Chapter 8
Even when winter’s chill gave way to the promise of spring, Minerva preferred to wear long sleeved robes while about the castle. She switched out her heavy cloaks for chambray dyed an emerald green. The breathable fabric fell over her hands, concealing them entirely when she curled up her fingers - so like how her tabby claws stayed retracted except when necessary. And lately, Minerva had been about as peaceful as she imagined any cat basking undisturbed in the warmth of the sun could be.
Feeling peaceful was strange, given the steady climate of fear. But there was a peculiar sort of comfort that came from surviving what had before seemed unsurvivable and realizing that she was still fine - that she would always find a way to be fine. She was determined in a grim sort of way about that.
More and more, Minerva found herself becoming increasingly numb towards the distressing news that she read about each morning in the Daily Prophet, but she had determined that to be a good thing. Logic and carefully calculated objectivity would usually get one so much further than reactions based on blind emotion. And it wasn’t logical to wallow in grief for too long over every death and disappearance that appeared in the papers.
Not when each person alive was in danger and there was very little that even Dumbledore could do to change that. So Minerva preferred to concentrate her energies on doing what she could do to make the life she had right now count for as much as it could for however long she had that chance. Centering it around the educating of young witches and wizards, the majority of whom Minerva prayed would choose to do what was right when that inevitable time to decide came.
“Goodness me, did any of you even go to bed last night?” Minerva asked her seventh years at the start of the first period.
It wasn’t often that Minerva appeared to be the most relaxed person in any room. But unlike her students, she wasn’t presently weighed down by the stress of upcoming exams. One glance around at the unhappy and exhausted faces in her class had told her all that she needed to know. Even during war times, some things never changed.
“I want you to put review to the side for a little while,” Minerva said, settling herself down in the chair behind her desk and pulling her wand out of its safe place tucked up her sleeve. “Stop concerning yourselves over whether the pony you attempted to conjure last week looked more like a donkey, or whether you were too tired and distracted to successfully conjure anything at all.”
“I’ve been having nightmares about being chased by a miniature donkey missing an eye all week!” joked Ted Tonks of Hufflepuff. His tendency to speak out in class had not been quashed in his seven years at Hogwarts, but Minerva, like most of his teachers, had always enjoyed him for his enthusiasm and undeniable likeability anyway.
Tonks’ comments coaxed a few smiles from the sullen group that had admittedly been performing way below her standards in their last few lessons, though Minerva wasn't nearly as discouraged by this as they were. She knew that it was a result of burn out and over-thinking - nobody ever performed their best under those conditions. Every single June, Minerva observed the same thing; fifth and seventh years predominantly, working themselves up into anxious fits, skipping meals, and going without sleep.
“You’ve all demonstrated proficiency in Transfiguration or you wouldn’t be here,” Minerva reminded them. “More than half of your peers didn’t obtain the required OWL score to continue studying with me beyond fifth year, and the size of this class has continued to shrink ever since.”
The rare praise from her was well received. Every single students’ eyes were upon her - with the notable exception of Andromeda Black, who was staring out the window and appeared to be in a world of her own. This suited Minerva fine - she avoided looking into those dark heavily lidded eyes as much as was possible. Though it might be unfair to the girl who wasn’t technically guilty of anything besides her associations, Minerva was reminded of Dougal McGreggor being slaughtered every time that she did.
“As we approach the end of your magical education, it is expected that you have mastered all the core components of Transfiguration - which I know every one of you has,” Minerva continued, motioning to Tonks to come join her up at the front of the classroom.
“And as I’ve told you before, your NEWT practicum is going to be less predictable than what you experienced during your OWL examinations. It’s less stringent - it’s a time to put your own creative mark on your spell casting. The individuality expressed in your magic is worth so much more than perfection and usually yields better results.”
Professor Dumbledore had been adamant about impressing this upon Minerva when she herself had been stressing out over his lessons. He’d consistently reminded her that just being accepted into NEWT level Transfiguration meant that she was already competent and had no reason to doubt her abilities. Always generous with praise, Dumbledore had encouraged Minerva to seek out the pleasure in her magic. Being shown how to be inventive and to take chances had turned Minerva into the witch she was today; a Master of Transfiguration and a capable teacher to all those who strived to do the same.
“Your exams will be over and done with before you know it,” Minerva cleared her throat. “But thinking beyond that, I want all of you to remember to trust and rely instinctively on the principles of Transfiguration whenever you need them in the future. The ability to change, adapt, and modify in this uncertain world - it will serve you well.”
