Another day was beginning at Hogwarts, and Minerva was having breakfast in the Great Hall, deeply lost in thought. She had noticed her appetite increasing drastically over the past few weeks—an extraordinary ravenousness that forced her to constantly monitor her portions so as not to lose the figure that was already changing, though she had never worried too much about it before.
However, today was no ordinary day. In addition to the fierce hunger that led her to request an extra plate from the house-elves, a deep discomfort invaded her—a bone-heavy fatigue weighing her down. Despite everything, her schedule was packed with classes, and she had no intention of neglecting them. Following the resolution of the incidents surrounding the Chamber of Secrets, the school had regained its usual routine: exams, assignments, and student complaints.
Minerva resumed her duties feeling infinitely more overwhelmed than usual. She tried to convince herself it was just an off day, a buildup of stress not only from her teaching workload, but also from Tom's prolonged absence—having barely been able to write to him as often as before amidst the chaotic end of term.
The morning was an ordeal of explanations and corrections. Lunchtime arrived, and this time she didn't even attempt to restrain herself, devouring her meal. She desperately needed an Energizing Potion, but the thought of going to Severus Snape produced a visceral rejection she preferred to avoid.
By the afternoon, the situation deteriorated drastically. Her distress was so glaring that even the fifth-year Ravenclaw and Slytherin students noticed: the professor bore a layer of cold sweat across her forehead, her gaze was unfocused, and her speaking pace was unusually slow.
"Professor... are you alright?" a female student inquired from the front row.
"Uh... Yes, perfectly," Minerva stammered, attempting to maintain her posture, but as she took a step forward, her legs failed her completely.
Her knees buckled and her body collapsed downward. Minerva reached out blindly, gripping the edge of the desk with a heavy gasp to break her fall.
"Professor McGonagall!" several students exclaimed in unison.
A boy and a girl scrambled to their feet, rushing to hold her by the arms and preventing her from hitting the floor.
"I am... fine. Thank you," Minerva said, dazed and dizzy. "Class is dismissed... Return to your common rooms or... wherever..."
The students observed her with a mix of concern and bewilderment; they had never seen their stern, commanding Head of House in such a vulnerable state.
"Should we take her to the hospital wing?" the girl proposed, quickly slapping away the other student's hand as he tried to over-adjust his grip on the professor's prominent rear curve.
Minerva's pride demanded she refuse the assistance and walk off on her own two feet, but acknowledging the fragility of her body, she merely nodded in silence. Both students escorted her at a slow pace through the corridors.
...
Minerva lay on one of the hospital wing cots, breathing heavily, with one hand resting on her forehead and her eyes shut tight.
Madam Pomfrey arrived immediately after being alerted by one of the students. The first thing she did was draw several screens around the bed—not only to prevent students from witnessing a faculty member's weakness, but to ensure absolute privacy, reinforcing the perimeter with silencing charms.
"What happened, Minerva?" the nurse asked, taking her wrist while lighting the tip of her wand to begin diagnostic spells.
"I don't know... I simply collapsed," the professor answered, a bit calmer as the dizziness began to recede.
Pomfrey listened in silence without pausing her enchantments, but within seconds, her face darkened.
"You are displaying a severe magical deficiency," she declared, fixing her gaze on her colleague. It was inconceivable that a witch of McGonagall's caliber could have committed the recklessness of depleting her reserves so abruptly, as if she were a child who had just learned magic.
"But I have barely cast any charms today... I have used very little magic for some time now," Minerva murmured, her brow furrowed with confusion as she noticed this for the first time, realizing it was not mere exhaustion. "I have felt... magically weak these past few days... What could be causing it?"
"I don't know yet, but I am going to find out. Standard questions: Have you ingested any unidentified potions? Food past its prime? Have you been exposed to curses or tested experimental spells?" Pomfrey listed off potential causes while performing more complex diagnostics.
Minerva shook her head to every question. She accepted the restorative potion the nurse handed her and drank the tonic to stabilize her condition, though she couldn't suppress a grimace of disgust upon recognizing Snape's craft; the mere thought of the tonic brought back deeply uncomfortable memories.
As the minutes ticked by, Minerva noticed Pomfrey's expression growing increasingly grave and enigmatic. The nurse moved back and forth in silence, casting additional diagnostic charms and checking notes, avoiding direct eye contact with her friend.
When Minerva's discomfort finally subsided and energy began returning to her body, Pomfrey approached slowly and sat in the chair beside the cot, observing her with a unsettling mix of disbelief and caution.
"Well? What is the diagnosis?" Minerva asked, pushing herself up into a seated position on the mattress.
"I... would suggest transferring you to St. Mungo's for more comprehensive testing," Pomfrey answered, measuring every word.
"Were you unable to discover anything?" Minerva asked, her alarm bells ringing.
"No... That is to say, yes, I found a possible cause," the nurse corrected, swallowing hard. "It's just that... I'm not certain, and I don't know if I should inform you without being sure."
"What is it, Poppy?" Minerva asked, reaching out to grasp the nurse's hand. She could clearly sense her old friend wrestling in silence before uttering the truth.
"You see... I don't mean to judge your private life, nor give you a misdiagnosis due to some calculation error, but..." Pomfrey trailed off, studying the reaction on McGonagall's face.
"Poppy, you know you can tell me anything. It doesn't matter if there's a margin of error... I need to know what is wrong with me. I cannot go around collapsing in the hallways in the middle of my classes," Minerva insisted. Though she tried to keep secrets like the one regarding Tom, she knew her health was paramount and could not be ignored.
