Chapter 207: Mediocrity
The sky was a dull grey. A black cat trotted through the snow, a spirited blob of ink against the white.
As its strength slowly returned, the shouts from the Quidditch pitch grew louder.
"I don't mind telling you, we're definitely taking the Quidditch Cup this year!"
That was Wood shouting.
"This year, our team will be glorious! We'll sweep aside every obstacle!"
His words boosted the morale of the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team.
The Ravenclaw team members said nothing, merely casting cold glances at them. Roger Davies finally retorted, "We'll see about that."
But once they left the pitch, Roger couldn't hold back. "They've been provoking us! The only thing we need to do is crush those arrogant bastards! Beaters, get the hardest bats you can find! We'll win the match, and crack a few skulls while we're at it!"
It sounded like he was a loyal fan of the Falmouth Falcons, given that was their slogan: "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads."
Inside the Quidditch pitch, Wood seemed to be issuing a challenge, but his eyes were fixed intently on the Ravenclaw changing room.
"No backdoor entry—" Fred-kun Weasley popped out of the changing room.
"And no extra person at the final training session. Looks like there won't be an extra one for the match either—" George finished the sentence.
"We crushed Slytherin, and even with Snape's bias, we beat Hufflepuff. Nothing can stop us now! Ravenclaw has lost their powerful ringer, and we are the best—the greatest—team in the school."
Saying this, he punched his palm, his eyes flashing with a wild light.
"We have the three best Chasers." Wood pointed to Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell.
"We have two unbeatable Beaters."
"Stop it, Oliver, you're making us blush." Fred and George said in unison, feigning modesty.
"And we have a Seeker who has never lost a match!" Wood continued, staring at Harry with intense pride.
"And me." He added as an afterthought.
"We think you're great too, Oliver," George said.
"A smashing Keeper," Fred agreed.
"Crush them!" Wood concluded.
Not far from the pitch, Professor McGonagall listened to this rousing declaration, passion nearly overflowing from her eyes.
But she didn't walk onto the pitch as she might have done before. Instead, taking advantage of Sean's recent success with the Piertotum Locomotor spell, she corrected some minor errors and explained more efficient techniques.
Sean had sneaked into the Transfiguration office in his black cat form, and he left the same way.
Just as he didn't understand why a cat's body was so flexible, he also didn't understand why Professor McGonagall loved Quidditch so much.
Strange, isn't it?
At that moment, a barn owl flew in through the stained-glass window, landed on Sean's shoulder, and dropped a pile of letters.
Sean recognized the sender the moment he saw the unusually large owl.
Dear Green:
If you read this in time, please tell me, have you put away your Portkey?
Ho, I see it's Quidditch season at Hogwarts again. Is Minerva still sitting in the North Stand?
Consider it a request—you must tell me these things, or how else can old Marcus stay in touch with your life?
Love,
Marcus
Sean unfolded the letter, and his Quick-Quotes Quill began to dance above it.
The Great Hall was noisy with the flutter of owl wings. A part of that noise now belonged to Sean.
After he finished replying, the rest of the letters surged forward. The letters from the three little McGonagalls were packed with words.
Inside were several crystal-clear glass marbles, some dazzlingly colourful sweet wrappers, and a request form:
We give you all our treasures, dear Wizard Green. Can you come back early? We are waiting so hard for you.
The last sentence was even written crookedly.
So Sean sent off some biscuits. To his surprise, Marcus's owl was astonishingly fast; by evening, it had brought a reply.
Regarding the question you mentioned about Quidditch, I'd be happy to discuss it with you—
It's a distant story now.
Isobel, our mother, was a highly gifted witch and once an outstanding Quidditch player at Hogwarts.
She fell in love with our father, Robert, a man without magic. She voluntarily gave up the wizarding world for love.
Their love was sincere and passionate, but a witch living in the Muggle world faces difficulties.
Especially when all three of us children showed magical talent.
Sean understood some of it by this point, and continued reading.
It was a long letter, describing a deliberately forgotten past:
We couldn't reveal a trace of magical ability.
Minerva was very close to our father; in temperament, she was remarkably similar to him.
Seeing Father struggle with the peculiar situation of our family, she felt pain too.
Moreover, she could sense how strained our mother was, trying to adapt to life in a Muggle village. How much she missed the freedom of being with her magical kind, and how much she longed to use her magical gifts freely again.
She once told us she would never forget how much Mother cried when Minerva received her Hogwarts acceptance letter on her eleventh birthday. She knew Isobel's tears were not just of pride, but also of envy.
So later, when she fell in love with a man without magic, she chose to leave without a word.
The day after he proposed to her.
Because of the International Statute of Secrecy, she couldn't even tell him the reason for her departure, leaving him heartbroken.
Later... he died during the riots caused by Voldemort.
Reading this, Sean was stunned.
He seemed to understand something. He understood why Professor McGonagall was always strict, always unyielding.
You asked me why Minerva loves Quidditch so much. All I can tell you is:
Quidditch is a bond. When the talent she inherited from Mother was displayed, perhaps both of them touched the extraordinary nature of magic.
She and Mother were both excellent players. Perhaps that was a comfort?
Even in the evening, the Quidditch pitch remained noisy, with the Ravenclaw team training incessantly.
Professor McGonagall gazed out the window. From the Transfiguration office, she could always see the Quidditch pitch.
She had inherited little from her childhood, save for a fury at a mediocre life, and a determination never to fade into obscurity.
(End of Chapter)
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