormous ginger tabby jumped less gracefully into Hermione’s lap, where she welcomed him with a friendly rub down his broad striped back. Both cats purred with warm contentment at having found their respective young wizard and witch for company.

The Weasley twins, and their best friend Lee Jordan ambled by the table, noticing Ron’s pink ears as they headed for a break from their studies.

“Oi,” said Fred good-naturedly. “Pinky boy!”

“What’s up with little Ronnie, now then?” George finished.

Ron shook his head, determinedly getting back to his Astronomy homework, but Hermione chimed in: “We’re taking a straw poll, and Ron’s a bit squicked by the whole idea. Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, married or not?” She pantomimed marking a vote with quill and parchment, looking at the three of them expectantly.

Eyes dancing, the third-year trio laughed, delighted. “Oh, absolutely! He meets her after Quidditch matches all the time,” Lee told them. As one of the main announcers for the school matches, Jordan had to put away the microphones and scoring equipment near the broom sheds most Saturday afternoons.

Brian had to give Ron an “I told you so” glance, which George intercepted quickly. He patted his youngest brother on the head. “Ronald’s bothered since he used to walk in on Mum and Dad, all the time.”

Lights of understanding dawned, and Brian nodded. “Oh, that would probably do me, buddy,” he said softly. Ron gave him and Harry a grateful look.

“It’s not like I planned to…you know,” Ron stammered, finally laughing along with the others. “It just kept on happening. It was everyday for a while there last summer vacation.”

Fred grinned impishly. “I mean there’s no concrete evidence that Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore are an item, but Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout sure are.” He enjoyed their slack-jawed looks of surprise. “That’s a fact.”

“Blimey,” Ron whispered.

Hermione beamed, her face suffused with a romantic glow for a brief moment as she took in the news; she recovered quickly. “Well, good for them.”

“Yeah, she’s a real sweetheart,” Brian said. “You should hear some of her stories she’s been telling Neville and me down in the greenhouses; funny as hell in her days at school apparently.”

They quieted guiltily as Percy strode by on his way to admonish someone on the other side of the common room. George leaned closer, whispering to the first years. “Even Perce has got himself a girlfriend now, a pretty lady too. Miss Penelope Clearwater, one of the Ravenclaw prefects.”

His twin brother confirmed this bit of gossip. “Yep, snoggin’ in the corridors they were.”

Ron chuckled and patted Hermione’s shoulder gently, his hand lingering longer on the soft sweater fabric than he’d intended; she didn’t seem to mind. “You’re lucky to be an only child.”

The entire room quieted rather awkwardly as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall made her way through the Fat Lady’s portrait just then. The Head of Gryffindor house did not often visit the common room, preferring to hold student conferences in her private office or classroom.

“Good evening, Professor,” Percy called, making his way to her side immediately. “May I be of assistance?”

Fred, George, Brian and Ron all shared discrete grins at Percy’s fawning solicitude, and Ron’s ears turned pink yet again as Hermione kicked him under the table, eyeing him sternly.

The often forbidding witch nodded curtly and favored him with a slight smile. Her tartan green robes and matching witch’s hat still looked pressed and fresh from that morning, even after a long full day of teaching. She was very well known for her strict manner and appearance, throughout the wizarding world. Some of the students couldn’t help sitting up straighter in her presence, even outside of Transfiguration class.

“Actually, you can Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall replied briskly. “I’m collecting names of all the students who will remain here at school for the Christmas holiday break.” She paused and cleared her throat to speak more loudly, rapping her knuckles on the tabletop.

“Your attention please? Any student wishing to remain here at Hogwarts from December the 16th to January the 7th should see Prefect Weasley now to put their name on my list. Another copy will be posted in the Great Hall should you need to send an owl home first to make this determination. Thank you.”

Percy caught the eyes of Fred, George and Ron right away, pointing to the parchment and clipboard he now carried. Ron nodded affirmatively.

“Yeah, Mum and Dad are going to Romania to see Charlie,” he explained to Harry and Brian. “We’ll get back home to the Burrow at summer break.”

Having no desire to find himself at Number 4 Privet Drive if he didn’t have to be there, Harry raised his hand to get Percy’s attention. Brian did too.

“Way too far to get back to Maine, Professor,” Brian said as McGonagall made her way to where he was sitting at the head of the table. “Mom and I already talked about travel plans since Dad wants to catch the Edinburgh Festival next year. Apparently he used to go all the time when he was younger; long trips from Massachusetts, I guess.”

Minerva knew that, having corresponded with Juliette Rollins a few days prior, but she smiled kindly at the young American student. “Very good, Mr. Rollins. We have some Christmas traditions here I think you will enjoy. Oops…”

Brian blushed suddenly, rising to his feet and trying to catch Zoë as she leapt from his shoulder to McGonagall’s. The kitten seemed extremely happy to see her, or at least extremely happy to see the pair of hawk feathers in her pointed hat.

