Wisdom

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Wisdom

Chapter One: An Offer

Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.
--Theodore Roosevelt

The Ministry of Magic office was brilliant white and chillingly impersonal. The blank walls were interrupted by the single portrait of an austere man in medieval dress, who blinked solemnly down from his frame. The carpet was a dull, unassuming gray; there were no windows.

In the center of the room was a table. At the table was a chair. And in that chair sat a wizard. He sat and tapped his toe, he stroked his flowing beard, and he waited.

Presently, Minerva McGonagall entered the cold and unfeeling room, her burgundy robes bringing a shocking touch of color, her head held high, her black hair bobbed and held severely in place. Suddenly a smile crossed her face, and she walked to the table.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Her delighted words echoed around the small room. "When they said someone wanted me here, they didn't mention it was you!"

"It's nice to see you again, Miss McGonagall. But I'm not here just to pay a call. Sit down."

She sat across from him. "Professor, if I may pry, why are you here? And what do you want with me?"

Dumbledore sighed, peering at her through his half-moon glasses. "Minerva, you're a smart young woman. I'm sure you're aware of the current situation in Britain, in both our world and in that of the Muggles."

Minerva McGonagall nodded.

"We are losing the fight against Grindelwald and his followers, the Morsdrodars. We have reason to believe that he has allied himself with the Muggle Hitler and is directing him to persecute Muggle-born witches and wizards in Germany. Together, they will be unstoppable. We are losing the war badly. We need help. We need you, Minerva."

"I've told you, Professor," the young woman replied, "I can't. I'm going to be a teacher."

"Hear me out, young lady. If someone doesn't do something soon -- if the Dark war doesn't take a turn for the better -- then we are lost. You are the most promising Transfiguration student I've seen in years, and you were a formidable force in Defense Against the Dark Arts as well. You're one of the most talented witches to attend Hogwarts in some time. And you are very competent when it comes to the practical application of method. I am fully aware that you will find a teaching job, and presumably sooner, rather than later. But not now. We need you to help us, Minerva."

Minerva shook her head. "Professor, I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else. I know there are no openings at Hogwarts, but I've been applying in Ireland and America. I just can't, but I'm sure someone else would... Please. Just try to understand."

The older man sighed and looked resigned. "I'm listening, Minerva."

"Professor, you know about what happened to my mother." Albus Dumbledore nodded. "I've wanted to teach since I was five years old and went to school for the first time. I've wanted to teach forever, even when I thought I was just a Muggle. Over the years, I've wanted to do other things -- when I was twelve I wanted to be a nurse at St. Mungo's; when I was thirteen I wanted to be the first woman Minister of Magic. But even then, I knew that I was going to teach. It just played second fiddle to my other dreams. And then, when I was a fourth-year, I had Professor Leale, and after that -- I knew." Her voice grew slightly hysterical. "I just can't imagine myself doing anything else..."

"There is a time for that," Dumbledore replied, his voice still calm, but his eyes like steel. "There will be a time for you to live that dream, Miss McGonagall. But it is not now! Not now, do you understand? We need you. We need a young person with your energy, with your knowledge of Transfiguration, with your abilities -- yes, with your expertise! We have enough trained Aurors; we're never going to need any more trained Aurors if this keeps up! We need a spy. We need an Animagus."

Ah, that had captured her attention. Minerva leaned forward, suddenly interested. "An Animagus?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a smile, "an Animagus. You and I both know that you are perfectly suited to that sort of work."

"No. I won't do it. You can't bribe me like that; I won't." Minerva set her chin stubbornly, her mouth a thin line.

"Minerva." Dumbledore's voice was quiet and grave. "If things continue as they are, there will not be a Hogwarts at which you can teach." He was silent for a moment, letting that sink in, and then continued, "You do understand, don't you, Miss McGonagall?"

"Yes," the young woman said heavily. "Yes, I understand. What do you want me to do?"

