Chapter 3
With trembling fingers, Minerva struggled to unfasten the top two buttons of her dress, suddenly feeling like she was being choked. She could feel the heat in her body rising, her heart was racing, and her hands were clammy. The strain of trying to keep her composure while passing through the corridors of Hogwarts was driving her to panic.
“Pull yourself together,” she scolded herself, but she couldn’t stop the waves of shock and horror from the assault on her whole village, and one individual in particular, from sweeping over her. You Know Who and his followers dominated the news every single day but it hit even harder when it happened to your own home and people. And when the entrance to her office finally came into view, Minerva’s walk transitioned into nearly a run.
“Austen,” she snapped the name of one of her favourite muggle authors impatiently at her door, which was nestled at the foot of Gryffindor Tower. She could feel her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her sweaty back and slipped her outer robe off as she waited for the small portrait entrusted with guarding the entrance to swing open, annoyed that it hadn’t reacted immediately at the password.
“Are you alright, dear?” the old seamstress in the painting asked concernedly, thus immediately putting to bed any misconceptions Minerva had about being good at hiding her feelings.
Perhaps it hadn’t just been good fortune that had kept Minerva from encountering anybody on her way through the castle, maybe Hogwarts’ other occupants had just been perceptive enough to give the Transfiguration teacher a wide breath when she was so distressed.
“Just let me in,” Minerva commanded quietly, and slipped through the passage without another word once the portrait did.
Closing her eyes and working to catch her breath, Minerva leaned back against the wood of the closed door, squeezed her bundled robe against her, and tried to work out a plan. Dumbledore had suggested she take some time off to go home and Minerva supposed that was the only thing that made sense right now. This was surely a time to be around your family and that intention at least gave Minerva something to do. It would probably do her good to see the damage for herself and roll up her sleeves to help in any way that she could.
“You’re fine,” she tried to convince herself. “You’re fine.”
But Minerva wasn’t sure if she had ever been less fine. Slowly opening her eyes, she took in the familiar scene of her little office. Taking comfort in her private space, with its roaring fireplace consuming one wall and the floor to ceiling bookcase that covered the one opposite. In the center of it all was her large desk and the cushioned seat she had spent countless hours of her life in. Two other chairs sat in front of it and were so often occupied by students during the day.
“You just have to pack,” Minerva told herself, tossing the outer robe she wouldn’t need onto the desk. “Get your clothes together and then you’ll go.”
It helped, she thought, to take things little by little. One chore and then another. Doable tasks that would keep her moving and stop her from giving in to the heartache that she didn’t feel at all entitled to express. Because Dougal wasn’t her husband. And she couldn’t pretend that she hadn’t resented the entire existence of his wife and children just as soon as she’d learned about them. Minerva certainly had no right to mourn any member of that family now. Especially when she couldn’t help but feel that if she hadn’t been so selfish all those years ago, this tragedy might never have happened.
Shaking her head, Minerva willed herself to walk over to the bookcase and kneel down to touch the secret latch that made it jump apart, creating an arch of books that became passage into her private quarters. It was an effort to get back on her feet but Minerva made herself do it. Walking over the threshold into her rather austere looking home.
A room made of stone with a bathroom off to the side and a large picture window overlooking the Quidditch Pitch. Minerva had a bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and a small sofa. There was no kitchen space, like some other Hogwarts Professors preferred, because Minerva ate all her meals in the Great Hall and never cooked. A few tins of biscuits and crisps were all she needed. And the barren simplicity of the room appealed to Minerva, she had been living like a nun for so long.
“Minerva -”
“What? What?” Minerva snapped emotionally, her head whipping towards the opening door of her office, the words out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Halting when she found herself face to face with a very taken-aback looking Elphinstone Urquart.
“Elphi…I’m sorry,” she stammered, a flush of embarrassment burning suddenly in her cheeks.
“Do you want me to go?” Elphinstone asked, the worried crease in his brow making his face appear even more aged than it really was.
“No,” Minerva whispered, tears stinging in her eyes despite her best efforts. “No….”
Elphinstone nodded as he stepped more deeply into her office and closed the door behind him. “I take it you already heard about what happened. I came as soon as I could…”
“So cruel and unnecessary - their idea of fun,” Minerva said bitterly, dabbing at her eyes with one of her knuckles. “Were any arrests made?”
“No,” Elphinstone sighed. “They were long gone by the time the aurors arrived. I was one of the first on the scene after them. Some of my people are assisting the Department for Magical Catastrophes with the architectural repairs.”
