Gryffindor is for the Brave

Chapter Four
Halloween

She was playing Quidditch, but there was something wrong. The other team seemed to be made up of all the other houses combined, and their uniforms kept changing color. Every time she looked back, they’d morphed from blue to green to yellow. And instead of riding on brooms, as she and her teammates were, they were riding on wands -- huge, oversized wands that kept shouting “Imperio!” and directing spells at her . . . She dodged, dodged again, tried to maintain a shield, was hit . . .

Minerva’s eyes snapped open. She blinked a couple of times and reached for her glasses. She fumbled for a moment, then sighed as the world came into focus. Quidditch game. At ten this morning. Where the other team would be Hufflepuff. On broomsticks. She’d best get up then.

Practicing Quidditch was fun, but she’d never liked the actual games all that much. In fact, she’d been intimidated to even try out for the team before fourth year, because the very thought of playing competitively made her stomach ache. Minerva knew she didn’t do her best work under pressure, even when she was confident in what she was doing. And she was emphatically not confident about Quidditch.

Valkyrie’s attitude about the games didn’t help.

“Now it’s very important to me that you all do your best,” she said, flashing pearly teeth and playing with a lock of blonde hair, after she’d assembled the team just outside the locker rooms. “If you do, Monday’s practice is canceled.” Condescension dripped from her voice like honey. Evan and Minerva exchanged glances. They never practiced on Mondays, just did their homework out on the pitch.

“I have reputation riding on this, people,” Val reminded them. “Lindgren, you’re consistently slow. Pick up the pace.” Minerva saw the pale third-year boy blush scarlet as Val continued. “Del Valle, it is okay to actually do something proactive. You still look like a startled rabbit whenever someone throws you the ball. McGonagall, the other Chasers are on the team for a reason. Throw the Quaffle to them occasionally please.”

Minerva chomped hard on the inside of her cheek. Thank you for the vote of confidence, Valkyrie, she thought. She knew she wasn’t any good at throwing to the other Chasers. She knew she blanked whenever she happened to catch the ball. What she needed was practice. She bit her lip and looked at her captain resentfully, trying to remind herself that she’d chosen to play Quidditch because she liked it, and that Val was just a challenge that needed to be met. She was marginally successful, but she did admit to herself that it was difficult to find the constructive elements of the captain’s criticism.

“Drummond, you’re probably our worst player,” Val continued candidly. “The purpose of a Keeper is to stop the Quaffle from going through the goal hoops. Were you clear on that?” The fifth year girl nodded mutely. “Good, try to actually do that occasionally.

“Ericson, I cannot be everywhere at once. I’m counting on you to pick up on my slack. If I can’t get to a Bludger, you need to, understood?

“And Schraeder. Merlin’s blood, Schraeder, you’re worse than Drummond, and that’s saying something. Find the Snitch, catch it, it’s not that difficult.”

She smiled a bright, perky smile. “Right! Let’s go play.”

She turned on her heel, causing her hair to flip over her shoulder in a way that was no doubt perfectly calculated to catch the sunlight and throw it back into their eyes. Minerva exchanged rueful glances with Evan and Liesl, the Keeper, and then followed them out onto the pitch. Dust and grass shavings flew into the air from under their softly shuffling feet. They made it to the middle of the field, heads down, and arranged themselves into a halfhearted semicircle around the Quaffle.

Minerva glanced up at the sky, sighing. The weather was unseasonably warm and windy, and the sun beat down, lighting up the Hufflepuffs’ yellow uniforms like small suns. Minerva squinted into the breeze and felt herself beginning to sweat. She did her best to focus on mounting her broom, on the anticipation of flying, rather than the embarrassment and anger Val’s speech had given her. She kicked off and hovered, watching the Quaffle carefully, as Master Thorpe blew the whistle.

