It was six minutes into their fifth year start-of-term banquet, and Vivien thought that Minerva would kill someone before ten minutes were up.
“It is amazing that I only realise how stupid people can be at my place of education,” she remarked in a loud voice.
Sarcasm was not getting through to Rosemary and Poppy. Minerva looked like she was considering using a fork.
“A famous duellist!” Rosemary squeaked. “It’s so exciting!”
“Men, men, men,” Minerva said in her most severe voice. “The latest Quidditch star, the handsomest singer, and now even a new celebrity professor they haven’t even laid eyes on. Is that all they ever think about?”
Vivien and Minerva had been best friends since first year, on the basis that they were the Gryffindor pair who everyone thought truly belonged in Ravenclaw. Minerva was a loyal friend, a basically nice person and an excellent study partner, but occasionally Vivien found her just a little alarming.
She thought the boys of Hogwarts might agree with her, since nobody tended to approach Minerva, despite the fact she was undeniably attractive. Apart from times like these, when she wore an expression suggesting she’d swallowed a ruler.
Of course, it might be the open scorn that was putting them off.
“Well, you like Quidditch,” Vivien pointed out gently.
“Naturally,” said Minerva. “It’s a very good game, and offers great opportunities to the skilled employer of strategy. Also this year we are going to murder Slytherin, the cheating scum, and collect the Quidditch Cup wading through their scattered limbs.”
Minerva was the best Beater the Gryffindor team had ever had. She had an unfortunate habit of tapping her bat meaningfully against one boot during practise, though, and the rest of the team’s nerves were always shot before they ever played any actual games.
“It wasn’t your fault we didn’t do that last year,” Vivien commented. “We all thought you’d killed poor little Tommy.”
“He was cheating,” Minerva objected, violently. “Sneakily. When other people couldn’t see.”
“He was twelve,” Vivien insisted. “It was his very first match, and you hit him in the head with that Bludger.”
Tommy was the Slytherin Seeker, and he was actually quite a sweet boy. He had been as green as his robes when they carried him off the pitch.
“Served him right,” Minerva said, shrugging. She narrowed her green eyes at Rosemary and Poppy, and Vivien knew she was contemplating how she could use a bat and a Bludger this minute.
“I’ll just faint when I see him,” Poppy said happily. “The man who conquered the Unruly Unicorn!”
“I wonder if he’d sign a photo?” Rosemary speculated.
“I wonder why he’s not even at the feast?” Minerva countered. “Maybe he isn’t going to take his teaching post seriously and he plans to coast on his celebrity and make us all fail our OWLs?”
“Minerva, an earthquake couldn’t make you fail your OWLs,” Vivien said.
Minerva looked agitated. “This is a very important year for us! An incompetent teacher would be absolutely unacceptable! We certainly don’t need some useless pretty boy ruining our academic records!”
Rosemary and Poppy sighed collectively.
“He is pretty, isn’t he?” Rosemary said dreamily. “Have you seen the pictures? Have you seen his adorable puppy dog eyes?”
“I’m a cat person,” Minerva informed her coldly.
“You take things too seriously, Minnie,” said Poppy.
Minerva beat her steak and kidney pudding with a spoon. “Don’t call me Minnie,” she said in an ominous tone.
They were too busy watching the door to notice that their housemate was being driven towards insanity.
“Just think,” sighed Rosemary, “he could come through the door any—”
The doors burst open.
Framed in them was the object of every schoolgirl’s fantasy this summer, the hero of the battle with the Unruly Unicorn, the newest and youngest professor in Hogwarts.
Filius Flitwick looked almost exactly like his picture. He did seem a bit more anxious, though, with his brown eyes wide and his golden-brown hair over-long and in a bit of a mess.
There was also the fact that he was three feet tall.
“I’m so sorry!” he said in a pleasant voice that went a bit high-pitched as he looked around at all the staring students. “The Floo network in Peru was down, but it was essential that I gather firsthand information on the voodoo charms in the Peruvian eastern regions. Please forgive me.”
“Well,” Vivien said in the deep hush that followed, “that was unexpected.”
Rosemary and Poppy looked like they might cry.
Minerva was looking slightly mollified, however.
“Peru does have a fascinating history of charmwork,” she admitted. “And I suppose that having an experienced duellist onstaff can’t hurt.”
“I don’t see why you have to rub this in, Minnie,” Rosemary said in a trembling voice.
After this crushing disappointment, Rosemary and Poppy trailed very reluctantly after Minerva and Vivien to their first Charms class. They seemed to feel that watching Professor Flitwick being aggressively short was punishment too great for mortals to bear.
Minerva strode up the corridor ahead of them, discussing their previous Transfigurations class with Vivien, when Tommy sidled up to them with that younger boy who always trailed after him following in his wake.
“Hi, Minerva, Vivien,” he said, looking up at them under his black fringe. “Good summer?”
Minerva looked at him suspiciously, as if he had opened a conversation with questions about her Quidditch tactics.
“Yes, lovely,” Viven answered, feeling sorry for him. “Hi, Tommy. Hi, Corny. How were yours?”
“Great!” said Corny, looking thrilled to be asked. The boy must have very little excitement in his life.
“So-so,” Tommy answered, with a brief, bitter little smile. It changed and went warmer as he continued. “So… Minerva, you know that I can go down to Hogsmeade now.”
“What’s that got to do with Quidditch?” Minerva asked.
Tommy looked taken-aback. “Er—nothing?”
“Oh,” Minerva said a deeply unconvinced tone. “Then why are you bringing it up?”
“Well.” Tommy paused. “I thought you might like to go. With me? Sometime?”
He tilted blue, uncertain eyes up to Minerva, who looked horrified and scandalised.
“You’re thirteen, aren’t you?”
“I’m mature for my age,” Tommy said.
“I don’t play with little boys,” Minerva told him. “Run along, and try to grow up. And even if you do, I still won’t be interested.”
“That was harsh,” Vivien said, after Tommy and Corny had departed. “I think he’s sweet.”
“Then you go out with him,” Minerva suggested, and twitched in distaste.
Minerva could be very decided about her opinions. As they were going into the Charms room, Vivien stopped thinking about poor little Tommy and spared a thought for poor Professor Flitwick. Minerva crucified teachers she didn’t like.
She felt even sorrier for Professor Flitwick when she saw him. He was balanced on a stack of books to reach his desk, and even though he kept his voice steady he absentmindedly wrung his hands as he talked.
