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Chapter Text

Some would have called the small Presbyterian kirk austere. Minerva called it home. And it had as much to do with the father she adored, who she was currently helping to hang the Christmas greens with, as it did her heavenly Father.

"Raise your side a couple of inches," her father instructed.

He gave a satisfied nod after she lifted the garland of holly up a little bit and he tacked it to the wall. "That's fine. Very fine."

The peace was broken by Malcolm and Robert Junior bursting into the sanctuary like the little hellions they were. She dreaded the day her younger brothers became equipped with wands.

Her father sighed a barely audible sigh, if he only knew the trouble they'd caused that morning his sigh would have been louder. The boys had caused Mrs. Brodie, who organized all the ladies' missions and was her mother's strongest criticizer, to grow a disproportionately large bum.

The boys, seven and five, had dissolved into a fit of giggles at their accidental magic before their mother had shrunk it back down to size and gave the distraught woman a forgetfulness charm. It had been intensely embarrassing and though she would never in a million years admit it to the scamps, a tiny bit amusing.

Mrs. Brodie had most definitely had it coming after suggesting that no minister as good and solemn as Reverend McGonagall could ever produce two such troublesome children, implying the unseemly about the boys' heritage, however veiled.

"Come on, children," her father said. "It's nearly dark, and I imagine your mother will have dinner ready soon."

It was only a short walk to the manse. He was no doubt more worried about them causing damage to the newly decorated kirk than from any sense of hunger or concern over the dark.

Minerva, herself, thought it a wise choice until they came upon their mother in the kitchen. She had her wand out fixing a simple dinner of cock-a-leekie soup and a plain loaf. It was an economical but filling meal that any pastor's wife could have been proud of except that it was made with magic.

"Isobel, how could you?" he said quietly but severely as if he had caught her in some great sin.

Her face colored red with anger. She was clearly ready for a fight. Their parents left them in the kitchen to continue their discussion in the privacy of their room.

"How can you expect me to eat that, knowing how it was made?" he asked, his voice carrying perfectly well in the small house, making the argument not private at all.

"It's not poison, Robert!" she said emotionally. "It's the same thing Muggles eat just a different method of getting there."

"I hate it when you call me that. I am a human being, not a Muggle."

Minerva looked down. "I think Father was wrong. It's only a little after 3. That gives you both almost half an hour of play."

As boys who loved the outdoors, she didn't have to tell them twice. She should have gone with them. She didn't know why she stayed to listen to her parents' argument. It tore her apart inside to hear their discord though she knew despite everything, despite their differences, they still loved each other.

"I didn't call you one!"

"There's no need to shout. What if someone had seen you through the window? Do you do this often?"

"I was careful. I'm not stupid. I just need a little magic every once in a while. Just to keep from feeling so stifled."

"I wasn't aware I was stifling you," he said as terrible in its coldness as her mother's voice was in raised passion.

The conversation ended at that, or at least, she wasn't able to hear anymore. They would make up. They always did, but the underlying tension was always there. She observed it and saw it in many different ways, the sometimes too loud silence, the red eyes, the cover-ups. Their unhappiness pained her, and she wondered if there was a place somewhere on this earth where people could exist together happily just being themselves.

Chapter Text

October 4th 1946 was the day Minerva McGonagall turned eleven. It started out just a birthday like any other. Her mother fixed her favorite sponge cake, she opened her presents, one from every member of the family, including her brothers' homemade contributions, but that was where the normality ended.

She was in the middle of reading the back of the book she'd received from her father, The Wind in the Willows. It was a little fanciful perhaps, but it looked to be a diverting read and a good moral tale.

Her brothers' cries of "Look, look!" sent them all to the window to spot an owl winging its way straight towards the manse.

It wasn't unheard of to see an owl in the daytime. Many Muggles believed it to be a bad omen as it was so very rare to spot one in daylight hours, but it was also very within the realm of non-magical possibility. It was quite a handsome bird from what she could tell with orange eyes, brown feathers, and a severe but wise expression.

What wasn't so normal was that it carried a letter in its sharp talons and dropped it so that it slid under the front door with amazing precision and timing.

While she and her parents moved away for a closer look at the letter, Robert Jr. and Malcolm both still had their faces pressed against the glass as it perched for a few moments on a tree before turning back the way it had come. They were much more interested in the owl than the letter.

"Blimey, Dad! Can we get an owl?" Robert Jr. asked, breaking the silence, as if one could have an owl for a pet.

Her father usually a very composed man looked a little wild-eyed at the moment. He was running his hand through his thinning hair as if to soothe himself. "No, you may not." No doubt he was thinking about what he would he say if anyone asked at church tomorrow what a postal-bearing owl had been doing delivering a letter to his house.

Her mother had no such concern and had picked up the letter marked with her name and address. Minerva had never gotten mail before, and she wondered from who it could be. Her mother flipped it over where it bore a crest and a glob of wax to seal it.

"It's a letter from Hogwarts," her mother said with a trembling voice. Her eyes shimmered with a mix of pride and envy.

Minerva accepted it cautiously and slowly opened it and read silently, "Dear Ms. McGonagall, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31."

She was so engrossed in this mysterious and wonderful letter, she hadn't realized her parents had become involved in yet another disagreement. This time it was about her.

"What is wrong with the school we have here?" her father asked. "She's done well enough. She has her friends and family and church. Everything she needs to know is here. I don't understand why she needs to go off to boarding school in England."

On the one hand, she was pleased her father didn't want her to go as it showed his love for her, but on the other hand, her heart sank at the prospect of not getting to go.

"You must let her go, Robert, or else, I'll have to teach her to control and use her powers here. And you know how closely the parish watches you, watches all of us."

She held her breath. She'd accept her father's decision. She was too old at eleven to cry over not getting her way, but the thought of being able to be who she was without hiding it and to learn in an environment that promised total acceptance was so wonderful that she could scarce contemplate it.

"Do you promise you'll say your prayers every night? To read your Bible every Sunday if you do it on no other day?"

"Of course," she answered. She was a little surprised and hurt that he thought he needed to ask her.

"Then I suppose it is for the best if you attend this school," he said, not able to say so ridiculous a name as Hogwarts.

Knowing he would be hurt if she acted too excited, she kept her show of excitement to a broad smile. She would miss her family, of course, but the opportunity to learn how to use her God-given gift among those like herself held an overwhelming appeal, and though she'd never say it and would hardly admit it herself, it would be nice to be away from the tension in her home as well. "Oh, thank you."

Her happiness that day was marred only by the tears of her mother that gave way to sobs in the privacy of her room. Sobs Minerva would remember for a long time to come.

Chapter Text

Minerva was studiously taking in everything around her. There were more people than she'd ever seen at one time, towering buildings, and double-decker buses. And this was just the Muggle section of London.

She watched the people, especially the women who wore loose, permed and sometimes bleached waves, short skirts that hit the knees, and bright lipstick.

She looked at her own respectable light brown braids and a green tartan dress, 'a symbol of the McGonagall clan that showed pride in her Scottish and Muggle heritage'. Her father's exact words after he'd presented the new dress to her as a going-away present. Then she looked at her mother with her dark brown hair pinned up into a bun and a gray dress that had a skirt length resting at midcalf. They looked slightly out of fashion maybe, especially for London, but very respectable like a minister's family should. And no one could have guessed they would very soon be shopping for magical supplies for a magical school.

Her father had stayed in Scotland with her brothers. It was just as well. He wouldn't have liked London. It was too worldly, and had he been able to see some of the people walking the streets, he might not have approved of her being there either.

He certainly wouldn't have approved of his daughter walking into a pub, but her mother beckoned her in, and she followed. They didn't linger there, however. They went out behind it, to a courtyard, and her mother knocked on a brick.

She watched in amazement as a whole new world opened up where current fashion was thrown out the window, where store windows revealed items she'd only heard about from her mother or seen in her mother's locked box under the bed. And no one here would be surprised if one decided to play their father's bagpipes without the need for immense lung power and ear plugs until one mastered the sounds. In fact, they would probably be in agreement that bagpipes sounded better played the magical way.

It wasn't that magic was a stranger to her, but a magical community was. Her parents had been slow in telling her that she possessed magic. They were always ready with an explanation as to why this or that had happened. She had been eight before she fully realized it was her causing the out-of-the-ordinary things to happen, and they'd finally told her the truth.

She wished she could say it had created a more open household, but it hadn't been long before her mother had engaged her help in covering her brothers' tracks. It wasn't that her father hadn't been told when they'd developed the signs at a later age than Minerva had shown them, but he had held out hope that they might not have magic, and so the news had added to his stress load.

Minerva took a step backwards upon entering the bank. It was her first time seeing goblins, but then it was her first seeing a lot of things. If they didn't look like such serious creatures, one would almost be tempted to chuckle at their appearance, assuming one was prone to fits of laughter.

She watched her mother's confident strides and how easily she exchanged their Scottish currency for wizarding currency. She was completely at home here in a way she wasn't in Caithness.

Money in hand, they checked off items on the supply list, one-by-one: the robe, the pointed hat, the cauldron. They passed by the brooms she couldn't yet have but would be learning to fly soon. It wouldn't be much longer, and she'd look like a witch from a fairy story, and it gave her an uneasy feeling.

