Chapter Fifteen

The next weeks were so busy that Minerva barely had time to think about what had happened over the Easter break or about what Albus's brother had said to her.

In addition to classes and her Head Girl duties, there was revising for her N.E.W.T.s...she was more determined than ever to achieve "Outstandings" in all nine topics and ensure Albus would win his bet...tutoring three fifth-year Gryffindors in Transfiguration in preparation for their O.W.L.s, writing letters of enquiry to the Ministry in hopes of securing an internship, researching possible apprenticeships and contacting independent Transfiguration masters and mistresses about same, preparing for the upcoming school duelling championship, and, of course, her ongoing Animagus lessons with Albus.

The way Minerva finally figured out what her eventual Animagus form would be was quite funny.

Her lessons with Albus had been going well, and she had managed to transform her eyes again several times, holding the change for several seconds. Neither she nor Albus could be certain exactly what kind of eyes they were, though. It was not until she managed several small patches of fur distributed over seemingly random sites on her body that they were able to determine at last that she would be a mammal. She was relieved at this. It was silly, she knew, to hold a bias against reptiles and amphibians...the other candidate groups, based on her transformed eye structure...but mammals tended to be bigger, and to her way of thinking, more attractive. Not that it really mattered, of course, but still . . .

For his part, Albus was astounded. He never would have expected even Minerva to progress so far toward actual transformation in the short time they had been working together. He had spent more than a year in study with Professor Falco and had never managed to change even a hair on his head. That, he had to admit to himself, had been a surprise and a disappointment to both pupil and tutor. Current Animagus theory had it that the ability to transform was governed by a complex set of genes and that only a subset of wizards and witches possessed both the genetic propensity and the even rarer ability to channel their magic adequately to achieve a full transformation. Albus's inability to do it was the one significant failure of his magic he had ever experienced. He consoled himself with the knowledge that nobody in his recent family history had been an Animagus either, so perhaps it was his heredity at fault.

He was, however, extremely proud of his young protégée. He wrote to his old tutor:

30 April 1944

Dear Flavius,

I am happy, and frankly amazed, to report that Miss McGonagall has progressed beyond all my expectations in her initial Animagus training.

She has already managed several partial transformations and is able to hold them for a few seconds. We do not yet know what form her Animagus will finally take (assuming she eventually achieves full transformation; I have no worries on that score, however), but I believe she will be a mammal, based upon the recent appearance of fur.

She has an excellent grasp of theory as well.

I am confident that you will be as impressed with her as I have been and that you will not be sorry you agreed to take her on as a pupil this summer. In addition to her dedication and ability, she is a delightful young woman, and I believe you will enjoy her company.

On a personal note, I am relieved to find that my teaching abilities seem to have outstripped my meagre transformational skills.

I trust you and Gudrun are both well, and I look forward to dropping in on you after the end of term. It really has been far too long.

Best regards,

Albus

It was the middle of May when Minerva accomplished her most complete transformation yet. She was, for the first time, physically aware of the fur that had appeared on her skin under her clothes, and it felt as if her entire torso was covered this time. In the brief seconds it held, she longed to tear her clothes off to see what it looked like. Not only that, but it was damned uncomfortable and hot!

After she had regained her normal appearance, she mentioned the discomfort to Albus, who chuckled and said, "Just wait, my dear. When you achieve your first full transformation, you may find your clothes to be your biggest problem."

"Yes, I know," she said. She had read all about the difficulties many fledgling Animagi had in mastering the ability to Banish and Unbanish their clothes at the moment of transformation. Those who took the forms of smaller animals sometimes found themselves nearly crushed by heavy cloth or entrapped by headgear, while those who changed to larger animals generally burst right out of their clothing. This was the reason, she had read, that many Transfiguration masters and mistresses who taught would-be Animagi insisted that their pupils attempt their first transformations in the nude.

"I just assumed, Professor, that you would have me strip off before attempting to transform," she said, affecting an innocent tone.

"As much fun as that would be, Minerva, I fear that pleasure will belong to Professor Falco," he said.