To his credit, Dumbledore did not gloat. "Excellent. I can't give you any more information until you've passed tests -- required, the routine, you know. I will see you again, once your credentials have been cleared. Be patient. It might take some time.

"And now I must hurry back to Hogwarts; I have been gone long enough. I thank you, Miss McGonagall, for your time. I promise you won't regret your decision." And with that, he strode briskly from the room. Minerva followed him through the door, then watched from the hallway window until he left the Ministry grounds and Disapparated -- presumably returning to Hogwarts. Minerva walked back to her small secretarial office with her thoughts far, far away. Had she made a mistake, deferring her lifelong dream? But she heard Dumbledore's voice saying, "I promise you won't regret your decision," and somehow, she thought she wouldn't.

* * *

Minerva waited anxiously for a week -- which became a fortnight -- which slowly but relentlessly evolved into a month.

Over the past two years, she had become accustomed to scrutinizing every owl, hoping that it brought acceptance of her teaching application and a release from her job as a Ministry secretary. Now, however, she watched for a different reason, hoping that each might bring word from Dumbledore and his mysterious group. But each owl was always winging its way to London for a different reason, and Minerva began to wonder if Dumbledore's offer had been genuine.

Finally, three days before Halloween, she was shoving papers and quills into her bag before leaving when a sharp knock sounded at the door. "Come in," she called, grabbing her cloak and closing a drawer in her desk.

The door opened to reveal a tall, thin woman with brown hair and a terse expression. "Minerva McGonagall? I am Janice Perkins. Dumbledore sent me. Come this way." And, without waiting for a reply, she turned away and walked down the corridor.

Minerva bewilderedly followed her.

Janice Perkins led her through twisting halls and in and out of small rooms until Minerva was completely confused. Finally, she stopped before a large suit of armor.

"Password?" it inquired creakily.

"Prometheus," replied Janice, pronouncing each syllable carefully. The suit stepped to the side, revealing a small chamber. Two overstuffed armchairs and a table left little room to stand, and a fire crackled merrily in one corner.

"Have a seat," Janice said frostily, grabbing a folder from the table, her manicured nails clicking "We need to check your records, and the quicker we finish this, the better. Stop me to correct any mistakes."

"You are Minerva Elizabeth McGonagall, born August 29, 1923 in Muggleswick, England, to Ewan McGonagall, Muggle, and Silvia Gladstone, witch?" Minerva nodded, waiting for the flicker of recognition that usually accompanied her mother's name, but Janice's face remained a cultivated deadpan and her voice professional and impassive. "You have one brother, Benjamin, a Muggle; your wand is cherrywood and phoenix feather, eleven inches; you are five feet, seven inches tall and weigh one hundred and thirty-six pounds. You attended Hogwarts from 1934 through 1941, where you were in Gryffindor house. You were eventually the Gryffindor prefect and were Head Girl in your seventh year. For the past two years, you have been working as the assistant secretary to Anthony Griswold, sub-department head for the Department of Mysteries. Is all of that correct?"

"Yes."

"Good. Open your mouth." Janice extracted a vial of clear liquid from a drawer in the table and placed a drop on Minerva's tongue. "Was all the information in your records correct?"

"Yes." Minerva's mouth opened of its own accord and the word came out. She realized that the liquid must be a sort of truth potion.

"Do you, or have you ever, worked for Grindelwald and his Morsdrodars, or any other group that breaks ethical and moral codes and endangers wizardkind?"

"No." Being under a truth potion was eerie. She didn't even have to wait for the question to register in her mind before her mouth opened by itself and responded.

"Do you plan to ever work for such a group?"

"No."

"Do you plan to remain true to Dumbledore and our Order?"

"Yes."

"Good." Janice removed a mug of strong-smelling liquid from a cupboard and handed it to Minerva. "You're clear. Drink this -- it's an antidote for the potion -- then come with me." She exited into the hallway, walked a few paces, then whispered a password to a portrait of Godric Gryffindor. It opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore sitting at a desk in a small stone room. "Professor Dumbledore, sir? She's cleared. Passed the Veritaserum test."