“Did you see my parents?” Minerva asked hopefully.
“Yes, I stopped by the house,” Elphinstone said gently. “They’re alright - shaken obviously - they hid down in the cellar during the raid.”
It was a sad thing to picture; but even acting as swiftly as they had, Minerva knew that it was just luck that her family had survived untouched. A locked cellar couldn’t keep wizards out. Her mother would have known this. Would have surely had that brief moment of hesitation when she remembered that she had a wand hidden upstairs beneath the bed and then decided not to get it. A choice that Minerva would not be surprised by, but which reinforced to her why she had made the conscious decision not to follow in the footsteps of Isobel McGonagall.
“Albus told me the church had been destroyed,” Minerva said, sinking down onto the sofa and brushing her hand back over her throbbing head, her hair pulled into the tight bun she wore it in every day.
“Yes,” Elphinstone affirmed, sitting down beside her while Minerva focused on pulling the pins out of her hair one by one. “Only one wall was left standing after the Death Eaters were done, but it was being repaired as I left. Your father asked that we do something about the uneven front steps while we were at it.”
“He’s been complaining about them forever,” Minerva sniffled, as she slipped the pins into her pocket and shook her hair out. “I fell down them one time on my First Communion, ripped the dress my grandmother had made me, and skinned my knees.”
“I suggested they add a ramp too and Robert was agreeable,” Elphinstone smiled at the image she’d made. “It’s not much - everyone is heartbroken. But I’ve never known a man with as strong a faith as your father. He’ll help the town get through this.”
Pulling her wand out from its safe place up her sleeve, Minerva pointed it at the wardrobe which swung open and then summoned the carpet bag she used for going away. It hovered expectantly in the air, as Minerva cast another spell to begin loading it with the muggle clothing that she only wore for visits home. She suddenly missed her father very much - and the rest of her family too.
“Thank you for checking in on them,” her voice cracked as she lowered the packed bag down to the floor and then set her wand down.
“Of course,” Elphinstone replied, but being in Caithness in an official capacity, with all the chaos and destruction around, Minerva wouldn’t have blamed him if he hadn’t. Yet considering how wary and uncomfortable Robert McGonagall was of magic, despite trying to keep an open mind, Minerva knew that he would have appreciated a familiar face and was full of appreciation for Elphinstone for giving him that. Elphi had gotten along well with all of her family the few times they had met.
“Dad’s going to have such a hard time lying to the village about what really happened today,” she said sadly.
It had always distressed her father to live in the cloud of secrecy that his children and wife being magical required of him, and now having to watch witches and wizards obliviate all his neighbours would be something else all together. Robert was a good, straightforward, and honest man who’s own values had been compromised the day that Isobel had told him what she was. Minerva knew that her Dad had never quite forgiven her Mum, just the same way that Dougal would never have forgiven her.
“It will mean a lot to them to have you home,” Elphinstone said gently.
It was probably true but Minerva was a bit scared to go as well. She wasn’t good with grief. Even when - or perhaps especially when - she was experiencing her own. Collective sorrow was something she’d generally shy away from. She’d rather do just about anything than watch her parents’ emotions or have them guess the full depths of hers. When there was so much she’d never told them and so much they’d probably guess if they saw her right now. Her lack of a husband had always been a matter of concern for her mother and father and they didn’t need to know that she’d once been in love and that it had been enough to ruin her forever. She was supposed to be stronger than that.
“Elphi, I’m so sorry I snapped when you walked in,” Minerva said softly. “I really am so grateful to have you - thankful you came - I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I’ll stay as long as you’d like,” Elphinstone replied. “I can put off returning to the Ministry until the morning.”
Minerva smiled as she tried to blink back the tears springing to her eyes. While the tightness in her chest lessened considerably in the relief that she would not have to face everything alone even as her heart continued to shatter.
And seeming to sense instinctively that there was much she wasn’t saying, Elphinstone placed an encouraging arm around her shoulders and it was its weight that pushed her over the brink. Her eyes flooded with tears so suddenly and aggressively that she covered her face with her hands, as if to hide the shame of this rare loss of control. And Minerva was only slightly aware of Elphinstone’s arm tightening around her; only slightly aware of leaning into the embrace and allowing herself a morsel of what she’d deprived herself of for so long. Crying ferociously for all that had happened and all that would never be.
“Here, darling, use this,” Elphinstone said after a few minutes, using his wand to conjure a green handkerchief into thin air, which he passed to her.