Was something about these things inherently wrong? They were things that might have gotten her burned to death if this were the 17th century rather than the 20th. Probably by her own Muggle ancestors as Presbyterians had been heavily involved in the persecutions in Scotland, according to the history she'd learned at school. It was a sobering thought and kept the shopping trip from being as joyful as it might have been.

As they passed The Magical Menagerie, her mother paused a moment and said, "I wish we had the money to buy you an owl."

"I think I'm more of a cat person." She had wanted to take Jasper with her, the family cat, but he was getting on in years and wouldn't have appreciated the trip. "But how will I write letters home?"

"The school will have their own owls you can use. Try not to send them too often though, dear. It will upset your father."

That was very true. And she could probably expect not to get very many letters either, since her mother had needed to travel forty-five minutes to use an owl, belonging to a witch she'd gone to school with, just to send a reply to Hogwarts.

The last stop was 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC'.

The first thing she noticed about the tiny shop was the young man in it, whose wide, silvery eyes fixed themselves on the mother and daughter in a measuring way. The second thing she noticed was the darkness of it. Neither phased her as she examined the many shelves of waiting wands.

"She's here for her first wand," her mother explained as excited as Minerva if not more so. "Right-handed. I was thinking pine."

"You'll find my methods different from my father's. I believe in having the wand select the wizard rather than the wizard selecting the wand." He proceeded to take some very strange measurements, some he did and some the tape measure did alone. "This will give me an idea, but it isn't an exact process."

He had climbed up on a chair. "Perhaps a hazel wand," he said, tapping a finger against his chin as he studied her for a moment, and then he grabbed one. "With unicorn hair as its core. Slightly bendy. Give it a wave and see how it does."

Wand in hand, she gave a grand-sweeping wave. It grew fiery hot and discharged such an energy that many of the boxed wands toppled over, and all their hair got a little out of place.

Dropping the wand and smoothing her hair, she looked hard and suspiciously at the young man, a look that might have intimidated a lesser mortal, which was saying something coming from a little girl. "Are you quite sure you know what you're doing?"

"Minerva, the Ollivanders have been making and selling wands for generations. I'm certain he knows what he's doing." Despite her words, Isobel looked unsure. This letting the wand select you business hadn't been done when she was a child. And it was plain from his age, he hadn't been doing this long.

He grinned at Minerva. "I believe I know just the wand for you." He went straight to it. Apparently the shop wasn't nearly as disorganized as all the many narrow and unlabeled boxes looked, or at least Ollivander understood the disorder. "Try this fir."

It was an average length and quite rigid with a finely carved handle and a lovely glass tip.

It grew warm and a shower of sparks emitted from it in a much more controlled manner.

"There's dragon heartstring in there. A powerful wand that will only choose a powerful witch or wizard. Known as a survivor's wand that one. A name my august grandfather gave it."

"And it won't be long before you'll be able to do this." Her mother released a whispy West Highland Terrier patronus that ran hyperly around the small shop, making it considerably brighter for a moment, before it was gone.

She was not able to resist the freedom to do magic while she had it apparently, but Minerva smiled at her mother's skill appreciatively.

Ollivander was looking at the wand. "Kelpie?"

"Yes," Isobel answered, sounding impressed he could identify the core without seeing it.

"You could do much more with a stronger core. My own father had kelpie hair in the core of his wand, and it does the job, but it's inferior."

"I'm sure you're right, but I'm afraid I have no need of a stronger wand," she said, the longing was far from absent in her voice.

sss

They spent a night in a Muggle hotel, which was another first for her, but it couldn't compare to all she'd seen over the day. She could barely sleep for excitement.

Morning came quickly enough though, and after a light breakfast, they made their way to the train station.

"We're going to go through that wall," her mother told her. Having lived in a solidly Muggle community, Minerva continued to be fascinated at how the wizarding community hid their world in plain sight.

Her mother took the lead, and she followed after her with a confidence few first-years possessed.

The train was magnificent: black and red with gold lettering. Students everywhere were saying goodbye to their families though a couple seemed to be alone.

"You displayed magic from your earliest hours of life," her mother said. "They were just little things like toys appearing in your cot or Jasper crouching in front of you, so you could pull up on him, but I knew we would end up at this platform one day."

"I wonder if I'll enjoy being at Hogwarts."

"You'll love it!" her mother declared passionately. "You'll have the time of your life. You won't want it to end. Oh, I wish..."

She left the sentence unfinished, but Minerva knew what she wished. Her mother wished she was going instead.

She gave her daughter a hug and goodbye and wishes of love.

Minerva found an empty compartment and sat down on the stark red, cushiony seat. A sigh of relief was released along with the steam of the train. Was this what freedom was like?

She knew what bothered her father the most about his wizarding family in that moment. It was the lies he had to tell daily: "Minerva is going to a ladies' boarding school in London to receive a fine 'English' education like her mother." Or when her mother'd had a potion going in the fire to cure her boils and a visitor had dropped by unexpectedly: "The smoke only looks green because of the lighting" and "Yes, I know my soup's hissing."

The cloak of deception was falling off her shoulders for the first time in her young life as she replaced it with her school cloak, and she realized just how much she too valued honesty and what a burden her father lived with.

Chapter Text

No one joined Minerva in her train compartment, and she didn't seek anyone out, being quite content to enjoy the scenery and look over the textbooks she had in anticipation of all she was about to learn. She found the train ride quite agreeable.

The food trolley came by with some very interesting treats, none of which she had money for. The pumpkin pasties smelled especially good. Her stomach gave an undignified rumble that she hoped the trolley witch didn't hear. She reminded herself that she would be eating at Hogwarts very soon.

The plump professor who had greeted them led the way. He seemed pleasant enough, but there was something about this Professor Slughorn she didn't like, and it wasn't his slimy-sounding name.

They boarded boats. She was rather glad then that she hadn't eaten anything on the train for the ride across the Black Lake made her seasick though she wouldn't have turned down a biscuit to nibble on just then.

"Who are your parents?" Slughorn asked as if he had been asking all the students that.

She thought it a strange question to ask before even asking for her own name, but she obliged, being that he was a teacher. "Reverend McGonagall and my mother would have been Isobel Ross when she attended school here."

"A reverend is a strange profession for a wizard. I remember your mother. She was here my first year of teaching. Talented witch as I recall. Then she just dropped off the radar."

She didn't correct his mistaken assumption that both her parents had magical abilities, not because she was embarrassed but simply because she thought it was none of his business. "She leads a simple life now, keeping house and raising a family."

"I must have your mother confused for another Isobel Ross. The girl I knew wouldn't have been happy without employing her considerable gifts in a grand way."

Once again, she didn't correct his assumption that he had the wrong Isobel in mind, and he moved onto another student.

The castle was as grand as her mother had told her. Professor Slughorn led them all the way to the Great Hall where they took their seats and where the headmaster greeted them from the front of the room.

Professor Dippet, the headmaster, was a bearded man with a serious countenance that was refreshing. "Welcome to Hogwarts. If you follow our rules, this will be an enjoyable time in your life. A time of great learning and a time to make friendships that will last a lifetime." He proceeded to list those rules of which there were many.

When the speech was finished, it was time to bring out the hat. It didn't look like a remarkable piece of headwear on first glance, being an ordinary brown and worn, but it had a face, and it sang a song.

"I am the cap that will tell your future.
For your future at Hogwarts is dictated by who you are.
Reading your mind, I never make a blooper.
Your thoughts will tell me the house to which you belong.

Will you be a Gryffindor lion, strong and brave,
Fearing none but courteous to others?
Will the student next to you be one you save,
Using the strength and courage of the lion's paw?

Or will you be the Ravenclaw eagle, quick of wit,
Finding value in those that seek their own path?
Very little gets past your eye as the Grey Lady would've had it,
And your mind is as sharp as the eagle's talon.

Or perhaps you are the Hufflepuff badger, hardworking and true,
Deceptively quiet until provoked and then watch out!
But patient and loyal above all, you are true blue.
In your burrow, one can find humility, friendliness, and good cheer.

Or maybe you're the Slytherin snake thus ambitious and crafty,
So willing to reach your goals, you'll use whatever at your disposal.
The parselmouth spoke. 'Accept second-rate or muggle blood?' laughed he,
'No self-respecting serpent would'; you shed the rules like you shed your skin.

Courageous, brilliant, kind, or great,
You wonder what you'll be when Hogwarts you depart.
Even for a most peculiar hat, this is so very easy,
A man becomes the thoughts he thinks in his heart."

She didn't know what house she wanted to be in. Only that she didn't want to be in Slytherin. Shedding rules and using whatever was at your disposal did not sound appealing at all. Her mother had been sorted into Gryffindor, and she was sure it would please her mother if she did as well.

She watched the sorting closely. For some, the hat barely touched their head before it shouted out a house. For others, it took a little longer.

When at last her name was called, she made her way to the stool. With great inward excitement and curiosity, she took a seat while a kindly-looking professor placed the hat on her head, she waited for the hat to shout her house.

