Chapter 171: Master of Good Fortune

Mrs. Norris’s cat was growing closer.

On the corridor, the black cat on the armor sighed like a human.

Hufflepuffs always follow the rules, except for one senior who truly loves magical creatures.

Let’s not let some accidents ruin the Christmas cheer of Hogwarts students and staff.

While Hannah and Sallyan stood frozen in fear, the black cat had already melted into the corridor’s shadows like ink, then reappeared in the firelight.

“Is it… that lucky black cat? Hannah, am I seeing things?”

Sallyan asked, stammering.

Ten minutes later.

Beneath the thick ribbon of holly and mistletoe, Hannah and Sallyan still couldn’t believe it.

A black cat had led them to the common room, and after the cat appeared, Mrs. Norris hadn’t followed—despite how weak their legs were and how slowly they walked.

Now they stood dumbly in front of the Hufflepuff common room door. Behind them, the common room was warmer than ever, curtains drawn, fire blazing, the usual herbal scent and sweet aroma of food drifting out—but neither witch dared step inside.

“You’re right—it’s the lucky black cat! Oh my goodness—Sallyan, could it be that the statue’s spirit came to life?!”

Hannah gasped dramatically.

“Oh! I suppose you’re right—”

Sallyan caught the cue.

And so, the story of the Lucky Black Cat spread inexplicably.

It wasn’t until the Great Hall the next day that Wizard Sean heard the tale.

“The Christmas night messenger, the castle’s lucky feline, the towering castle its ears, the turning staircases its breath…”

Wizard Sean was stunned.

When had this rumor started?

Then he heard Sallyan’s confident declaration from the Hufflepuff table:

“If you can touch its ears,”

her voice clear and firm,

“good fortune will accompany you for a whole year!”

That’s not how it happened at all!

Wizard Sean had finally seen the power of young witches and wizards to spread rumors.

The Hufflepuffs, always so trusting of their peers, began discussing it with eager excitement.

At the head table, Wizard Sean felt dozens of eyes turn toward him. Headmaster Dumbledore’s beard shook with laughter; Professor McGonagall remained gentle, but her eyes held more amusement than usual.

Yet the professor didn’t always smile—whenever she looked at Headmaster Dumbledore, her face would turn utterly expressionless.

Wizard Sean sighed. Let them spread whatever nonsense they wanted.

He just hoped that when he began learning Animagus transformation, the professor—or Headmaster Dumbledore—would stop smiling so much…

Today was the first day of the Christmas holiday, a snowy Saturday morning.

A crowd of young witches and wizards—like Harry and the Weasley brothers—were playing snowball fights on the grounds, wild and energetic for hours. Then, freezing and soaked, breathless, they stumbled back to the hearth in the Great Hall.

Wizard Sean had just stepped out of the Room of Requirement, because Owl had been flapping and biting inside the portrait for a full half-hour.

Of course, noise wasn’t limited to one place.

Inside the Headmaster’s office.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, if you have so much spare time, perhaps you should attend to some duties befitting your position…”

Professor McGonagall’s face was blank, lips pressed into a stern line,

“I need to leave for a few days this Christmas. Here is my leave application.”

She placed the form gently on the desk, maintaining her grace even in anger.

On the fresh envelope, faintly visible, were names: Ephesius Uquilt, Malcolm, and others.

Dumbledore froze, then—for the first time in years—gave a genuine, heartfelt smile:

“You’re right. I agree, Minerva. I agree. Go.”

His honesty made Professor McGonagall pause slightly.

The snow and wind raged as always outside the Headmaster’s office window, yet melted instantly into gentle streams.

Those names belonged to a story from several winters past.

A perfect, yet flawed story.

Early in her tenure at Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonagall had shared a brief but happy marriage with her former superior at the Ministry of Magic, Ephesius Uquilt.

Not long after Voldemort’s first downfall, on a summer afternoon, they strolled beside the Hogwarts Black Lake. The white-haired Ephesius, for the umpteenth time, proposed to Minerva McGonagall.

This time, she said yes. The retired Ephesius, overjoyed, bought a small cottage in Hogsmeade for them, so Minerva’s commute to Hogwarts would be easier.

The marriage was joyful, though, as fate had ordained, tragically short. Though they had no children of their own, Minerva’s nephews and nieces—her brother Malcolm’s and young Robert’s children—often visited, filling those years with deep happiness.

Just three years after their wedding, Ephesius died unexpectedly from a venomous tentacle bite, leaving all who knew them heartbroken.

Minerva McGonagall could not bear to stay alone in the cottage. After his funeral, she packed her things and returned to Hogwarts Castle, moving into a stone bedroom. As a fiercely brave and private woman, she poured all her energy into her work; few understood the pain she carried—except, perhaps, Dumbledore.

Today, the professor received another letter from afar—her former family still stirred with emotion over this.

They begged her, no matter what, to bring the child back to visit. She found no reason to refuse.

In the Headmaster’s office, Professor McGonagall’s pale blue eyes trembled as she stared at the letter, then turned and left.

As if happiness, once brief and careful, had merely glanced at her one last time.

Inside the office, Dumbledore stared at the mountain of paperwork awaiting his attention.

Had he… agreed too quickly?

Still, when Wizard Sean knocked on the Transfiguration office door, he was met with Professor McGonagall’s gentle gaze.

“Come in, child. Headmaster Dumbledore is occupied. I will now teach you Animagus transformation.”

The professor smiled.

The fireplace in the Transfiguration office was the fiercest Wizard Sean had ever seen; through the window, he could spot the young witches and wizards still playing wildly on the Quidditch pitch.

At the window’s edge sat a small silver cat figurine, beside a box of exquisitely crafted cat-shaped biscuits.

“Let me see how your Transfiguration is progressing, child,”

the professor said.