"What's happening?" Minerva reacted, blinking to focus on the nurse's face.
"It's quintuplets!" Pomfrey blurted out at last, letting out her held breath.
"..."
"..."
"WHAT...?!" Minerva screamed, her eyes bulging out of their sockets.
"That's what I meant," Pomfrey sighed, relieved that her colleague was finally paying attention.
"You're... you're joking, right?" Minerva replied, her voice barely a thread, incredulous. The overwhelming weight of the news threatened to shatter the fragile composure she had just regained.
"If you truly are pregnant, there is no room for doubt: I have detected five individual magical signatures and five vital pulses inside you," the nurse affirmed gravely. "That is the true cause of your magical deficiency. Carrying quintuplets is an extremely rare phenomenon in the magical community; there are barely any documented records. They are draining you at an alarming rate, Minerva."
McGonagall remained frozen. She slid both hands over her stomach and—whether out of sheer power of suggestion or a sudden surge of awareness—noticed the subtle, emerging curve of her abdomen: a firm bump that had nothing to do with overindulging in the Great Hall.
"I noticed you were eating twice as much these past few days, and now it all fits. Your own body is consuming an inordinate amount of resources to nourish five lives simultaneously..."
"It's impossible..." she whispered, shaking her head. Although deep down she had always harbored the desire to be a mother, the sheer scale of such an event bordered on the unheard-of for magical medicine.
"And there is something else troubling me... At first, I even suspected magical parasites, which is why I insisted on transferring you to St. Mungo's," Pomfrey continued, measuring her words so as not to distress her patient further.
"Parasites?"
"Yes, because the gestation rate is unnaturally accelerated," Pomfrey nodded. "The last time you came in for a consultation, conception had already occurred. Since I didn't entertain the possibility of a pregnancy, I paid no mind to it, and it went unnoticed. The real problem lies in the fact that, from that day to this one, what is growing inside you has reached weeks' worth of development in a matter of days. They are growing too fast."
Minerva's mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty. Every piece of information revealed tore down her frame of mind, leaving her on the brink of an emotional collapse.
"Minerva, I don't mean to pry into your private affairs, but... are you certain this is an ordinary pregnancy?" Pomfrey inquired, attempting to maintain a clinical tone without sounding invasive.
The Deputy Headmistress tensed for a second. Her shoulders ultimately yielded under the weight of the evidence, and she let out a long sigh of surrender.
"You don't need to beat around the bush, Poppy. You can ask directly. Yes... I have engaged in intimate relations recently. It is entirely possible," she admitted with her cheeks burning, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and relief upon voicing the secret.
"Is the father a wizard... or does he belong to some magical species?" the nurse probed.
"He is a wizard... Or at least, I believe so. He might possess some creature heritage in his bloodline," Minerva answered, unable to rule out the possibility as she recalled the irresistible, magnetic pull Tom exerted over her—almost comparable to a veela's charm on men.
"In that case, you must go to St. Mungo's immediately to verify your body's compatibility and determine the reason behind this accelerated development. If creature blood is involved, the rapid gestation would have an explanation; but if he is an ordinary wizard, the complications could be severe."
An icy chill ran down Minerva's spine. The initial comfort of carrying the fruit of the man she loved in her womb instantly transformed into a visceral dread that something might be horribly wrong with the babies.
"I know you are concerned about discretion and that St. Mungo's is a public showcase," Pomfrey continued as she scribbled a few lines on a piece of parchment. "I have a trusted colleague at the institution. Seek out this Healer; she will know how to handle the case with the utmost confidentiality."
Minerva took the note with trembling fingers. She knew the risk to her reputation, but the absolute priority was the health of the children. She tried to stand up, but her legs wobbled under the impact of the revelation. Pomfrey held her firmly to steady her.
"I can cover for your absence for the rest of the day... But do you want me to notify anyone else about this? The father, perhaps?" the nurse asked, caught between genuine concern and an overwhelming curiosity.
The idea that Minerva McGonagall was pregnant was a bombshell capable of dominating the front page of the Daily Prophet. It was fascinating to imagine the stern Deputy Headmistress surrendering to passion, especially considering her rejuvenated appearance. The nurse couldn't help speculating whether the person responsible was part of the teaching staff—which would explain the recent tension with Snape, though that seemed unlikely—or if he was an outsider.
"That won't be necessary," Minerva cut in, guessing her friend's speculations. "I need answers above all else. Thank you for everything, Poppy."
Despite projecting relative calm, Minerva felt as though she were standing at the edge of an abyss. Maintaining her composure was the only thing keeping her from shattering into a thousand pieces. Unsure of what to expect, but determined to learn the truth, she departed Hogwarts under the cover of the nurse's alibi.
...
A figure cloaked in a hooded traveling robe stepped into St. Mungo's under a torrential downpour. The sight was common in the reception hall, accustomed to receiving patients shrouded in anonymity to hide embarrassing magical mishaps or temporary deformities.
The visitor glided through the corridors until she found the Healer indicated on the note. Upon unfolding the parchment and recognizing Pomfrey's signature—and above all, upon discovering the patient's identity and the reason for the consultation—the Healer could not conceal her utter bewilderment.