From the beginning, the game was frustrating. Minerva, never a top notch flier, seemed to be always two or three broom lengths behind Hufflepuff’s Chasers. She did manage to get the Quaffle several times, and knew she was having good luck, but it was hard to remember to stay positive when she dropped the ball in surprise far more often than she managed to pass or score. Once she nearly put it through her own goal posts when a Bludger whooshed past her, missing her arms by inches and causing her to throw up the Quaffle in alarm.

The Hufflepuff team wasn’t especially good either, which was probably the only reason they didn’t embarrass themselves completely, Minerva reflected. Liesl didn’t stop a single Quaffle, but Anthony only stopped one or two; Minerva, Marc, and Sven didn’t get the Quaffle very often, but Val and Nat hit some well timed Bludgers and disrupted at least three of the Hufflepuff Chasers’ formations.

All in all, despite constant frustration with herself and her team, Minerva had to admit it didn’t go quite as badly as she had expected. She and the other Gryffindor Chasers did manage to wrestle the Quaffle away from the Hufflepuff team more than once, and they’d scored forty points by the game’s end, to the Hufflepuffs’ 110, before Peony, the Hufflepuff Seeker, caught the Snitch and ended the game.

“Well, we’d’ve won if Schraeder had managed to do anything,” Val said loudly, as the the team headed for the locker room. “I honestly don’t blame you, Minerva. You tried. And even Liesl here could have gotten away with her terrible playing if our Seeker had his act together. Tell you what, no practice on Monday anyway, except, of course, for Evan.”

Evan’s jaw clenched in annoyance and shame, but he just walked faster toward the locker room. Minerva sighed, annoyed. Evan had gotten a Beater to the broom tail seconds before Peony had gotten the Snitch; it wasn’t anyone’s fault, or if it was, it was Val’s as much as Evan’s. She couldn’t help feeling pleased that she’d done her part -- if Evan had gotten the Snitch, they would have won, which was worth celebrating, to her mind.

“Come on,” Julia said, as Evan and Minerva emerged almost simultaneously from the locker rooms, dressed in their school robes again and with their hair wet from showers. “Take the rest of the day off,” she suggested, rubbing Evan’s back gently and throwing an arm around Minerva’s shoulders. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach them. “Up for a game of Exploding Snap?”

Minerva smiled and refused, citing a Divination assignment. Evan said stiffly that he didn’t feel like it.

“What is wrong with you two?” Julia asked.

“I should study,” Evan answered, clenching his jaw.

“Oh, what harm can it do? Come on, I’ll let you go first. We can even use your deck, you know mine likes to explode just as you get to the third level . . .” she wheedled and whined all the way back to the common room until both Evan and Minerva were laughing.

“Ready for the meeting?” Minerva asked Julia and Evan shyly on Thursday after dinner. She’d tried to take the few minutes between the end of dinner and the start of the weekly Prefects’ meeting to study in the common room, but had been distracted listening to her friends, who were laughing at Olive Hornby, a sixth year Slytherin who’d run away from the dinner table that evening, pursued by Hogwarts’ newest ghost.

“If it were anyone else . . . and Myrtle’s not funny, of course . . . but Olive,” Julia grinned. “Oh, drat, we do have a meeting, don’t we? Let me take my stuff back up to the dorm.”

“I have to leave now to help set up -- meet you there?” Minerva asked hesitantly.

“Sure. Evan did you see the way Myrtle kept flying up at her with her hands up like glasses?”

Minerva quirked a smile as she moved toward the empty classroom halfway up the West Tower where the Prefects always met. It wasn’t really funny -- poor Myrtle had died only two years ago -- and under terrible circumstances -- and getting haunted was something she wouldn’t wish on anyone -- but it was just the tiniest bit refreshing to see Myrtle getting even. Olive was one of those girls who rarely spoke unless she was remarking negatively on someone else. Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t very creative, so her taunts came across as juvenile rather than clever.

Another good reason not to be in Slytherin, Minerva reflected, as she pushed open the door and began rearranging the desks in a circle for the meeting. A second later, Riddle strode through the door and curled his lips into a smile. “Sorry, am I late?”