"With flying colors, I presume, just as she passed all her tests at Hogwarts." Dumbledore smiled and led the two into a spacious area filled with armchairs and diagrams. At the end of a large table sat Dumbledore's phoenix, which immediately flew over to Minerva. She smiled; she remembered Fawkes from her stint as Head Girl. "Sit down, Minerva, and I will endeavor to explain our little organization. You won't know of all of it, of course. The less you know, the less you can be forced to tell." Minerva nodded; that made sense. "But, with that behind us, we are the Order of the Phoenix. As you know, the phoenix bursts into flames when its body begins to fail -- then rises again from the ashes. Like the phoenix, we rise from the ashes, usually the ashes of death and destruction, when we are needed.

"The Order of the Phoenix is old and distinguished. Merlin's phoenix Prometheus was the inspiration for the beginning. Wizards who were especially honored in their fight against Dark magic received one of Prometheus's feathers as their prize. The Order of the Phoenix quickly became the highest honor for wizardkind -- much like our Order of Merlin today. The witches and wizards in the Order of the Phoenix banded together to fight darkness and oppression throughout time. As the Order of Merlin came into greater use, and the Order of the Phoenix was quickly forgotten, it became the name for an elite group fighting for Light magic, rather than an honor bestowed upon extraordinary witches and wizards. At the time, it was made mostly of Aurors -- or Luminaries, as they were called -- and whenever a Dark wizard began his rise, the Order would be there to fight, helping to achieve a victory for the good witches and wizards.

"We are Aurors; we are spies; but we are also researchers and Seers and Potions experts and accountants and journalists and lawyers. We have Magical Creatures experts in our ranks, alongside the Herbologists and Quidditch players. The Order is a worldwide and vast organization; I believe there are about two hundred of us..."

"Two hundred and seventeen, counting Minerva," Janice corrected.

"Yes, thank you, Janice. Two hundred and seventeen, of us about seventy-five in Britain -- I don't need the exact figure, Janice -- working against Grindelwald.

"And now, I presume, you have questions?"

Minerva's head was spinning with them. "Does the Ministry know about the -- the Order?"

"Yes. They help us when they can. It depends on the situation."

"Will I keep my job, then?"

"No, we'll pay you. Janice will work out the contracts later this week."

"And -- Professor -- how can you do this, and teach at Hogwarts at the same time?"

"One of the other professors teaches classes when I can't make it. Times are chaotic, and mysterious absences are not as unusual as they were during your time at Hogwarts. The students know a little -- they know that I'm doing something in the fight against Grindelwald, but nothing else. Although I would like to trust them all implicitly, I fear that I cannot.

"Which brings me to the last thing I must tell you. You have heard, I presume, about the attacks at Hogwarts last year?"

"Yes, I heard some. My friend, Tessa Clowbridge, has a brother who's a fifth-year this year. She told me about it. Tragic."

"Very. So you know, then, that Rubeus Hagrid was expelled for opening the Chamber of Secrets?" Dumbledore inquired, gazing at her intently.

Minerva's eyes opened wide. "No... I hadn't heard. But Rubeus? He's a Gryffindor! I never thought -- I mean, it couldn't be him -- he wouldn't..."

"You knew him?" asked Dumbledore.

"A little. He was in my House, and I had to know who all the students were, as a Prefect. I tutored him in Transfiguration once or twice. But -- he couldn't have done it, he just couldn't have --" She stopped. Rubeus, a large bear of a boy, outshone everyone in Care of Magical Creatures. He meant well, but he sometimes showed a serious lack of common sense. Could he have released the monster by mistake? "It just doesn't seem possible."

"Yes, I thought so, too. But people were terrified -- did you hear that Headmaster Dippet was considering closing the school? -- and they wanted a scapegoat. If you didn't know Rubeus well, he would seem a likely suspect."

"Who turned him in?" Minerva asked suddenly.

