chapter 1
01 07 1976
Minerva McGonagall never shed tears. She kept her head high and her eyes dry no matter the circumstances.
That's why the sight of her fleeing down a street on the outskirts of Portree, Scotland, with tears running unashamedly down her face in full view of the neighbourhood because of the bright, full moon, would have unsettled anyone in Britain who knew the lady. In fact, even Minerva felt confounded by the circumstances she had found herself in.
Only 20 minutes previous, Minerva had apparated beside the Willow Tree on the outskirts of Portree that she found herself so familiar with over the years. She walked just a few streets into town, looking around at the newly mowed lawn of house 24 and the numbers on the letterbox of number 26 that would soon fall off. She made her way up the driveway of number 32 before knocking on the rustic wooden door of the house she soon hoped to call home. No answer or yell came from inside. This was no great shock to Minerva - sometimes her husband got caught up playing guitar or messing around in the garden and forgot the time, and so she used her key to let herself in.
Some people may have thought it weird that Minvera did not live with her husband, but the truth of the matter was that with her living at the school she taught at during terms, and John being away on military missions and the like for months at a time, it was simply not logical. This was the first weekend since school had finished, and it thankfully aligned with the day after John was home from his mission in France, which was why Minerva was so excited to see the love of her life after almost three months without.
The lock turned with a satisfying click and Minerva opened the door happily. As she crossed the threshold and walked down the narrow corridor at the front of the house, Minerva was hit by the delicious smell of lasagne and red wine, the soothing melody of some romantic song, and was that the citrus candles that only came out on special occasions?
As the dark corridor opened up into a candlelit dining room, Minerva smiled at the sight of a table set for two, with lace placemats, wine glasses, and of course, the fancy candles.
Her smile faded, however, when she realised the wine glasses were half filled and was that a red lipstick stain on one? The cutlery lay messily on pasta-smeared plates and the candles, the expensive, special occasion, citrus candles, they were close to flickering out. And to top everything off, Minerva realised she could faintly hear the sound of moans over the twinking notes of the music.
Feeling she knew what was occurring, but not willing to leave unless she was certain of the betrayal she may be facing, Minerva stormed passed the table and into the Johns room. The door blew open in front of her without needing to be touched, and the sight that befell her was one she would occlude into the depths of her mind later that night. John jumped off the bed, jumped off the woman*, with eyes of shock, realisation, and regret. He started to apologise, to explain, to make excuses, but the evidence was right in front of Minerva's eyes. She looked past her naked and pleading, cheater of a husband, over to the young blonde with smeared lipstick and huge, heaving breasts.
With a thin smile and a shake of the head, how could she have been so stupid?, Minerva drew her wand from her coat pocket and said the one word that would end her marriage.
The one word that would also permanently end her friendship with the smiley barista who worked at the coffee shop around the corner, who now lay wide-eyed and naked in bed with Minerva's husband.
“Obliviate”.
And so Minerva turned on her heel and fled the room as John and Leslie's eyes clouded over. The memories of this fateful night were replaced in the traitorous couple's minds by memories of a happy divorce between Minerva and John, the upset husband finding a shoulder to cry on in the barista up the street, and a new relationship formed from comfort and not secrecy.
Memories of a hard conversation between John and Minerva about the Wizarding World were also erased permanently from John's mind, and any ounce of suspicion was erased from Leslies just as quickly.
Minerva raced down the hallway, as the citrus candle she once loved flickered out forever. She slammed the ugly, wooden front door of the house she would never call home behind her as the twinking melody of the love song faded away. Her wedding ring found its home down the drain at the end of the street she would never walk along again, and the numbers on the letterbox pf house 26 were suddenly blown off by what seemed like a frightening gust of wind.
The Willow Tree, which once marked the end of a visit that always ended too soon, came as a relief now. Minerva walked up to the tree at a brisk pace but faltered at the realisation that this would probably be the last time she ever saw it. The last time she ever saw the Willow Tree she used to love.
Minerva allowed herself a minute to cry as her romantic life came crashing down, knowing that the moment she apparated away, she would have to hide her tears.
As Minerva's minute of sadness slowly came to a close, a piercing cry cut through the trees. It wasn't a yell or a cry of distress. No, it was a baby crying, not even a hundred metres away.
Minerva's head flicked up, and she cast a quick homenum revelio, clocking on to a tiny baby hidden in a cluster of trees to her left. She quickly rushed to the source, making her way under various branches. She couldn't save her marriage, but she'd be damned if she didn't save this baby.
As she was coming within ten meters, Minerva was suddenly thrown to the side by a huge, grey blur. A werewolf! Minerva realised suddenly, as she hit the ground with a smack and rolled painfully over sticks, stones, and branches.
Fretting for the life of the poor innocent child, whose cries may have just condemned itself, Minerva jumped to her feet and through the last obstructive willow. She shot a dark spell, which she would never tell Dumbledore she used, straight at the werewolf, and watched as it froze and turned to ash just as it got a claw into the poor babies chest.
