It was, up to that point, an ordinary week. A good week… a progressive week. Yes, only that morning the largest insta-swamp yet had appeared in the main courtyard, and yes, Trelawney had found an alligator in her classroom on Wednesday, but nobody had blown up a toilet, none of the first years had turned into hippopotamuses in the corridor, and Seamus Finnigan had not set himself on fire even once.

Someone - McGonagall suspected several someones - had been testing new Weasley Wheezes products and generally wreaking havoc all that year, but neither McGongall nor the other professors had the heart to put a stop to it. The students seemed to enjoy having new and strange things turn up at Hogwarts on a weekly basis; anything that put a smile on their faces after the events of the previous year was a good thing in McGonagall's books. And it was funny when Ron Weasley couldn't stop tap dancing for two days, even if they did have to send him to St Mungo's in the end.

McGonagall hoped the pranks were calming down for the upcoming visit of delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. An important visit, and the students damn well knew it. The preparations had been in place for months; McGonagall was double checking last minute details now. Tweaking the week-long schedule, ensuring all requests would be met, double checking spell procedures. They'd be putting up a three-layer defence shield over Hogwarts which with the strongest magic from all three schools of magic; the original shield - put up by the founders themselves - had been destroyed by Voldemort, and whilst the Aurors had put up a strong shield after the battle, this would be more permanent, and only penetrable by someone with deep expertise in all three cultures of magic, so rare it was almost unthinkable.

She was nearly at the end of her checklist and letters, and the April light was draping itself over her office in a way that made her want to go take a walk around the lake, or kick some Slytherin ass on the Quidditch pitch like she was sixteen. It had always been her favourite kind of light in all her years at Hogwarts: denser and warmer than winter light, but not as heavy as deep summer heat.

There was one more thing she had to do before she could take that walk. She'd received a new application for the Potions' position. Snape's replacement was a lovely young woman called Eleanor Sweet, who was at this point unfortunately eight months pregnant, which meant a replacement had to be found for Snape's replacement. And Britain suddenly seemed devoid of decent Potions professors. So if she didn't find one soon, she'd have to hire the one with Snape's hair and Slughorn's drinking problem, which is an outcome nobody wanted.

There was a knock and before McGonagall had time to answer, the door opened and a tray appeared through it, followed by the hearty figure of Lydia, Hogwart's new head cook.

"Oh Minerva – I have such things to tell you – such things –" the woman started, setting the tray down on top of all of Minerva's papers and pouring tea into what she knew was McGonagall's favourite cup.

McGonagall sighed. Usually, she loved Lydia's home-made peppermint tea, and the way she served it with a delicious slice of Hogwarts cake, cream and fresh gossip (a headmistress needs to know what is going on in her school, after all – every little detail), but she was so close to being finished –

"Lydia, I really appreciate this –"

"No, no, Minerva," she said, shoving a plate piled with cake into McGonagall's quill-less hand, "you must hear it –"

"Lydia, really –"

The woman smacked her hands down onto the table, looking at McGonagall with sheer determination. "Potter lost his virginity!" she cried shrilly. "In the prefects bathroom on the fifth floor! Everyone has gone absolutely gaga!"

For a moment, McGonagall disbelieved her ears. Cake and quill hung suspended in the air. "But what... how..."

"Moaning Myrtle!" said the cook, taking the quill out of the headmistress' frozen hand and replacing it with a spoon, "The whole school knows about it! It's chaos out there!"

"Potter lost his virginity to Myrtle?" said McGonagall weakly.

"Oh goodness no," the cook laughed, "How would that even work? No - she broke the news. Was floating around the castle, she was, all day, screaming about it. Didn't take long for it to catch on with the students – oh Minerva, do eat your cake before it gets cold – anyway, as I was saying, the everyone's got quite overexcited about it – dinner was such chaos we almost had to get you but it calmed down when we started with the detentions –"

"Why wasn't I called?" said McGonagall, "if there was such disorder –"

"Well you said you were not to be disturbed today, and the heads agreed we could quite handle it, you've got enough on your plate already." And with a self-satisfied air, she poured herself a cup of tea and sat down into one of the chairs around the desk.

"But –"

"Never mind that!" interrupted the portrait of Amrose Swott from the wall, "with whom did the boy do the deed?!"