"Tom Riddle, now a sixth year-Slytherin House. Probably the most brilliant student I have ever taught; he'll surely be Head Boy next year."

"And you think..."

"Just keep your eyes open. And now, let me introduce to some of your coworkers. I think there are still a few flitting around. Arabella? Are you here? Anthony? Pandora? Anyone else?"

Several people walked into the room. "Ah. You've already met Janice -- she's our bookkeeper and secretary, and our Arithmancy expert. This is Mrs. Arabella Figg." Arabella was a short, smiling witch, about ten years older than Minerva. Her face was freckled, and her green eyes sparkled behind glasses. "She's our Charms specialist, along with being our housekeeper. We're a little short on people, I'm afraid. Arabella's going to attempt the Animagus transformation as well. I hope you two can work together."

Minerva smiled. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise!" Arabella gripped Minerva's hand in a firm handshake.

Dumbledore gestured next to an ancient man standing beside him. "Anthony Ollivander, our Herbology expert. His cousin, Rodney, carries on the family business at Ollivander's wands. Anthony procures the wood. You know, it must be taken from a live tree to be effective."

"Minerva." Anthony gave her a penetrating stare. "An apt name."

"My mother loved Muggle mythology."

"Use your wisdom well." He turned his craggy face away, and Minerva involuntarily shivered. Mr. Ollivander was as uncanny as his cousin, if not worse.

"Pandora's on assignment," Arabella said, "but Bilius and Louise are here."

"Yes, I see. This is Bilius Weasley, expert on Divination; and his wife Louise, a mediwitch and our liaison with St. Mungo's. She's also our Muggle Studies expert." Bilius was a tall young man with a shock of brilliant red hair. By contrast, Louise was a small, mousy woman with a quick and ready smile. Pleasantries and handshakes were exchanged.

"All right, I'd best head back to Hogwarts. One last thing." He extracted a box from his robes. "This is your kit, Minerva. Keep it with you always." Minerva studied it curiously. The "kit" was small and tin, with a fiery feather engraved on the top. "It's a seven-lock box. Have you ever heard of those?"

"Each layer is unlocked with a different key," she recited, "and each layer can hold different things. The seventh and last lock usually holds the most precious or dangerous materials, and sometimes needs a spell, password, or special key to unlock it."

"Excellent. In our case, you open the last layer with a password -- it's 'luminary,' by the way -- and a key. The keys are carved from dragon scales. You can never duplicate a dragon scale key. The first layer of the box contains basic equipment -- medicines and so forth. Here are the keys; go ahead and open the second layer." Inside it were a Sneakoscope, a small mirror, a map, and a golden ring. "I'll not trouble you by showing you everything in all the layers, but it is you need to learn the uses of the ring before you leave tonight.

"This -- the headquarters for the Order -- is Unplottable. You can't find it on any map, and you can't even see it if you don't know it's here, much like Hogwarts, or the Leaky Cauldron. I know that some parts of the Ministry often have Apparation wards set up as well. It's nearly impossible to find the Headquarters by going through the passageways, so we have devised this method. This ring is a substitute for Apparation or Portkeys. If you twist it clockwise, while saying Appareo continuo -- it's a derivative of the spell for Apparation -- you will automatically be transported here. Once you put the ring on, it will mold to your finger. You can only remove it with a special key, and the key is only available under certain circumstances. The ring will be on your finger, if not for eternity, then at least for a long while.

"Finally, you have to pass an examination to become a member of the Order. You will take it in about a month; we will help you to prepare. It is challenging, but I am sure you will pass.

"And now I think I'll let you go home -- unless you'd like to join us for dinner? No? Well, I'll see you here at eight o'clock sharp on Monday morning. I suggest that you read the Order manual thoroughly. It's in the third layer of your kit. The door is through the entryway and to the left. Goodbye, Minerva." The other members echoed his farewells as Minerva waved, pulled her cloak around her shoulders, and stepped out into the chilly October air.