“Good morning, students,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m wretchedly nervous. I’ve never taught a class before, and I really want to do it right. Because Charms is such a fascinating subject, don’t you think? I understand this is your OWLs year—I do hope my inexperience won’t discommode you.”
Minerva put up her hand and Vivien had a moment of dread where she thought that Minerva was going to put on her ruler look, and say that she certainly hoped so too.
“You did defeat the Petrifying Pixies with nothing but Calm-Down Charms, didn’t you?” Minerva asked mildly instead. “I’m sure you couldn’t be called inexperienced.”
Vivien saw with immense relief that Professor Flitwick’s obvious earnestness had impressed Minerva, and she had decided to approve of him.
Professor Flitwick went pink, and rumpled back his hair.
“I didn’t know you students had heard about that little thing,” he said. “It wasn’t anything really—purest luck, I happened to be at the right place at the right time, and the Pixie Chief was very reasonable in the end. Teaching is quite different. Educating young minds isn’t something that can be left to luck, and I do hope I won’t let you down. Still, speaking of Calm-Down Charms, does anyone know who made the recent discovery that they were independently powerful and not a simple subset of Cheer-Up Charms?”
Minerva raised her hand again, and Professor Flitwick beamed at her in great relief and awarded her fifteen points.
She was quite gentle when she reminded him that she had not actually answered the question.
“I think he’ll do nicely,” she remarked afterwards to Vivien. “He just needs a little guidance.”
“And you’re the perfect person to provide it,” Vivien said dryly.
Minerva did not reply directly, but she said in a vague manner, “Being able to listen to reason is a very admirable trait in a man,” and so Vivien commended Professor Flitwick’s soul to God.
The next day she was commending Headmaster Dippet’s soul to God. The poor man was obviously senile, but nobody had the heart to take his post away from him, and every so often he came up with a bright idea like this one.
“I think it would be lovely if the students embraced Muggle culture like this and got some fresh air and healthy exercise,” he had reportedly told Professor Dumbledore.
“And Professor Dumbledore just smiled and murmured something about how it was extraordinarily interesting that people would arrange things for someone if he simply seemed a little vague!” Minerva exploded in rage. “And now… this!”
Vivien eyed the horse suspiciously. She had been raised in a wizarding family, and she did not see the point.
“Does it drink blood?” she wondered. “Does it fly? Does it defeat your enemies?”
At this point, they discovered who their riding instructor was. Professor Flitwick went by, perched on an enormous chestnut and looking quite happy about it.
“You simply get on them and they walk,” he said, beaming. “Hello, Miss McGonagall! Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Minerva gave him a baleful look. “What’s the point of that?” she demanded.
“It’s fun,” Professor Flitwick informed her mildly. He gave her an encouraging smile. “I think you could do with having a little more fun, Miss McGonagall.”
Minerva looked uncertain, which was a very unusual expression for her. She then made an attempt to get on the horse. Professor Flitwick patiently explained to them how to do it, and they both eventually mounted the horses.
There were several teachers and several years participating in this riding effort, and almost everyone in the paddock looked impressed that Minerva and Vivien were doing so well. Vivien preened and thanked him profusely.
“Thank you,” Minerva added, grudgingly. She was too independent to like being grateful to people.
“Nothing to do with me,” said Professor Flitwick, with his boyish smile. “You two did it all yourself. May I say you have an excellent seat already, Miss McGonagall? I know you two will enjoy this.”
Minerva was already sitting ramrod straight on her horse, but she shifted her shoulders and managed to sit a little straighter.
It was then that a scream cut the air.
Minerva and Vivien both swerved their horses to look at it. A huge black horse was running away with a shouting boy on its back.
“Oh my God,” Vivien said. “Is that Tommy? Poor thing!”
“He chose a horse that was far too big for him,” Minerva snorted. “Little idiot.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” Vivien asked, panicking.
“I don’t know and I don’t ca—oh no,” said Minerva, suddenly straining to look. “Professor Flitwick is going to kill himself chasing after that moronic Slytherin!”
Professor Flitwick had sent his horse into a gallop, and it was running so fast Vivien could barely see the small shape on top of it. Professor Flitwick seemed to be controlling it somehow, though, turning it and urging it on until he drew exactly level with and beside Tommy.
Tommy’s horse snapped at Professor Flitwick’s, and Professor Flitwick’s horse shied. People gasped all around the paddock as Professor Flitwick grabbed the reins of both horses, drawing them in tight together, and then with his free arm pulled Tommy onto his own horse.
“Let it go, let it go,” Minerva whispered, leaning forward on her horse.
Professor Flitwick used the rein to pull the horse around, slowing its pace almost imperceptibly at first and patting its neck, speaking to it. They rode back towards the group of students and horses, and just as Vivian thought they were going to charge and send all the horses scattering around the paddock, Tommy’s horse quietened.
Patting both the horses, Professor Flitwick gave Tommy up to Professor Dippet, who was wringing his hands and murmuring about how perhaps first-hand knowledge of Muggle culture would not be so beneficial for the children after all.
Tommy sat down very abruptly and muttered, “I hate the Muggle culture.” Then he put his head between his knees.
Vivian and Minerva urged their horses in the same direction at the same time.
“Tommy,” Vivian said, trying to make her voice kindly, “Were you very scared?”
“No,” Tommy answered, sounding tremendously insulted.
“Professor Flitwick, that was incredible,” said Minerva.
“Oh, no, anybody would have done it,” Professor Flitwick said depreciatingly. “The boy was absolutely splendid to stay on for that long. Really, it’s my fault for not keeping a closer eye on the horses I thought might be troublesome. Please excuse me. I hope you feel better,” he added to Tommy.
Tommy lifted a pale face.
“I feel fine,” he said rebelliously, but then remembered himself and said politely, “But thank you very much.”
“Not at all,” Professor Flitwick muttered, looking embarrassed. “I really must go.”
Minerva looked after him with her eyebrows raised.
“He’s actually very impressive, isn’t he?” she remarked to Vivien.
Then they were both distracted from this question by the fact that Tommy was suddenly and violently sick.
“Poor boy,” Vivien said that evening in the common room. “He really fancies you. He looked humiliated to the dust.”
“Hmm,” said Minerva, not looking up from her book.
“What’s that? Advanced Charms?” Vivien asked. “But we don’t have any homework.”
“Well, no,” Minerva agreed. “But I thought it might be helpful for Professor Flitwick if a few students read ahead. I think he has the makings of a really fine teacher, you know, and he should be encouraged.”