Only he didn't. He began a long conversation with her, asking her questions that were more prying than Professor Slughorn's had been. What was she looking forward to studying the most? What frightened her the most? And the like. She was looking forward to it all, and she wasn't sure what there was to be frightened about as long as one did the right thing. Didn't her father teach her that God always walked with her?

"It's been over five minutes," she heard a student whisper in amazement though it echoed loudly in the quiet hall.

"Though you would do well in Ravenclaw, I put you in Gryffindor!" shouted the hat at last, and there was cheering and clapping as she went to join their table.

"You were in a hatstall," said the girl she sat down beside.

"What's a hatstall?"

"Something that almost never happens. The sorting hat knows his job well, and while he can take some time every once in a while figuring out a house, it very rarely goes over five minutes. As in no one can quite recall the last time there was one."

"Hmm."

When the sorting finished, it was time for the feasting. She prayed silently over her meal though it seemed no one else did. The meal was far above the simple meals allowed to a parson. It wasn't called a feast lightly. So much rich food appeared and disappeared in her plate, she feared she was in danger of committing gluttony. She had to exercise great self-control, but she was still left feeling satisfyingly full.

The prefects lead them up to the common room, which didn't seem an altogether trouble-free task with all the moving staircases, but she supposed it was something one got used to, along with the talking portrait of a woman who'd obviously had no qualms about committing gluttony herself.

She walked into a room that was decorated heavily in red and gold with a roaring fire and stuffed chairs. The common room looked and felt like it could be quite a comfortable place to spend time in, a real home away from home.

The poster bed with a thick scarlet blanket looked far better than her own bed at home, but before she climbed into it, she put her knees to the cold, hard floor. Her heart was full and under no roof had the sense of belonging been more complete. "Thank you, God, for allowing me to come to Hogwarts."

Chapter Text

Minerva's first class was herbology, which took place in a greenhouse outside the castle. The herbology professor, a lanky man with a prominent nose, appeared to be an excitable sort.

A quick introduction and then he gave a grand sweep of his arm to showcase the rows of large purple bulbs. "These are known as the bouncing bulbs. They are known for their use in Pompion Potion, which will turn the drinker's head into a pumpkin."

Minerva scoffed. There was a useful potion. Who would want to walk around with a pumpkin head?

"We are going to repot these delightful plants. Take it up by its leaves. Go on."

The students complied, and he let out a terrific noise from his wand that caused most of the students to lose their grips on their bulbs, and the plants began to quite literally and violently bounce in an effort to sock someone.

"Don't you just love the way they jump around!" Professor Beery called animatedly as he moved his hands around like he was choreographing a dance as if this vegetation needed any direction.

She could say with utmost certainty that she did not. She tightly restrained hers, glaring at it as if she dared it to jump from her hands until she had successfully repotted it.

Transfiguration was much more tranquil and enjoyable she found and taught by the professor who had been in charge of placing the Sorting Hat on the new students.

"I'm Professor Dumbledore. I believe you heard a long enough speech at the opening feast, so let's get on with our transfiguring. You must maintain concentration when doing a transfiguration spell and move your wand in the precise movement I show you, and your words must be the precise pronunciation."

They took a series of notes before they were able to try their first spell, which was turning a match into a needle. Whether it was his excellent teaching or a natural aptitude, she found transfiguration so very easy. Concentrate, keep your wand and words precise. The wand was almost doing it for her. She wondered if all the classes were this simple, but looking out at the others, the rest of them were struggling with the spell.

The professor beamed at her when he saw her needle. "You have a gift, Minerva."

The bell rang, and a girl she knew to be named Augusta muttered as she walked by, "Teacher's pet."

Minerva sat as alone at lunch as she had been at breakfast. She understood why. She wasn't like the other girls, giggly and chatting about nonsense.

She hadn't had many friends at home either. Being a preacher's kid had ostracized her. The other kids had felt as if she had a holier-than-thou attitude, which wasn't true. She just didn't open up easily.

The warm afternoon was truly charming with the grass rippling in the breeze. It was almost a shame they couldn't have spent it outside, but she was just as happy to spend it learning.

The next class was the history of magic. She hadn't ever encountered ghosts before coming to Hogwarts. They knew better than to hang out around her muggle-filled, strait-laced shire as there would have been regular exorcisms if they even suspected there could be spirit activity. Not that Muggles could see them, but they noticed the unordinary.

She remembered how shocked and disturbed her father had been to find out they existed until her mother had explained they were mere impressions of people who'd once lived, a mere shadow of a soul that had been rather than anything truly real in the present. And she'd also explained to them that their soul would be there on Judgment Day the same as anybody else's. He'd been quite satisfied with that answer, especially because the Bible wasn't absent of spirit sightings. The spirit of Samuel had prophesied to Saul, and the saints of the past had been seen walking in Jerusalem after the crucifixion.

She had somehow expected a ghost professor to be more exciting. Nearly Headless Nick certainly was. Professor Binns must have really loved teaching to keep on doing so even after giving up the ghost, so to speak. Unfortunately, it didn't show. To pass this class with good marks she was going to have to read the lessons on her own outside of class because she could barely pay attention to his droning, lifeless voice.

After history came charms.

"Oh, is it time for the next class already?" the professor asked upon seeing them. "I'm Professor Vane."

She then riffled through a disastrous-looking desk, not finding whatever it was she was looking for, but a summoning charm brought a box of feathers into the air from under the rubble and then the feathers suddenly whisked out, causing the students who hadn't found their way to their seat to duck, but a white feather found its way in front of every single student.

"The first spell we're going to learn is levitation."

Though she seemed flighty and more than a little disorganized, she appeared to know her subject. She explained the art of levitation to them very well, not relying on textbook jargon.

She couldn't think of a practical reason for ever needing to lift a feather unless she became a charms teacher, but one never could be sure, and they would eventually graduate to heavier and more useful items.

She succeeded with that first spell as well. Charms may have been a trifle easier than transfiguration judging from the energy she'd had to exert, but it would be very helpful. She knew her mother had used charms on many occasions.

The last class of the day took place at night because it was astronomy class. The classroom had a full view of the night sky, and they had brought their telescopes for close-up viewing.

She wondered what they did on cloudy nights. They probably had to cancel class or be subject to a less interactive lesson.

Professor Nyota was a tall man as dark and quiet and mysterious as the subject he taught. "The stars and planets guide and speak to us if we listen to them, but first we must know them intimately," he said, speaking in a light African accent. "We will study their names and movements."

"What do they say?" asked one of the students.

"The past, the present, the future. Though it is few wizards that ever master their language. It is the centaurs most adept at that, and even they do not always read the future in the stars correctly."

Stars telling the future? That was paramount to sacrilege, and she had no doubt her father would pull her out of Hogwarts if he could have heard that, but as it seemed they would be sticking with knowledge that couldn't be objected to, she had little to fear. She looked forward to studying the stars and planets for if it taught her anything, it would be more about their Creator.

Chapter Text

The first class the following day was Defense Against Dark Arts.

Minerva prayed to God they would never need to use some of the information they learned in this class. Though men's hearts were predisposed towards evil, and she wouldn't be at all surprised if they did. And if that were the case, she was glad to be prepared. Glancing through the titles of future chapters, some of the spells sounded as if they'd be fun enough to learn.

But today's topic was degnoming a garden, and it sounded a lot more like taking care of pests than fighting back some great evil. But she knew some of the farmers back home would have argued the crop-destroying insects and animals were as dark as any demon.

Flying was after the DADA class. Their flying instructor explained the mechanics of flight: the right way to sit, the right way to grasp the handle, how to summon the broom into their hand. However, it was not very detailed instruction. Conceivably because there were some things a person just had to do to learn.

Minerva didn't take to flying right away. It was bumpy at first until she realized flying wasn't something you could overthink. It was something you just had to feel. Once she realized that, the flight became very enjoyable indeed.

With the wind whipping through her braids, her thoughts turned more philosophical. Was this how the angels felt when they flew? Did they taste such freedom and serenity every time they took to the air? Never before had she felt those feelings expressed in such a physical way though she still had plenty of room for improving.

Did her mother ever take secret flights or were her feet always planted firmly on the ground? If so, she had never felt sorrier for her than she did now. Every day she discovered just a little bit more of all that her mother had given up. She must have really loved her father.

She was sorry to have to give back the broom, wishing that first years had the permission to own one, but upon seeing a classmate crash to the ground rather unceremoniously and seeing how he would likely have a painful reminder of the landing every time he sat down perhaps there was a good reason for that.

Potions was the last class of the day.

"Ah, welcome, children, to your first potions class," Professor Slughorn greeted at the door. "Sit down and make yourselves comfortable."

It didn't sound like a professional way to start a class to Minerva. They weren't at home; they were in a classroom. But being that he was the teacher, and she wasn't, she made herself as comfortable as she could on the old wooden furniture, which wasn't very comfortable. Ingredients were already laid out before them, and they'd brought their cauldron, scales, and phials with them.

"I've decided the first potion we'll make together is the forgetfulness potion. Just don't forget how to make this potion when we're through," he said with a jolly, belly-aching laugh. "You may see it again."