She chose to walk home rather than Apparate. The stars shone clearly in the dark London sky, and trees were dropping their leaves onto her head. It was difficult for her to believe that only the night before, she had crossed the crowded street onto the Ministry Apparation grounds and appeared instantly in her flat. That was during the time of her boring secretarial job, months and months of waiting. Before she'd waited for Dumbledore's message, she'd waited to hear from schools around the world, hoping that someone would offer her a teaching job. Now she was about to begin a new life, a life of intrigue, mystery, and danger.

Minerva felt a thrill run up her spine at the prospect of excitement. She'd never really known danger. She had been born after the Great Muggle War; her mother's murder had happened miles away from their home in Muggleswick, and the family's subsequent move to Glasgow had sheltered the children from the intrigue surrounding the killing. Her years at Hogwarts had been enjoyable but tame, with the most dangerous occurrences being the occasional prank by a Slytherin or an especially dirty game of Quidditch.

Now, more than ever, she was convinced that she'd made the right choice. More than anything, Minerva had always wanted to be useful. She'd wanted to change things by teaching, something that her friend Amelia had never understood. Amelia Tabor, an impetuous Gryffindor girl with long black ringlets, had wanted to change the world as well -- but she wanted to do so by being the Minister of Magic; by developing a breakthrough in Potions or Charms; not to change the world by molding the minds of those who might one day change it.

Ironically, Amelia was currently working for the Floo Regulation Panel, while Minerva was going to fight Grindelwald. Moving briskly to keep herself warm, she hurried back to her flat, charged with a strange exhilaration at the thought of the days ahead. She felt young and inexperienced already, but she looked forward to learning everything. And then -- she could become an Animagus, working tirelessly against the Morsdrodars. It would be thrilling; it would be dangerous. She could hardly wait.

* * *

By the end of the next week, Minerva had a tremendous headache. She'd learned so much that she thought her brain would explode. She'd almost memorized the entire handbook, from the Prologue (A History of the Order of the Phoenix) to Chapter Fifteen (What To Do If You Are Captured) to the Afterward (Where will the Order go Next?) and the Appendix (A Selective List of the Order's Passwords, Portkeys, and Persona). She and Arabella had spent hours in the Grand Ministry Library, the largest collection of books in Britain, learning arcane spells and warfare tactics. Arabella was studying Muggle history as part of her latest project, and having trouble with it.

"I just don't understand the Great Muggle War!" she finally exclaimed in exasperation. "What on Earth were they fighting about?"

"Here, I'll show you." Minerva began explaining rapidly, doodling diagrams on a sheet of paper. "There. Is that better?"

"Yes, I think," Arabella replied dubiously. "Where'd you learn all this, anyway? What have they done to the Muggle Studies curriculum at Hogwarts? I was there during the Great Muggle War, and we didn't learn any of this stuff!"

"I learned it in Muggle school," Minerva explained. "And my dad fought in the Great War, so I had to hear about it all the time." She rolled her eyes. "Every family dinner it was 'Tell us your stories, Ewan!' I think I could probably recite them."

"You went to Muggle school? But -- I would have thought -- Silvia Gladstone's daughter..."

"Who's Silvia Gladstone's daughter?" an obnoxious voice yelled from the shelves behind them.

Arabella rolled her eyes. "Anita Brackleburg," she muttered. "She's one of our top spies, but she always forgets that she's not supposed to get information out of us. She was probably eavesdropping. I'll fend her off somehow."

"No, I don't mind," Minerva reassured her. "I am!" she called.

Anita Brackleburg was a tall, slender woman with a heap of black hair. "Really? What was it like? Why don't you tell me the story?"

Minerva laughed a strained laugh. "You probably know the story better than I do. I was only four, after all." Anita looked questioningly at Arabella.

"No, I haven't pumped her for information!" Arabella replied irritably.

"Fine." Anita sniffed. "Well, I'm sure it's an interesting perspective to hear the story from her."