Mutely, she shook her head, smiling shyly back as he began to help her move desks. It was one of the jobs they shared; little things like setting up and cleaning up after prefects meetings seemed silly, but Paideia was sure to say something rude if it weren’t done on time. Minerva was just glad the Head Boy this year was someone responsible like Riddle, rather than Thomas Casey or Brennan Keating, who were both strong candidates and whom she would have hated working with. They would have left everything to her, she knew, because that Gryffindor girl could take care of it, so why should they bother?

“What’d you think of today’s Runes class, eh?” Tom asked, flinging his lanky body into a desk not far from the last one Minerva was straightening. “Those participles give me a headache -- especially the ones that look just like the passive indicative.”

“I know,” Minerva agreed. “I practiced a lot of parsings over the summer, but there are those forms that are exactly the same except for the stress mark -- I always found those hard, especially when they change the ending to match the poetic meter . . .” She smiled shyly, but felt frustrated, too. Couldn’t she ever talk about anything but school? Tom was already bored, and she’d only said three sentences. Before she could come up with another topic, two more Slytherins entered the room. After glancing around, they took seats near Tom and greeted him cordially.

Minerva sighed softly, watching the door for her friends. Prefects trickled into the room in twos and threes, but as yet Julia and Evan weren’t among them. Snippets of conversation washed over her as she took a notebook and pen from her schoolbag.

“ -- Professor Trinegal’s assignment --”

“-- how do you write four rolls of parchment about unicorns? --”

“-- have to skip the Hogsmeade trip to work on that stupid Charms thing --”

“Oh, I’m going anyway, that Charms assignment will take about five minutes --”

Minerva winced at Cera’s familiar contemptuous tone.

“-- going to Hogsmeade this weekend? --”

“-- If I get my Divination stuff done and Schwartz doesn’t have another session . . . ”

“Were you there last night?”

“Didn’t think Mara’s eyes could get any blacker --”

“-- So much fun, just relaxes me for the rest of the week.”

“--Schwartz doesn’t tell us to do anything, does he? --”

“If he does, I don’t remember.”

Minerva looked sharply over at the two Ravenclaws having this discussion. Surely they weren’t talking about --

“Minerva!” She jumped as Julia tapped her on the shoulder. “Did we miss anything?”

She shook her head, partly in answer, partly to clear it. “No. Paideia isn’t here yet.”

“Not quite what I meant, but -- oh, there he is.”

“Good evening, everyone. I’d like to begin with old business; I believe last week we did not complete next month’s schedule for hallway patrols . . .”

There was a low groan from the assembled prefects; no one liked the hour-long shifts with the grouchy and often inebriated caretaker, Appollyon Pringle. Minerva repressed a shudder, and set her attention to taking notes and pairing Prefects as Paideia read off their names.

She remembered the strange conversation she’d overheard later, when, after the meeting had been dismissed, she’d gone back to Gryffindor Tower and got ready for bed. Were they talking about Imperio? she wondered, twisting her hair into a long French braid. They must have been. Darkened eyes, relaxation, Schwartz telling them to do something? She couldn’t think of anything else that fit that description. Why on earth were they doing that? It sounded as if Schwartz were casting Imperio on students in his free time. Was that allowed? It must be, she decided immediately, if a teacher was doing it. The students were speaking of it happily, and it sounded as if they were all seventh years, so they were all of age. And she definitely didn’t know of any rule against that sort of thing. No, if Schwartz were handling it, it must be all right.

She briefly considered telling Professor Dippet, but dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it had come to her. No doubt Dippet already knew; it wasn’t her business or her responsibility. She was sure Schwartz must have gotten permission to do it before he began; she smiled at how much she had doubted him.

She was still smiling as she tied a ribbon on the end of her braid and sipped from the glass of water by her bed. She looked around the room at the other girls, most of whom were finishing their last tasks before going to sleep. Would anyone notice if --? Surely not. No one ever came to talk to her after lights out. As long as she stayed behind the draperies . . .