Minerva dedicated herself to this task in the weeks afterwards, and Vivien had to admit that once he got over his nerves Professor Flitwick actually was a very good teacher. Minerva continued with her policy of encouragement by academic knowledge, and Professor Flitwick was openly and terribly grateful.
Vivien thought he was sweet, too, and was glad that Minerva was not frightening him. She was certainly frightening everyone about Quidditch.
The first match of the season was Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, and Vivien drew Minerva up to the top of the Gryffindor stands because the way she was snarling had made one of the first years cry.
“Those Slytherin Beaters should be disqualified,” Minerva seethed. “Did you see them hit the end of the Keeper’s broomstick? Why didn’t the commentator call them the filthy, cheating toerags they are?”
“I think that the teacher who allowed a commentator to make personal comments might be seen as promoting interhouse prejudice, don’t you?” said Professor Flitwick.
They turned and he gave them his disarming, crooked smile. Minerva had the decency to look slightly shamefaced.
“I suppose so,” she said in a chastened tone. Vivien looked at her in amazement.
“Miss McGonagall,” Professor Flitwick said in a conspiratorial whisper, “You’ve been so helpful. Would you tell me where the teachers are supposed to sit? I’m afraid that I headed right for the Ravenclaw stand, and was considerably embarrassed.”
“Oh, were you a Ravenclaw?” Minerva asked with interest.
“Eight years ago,” Professor Flitwick said, and then smiled roguishly. “In my youth, you might say.”
Twenty-five, Vivien noted. She was fond of knowing precise ages. Numbers were soothing and definite things.
“You’re still young,” Minerva said, and then paused. “You could sit with us. If you like?”
Vivien gave Minerva a reproachful look. However nice he might be, she was not particularly anxious to sit with a teacher.
Minerva studiously avoided her gaze.
Professor Flitwick beamed at her. “That’s so kind,” he said. “I believe I will.” He lowered his voice to the conspiratorial whisper again. “The staff have all been most kind, but I think they feel I’m a little too young and flighty for the post. It will be a relief to have the company of some people below fifty.”
“Vivien and I are practically always below fifty,” Minerva promised him, and they all laughed.
“So, who do are we supporting in this match?” Professor Flitwick asked, settling comfortably on the bench beside Minerva.
“Oh, the Hufflepuffs. Down with Slytherin!” Minerva said. She saw Tommy diving for the Snitch and suddenly leaped to her feet to scream at the Hufflepuff Seeker, who looked confused and distressed and ploughed into Tommy’s back.
“Ohhh, that poor lad,” said Professor Flitwick. “He’s always in the wars, isn’t he? No luck at all.”
Tommy ended up on the grass of the Quidditch pitch, looking dizzy. He saw Minerva on her feet and waved vaguely, accidentally hitting the Hufflepuff Seeker with his broom as he did so.
“That’ll be a concussion,” Professor Flitwick observed sympathetically. “Those broom strikes can be nasty.”
“FOUL!” Minerva screamed. “THAT WAS DELIBERATE! DISQUALIFY THAT SEEKER! BURN THE HOUSE OF SLYTHERIN TO THE GROUND AND THEN SOW THE GROUND WITH SALT!”
She sat back down and turned to Professor Flitwick with a controlled smile.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Miss McGonagall,” said Professor Flitwick, “would you mind if I gave you a piece of advice?”
“Of course not, Professor.”
“I understand you’re a prefect.” Minerva nodded. “That puts you in a position of authority and responsibility. In order to maintain that position, it might be wiser not to lose your temper and display your opinions quite so openly. You are supposed to be able to discipline younger students in all the houses, not just Gryffindor, and any behaviour indicating that you consider one house as inferior immediately makes you seem much less fair, and thus will make you much less respected. Being sternly even-handed and then sternly disciplinary when you see true cause in any individual is the path I’d recommend.” Professor Flitwick stopped the earnest lecture, and then gave them both that gentle smile again. “In other words—speak softly and carry a big stick.”
Vivien held her breath and prayed that Minerva would not consider physical violence as an answer.
Minerva paused, bit her lip and then said, a little unsteadily and with a tiny laugh, “When are you ever stern, Professor?”
“Oh, well. I’m speaking of what you can do, not what I can. I’m afraid I’m not—a terribly impressive chap.” Professor Flitwick went pink again, and pushed at his rumpled hair in what seemed to be a habitual gesture. “Whereas I think you might make a marvellous teacher one day, Miss McGonagall.”
Minerva laughed properly this time. “Oh no,” she said. “I can’t stand children.” She paused and then said, “And I don’t think you’re doing too badly as a teacher, either. In fact, we’re all very impressed.”
Vivien was impressed and amazed. She was even more intensely so later when young Tommy walked by, with a dark bruise on his forehead and leaning on little Corny’s shoulder.
Minerva cleared her throat and said, “Good game.”
Tommy smiled his extremely charming smile. “Thank you very much, Minerva,” he said. “Would you care to celebrate my victory with the rest of my house? As my personal guest?”
“Buzz off, twerp, I’d rather eat my own lower intestine,” said Minerva.
She caught Vivien’s look as she swept off.
“I’m trying,” she explained. “I’m not quite there yet.”
The day before Christmas holidays, Professor Flitwick held Minerva and Vivien back to congratulate them on their Outstanding Charms essays. Vivien thanked him and Minerva glowed.
“You’ve both performed excellently,” Professor Flitwick said, looking delighted himself. “I predict an Outstanding OWL for you two if you can keep this up! I am just sorry I can take so little of the credit. Congratulations, and have a very happy Christmas.”
Minerva smiled a very wide smile that alarmed Vivien a bit because it changed her face so drastically.
“A very happy Christmas to you too,” she said. “I bet you’ll be glad to go home away from all your annoying students.”
Professor Flitwick’s bright face dimmed. “Oh… well,” he said awkwardly. “Actually I’m staying here over Christmas. It’s important to discuss the question of this frightful Grindelwald with Professor Dumbledore, and besides, it will be great fun to spend Christmas with the students who can’t go home. Besides which—to tell you the truth—I don’t exactly have a home.”
Minerva looked horrified, and then Professor Flitwick looked horrified too.
“But Hogwarts is quite home enough for me,” he said hastily. “What am I thinking, to be nattering on and bothering you two? I should be fired at once. Shoo, girls, and have a very happy holiday indeed!”
Minerva strode even faster down corridors when she was upset.
“That poor man!” she raged. “Stuck in this place for Christmas! Spending it with wretches like that Tommy!”
