Ghosts and Folded Parchment

These characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I appreciate the opportunity to borrow them from time to time. My deepest thanks to the very generous and gracious MMADfan and Squibstress for their inspiration, advice, patience and time.

In this semi-AU, Professor Merrythought is, at this time, the Charms instructor.

Chapter 3: Ghosts and Folded Parchment

February 1943, Hogwarts Castle

Minerva blinked her eyes several times and sat up, forgetting where she was until she recognized the ticking of the antique clock that hung on the wall across from the Transfigured couch. She groaned, feeling foolish for falling asleep in her professor's office. Why hadn't he woken me? And what time is it? Glancing at the window and then up at the clock, in the dim light of the candelabra, she could see that it was early, still dark outside, only half past five.

She swung her feet over the side of the couch and her bladder screamed. Muttering to herself about falling asleep in the first place, Minerva was thankful that there was a small office loo and hurried inside. After relieving herself, she stood by the sink and grasped the bar of soap. Much like the soap in the Prefects' bath, this bar was also in the shape of a Celtic knot. It smelled quite strong once she worked up a thick lather: cinnamon, clove, and bay rum, which she thought was oddly familiar.

After returning to the office, she began gathering up her belongings and noticed the note atop her Potions book. Donning her reading spectacles, she unfolded the note and read:

Miss McGonagall,

Professor Albus Dumbledore

Although she still felt foolish, even childish, for falling asleep on her professor's couch, he didn't seem bothered by it. She guessed there were far worse things other students had done in the past, and she decided not to give much energy to her embarrassment. Tucking the note into her Potions book, she stuffed everything back into her normal-sized book bag and laid it on the couch, looking around the room. She had wanted to browse her professor's small library the night before and wondered if he would mind much if she glanced over some of his books. She decided it wouldn't hurt to look and walked around his desk.

She gasped a few times, recognizing some of the tomes as those she had never been able to find in the libraries at school or in Hogsmeade, or even at Flourish and Blotts. Many of Professor Dumbledore's books were out of print and quite a few were old, centuries old. One in particular captured her interest: The History of Animagi of the Past Millennium by Cedric McGregor. Tentatively, she laid her index finger along the top of the spine, contemplating drawing it out. Curiosity got the better of her, and she withdrew the book carefully and, cradling it gently, opened it to the title page. Printed in 1806! Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she turned the pages with great care, looking over the table of contents.

Every chapter title was the name of a person; each one was, no doubt, an Animagus registered over the past thousand years. She saw listed forty-six chapters and wondered momentarily if this was a list of British Animagi or if the book included other nationalities. Forty-six registered Animagi for the entire world for a full thousand years sure seemed like a small number. Perhaps the art was as difficult as Professor Dumbledore had warned her. Minerva decided it didn't matter how difficult the study was. She knew she'd regret it if she never tried, and decided that, no matter how grueling the practice became, she'd make a determined effort to succeed.

Feeling somewhat guilty for snooping when she had not been given permission, she replaced the book and looked over the desk for some blank parchment. Upon finding a sheet, she used her professor's large pheasant quill and wrote out a short note. After signing her name, she had an idea and grinned; folding the parchment in a peculiar shape, she tapped it with her wand, muttered an incantation, and laid it in the center of his desk.

Returning to the couch for her possessions, she noticed the blanket had been Transfigured to match the couch, and she smiled before folding it up neatly and draping it over the back. After picking up her book sack and making sure she had everything she came with, she slipped out of the office and quietly padded to the Fat Lady's portrait.

The Gryffindor common room was silent and dark, and she made her way up the stairs to her dorm room as quietly as possible. As early as it was, she doubted any of her Housemates would be up, as she was generally the earliest riser. She quickly dressed in a sweater and heavy wool skirt in response to the chilly February weather, then donned her common school robes. In the girls' lavatory, she continued getting ready for her day before heading back down to the common room to study a bit before her patrol rounds.

At six a.m., Minerva headed out the portrait hole for morning rounds as she did every morning. Preferring to get her obligatory prefect duties accomplished at the beginning of the day, she had signed up for first rounds at the start of the year. Though spare time wasn't something she had in excess, she preferred to relax in the evenings when she could. This evening, being a Friday, would likely find Minerva busy, as Gryffindor had Quidditch practice in the afternoon and a game against Ravenclaw on Saturday. As Gryffindor Quidditch captain, it was her responsibility to make sure they were ready, so she resigned herself to the idea of having little time of her own until Sunday.