Minerva always made a point to emphasize to students leaving school that she hoped that they would continue to prioritize learning and developing their magical skills even after examinations became a thing of the past. She knew that adults had the tendency to become creatures of habit, using a handful of the same old spells on repeat in their careers and around their houses while letting go of the rest. Most people, Minerva found, were about as lazy as they could get away with being. Even she hadn’t bothered to brew a potion or prune a magical plant since passing her own exams, but she thought a rudimentary understanding of all core magical outlets was imperative right now. Achieving an ‘Outstanding’ NEWT was just a bonus in these troubled times.
“Each one of you has the theory down - the written component of your exam should be a piece of cake,” Minerva continued. “Each one of you has also demonstrated an ability to perform every spell that we worked on this year. So what I think will be beneficial now is for each one of you to take a turn practicing human transfiguration under a bit of pressure.”
“When has there not been pressure?” Ted groaned, who was standing next to her desk with a wide leg stance and his hands folded behind his back.
Ignoring him, Minerva clarified. “I want the rest of you to give Tonks directives in a moment to transform himself into an unrecognizable person. Just like you won’t know exactly what your examiners will request, you can’t predict what commands your peers will give - and I want you to be ready for anything.”
“So we can ask him to do anything?” Abraham Ronen grinned up at his fellow Hufflepuff, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
“I think you all should have enough sense to know where I draw the line by now,” Minerva replied. “But I want you to challenge one another. It's one thing to be able to perform human transfiguration when left to your own devices, but quite another in front of an audience.”
“Alright Ted, let’s start with you growing your hair out and turning it blue,” Ronen started things off. And almost immediately, Tonks mousy brown hair turned blue and began to grow rapidly until it was well past his shoulders.
“What is a more complex way to transfigure human hair?” Minerva prompted the students.
“Make it thicker and curlier!” ordered Olivia Green, of Ravenclaw.
Minerva fought back a smile as she watched Tonks successfully oblige. Then turned her gaze briefly towards the window opening up onto the Hogwarts grounds, inhaling the sweet summery scent of flowers and grass and stifling a yawn. The promise of summer was so near that she could almost taste it and for the first time in perhaps all her years of teaching here, Minerva was looking forward to a holiday as much as most of the students typically did.
Although her parents disapproved of her moving in with a man, even temporarily, with whom she was not married, Minerva knew that they were both beyond thrilled that she at last seemed to be settling down and hadn’t put up as much of an argument as they might have when she’d told them about her summer plans. They didn’t know what it had taken for Minerva to feel comfortable even getting to this point and likely never would. However, they respected that their daughter was a woman intent on doing things at her own pace and in her own way. If marriage was down the road, and both her parents fervently hoped it was, then Minerva would reach it when she was good and ready. Nobody else was going to make that decision for her.
“Taller Ted!” Duncan Ashe of Slytherin commanded. “Ah don’t you wish you could see the world from up there all the time?”
“I mean, who wouldn’t want a better view of you, am I right?” Tonks laughed.
“Okay, now you need a mustache,” said Ronen, and Minerva looked back just in time to see Tonks point his wand directly at his face and watch a big black handlebar mustache grow above his lips.
“No, wait a second,” Sebastian Sallow of Gryffindor, a head boy badge gleaming on the front of his robes suddenly sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Turn that mustache white -”
“And add a long white beard to go with it!” Olivia Green giggled.
Minerva’s lips twitched as she watched Ted become a convincing look-alike of Albus Dumbledore. “Now that deserves twenty points to Hufflepuff - who would like to go next?”
She glanced around the room, eyes narrowing as they landed on the young witch still staring out the window and still seemingly oblivious to what the rest of the students were doing. She might as well have not even been there and Minerva hesitated for a moment as two of her most fundamental instincts came into conflict, before deciding that commanding respect in the classroom overrode any desire she had to limit as much direct contact as possible with anyone even distantly affiliated with He Who Must Not Be Named and his Death Eaters. .
“Miss Black?” Minerva called sharply, ignoring the raised hands of more willing students.
Andromeda’s shoulders jerked slightly from the shock of being called out, but she recovered herself quickly. Raising her chin, she fixed Minerva with a pointed stare. “Yes?”
“Why even bother to come to class?” Minerva asked, shrugging the long sleeves of her robes up past her hands as she walked over to stand directly in front of Bellatrix's younger sister.
“It’s nothing personal, Professor,” Andromeda said quietly. “I’m just not feeling well today. I’m fighting to keep my eyes open.”
“Then perhaps you’d be better off in the hospital wing,” Minerva said coolly.
“Perhaps my dormitory?” Andromeda retorted flatly. "Might I be excused?"