Minerva slipped behind her curtains and curled up on her bed, on top of the covers. She made sure the draperies were cinched tight, then --

The bed was a lot bigger as a cat, she noticed. It looked huge and interesting and unfamiliar. She put her weight hard on one paw, experimentally, and was surprised at how far it sank down. It was very soft. This place was full of interesting smells, too.

She tried to look detached and nonchalant as she sniffed the spread carefully. It was an effort to put her paws down delicately when they would keep sinking, but she did her best. Oooh, what a nice, hard post in front of her! Her claws itched with anticipation as she took a little dancing step onto the pillow, then were eased as she dug them gloriously into the bedpost. She picked at it carefully until every nail felt sharp and all the itch was gone. Perfectly content, she turned herself around and around until she was in just the right position, then relaxed into a reclining pose.

She’d fallen asleep before she could remember to change back.

Minerva berated herself soundly the next morning, both for falling asleep as a cat (what if there had been an emergency in the night? Or she’d overslept and someone had come to wake her? Or someone noticed a noise, or the lack of a noise, and came to check on her?) and for leaving scratch marks on her bedpost. She repaired them hastily, hoping Julia and her other dorm mates hadn’t noticed. How dare she expose herself like that? All kinds of things could have gone wrong. Changing into a cat was lovely, to be sure, and she was proud of herself, of course, but really! She’d need to be far more careful in future!

The next weekend was their first official Hogsmeade weekend, in celebration of Halloween on Saturday. Nearly every student third year and above turned out onto the castle’s walkway, despite the sudden cold snap. The sky was clear, but the temperature had dropped noticeably since last weekend’s warm Quidditch weather, and they needed thick cloaks as they set out on the walk to town.

Julia was in higher spirits even than usual, because her sister Nora had, quite out of the blue, sent her five Galleons as a present. “Go splurge,” the note read. “If my memories of seventh year are any indication, your first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up, and you desperately need a break about now.”

Julia could hardly talk of anything else, and bragged so much about having such a wonderful sister, that Evan became frustrated and said one or two quite biting things. Even this couldn’t dampen Julia’s spirits, though, as she led them from shop to shop, wondering exactly what would be a good thing to treat herself to.

She led them into Dervish and Banges, looking at school supplies. In a madcap dash around the store (“I can’t stay, I can’t stay, don’t let me stay too long”) she found several things she’d like, but nothing to win the Galleons out of her money bag, “At least,” she added, “not until I’ve had a look around.” They were back on the street just long enough for their cheeks to turn bright crimson with cold, before Julia led them in to Gladrags. She poked around, looking at dress robes, purses, and scarves, before deciding there was nothing worth the price.

Julia would have been highly affronted if anyone, including but not limited to Evan, pointed out to her that her favorite activity was shopping. Then she would have laughed and acknowledged the truth of it. “I know I’m shallow,” she said, when this very conversation began, “I can’t help it, I’m seventeen. What do you want from me, a self-spelling wand?”

“No, just the ‘teen’ to be added on at the end of the ‘seven.’”

Minerva’s eyes widened. That was cruel.

But Julia just laughed. “Oh, you can do better than that. How many seven-year-olds do you know who like to go to Gladrags?”

“I know no seven-year-olds at all. But I have no need to, when my best friend is willing to spend three quarters of an hour in Honeydukes.”

“I didn’t hear you making any complaints,” Julia snapped, beginning to get offended.

“May I have a chocolate frog?” Minerva asked quickly, trying to relax the tension. “Unless you don’t want to open the box right now . . .”

“No, it’s fine, I wanted one too,” Julia said, shaking her head and deliberately not looking at Evan. She took two out of the box and passed one to Minerva.

Evan, apparently noticing that she took only two out and still refused to meet his gaze, sighed audibly. “I am sorry I compared you to a seven-year-old,” he said.

“You’re just saying that so I’ll give you candy,” Julia answered, half resentfully, half amusedly.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Evan said.

