It had been nearly a week since the Potter fiasco had come to light. It had reached such a point of infamy that even the Minister had made a public statement about it after a few days, saying: "Now I know everyone is rather animated about Potter popping the cherry, but this is a private matter... don't you think the boy deserves some respect after all he's done?"

Apparently, the answer was no. In fact, it was suffice to say pretty much the only thing anybody took away from the statement was cherry-popping: a saying Kingsley had inadvertently picked up while he was working undercover to protect the Muggle Prime Minister; and one the entire wizarding world seemed to jump on and incorporate into their regular vocabulary within the space of three days.

Shortly thereafter, a famous sexolowitch ("I'm a sexologist and I'm a witch – therefore, I'm a sexolowitch," the woman had purred in her subsequent interview with Rita Skeeter) had published a rather graphic article entitled POTTER POPS THE CHERRY: Minister, shall we talk about the saviour's cock? which had spread like fiendfyre across the school despite all of McGonagall's best efforts.

Even the Quibbler, which had been the only media outlet not to publish anything Potter-related the morning the scandal came out (instead going for: Nargles and the Muggle Satan – are they one and the same after all?), couldn't resist later publishing an article about how the alignment of the stars meant that a great hero was meant to 'get physical with his destiny' all along.

The papers were only part of the problem. The students themselves seemed to be endlessly creative about the matter.

Someone – and if McGonagall found out who, she would give them detention until the end of their Hogwarts days – had coined a song, which had been propagated across the school to such an extent that you almost couldn't walk down a corridor without hearing it.

It was not a singing song. It was a yelling song. One you yelled like a drunk wizard on a firewhiskey spree – something which Minerva found out school-aged children could do very well.

WHO BANGED THE BOY WHO LIVED? NOOOOOOBODY KNOWS. BUT IF WE FIND OUT, WE'LL RESPECT HER NO DOUBT, BECAUSE SHE'S THE ONE WHO POTTER CHOOOOOOSE... AND SHE'S THE ONE WHO GOT THE SAAAAAVIOUUUUR... OUT OF HIS CLOTHES!

It barely rhymed and it sounded terrible, and McGonagall felt sorry for Potter when she wasn't begrudged that he wasn't able to just keep it in his pants.

Worse still, the notoriety of the entire thing combined with Potter's popularity had sparked a new fashion amongst sixth and seventh years to also lose their virginity, preferably either in the Prefect's bathroom, in Myrtle's toilet, or simply in the most outrageous ways possible. They called it 'Getting Pottered', or 'Potting the Cherry'. Myrtle floated around the castle complaining that she was now having to find other bathrooms to haunt because everyone keeps doing the most outrageous things in hers. Filch was reminding everyone that he still had his old torture implements on a daily basis.

On Friday, McGonagall was prowling the castle in her cat form when she walked into a conversation between two obviously quite confused first years.

"Do you think you'll ever pop your cherry?" said the first one, a Gryffindor messing nervously with his tie, "I mean, it sounds awfully painful..."

"I don't know," said the second, a Slytherin who seemed to be putting on rather a lot of bravado, "my brother told me it felt great when you put brooms into holes..."

"Well if you think about it, brooms don't go into the holes – the QUAFFLES do..." said the nervous Gryffindor, and suddenly his eyes widened in a horrified manner, "But – but doesn't that mean you can only do it twice? Cause I only got two!" He then quickly added: "How many do you have?"

"You only have two?" said the Slytherin, "I have loads. Yeah... tons... I guess you're going to be one of the really unlucky ones who can only do it twice."

McGonagall winced as she listened to this. They still hadn't realised she was there, but McGonagall had realised that sex education was desperately lacking.

She'd only just got back to her office after that enlightening conversation when Pamona Sprout turned up dragging two fifth years who had been found 'rolling around in the cabbage patch'. Katie Davidson and Mark Finkleberry did both look very muddy, and rather red.

