Mrs. Norris's meows were drawing nearer.
On the corridor, the black cat perched on the armour gave a distinctly human sigh.
Hufflepuffs almost always keep the rules—except for a certain upper-year who really likes magical creatures.
Best not let some accident spoil everyone's Christmas mood.
As Hannah and Sally-Anne froze with fright, the black cat slid like ink into the corridor's shadows and then reappeared in the firelight.
"Is that the good-luck black cat, Hannah? Am I seeing things?" Sally-Anne stammered.
Ten minutes later—
Under the thick garlands of holly and mistletoe, Hannah and Sally-Anne still couldn't believe it.
A black cat had led them to their common room. And after the cat appeared, Mrs. Norris hadn't followed—though their legs were jelly and they were walking at a snail's pace.
So there they stood, gaping at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. Inside was warmer than ever; curtains drawn, fire blazing, the familiar fresh scent of plants and sweetness of food—but even that couldn't coax the two girls in for a peek.
"You were right—that was the lucky black cat. Merlin—Sally-Anne, what if it's the spirit of the statue come to life?!" Hannah blurted.
"Oh! I think you may be right—" Sally-Anne caught the cue.
And so, just like that, the tale of the Lucky Black Cat spread.
By the next day in the Great Hall, Sean had heard it.
"On Christmas night there comes a herald—the castle's spirit-cat, keeper of good fortune; the towering castle is his ears, its winding stairs his breath—"
Sean winced.
Since when had this rumour started?
Then he heard Sally-Anne, at the Hufflepuff table, declaring with conviction:
"If you manage to touch its ears," she said clearly, firmly, "good luck will stay with you for a whole year!"
Absolutely not!
Sean had now witnessed first-years' astonishing rumour-mongering power. And Hufflepuffs, ever trusting of their mates, grew curious and excited, and the chatter swelled.
At the high table, Sean felt many eyes turned his way. Headmaster Dumbledore's beard shook with his smile; Professor McGonagall was as gentle as ever, though the laughter in her eyes seemed a touch too much. But she didn't smile all the time: when she looked toward the Headmaster, her face went blank again.
Sean sighed. Let them talk.
He only hoped that when he began Animagus lessons, neither the professor nor Dumbledore would break into chuckles.
Today was the first day of the Christmas holiday—a Saturday morning with snow tumbling thickly.
A horde of first-years—Harry and the Weasley brothers among them—had been waging snowball wars on the grounds, playing for ages. At last, freezing and soaked, they returned to the Great Hall hearth, panting.
Sean had just come from the Hope Nook—Mr. Owl had been flapping and squawking in the portrait for a full half hour. Of course, it wasn't the only lively corner.
Headmaster's Office.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, if you have so much free time, perhaps you should deal with a few headmasterly matters…" McGonagall said, face expressionless and mouth a tight, severe line. "I need to be away for a few days this Christmas. This is my leave request."
She set the form gently on the desk; even in anger, she kept her poise.
On the fresh envelope, names could just be made out—Elphinstone Urquart, Malcolm, and others.
Dumbledore paused—then broke into a genuine, long-unseen smile.
"You're right. I agree—Minerva, I agree to all of it. Go—take a walk."
His frankness stilled McGonagall for a heartbeat.
Wind and snow were as fierce as ever, striking the office windows—only to melt quickly into thin streams.
Those names were a story from several winters ago.
A perfect story, flawed by fate.
In her early years at Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonagall had a brief and happy marriage with her former Ministry superior, Elphinstone Urquart. Not long after Voldemort's first fall, on a summer afternoon by the Hogwarts Lake, white-haired Elphinstone proposed—who knows how many times—and this time she accepted. Retired and joyous, he bought them a cottage in Hogsmeade to make her commute easy.
It was a happy marriage—tragically short, as if fated. They had no children, but Minerva's nieces and nephews (her brother Malcolm's and young Robert's children) visited often, and she was very happy.
Only three years later, Elphinstone died unexpectedly—bitten by a venomous tentacle—leaving all who knew them grief-stricken.
Professor McGonagall couldn't bear living alone in the cottage. After the funeral she packed her things, returned to Hogwarts, and took a stone-walled room. Brave and private by nature, she threw herself into work; few understood her pain—the one exception, perhaps, was Dumbledore.
Today, she had received a letter from afar. Her old family's hearts still stirred at the thought.
They begged her, whatever happened, to bring the child home to see them. She couldn't find a reason to refuse.
In the office, a tremor passed through her light-blue eyes. She looked at the letter and turned to go—like a once-precious happiness giving her a careful, brief glance.
At the desk, Dumbledore eyed the mountain of pending issues.
Had he agreed a bit too quickly?
Be that as it may, when Sean knocked on the Transfiguration Office door, he was welcomed by McGonagall's gentle gaze.
"Come in, child. The Headmaster is very busy; I will be teaching you Animagus," she said with a smile.
The Transfiguration hearth was the fiercest Sean had seen. From the window he could spy first-years playing madly on the Quidditch pitch.
At the sill sat a silver cat figurine and a tidy box of cat-shaped biscuits.
"Let me first see your Transfiguration progress, child," the professor said.
~~~
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