Before she was Professor McGonagall, she was Minerva Macnair. After an arranged marriage forces her into an impossible situation, Minerva does what she must to survive. When she makes a new life for herself, her secrets follow and threaten everythin...
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"Shit, Moody, you're going to kill him!"
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15 August 1974
Jaysus, but it was hot.
Alastor thrust two fingers under the collar of his Muggle shirt and tugged it away from the sticky skin of his neck.
Across the room, Robards was looking bored and uncomfortable, and Alastor could see his hand moving nervously from the table to his side, where Alastor knew his wand was hidden under the Muggle jacket. He caught Robards's eye and shook his head imperceptibly.
No cooling charms. He'd been very clear about that. The Muggles would notice, even if they didn't see him cast. These endless surveillance gigs were the bane of every Auror's professional life, and this pub was one of the worst. Smelly, cramped ... the place didn't even have a decent bitter. Which was just as well, Alastor supposed. He could only nurse his drink along so far before he'd have to order another, and at least the pixie piss they served here wouldn't get him tight.
But it was so fecking hot.
Alastor looked over at his partner again. He looked like he was about to fall asleep. If he did, Alastor would chew him up one side and down the other. This mission might be tedious, but it was important. He'd followed Fletcher's tracks all over the country, and he'd finally got a break when one of his contacts heard a rumour that Fletcher was hiding in plain sight, in rooms over a Muggle workman's bar in Bethnal Green.
If Alastor nabbed Otho Fletcher, not only would they put a notorious smuggler of Dark objects in Azkaban, but they might also be able to get something on the Lestrange boys, too. Enough to convince Ackerley to put them under surveillance, anyway.
A drop of sweat rolled into Alastor's good eye. It stung, and he swore, blotting at it with a dirty napkin. He blotted the other eye too, for good measure. Gods, but he hated the non-magical prosthesis! He felt naked without his magical eye, but it would have stood out too much, so it was sitting in a pouch in his pocket, doing no one any good.
Never mind. He was twice the man with a wand, even with half the eyes, compared with any Dark wizard. But Alastor would have liked the three-sixty vision his magical eye gave him. Robards was a decent lad, but very green, and Alastor didn't know if he'd be able to spot Fletcher if the bastard was Glamoured up.
