June Week

I: Secrets And Spies

Discuss the impact of magic on the reign of Elizabeth Tudor (1533-1603). In what ways did she use magic to better the lot of her people and bolster her political status? How did she influence popular attitudes about magic? How did she address accusations that she herself was a witch, and which of her advisers knew that the accusations were, in fact, true? Use at least three supporting examples from lecture notes and text for each point.

Minerva McGonagall sat in the Hogwarts library, struggling to keep her attention on the open History Of Magic book in front of her. For the last week, she'd been studying obsessively and sleeping perhaps three hours a night, and it was beginning to catch up to her. She felt slow and stupid with fatigue -- even the simplest tasks, like lacing her boots or writing her name, seemed to take forever. All her meals tasted like ashes. And earlier that morning, she'd nearly been overcome by a vast grey wave of drowsiness that had risen up out of nowhere and threatened to fell her right where she stood. She'd had to stop in the hallway and lean against a wall while she fought it off.

Three more days to go till the N.E.W.T.s. They were killing her. She needed to do well even more urgently than most of the other seventh-years -- she'd run through the small amount of money her father had left her, and would have to find work somewhere the instant she finished school. If she muffed these exams, she would be serving butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, not teaching or working for the Ministry. She'd have little choice, though; after seven years of spending alternating summer and winter holidays with her cousins in Aberdeen and her half-senile uncle in Carrickfergus, she felt she'd worn out her welcome everywhere she had relatives. Professor Dumbledore would be willing to help her, but she just couldn't bear to accept any more assistance from him. He'd been slipping her pocket money for a few months now, which was bad enough. She felt smaller and guiltier with every coin that passed from his hands to hers.

Topping it all off, of course, was the fact that N.E.W.T.s for Hogwarts students had been postponed this year. If it weren't for the wretched Chamber of Secrets, the exams would already be behind her. Well, she had no right to complain about that. She'd survived the incident, not like that poor second-year girl.

Her head was growing terribly heavy. She propped her chin on her hands to relieve a little of the weight. A few more pages and she'd take a break, maybe lie down for a while -

Just as she was starting to doze off, she felt a sharp tug at the back of her head, and her hair fell forward over her shoulders, half-covering her face.

"What the -- " She jerked upright and turned in her chair. "Oh, it's you."

"I live for your enthusiastic greetings, Minerva." Tom Riddle was standing behind her, silhouetted against the light from the library windows, holding the red tartan ribbon he'd just yanked from her hair. "Sorry. That bow of yours was crying out to be pulled."

"May I have it back, please?" she asked icily, holding out her hand.

"In a minute," he said. He walked around her and leaned against the edge of her table, casting a lazy gaze across the books and notes she'd spread out. "What are you doing?"

"I'm studying for exams, what does it look like I'm doing? It's been hard to concentrate lately with everything that's been going on."

"Oh, yes. The unpleasantness."

"You could call it that," Minerva said. She eyed him with distaste. Brilliant student, newly anointed school hero and guaranteed future Head Boy he might be, but she didn't like him and never had. Not that she didn't think he'd done the right thing in reporting Hagrid -- she would have done the same if she'd been the one to find out about the creature. She couldn't explain why she felt so uneasy regarding the whole affair, or what it was about Tom's "I did it for Hogwarts" speeches that rang false to her. All she knew was that she would go to almost any lengths to avoid sitting next to him in the prefects' meetings.

Maybe, she thought, she just felt sorry for Hagrid. The two of them weren't close, of course. Hagrid was four years behind her, and at Hogwarts, that was like living on alternate planes of reality. She'd got to know him a bit the previous year, though, when his father had died and she'd tried to comfort him -- she could still remember how embarrassed she'd been, sitting there on the common room sofa with him clasping her against his chest and weeping massive tears onto the top of her head. They'd talked enough for her to realize that there wasn't a trace of maliciousness in him. When she'd told him her own story of being orphaned, he'd turned the tables and attempted, clumsily, to comfort her.

She knew Hagrid had deserved punishment for what he'd done. Probably even the expulsion he'd received. Still, she was glad that Professor Dumbledore had managed to get him the assistant gamekeeper's job. It was too horrible to think of a boy his age being thrown out into the world with nowhere to go. At least she'd had a house to live in when she'd lost her father -- a house which, unfortunately, had been sold to help pay for her schooling.