Minerva sighed and began. "I didn't even know most of this until I went to Hogwarts. But my mum worked with the Experimental Potions department at the Ministry -- that's the branch in Edinburgh. We lived in a little village, Muggleswick, about a hundred miles away. Well, anyway, mum was going outside at the office for some reason --"

"Getting Potions ingredients for the Werewolf Aid Potion she was working on," Anita corrected. "Everyone thought it was a pipe dream, but she proved it could be done. We're probably years and years away from perfecting it, but --"

"Yes," Minerva continued hurriedly, "to get Potions ingredients. And this lunatic --"

"Actually, he was an insane anarchist. Alexander Burmont. He'd been hospitalized at Glasgow General Magical Hospital for years."

"Anyway, Alexander Burmont had a vengeance against the Ministry," Minerva said loudly. "And he managed to make it from the hospital to the nearest Ministry, which happened to be the Edinburgh one, and attacked the first witch he saw there, who happened to be my mum. He killed her."

"They both Stunned each other at the same time, but she hit her head on the pavement and died instantly, you mean," Anita corrected. "And Silvia was given the Order of Merlin, Third Class posthumously for her groundbreaking work with Potions."

Minerva sighed. "I told you that you know the story better than I do."

"Yes, but what happened next?" Anita asked anxiously. "What happened to you? Do you have mental scars?" She scrutinized Minerva closely.

"My father packed my little brother -- he was two -- and me -- I was four -- off to Glasgow to be near his Muggle family. I always knew my mum was a witch, but no one ever believed me if I told them, so I just forgot about it. My dad let me go to Hogwarts when I got the letter."

"Oh." Anita sounded disappointed. "Well, I suppose it's still fascinating."

"My mum's trunk is still in my dad's attic," Minerva offered helpfully. "If I run across anything new, I'll tell you."

"Thanks." Anita picked up A History of Magical Warfare Tactics and walked off. "See you two later. Good luck with the work."

Arabella laughed. "You poor thing. She'll be prying into your life all the time now -- dog's names, cat's name, mother's aunt's name, last thing she cooked... Anita's awfully harmless really -- just curious -- and she's an excellent spy, but I keep telling David -- that's my husband -- to just offer her a job at the Prophet and get her out of our hair!" She scowled down at her book. "Now who was the Archduke Whatchamacallit again?"

"Expecto Patronum," Minerva muttered in reply. "Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum. I think I can remember how to do this. D'you think Grindelwald has an army of Dementors and Lethifolds or something?"

"Dementors, no. The Ministry keeps them all under close watch. We don't know about Lethifolds, though. He could have them under the Imperius curse, commanding them to hurt his enemies.... Anything's possible." Arabella shivered. "We're going to be spies, remember, not Aurors. We shouldn't have to face those things."

"You trained as an Auror, though, didn't you?" asked Minerva, now trying to learn the Apertio charm ("for the Opening of Walls and other such Things which may be Necessary") from an eighteenth-century book.

"Yes. I was with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement until Dumbledore tracked me down, and that's where I'll probably go once this is over. But because I liked Charms and such, he thought I'd be a better Animagus."

"So you're going to do this once -- once we've won?"

"Yes, of course. It's all I've ever really liked to do. Aren't you staying afterwards?"

"No. I'm going to teach," Minerva said firmly. "If I survive the Order exam, that is -- even the NEWTs weren't this bad!"

"It's hard at first," Arabella replied sympathetically. "Just wait until we start the Animagus research! I've heard it's terrible. We could always skive off and go to Diagon Alley this afternoon," she suggested. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Minerva! We'll stay here and work." Minerva had pursed her lips and looked sternly at Arabella. It was a look her students would one day learn to dread. "You'll be a great teacher, I think!"

Minerva laughed good-naturedly.

