Mrs. Norris's yowling was getting closer.
In the corridor, a black cat perched on a suit of armor let out a very human sigh.
Hufflepuffs were usually rule-followers—except for that one senior who was obsessed with magical creatures.
Better not let any accidents ruin the students' and staff's Christmas cheer.
When Hannah and Sally-Anne froze in terror, the black cat melted into the shadows like ink, then reappeared in the torchlight.
"Is that the lucky black cat? Hannah, tell me I'm not seeing things?"
Sally-Anne stammered.
Ten minutes later.
Under a thick garland of holly and mistletoe, Hannah and Sally-Anne still couldn't believe it.
A black cat had led them all the way to the common room. And after it showed up, Mrs. Norris never followed—even though their legs were jelly and they'd walked so slowly.
So now they stood gaping at the Hufflepuff common room entrance. Behind them, the room was cozier than ever—curtains drawn, fire roaring, the usual earthy plant scent mixed with sweet food—but neither girl moved to go in.
"You were right. It's the lucky black cat. Merlin—Sally-Anne, what if it's the statue's spirit come to life?!"
Hannah squeaked.
"Oh! I think you're onto something—"
Sally-Anne caught the cue.
And just like that, the legend of the Lucky Black Cat was born.
By the next morning in the Great Hall, Sean overheard the story.
"The Christmas-night messenger, the castle's luck-bringing spirit cat. The towering castle is his ears, the moving staircases his breath—"
Sean winced.
When did this rumor start?
Then he caught Sally-Anne's dramatic declaration at the Hufflepuff table:
"If you touch its ears," she said, voice clear and firm, "good luck will follow you for a whole year!"
That is not how it works!
Sean had to hand it to the little wizards—they spread rumors like wildfire.
Hufflepuffs, especially, believed anything their friends said. Soon the whole table was buzzing with excitement.
Up at the staff table, Sean felt eyes on him. Dumbledore's beard was practically shaking with laughter. McGonagall looked as composed as ever, but her eyes sparkled a little too much.
Though she always smiled—except when she looked at Dumbledore. Then her face went blank.
Sean sighed. Let them gossip.
He just hoped McGonagall or Dumbledore wouldn't be giggling when he started Animagus lessons.
It was the first day of Christmas break—a snowy Saturday morning.
A huge group of kids—Harry, the Weasley brothers, and more—were out in the courtyard having an epic snowball fight. They played until they were soaked, freezing, and out of breath, then stumbled back to the Great Hall to warm up by the fire.
Sean had just left Hope Cottage. The owl in the portrait had been flapping and squawking for a solid half hour.
Of course, the noise wasn't just outside.
Headmaster's office.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, if you have so much free time, perhaps you should handle some actual headmaster duties…"
McGonagall's face was blank, lips pressed into a thin line. "I need to take a few days off over Christmas. Here's my leave request."
She set the form down gently—still elegant, even when furious.
On the crisp envelope, names faintly showed: Elphinstone Urquart, Malcolm…
Dumbledore froze. For once, a real, heartfelt smile broke across his face.
"You're right. Approved, Minerva. All of it. Go."
His sincerity caught her off guard.
Snow battered the office windows as always, but melted into thin streams the moment it touched the glass.
Those names—they were stories from winters long past.
A perfect, flawed love story.
Early in her time at Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonagall had a short, happy marriage with her former boss at the Ministry, Elphinstone Urquart.
Not long after Voldemort's first fall, one summer afternoon by the lake, white-haired Elphinstone proposed—again. This time, she said yes. Retired and overjoyed, he bought them a cottage in Hogsmeade so she could commute easily.
The marriage was joyful, though tragically brief, as if fated. They had no children of their own, but Minerva's nieces and nephews (from her brothers Malcolm and Robert Jr.) visited often. She was truly happy.
Three years in, Elphinstone died suddenly—bitten by a Venomous Tentacula. Everyone who knew them was devastated.
Minerva couldn't bear staying in the cottage alone. After the funeral, she packed up and moved back into a stone-walled room at Hogwarts. Brave and private, she threw herself into work. Few understood her pain.
Except, perhaps, Dumbledore.
Today, she'd received another letter from far away. Her family—still beating hearts for this.
They begged her to bring the boy back to visit. She couldn't say no.
In the office, McGonagall's pale blue eyes flickered. She looked at the letter, then turned and left.
Like happiness had peeked in—just for a moment.
Back in the office, Dumbledore stared at the mountain of paperwork.
Maybe he'd agreed too quickly.
But either way—when Sean knocked on the Transfiguration office door, he was met with McGonagall's gentle eyes.
"Come in, child. Headmaster Dumbledore is swamped. I'll be teaching your Animagus transformation from now on."
She smiled.
The Transfiguration office fireplace roared hotter than any Sean had seen. From the window, he could spot the little wizards still going wild on the Quidditch pitch.
On the windowsill: a silver cat figurine and a tin of fancy cat-shaped biscuits.
"Let's see your progress in transfiguration first, dear."