“Thank you,” Minerva murmured, dabbing at her eyes with it in one hand while her other held onto the front of Elphinstone’s robes. She had to have gripped onto him without even noticing and now couldn’t bring herself to let go.
Despite a persistent dull ache in her head, she found the feel of Elphinstone’s fingers running through her long dark hair to be rather soothing. While she rested against his shoulder and felt relieved that this was a place where she was welcome to be against all odds. Her broken heart swelling with appreciation for Elphinstone Urquart as much as sorrow. He was a good man and he deserved so much more than her.
“I knew one of the people killed today very well,” Minerva confessed quietly, balling the handkerchief tightly in her fist. “We were very close when I was eighteen. More than close actually- we were briefly engaged before I called it off.”
“Why did you call it off?” asked Elphinstone quietly, his hand still brushing through her hair in even strokes, working out any tangles and massaging her aching scalp almost as if he knew exactly what would help.
“Because I didn’t want to end up like my parents,” she replied.
Though the one and only time in Minerva’s life that she might have been said to lose her head, she nearly had. Most people who knew her now would have a hard time picturing a Professor McGonagall who could giggle with glee or feel romantic towards anybody, but at eighteen years old, that had been exactly who she was. Playful and animated, Minerva had fallen head over heels in love with Dougal McGregor and had believed her life to be set.
“What was he like?” Elphinstone asked naturally.
This unexpected question caused Minerva to startle a little, as she glanced up briefly at Elphinstone through her blurry, bloodshot eyes before laying back down against his shoulder. Not saying anything, because it didn’t feel appropriate to her that Elphinstone should ask about Dougal and be forced to hear the answer. She’d shared more than she’d ever planned to share with him already. And what could she say to his question?
Minerva couldn’t hurt him by voicing that the summer after she had completed school had been a summer unlike any she had ever experienced, or would ever experience again. She and Dougal had spent every day of that summer on his family’s farm. They'd delighted in the simple pleasures of the world together and loved exchanging their philosophies and ideas about it. They’d rile each other up debating endlessly, as intelligent and curious people are wont to do. Then later at night they’d go driving in his old pickup truck with absolutely no destination in mind; giving themselves entirely to one another in heart, body, and soul.
“Was he like you?” Elphinstone pressed, reaching for the hand holding onto his robes and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Oh no, he was far better than me,” Minerva whispered, squeezing Elphinstone’s hand back more tightly than she perhaps ever had before.
Falling in love was exciting. It meant going without sleep and yet not feeling tired. It made everything funny and anything seem possible - until reality shook Minerva hard enough that she could no longer ignore what had been staring her in the face the entire time. Being unwilling to tell Dougal what she was and what it meant ensured that there could be no future for them. Outing herself as a witch would have been breaking the statute of secrecy and thus would have cost her her job at the Ministry of Magic. Minerva had been forced to accept that the other factions of her life were simply incompatible with being in love with a muggle.
“He was kind, smart, hardworking, patient…too young to die,” Minerva finally shared, closing her eyes and blinking back more tears that had come just when she thought she was through.
Dougal had been a lot like Elphinstone, actually, but more earthy. Elphinstone was always dressed impeccably, carried a briefcase to work, and was comfortable talking to important government officials in Britain and abroad. Dougal, meanwhile, was more comfortable out in the fields than he was around other people and had never worn a suit except on Sundays, and even then there had usually been dirt under his fingernails.
“We were just young kids and he let me forget the world for a little bit,” Minerva continued, as Elphinstone’s thumb moved back and forth over her hand. “He had to have made me forget myself or I would never have gotten that close to a muggle man to begin with. But I’ve never been able to let go that same way again…”
She finished apologetically, explaining adequately, finally, what was probably long overdue. The real reason why she had never let anyone in or even tried. Even when Elphinstone was someone that it would have made sense to try with. Elphinstone and her would have worked. Why are you so reluctant to let that poor man love you? Because it would be wrong to take love and not give enough back. If Minerva was him, she was quite certain that she would already have left. The depths of their friendship could surely only survive so much.
But, “I’m just glad you told me and let me understand you a little bit better,” was all Elphinstone said in response to her bared soul. Still holding her hand, still caring about her, and loving her in the unconditional and undemanding way that he always had. He had no intention of leaving now as they remained together on the sofa in silence and Minerva grieved in his arms.