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s seven . . .”

Evan laughed, the bickering regained its lighter tone, and lasted through a very large and enjoyable lunch at the Three Broomsticks.

Afterwards, Julia, slightly apologetically, asked if they’d mind stopping at the post office. “I know I’ve dragged you around and stuff, but I have to thank Nora.”

Evan rolled his eyes, but when Julia shot him a look, he held up his hands in acquiescence. “Far be it for me to discourage good manners.”

Minerva almost smiled. She strongly suspected that Julia and Evan got along much better than they let on. Their bickering hardly ever seemed to make them angry, no matter the circumstances. Not for the first time, she wished she was more socially at ease and could come up with the sort of quick responses they used.

There was only one other student in the post office, a half-Muggle named Rebecca Jamesson. Although they’d never spoken, Minerva knew her by sight as one of the few students of Muggle heritage to land in Gryffindor. Most of them came into Hufflepuff, at least in her experience. She was one herself, but she was only a quarter Muggle, and that wasn’t common knowledge. Not like Rebecca, who everyone knew came from a nobody family.

Postmaster included, it seemed. “Look, ya filthy Mudblood, going through the barriers takes a lot out o’ the pretties,” the man said, in an ill-bred voice, gesturing to the owls behind him. “I gots to have some compensation. ‘Sides, Ministry orders. I’m ta give them ‘alf of what’er it is I charges you extry, and I gots a living to make, besides. I can’t go makin’ no exceptions for some filthy halfblood.”

Rebecca was near tears. “I don’t have that much money,” she said despairingly. “I can’t find anyone besides the one Gringotts who’ll exchange... can’t I get it on credit, or something? I swear I’ll pay you by New Year’s, I just need to get to London...”

“I can’t trust no Mudblood to get me money from,” the man said indignantly. “How’s I to know you won’t just go skiving off ta where ya came from?” Rebecca took a sobbing breath. He looked at her from out of squinty eyes. “You want to send something to your filthy parents, you can come back when you do have some money.”

The three friends watched all this in silence. Finally, Julia cleared her throat and stepped up to the counter. “I need this sent to my sister, she’s studying at Beauxbatons,” she said clearly. “How much, please?”

“A sickle three knuts,” the man said greasily.

“Nonsense.”

“Fine, a single sickle, and only ‘cause you’re so pretty.”

Julia’s look was contemptuous, but her face went a little red. Evan stepped behind her and fixed the man with a look. “Clearly your reasoning skills are your best asset,” he said, slightly nastily. The unsaid “and I am not at all impressed with them,” hung in the air, adding to the hostility.

“Right then,” Julia said briskly, obviously trying not to smile too hard at the look of confusion on the postmaster’s face. She dumped two sickles on the counter and gave him a sweet smile. “Of course, I’ll be checking through the Floo network, to make sure my sister received my letter in good time.”

The man frowned briefly, then moved to take the sickles from the counter.

“No, no, no,” Julia said in a tight voice. “The one sickle is for you. The other one is for her.” She indicated Rebecca, who was still standing in the corner, with a jerk of her head.

Silently, Evan took out his money bag and added a sickle to Julia’s. “Also for her,” he said, before the man could even reach for the counter. Minerva stepped up behind them and found her money bag. She put another sickle on the table, and indicated with a flicker of her eyes that it too was meant for Rebecca.

The postmaster looked at the three of them incredulously. “Yer all three out a’ your tree,” he said. “What is you givin’ it ta her for?”

Julia didn’t bother to answer. Without looking at the man, Rebecca, or Evan and Minerva, she stalked out of the shop. Evan followed, giving the postmaster a last threatening look before he left. Minerva glanced anxiously from his face to Julia’s and back, wondering why they’d all done it.

She looked at her own reasons. She’d put the money down because her friends had, she told herself honestly. She might have wanted to help another Mudblood if she’d thought of it, but if she’d been alone, she wouldn’t have dared draw attention to herself in such a way. People could begin asking questions about her, and that wouldn’t be good at all. Particularly if the circumstances of her mother’s death started getting around.

