Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall keeps a wooden box in the bottom drawer of her office desk, and every now and then she takes the box out and gently unfolds and re-reads all the handwritten notes she confiscated from the Marauders during classes years ago.
It's hard to look back on those days, knowing the tragedy that was waiting in the wings, but when she's reading those notes she can pretend that no time has passed at all, and that her beautiful boys are safely tucked away in the dormitory, or making a ruckus in the library, or walking arm in arm through the halls, bringing chaos and laughter and joy wherever they go.