“Minerva -”
The door to her office opened unexpectedly for the second time, this time admitting Albus Dumbledore. If he was surprised to see Elphinstone in the castle, then he didn’t show it. Sweeping over to them in his long robes, as Minerva sat up straighter and let go of Elphinstone’s hand. She knew she looked terrible, that it was obvious that she had been crying, but Dumbledore didn’t comment on any of this.
“There have been some updates,” he told them simply.
“Have you spoken to the Minister?” Elphinstone asked.
“Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore replied, referencing the head of the Auror Department. “No arrests were made, but we’ve gotten some names. Alastor was able to identify Rodolphus Lestrange, Thornfill Rowle, and Bellatrix Black from witness testimony before the muggles had their memories modified.”
Minerva’s face darkened at the familiar names of people who had sat in her classroom just last June. They had been reasonably bright students with futures, prospects, and connections - whose ambitions had led them straight to Lord Voldemort. Just like many others already had and would. Some encouraged by their families, others rogue. Even the most pureblood supremacists weren’t entirely on board with the lengths He Who Must Not Be Named was preparing to take. And yet he kept accumulating more and more faithful followers anyway, and Minerva had the privilege of teaching them skills to apply in his ranks.
“Horace must be so proud,” Minerva said bitterly, referring to the Potions Master and Head of Slytherin house. It didn’t escape her notice that all the Death Eaters that had been identified were in Slytherin and she didn't care if that made her sound prejudiced.
“Horace doesn’t know yet, I came to see you first,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I’m sure he’ll be just as disappointed as we all are - I know he’d offered to make introductions at Gringotts for Rowle and been declined. I suppose we now know why.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Minerva snapped. “It’s like we’re running a training academy for prospective Death Eaters! How many more are we going to turn out?”
It was just like she’d been saying to Elphinstone the other day in Hogsmeade; Voldemort’s supporters were everywhere. In the school, in her classroom - and she was just supposed to be fair to them while they potentially sought out to destroy more people that she loved. Anti-Muggle views had been rampant for as long as Minerva had resided in the wizarding world. Voldemort was just taking advantage of an already bigoted community in order to build his army.
“I’m more concerned with how many fighters for our side this school contains,” Dumbledore replied, pointing his wand behind his back into the office. The chair behind Minerva’s desk flew over to him and Dumbledore sat down.
“While I’d suggest we keep a closer watch on Misses Andromeda and Narcissa Black just in case their sister tries to contact them, neither girl has ever given any indication that they’re likely to follow in Bellatrix’s footsteps. I sincerely believe that most of our students oppose Voldemort’s regime and would never consider joining him. Those are the ones I choose to focus on.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s doing enough,” Minerva told him bluntly.
“I get your frustration, Minerva,” Elphinstone cut in. “Even though this is a school of children, and I do agree with Albus that we should believe the best in them, Alastor Moody and I had a similar conversation recently. He’s getting fed up with the Ministry restrictions and large scrutiny on what he’s able to do. It’s all very ineffective for these dark times.”
“Alastor is convinced that he’d have been able to catch some or all of the participating Death Eaters if Minister Minchum hadn’t held him up,” Dumbledore agreed quietly.
“Well, if and when Barty Crouch is elected, he’s already promised the aurors a lot more liberties,” Elphinstone replied. “He wants to get a handle on the situation and most people quite agree with him.”
“Then perhaps someday there will be justice,” Minerva said quietly, though she was skeptical to place too much hope in the idea that permitting the aurors to use more force and tougher penalties would make much of a difference, and it seemed that on this matter she and Dumbledore agreed.
“I think it’s time we take matters into our own hands instead of relying on the Ministry,” Dumbledore said gravely, finally coming to the true purpose of his visit. “Two mass attacks in just the past week alone - this can’t go on. You’re angry, Minerva - as you should be. You need to channel that into putting an end to all of this. I need your help.”
“But why go outside the Ministry?” Elphinstone asked. “We want the same things too.”
“At risk of sounding rude, I don’t trust the Ministry,” Dumbledore said with a small smile. “I prefer to operate in my own way without jumping through all their hoops and legalities. I just need people like Alastor and yourself - if you’re willing - to be my eyes and ears there. And Minerva, you know I’d be nothing without you at my side.”
She flashed him her most exasperated look, which was certainly undermined by her tearstained face. And the concern and care in Dumbledore’s twinkly blue eyes as he looked back at her felt almost like an apology for coming to her now for help when she was at her very worst. But Dumbledore had to know what he was doing. Orchestrating her anger and demand for justice into something constructive. A crucial part of his order, because Minerva never said no to Albus Dumbledore.