Diagnostic examinations began immediately in a private room, but the situation quickly outstripped the specialist's capabilities. This was no conventional clinical case; the nature of the diagnosis yielded anomalies so baffling that the Healer could scarcely hold eye contact with the distinguished professor.
Reluctantly and breaking the initial isolation, the Healer was forced to convene a select council of experts. Within hours, an elite medical team was examining the mysterious patient in secret. Despite the strict code of ethics upheld by the staff at St. Mungo's, the magnitude of what was transpiring in that room presaged that keeping an absolute secret would be an almost impossible task.
...
At Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall's absence stretched beyond a full day. Uncertainty hung over the corridors until, on the night following her disappearance, a hooded figure came to a halt before the gargoyles of the Headmaster's office.
"Come in," Albus Dumbledore's voice echoed from within.
The old man maintained a deep furrow on his brow, buried under a mountain of administrative paperwork. Severus Snape had adamantly refused to be fooled once again into taking on extra duties, and with Minerva's whereabouts unknown, Dumbledore found himself severely overworked. He had to balance his obligations as Headmaster with the demands imposed by his "new boss." However, the fatigue accumulated in his old bones evaporated upon recalling recent notifications: the ritual to restore his sister was scheduled for the coming days.
The door swung open heavily. Upon seeing the person he had been waiting for so anxiously step through, the rigidity on Albus's face vanished instantly.
"Minerva! What a relief that you've returned... What happened?" The words caught in his throat as he registered the professor's devastated appearance.
"Albus... please, help me," she sobbed from the doorway. Her face was gaunt, pale, and despondent, both hands clutching her stomach in an instinctive gesture of protection amidst her absolute vulnerability.
The atmosphere in the office grew dense. Dumbledore shoved the parchments aside; bureaucratic work was instantly forgotten. His Deputy Headmistress, broken and drained of her reserves, had come to him seeking aid.
The hours that followed unfolded in absolute secrecy. In a torrential confession, Minerva stripped herself of every single one of her secrets. She revealed the existence of the brothel, Andra's role, her encounters with "Tom," and the true extent of her actions... she admitted her pregnancy and even detailed the incident that had transpired in her office with the red-haired student. At this point, Minerva no longer cared about her reputation or disciplinary consequences; she cared only for the lives taking shape within her. In her eagerness to unburden herself of the unbearable weight consuming her, she laid it all bare for Dumbledore to pass final judgment.
When the story concluded, the Headmaster remained silent, incapable of offering an immediate response. Overwhelmed by a throbbing headache, he stood up and walked over to the grand window overlooking the castle grounds. He assured Minerva that he would find a solution, urging her to retire to her quarters to rest while he meditated on the matter.
Minerva left the room, overcome by the severity written across the old man's face. Nevertheless, she was prepared to accept any punishment, so long as the safety of those who now anchored her existence was guaranteed: Tom and the babies she carried inside.
...
Late into the night, I was summoned to the Headmaster's office. The summons struck me as unusual; it was strange for Albus not to use the regular [Message] network to convey his reports, opting instead for a face-to-face meeting at such an hour.
I strolled into the office with absolute casualness. Ignoring form, I headed straight for the armchair in front of the desk and sank into it. I noticed the surface was unusually warm—a clear sign that someone had been sitting there not long ago. Without asking permission, I propped my feet up on the carved wooden desk and made myself comfortable.
I waited for Dumbledore to speak, but the old man remained motionless behind his desk, fingers intertwined in front of him. He stared at me with an unreadable expression—a mix between "Are you serious?" and "I know what you did."
"What's wrong?" I asked, furrowing my brow at his silence.
What followed managed to completely throw me off. The revelation had not only caught Dumbledore himself off guard upon discovering more of my antics and everything I had kept hidden, but it also briefly disrupted my plans. Without losing my composure, I immediately projected a clone toward the Deputy Headmistress's quarters.
There, Minerva was tossing in bed, trapped in a restless sleep fueled by anguish. The clone approached in the dim light, placed a hand on her abdomen, and funneled a pulse of diagnostic magic.
"Holy shit!" the clone exclaimed before abruptly dispersing when Minerva bolted upright in bed, startled, scanning the room without finding anything.
Back in the main office, my eyes widened. Because part of my power was currently fragmented, certain passive abilities operated with reduced precision unless I executed them consciously. For that reason, McGonagall's pregnancy had slipped right past my perception.
"Believe me... even I am taken by surprise," I admitted with absolute sincerity, displaying bewilderment but zero panic. It was a notable oversight, not an insurmountable problem.
Dumbledore let out a long sigh, reaffirming to himself that my presence constituted a public hazard. He found himself incapable of keeping up with the newer generation, viewing their drive as an unbridled phenomenon. Yet, as he recalled episodes from his own youth and the decisions that had defined his past, he sighed once more, accepting that certain wizards were born to disrupt the established order—even if in radically different arenas: while he had been a dangerous ideological revolutionary, the figure sitting before him was a dangerous pervert with no sense of morality or decency.
And so, amidst political conspiracies, ancient rituals, and the restructuring of the wizarding world, both of us had to add to the agenda the unexpected and extravagant file of a Deputy Headmistress pregnant with quintuplets.