“I hear Tommy’s home life is very sad,” Vivien said.
“It almost makes me feel like staying here over Christmas,” Minerva continued heedlessly.
“Minerva, he’s a teacher, I really don’t think he needs you to keep him company.”
“Well, of course not,” Minerva said indignantly. “But I’ve been thinking of it anyway. There’s no Quidditch pitch for me at home.”
Vivien shivered. “It’s too cold for Quidditch.”
Minerva paused and then said, her voice dripping with temptation, “Imagine all the OWLs study we could get done in the quiet.”
Vivien hesitated.
“I could lend you my Transfiguration notes,” Minerva added.
“Well, I suppose that would be helpful,” Vivien admitted.
“I’m buying you that new Arithmancy book for Christmas,” Minerva went on remorselessly. “Just think, you could have it memorised by next term.”
“Well… all right,” Vivien said.
Christmas was quiet and nice. Professor Flitwick gave every student a present chosen specially for them, and Vivien almost cried over her Muggle abacus.
“Thank you so much,” Tommy said, clutching his book on unicorns and looking almost lost for words for once. “Nobody’s ever given me a Christmas present before.”
“I bought you that book on the Dark Arts,” Corny said, looking injured. “You said you liked it. It was very expensive.”
“Well, I meant from an adult,” Tommy said diplomatically, and then his lip trembled and Vivien’s heart broke for him.
Minerva was still stroking the pretty emerald green hat in her lap and not speaking.
“You can return it,” Professor Flitwick told her quickly. “I thought it would match your eyes.” He stopped and then said apprehensively, “Was that an awfully unprofessorlike thing to say?”
“Oh, no, no,” Minerva said, jamming it on her head quickly as if someone was going to snatch it away. “I love it!”
She did not recover her aplomb until Tommy stopped her in the doorway and told her shyly that she looked pretty in her hat.
Minerva glanced suspiciously up at the mistletoe and snapped at Tommy that there was no chance.
Tommy looked hurt and bewildered. “I don’t know what you m—”
“Just try it and I’ll give you such a slap,” Minerva warned him. “I’m watching you. And we’re going to beat you in Quidditch, too, just you wait and see.”
“May the best man win,” Tommy offered.
“Don’t worry, I will,” said Minerva.
“Are you all getting along?” Professor Flitwick asked, coming up to them in evident concern.
“Just talking about Quidditch,” Minerva said. “Strategies and tactics, and so forth.”
Professor Flitwick relaxed. “And what’s your strategy?”
“Set your sights on the prize and fairly, thoroughly, methodically proceed until you get what you want,” Minerva replied promptly. “I’m very goal-oriented.”
After Christmas, everyone came back with dire tales of their parents’ warnings about Grindelwald. Apparently he was on the move this year, and people were sternly forbidden to go to Hogsmeade without a teacher’s supervision. Flitwick was immediately inundated with invitations to go with several different students’ groups, and the Gryffindors were extremely triumphant about the fact that they got him the most often.
Vivien told him that so he would know he was popular, and he blushed and laughed.
“Well, you and Miss McGonagall are my two best students,” he said. “I have to look after you so I can be covered with glory by your OWL results.”
“Are we your favourite students?” Minerva asked daringly.
“As a teacher, I really cannot pick favourites,” Professor Flitwick said hastily. “But if I were to do so, I couldn’t think of finer choices.”
Minerva and Vivien both proclaimed themselves heroically indifferent to Grindelwald’s menaces. Professor Dumbledore was known to be one of the most talented wizards in the world. He had even helped work on the Philosopher’s Stone, and he was the Deputy Headmaster. What harm could come to them?
Minerva was much more concerned about beating Slytherin at Quidditch, which they did once, but since the Slytherins won all their other matches and then won the Quidditch Final against Gryffindor Minerva’s ambitions were crushed. She turned to working on the OWLs so hard that even Vivien thought it was excessive, and came out with Outstanding in every subject.
Vivien visited her that summer and they compared report cards. Minerva’s booklet fell open at Professor Flitwick’s page.
‘Minerva McGonagall is extremely naturally gifted at Charms’ it read, ‘and a joy to teach. She is unfailingly polite, insightful and helpful, and has not only been a close to ideal student but one of the most pleasant people I have met at Hogwarts. I am sure this remarkable young woman will go far.’
“Gosh, he really likes you,” said Vivien.
Minerva smoothed her emerald-green robes. “Do you really think so?” she asked. “It’s my favourite report.”
Minerva actually listening to someone else came as a great relief to Vivien. She did not stop being formidable, since that would have required a complete change in her personality, but Vivien heard her being called the fairest prefect in school by a Slytherin, no less.
Vivien saw her smile that strange wide smile again in the Great Hall on the first day of sixth year.
Professor Flitwick was sitting beside one of the new first-years, an immense child who Vivien thought must have swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro in his youth. He was taller than Professor Dumbledore, and could have picked Professor Flitwick up in one hand.
He was weeping profusely, and Professor Flitwick was patting one of his big hands.
“I miss my dad,” the boy wept.
“But you’ll be happy here,” Professor Flitwick assured him solemnly. “There are wonderful things in Hogwarts, you’ll see.”
The boy sniffed, such an enormous sniff that Professor Flitwick’s hair stood up in the direction of his nostrils.
“I did like tha’ sweet squid in the lake,” he admitted.
“Excellent, Mr Hagrid, excellent,” said Professor Flitwick, who always seemed able to learn every student’s name and life history within minutes of meeting them. “And you can Owl your father every day.” He turned around, and said heartily, “Miss McGonagall! What a pleasure to see you back!”
That was when Vivien saw the smile. It recurred until she got used to it, and the boys in school seemed attracted to it, combined with the black swishing hair and the green eyes she set off with her new emerald-green accessories. She was asked to Hogsmeade quite a lot that year.
She might have been asked more, but as it turned out Tommy’s glares were effective and intimidating.
It hardly mattered, since she turned them all down cold and continued to scorn Tommy absolutely.
“I don’t know why she won’t give me a chance,” Vivien heard poor Tommy say angrily once.
“I don’t know either,” Corny agreed. “I mean, you’ve got a tremendous air of authority and charisma. And—and very nice eyes.”
Tommy shoved him. “Don’t talk to me like that! You know it disturbs me!”
“Yes, Tommy,” said Corny. “Sorry, Tommy.”
“It’s all right,” Tommy announced in a brooding voice. “I’m used to rejection.”
