The final stretch of the term at Hogwarts unfolded under a dense, tension-filled atmosphere. Despite having survived the horrors of the Chamber of Secrets, the student body now faced an equally terrifying ordeal: final exams.
Unlike in the original story, Albus Dumbledore was far too consumed by his own affairs to decree the cancellation of exams. Consequently, a haze of suffocating anxiety spread through the common rooms, where students revised tirelessly, fearing the wrath of their families.
Undoubtedly, the school year was far from normal. Between the exchange delegations, the acromantula plague, and the monster of Slytherin, the castle's routine had turned unpredictable. Yet, the final weeks held mysteries within the school's corridors.
The first major mystery lay in the Headmaster's prolonged absence. Dumbledore had become a specter within his own castle. This erratic behavior sparked the fury of Cornelius Fudge; when the Minister for Magic arrived seeking answers and failed to find him, he discovered to his bewilderment that the old wizard had been spotted in various countries outside Great Britain. Following the string of scandals and missteps, Fudge's paranoid mind began perceiving dark conspiracies around every corner.
The second anomaly—closely tied to the first—was the deplorable state of Potions class. Severus Snape looked cadaverous, consumed by a physical strain pushing him to his absolute limits. Only the methodical intake of invigorating tonics kept him from collapsing in the middle of the classroom.
Snape was not only continuing to teach Potions, but he had taken it upon himself to assume the Defense Against the Dark Arts post following Lockhart's fall from grace. Though he had always coveted the position, the academic burden was crushing. To make matters worse, Dumbledore had formally transferred the duties of Deputy Headmaster to him. Pressed by circumstances, Severus had no choice but to comply: despite his sour, austere demeanor, he refused to overburden the Deputy Headmistress given her delicate and extraordinary condition. Thus, the castle's bureaucracy ended up split between the two of them.
However, the most thunderous surprise—the one that sent shockwaves through the students, the teaching staff, and sectors of the wider wizarding world alike—was the undeniable condition of the Transfiguration professor.
Minerva McGonagall was pregnant.
By this point in the term, the evidence was impossible to conceal. The curve of her abdomen was growing at a remarkable rate, and speculation spread like wildfire. Though Minerva employed subtle charms to soften her facial rejuvenation and avoid causing an excessive uproar, the metamorphosis of her figure was stunning. Whether due to the miraculous potion or the unique nature of the pregnancy, the Deputy Headmistress carried an imposing presence that inevitably drew every eye.
For the students, passing her in the corridors became an exercise in constant distraction. Her silhouette displayed far more defined lines, and her curves were pronounced beneath the cut of her usual robes. Accompanying this physical transformation, her strict temperament had softened considerably; the serenity stemming from her new condition endowed her with a measured, magnetic air. This newfound warmth was welcomed with relief by most, though it sparked in quite a few upper-year students a sudden, unconfessable teenage crush on a witch who, until recently, they had associated with the rigidity of their grandmothers.
Minerva, however, did not bother to deny the rumors. She addressed the situation with patience and responded with composure whenever occasion demanded it.
"Professor..." a student ventured in the middle of Transfiguration class. Like most of his classmates, he couldn't help stealing glances at the swell straining the fabric of the teacher's uniform.
"Yes, Mr. Finnegan?" Minerva replied, turning to face him and resting her hand deliberately over her abdomen, perfectly aware of the questions running through the children's minds.
"Are... are you...?" the boy stammered, intimidated by the direct attention. Though the professor's expression lacked its former severity, her presence remained imposing.
"Indeed, Mr. Finnegan. In case any of you harbored doubts... I am pregnant," Minerva declared, raising her voice to address the entire classroom, resolved to clear away distractions and guide the lesson back on track. "I assume you have heard the rumors or drawn your own conclusions. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
The classroom instantly erupted into a collective murmur filled with awe and excitement:
—She really is!
—The rumors were true!
—By Merlin, I can't believe it!
Soon, the room devolved into a chaotic sea of rapid-fire questions:
"How many months along are you, Professor?"
"Who's the father?"
"Will you keep teaching us next year?"
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
"When is it due?"
"Are you okay? Isn't it dangerous to keep teaching?"
"Is that why you look so... different?"
The questions piled up, mixing genuine curiosity from the younger students, sincere concern for her health, and shameless attempts by less studious pupils to stall the class.
"I deeply appreciate your interest," Minerva interrupted, raising her voice with sober elegance, "but I shall refrain from answering questions that pertain strictly to my private life. Rest assured: I will continue leading this subject as usual. Now, I suggest you direct that energy toward a far more imminent event requiring your full attention. I trust you have studied sufficiently for the final evaluations, as my condition will not make me any more lenient with those who intend to fail."
Without losing her composure, she stepped up to Ronald Weasley's desk and tapped the wood firmly twice with her wand, causing the redhead to jump in his seat while the rest of the class scrambled back to their parchments.