"But Professor!" said Katie Davidson when McGonagall asked them if they understood quite how much of a disgrace this was, "Everyone is doing it! Barnus and McGonarie nearly did it in a fountain the other day!"

Potentia Barnus was the pureblood Slytherin whose number one hobby was hexing poor Linus McGonarie, Hufflepuff of the Hufflepuffiest kind. "I highly doubt that, Katie, given their track record for getting into fights."

"But Professor, it's true! Weird as Merlin's hairy blue balls – but true! And even if you don't believe they did it – you can be sure Antonia Reel and Al –"

"Okay that's quite enough Miss Davidson."

Miss Davidson looked affronted. She crossed her arms, sunk back into her chair and sulkingly proclaimed, "I heard even Granger and Weasley did it in the library once."

McGonagall tried not to show any emotion in regards to that. "Finkleberry, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Detention. Both of you. For three weeks."

"But -"

"And worry not, Miss Davidson, should anyone else be caught, they will be getting a severe punishment also."

After the two of them had been sent off, Pamona sat down opposite McGonagall and grinned a little.

"Thank Merlin they don't know about that time you had a romp in the cabbage patch, eh?" she said.

McGonagall tried to keep her face straight as she said, "We all do stupid things when we're young."

"Minerva, you were forty-two."

She gathered the staff in the staff room that evening.

They came in apprehensively, wondering what on earth McGonagall might possibly have to say with such a steeled look on her face. Even Trelawney, who was overenthusiastically blabbering on about one of her students being a seer (which, as far as McGonagall could tell, meant that the poor child had looked into a teacup, and, by perfect chance, predicted it would rain that afternoon. Mind, they were in Scotland - it had not stopped raining for more than three consecutive hours for over sixty years) reverted back to her nervous self. Professor Sweet plodded in last, arms around her heavily pregnant stomach. McGonagall eyed her with an unnerved look. And talking of babies...

"As I'm sure you're all aware, the recent Potter happenings have left a lot of students either very confused or, to be frank, possibly practicing unsafe… relations," she said, "Many parents are concerned. It is my belief we must teach the students about safe sex."

McGonagall might as well have said she would like the professors to strip down, do the tango and go skinny dipping in the lake that night for all the looks she got.

"I understand this will not be easy for you. There are several options. Either one person is designated to talk about it, or we do it by heads of house..."

Everyone who was not a head of house looked instantly relieved. Pamona went red. Flitwick looked like he would rather retire.

After an extended period of painful silence, a very droning voice spoke up from one end of the room:

"In the 16th century," said Cuthbert Binns, the long dead and notoriously boring History of Magic teacher, "we used to have to educate the children on these matters after the big baby boom of 1597 happened... Of course, anti-touching spells were invented shortly afterwards. Sadly considered unethical these days."

"Professor Binns," said McGonagall, "are you... are you volunteering to teach the children about these matters?"

Binns looked unmoved. "Just biology," he said, "just biology, as our headmistress back then would say."

The following day they announced this educational session to the students, and that evening McGonagall had a meeting with Potter to discuss plans for the visit, as he was, of course, expected to attend every dinner and function, what with being The Chosen One. It was the first time she had seen him since the news had come to light, and he avoided meeting her eyes for most of it. When they came to the end of the meeting, there was a curt silence when they knew one of them had to say something about The Thing.

"Professor, about last week," said Potter, looking firmly at his feet, "I can explain…"

The fireplace lit up green with the floo system, making them both jump. Draco Malfoy stumbled out. McGonagall stood up.

"Mr Malfoy," she said, "you're not supposed to be back until nine today."

"Yes," he said, "I'm early. Sorry."

McGonagall frowned. The boy looked awfully pale and harassed. He spotted Harry sitting in the office, recoiled a little and then all but ran out of the room.

Potter was on his feet. "I have to go," he said, eyes darting towards the direction Malfoy had gone in.