He had them open their potion books to the right page and seemed content to let them have a go at it on their own. He circulated though she noticed, giving tips as needed. And he motivated them by promising a ready-made potion to keep to the one who made the best potion.

Concentrating on the spell, she put in two drops of Lethe river water in the pewter cauldron with such finesse there wasn't even a splash to be heard. The potion was so easy, her mind was able to wander as she heated and added and stirred. It was no wonder he wasn't afraid to let them try it with no more instruction than the page in front of them.

Using the mortar and pestle came easy to her. That was one aspect of Muggle cooking her mother enjoyed doing and now she knew why. Of course, it didn't hurt the food any using fresh, hand-crushed ingredients. With the last wave of her wand, she gave a satisfied humph before allowing herself to look and see how others were doing.

There was a variety of shades of red bubbling in the cauldrons from red-oranges to rusty reds, but her potion was a deep crimson red, the color it should be according to the potions book.

"Very good work, Minerva," he said, stopping at her cauldron. He was impressed with her. Interested in her again despite her lack of extraordinary parentage to his mind, making her wonder if it had been worth making the potion right. Though he seemed nice enough on the surface, something about the man still didn't set well with her. She supposed it was the fact she didn't feel a teacher ought to pick favorites or at the very least not demonstrate they had favorites. More unprofessionalism to her way of thinking. "A Screaming Snakes Hair potion just for you."

It was exactly what it sounded liked, and it took effort not to roll her eyes as she accepted it from him. The other kids seemed envious of her gift or rather her reward. But what in the world was she going to do with a potion that turned her hair into screaming snakes?

However, as he explained the right way to make it to the class, she couldn't deny he couldn't hold their attention with his humor and his interactive style. The potions class could have had a worse professor.

Chapter Text

Minerva loved to watch the houses, particularly her house, play quidditch. She wasn't one for sports normally, but how could you not love a sport that took place on brooms with all these balls doing different magical things. It was exciting, despite the fact that it appeared to be more dangerous than American football. She couldn't wait until she was old enough to try out for the team.

The golden, winged snitch appeared in the sky, and the chase was on, but it wasn't Jean Atwater, the Gryffindor seeker, that grabbed it first. It was the Slytherin seeker. The green side of the stadium erupted into cheering.

She groaned. She could have taken losing to Ravenclaw, even Hufflepuff, but losing to Slytherin was unbearable. They were always smug about it for days afterward.

"Nice try, Gryffindor," one such Slytherin said to her on her way back into the castle as if it were her name. "I guess your house will have to get the cup next year. Oh, who am I kidding? That's never going to happen."

No your team played well. Just taunts. Of course, she couldn't lump them all into the same category. That'd hardly be fair, but she couldn't wait to join the team and wipe the smug expressions off their faces. She was competitive by nature she admitted, but their little digs drove her competitiveness to new heights.

She went up to the owlery after stopping by her room. She had finally decided what she would do with the screaming snake hair potion. She would send it to her brothers, knowing they would find it amusing.

Hopefully, they didn't decide to use it at an inopportune time. Like in front of a crowd, or worse, at church. She wondered if it would be wise to send strict instructions with it not to, or if that would only encourage them.

In the end, she just cautioned them to be careful with it and not drink it in front of their father, which probably needed no warning.

She pictured their delight at receiving it and getting another owl. She tried to use a different breed every time, knowing they enjoyed the different varieties of owls swooping in even if their father didn't. She chose a medium-sized one with a dark brown body, yellow belly, and markings that looked like spectacles much like her own.

She missed the little buggers and her parents. It wouldn't be much longer, however, until the Christmas holidays.

By the time she did that, it was time to eat. Today was a special day. It was All Hallows Eve, and Hogwarts celebrated by having a feast to rival the start-of-term feast. She was interested in taking part in the celebration as she never had before, which was ironic. She would have been the only real witch in her village trick-or-treating.

Her father hadn't been against Halloween per se, but he didn't think it appropriate for a minister's family to celebrate it given how strongly some of his parishioners felt about its pagan ties. Her mother had always given them a pumpkin filled with candy, since they weren't allowed to dress up and collect the candy for themselves. She imagined her brothers were pigging out on chocolates and lollipops this very minute.

As she proceeded down a lone hall, gumballs that were every color of the rainbow skittered across the floor seemingly from nowhere. She stopped in her tracks immediately before she went skittering with them and lifted her school robe just a little, so she could kick the stray gumballs away from her.

There were very few things Minerva didn't like about Hogwarts, but one of those stood before her grinning maliciously, having materialized into his solid form. The poltergeist was irksome right down to his loud clothing. The only thing he knew how to do was cause trouble.

She didn't know why the teachers and headmaster suffered his presence here. The only way she could ever see Peeves being useful was if Hogwarts ever came under attack, but what fool would be foolish enough to do that?

"Don't feel that you have to act on every bad impulse," she said calmly but scathingly.

He laughed as if she'd told a funny joke.

She rolled her eyes and sidestepped the gumballs. The treats were nice, but she could do without the tricks.

Chapter Text

Minerva proved herself to be the best student in her year, excelling in all her subjects but particularly in transfiguration. Though there were students who told her hello or good job when she earned points for her house, she had yet to make any true friends.

December came, and she was happy to hear there would be a Christmas celebration before the holidays started. There was no reason to think they wouldn't really, but her life had been so divided before coming here. Church was a place where she, her mother, and her brothers kept their wizarding side secret and never the twain shall meet. She had almost expected Hogwarts to shove aside any Christian holidays or references to God or religion, but that wasn't turning out to be the case at all. In fact, the Hufflepuffs had a friar for their house ghost.

There would be a Christmas pantomime after the feast in the hall. She wasn't sure how she felt about theatre. Her church had barely began to tolerate celebrating Christmas; they viewed celebrating as frivolous and libel to take the focus off of God rather than put it on Him. They would have heartily disapproved of a pantomime though no doubt there were some members that took off to see the occasional play when they were out and abroad. She decided to hold her judgment until after the production as the church also happened to frown on witches.

Finished with all her schoolwork until after the break was over and with no one to spend time with, she decided to see how the newly constructed stage was coming along.

"Minerva, just the person I wanted to see. What do you think about the flowers? Does it need more or less?" he asked, holding up his wand ready to make adjustments. The flowers surrounded a real-working fountain that looked quite inviting.

"Seems about right to me." Professor Dumbledore knew how to make her feel as if he respected her opinion, which couldn't be said of every teacher. That's why he was her favorite teacher. Well, that and she loved transfiguration.

"Are you familiar with the tale of The Fountain of Fair Fortune?" he asked, making friendly conversation as he put the finishing touches on the set.

"In my house, we were more likely to be told bible stories before bed than fairy tales and certainly not wizarding fairy tales."

"Ah, worth reading before you see it. It has a lesson to teach. The best stories do."

After thanking him for the advice, she went to the library to do just that. It was the tale of a Muggle knight, who with three witches, were on a quest to find a fountain that would forever give them fair fortune. The trick was only one person was allowed its magic per year. The witches all help each other pass the obstacles until they realize they no longer need the waters and allow the knight to bathe in its waters, and his fortune does change, but none of them ever realize there was no power in the water at all. And the moral was not to rely on magic as the cure for life's problems, a moral she could appreciate.

She read the other tales and by the time she finished that, it was time to eat and watch the pantomime.

There was interesting dinner conversation taking place around her.

"Did you hear Eddie and Elizabeth fighting?"

"How could you not hear it? I thought they were never going to stop screaming."

"And they have to pretend to fall in love in about an hour. This should make for some interesting theatre."

Eddie Orpington, a fourth-year Ravenclaw, was set to play Sir Luckless. He was a handsome boy and very popular. He and Elizabeth Lima, a hot-tempered Gryffindor in the same year, had been going together since only a little after the term started. She was going to play Amata, his love-interest.

Minerva looked over at them. Eddie was laughing with the girl beside him, another actress in the play. She was set to play Asha, the sick witch, given the pale stage makeup she had donned. She looked back at Elizabeth, who was glowering at them both. Hopefully, they didn't let it interfere with their acting.

When they'd had all the turkey and pudding they could hold and had opened the firecrackers, which in Minerva's case had been a gold galleon, it was time for the pantomime.

Professor Beery was tickled pinked to be directing something besides plants. He practically shook with excitement as he introduced the performance and said how he hoped this would become a yearly tradition at Hogwarts. It soon became apparent that his lengthy speech was because Eddie and the laughing girl had disappeared. They were brought in at the last by a stern-faced professor, and the curtain lifted.

It started off well enough. "Amata" and "Asha" shared their tales of woe and promised to ban together in an effort to reach the fountain. The wall Professor Dumbledore had created cracked beautifully and the vines wrapped around Asha. The other witch, "Altheda", grabbed her, and Amata grabbed Altheda pretending to struggle against being pulled in.

It might have continued to go well if Sir Luckless hadn't been making eyes at Asha and missed his cue to grab Amata, so they all could be pulled through the wall.

Amata, let go and waved her non-prop wand at Asha, breaking the vines and challenging her to a duel, which was not the way it was supposed to go at all unless she had gotten a hold of an alternate version in the library.