“Silly little thing. I’m so sorry, Professor,” he said, flinching as he heard sharp claws digging firmly into the emerald velvet of his Head of House’s outer robe. Zoë “meowed” loudly and began to lick McGonagall’s ear by way of a friendly greeting, just as she had done to Brian not long before.

Minerva shocked some of them when she chuckled, turning her face slightly to acknowledge the kitten’s affectionate salutation, and allowing her to bump against the woman’s chin briefly, greeting her as kittens always greet their mothers. “It’s quite alright, Brian. No harm done.” She reached up to disentangle searching paws from her hat and its decorative feathers. “And a good evening to you too, young one,” she murmured softly as she handed Zoë back to her devoted human.

“Dear me,” McGonagall exclaimed, wrinkling her nose at a sudden foul stench. “Weasley, you haven’t…” She half expected to see Fred and/or George hurling Dungbombs in the study hall if past performances were any indication.

Fred Weasley gave her an innocent look (well, innocent for Fred). “No ma’am. Wasn’t me.”

George seconded that. “We’re fresh out of our Dungbomb supply, Professor,” he said, wrinkling his nose as well.

“Next Hogsmeade weekend after the holidays,” Fred added, grinning and pinching his nostrils together. “Zonko’s stop.”

McGonagall glared at him mildly over her reading spectacles, a tiny smile touching the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t hear that, laddie.”

Brian groaned, sniffing his shirt. “It’s me, sorry. Professor Sprout taught me a spell for deodorizing, but I can never get it to last very long.” All of the first years at the long table burst out laughing at this; apparently it was becoming a frequent issue in the common room in recent days. None of them looked any worse for wear because of it.

Minerva smiled slightly at him, softening her gaze and including Seamus and Ron in it. “I thought you boys had finished your detention of spreading dragon…”

Seamus and Ron nodded, snickering. “We did, ma’am,” said Finnegan in his rolling Irish brogue. “About a week and a half ago.”

Ron held up both hands to show her. “My blisters are pretty much gone now.” He didn’t mention that Draco Malfoy and his colleagues were still bitterly complaining about the lengthy and physically demanding detention they’d just completed for fighting back in November. Most students, including those in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, were gleeful at how much the six Slytherin boys had complained, while Ron, Brian and Seamus had borne it almost proudly.

Brian heaved a sigh. “Nev and I are working on some projects for Christmas in the greenhouse,” he said, pulling off the offensive sweatshirt and standing bare-chested. “I guess I just got used to being stinky some of the time.” This elicited more chuckles from his classmates, including Neville at the other end of the table.

“I hear that from Professor Sprout rather often,” McGonagall muttered dryly. “What deodorizing scent were you trying for?” She pulled her wand from a pocket in her robes, prepared to cast a Deodorizing Charm for him.

Brian shrugged, gathering his books as he gently nudged Zoë aside. He smiled sheepishly. “Citrus and chocolate are my favorites.”

The Head of Gryffindor house barely stifled a laugh and a sob into a delicate cough. Oh Albus, she thought fondly, interested in what her husband’s reaction was going to be. “Perhaps a bit too complicated. Try this: Aromatica citrona.” She gave an expert flick of her wand as she said the incantation over him, and they were met with gentle wafts of a light, lemon-fresh fragrance. McGonagall turned to Neville.

“And what about you, Mr. Longbottom?” she asked in an amused tone.

The pudgy, round-faced boy shook his head, grinning shyly at her. “I don’t get nearly as messy as Brian. Gran would kill me.”

McGonagall winked at him, appreciating the humor (and she knew Neville’s grandmother). Just then, Percy returned with her parchment and clipboard, which she carefully tucked under one arm having given it a quick glance, making note of the names written on it. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I’ll see you lot in class tomorrow then. Good night.”

As she exited through the Fat Lady’s portrait, they could tell by her shoulders that she was chuckling softly to herself. This alone was enough to cause Fred, George and Lee to exchange looks of pleased surprise.

“Bloody hell,” said Lee in an awed tone.

“Christmas spirit’s turning old McGonagall into a right softie this year, my lads and lassies,” George said. “More so than usual, if you can believe that.”

Rollins grunted, shaking his head in a self-deprecating way as he rolled up his finished Astronomy homework and neatly stowed it in his book bag. “I still need another shower. See you guys in the morning.”

TBC

[albus1sttabby]

I can't believe that no one has already replied. That was a wonderful story and I want you to keep going. It's a really good idea and I can only hope that you don't have already given up!
PLEASE continue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I must know what happens next!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[weasleykid]

you have no idea how much i LOVE this story.
please continue
at least until Brian finds out that they're his parents- if he is going to find out.
please. it's killing me

[weasleykid]

you have no idea how much i LOVE this story.
please continue
at least until Brian finds out that they're his parents- if he is going to find out.
please. it's killing me