Regardless of whether that was really the issue, though, Minerva acknowledged to herself, it probably wouldn’t have occurred to her. She was too set in her habits of minding her own business. If it had occurred to her, she’d have overanalyzed too much, probably. She was starting to do so as it was, even though Julia had started it. (What if Rebecca didn’t want charity? What if she started following them because they’d been nice? What if, what if?) Her combined feelings of satisfaction and worry confused her.

“Well,” said Julia, trying to be cheerful and not sound as if she were breaking a very tense silence. “I didn’t even know owls could go through the barriers, did you?”

Evan burst into laughter at her rushed, overly casual tone. Minerva started giggling, and Julia’s smile got bigger and bigger until she was laughing too. They laughed and laughed, killing the tension, until all three were wiping tears from their eyes and other students were beginning to give them odd looks as they passed.

“All right,” Julia said, gasping for breath, as soon as she could speak again. “What shall we do this afternoon? I vote we make it good.”

“Record time, Julia, I am already nervous,” Evan said, still chuckling. Minerva just grinned.

“Just because you seem to lack faith in me . . .”

“Not ‘seem to.’ I do lack faith in you.”

She stuck her tongue out, and dodged his fist. “Fine. We go there.” She pointed, and Evan groaned.

WILD WIZARDS! COSTUMES AND FORMAL ATTIRE, the sign on the shop to the left of Gladrags proudly proclaimed.

“Come on!”

Between Julia’s outrageous choices for costumes, her manipulation of Evan to make him try them on as well, and the few things she could coax Minerva into, the afternoon passed quickly. Minerva couldn’t stop laughing at herself in the mirror, wearing a huge, gaudy witches hat decorated with brambles and bluebirds. The juxtaposition never seemed to stop being funny.

Evan put on old flannel smoking robes that made him look like he was middle-aged or older, and Julia found a flamboyant set of low-cut tango robes that made her look like an Argentinean call girl. She and Evan posed in front of the mirror together, looking like an old man and his fetish, and it was all Minerva could do to keep her eyes open, she was laughing so hard.

The feast that night was better than Minerva remembered from any of her previous years at Hogwarts. Halloween had always warranted a great celebration, but she always associated it with the same loneliness and calm she associated with all holidays. Now, with her cheeks scarlet from the cold outside and the heat indoors, still giggling about the costumes, sitting with Julia and Evan, she was merry and laughing. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so happy.

They laughed and joked as they helped themselves to pumpkin pasties, meat pies, puddings, butterbeer, and, of course, the mountains of sweets on every table. “Did you really ask the price of that robe?” Minerva asked Julia incredulously.

“Yes.”

There was a pause, as the three exchanged glances. “Well, how much was it, then?” Evan asked, apparently no longer able to conceal his curiosity.

Julia burst out laughing. “Forty Galleons, and that was on sale,” she managed at last, sneaking a sidelong look at him. “Why so disappointed? Were you wanting them for a birthday present?”

Evan’s face morphed from embarrassed to indignant. He threw a square of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum at Julia. “No, just couldn’t believe our shop-a-holic managed to take them off,” he said.

“Aw, you liked them?”

He blushed, and gave her a speculative sort of look, but did not reply. So absorbed in their conversation was Minerva that at first she didn’t even notice the owl.

A breath of wind stirred her ponytail, and she glanced around, startled. No one else seemed to have noticed, except Tom Riddle, who caught her eye and nodded toward the headmaster, who was catching hold of an imperious-looking snowy owl.

Professor Dippet untied the small slip of paper from the owl’s leg, and read it slowly. He turned pale, so pale that with his age, it looked as if he’d already died. He sat back heavily, and took several gasping breaths. Gently, Professor Paideia took the parchment from Dippet’s motionless hand, turned it over carefully, and read it himself.