A number of the other portraits shouted out agreements of wishing to know, and the rest, all wide awake, nodded or simply listened with intent interest. McGonagall's gaze flicked to Dumbledore's portrait, and he gave a brief chortle, eyes glistening even in paint.

"That's the thing!" Lydia gushed, "The wretched Myrtle girl won't tell! Said she promised she wouldn't!"

"How can it be so," cried Antonia Creaseworthy's portrait, "that she'll tell the whole school that Potter – er, well – but not who with?"

"Well of course we questioned the same thing!" exclaimed the cook, "she said that technically she didn't say that she wouldn't tell anyone that Potter had been playing brooms and Quidditch goals, only that she wouldn't tell anyone that the mystery person had been in the prefects bathroom with Potter!"

At this, the portraits erupted into intense, scandalous discussion, and McGonagall sat back and started shovelling cake into her mouth out of desperation.

"Getting off on a technicality? How peculiar!" Somebody's portrait asserted from the far end of the office.

"She must really dislike that Potter to be so harsh to him! Poor boy, I say!" Someone else added.

"My my, she must be friends with the girl who went swimming with Potter! Although I dare say I can't imagine they'd be on very good terms at the moment..." A third said.

"But why!" cried Amrose Swott again, "I was under the impression Potter was seeing that Weasley girl!"

"So was I, so was I!" cried Lydia right back, "but apparently not! In fact, she's not even in Britain at this very moment, is she, Minerva?"

"She's in France with her brother and sister-in-law," confirmed McGonagall. She put her plate down and sat back into her chair. However much she didn't want to be, she had to admit she was just as curious as the rest of them as to who Potter had been seeing. "It couldn't possibly be Miss Granger, could it? I mean I know she and Weasley were seeing each other, but..."

"Oh no no," said Lydia instantly, "Flitwick went to look for Potter the instant this whole thing began, see. He assumed he'd just ask him, and the boy would confirm it was just a rumour and this whole thing would be over and dealt with. But" - her voice dropped to a conspirator's whisper - "as he was around the corner from Potter and Granger, he overheard her telling him off for not being careful enough! And the Potter boy was swearing that he had been – that they had only used the bathroom when they were sure nobody else was going to, he said... and that was when Flitwick spotted Peeves, who had also overheard the conversation –"

"Oh Merlin –" said McGonagall.

"– And then the real chaos began..." Lydia was bright red in her excitement of such juicy going-ons. "Peeves loves a gossip as much as I! Anyway, it couldn't be the Granger girl – only last week Irma caught her kissing Weasley in the library – my, you should have heard her go on about it! Well, you know what Irma's like with her library and her books..."

Minerva picked up her now-lukewarm cup of peppermint tea, pressed it to her lips and pressed herself as far down her chair as she could go without disappearing. There was absolutely no chance of getting any more work done tonight. Or that weekend, really.

Or probably even that week.

Lydia and the portraits chortled on.

"We've got to deal with this as soon as possible," said McGonagall, "The delegates must hear as little as possible about the whole deal..."

"Don't worry," said Lydia, stuffing some cake into her mouth, "kids are just very excitable. I'm sure it'll die down in no time."

If there's such a thing as a bad-news hangover, McGonagall had one the following morning. When she awoke, the first thing that hit her, and hit her like a blinding headache, was the memory Potter and the Merlin-damned bathroom incident. What on earth had the boy been thinking?

She got dressed and summoned her favourite house elf, Dumpy, with a quick flick of her wand. Dumpy was an extra pair of ears and eyes for McGonagall, and a rather good set too. An elf could innocently mind their own business cleaning up common rooms and staff rooms with all sorts of conversations going on in the background.

They bid each other good morning, and then McGonagall asked if Dumpy had heard anything of use.

"No, Mistress," said the elf, "nobody outside Potter's closest friendship group knows what happened, or with whom it happened. Many rumours, but an aged house elf knows rumour from truth alright. And Dumpy can't get anywhere near Potter's friends without zipped lips - the Granger girl knows Dumpy acts as your personal aide. It seems that she has instructed the others to not speak a peep around Dumpy or the other elves."

McGonagall nodded. She thought that might be the case. "Thank you Dumpy, I appreciate your help in these matters."