Minerva's eyebrows elevated a half-inch of their own accord. "Will he really ask me to take off my clothes?" she asked. Somehow, despite her reading, it hadn't occurred to her that she might be required to do so in front of the elderly Transfiguration master who was to become her tutor.

"Not to worry, my dear," he said, grinning. "It is my understanding that Professor Falco generally asks his wife to chaperone any lesson in which a female pupil is likely to lose her clothing. It's as much for his protection as for yours. I believe Madam Falco suggested it several years ago. Gudrun is a very persuasive witch."

When at last Minerva retired to her dormitory that evening and undressed for the night, she heard a sneeze from the bed next to hers. She had finished cleaning her teeth and combing out her hair when she heard several more in succession.

She slid between the crisp white sheets of her bed and heard the accusatory and congestion-blunted voice of her dorm-mate and sometime-nemesis, Finnonula Campbell, say, "Gods! Did someone bring their cat in here?"

A fugue of soprano "nos" answered the query.

"Well, someone's been playing with one, then, because I can barely breathe!" Finnonula said.

Minerva said, "Finnonula, we all know about your allergy. I'm sure nobody would . . . oh!" A sudden thought occurred to her and stopped her words.

"What?" asked Finnonula.

"Wait," said Minerva, practically tearing off the bedclothes. Her dirty clothes from the day had already been Banished to the nightly laundry along with all the other girls', so she shoved her feet in her slippers, not bothering to put on her dressing gown, and padded off to the bathroom. Once there, she stepped into a shower cubicle and stripped off her nightdress, turning it inside out in the process. Using her lighted wand, she carefully examined the surface of the flannel gown until she found what she was searching for. She held it up to the light. It was a hair, fine, but shorter and thicker than any that grew on Minerva normally. It was hard to tell, but it appeared to be grey with a tip of white.

Trembling, she placed the hair carefully on the floor at her feet and raised her wand, holding her other hand out in front of her.

"Accio cat hair," she whispered. She didn't see anything move, but when she examined her open palm closely, there sat the hair, plain as you please.

A cat.

Her Animagus form was a cat. A grey one, if the single hair was a reliable indicator.

She wanted to yell aloud...shout it from the castle turrets: "A cat!" She wanted to go galloping down the stairway, tear through the common room and out the portrait hole, fly through the corridor and bang on Albus's door, crying, "I'm a cat!" as soon as her astonished mentor and lover opened it.

Of course, she didn't do any of those things. Instead, she took a towel from the large wicker basket and turned on the shower tap. She removed her knickers and stepped under the stream, scrubbing herself quickly and thoroughly.

When she was done, she dried off, spelling her hair dry, despite the fact that she always hated how it looked when she did it by magic, then Transfigured another towel into a simple dressing gown, and headed back to her dormitory. When she got there, she deposited her gown and knickers into the dirty clothing basket, retrieved a clean nightdress and knickers from her trunk, put them on, and slid back into her bed without a word to her confused dorm-mates.

"And what was that all about, Minerva?" asked the notoriously nosy Imelda Vance.

"I just remembered that I've been exposed to a cat after all," said Minerva. "Sorry, Finnonula. I went to wash so that you wouldn't have any more problems with allergy."

"Thanks, Minerva," said Finnonula. The two girls didn't care much for one another, but Finnonula had to admit that Minerva was generally a thoughtful and responsible dorm-mate.

The next day, Minerva's N.E.W.T. class in Transfiguration passed her by in a blur. When Professor Dumbledore had finally given them their homework assignment and dismissed the class, Minerva lingered behind, pretending to have misplaced a favourite quill.

When the last student had filed out, Albus magicked the door closed, saying with a smile, "Well? I'm guessing you have something you want to tell me. You spent the entire class period looking like the Kneazle who swallowed the Snidget."

"Professor, you have no idea how close you are!"

His raised eyebrows prompted her to continue.

"I think I know what my Animagus form will be!" She could barely contain her excitement.

"And?"

"I'm a cat!"

"And how did you figure this out?" asked Albus in surprise.

