Before she was Professor McGonagall, she was Minerva Macnair. After an arranged marriage forces her into an impossible situation, Minerva does what she must to survive. When she makes a new life for herself, her secrets follow and threaten everythin...
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"He's going to need help when he gets out of hospital."
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7 June 1977
Alastor's sense of Something Not Quite Right had been nudging him all afternoon.
He'd tried to tell the field team leader—that was a laugh!—about it, but Grimsley didn't want to hear it. Promoted to Senior Auror three years previously, during Alastor's enforced leave, Willard Grimsley took his charge to "supervise" Moody particularly seriously.
Why the hell couldn't it have been Scrimgeour? At least he was halfway competent, as humiliating as it would be for Alastor to have an Academy training-mate as his supervisor.
But no. He'd got Grimsley. Who patronised Moody with an "I'll take that under advisement" when Alastor had alerted him that he thought something was off about the job.
Problem was, Alastor couldn't put his finger on it, couldn't articulate it. It was just odd that the Muggles had requested magical security. Normally, they wanted nothing to do with the Ministry of Magic, or so Alastor had always heard. He'd certainly never been deployed at their request before.
He looked up and down the street again. The barricades were in place, the Muggle police were patrolling, and the crowds seemed excited but controlled. There was no sign of magical activity.
Of course, nobody in MLE really believed the DEs would bother with disrupting a big Muggle event. Baiting individual Muggles, that was more in their line. Which was why the office had only dispatched four Aurors to monitor the procession, despite the pleas from Parkinson, the poor sod assigned to liaise with the Muggle Ministry.
The energy in the crowd ratcheted up, and Alastor's good eye—the magical one was once again relegated to his pocket—skimmed over them, then turned to look down the street as the throng leant forward against the barricades.
The procession was moving towards them. First came a seemingly endless parade of twats in ornate uniforms, both on horseback and on foot. Then a troop of soldiers in high fur hats came marching along bearing the Union Jack. Grudgingly, Alastor swept his hat off his head when everyone around him did. A roar rose up from the crowd as the gold coach rolled into view. As it drew nearer, Alastor peered at it.