“Surely not, Tommy,” Corny said in shock. “All the girls in Slytherin think you’re so dashing.”
Tommy eyed him darkly. “I know that,” he said at last. “I meant by my father.”
“Oh,” Corny said. “Well, I mean—I don’t judge, Tommy, you know that. If your father looked like you he must have been a very handsome man.”
“Corny!” Tommy exclaimed warningly. “We’re back to the bad place!”
“Sorry, Tommy, sorry.”
“We don’t like the bad place!”
“It won’t happen again.”
Vivien suggested gently to Tommy that it might be healthier for him to find some real friends rather than mindless minions like Corny.
“What for?” Tommy asked, and then smiled to show he was joking.
Vivien laughed indulgently. He was such a sweet boy, and he was really growing up strikingly handsome. She did not understand why Minerva would not be kinder to him.
Riding had become optional at Hogwarts, after Tommy had started a petition, but Minerva had persuaded Vivien to keep it on.
Minerva had become very good at it. She was the only person who could keep up with Professor Flitwick when he galloped.
She looked rather fearless and splendid on a horse, her black hair streaming and her spine ramrod straight.
Vivien never became very good, but she liked the lessons all the same. It was nice to see Minerva relax, especially when Professor Flitwick suggested, “A race, Miss McGonagall?” and she gave him that special, wide smile.
It reminded Vivien of why she liked Minerva, whenever she was in despair about Minerva’s behaviour. Such as before Christmas, when she begged Minerva not to ask teachers personal and private questions, and Minerva insisted on cornering Professor Flitwick just the same.
Vivien lingered outside the door, reluctant to eavesdrop but hoping she could create a diversion if Minerva overstepped the mark and save her from any really drastic points reductions.
“Professor,” Minerva said awkwardly. “I hope it isn’t awfully intrusive of me to ask you this.”
Professor Flitwick’s voice was warm. “I can’t imagine that anything you might do would be awful, Miss McGonagall.”
“I just wondered—I hoped that you had patched things up with your family,” Minerva said hesitantly. “You said last year that you had—no home to go to, and—I’m sorry if I’m being officious, but I was concerned. Sir.”
“That’s very kind, and very like you, Miss McGonagall.” Professor Flitwick stopped. “I—the truth is, I’m not sure I should be discussing personal affairs with a student, but since I am sure you are genuinely concerned… The truth is, as you may have guessed, I have goblin blood in me. I look mostly human—but the size is a bit of a give-away.” He laughed deprecatingly. “The fact is, my human relatives want little to do with me. Quite a few people are uncomfortable with hybrids, I do completely understand. I was raised among goblins, but I did attend Hogwarts, and I found—well, when the goblins seceded to Grindelwald, I found I could not follow them. Every man has a duty to follow his own conscience, and I do not regret doing so. Hogwarts is home enough for me, but I thought you should know, Miss McGonagall, so you would understand that there can be no returning to my family.”
There was a stricken pause.
“Oh, Professor Flitwick,” Minerva said in an odd voice. “I’m so sorry.”
“There, there,” Professor Flitwick said hurriedly. “You’re much too good. There’s no need to be sorry for me. I’m happy as a sandboy!”
Minerva went on, and Vivien realised that her voice sounded odd because she was on the point of tears, and Vivien had never heard Minerva so upset before.
“It makes no difference to me, Professor Flitwick,” she said passionately. “They’re all fools.”
“I knew it wouldn’t, of course,” Professor Flitwick said soothingly.
Minerva rushed out after that, and Vivien drew back hastily.
She was unsurprised when Minerva insisted on staying that Christmas. Nor was she surprised when, upon receiving Professor Flitwick’s gift of emerald-green gloves, Minerva shyly offered back a book on Peruvian charmwork.
Professor Flitwick looked astonished and delighted.
It was almost the end of the year when everything changed.
They were coming out of a prefects’ meeting at the time.
Minerva was saying, “Say what you like about that Hufflepuff Myrtle being a delicate plant, I think she’s just a whiner. And I’d lay odds she’s a secret bedwetter, too—”
That was when they heard the noises, the terrible crashing coming from the Great Hall, and they both ran towards it.
There were Dementors, and goblins, and snarling creatures Vivien thought were werewolves, and they knew some of Grindelwald’s forces had managed to find and storm Hogwarts.
There were already a few bodies. That was what made them pause in sheer, frozen incredulity, despite the screaming and fleeing people all around them. Neither of them had ever seen death before. They just stood and stared for a moment, as if this was a play.
The huge first year called Rubeus had one of his yearmates in his arms and was running as fast as he could. One of the robed Dementors was advancing on Corny, and he was backing away, his eyes wide with fear.
Minerva took a deep breath and began to walk forward, and that was when Professor Flitwick came barrelling down the stairs and pushed them both aside, facing down a horde of inhuman things alone.
“Run, girls!” he shouted. “I’ll hold them off! Expecto patronum!”
A large silver stallion erupted from Professor Flitwick’s wand, and charged down the Dementor advancing on Corny. He shrank back, as did the Dementors beside him, and Vivien rushed forward and put her arms around Corny. She tried to get him upright and running, but he just clung to her and blubbered.
There were students all around trying to hide, or fight enough to get away. As she clutched at Corny and tried to pull him away, she heard shrieks from the Hufflepuff table, and saw Tommy against a wall, holding off a squad of goblins.
“Crucio!” he snarled to her dim horror, black hair falling into his eyes and teeth bared. He spun in a tight circle, crouched, as they fell. “Crucio! Crucio!”
It was only Professor Flitwick who seemed, suicidally, to want to face them.
“Run, Minerva!” he shouted.
Minerva shook her head slowly, and moved to join him. He kept yelling at her to run.
Vivien clasped Corny to her in an agony of fear, but somehow, they were not advancing. Professor Flitwick hurled curse after curse, and Minerva was backing him up as best she could.
Vivien had heard him called the most fearsome duellist of his generation, and she had even giggled a little when Poppy and Rosemary laughed about it. Now she saw it was true.
Everybody had to tire sometime, and they could not last.
“Minerva, please!”
“Filius, I won’t!”
There was another rush of terrible noise and bodies and screaming.
Vivien squeezed her eyes shut, and then she heard the empty, echoing silence.
They had left, called back by Grindelwald’s summons. They found out later that Professor Dumbledore had faked a betrayal of the Order of Defence’s meeting place, and Grindelwald had called his people together in order to attack it in full force.
Later was when most people had got over their hysterics, and Vivien was trying to clean a gaping cut at Minerva’s hairline. She and Minerva were both trembling.