She fished a few sour toffees out of a nearby draw for Dumpy as the elf added: "Mistress - the other elves have told Dumpy, and Dumpy has seen with his own eyes - that the students are acting like what Professor Snape used to call thems…"

"Imbeciles?" said McGonagall automatically.

"An uncontrolled pack of rabid pixies," Corrected Dumpy.

McGonagall sighed, and let Dumpy go with his sour toffees. She popped one in her own mouth and looked in the mirror before she left her bedroom. Pursed lips, narrowed eyes, terrifying finger wag. Good.

Itinerary of the day was as such: stare down students over breakfast; finalise the menu for the grand ball at the end of the ambassadors' stay; stare down students in the corridors; deal with a few troubled kids; reply to letters; stare down students over dinner; do her weekly check-up on all the house elves, and do the weekly round-up of gossip and other things-you-ought-to-know. Saturday night was always spent squeezing news out of professors and Hogwarts staff. No such thing as knowing too much about what was going on in one's own school.

Moving to her office, she opened letters for a few minutes before breakfast, waiting for the knock. It came bang on 8 o'clock, as prescribed.

"Good morning Mr Malfoy, how are you?" she said, as Malfoy entered. He was dressed in his usual uptight black robes. They exchanged formalities and McGonagall offered him a pot of floo powder, of which he took a handful.

"What time should I be back?" he asked.

"Between five and five-thirty as usual, Mr Malfoy."

He nodded and stepped in the fireplace. "Malfoy Manor." A whoosh of green flames, and he was gone.

As McGonagall left for breakfast, Dumpy's words echoed in her mind. The third year Ravenclaws she passed had a demented gleam in their eyes, the kind a malicious Slytherin gets when they've just learnt a spell that makes you slap yourself in the face repeatedly. And Ravenclaws were usually the sensible ones about these things.

Nearing the great hall, McGonagall spotted that one of those malicious Slytherins was already up to no good. Potentia Barnus had her favourite victim, a poor Hufflepuff from her potions class, hanging upside down in mid-air.

"For Merlin's sake, Potentia!" Shouted McGonagall down the corridor. "It's not even breakfast yet! Put him down!"

Barnus' eyes widened and she promptly dropped him, running off in the opposite direction as her flock of Slytherins laughed even more manically than usual. McGonarie, the Hufflepuff, got up and gave a wave to signify he was uninjured. McGonagall sighed and made a mental note to give Barnus extra detention when she next caught her. It was a minor miracle it was a weekend, because students became unteachable when they got like this.

Entering the hall confirmed McGonagall's worst fears. It was much fuller than usual at this time; no doubt, everyone had come down early to gossip in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Potter. Needless to say, he wasn't there. The stench of teenage hormones filled the air, and clung to the walls.

The walls. The statues. The benches made of rare wood from the magical forests of Romania.

This was the other reason why the delegates were coming. To be thanked for their contribution to rebuilding Hogwarts; at the pinnacle of which was a stunning new great hall, a new jewel of only the finest gifts and materials that the schools had to offer. The same gifts she could she could see a Gryffindor first year carving his name on. She lightly smacked him around the head for it as she walked past.

At the head of the hall, as there was before, was the staff table. At it, sat a very concerned Pamona Sprout.

"I have never, in all my years at Hogwarts," she said as McGonagall sat down beside her, "heard such lewd things discussed in the corridors. Have you seen the papers this morning?"

McGonagall began shovelling porridge into a bowl as Pamona produced a stack of papers and magazines.

In the third week of Harry's return to Hogwarts, the public was seemingly so starved for news of the saviour that the Daily Prophet felt it appropriate to publish a nearly three-page article on what he had been spotted eating at Hogwarts, with an exclusive interview with a healer who talked about whether she thought this diet was appropriate for the strong recovery of the boy who lived.

So, predictably, news of his sexual exploits had blown up like Weasley Wizarding Wheezes fire popper colliding head on with a particularly vicious firework spell. The papers which lay on the table bore increasingly crude and increasingly bad headlines:

WHICH WITCH GOT A FLAVOUR OF THE SAVIOUR?

HOGWARTS GHOST GETS AN EYE ON THE BOY WHO WOULDN'T DIE – GETTING DIRTY IN THE BATHROOM

Witch's Weekly, popular with many of the young witches of Hogwarts, mercifully stopped at, JUST WHEN WE THOUGHT POTTER COULDN'T GET ANY HOTTER, no doubt only to be eschewed by pupils who would undoubtedly prefer Rita Skeeter's expose: DID POTTER KNOCK A GIRL UP IN THE BATHTUB? RITA SKEETER REVEALS ALL.

