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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"No more bloody 'I'm sorrys'."
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24 June 1995
Alastor was unsurprised at the knock on his door. He'd been expecting Dumbledore to appear for a debriefing, although he hadn't expected him quite so soon. He had managed to wheedle some of what had happened that evening from Poppy Pomfrey, refusing to take any of her blasted potions unless she told him. And then he'd refused anyway.
The knock came again.
He moved slowly to the door, fumbling in his pocket for the magical eye. He popped it into his head. It whizzed and swirled as if possessed and refused to focus on the door long enough for him to get a look at the person standing on the other side of it. Cursing Crouch for the millionth time, he plucked the eye out, spat on it and rubbed it against his robes, then stuck it back into the socket. It was calmer, like a Crup puppy that had been chastised, but it still didn't show him anything more than a hazy silhouette standing in the shadows of the corridor outside his rooms.
There was another knock, louder this time, but before he could demand that the caller identify himself, a voice said, "Alastor, it's Minerva."
He stepped back. His mouth was suddenly dry, and he couldn't speak.
"Alastor?"
A chill ran through him.
Could be one of them.
"Alastor, please answer."
It sounded like her, but spells to change a voice weren't hard for someone who knew what he or she was doing.
So the question was, should he open the door and try to figure it out, or ignore her ... or whoever it was? The prospect of opening the door made his bowels go loose, but the idea of sending her away without telling her he was sorry gave him an ache in the centre of his chest that he suspected would never entirely leave him.
"I'm not leaving until you at least speak to me, Alastor Moody."
The tone was Minerva's, but anyone who'd sat in her classroom for more than a few minutes could probably imitate it.