When she had explained the story of the cat hair and the allergic dorm-mate to him, he threw his head back and laughed. When he had wiped the delighted tears from his eyes, he said, "Now, we can't be entirely sure which species of cat you'll be. Miss Campbell may be allergic to more than one, and of course, the Accio spell doesn't require that kind of specificity."

"Yes, but when I cast it, I was thinking specifically of a domestic cat hair. Wouldn't that make a difference?"

"It might at that. Are you pleased?"

"Very," she said. "To tell the truth, I didn't much relish the idea of being a frog or a snake."

"And to tell the truth, I don't blame you," he said. "But don't tell Professor Burke," he added, "he's very proud of Slytherin's reptilian mascot."

They both had a good laugh, then she said, "I'd best be getting on now. I've got Defence in five minutes, and Professor Merrythought hates tardiness."

"Indeed," agreed Albus. He lowered his voice to whisper in her ear, "But I very much look forward to celebrating your discovery properly tomorrow evening."

Her voice was equally low: "And I hope, Professor, that there will be nothing proper about it."

And with that, she was gone, leaving him grinning after her like a fool in love.

/***/

"Who in blazes scheduled the Inter-House Duelling Championship for two weeks before N.E.W.T.s?" Minerva huffed as she plopped down into a chair in the large, disused classroom.

"That would be me, Miss McGonagall," said Professor Merrythought as she sailed into the room.

"I'm awfully sorry, Professor," said Minerva, standing when her teacher entered the room, "I meant no disrespect."

"That's quite all right, Miss McGonagall. And I am sorry about the unfortunate timing; it was the only weekend Headmaster Dippet could secure an observer from the Department of Magical Games and Sports," said Merrythought.

Turning to the group of twenty-six students gathered in the room, she announced: "All right. I've drawn up the pools by random selection, as usual, so if you have a problem with your matches, take it up with the Sorting Hat, not with me. I wouldn't advise it though; he was quite shirty with me when I put him back on the shelf. We will be following All-England regulations, of course.

"Refs will be Professors Burke, Dumbledore, Fancourt, and myself for the initial rounds; direct-elimination rounds will be judged by me and Master Filius Flitwick, who has been kind enough to agree to come up from London to referee for the championship."

There was a murmur of excitement at this. Filius Flitwick had been All-England duelling champion for six years straight back in the 1920s, and he had won the World Championship for England in 1924. Despite his diminutive stature, the Charms master was a legend among duelling enthusiasts. It was generally agreed upon that his slightness had given him an advantage in speed and agility, but whether this was unfair had been a matter of some debate. Eventually, the International Confederation had ruled that there was no minimum height limit for competitive duellists. (Anyone standing over seven feet, however, was ruled out of international competition, although there was rumoured to be a "talls league" that had been started by half-giants and victims of irreversible spells that left them unalterably heightened.)

Professor Merrythought held up her hand to quiet the excited burbling, saying, "You can all thank Professor Dumbledore, who prevailed upon his personal friendship with Master Flitwick to persuade the man to take the time from his busy schedule."

Professor Merrythought distributed schedules, eliciting both groans and squeals of glee when the duellists got their hands on them.

"All right, lads and lasses, that's all. Back to your dorms. It's late," said Merrythought, shooing the students out into the corridors.

"Oi, Riddle!" called a fifth-year Ravenclaw, racing up to join Tom, who was surrounded by friends, as usual. "Who've you got first?"

"Prewett," replied Tom.

"Ha! No problem there," said the Ravenclaw, eliciting laughter from the small cadre of Slytherins and Ravenclaws that walked along with Riddle.

Tom was not especially interested in his schedule. He was confident that he would easily best everyone on it in the first rounds. He scanned his parchment for one name only. He found it and quickly calculated that he and Minerva would meet in the fifth bout, assuming...as he did...that she would also beat her initial opponents. She had beaten him for the championship for the past two years in which they'd both been eligible to compete, and he intended to remedy the situation this year.

Alone in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, Minerva likewise scanned the schedule for Tom Riddle's name and quickly came to the same conclusion he had. She was not as sanguine as he was that she would best each prior opponent, but history suggested it would be the case. If so, she did not intend to fall to Tom Riddle's wand. Certainly not this year.