Minerva's lips pressed together tightly so that she wouldn’t speak the vitriol that she was thinking. The Blacks were one of the wealthiest families around and even the odd member that Minerva didn’t dislike, carried themselves with an arrogance that she found distasteful. It probably wasn't fair of her to silently hold Andromeda and Narcissa’s silence on the matter of their sister's alleged crimes against them, but considering their younger cousin, Sirius Black, had been overheard loudly condemning Bellatrix several times to anyone who would listen, it was difficult not to judge them for saying nothing.
"Go have Madam Pomfrey look you over," Minerva instructed coolly, walking away before Andromeda had any chance to argue.
Returning to her desk, Minerva called on the Gryffindor head boy, Sebastian Sallow, to do his practice round next, and then watched from the corner of her eye as Andromeda slung her book bag over one shoulder and departed from the room without another word or look at anyone.
“There’s no reason why every person in this room shouldn’t receive a NEWT in Transfiguration. I have every confidence in the abilities of all of you,” Minerva told the seventh years at the end of the hour, once they’d all returned to looking like their usual selves and were restlessly waiting to be excused.
There was the usual deafening scraping of chairs at the bell and only then was Minerva able to sink back into her chair and enjoy a few blissful minutes of quiet alone in an empty classroom while she waited for her next group to arrive. She considered whether she should go to the hospital wing to see about Andromeda Black, but then decided it was the head of house’s responsibility to follow up and dipped her quill into the jar of ink instead. For whatever else she was, Minerva did not doubt that Andromeda was unwell. It would have been impossible not to notice the sallow tinge of Andromeda’s fair skin or the large dark circles under both of her eyes. Likely nothing that a good sleep couldn't cure, but Minerva did not think that they were brought on by the stress of upcoming exams.
“Excuse me, Professor?”
Minerva had barely finished charming her note to appear on Professor Slughorn’s desk down in the potions lab, when a new folded sheet of parchment was being handed to her by Lily Evans. Minerva took it from her and read it quickly, a bad feeling knotting in her stomach at the crypt message written in the hospital matron’s impatient scrawl.
“Madam Pomfrey just asked me to give that to you so that you’d know why Severus isn’t in class,” Lily said softly. “He missed Arithmany this morning too.”
“Thank you,” Minerva replied, looking up into the pretty girl’s bright green eyes. Lily was very sweet and exceedingly kind. How typical of her it was to come across someone in need and want to help even though they were from rival houses. Meanwhile, Minerva had just been struggling to pretend to care in a letter about a student she disliked for what other members of her family had done.
Quashing down this uncomfortable truth about herself, Minerva vanished Poppy Pomfrey’s note on Severus Snape and then asked. “Do you know who hexed him? Did you see anything in that corridor that I should know about?”
“No, ma'am, ” Lily answered, a bit too quickly for Minerva’s liking, though that was to be expected. It was part of the unwritten student code that you didn’t tell on your fellow students to a teacher, but Minerva didn’t think that she’d be doing her job right if she didn’t at least ask.
“Thank you, Miss Evans, you can take your seat,” Minerva nodded, as the room was starting to fill with others arriving for the fourth year Gryffindor/Slytherin Transfiguration lesson. “I’m sure Madam Pomfrey will have him sorted out before lunch.”
Which wasn’t much consolation when Minerva was sure that there would be another situation by next week, but that was about all that she could offer. Most days she was run off her feet by the extensive workload that she as a professor, head of house, and deputy headmistress needed to attend to. She didn’t have the time or ability to keep an eye on every student to prevent bullying and attacks. She was far too vastly outnumbered by them anyway.
“Professor McGonagall, did you know that there’s aurors in the grounds?” was how James Potter chose to loudly announce his arrival, rushing into the classroom with Sirius Black mere seconds before they would have been counted late. Peter Pettigrew, huffing and puffing at their heels.
“To - your - seats,” Minerva commanded them through gritted teeth, a wave of fury rising within her at the immediate sight of them. If her suspicions were correct, making a disruptive entrance into her classroom was not even close to the worst thing they had done that morning. Even if she didn’t have any evidence, their long record of performing hexes and jinxes on other students in the corridors was against them.
She watched James and Sirius exchange looks of exasperation with one another before they reluctantly dragged their feet over to their desks in the very last row. Leaning against the wall in the threshold of the door, Peter took a bit longer to follow as he fought to catch his breath. They must have run all the way across the grounds and through the castle after their Care of Magical Creatures lesson in order to arrive here on time after apparently dawdling to gawk at aurors.
“What happened to your face, Pettigrew?” Minerva asked irritably, noticing a long cut across his left cheek as he pushed back some sweaty strands of hair that were sticking to the wound.
“Knarl scratch,” Pettigrew wheezed as he walked past her on his way to take the vacant chair next to Remus Lupin.
“Someone dared him to kiss the knarl,” Sirius added unhelpfully.