You didn't seem to care what happened to Hagrid, she thought sourly as she studied Tom. He was busy riffling the pages of one of her books with his thin, pale fingers, smiling as if seventh-year work was too simpleminded for him, a mere fifth year. In his free hand, he still held her hair ribbon hostage.

"Tom ..." She looked pointedly at the ribbon, and he laughed.

"Oh, Minerva, don't be such a prune! I said in a minute." He sat down in the chair beside her and gestured to her work. "So how are you getting along? Is it worse than studying for the O.W.L.s?"

"You have no idea," Minerva said. "If I were you, I'd start now. Two years isn't as long as you think."

Tom crossed one leg over the opposite knee and regarded her, playing idly with her ribbon. "And what do you plan to do with all the N.E.W.T.s you're sure to get?" The red material fluttered in his hand. He wound it around his fingers one way, then the other.

She shrugged. "Teach, probably. It's what I've always wanted to do."

"Mmmmm. Sounds a bit dull, though, don't you think?"

"Not to me," she said. "Why, what are you planning to do after school, take over the world? Isn't that every Slytherin's dearest ambition?"

His smile widened. "I had no idea you knew me so well, Minerva." Then he laughed again at her severe expression. "I'm only joking! Well, I'll leave you to your work. Good luck on the exams, if I don't see you again before then." Standing up, he made to leave.

"Do you mind? I'd really like to have my ribbon back," she hissed after him.

He stopped and looked down at it.

"No ..." he said slowly. "No, I think I'll keep it. You've read those old stories about knights, haven't you? Ladies were always giving them their ribbons as tokens, right before the knights went off to fight in the wars."

Is it worth it to argue? Minerva wondered. Oh, who cares? I have a drawer full of them, and at least he's going away now.

"Suit yourself," she said aloud. "Much luck may it bring you."

"I think it will," said Tom. "Yes, I definitely think so."