"You're pregnant," Pomfrey blurted out.
The silence in the hospital wing turned sepulchral.
Minerva froze. Her mind seemed to undergo a total short circuit, incapable of processing the meaning of those two words.
"Congratulations...?" Pomfrey ventured, unsure if that was the appropriate phrasing.
"Heh... Heheh. Poppy, what a ridiculous thought... This is a joke in very poor taste, isn't it?" Minerva said with a nervous chuckle, her voice reduced to a trembling thread.
"It is no joke, Minerva. That is what the diagnostic charms show," the nurse replied, looking just as perplexed as she was. "But as I said... it could be an error."
"But Poppy, that's impossible," she countered, letting out another hysterical giggle. "You know perfectly well how old I am... And I don't..." She wanted to argue that she didn't lead an active intimate life, but the lie caught in her throat, because for some time now, that was no longer true.
"I must remind you that your body is no longer as old as it used to be..." the nurse chimed in, her gaze scanning her colleague's rejuvenated figure. And then, even if she couldn't yet be certain that the strict Professor McGonagall had such an active lifestyle, she proceeded with the line she always gave the young girls who came to the hospital wing with this issue: "And if you haven't been using preventative measures, magic and biology handle the rest..."
McGonagall froze for a second time, but this time a violent shudder ran down her spine as her heart surged with anguish. Unwilling to doubt her colleague's capability, she drew her own wand and, with clumsy fingers, executed a gestational revelation charm she hadn't practiced in decades. Despite her lack of practice, the enchantment produced an unmistakable glow: positive.
"Poppy... Perform the check again, please... I don't trust my precision in this area," she pleaded, her voice breaking.
Pomfrey didn't refuse. Now that Minerva had confirmed it on her own, the nurse flicked her wand with professional skill, tracing the magical sigil over the professor's abdomen. The result manifested once more, clear and undeniable.
"It can't be... It can't be..." Minerva whispered, bringing both hands to her stomach.
Given her age, she had never considered fertility a real risk; the probability was virtually zero. And although she had started taking precautions when her encounters with Tom began... her memory had played a cruel trick on her. She suddenly remembered those occasions when, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, she had forgotten to cast contraceptive charms. If her body hadn't been rejuvenated, nothing would have happened, but now...
"NO!" Minerva screamed, burying her face in her hands as she burst into gut-wrenching tears.
The emotional imbalance and the exhaustion of her magical core caused her to break down completely.
"Minerva..." Pomfrey said, placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "Listen to me, perhaps there is a mistake... There are other factors that could explain or imply that..."
But Minerva was no longer listening to her. In her head echoed only the image of the young redhead. At this point, if she hadn't wanted to kill Severus Snape, it was a genuine miracle. She... and that student... The consequences of such an atrocity were beyond calculation. What was she going to do? How would she explain this to the school, to the Ministry, to that boy's parents, to the entire world? The only logical way out seemed to be running away—disappearing where no one could ever find her. She wasn't a coward... but she didn't know what to do.
"Minerva, please, calm down. You should go to St. Mungo's for a more thorough examination..." Poppy insisted, though seeing her friend's state of panic, she understood that exposing her to public scrutiny at the magical hospital was not the best idea. "I don't know your situation, but there are strange symptoms. You could have been the victim of a curse..."
McGonagall paused her crying for a second, lifting her eyes toward the nurse.
"Remember when Severus's potion caused you those severe side effects? It was all due to the pregnancy. You were already suffering from magical deficit back then..." Poppy began to explain.
"Wait... Are you saying I was already pregnant back then?" Minerva interrupted her, connecting the dots at high speed.
"Huh? Yes, exactly. I can't pinpoint how many weeks, but the gestational state was what altered your hormonal system and, combined with low mana, caused the potion to overwhelm you," Pomfrey explained, thrown off by the shift in pace of Minerva's reaction.
"I was already pregnant before that..." Minerva whispered to herself.
If the dates aligned like that, whatever was growing in her womb could not possibly be the result of that incident with the Weasley student. By the time that occurred, she was already carrying a life inside her. And the only person with whom she had shared a bed prior to that event was...
A strange tide of composure began replacing the panic. The shock remained, but something inside her chest settled as her palms gently caressed the firmness of her abdomen. Amidst the madness of the situation, this was something her mind could actually process and accept.
"Tom..." she whispered in a barely audible breath.
She had never planned for this, but now... she felt the need to pull herself together and think coldheadedly. The situation remained scandalous and complex, but it was a challenge she was willing to face. If it was Tom's child, she could face it; the prospect of social ruin didn't destroy her as it had just moments ago.
Instinctively, her heart yearned for that child to be his. She... truly loved him, even if she wouldn't admit it. If there was one desire she had buried in her deepest depths after the death of her husband, it was the wish to be a mother. Tom had unearthed emotions she had thought extinct forever. It was a selfish madness, but an unfamiliar maternal instinct was blooming in her womb with overwhelming force.
However, she had to shake off those thoughts immediately; she couldn't afford romantic fantasies. She was a grown woman, the Gryffindor Head of House, and the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and it fell upon her to take responsibility for her actions.
Before she could delve deeper into her thoughts, Pomfrey grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her firmly, snapping her abruptly back to reality.
"Minerva! Listen to me carefully! This is far more serious than you think—let me finish!"