Asha accepted her challenge and the light show began with the two witches being thrown and frozen and lifted in turn.

Romance was looking like pure foolishness from where Minerva sat. All it seemed good for was taking away a person's ability to show good sense. And more often than not, it ended in heartache at worst and petty jealousy at best .

Poor Professor Beery tried to get the show back on track; he had neared the stage and was giving whispered directions that they were ignoring. He jumped onto the stage, "Come now, friends, I am but a friendly passerby, but you must remember your vow to help one another to reach the Fountain of Fair Fortune." He got caught in the crossfire, knocking the "wall" over with his now enormous head and revealing a waiting, engorged ashwinder that was playing the Worm in front of a miniature, grassy hill.

This pantomime was taking longer than it was supposed to. What was supposed to be thirty minutes was fast approaching an hour thanks to the delay and going off-script. And if what she'd read about ashwinders proved to be true, they only lived for an hour. That meant it was due to lay its eggs and die at any moment.

Did anyone even realize the danger in the pandemonium taking place onstage? Before she could give warning, four red eggs dropped onto the very wooden floorboards.

Professor Dumbledore certainly realized the danger when he saw the eggs drop. "Everyone out! At once!"

The girls didn't even seem to care that a fire from the eggs was spreading around them as they continued to duel.

Some of the students seemed unsure if the flames were a part of the performance. After all, a pantomime was supposed to be entertaining. But when the teachers jumped up and began urging and ushering them to evacuate, and with what was fast becoming a fiery inferno, the screaming and running began.

Wands or no, they really ought to have taken a page out of the Muggle schools' book and practiced fire drills. Minerva couldn't help but think it, as she was pushed along in the seething mass of panic. She managed to not get trampled by some miracle.

They had to divide into their houses once outside the hall, so their prefects and heads could account for everyone. And thankfully everyone was accounted for, even the actors, but there were quite a number of them coughing from all the smoke inhalation and some of the actors had gotten burns.

The headmaster had stayed behind to put it out. She'd had the good fortune of pocketing her galleon after the meal though she'd never dreamed it was in danger of melting. How could any of them foresaw this?

Professor Dippet emerged from the smoky hall, covered in ash and wearing a frown. "There will be no more pantomimes in Hogwarts as long as I'm headmaster!"

She found herself relieved as the numerous victims of the fire were escorted to the hospital wing. She quite agreed with the sentiments of Presbyterians from her father's generation: theatre was dangerous and amoral.

Chapter Text

"There's just some things that Muggles ought not to can," Isobel said, her voice a mixture of fascination and disgust.

Minerva couldn't help but agree as a whole chicken came sliding out of the can covered in solidified chunks of fat. Her mother had turned to fixing canned food to keep from arguing with her father over where the food came from. Though meals had become less enjoyable by far and large, he never complained.

Her mother turned to her. "Christmas dinner won't be ready for some time despite being canned. Why don't you run off and see your old friends?"

Her brothers sat in the floor engrossed in playing with their Christmas toys. Her father sat at his desk pouring over his sermon notes, but he saw her as she slipped by. "Where are you going?"

"Just to the bonfire. I haven't gotten a chance to see Mary." Mary Shepherd had been her friend since they started grade school together. She hadn't exactly been able to give her an address to write to, so they hadn't been able to keep in touch.

Her father didn't approve of the outrageous Christmas celebrations with fire, music, and dancing as a way of celebrating the Lord's birth. He seemed on the verge of telling her so, but he changed his mind. "Have a good time. Don't be gone too long."

The day was nippy and barely in the 40s. She used her red and gold scarf to keep her neck and chin warm as she ventured out into the cold.

It wasn't hard to find the bonfire. If the smoke hadn't been a dead give away, the sound of bagpipes, clapping, and laughter would have.

It didn't take long to spot Mary. She was one of the few blondes in a sea of brunettes. She stood with another girl from their year, Lorna. They laughed together as if they'd been friends forever.

Minerva offered a wave in their direction, but they promptly turned their backs on her. Mary must not have forgiven her for not writing or for leaving to go to England. She should have expected that things wouldn't be the same between them. That she would make other friends, but that didn't keep it from hurting.

She would have left, but the bonfire felt so warm and the carols being played on the bagpipes were so cheery. She tapped her foot though she didn't dare join in on the dancing. She wasn't really the type and many of the older members of her church frowned on the activity. If she danced, it was bound to get back to her father.

Other schoolmates said hello though. Her teacher from last year even stopped to have a conversation with her.

"Enjoying that London school?"

"Yes, ma'am. Very much."

"You were always the smartest one in your grade. You deserved to go, I say. What's your favorite class?"

It took effort to squeeze out the lie. She hated lying, but she didn't have a choice. "Spelling." It was stupid. Who chose spelling at her age? But it was as close to the truth as she could come without saying transfiguration.

The teacher nodded slowly. "Well, you were always good at spelling. It was nice seeing you, Minerva."

She went home before she had to lie to any more people.

Malcolm and Robert Junior had grown tired of their toys, and Robert Junior ran up to her on her return and begged her, "Show us some wand magic. Please, Minerva, pretty please. With sugar on top?"

"I've told you. I'm not allowed to use magic anywhere but school until I'm 17. It's a decree given by the Ministry of Magic."

"And by your father," the elder Robert said, lifting his eyes up from his reading.

"I didn't think wizards had any rules," Malcolm said.

"Everyone has rules," Robert said. "And they're generally good ones unless they contradict the Bible, so you'd do well to abide by them." He looked at Minerva. "I'm glad to see the wizarding government body has sense and that at least one person in the house sees the need for rules."

She glowed with happiness at her father's praise, but it was quickly cut short when the platter hit the kitchen table with an unceremonious thump.

The canned chicken and vegetables were now fully cooked and ready, but her mother was angry, having overheard her father's words and not liking being lumped together with the boys as a rule breaker.

Even Christmas Day wasn't free from strife, and as much as she loved her family, Minerva longed to be back at school.

Chapter Text

The smell of wood smoke still permeated the air in the Great Hall after their return. Apparently, no amount of spells could erase the stench caused by the great theatrical fiasco. It seemed Minerva could still smell it even in the common room, but that was more likely the crackling fire.

It was really cozy studying by firelight. She much preferred it to an electric bulb. She was studying the many differences between doxies and fairies for an exam when one of the boys snatched her book from her with a grin on his face and mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Do you really need to study so much? We all know you're going to pass everything with flying colors." He flipped through the pages like he didn't know what was in it, which might have been true in his case. She doubted Barry Coote had ever opened a book before. He was much more inclined towards athletics.

She was completely incensed by his moronic view. "There's no magic to it. It's because I study that I pass."

"Oooh," laughed the others in the common room.

"She has you there, Barry," his friend beside him said.

"Shut up," he said, making a weapon out of the book and hitting his stomach with it.

Using her wand, she brought the book back to her before it was damaged from his tomfoolery and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wished she really was going to all-girls school like they thought back home. "You are an idiot."

She went to the girls dormitory where they couldn't follow and finished her studying there. She got ready and dressed for bed first, in case she got sleepy laying in bed. She finished her studying off with a chapter from 1 Peter.

Some might have thought the following verses depressing: "For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away: But the word of the Lord endureth for ever."

She found it comforting that though plants, people, and even the knowledge of people passed away, the words in front of her never changed because of the Author.

As was her nightly custom, she closed her Bible and got down on her knees to pray. She'd grown quite used to the cold stone floor. She could have used a pillow to cushion her knees, but she rather liked the feeling. It served to remind her that she was in a humble position before her Maker.

She started to get up, but the girl in the bed beside her, Vera, asked, "Why do you do that?"

"Why do I do what?"

"I've been watching you. You do that every night without fail, read the Bible and pray. I just wonder why?"

It surprised her that she was being watched so closely, but as she was the only student who did so, she supposed she did stick out. "It was the way I was raised. It keeps me close to God."

"I admire that. And you don't bash people over the head about what you believe, you just do it. I wish I had that sort of self-discipline. And you always do the right thing."

She laughed. "Not always." Probably calling Barry an idiot hadn't been the right thing to do, however perfectly true it was.

"You're smart, too. I wish I could pass transfiguration so easily. I wonder if I won't have to repeat it."

"It's not so hard. I'd be happy to practice with you if you'd like."

"You know what, McGonagall? You're a canny lass." She didn't know for a moment if she was mocking her with the use of Scottish words, but the smile on her face was genuine. "That's be really nice."

Perhaps she hadn't made a close friend, but she had someone talking to her and wanting to spend time with her. Making friends was the hardest part of school for her. Her mother had asked her about the friends she had made over the holidays more than once, and she'd tactfully avoided the subject, but now she'd finally have someone she could talk about. And it felt really great.

Chapter Text

Minerva was packing her trunk to return home for the summer.

"Come on, Minerva, you can do that later," Vera said, taking her hand. "Come downstairs, and let your hair down."

She felt her braids with her free hand. She had no intention of "letting her hair down", but she was sure Vera meant it as a metaphor. She let her friend drag her down to the common room where an end-of-the-year party was taking place.