She listened to the click of his boot heels fading away down the length of the library and into the outer corridor. When she was sure he had gone, she started to gather up her things. It was definitely time for that break. He'd left her with the beginnings of a fine headache.

~~~

If anyone had asked, Albus Dumbledore would have staunchly denied that he was set in his ways. That was for old men, and although he was approaching the century mark, he still thought of himself in the same way he had when he was twenty. He put a great deal of effort into maintaining his image as an unpredictable free spirit. But he had to admit he enjoyed one routine - his afternoon walk around the grounds. Even when the weather was wet or cold, the walk calmed him and put him in the right frame of mind for a peaceful evening.

On an early-summer day like this one, it was sheer delight. He stepped through the great twin doors of the castle, sniffed the warm, heady air appreciatively, and set off.

As he neared the lake, he saw a black-robed figure sitting on the dock, feet prudently drawn up out of the giant squid's reach. A heap of flat stones lay next to the figure, which was trying, without much success, to skip them across the dark water of the lake.

Dumbledore smiled and went down to see his favorite student.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" he said to her back.

Minerva shrugged, flinging a stone that hit the water and sank immediately. Her silence, and the rigid set of her shoulders, said she wanted to be left alone. Ignoring the message, Dumbledore sat down next to her, picked up one of her stones and pretended to examine it while watching her from the corner of his eye. When she still hadn't said anything after a few minutes, he decided it was time to prod her a little. He flicked the stone toward the lake with an expert snap of his wrist, and watched in satisfaction as it took two long hops and one short hop, then shot up into the air, did a triple loop-the-loop, plunged, and disappeared without a splash.

"Show-off," Minerva said, turning to face him for the first time. "You used magic!"

"I did nothing of the kind," Dumbledore replied with mock indignation. "I'll have you know that I won the All-England Stone-Skipping Competition three years in a row when I was a boy."

"Yes, the All-England Magical Stone-Skipping Competition," retorted Minerva. The look she shot him started as a scowl, but then melted into a reluctant grin.

Got you, Dumbledore thought in satisfaction. He prided himself on being one of the few people who could coax a smile out of her.

"Your insolence knows no bounds, Miss McGonagall," he said, grinning back to show he wasn't serious. "Perhaps I should take some points away from Gryffindor for your cheek."

"It's a bit late in the year for that."

"The Leaving Feast is not until Saturday. I have plenty of time to teach you a final lesson or two."

Minerva's face twisted into an almost comical expression of disgust. "Please, no more lessons. My head will explode if I stuff one more thing into it. I intend to forget everything I've learned the minute the N.E.W.T.s are over."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Dumbledore said. "You'll need it all next autumn."

"Next autumn?" asked Minerva. "Do you know something I don't?"

"My dear girl, I know countless things you don't. One of them is that Headmaster Dippet intends to offer you a position at Hogwarts."

"He does! But I haven't even taken my exams yet ..."

"Your qualifications are not in question," he said. "And it isn't a full professorship. You will be assisting me, teaching some of my first- and second-year classes, and filling in occasionally for teachers in your other strong subjects. Those would be Potions and Defense Against The Dark Arts, correct?"

She nodded. "Not Herbology, though. Plants lie down and die when they see me coming."

"Not Herbology," he agreed. "Of course, it all depends on whether you want to take the position. Do you?"

"What sort of question is that? You know very well I do."

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Be sure to act surprised when Headmaster Dippet speaks to you about it. He will be most unhappy if he knows I let anything slip."

Minerva nodded again, visibly trying to force her delighted, embarrassed expression into something more befitting a newly appointed teacher. Dumbledore found this display of adolescent dignity quite amusing, but out of respect for it, he refrained from hugging her the way he normally would have. Instead, he caught hold of a lock of her hair and gave it an affectionate pull.

"I've enjoyed teaching you, Minerva. I'm sure I'll enjoy working with you as well. What have you done to your hair today, by the way? I hardly knew it was you without the traditional McGonagall bow."

"Tom Riddle nicked my hair ribbon," said Minerva, frowning suddenly as if remembering an unpleasant encounter. "He's probably using it to tie up his fan letters by now. Really, I know he did a wonderful thing and all, but I think the attention is starting to go to his head. He's even worse than usual. Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Oh, no reason," he said. There wasn't any point in upsetting her with his suspicions about the Riddle boy ... but it couldn't hurt to dig for a little information, could it?

"How well do you know Tom?" he asked.

"Not very well, and even that's more than I'd like," she said. "He gives me chills. Not that that's strange, for a Slytherin, but he's odder than the rest of the lot. No one else seems to think so, though."

"Hmmmm," Dumbledore said. He looked out at the lake for a moment, wondering if it were quite appropriate to ask for her help. He'd already tried to launch a thorough, formal investigation into the events of last week. Dippet had refused to hear of it, though. The other man wanted the whole affair to go away as quickly as possible. Dumbledore couldn't find it in his heart to blame him too much - he wanted the same thing - and yet the situation kept bothering him. He'd sat up most of the previous night stewing over it.

At last he decided to go ahead. She would be pleased to be asked, and very likely there was nothing untoward to discover anyway. He was only being cautious.

"Minerva, do you suppose you might do a favor for me?" he asked.

"Of course," she said immediately.

"Would you just keep an eye on Tom? Don't say anything to anyone about it. I really haven't any reason to distrust him. Perhaps it's nothing ... but would you tell me if he does anything out of the ordinary? You will be in a better position to watch him than I."

"Yes, absolutely."

"Good girl," he said. He stood up and offered her a hand. "Come, let's walk back to the castle together. It's almost time for dinner, and I'm sure you have more studying to do afterward."

"That," said Minerva, letting him pull her to her feet, "is the understatement of the year."

~~~

The following days brought few opportunities for Minerva to observe her quarry -- with Tom in his exams and she in her own, their paths rarely crossed. But she had promised Dumbledore, and so she took careful note every time she did glimpse Tom in the halls. He was always with his group of Slytherin cronies, and he never seemed to be doing anything suspicious.

She did notice, to her surprise and annoyance, that he still had that damned hair ribbon, now tied around the strap of his battered old book satchel like a trophy. On one occasion, he caught her gaze, pointed to it and flashed a thin smile. It quite unnerved her. Why hadn't he just thrown the silly thing away? Perhaps she'd be able to get it back at the prefects' end-of-year dinner, which was the night before the Leaving Feast. She hoped so. At the time, letting him take it had seemed like the easy thing to do, but the longer he kept it, the more she realized she didn't like him having something of hers, especially if he was going to flaunt it at her this way.

Don't be a dolt, she scolded herself, watching him from across the hall. He's just doing it to tease you. He's only a kid, really, no matter how creepy he is. What could he possibly do with a hair ribbon?

What could he do?