A Slant-Told Tale | Minerva McGonagall

Chapter Thirty-Five

And those shirts!

She was supposed to have met Malcolm at her parents' home for an early lunch, then gone on to London with him for matinee of Much Ado About Nothing at the Aldwych. Instead, she'd sat for three hours in an MLE interrogation room, dodging Barty Crouch's questions about the significance of the golden phoenix emblem those two overgrown children had charmed onto their shirts. What part of "secret organisation" did they not understand?

For them, this war was another game, an excuse for them to put off growing up in favour of behaving like the spoilt children they'd been at school. If Lupin had been with them, this latest stunt never would have happened, but as luck would have it, yesterday had been the full moon. Remus was a dose of just what Black and Potter needed, but why he put up with them was an enduring mystery. They clearly didn't give a hang about him, except as the brains of their trio. Had Black even thought once about what it would have meant for their friend had that little sixth-year prank succeeded and Remus had injured or even killed the Snape boy? Of course not. Thank Merlin James had stopped it at the last moment. Too bad he hadn't shown the same good sense yesterday.

Minerva was writing up a report for Albus on the incident when there was a knock at her door. It wasn't the Headmaster; she would have felt the shift in the castle's wards. The only other person in residence at Hogwarts over the summer was Hagrid, and he never came to her quarters.

Alastor's harangues about safety buzzed in her head, and she drew her wand.

"Who is it?"

"It's Malcolm, Mum."

She opened the door, and, indeed, there was her son. She couldn't bring herself to challenge him, constant vigilance be damned, so she pulled him into the room and hugged him.

He kissed her cheek, and she said, "You're supposed to be at the theatre."

"I made Gran and Granddad go."

"Och, I can't believe you persuaded your grandfather to go to London."

"Gran and I wore him down."

"But why didn't you go? You've been aching to see some good theatre, you said."

"Yes, but it wasn't going to be the same without you, so I thought we might go another time. I'll be here a week."

He put his bag down on the floor next to the coat rack.

"I take it things didn't go well at the Ministry," he said, nodding at the bottle on the table.

"I was rather annoyed at having to be there instead of with my son, whom I haven't seen in four months," Minerva said as she went to pour Malcolm a bit of whiskey.

"It's all right," Malcolm said. "I took the opportunity to visit Alastor."

The warmth that suffused her at hearing his name was a strong as it had ever been, but Minerva was careful not to betray any emotion other than idle curiosity as she handed Malcolm his glass.

"Oh? And how is he keeping?"

"Fine, I guess," Malcolm said. "But he almost hexed me when I got to the door. His wards are ... well, they're unusual."

"How so?"

"They have some kind of Sticking Charm—you can't move after you hit the third step. So I was standing there like a prat, and he yelled all kinds of questions through the door. I thought I'd passed the test, but when he opened up, his wand was pointing in my face, and he did a bunch of spells I didn't recognise to make sure I wasn't Polyjuiced or Imperiused."