She stood stiffly against the wall while most of them danced. The music came from a wizarding radio station that was playing the songs of some new singer, Celestina Warbeck, who alternated between a jazz and swing style, and who had been a Gryffindor student only a few years ago, according to Vera.

The only thing that really set it apart from Muggle music was the singing/screaming banshees in the background. Her father wouldn't have approved of her listening to such worldly music. She, however, found nothing harmful in the lyrics or the tune, the dancing on the other hand...

She might have been inclined to join in if it had been something graceful and appropriate like ballroom dancing, but she found the swing dancing distasteful. The way the girls' skirts flew up due to their twisting movement was repugnant, and she wondered if she oughtn't to go back upstairs.

Vera came over to her, cheeks flushed from dancing. "It's not that hard a dance. I'll show you. You helped me this year. Let me help you."

"No, thank you," she said firmly.

She pleaded with her good-naturedly until she gave up, but seeing how disappointed Vera was before she went back to dancing, she wondered if she should have joined in the fun. This was probably why only Vera put up with her, but she couldn't have looked her father in the eye if she'd participated in such shameful dancing. She'd find a way to make it up to Vera.

She decided not to go back upstairs and further injure her only friend's feelings but went over to get some punch to cool her heated cheeks. She'd find an interesting spot on the wall to focus her attention.

sss

Her mother was there to greet her at the train station as she had been during all the holidays. She smothered her with a hug and though she wasn't overly fond of such physical expressions of love, Minerva didn't protest as she was happy to see her.

"It'll be tough this summer, not getting to do magic," her mother told her. "Once you've tasted it, it's hard to go without it for any length of time."

She was right, and her mother did it every day of her life. Minerva was positive, however, that she had the strength of will to accomplish it.

Her mother pestered her with questions all the way home, wanting to know every second of it from what Peeves was up to lately to the things the professors had said in class. Minerva knew her mother was trying to live life at Hogwarts through her and so she humored her.

Her brothers ran into her for a hug nearly knocking her over when they got to the house. She would have fussed at them, but she'd missed them too much to really be put out with them.

Her father gave her a much less aggressive cross between a hug and a pat.

She looked around for the one member of the family that hadn't come to greet her, Jasper. It wasn't like him not to come out of hiding on her return to rub against her legs.

"You didn't tell her, yet?" her father asked.

"I thought it best to wait until we got home," her mother answered, not sounding sure at all now. The look of sympathy she was giving her said only one thing.

"Jasper's gone?" she asked.

The boys hung their head, confirming it.

Her mother gave an unnecessary nod. "He didn't suffer. He went in his sleep."

She wasn't prone to tears, but she felt them falling down her cheeks. Jasper had been around since before she could remember. It wouldn't be the same to not have him curled in her lap while she read.

"He was just a pet, Minerva," her father said. "He lived fourteen years. That's a good long life for a cat."

She gave a nod, all she could manage, and retreated to the privacy of her room.

Was her father happy Jasper was gone because of their witchly association? It wasn't that witches rode around with their cats clinging to the back of their brooms like was found in Muggle caricatures though perhaps they were a little more popular as pets in the wizarding world than elsewhere, but Jasper was much more than a pet. He was a friend and a source of comfort when she was feeling down. Jasper may not have had a soul, but she knew God had a special place in His heart for all His creation.

When her tears were about spent, there was a soft knocking in the door. For a minute, she thought it was her father come to apologize, but it was her mother instead.

She came and sat down by her on the bed. "Your father just doesn't know how to express feelings well. He doesn't like seeing you so upset. He knows how much Jasper meant to you."

She nodded.

Her mother smiled and put an arm around her. "You and he are a lot alike, you know. Are you alright?"

"Of course I am," she said, drying her eyes. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Good. I made your favorite biscuits." There was a long pause. "Okay, I got them out of a tin, but at least they're not canned."

Minerva laughed, knowing her mother was trying to cheer her up. "Thank you, Mother."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Minerva had a surprise for her mother, a copy of the Daily Prophet. There was a small picture in the back of her capturing the snitch in the final game.

"This is wonderful," her mother said. "I wish I could show it to Mrs. Warwick. She's always going on about how athletic her children are, and I know that's not very Christian of me, but it would be nice."

Robert Jr. and Malcolm strained to see, and Isobel lowered it to their eye level. They oohed and ahhed over it. The boys were fascinated to see their sister captured in living color and watch her flying on a broom.

"I want to do that, too," Malcolm exclaimed.

"I just want to be in a moving picture. Is that really you, Min?" Robert Jr. asked.

She chuckled. "Yes, it's really me. You all will get your chance."

The potion-enhanced photos had almost become everyday to her. She'd forgotten they'd never seen a moving picture before other than that one time they'd gone as a family to see The Song of Bernadette at the cinema. Her father had declared that movies were too sensationalized afterward, and he didn't see wasting money to see another picture. Her mother didn't seem too excited about seeing the black-and-white, overacted world of the Muggles on screen to begin with.

"What sort of devilry did you bring into this house?" her father demanded, coming up behind them.

Minerva knew he didn't mean to associate simple enchanted photographs with the devil's work, but the words stung all the same. Misunderstandings between them were becoming more common.

"It's just a picture in the wizarding paper," her mother said, jumping to the rescue. "This is a game they play at school. She's the reason her team won."

"The McGonagall family has always been a fit sort, spiritual first, of course." Her father was trying to understand. "Just remember, Minerva, pride goeth before destruction."

Isobel threw her hands in the air, feeling he'd ruined a chance to give her some fatherly praise, but Minerva heard the love behind the warning.

sss

Minerva was excited at the opportunity to take new classes. Though she was only required to choose two, she chose three: Arimanthy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Runes. Of course, she enjoyed that her core classes were getting more advanced. Vera didn't. She was miserable on the train ride.

"You don't look happy about starting a new school year," Minerva said to her.

"I'm not. Every year gets harder. I'm too stupid for school."

"You're not stupid. Anybody can learn with time and the proper help. I'll be here to help you study."

"What about Muggle Studies and Divination? I picked them because they looked the easiest, but you won't even be in those classes to help."

"I grew up in the Muggle world. My father's a Muggle, remember? What can they teach that I don't already know? And anyone can pass divination. It's a lot of rubbish. Only God can see the future and even He works around free will."

"I suppose. I still wish we were taking the same classes, but I'm allergic to animals with fur. I hate numbers, so I know I'd hate Arithmancy, and just the thought of trying to learn some ancient alphabet makes my head hurt."

sss

The first thing one noticed about Professor Kettleburn was he was missing a leg and a few fingers. It didn't exactly inspire confidence that the man knew how to handle animals, and Minerva couldn't forget the ashwinder incident that proved the man had a reckless nature, but there was no doubt he was passionate about his subject.

He hobbled out of the way to reveal a small tank. The light from the sun overhead filtered through to reveal a small creature was in there of a sickly green color. It had strange pointed hands, good for grabbing, and lots of tentacles. It wasn't the most attractive creature God had ever made. "This is a grindylow," the professor declared proudly.

She raised her hand. "Aren't grindylows known to eat humans?"

"Quite right, quite right. Their diets consist of fish, algae, and small sea creatures, but they will on occasion eat humans if the opportunity presents itself. Only merpeople can tame them." He spoke as if he spoke from experience.

Minerva wondered if that explained a recently bandaged finger or rather the place where a finger used to be.

"We're going to practice opening the tank and feeding them a little something without getting grabbed or bitten."

Minerva wondered if it was too late to drop the class.

Chapter Text

Minerva and Vera were one of the few still left in the common room studying.

Minerva poured over her runes. The professor had given them sentences to translate from actual messages that had been found written in ancient runes.

"Here lies the son of Odin," she said as she read the translated text out loud. The ancients had much less interesting things to say than she thought, but she supposed it would become more interesting as she learned to translate more and harder passages.

Vera was struggling with her own decoding issues. She looked inside the tea cup she had just finished drinking from and said with complete disappointment, "It doesn't look like anything to me."

She stole a glance. "That's because it's a pile of wet leaves. Make something up, which I don't normally endorse, but it would be made up whatever you did."

"But I'm not creative. I don't have the first clue what kind of a prediction to make."

"Go small. Small is better if you want it to actually come true. Something like you'll meet a stranger soon, but maybe you just need to give it a rest and come back to it. What's your homework in Muggle Studies?"

She twirled her hair, not looking like she liked the homework any better. "We have to play some game called rock-paper-scissors."

Minerva struggled not to laugh. "Is that all?

"It's harder than it sounds. I don't get it. I mean I get that scissors cut paper. I even get that rock crushes scissors, but in what universe does paper beat rock?"

"Because it covers it. It's just a game. It doesn't have to hold up under logic."

"It seems dull to me. There's only three options to choose from. Do Muggles really enjoy playing it?"

"It's not so much the fun in playing it as that it can solve a dispute among children peacefully. Can't decide who goes first, you play rock-paper-scissors; it's sort of like a wizarding duel only less dangerous."

"That makes sense, I guess. Will you play with me? I gather it takes two people."