Their Seeker, a seventh-year named Claymont Williams, had recently broken up with his girlfriend, Minerva's cousin, Sara MacGruder, and had been despondent. He had been so surly and preoccupied at their last practice on Wednesday that Minerva had asked him if he would like to take some time off, allowing their third-year reserve Seeker to take over. Williams hadn't given her a real answer, but if his attitude and performance didn't improve by this afternoon, she'd have to replace him with Darwin Clandallin, a short but stout young man with ginger hair. She had little patience for what she perceived as melodramatic teenage angst, and the team shouldn't have to suffer because Williams had lost interest. Sara, while also on the team, seemed quite relieved to be rid of Williams, at least romantically, and had not lost any of her Quidditch gusto. Minerva decided not to dwell on it any longer. If Williams was going to wallow in his grief, he could do it in the stands.

Minerva had broken off her relationship with Alastor Moody only a month prior, and she could not have cared less if he remained on the team or not. She had no qualms about continuing to work with him. Well, that wasn't entirely true; he was an excellent Keeper. She did suppose if he had quit Quidditch over their break up, she'd consider that extremely unfortunate. Gryffindor had an excellent team this year and a real shot at the Quidditch Cup, and as it was her first year as captain, she wanted even more desperately to pound all competition into the dirt.

How foolish of Williams to allow his personal feelings to get in the way of Gryffindor's success!

Even so, Alastor didn't take the breakup as anything earth-shattering, nor did she. She shrugged and decided she wasn't likely to understand Williams' emotional state, but regardless, as captain, she would have to make the final decision about the Seeker, and she would choose what was best for the team.

****************

Minerva's rounds were uneventful, and she found only a sparse few students up and moving already. She was walking down the last two flights of stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast when a bright voice spoke to her from the outside edge of the banister.

"Good morning, Miss McGonagall!" exclaimed Sir Nicholas in a cheerful voice as he floated forward, mid-air, alongside her. Minerva was somewhat surprised and paused in her steps before finding her brisk stride again.

"Good morning, Sir Nicholas. You're up and about early," she commented. Not that ghosts slept, did they?

The ghost smiled pleasantly and continued to float at her side. "Ah, this is true. I have found in the last few decades I've been missing far too many dawns. Shame really, to have the extended earthly pleasures that I have – such as viewing the weather patterns – and not take them, don't you think?"

Minerva didn't know what to think of his response, never having been that social with the castle ghosts in the first place. She wondered to herself if ghosts actually did still enjoy any earthly pleasures; it seemed doubtful, but then, why would they have remained as ghosts? There must be some benefit. She decided she'd ask one day, but she was certain it wouldn't be a welcome subject, even for Sir Nicholas, who was usually quite friendly.

"Oh I quite agree. The Scottish sunrise isn't one to miss!" Minerva responded but didn't add that during the winter months, as Scotland was so far north and got so few hours of daylight, that dawn wasn't coming for another hour and forty minutes. "Nor are the sunsets." She grinned at the ghost, glancing at him as he floated through the air, wondering just what this old Gryffindor was up to.

"Indeed! Sunsets are even more beautiful, especially over the Quidditch pitch! Perhaps I should take one in with you, our team captain, this afternoon!" He beamed at her as they made their way down to the first floor and onward to the Great Hall. If Minerva didn't know better, she'd have thought he was flirting with her. Do ghosts flirt with the living? This is most unusual.

"As much as I'd enjoy that, I'm afraid that sunset will come long before my last class of the day and that our practice will have to be held under the lights, after nightfall, as is usual at half past four in the afternoon – in February." Minerva shivered a bit in the frigid hallway before opening the heavy doors to the Great Hall and being hit with a pleasant blast of warm air. Sir Nicholas followed her, but instead of moving through the open doorway, he glided through the door and popped out on the other side.

"Oh my, I had completely forgotten about the early onset of nightfall during winter. Mayhap I will take in the sunset and remain in the stands for team practice," he continued as he followed her to the Gryffindor table. "We do have an excellent shot at the Quidditch Cup this year! The Bloody Baron had become quite overbearing last year, and I daresay, he's been far more pleasant than usual. Word is, you're to thank, Captain." He saluted her and continued to grin as he floated by. He stopped and hung in the center of the table, standing up to his midsection in a large tray of sliced fruit.

Minerva poured a cup of tea and scooped up a serving of haggis, took some toast and selected some sliced oranges from the tray under Sir Nicholas.

"You could remain in the stands and lead the cheering section!" She wasn't sure how well her teammates would take it, having a ghost cheering them on, but perhaps he could be inspirational? Still, this was most curious. She'd seen and talked to Sir Nicholas more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in all her years at Hogwarts. The only ghost that seemed to pay her more attention was Peeves, unfortunately.

Sir Nicholas smiled and saluted, still standing in the middle of the fruit tray. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service, Captain McGonagall! I will serve the House of Godric Gryffindor with pride and honor! Of this, you have my word!" He made a flamboyant bow as he finished his statement, sweeping his arm out and through Minerva's plate and tea cup as he bent low. She couldn't help but giggle at his gesture and watched as he glided up to the High Table toward Professor Merrythought and the Headmaster. Minerva was surprised that no other professors were yet present.