"What are we to do, Minerva?" said Pamona.

"Be stern when needed. Give detentions. It'll calm down soon."

McGonagall wasn't sure she even believed herself. Several students were watching her too carefully, as if they were trying to lip-read for any extra details which they could spread around.

McGonagall pursed her lips at them.

After breakfast, she headed towards the kitchens to finalise the menus. Just as she was about to turn a corner near the back kitchen door, McGonagall overhead two familiar, hushed voices in the next corridor. They were heading towards her.

"Mate, I didn't say be stupid about it. You know about Myrtle. Hermione always casts a Mew's enchantment when we –"

"Ron, I do not need to know what you and Hermione do."

If they could have, McGonagall's eyes would have popped out of her head. The footsteps were close now, and McGonagall did the only thing she could think of and turned onto a cat. She quickly jumped onto the nearest window sill and started cleaning her tail, as if that's what she'd been doing all along.

Potter and Weasley walked past. McGonagall was about to relax when one of the footsteps abruptly stopped.

"That… that isn't McGonagall is it?" said Potter. McGonagall continued cleaning with as much casual air as she could muster.

"Nah mate, McGonagall wouldn't be licking her own arse in the corridor. You're just being paranoid. C'mon."

After they were safely gone, McGonagall transformed back with a huff. Licking her own arse! She would have to find a reason to give Weasley detention.

McGonagall ended up spending far too much time finalising the menu - stupid Madame Deliote, with her four foot parchment of requests - and she had had to run from commitment to commitment after that.

By the time McGonagall got back to her office at 4 o'clock, she was already exhausted. She brewed herself some very strong black tea, and sat down to tediously reply to a pile of letters and queries. Shortly past five, the fireplace lit up bright green, and Malfoy stepped out, looking considerably more pale and harassed. McGonagall wondered what on earth had happened. Mostly, Malfoy's trips home to see his family did him a world of good as they were a well-needed break from the vengeful and hateful watch of his fellow students.

At first, the visits outside of Hogwarts were for the Wizengamot trials. The Malfoy family were quickly spared due to the particular efforts of some individuals, including Harry, whose life had been saved by Narcissa Malfoy. Later, Narcissa and Lucius personally came to Hogwarts to ask for occasional evening and weekend visits home for Draco to rebuild their family and life. Many families asked for this, and McGonagall could not refuse.

Of all the regular trips throughout the year after the trials, none had Malfoy coming out looking worse than when he went.

"Good day, Mr Malfoy?"

"Er, yes. Very. Thank you." The words came out like chewed sand, and he was out of the door before McGonagall could say anymore.

McGonagall would have probably thought about it more, but the fireplace lit up once again, this time with a firecall. It was Madame Deliote.

"Darling, darling darlinnnnnng!" She screeched into the call, French accent colliding head on with an attempt to pronounce British words in the poshest manner possible, "How wonderous it is to see you, as you English say!"

"I'm not English," muttered McGonagall.

"Yes, yes, yes," said Madame Deliote, flourishing her arms so widely that her sleeves nearly caught fire, "I call to say zat Rosemarie can no longer make it. Terrible case of Jaquette's Fever, and she vould not vant to infect the children…"

She carried on talking, but McGonagall no longer bothered listening. Rosemarie was the other main Beauxbatons delegate, and one of McGonagall's closest childhood friends. McGonagall had been desperately looking forward to having her here for a week.

"…Anyway, Marcus is coming instead."

McGonagall snapped back into the conversation.

"Marcus... Giovanni?" she said, feeling the blood start to drain out of her face.

"Yes yes, of course. He vill be more than capable of ze spells, non?"

"Yes... Very capable..." said McGonagall.

"Good! I will be coaching him on vat Rosemarie and I have prepared myself," said Madam Damont, sounding irritatingly pleased with herself, "and we vill see you soon enough!"

They said goodbye, and McGonagall slunk deep into her chair. Giovanni. Marcus Giovanni.

Merlin, as if McGonagall didn't have enough on her plate. Somewhere in the background, she could have sworn she heard a toilet blowing up.