“I thought we were safe here,” Vivien whispered. “I thought we were safe.”
“Well, we’re not,” Minerva said, her voice hard.
Tommy edged closer to offer some comfort. “I think we are,” he disagreed, and looked gratified when Minerva and Vivien looked at him attentively. “You see, Grindelwald should’ve taken the school no matter what,” he explained. “Children make the perfect hostages. Get the children, and make all their parents your slaves, on threat of their pain or death. The man is a raving incompetent.”
“You’re creepy. Go away,” Minerva said sharply.
“Don’t mind her, she’s overwrought,” Vivien assured him.
“I’m not,” said Minerva fiercely, and then Professor Flitwick came wearily out of the infirmary and sat down on the bench beside them.
Minerva burst into hysterical tears.
“Miss McGonagall!” Professor Flitwick said in dismay, as Vivien looked on in disbelief. Minerva slumped enough to drop her head on his shoulder and Professor Flitwick astonishingly took it calmly, stroking her hair back from her face. “Shhh, shhh,” he said in his kind voice. “Oh, please don’t. You were so brave, Miss McGonagall, I was so proud of you.”
“I was brave!” Minerva choked. “You were brave! I never thought anybody could be so brave, I never thought you were so brave, I’m sorry that I didn’t know, I think I thought just a little bit that—that because you were nice you were weren’t strong—”
She burst out sobbing again. Professor Flitwick continued to stroke her hair.
“I’m not, I’m not,” he assured her. “Really, anybody would have done the same thing. It is my duty to protect you all. You know that, of course. It was you who was brave—brave and rash, my dear Miss McGonagall, you must never endanger yourself like that again, I was utterly terrified for you.”
Minerva choked. “How stupid of you,” she raged in her most severe tones, blurred by tears, “to be scared for me!”
Minerva sobbed herself quiet on Professor Flitwick’s shoulder. Vivien and Minerva did not talk about it, later.
When they were lying in bed that night, though, Minerva said:
“I’ve been silly… thinking about Quidditch and the NEWTs so much.”
“Quidditch, perhaps,” Vivien conceded.
“There’s something much bigger than that we have to do,” Minerva said, sounding so tired. “And we’re going to do it. But oh, I wish we didn’t have to.”
“If you say you’ll do a thing, you’ll do it,” Vivien observed, because she knew Minerva that much.
She heard Minerva turn in bed, and then say, softly: “It was… quite something, wasn’t it?”
Vivien thought about it, and realised that Professor Flitwick, standing ready to be a sacrifice to the horde and only afraid for other people, was the most valiant thing she had ever seen.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said.
It was on one of their last classes during the year that Poppy asked whether enhancing Cheering Charms was possible.
“Possible, yes,” Professor Flitwick said. “Charms which affect emotions, however, are tightly controlled—and for good reason. A Depressing Charm can have much the same effect as a Dementor, if cast by a powerful enough wizard, and almost anyone can be manipulated with some of the stronger Charms.”
“Like what?” Vivien asked keenly.
“Well, like the Frightening Charm, or the Ecstasy Charm—”
Rosemary giggled. “The Ecstasy Charm? What’s that, sir?”
Vivien saw Professor Flitwick make that visible effort to stop his voice going high-pitched with nervousness. “It’s—well.” He looked at Minerva for help, and then shook his head and carried on bravely. “The Charm is an extremely unscrupulous one. It induces in its victims profound pleasure, which can then be used to control the person, who will do anything during the Charm, or for the sake of another dose of the Charm’s effects. It can be used between two consenting adults in private, but a record of each Ecstasy Charm is taken by the Ministry—”
Nobody seemed interested in Ministry precautions. “Is it really that powerful, sir?” Poppy asked.
“It is a very dangerous Charm,” said Professor Flitwick. “Imagine it: feeling deep pleasure spreading through every cell of your body. It’s almost like the Cruciatus curse in reverse—robbing you of mind and reducing you to a collection of senses pushed beyond their limits. It’s wild and senseless, and—well.” He cleared his throat. “Like I said, it is a very dangerous Charm.”
Vivien understood why Professor Flitwick looked pink and flustered after this explanation, but she did not see why Minerva had dropped her quill and sat resting her chin on her hand, looking at Professor Flitwick with wide attentive eyes.
She did not take any other notes that lesson.
She also carried on with her policy of being madly over-familiar with the teaching staff at the end of the term, when she took Professor Flitwick’s hand and pressed it before they left.
“Oh, no,” Tommy exclaimed in disgust. Vivien turned and looked at him: he was looking at Minerva and Professor Flitwick with narrowed eyes. “This is not happening to me. This is not right.”
“I don’t understand,” Vivien said.
“I hate my life,” Tommy declared, and stalked away without explaining.
Vivien visited Minerva that summer. They sat on Minerva’s green winter cloak and planned out study for the NEWTs next year, and Minerva talked about defeating Grindelwald, and doing their part for the war effort.
“And after that,” Minerva said, and bit her lip. “I was thinking,” she said, “that I mightn’t mind. Being around children, I suppose, as long as I didn’t have to have any of my own.”
“You’d make a good teacher, Minerva,” Vivien encouraged her. She wanted to be a teacher herself, and she would love to have Minerva with her.
“Yes, I think I would,” Minerva said. “I think there’s a lot to be said for planning out your life, don’t you?”
“All our professors say you’re so goal-oriented,” Vivien agreed.
“Yes,” Minerva said, thoughtfully. “I’m also thinking of becoming an Animagus.”
She bothered Professor Flitwick on that subject, too.
“I’d talk to your Transfigurations teacher,” Professor Flitwick said mildly. “Much more in her line. I’d hate to see you do anything rash because I gave you bad advice, Miss McGonagall.”
“I don’t want advice exactly,” Minerva said, lingering while Vivien tried to make her realise that this was a dismissal. “I’d just like to know—what kind of animal you think I might suit best.”
“Oh, my opinion’s probably rather dim,” Professor Flitwick said with his small, disarming smile.
“Please,” Minerva said.
“Well—I’m not sure,” Professor Flitwick said. “A friendly, clever creature. You’re not like anything wild.”
She was not like anything wild with Professor Flitwick.
Minerva announced, a week later, that she had decided to turn herself into a cat.
She also asked Professor Flitwick for private tutorials. Vivien knew that Minerva was not as gifted at Charms as she was at Transfiguration, but the idea of Remedial Charms was ridiculous.