* * *

As the weeks progressed, Minerva crammed her head with knowledge. She could open locked doors, find secret chambers, resist most curses, kill a Lethifold, foil a Sphinx, drive back a Dementor. She honed her Transfiguration skills, staying up late into the night practicing human-animal transformations. She learned about magical artifacts until she could see in a Foe-Glass, travel with a Time-Turner, and befuddle a Moving Door. She practiced flying and Apparating; invisibility and Portkey creating; because "a true Auror is always prepared. Like the Phoenix, you should rise to the occasion (Order handbook, page 6)."

She also met many of her fellow Aurors. Ermitrude Green was a short witch with narrow fingers like chicken bones and an unabashed passion for Quodpot. Jackson Elliot, who sounded like his name was backwards, was small and lithe, with elfin features and a quick, lopsided smile. Dwayne Jones, an American member, was staggeringly tall with broad shoulders and a deep, stentorian voice. (When he was transferred back to the States, owls bearing loving epistles pursued him. Minerva, however, scorned such activities.) Celia Englewood was tiny, quick, and sparkling, cherishing Muggle movies and possessing a quirky sense of humor. Everyone and everything was new and delightful to Minerva, who had always pictured Aurors as uniformly tall and mysterious, and was remotely surprised to find that they were not.

She was equally surprised to learn that not all Aurors were as pleasant and smiling as Arabella, or as easygoing as Louise. Rowena Ward pompously announced that she was named after a Hogwarts founder; Pernicia Grind's constant, biting sarcasm endeared her to no one. But overall, Minerva found the work fascinating and her coworkers. pleasant.

Her studies could be almost too fascinating; she was beginning to feel overworked. Minerva knew by now that she was the youngest member of the Order, and she felt that she had tremendous expectations to live up to.

"Minerva, do you want to eat at the Leaky Cauldron with us?" Bilius Weasley asked one day as he left. "Everyone's going."

"I'm really sorry, Bill -- I just can't." She glanced at the growing pile of books with dismay. "I take the exam in two weeks -- I still have to finish Encyclopedia of Dark Magic and I haven't even started Twelve Essential Auror Artifacts!"

Bill frowned. "Too much work clouds the Inner Eye, you know. You need a break."

Minerva shrugged ambiguously, waited until he was gone, the muttered, "Inner Eyes. What medieval rubbish." She hated to admit that Bilius was right, but she knew he was. She was collapsing, near tears, in the wee hours of the morning. She still had five charms to master before the examination. She felt hysterical, always on the verge of collapse; she would need a Time-Turner soon if she kept working at her present pace.

With that in mind, she went home and fell into bed, reading a novel instead of the Auror handbook. She felt vaguely ashamed of herself, but Minerva placed great value upon common sense. And although she valued hard work, bravery, and intelligence immediately behind it, she realized that working herself to death wouldn't do anyone any good. When she heard the clock strike midnight, for once it was only in her dreams.

* * *

The night before the exam, though, was a different matter. Minerva had taken many important tests during her time at Hogwarts: the Magical Aptitude Examination in her first year (abolished during her third, which she considered unfair); the O.W.L.s. in her fifth year; the NEWTs in her seventh; the Apparation test immediately after leaving Hogwarts. But failing this test would mean a Memory Charm and a rejection into her drab job at the Ministry, filing papers from dawn till dusk. It would mean losing Arabella and Bilius; Louise and Celia; it would mean Janice's icy disapproval. And it would mean failing Professor Dumbledore.

That would be the worst of all -- failing Dumbledore, her favorite teacher at Hogwarts, for whom she had the utmost respect. And in failing him, she would fail Professor Leale -- stern, loving Dorothy Leale, her role model, who had been killed by Dark wizards only four years ago.

Minerva breathed deeply, trying to remember Chapter Twenty-Three: Dueling Regulations and Helpful Hints. Panicky, she realized that she couldn't. She would fail; she would never become a member of the Order. She needed a Sedating Potion. No, that would make her oversleep. She needed to talk to her friend Theodora -- calm, unruffled Teddie. But even Teddie couldn't really understand what was going on here; that would mean telling Teddie everything, and she knew she couldn't do that. She needed to scream. No, that would wake the neighbors. She needed to take a flight.