A few more students entered the hall; however, Minerva was the first seated for breakfast, as usual. She opened her Charms book and began reviewing a chapter that she'd already read but had not yet been assigned, feeling fairly confident on the material, and ate her breakfast.

Alastor Moody, his hair still wet and slicked back from his morning shower, spotted Minerva sitting alone at the Gryffindor table and walked toward her, taking a seat to her right. She was focused intently on a book in front of her. Before saying anything, he heaped several fried eggs, strips of bacon, bangers, and slices of toast onto his plate.

Minerva didn't have to look up to know who had sat down beside her. The familiar smell of generic soap and the abrupt movements, in addition to his selection of all the greasiest breakfast foods, told her it was Alastor Moody. He had been repeating this habit of perching next to her during breakfast for the past two years.

"Where were you last night? Waited up, in the common room, until one in the morning." Alastor mumbled around a mouthful of sausage. Minerva turned to look at him and poured herself another cup of tea.

"Fell asleep in Professor Dumbledore's office," she answered quietly, still quite embarrassed about it.

"You slept with Dumbledore?" Alastor retorted far louder than Minerva would have hoped or approved. Reflexively, she elbowed him hard in the chest and spilled her tea, only then seeing a familiar figure walking toward them. She felt the color rise from her chest to her face instantly and couldn't even bring herself to immediately reply to her companion's ridiculous question. Tucking her chin into her chest, she tried to hide her face as Professor Dumbledore's shadow fell on Alastor. Minerva cocked her head sideways and could have sworn she heard the sound of a fiddle playing some jovial Irish jig. She tried to focus on the music but lost the melody in a crackling buzz that she quickly tuned out.

"Mr. Moody, Miss McGonagall. I trust everything is well?" Professor Dumbledore grasped Alastor's shoulder, giving him a not-so-gentle squeeze. Alastor had the sudden horrible realization that they had been overheard by their professor, and he stiffened, turning reluctantly to look up into the older man's bearded face. Albus shot him a warning glance as he looked down before releasing Alastor's shoulder. The young Keeper gulped abruptly, swallowing his half-chewed mouthful of sausage, and coughed, trying to recover from the shock.

"Fine ... Professor," he responded, though his words betrayed him, his discomfort obvious.

Minerva closed her eyes and desperately wished she could be anywhere but there at that moment. Summoning courage – from where she had no idea – she looked up briefly, past Alastor, into her professor's concerned eyes.

"I'm quite well, Professor, despite my house-mate's obnoxious comments." Minerva caught a glimpse of Professor Dumbledore's reaction to her words before returning to stare at her teacup. Dumbledore hadn't expected Minerva to be so brazen in her scolding of the young man, and he couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. Moody paled considerably at her words.

Professor Dumbledore, satisfied with Miss McGonagall's admonishment, and making the young man aware that he, himself, had overheard the comment, walked past the pair and sat down next to Minerva, his elbow leaning casually against the table. Alastor dug into his food with gusto, averting his eyes from the man to his far left while Minerva, between the two, turned on the bench seat to face her professor.

"I got your note this morning, Miss McGonagall, and there's no reason to be concerned. You did have a particularly difficult evening, after all." Dumbledore paused, glancing past Minerva to the young man at her right, considering how much he should say in his presence. Alastor Moody seemed completely focused on his heaping breakfast plate, not daring to look up.

Albus grinned while remembering something, his eyes sparkling, and he turned back to Minerva. "What was the charm you used on the note, by the way? I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that."

Minerva returned his grin, unable to hide her pride as she remembered the incantation she had cast on the note. Taking a sip of her tea, she noticed Alastor had stopped chewing, as if holding his breath and waiting for her to answer. She was quite pleased with her classmate's obvious discomfort, and while he pretended, though poorly, not to be paying attention, she knew he was.

"Caulis pellis animatae phoenix, sir," she answered, watching her professor over the rim of her mug, curious if he recognized the decorative charm or her manipulation of it. Albus repeated her words quietly, mumbling to himself and thought back through some mental list of spells, possibly trying to remember where he had heard or read of the spell group before.

"You made that up," Dumbledore declared, looking at Minerva with joyous surprise, and as she nodded her head in answer, he laughed openly. "I've heard of Caulis pellis animatae before, but never in regard to a phoenix! And the musical accompaniment!" He was completely delighted and couldn't contain his enthusiasm. "You'll have to teach me that!"

Minerva laughed, quite proud she could impress her professor with something so trivial and silly. "Of course, sir, but it isn't difficult. Whenever you have some time, I'd be glad to show you." She smiled up at him.