Never thinking she would need to play a childish game for homework, she did it nonetheless. She and Vera ended up laughing over it as their best-out-of number kept getting ever higher.

"Oh my, it's only a game of odds, but it's quite addicting," Vera said. "No wonder Muggles like to play it so much."

"We better stop. I still have to write a paper on the magical properties of the number 7."

"Sounds dull."

"Not at all. It's fascinating, but my favorite class is still transfiguration. You can't beat the elegance or usefulness of it. Professor Dumbledore told me we're getting ready to transform objects into dragons."

Vera groaned. "Don't tell me that. My dragon's probably going to stay half a teacup and fall to the ground and set everything on fire."

"Half your problem is you expect not to do well."

"And the other half is I'm stupid."

"I didn't say that, but you-"

She was interrupted because Frederick Davies, who was the team captain this year, walked by. He pulled her arithmancy textbook from her hands, acting as if he were skimming through it and then he tossed it in the chair across from her current seat.

"It's no wonder you wear glasses, McGonagall. Don't you ever do anything but study? This isn't Ravenclaw; we're supposed to have a little fun."

He didn't give her time to formulate a good reply but headed up the stairs to the boys corridor, out of sight.

"He likes you," Vera crowed.

She would have liked nothing more than to put a silencing charm on her friend, but she managed to control herself. "Ridiculous."

"He could have walked on by without saying a word. Why is he worried whether you study or not? He likes you."

"Throwing my book out of my reach is supposed to be sign of affection? Maybe if he were a boy of eight."

When you come right down to it, there's not that much difference an eight-year-old boy and a fourteen-year-old boy."

She wouldn't argue with that, but..."I still stay he was just being stupid, trying to make me angry."

"You may know about everything else, but I know more about people. Trust me. He likes you."

"Yeah, well," she said getting up to retrieve the book. "My life would be easier if he liked someone else."

Chapter Text

Tons and tons of sweets, enough to make anyone's teeth rot and be tempted towards gluttony. At least, that's what Minerva told herself in the face of all those brightly colored and unique candies.

"Oh, I don't even know what to get first, but chocolate. Definitely chocolate," Vera said.

It was their first trip to Hogsmeade, and despite her lack of money to spend, the village was simply enchanting. Particularly because these people were free to be themselves all of the time.

"What are you going to get?" Vera asked, her eyes still darting about over the overwhelming amount of choice.

"Nothing."

She looked at her in surprise. She'd never realized she was friends with someone poor. "Why ever not?"

"I can't afford it," she said. She didn't shout it from the rooftops, but she wasn't embarrassed over her parents' economic status either. They were poor because they did God's work at a small church in a small village.

"Oh," was all she said, but when she came back from paying for her chocolate, she had two chocolate wands instead of one.

She started to reject the gift, but she realized it would be her pride talking, so she simply said thank you.

They went to Zonko's Joke Shop. It wasn't nearly as nice a place as Honeyduke's in Minerva's opinion.

"Wow, can you imagine the possibilities?" Vera asked.

"All these things are perfectly horrid ways to annoy people." She looked with disdain at a product labeled nose-biting teacup. There was nothing funny about getting bitten on the nose.

"Live a little, Minerva," Vera said, picking up a box of hiccough sweets. "This will be perfect when I need to escape class for a moment because I've just been put on the spot. The professor will send me to get a drink of water.

"That would be lying, and the professors only want to know if you've been paying attention."

"And I usually haven't. That's where the sweets come in."

Seeing they wouldn't agree on the matter, Minerva let the subject drop.

They ended the day at The Three Broomsticks. A warm, smoky place only lit with candles and fire like everything else in the wizarding world, which made everything seem cozier and more cheerful in her opinion.

If her father could have walked through Hogsmeade and seen the pub, he'd never have consented to allow her to visit on weekends. He hadn't been thrilled to begin with about her going to a community that was all wizarding.

"It'll be too worldly," he'd said after reading the permission slip.

"There's a church," her mother argued for her. "It's a few harmless shops and cottages."

"But the people may be a bad influence. Getting whatever they want at the drop of a hat, no need to rely on a higher power."

"You really have no idea how the wizarding world works. Sometimes I think you don't even try to understand," her mother said, checks flaming with anger. "We don't get whatever we want. We have limits, too. And crises that make us recognize our need for God. And are you saying I'm an evil influence?"

"No, of course not." He sighed in defeat, realizing he'd hurt his wife's feelings by his refusal. "You've really left me no alternative but to sign."

He'd take his permission back even now if he could see all the alcohol listed on the menu.

"Get whatever you want," Vera said.

"I'll have a gillywater, please," she said.

Vera gave her a look that communicated she was no fun at all and got a butterbeer.

While they were sitting at a table drinking their drinks, there were some boys from school at a table near theirs. She could hear their laughter and loud chatter.

"Look who it is. Frederick," Vera said before Minerva had a chance to turn her head.

On that news, she didn't even bother looking, which disappointed her friend. "Aww, why don't you like him?

"If he hadn't been trying to show off and kept his mind on the game last Saturday, we would've won. The crowd didn't need to see he could fly with no hands when he wasn't even beating away a ball. I still can't look a Slytherin in the eye after that fiasco."

"He was trying to impress you."

"I don't care who he was trying to impress; it was stupid. I just can't suffer fools."

"You put up with me."

She smiled at the ridiculousness of the statement. "You're not a fool. There's a big difference between people who need extra help with their schoolwork and fools."

"Frederick and Minerva Davies," Vera said with a pretend lovesick sigh. "Your names would have sounded beautiful together."

Minerva only rolled her eyes at the dramatics of her friend. She was sure they made an odd pair but sometimes two people who were completely different formed the deepest friendships.

Chapter Text

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Minerva stood in front of the mirror coiling her braids into a more mature bun now that she was sixteen.

"I wish you'd let me cut your hair into a bob or let me perm it," Vera said, coming up behind her. "I did it for my sister, and it looks amazing if I do say so myself."

She wasn't fond of the new hairdos. Hair was a woman's crowning glory. Not to mention if she came home with it hacked off, she'd give her father a heart attack. "I prefer long hair."

"Why? You never wear it down except to bed as long as I've known you." Vera fluffed her hair a little. "Fredrick loves my hair this way."

Like that was going to convince her. Minerva wisely and kindly kept silent on that subject.

"At least let me put some curl in your hair," she pleaded. "You'd look so great with some soft, feminine waves."

"Why if I'm going to wear it up? Besides, I don't think I'd enjoy sleeping with those torture devices you wear in your hair," she said, looking around at some of the girls who were currently suffering for their beauty. They were unrolling their hair to face the day, wincing when their hair got caught up in them.

"You get used to it," she promised.

"You wear your hair your way and let me wear it mine."

Vera laughed in defeat. "Fair enough."

sss

Professor Kettleburn was now sporting a wooden leg as he had managed to lose his real one over the course of the break. Minerva had stuck it out in his classes because creatures, magical and nonmagical, interested her, but she often doubted the wisdom in that. Like now when her teacher had lost another body part.

The man lived on probation. It wasn't just the students or himself he endangered either. Sometimes the professors were on the receiving end of his shenanigans. Professor Beery's head had been rather enormous for almost a year after the theatrical incident; it had been what caused him to quit in the end. Though she heard he was now rather happily employed at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, so perhaps it had all worked out for him in the end.

Despite her disapproval of the professor as a teacher, she was still quite shocked and horrified on his behalf to find his wooden leg in the middle of the common room sans Professor Kettleburn.

She wished she could say she didn't know who the culprit was, but that would be hoping for too much. "Malcolm!"

"It wasn't me!" he said, having been suspiciously studying a book only a moment ago. He was lying through his teeth. His voice always went up a notch when he was.

"How do you think it reflects on Father when you pull these tricks? Not only pulling such a stupid and unfunny prank but then lying about it?"

"Well, it's kind of funny."

"I'm glad you think so. You can have a good chuckle about it in detention."

He began passionately denying he'd done it but only to avoid his punishment.

Growing tired of his lying, she put a silencing charm on her brother and wondered what the chances were of her parents letting her use this particular charm at home as next year as she'd officially be seventeen and allowed by wizarding law. Probably not good.

With a whisk of her wand, she sent the leg back to Professor Kettleburn's quarters, hoping he'd never missed it. She was still cleaning up after her Malcolm's messes even here at school.

sss

If anyone at Hogwarts had looked out their window one night in February, they would have seen a very strange sight indeed: Minerva McGonagall spitting a mandrake leaf into a phial under the moon's rays.

"I'm happy to have it out of my mouth. It's a real nightmare to carry it in there a whole month without removing it or swallowing it," she said to Professor Dumbledore. "If I'd had to start over, I'm not sure if I would've had the will."

"We're fortunate it was a clear night, or you may have had no choice."

Minerva flinched only a little as she pulled one of her hairs out and added it to the phial. She also added a dew drop and the chrysalis of a moth.

"Store it in a dark, quiet place where there's no chance of it being disturbed," he said, "and now we just have to wait for the right time."

The right time wouldn't be until the spring when thunderstorms became regular occurrences. But she'd waited this long to become an animagnus, she could wait a little longer.