“I didn't ask you to speak, Black,” Minerva snapped, as she watched Sirius and James share another look with one another and she wondered if they would even care what had her so currently cross with them.
“Now I want you all to take out your books and start on the review questions at the end of chapter 11,” Minerva barked, more loudly than she’d intended in her impatience.
“But the aurors -” James began to protest.
“Aren’t your concern, Potter,” Minerva finished coldly for him, but she was already standing up and intending to go investigate. Not willing to give James Potter the satisfaction of seeing how intrigued she was by his claim, but very anxious to find out what was happening.
“Nobody moves until I get back.”
She could hear her classroom dissolve into a band of anxious mutterings and loud speculations as soon as her back was turned. Without a doubt, nobody was going to pay attention to the chapter review questions Minerva had set them, nor did she care. As she hurried down the corridor in search of Dumbledore and the aurors that had felt the need to come to Hogwarts, she felt her peace eroding with every step. So that by the time she met up with them in the Entrance Hall, she was forced to accept that she wasn’t as numb to tragedy as she wanted to believe she was. She’d just gotten better at disconnecting.
“Professor McGonagall,” Fabian Prewett - or perhaps it was his identical twin brother, Gideon - didn’t hesitate to come over to give his former teacher a warm hug that she hadn’t been expecting, but appreciated very much.
“It’s Fabian,” he confirmed, before going back to stand next to Gideon, who nodded and gave Minerva a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were the older brothers of Molly Weasley and newly qualified aurors who, for a moment, Minerva had hoped might have only come to Hogwarts for a visit. They’d been beloved students and Minerva herself had once told them to come back and see her anytime. However, the grave look on Dumbledore’s face told her that her first inclinations were very correct.
“We were just about to go into my office,” Dumbledore said.
“Some of my students had told me there were aurors here,” Minerva told them. “What’s happened?”
“Another attack,” Dumbledore said quietly. “This time at the Ministry.”
“The ceiling in the Atrium collapsed right when many Ministry employees were coming into work,” Gideon explained. “We believe You Know Who is behind this.”
“Elphi -’ was where Minerva’s mind immediately went.
“Is fine,” Dumbledore was quick to reassure her. “I spoke with Minister Meechum right after it happened and Elphinstone was in the room for that call as well. It was he who asked the Minister to spare some aurors to come guard Hogwarts until term ends.”
“If You Know Who’s followers are getting bold enough to attack the Ministry then I’d say that’s a wise decision,” Minerva replied, guilt rushing through her at how relieved she was to have a guarantee that Elphi was alright when who knows how many others weren’t as fortunate.
“Were any of them caught?” she asked.
"Some arrests were made," Gideon said, hesitating. "But we're not sure…."
"We don't know yet whether the people arrested were truly complicit," Fabian finished.
"The Minister believes that the Ministry has been compromised by employees placed under the Imperius Curse," Dumbledore explained. "That's what made such an assault on this most guarded place even possible."
Orchestrated to perfection was what it was, Minerva realized. If You Know Who was now utilizing the unforgivable curse to gain total control over the will of witches and wizards who wouldn’t willingly follow him, then it wouldn’t even matter what side her students ultimately chose to stand with. There wouldn’t be any choice at all. And He Who Must Not Be Named’s army would continue to multiply and advance.
“I’ll tell the school what’s happened at dinner,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Of course, anyone who's had a family member impacted will need to be told privately, once the list of casualties has been finalized. Don’t say anything to your class. There’s no place safer than Hogwarts and that’s all they need to know right now.”
“Very well, Dumbledore,” Minerva sighed.
The Ministry of Magic might not have Dumbledore, but it was one of the most secure buildings in Britain and it had just been proven to be every bit as vulnerable as her little hometown of Caithness. That didn’t leave anyone feeling safe. It meant that You Know Who was now asserting dominance over wizards, as well as muggles. It heightened fear, and it made it seem like their side was using a bucket to drain the ocean, at the cost of so many innocent lives.
“There’s always a downfall, Minerva,” she reminded herself after leaving Dumbledore and the Prewett brothers behind to go return to her students.
Minerva wasn’t sure when she had begun reciting Gellert Grindelwald’s words to herself, but she found it happening more and more. Whenever she caught herself losing patience with Dumbledore for appearing to not do enough, she remembered that Grindelwald had told her point blank that Dumbledore could not end this alone and it made her allot him more grace.
“Nothing lasts forever,” she told herself.
Except for love - love was forever. It evolved and changed forms but it was constant and it was powerful. And He Who Must Not Be Named couldn’t understand it. That was his tragedy, not theirs. Someday it would be his downfall. Grindelwald had foreseen it and even though Minerva usually ignored such visionary magic, she believed him. It gave her hope. And it gave her peace.