The professor offered a faint smile upon noticing the students regain their focus and redirect their minds to their immediate problems. She sincerely hoped the class would channel that restlessness into studying. Of course, the curve of her lips froze for a fraction of a second as her eyes met mine, but she merely offered me a sober nod before turning back to the blackboard.
Silence claimed the classroom once more. Although most pretended to concentrate on their parchments, the appetite for gossip remained blatantly active, even if the impending exams acted as an effective deterrent. Still, not everyone had managed to put the topic out of mind.
"Can you believe it?" Hermione whispered to me, leaning in with wide eyes. "The professor is pregnant."
"Does it catch your interest? If you want, I can..." I replied with a sly smirk, reaching for her hand beneath the desk.
Following an initial shock of dumbfounded outrage, the response I received was a swift, accurate kick under the table, accompanied by a glare from Hermione packed with indignation, panic, and a dash of embarrassment. Her face conveyed an unmistakable message: "Don't even joke about that." The mere thought of a pregnancy filled her with profound panic; she couldn't even begin to imagine how she would find the courage to look her parents in the eye after what we had already done. If something like that were to happen... The persistent fear that haunted her after each of our encounters flared back up with full force, driving her to mentally review every treatise on magical contraception she had ever memorized. To top it off, she reminded me in hushed, suffocated whispers that we wouldn't be having intimacy again for a very long time, just as she had promised McGonagall herself during that private conversation. Seeing the Deputy Headmistress in that state gave the warning a crushing psychological impact.
I merely let out a amused sigh. While I was willing to grant her some space, the wait wouldn't be nearly as long as she intended.
...
Exam week finally arrived. The atmosphere in the castle grew thick, dominated by exhausted faces, stifled sighs, and a frantic flow of students darting in and out of classrooms with frayed nerves, especially those who had left their studying to the last minute.
The final results brought no major surprises. The members of the lair turned in outstanding performances, upholding the expected reputation of the "Heroines of Hogwarts". On the theoretical front, the study group functioned with flawless efficiency, bolstered by the support of the smart notebooks I had provided to accelerate information processing. As for the practical tests, they stood head and shoulders above their peers. Among them all, Hannah exhibited superior mastery; the years spent by my side in the Amazon of the past granted her an instinctive grasp of mana that rendered conventional exercises a mere formality, setting aside the rigid formalisms demanded by the official curriculum.
A collective sigh of relief echoed through the castle as the final test concluded. For the girls, however, the rest was short-lived: they soon discovered that beyond academic evaluation, their true exam awaited under my supervision.
Shortly after, the lair—sealed off to the rest of the school—became our proving ground. I paced back and forth across the room like a general inspecting his troops while they lined up before me.
"Alright, the time has come. I trust you will meet my expectations. As a baseline requirement, I demand the manifestation of an incorporeal Patronus under pressure. Anyone who falls short of the threshold earns a direct trip down the walk of shame," I said, pointing to a side corridor marked out by glowing arrows and flanked by enchanted gloves waving in the air at glute level.
The girls looked at the setup; most gave me glares of deep reproach while swallowing hard. Lavender, for her part, seemed to exhibit a radically different reaction, but her case belonged to a category of its own.
"Begin!" I commanded, releasing my auras.
—Expecto Patronum!
—Expecto...!
—EXPECTO PATRONUM!
One by one, the girls began channeling the training accumulated throughout the year. The final outcome was overwhelmingly satisfactory, and not a single one failed the basic standard, though a few were forced to navigate the glove-flanked path amidst muttered insults directed at me.
...
Late into the night, Severus Snape dragged his feet toward his quarters. Physical and mental exhaustion consumed him to such a degree that not even invigorating potions could dull the heaviness in his limbs. In his drained state, he failed to notice the anomalous silence reigning over the corridor or the subtle, odorless particles saturating the air.
Opening the door to his potions office, a flicker of alarm crossed his mind as he registered a strange density in the atmosphere. As a Potions Master, his clinical sense of smell should have picked up on the alteration instantly, but accumulated fatigue had dulled his reflexes.
Before he could react or reach for his wand, a figure lunged at him from the shadows.
"Little Sev!!!" an cloying female voice gushed, wrapping around the professor with vigor just as the door slammed shut.
Had anyone been walking down the corridor at that hour, they would have heard the bewildering demands of an unknown woman echoing from the office, accompanied by Snape's futile protests—incapable of putting up resistance in his sedated, artificially exhausted state as he was dragged into the adjoining room.
"Look how much you've grown! Let Gigi give you a proper hug!"
I deactivated the invisibility charm against the adjacent wall in the corridor and strolled away at a leisure pace.
"Consider this my revenge, Snape Bitch... Enjoy it," I muttered to myself, a wide smirk spreading across my face as I melted into the shadows of the hallways.