Laughter erupted from the table around Minerva. Startled, she looked up to see Julia pouting again, and several other students in fits of giggles, apparently at something she’d said. Minerva looked around, trying to smile along with the group, and saw few students had noticed the teachers’ odd behavior. Tom was still squinting up the table at them, an intense look on his face. Predictably, Cera had also noticed, and was looking slightly annoyed at the development. Apart from them and a few younger students, who mostly looked intimidated, the feast continued as normal.

Tom looked her way, and she offered a half shrug. He looked back at her, a similar expression on his face. Neither of them, it seemed, had a clue.

The feast continued as usual, but Minerva’s good mood was broken. She still did her best to follow the conversation, and even laughed at Evan and Julia’s antics. But her mind remained troubled. Every few minutes, she’d glance up at the teachers’ table. Little changed over the following hour. Dippet still sat still, his heavy, rasping breathing the only sign that he was still alive. His face did not regain its color. Paideia remained still as well, and several times Minerva caught him looking at the parchment, as if unable to believe it.

After an hour and a half, the feast began to wind down. Students, still chattering loudly, trickled back to their dormitories, to digest their food and prepare for the night. Just as Minerva was gathering her belongings, Paideia’s voice, magically magnified, echoed through the hall.

“Mr. Riddle, Miss McGonagall, a moment of your time.”

“Catch up with you in a second,” Minerva told her friends, catching Tom’s eye again and following him to the front of the room. His face was a sardonic mask, revealing nothing.

“Thank you both,” Paideia began. “Please excuse me if I alarmed you; it was not my intent.” He was much too dignified to fidget, but he gave the decided impression of wishing to pace. His speech was forced and harsh. “I assume you both have heard of Grindelwald? He is a European wizard doing experiments on the barriers that separate our world from that of Muggles.”

They nodded, mute.

“We have just received word that he has broken through the barriers in Germany.”

Minerva gasped aloud, and then, embarrassed, bit her lip to hide further emotion. “If this report had come from another source, I’d be tempted to disbelieve it,” the professor told them candidly. “However, it has arrived directly from the Minister of Magic, who was given the information by the Head of Durmstrang.

“The preliminary report suggests the barriers were weak in that particular location. Grindelwald was believed to have had contact with a Muggle, possibly an important one. I tell you this not because there is anything you can do,” -- he fixed them both with a glare -- “but because I believe it is important that you know. It is at your discretion what to do with this information. I suggest you tell the prefects, but I warn you that if rumors begin to circulate that any student here is in any kind of danger, I will hold you responsible.”

They nodded again.

“No one here is in danger. Grindelwald is a problem for the continent to deal with. I hope my trust in you and the prefects of this school is not misplaced. You are dismissed.”

Gulping down a lump in her throat, she walked slowly toward the entrance to the Great Hall. Tom, with his long strides, outdistanced her, but waited patiently at the door.

“Prefects’ meeting tomorrow, then, you reckon?”

She nodded. “Tell them everything Paideia told us, I suppose.”

“Best way to combat rumors is to give out the whole truth.”

She nodded and said tonelessly, “See you.”

He gave a curt nod and walked out.

Minerva climbed the steps to Gryffindor tower slowly and reluctantly, turning the situation over and over in her mind. Try as she might, she couldn’t fit into her frame of reference. Barriers didn’t break. They just were. What kind of wizard would tamper with them? What kind would be so powerful as to succeed? You weren’t supposed to be able to do that kind of thing.

She got ready for bed in silence, ignoring Julia’s attempts to draw her into conversation, pleading tiredness when her dorm mates asked if there was anything wrong.

Every activity -- putting on her nightgown, washing her face, braiding her hair -- was done deliberately, but she couldn’t hold off her thoughts for long. She tossed and turned in bed, and even resorted to taking cat form, but the feeling of dread and anxiety followed her, and made her smell everything twice and pounce on dust motes. She changed back reluctantly, and it wasn’t until dawn that her exhaustion got the better of her worries.