Minerva summoned the screaming baby to her quickly, and spun on her heel, apparating to Hogwarts in hope that Poppy would be able to heal the poor baby in time.
The gates opened for her as Minerva ran, Ran!, up the steps of Hogwarts and through the main entrance, past all of the curious portraits and as fast as she could to the infirmary.
“Poppy!”
She called out, as she lay the wailing baby on one of the beds and prayed to the Gods that the Mediwitch was awake.
Poppy Pomfrey came running out of her chambers in only a robe, startled by the strain in the usually calm Transfiguration Professor's voice and the cries that could only come from a baby.
“This, this b-baby,” Minerva stuttered, between choked sobs. Poppy looked confused but rushed over to investigate. Seeing the blood-red stain on the front of the baby’s jumpsuit, Poppy gasped. Realising that the Mediwitch would probably need more information, Minerva pulled herself together and pushed everything besides the infant into the recesses of her mind.
“A- a werewolf scratched her before I could get rid of it. It must be deep, but - but I don’t think it’s a bite. Please help her!”
Poppy quickly cut open the baby’s jumpsuit as Minerva looked away, not wanting to know the fate that would befall the poor child.
“M-Minerva,” Poppy whispered, sounding befuddled.
Minerva turned around, expecting the worst, but was met with a pink puckered line rapidly fading on the chest of the baby. Minerva and Poppy watched, in a daze, as the pink turned lighter until the chest was perfectly clear and unscarred. They looked at each other, shocked, wondering if the other had seen what they had.
“D-did she just heal herself?” Minerva asked.
“I-I-I think so…”
“What does that mean?” Asked Minerva, concerned.
“I need to check.” Poppy nodded to herself, and then bustled quickly into her chambers and back again with three potions and a knife. She handed the first one, a small violet bottle that was obviously a calming draught straight to Minerva, who skulled it with no question.
The second one was midnight blue - dreamless sleep - and Poppy coaxed it down the bawling infant's throat, breathing a sigh of relief when the poor baby closed its eyes and the infirmary was silent.
“How are you planning on checking?” Asked Minerva, already forming an idea in her mind. She couldn't think of any other options, but she hoped it wouldn't have to come to such a tactic.
Poppy held up the knife and the third potion.
Minerva sighed.
“I’ll do a thin cut and we’ll watch to see if it heals by itself. If it doesn’t, this potion will heal it instead. After that, I’ll perform a diagnostic charm to check everything else, and we can discuss next steps.”
Minerva nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. If the baby healing itself had just been a trick of the light, Poppy would be cutting into her for nothing. However, if they had both seen what they thought they had seen, they needed to know.
“Ok. Do it.” Minerva decided.
Poppy ran the knife carefully from the baby’s wrist to halfway up its forearm, and the two witches watched as drops of red began pooling out of the cut. After waiting a couple of seconds, Poppy vanished the blood, and both Minerva and Poppy gasped at the sight of an angry red, healed, line. The line faded from red to pink and from pink to white within the minute, and before their eyes was unmarred skin, where it decidedly should not be. Poppy waved her wand and a diagnostic flashed above the baby’s head.
“She’s a girl, not even one day old,” Poppy stated. “No traces of lycanthrophy, just rapidly replenishing cells. She’s a healer. A natural healer.”
Minerva gasped yet again. Natural healers were incredibly rare - just as rare as metaphorpmagi. Their magic manifested slightly differently than regular wizards, and it rapidly replenished all cells in the natural healers' bodies, meaning that nothing could scar or harm them. Natural healers could also do the same to others, but only with a lot of effort and concentration.
“I found her on the outskirts of Portree, by herself, as if she’d been thrown in a bush,” Minerva whispered.
“When natural healer babies come out of the womb, they heal themselves and they heal their mothers. Portree is a muggle town, Minerva. I suspect the parents saw the child as an anomaly, something unnatural.” Poppy replied, wisely. She always kept a level head in situations such as these.
“I’ll have to check,” Minerva said slowly. “And if the parents truly threw her to the wild, I’ll take her in. She can live here with me. With us.”
“What about John?” Poppy asked. “What of him?”
“I-I found John in bed with another woman, this evening,” Minerva stated. “John is no longer in the picture. His, uh, recollection of all things magical is no longer in the picture either.”
“Oh!” Poppy cried and enveloped Minerva in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
Minerva hugged Poppy back and breathed in the Mediwitches calming lavender perfume. In and out. In and out. She collected herself and shook her head.
“It’s ok. Do you mind if the baby and I sleep in here, tonight, though? I don’t quite want to be alone yet.”
“Of course, Minerva.”
Poppy picked up the baby and ushered Minerva back into her chambers, transfiguring the bedside table into a cot and a book into a rug, wrapping the infant up and placing her down inside. Then she climbed into her own bed, pulled aside the quilt, and wrapped Minerva in a hug once she had climbed in.
“The baby, we should -”
“We’ll discuss the baby in the morning.” Poppy whispered. “Get some rest. You deserve it.”
And the room was quiet.
“Thank you, Poppy.”
“Don’t mention it.”