McGonagall didn't even have a chance to respond before he was moving towards the exit. As a goodbye she yelled the only think she could think of: "Potter! I fully expect you to be at Professor Binns' educational lecture tomorrow morning!"

She saw Potter look utterly panicked before he disappeared through the door.

The speech was held on Sunday morning, after breakfast. Potter spent most of it practically under the table in his attempts to make himself invisible.

Binns turned out to be a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he was actually so dull that no less than two students fell asleep, and a curse because… well, the problem was less what he said, and more what he didn't say.

There were diagrams of the human anatomy. There were sermons into the misfortunes of sexually transmitted diseases. There was - and oh, how McGonagall cringed every time she thought about it - a section on sexual technique. And not just for humans either - merpeople, vampires, veelas and animagi were all mentioned. McGonagall learnt more than she would ever, ever, ever want to know.

After two hours, Binns finally seemed to be coming to an end. McGonagall stood up, ran to the front and said, "Thank you for that Professor Binns! Now -"

Binns seemed not to hear her, and carried on: "Now, for those of you who, like myself, prefer the same sex to the opposite..."

The sleeping students jolted awake. Even the professors looked far too interested. McGonagall groaned and sat back down.

By the time it was over, she was sure that she could never look at a tongue without shuddering for as long as she lived.

The day before delegates were due to arrive, McGonagall gathered the entire school in the hall at breakfast. Slowly, with her best 'I'm deadly, cross me at your own peril' face, she walked up to the podium.

"Students," she said to the hushed mass before her, "as you know, our esteemed guests will be arriving tomorrow morning. I expect you to all be outstanding representatives of Hogwarts.

"Now, I know there has been some... excitement... around certain events in the school recently," students starting sniggering, and McGonagall saw Potter wince in the audience, "but should anyone dare mention it over the forthcoming fortnight anywhere even remotely in ear shot within our guests – I promise you, you shall regret it very deeply."

The sniggering stopped.

"So if anyone has any stupidity in them that must be released, by Merlin you better do it before tomorrow morning, or else look forward to detention for the rest of the year. Enjoy your breakfasts."

As McGonagall retreated from the podium and talking promptly restarted, a bunch of fireworks went off at the end of the Gryffindor table. McGonagall sighed. Well, she did tell them to get it out of their system…

The next morning, McGonagall put on her best robes, and a feeling of apprehension with them.

She didn't even know what she feared – was it the students making a fool of her and the school? Was it the embarrassment of Potter and the bathroom incident? Was it that that might overshadow the greatness of the restoration that had been put into Hogwarts? Was it... something else?

At 11 o'clock the delegates started arriving.

McGonagall greeted and thanked them for coming one by one. Madame Deliote arrived first with a small army of staff via sky carriage, wearing an extravagant light blue dress and made a show of making doves appear from her sleeves. Why the doves were necessary McGonagall wasn't sure, but one of them hit Trelawney in the face.

Durmstrang arrived shortly afterwards in their boat. After McGonagall greeted them, Madame Deliote repeated her dove trick and insisted everyone call her Sylvietta rather than Madame. After that she produced a box of French pastries right there in the courtyard, and flirted wildly with one of the Durmstrang delegates, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the other Beauxbatons delegate was still missing.

McGonagall's heart fluttered against all of her will. Where was he?

The delegates were starting to move inside; McGonagall stood on her tip toes and scouted out the courtyard – had he come with Deliote after all? Had she missed him?

"Madam," said an unexpected voice from behind her, "have you lost someone? May I be of assistance finding them?"

McGonagall spun around.

He was twenty-two, and she was seventeen…

"I am sorry for my lateness," said Marcus Giovanni, nodding towards his carriage, which was so small and had landed so quietly McGonagall had not even noticed it, "my Pegasus were startled by what I believe was a Thestral on the way here."

Those same deep blue eyes looked apologetically into hers and McGonagall could swear she was seventeen again. She nodded vaguely and they headed inside.

McGonagall wasn't sure how long it was until she could breathe properly again.