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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"Hell, Alastor, even a blind Boggart could see that."
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12 August 1961
It had turned into another unusually hot Balearic summer day, and Minerva begged off going to the beach, claiming the beginnings of a headache.
"You two go on, though," she said. "But mind you don't get overheated."
"Yes, Mother," said Alastor, earning him a grin from Malcolm.
Alastor and the boy went down to the beach and decided to have a walk along the water, letting the cooling waves lap at their ankles and feet as they walked, and he was glad to have a bit of time alone with Malcolm to try to get to know him a little better.
The three of them had relaxed over the past two days. The morning after the first night, Malcolm had flushed when Alastor and Minerva had emerged from the bedroom in their dressing gowns, and Alastor noticed that Minerva hadn't been quite able to look her son in the eye. But the awkwardness seemed to have dissipated, and this morning there had been no blushing or averted eyes, Alastor was pleased to note.
Despite the Colloportus he had cast before they turned out the lights that first night, Minerva had been nervous about making love with Malcolm so close by, and although she had eventually relaxed into the idea when Alastor had spooned up against her and caressed her breasts through her nightdress, she had been far quieter than she usually was. Minerva wouldn't agree, he was certain, but Alastor privately felt that the danger of being caught added a dash of titillation to the proceedings. It reminded him of the few times at school he had sneaked into a disused classroom with Trudie Hopkirk for a bit of snogging and petting. Not that he would share that information with Minerva. Of course, if there were some way to get Minerva into one those old classrooms at Hogwarts ...
Watch yerself, boyo, he thought sternly. You don't want to get a stiffy when you're walking right beside her son. Not when you're practically in yer skivvies.
Malcolm was quiet as they sloshed along, and Alastor reckoned he was thinking about something. He had an inkling what it was but decided to let the boy bring it up in his own good time.