There was a little stress-relief party just before the NEWTs, and Minerva was too busy with her tutorial to attend, so Vivien drank a little bit too much Bitterbeer and ended up leaving the party early to wander around aimlessly. She had really preferred Butterbeer before all the absinthe was added. Vivien tripped as she was going around a corner, and would have fallen if she had not been caught.
“All alone without a friend?” asked Tommy. “What a shame. Is she with the tiny professor, then?”
Vivien blinked to clear her fuzzy eyesight. Tommy had his wand in his hand, she noticed, and she wondered why. Of course, these were dangerous times, and she suddenly felt much more drunk than she had. It was probably safest to have someone at the ready, and Tommy was such a dear boy, even if he had used those Unforgivable Curses. He’d been scared. She’d never held it against him.
“She says she needs tutorials,” she muttered.
“I’ll bet she does,” Tommy said, his lips curling. Vivien noticed that his mouth was sneering and rather pretty, and then was vaguely horrified at herself. He was a little boy. “Doesn’t matter, though,” Tommy remarked. “I only have time for people who appreciate me.”
“I’m glad you’re not upset,” Vivien said, with genuine concern, and then she realised that she was threading her fingers through his black soft hair. Surely that wasn’t an appropriate gesture, or one she had intended to make…
Tommy’s eyes were deep blue and endless, fringed by long lashes that cast them in shadows.
“You’ve always seemed to appreciate me, Vivien,” he murmured. “I like that.”
He kissed her then, and it was a good kiss, but just a little too forceful, and she had a worrying moment of doubt, a voice telling her that this was not a good idea, not her idea…
She let him kiss her, again and again, and then she let him take her into a room that for some reason had a bed in it. The next morning she woke up feeling dirty, and promised herself never to overindulge in alcohol again. She liked Tommy less after that, but then, he was a good boy, she’d always thought that. He was so sweet and polite, and he was a teenage boy after all, he could not have known how drunk she was. He had been made a prefect this year. He was the most popular boy in the school.
It was her own mistake. She didn’t tell Minerva.
Of course, she did not get much of an opportunity. They were both busy with the NEWTs, and besides that Minerva seemed distracted.
Vivien thought she might need to talk, so she arrived to walk Minerva back from her last Charms tutorial, and then stopped at the door because Minerva and Professor Flitwick were in deep conversation.
“So… I’ll be leaving school in about a week,” Minerva said.
“Your company will be a great loss to me,” Professor Flitwick told her earnestly. The tips of his ears went pink, and he spoke in that slightly higher voice in the way he did when he was nervous. “I hope you won’t think it’s too great a liberty—I got you a small gift for the occasion…”
Minerva smiled that wide smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I… I’m going to join Dumbledore’s Order against Grindelwald, after I leave school. I’ll get Auror training.”
“That’s brave,” Professor Flitwick told her. “Of course, I would expect no less from you.”
Minerva twisted her hands in her lap. “After the war, though… I think I’ll come back to Hogwarts. To teach.”
Professor Flitwick’s face glowed with delight. “It would be such a pleasure to have you as a colleague, Miss McGonagall. I can hardly tell you how much I should look forward to working with you.”
Minerva hesitated. “So you won’t run off and—and get married or go to Peru or something before I can come back?”
“Go to Peru? Oh, no, how could I have a better job than this? What’s more rewarding than teaching children?” Professor Flitwick asked. “As for… well, Miss McGonagall, surely you know that only someone as kind as you would think it was even possible. A chap like me is hardly someone that anybody would consider taking on.”
He smiled his boyish smile, which faltered when Minerva did not smile back at him. She looked very serious, a different and more vulnerable sort of serious than Minerva usually looked.
Vivien was at once tremendously shocked, and not surprised at all.
“And you won’t forget me,” Minerva suggested.
“My dear Miss McGonagall! I hardly see how that could be possible,” Professor Flitwick assured her. “Whatever you do, you must remember that you have your old teacher’s good wish—”
“Good,” Minerva said with headlong determination. “Because I’m coming back, and if you’re still there and single, and you haven’t forgotten me, then—I’m going to keep you for myself.”
Professor Flitwick looked as if his head was about to fall off. “Miss McGonagall!”
Minerva stood up, going red. “That’s all I wanted to say,” she declared.
“You must be insane!” said Professor Flitwick. “You’re a student!”
“I won’t be soon,” Minerva said, with her usual courage.
“But—my dear, you can’t possibly realise what it is that you’re implying—I mean, you’re so young and beautiful, you have your whole life ahead of you, you have the brains and the spirit to do anything you like…”
“And I plan to,” Minerva said, and then her hard-won composure faltered as she asked, “Do you really think all those things about me?”
“Well—well of course,” Professor Flitwick said.
“I’m so pleased,” Minerva told him. “That means that you probably won’t run away to Peru to escape me. Because—” she paused and they were both now violent shades of red. “Because you’d have to, Professor Flitwick,” she finished abruptly, and then left the room as fast as she could.
Vivien hid behind the door as she went out. She had the suspicion that Minerva would not be best pleased about having a witness to that little conversation.
When they were leaving school for the last time, as Professor Dippet was assuring Vivien that if her NEWTs were as satisfactory as he suspected, they would be seeing her back as a teacher next year, Minerva kissed Professor Flitwick’s cheek and promised to Owl him. Professor Flitwick was pink and speechless and incredulous.
She did Owl him, though, even more often than she Owled Vivien. Vivien compared the number of Owls at the staff table the next year. She was a registered Animagus, and she sent Professor Flitwick a picture of herself as a cat.
Professor Flitwick still looked disbelieving when every Owl arrived, but he was starting to look more and more pleased and expectant each time the post came.
Vivien was quite convinced that Minerva was going to get her way. She only wished that she would be able to. It was strange, trying to control students who had been practically her peers.
It was particularly hard to face Tommy, especially as Tommy’s friends had a habit of needing discipline. Tommy had found a whole group of new friends, and Vivien had to admit that she did not like them at all. She thought Tommy might be being influenced for the worse. At one stage during that year, she was fairly certain that she saw him slipping into a girls’ bathroom.
She knew that a little bit of bullying was normal for children, but she also thought the student she saw Tommy and Corny teasing looked far too frightened.
“Ten points off each of you,” she said sternly, writing down their names so she would make sure to remember to deduct them. She was just writing ‘Tommy’ as Tommy widened his sweet blue eyes at her, and she remembered gazing into them and blushed.
“Actually,” he said in his beautifully polite voice, “it’s Tom now.”
