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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"I never knew you at all, did I?"
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21 September 1974
The flat was dark.
Minerva frowned and put her hand on her wand.
Alastor might simply have fallen asleep waiting for her, although at least a few candles should still be burning, and she would have expected him to wait up. She always waited for him when he was late—waited and tried not to worry, tried not let visions of him lying broken and alone in a field somewhere take up ominous residence in her thoughts. The idea that Alastor Moody had been relaxed enough to have gone to sleep before she arrived—more than two hours later than he'd have expected her—was laughable.
Hand still on her wand, she touched the knob, and the familiar warmth passed through her as the wards shifted to permit her to enter. She stepped into the dark hallway, debating leaving the lights off, but she decided that if anyone was lurking in the shadows to attack her, he or she already knew Minerva was there, so she called out, "Alastor?" before lighting the candles with a flick of her wrist.
There was no answer, and a chill went through her.
Ridiculous, she chid herself. He's just gone out.
At half past ten?
To the pub, then.
But Alastor never went to the pub. Other than a pint or two on a weekend afternoon or a glass of wine with dinner, he didn't drink except when work or social obligation demanded it.
Until recently, anyway.
She had no idea what he'd been doing with his days since he'd been suspended from duty, but she couldn't help noticing the flask that had appeared at his side the one time she'd convinced him to go out for a walk with her. He'd wanted her to notice it, she thought; it was a challenge, to see what she might say about it. But she'd said nothing. Instead, she listened to his rages and, increasingly and more disturbingly, his black Irish silences, thankful when August had wound to a close and she could return to Hogwarts accompanied by a pang of guilt at leaving him to his own devices in a small flat with little but brooding and drinking to occupy his time.
