The Three Brothers: The Cure

Albus Dumbledore

22nd July 1991

"Mr Smith, I presume? I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress at Hogwarts School. I am here to talk to you about your son. May I come in?"

John surveyed the tall middle-aged woman in front of him. She was dressed smartly, although her fashion style was out of date by around thirty years. A thin face and sharp nose, a set of square spectacles were resting on the bridge, and a set of thin lips gave her an appearance of someone not to cross.

"Yes, please come in," John answered, his trained eye completing it assessment - Not a threat. He swept his hand towards the living room, gesturing his welcome. The woman nodded and followed him in.

As she walked in, John wondered why this lady was here. They certainly hadn't applied to any school. Once she seated herself on the couch, he voiced his question.

"You say you're from a school? Are you here to offer Mark a position there?" John asked before remembering, "Oh, how rude of me. Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"No, thank you," came the polite reply, followed by a muttered, "Perhaps that would be a good demonstration."

John nodded and sat himself on the armchair. This lady, professor, he reminded himself, was one of the most intriguing figures he had ever met. And as a former SAS captain, that list was not easy for someone to get on to.

Now that he observed closely, she was clearly older than sixty, but her movements held the spryness of someone much younger. Although she was not a threat, everything about her was contradictory.

Her mannerisms were that of a teacher, but behind them were reflexes of a fighter. Her eyes held the experience of an academic, yet they had scanned the room for danger the moment she entered through the door. She had definitely seen combat action but was not in that role today. After all, female soldiers weren't unfamiliar to him; he had seen his fair share.

The way she carried herself, John would've guessed that she was armed with a weapon if he hadn't known better. Perhaps it was an old instinct she hadn't gotten rid of completely.

"Is your son at home today, Mr Smith?" asked the lady in front of him, bringing John's attention back into focus. Before he could answer, however, a voice carried in through the hallway.

"I am"

John turned to look at his Mark, who gave him a grin as he walked in towards him.

"Ah, young Mr Smith. As I mentioned to your father, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts school in Scotland." Once both father and son had her full attention, she continued,

"Before I proceed any further, I must ask a few questions if you don't mind." She removed a small piece of paper from the small bag she was carrying. It was yellowed and thick, and John would've guessed it to be some sort of parchment.

After seeing affirming nods, she proceeded, "Now, you are Mark John Smith, born Thirtieth of November Nineteen Seventy-Nine, correct?"

"Yes," Mark replied. The professor tucked the parchment back in and looked at them again.

"Now Mr Smith," she said, her voice delicate, "has Mark ever done something odd, something unusual? Something you couldn't explain, perhaps?" Her eyes were watching the two of them for any hint of reaction. She must have found some, for her face assumed a brief sense of triumph.

John wondered just what exactly was going on. Who was this lady? He glanced sideways and saw Mark's eyes peering at her. Moments later, however, his son smiled.