With this last thought, Minerva sprang from her desk and grabbed a tartan cloak; then seized her Silver Arrow recklessly, knowing that it wasn't safe to fly over London during wartime -- and, astonishingly, not caring. She never took chances, except in Quidditch. She never acted on impulse; she believed in the beauty of long, solid thinking and planning. But that night, she followed her impulses and soared into the starry night.

Flying always cleared Minerva's mind. The moment she soared above the rooftops, carefully casting a spell of invisibility, everything seemed to fall into place. Looking down on the rooftops, her problems seemed small and inconsequential. She skimmed the treetops, keeping a sharp eye for German planes (Rule #44: It is the duty of any witch or wizard who sees Muggles in danger to prevent the incident from occurring, if this can be accomplished without attracting undue attention.) She flew aimlessly for nearly an hour, then turned east and flew until she could see the Thames as a thin black line on the horizon.

When she returned home, Minerva could recite chapter twenty-three flawlessly.

She took the test the next morning, writing surely and quickly. In the afternoon, she fidgeted, Apparating from her flat to Diagon Alley and back. She finally gave up all pretense of occupation and transported herself to the Headquarters, appearing in Dumbledore's office. He smiled.

"Butterbeer, Minerva? I was just having some myself."

"No, thank you," she said stiffly, wondering whether she should attempt polite conversation. She found that she could not. "Have you graded my test?"

"Minerva, I have not. I have been teaching, then visited Hogsmeade with the students. However, I believe Alastor Moody, one of our Aurors, has. You may find him down the hall."

Alastor Moody was older than Minerva but younger than Dumbledore, although it was hard to guess his age because his face was marked with scars. Minerva shivered. If all Aurors looked like this, perhaps it wasn't too early to back out.

"Constant vigilance!" he roared, making her jump. "I could have done any number of things to you while you gaped! Never walk in on an unknown with your guard down! What do you want?"

"You were grading my test," Minerva said surely; although they weren't off to a fantastic start, she couldn't let Moody intimidate her. "I wanted to know if I could see my score."

"Yes, here it is." He handed her the paper, now covered in red ink. "I'm an Auror, not a bloody professor. Don't know what Dumbledore thinks he's doing. You did pretty well, McGonagall. Shame to waste that sort of talent on teaching." Minerva's back stiffened at his last words, wishing she could make someone realize that teaching wouldn't be a waste of her abilities. As she turned to leave, he yelled, "Constant vigilance! Always remember that! Constant vigilance!"

Once out of his office, she began to read the test. Moody hadn't written the score until the last page, and charmed it to appear only when she had read all of his corrections. He had dissected her answers, scribbling over them until they were almost invisible. As she carefully read each of his comments, her apprehension grew. Moody was obviously an incredible Auror. Did he think that she could be one too?

Page upon page of red scrawls and her own neat black printing; finally (her heart was in her mouth), a large red percentage.

Ninety-four percent. And underneath it, in Moody's sprawling script, "Welcome to the Order. Excellent job."

Minerva was exhilarated. She wanted to jump into the air and scream with joy, but she reminded herself that, as the youngest member of the Order, a certain amount of composure was required. Instead, she contented herself with a grin, carefully holding the paper as if it might explode, and walked to Dumbledore's office.

He twinkled at her. "Wonderfully done, Minerva. Alastor had high praise for you, and he rarely has a kind word for anyone. I, for one, am impressed. Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."

"Thank you, Professor."

"No, that won't do -- we are coworkers. now, after all. I believe you should call me Albus."

"Thank you, Albus, then." Fawkes trilled approvingly. "And, if I may ask, what should I do now? I mean, I've passed the test and everything -- should I keep reporting to you? Or go to someone else? I'm willing to do whatever you need --"

He cut her off. "Minerva, unless I am gravely mistaken, you are ready to become an Animagus."

Minerva could only nod and smile, her eyes wide with anticipation. She had begun her work at last.