A very confused Alastor Moody grumbled inwardly as Minerva and their Transfiguration professor sat enthusiastically discussing some obscure spell of which he had no knowledge and would not even venture to guess at. What in hell are they talking about, anyway? And couldn't they discuss this marvelous idea somewhere else so I can eat in peace? Phoenixes ... really ... The realization occurred to Alastor that he wouldn't feel nearly as foolish if his professor hadn't overheard his comment about Minerva sleeping with him, which, of course, made him feel even worse. His breakfast didn't seem nearly as appetizing anymore. Not wishing to be obviously rude nor to call attention to himself, he robotically continued to eat as more students filed into the hall.

Professor Dumbledore asked Minerva to find him in his office after Quidditch practice to discuss a few matters and excused himself to join his colleagues at the High Table. After taking his customary seat between the Headmaster and Professor Merrythought, and greeting those present, he selected his standard breakfast foods of eggs, toast, and berries. While sampling a large strawberry, an unusual treat for the end of winter, he took a few moments to remember a pleasant surprise earlier that morning.

Albus Dumbledore had opened the secret door that connected his private rooms with his office, his hair and beard still wet from his morning shower, and yawned. Something wasn't right. The candelabra nearest his desk had been burning. I never leave candles burning overnight! He had then caught sight of the newly Transfigured couch, and the previous evening's events came back to him. Of course, Miss McGonagall fell asleep here, and I didn't wish her to wake in the dark not knowing where she was. Obviously she was already up and gone.

He had waved his hand toward the sconces by his desk, sparking them all into a bright glow as he moved to sit down in his chair. He had been tired and hadn't been getting enough sleep in the past weeks, and Albus had hoped that the coming weekend would be uneventful. As he sat there contemplating his fatigue and the reasons behind it, he had noticed a folded slip of parchment in the shape of a bird sitting in the center of his desktop.

Cocking his head to the side, he then reached for it, and as his fingers closed on a wing, the bird had burst from his hand. Fluttering into the air and emitting red sparks, the parchment had unfolded itself mid-air, and a snippet of the Irish lullaby An Paistin Fionn lilted softly through the room. As the violin and guitar had finished the short stanza, the note had come to rest, unfolded, between his hands. Albus blinked a few times and had been completely astonished, then drew his half-moon spectacles out of the inner breast pocket of his robes, donned them and read.

Professor Dumbledore,

Minerva D. M. McGonagall

Professor Merrythought tapped Albus on the shoulder, breaking him out of reverie, and he turned to look at her.

"My apologies for woolgathering, Galatea, what did you say?" Albus pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his spectacles up a bit, and tried to clear his thoughts. The plump witch tutted at him, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Albus ... pardon me for being so forward, but you're looking quite worn ... and don't fuss ... but I'm worried!" she admonished. "Have you talked to the Headmaster – about what we discussed?" The older woman poured herself and Professor Dumbledore cups of tea and looked up at him with concern.

Albus sighed reluctantly and added a few spoons of sugar and some milk to his tea, avoiding her gaze. "No ... I haven't."

The Charms instructor grumbled, "Albus, I don't mind picking up a few of your classes ... at the very least, until your business with this war is over."

Though Albus did not discuss his activities aiding the Allied forces with the advancement of the war waging across Europe, most of the staff at Hogwarts knew, minimally, that he had been enlisted by the British Ministry of Magic. Some even guessed correctly that he was also advising the Muggle British military. Dumbledore knew his colleague was understandably concerned, and he regretted being responsible for her worry. It was logical to assume he'd be away from the castle more often as the war progressed, and he should make arrangements to cover his classes beforehand.

Hoping to reassure her, Albus reached over and gently patted her arm. "Thank you, Galatea. If it gets to be too much, I'll let Armando know." He gave a sideward glance at the Headmaster to his left, who appeared to be in an animated discussion about wand movement with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Reginald MacFarlane.

Professor Merrythought huffed gently and retorted. "Not before I do, Albus! I'm serious. If this gets any worse, I'll speak to the Headmaster myself." As she spoke, she looked out over the Gryffindor table, spotting Minerva. "I saw you speaking to Miss McGonagall earlier – how is she?"

Albus followed his colleague's gaze toward Minerva, who was tucking a book into her book sack, preparing to leave. "She seems to be handling herself well." Not wishing to speak too freely with the Headmaster sitting next to him, he lowered his voice. "I fear her trust in Hogwarts has been shaken, unfortunately."

"Undoubtedly. I can't imagine it wouldn't be," Merrythought responded, mildly disgusted.

"I spoke to her last evening, explaining the Headmaster's decision, assuring her that we believed her." With that he gave a subtle nod to Professor Merrythought, indicating his lack of desire to speak further on the subject.

Galatea Merrythought lowered her voice and leaned toward the Deputy Headmaster. "Let her know she can come to me if she has any further problems, won't you? I'm not too pleased with the situation myself."

Dumbledore's eyes softened and he offered her a small smile. "Thank you, Galatea, I will."

.........