“Fine,” Vivien replied between her teeth, and wrote ‘Tom Riddle’ and ‘Cornelius Fudge’, pressing down her quill harder than she needed to. “Honestly, boys,” she added, trying for some gentle humour, “I thought Slytherins were supposed to be the ambitious ones? If you carry on like this, where are you two going to end up?”
Tom gave her his charming smile. “You might be surprised.”
She mentioned her concern to Minerva, and Minerva wrote back that she had always said that he was a creepy little child. Then she carried on with her account of the war.
The war with Grindelwald made everyone jumpier and made the whole world seemed darker, and then the business with the Chamber of Secrets occurred and there was near-mass hysteria.
Especially after Myrtle’s death. Professor Flitwick wandered around valiantly trying to comfort each student at once, and then locked himself in his room and stayed up all night writing a letter to Minerva. She saw the light under his door, and heard the scratching of his quill.
She hoped Minerva would comfort him, and she also took back everything she had ever said about Tom in her Owls to Minerva. He was a tower of strength, the only student who did not seem to be off his head with panic, and the quiet way he assumed duties made him a shoo-in for Head Boy next year.
“A born leader,” Professor Flitwick beamed, so happily confident of the worth of anyone other than himself.
That enormous child, Rubeus Hagrid, was discovered by Tom to be the culprit, and duly expelled. Vivien thought it was so nice of Tom to attest that Rubeus could not have known what he was doing, and to add that the poor child was probably deranged by the loss of his father.
Professor Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick took care that Rubeus should be provided for, and Hogwarts regained a measure of security. And outside, the war still raged.
It was late the next year when the news came of an ultimate battle. Professor Flitwick and Vivien were appointed to stay with the children, and try to protect them if all failed. Every other teacher went to join Professor Dumbledore’s army.
She had Tom and the Head Girl organise the children in the Great Hall, drilled to run for the escape routes. Then they waited, some children trying to sleep, most people just sitting and staring into the night, as if the dim light of the stars in the ceiling above could show them what was happening in a battle miles and miles away.
Professor Flitwick looked sick with fear, which she knew he never would have if he could have been in the battle himself. She reached out at one point and touched his hand.
“She’ll be all right,” she said. “And she will come back.”
Professor Flitwick jumped. “I’m sure I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” he said hastily.
It was dawn when the Owls arrived. Professor Dumbledore had killed Grindelwald in single combat. Most of their side had survived. And there was an Owl from Minerva for Professor Flitwick, too.
Vivien peeked shamelessly at it. It read: ‘Dear Filius, This is your last chance to run to Peru.’
She nudged him, almost oversetting him. “See?” she said. “I told you—Filius.”
The students who left school that year went into a world of peace and shining promise. Vivien went personally to Tom, and wished him the very best in anything he might want to accomplish.
Minerva was appointed Transfigurations teacher, and duly arrived to take her place at the start of term feast. She chose to sit in the seat next to Filius.
She looked older than she should have, after two years of warfare. She had sterner lines around her mouth, and her beautiful black hair was pinned neatly out of the way in case of emergencies. She was wearing emerald green, and her eyes were full of hope.
Filius kept squeaking at odd moments, but Minerva was silent until the meal started, and then Vivien had to strain to hear over the ordinary buzz of conversation.
“Are you happy that I’ve come back?” Minerva asked.
“Well, of course,” Professor Flitwick stammered, his voice going up another octave.
“Do you remember what I told you two years ago?” the new Professor McGonagall continued, still in her low discreet voice.
“Well—I—I—yes,” Filius said, and added quickly: “But of course I would never presume on that. You were very young, and had no experience of the world, and—I do completely understand, Minerva. Please don’t ever dream that I might make your life uncomfortable here with unjustified expectations. I’m aware that I could never dream a young woman like you could—”
Minerva reached over, still very discreetly, and hooked two of her fingers around his.
“Then it’s settled,” she said.
“Do you think it’s really appropriate for teachers to hold hands at the table?” Vivien asked mildly, making her tone a congratulations.
“I’m not,” Minerva answered with her aggressive logic. “I am holding two of his fingers. You like Arithmancy so much, Vivien. Round up the numbers and you’ll see I’m not holding his hand at all.”
She cast an almost mischievous look at Filius, who was bright pink and looked dazed and convinced he was dreaming.
“I did give you a chance to run to Peru,” she told him.
Filius found his voice, and for a wonder this time it didn’t squeak. “My dear Minerva,” he said. “I thought there was almost no chance—and still, nothing could have made me leave Hogwarts while I thought you might come.”
The staff room was filled with the noise of the queue outside, and Vivien thought she had not seen Minerva look this murderous in fifty years.
“Empty-headed little fame grubber,” she said quietly, as the new professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, continued ostentatiously signing autographs.
“Oh now, Minerva,” Filius objected. “I’m sure he’s a lovely chap, under all the—the—well, I’m sure he’s just a bit carried away by all the attention. Imagine, a famous wizard teaching at Hogwarts. It must be thrilling the children.”
“I remember the last time that happened,” Vivien remarked from where she was grading papers. She looked up and grinned at Minerva. “Don’t you, Minnie?”
“I might do,” Minerva conceded. “And don’t call me that.” She pushed her emerald green hat off to one side and glared at the open door, where three students were standing abreast.
“I suppose it must have been very exciting when Professor Dumbledore joined the staff,” Filius said innocently.
Vivien thought she recognised them. They were Slytherin second years called Morag MacDougal, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. She’d heard stories about how they behaved in Minerva’s class. Slytherins really were not what they used to be.
Vivien idly wondered, as she had once or twice, what had become of Tommy Riddle. He had certainly been more impressive than these children. Of course, look what Corny had become…
Little Morag was bouncing up and down, her face flushed with excitement, as Gilderoy signed her textbooks. The two boys were sneering beside her. That was a really dreadful expression on the little blond Malfoy boy’s face. Someone should tell him it might get stuck that way.
“I wonder whether Professor Lockhart has a girlfriend!” Morag whispered, in a piercing hiss she probably fondly imagined was discreet.
Minerva rolled her eyes and said, “And that child calls herself a Scotswoman.”
The undersized Malfoy with the foul expression said, “Don’t be disgusting, Morag. Teachers don’t have love lives.”
Minerva reached a hand across the staff room table, with a small smile.
“How little they know,” she murmured.
Filius went pink.
Vivien Vector turned to her Arithmancy papers, in order to give them some privacy.
Finis
January 26, 2004