Chapter Text

"Amato Animo Animato Animagus," Minerva recited with the tip of her wand over her heart.

She said the words without fail every sunrise and sunset.

She went to sleep soon after, but woke to the sound of a light boom, God moving heaven's furniture around her father had told her and her brothers when they were younger, so they wouldn't be frightened by the sound. As if something so commonplace as thunder could frighten those rapscallions.

Tonight, she couldn't think of a more musical sound as she rushed to the window. A golden flash lit up the clouded, night sky. Tonight was the night she would become an animagnus.

Professor Dumbledore had seen the storm, too, and met her in the corridor. "Do you have the potion?"

"Yes, sir." She felt guilty about being out of bed after curfew, but it wasn't like she didn't have the approval of a teacher.

He led her to a trapdoor.

He must have sensed her puzzlement for he explained, "You need a large place to transform. What if you become a dragon? There's just no telling what you'll be, and you don't want to have someone interrupt midstream, the results could be disastrous. Therefore, a large and safe place is needed."

She was a little embarrassed she hadn't remembered that part. It was just all the excitement of it finally happening. If she did turn into some dangerous, magical creature in plain sight, she could just see Professor Kettleburn come running to capture her and show her off at the next class.

She descended the stairs into the darkness after Professor Dumbledore. He illuminated the way with his wand until they came to a empty room big enough to hold any creature she might turn into.

She didn't have to ask what to do next. She held the wand over her heart and recited one final time, "Amato Animo Animato Animagus."

She drank the potion she had saved all these months, which oddly enough had a very fishy taste.

The stone floor rose up to meet her or rather she shrunk down to meet it. She felt the physical changes: sprouting fur, going to all fours, feeling her teeth sharpen under her tongue.

She looked up at Professor Dumbledore, who looked much sharper and brilliantly colored with her new eyes. He was possibly more thrilled than she was, which proved what a fantastic teacher he was. "I knew you could do it. This is a rare accomplishment!"

He pulled a mirror from his pocket so she could see herself. She was a tabby cat, gray with dark stripes. She would have snorted if she could have in her current state as she could see the outline of her spectacles in the markings of the cat. She supposed they were such a part of her, they had transformed with her.

There were so many things she wanted to try in this new form: her newfound physical prowess, her razor-sharp claws, her stellar hearing. But she had been out of bed long enough, and she was curious to see if it was as easy turning back as it was turning into a feline.

She bounded back into her true form as easily as if she'd been doing it all her life after clearing her mind of all but an image of herself.

Professor Dumbledore looked reflective. "A cat: intelligent, curious, physically capable, and possesses an inner strength. Your Animagus fits you well as they always do. You will probably find when you learn to make a Patronus that it will be a cat also. Though Patronuses are funny things. "

May could be a dreary month to her for it meant another school year was drawing to an end, but she felt like she was walking on air on her way back to her bed.

She didn't realize she'd been seen, and as she pulled the covers up, she heard, "So Minerva McGonagall sneaking out at night, has the world come to an end?"

It was just Vera. "It was part of a lesson, a final lesson. I'm an Animagnus now." She tried to say it soberly, but even she could hear the delight in her own voice.

"That explains a lot. What animal are you, and why did you hide it from me?"

"A cat, and I didn't mean to hide it. It's just Professor Dumbledore wasn't sure the headmaster would approve, but of course, I'm going to add my name to the Animagus Registry. It won't be a secret anymore, and it's not like I'm using my ability to transform to get away with devious, evil things."

Vera chuckled. "Trust me. Nobody that knows you would think that."

Minerva was glad her friend wasn't angry and happy to have it out in the open. She hated subterfuge.

"I've actually been keeping a secret as well. This was my last year." Vera said the last part in a rush as if the words would sting less pushed out faster. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, the pain was still there.

Minerva was shocked speechless.

"Don't take it hard," Vera begged. "I knew you would take it hard."

"Did I not help you enough? I can spend more time helping you next year. I won't be so busy now that my Animagus training is over, and Malcolm is as well-adjusted as he'll ever be."

"No, it had nothing to do with you. It's Frederick's last year. He did well enough on his OWLS, and he's already gotten a job offer training trolls for security."

A mediocre job with a mediocre income but one he would probably do well at. "Tell me you're not giving your education up for Frederick."

"No, I'm giving it up for me. Education is your dream, not mine. I've learned everything a witch needs to know. The rest of my learning would be nice to know maybe but not necessary and not worth the torture of two more years."

"What is your dream?" She felt like a lousy friend for not knowing.

"I want a little house of my own. I want to plant some self-fertilizing shrubs out front. I want to be Frederick's wife and have a houseful of children. Is there anything wrong with that?"

There was nothing wrong with wanting different things. "No, I wish you all the best."

Vera jumped out of her own bed and brought her into a tight embrace. Not a hugging kind of person, she awkwardly patted her. They really couldn't have been more different, but she was going to miss her terribly next year.

Chapter Text

Minerva couldn't deny her sixth year didn't start off lonely with Vera gone. It wasn't that she didn't have friendly relationships with the other students by now as a member of the Quidditch team, as a prefect, and the best student of her class, but they were acquaintances rather than friends.

She made up for the loneliness by diving deeper into her studies and spending time with her brother when he wasn't spending time with his own friends.

One thing that was particularly exciting about this year was learning to appararte.

The boys and some of the girls, too, back at home were learning to drive cars. She sometimes heard the boys bragging about how fast their cars could go. They couldn't get anywhere faster than she would soon be able to go.

She had taken jobs watching children over the summer to be able to afford the extra class. There weren't many students taking it as to apparate wrongly could result in serious injury or even death, and so only a select few were brave enough or able enough to try. But if you passed the class, it meant you had a license to apparate. It was a short class, a course really, that convened right after the holidays.

"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," their instructor from the Ministry of Magic constantly stressed. "That's what you need to apparate."

That didn't seem so hard to Minerva. Becoming an animagnus had required more concentration and deliberate action. She was the first student to pick it up because of it.

But apparition was horrible. It felt like being sucked violently through a straw. There was a loud crack like a car backfiring, and she promptly vomited onto the floor, all for the sake of saving a few feet of walking. Though obviously it could be used across greater distances once mastered. She wondered dryly if she should let her dad teach her to drive a car this summer.

The instructor disapparated the vomit with his wand as quickly as she had disapperated a moment ago. "Excellent work. You won't be the last to get sick today, but I promise you, the first time's always the worst."

She could only hope, but she couldn't see it ever becoming a preferred mode of transportation. She'd much prefer to travel by broom, floo powder, or portkey, but one didn't always have access to the items required for such travel, and one never knew when the day might come that a witch or wizard needed to apparate themselves or someone else to escape danger.

When class was over, she became intent on retrieving one of the ginger biscuits her mother had sent from home to settle the lingering queasiness, which was why she almost plowed into one of the first-years.

"Did you just come from an apparition class?" the young girl asked, her voice full of wonder.

"I did. You're fortunate you've got some time yet before you must go to one."

"Bad as all that? Well, it's a handy skill anyway. The whole place is wonderful. I could live here forever."

That elicited a smile from her. It was nice to talk with someone who was as happy with schoolwork as her. "I know what you mean. You'll find the years disappear more quickly than you want them to."

The girl wore a smile so sunny, a person couldn't help being warmed in her presence. "Oh, I'm certain you're right."

"What's your favorite class?" Minerva asked curiously.

"Oh, most definitely herbology. My favorite memories are gardening with my granny. She passed away last year, but I always feel close to her and to God down there in the earth. And, well, plants are fascinating, aren't they? Useful and almost as if they were as alive as you and me."

She should have guessed it was her favorite with the dirt that clung underneath her fingernails. "I'm Minerva McGongall."

"Oh, sure. I've seen you around and watched you play Quidditch. I'm Pomona Sprout."

Pomona, short and on the chubby side even for an eleven-year-old, put out a hand to shake. It was obvious she was mature for her age.

Minerva shook it, having the feeling she'd just made a new friend. "You wouldn't enjoy a game of chess, would you?"

"Chess? I'd love it. Just name the time."

"This evening then say 7:00. In the library?"

"I'll be there. Watch me be late to my next class. Bye!" She spoke as she ran at a faster pace than one might have expected from her.

"Don't tell me you're going to make friends with that child," said a fellow classmate, who had witnessed the exchange. "Really, Minerva. And she's a Hufflepuff."

"And if I did, what business would it be of yours?" she asked, tall enough to look down her nose at her peer.

"None, but her behavior will be perfectly juvenile, and you know how simple-minded Hufflepuffs are," she said, tossing her ponytail in as flippant a manner as her words.

"No, what's juvenile and simple-minded is thinking you know all about a person based on their age and house," she retorted snappishly.

She watched the girl storm down the hall like a pouting five-year-old. She'd rather have Pomona's company over her company any day of the week.

Chapter Text

It occurred to Minerva that as many years as she had spent learning the history of magic, the classes had never once gone over the beginning, the origin of magic.

"Was it ever recorded who the first witch or wizard was?" she asked Professor Binns one day after class. "Or did it begin with Adam and Eve?"

She half expected him to ignore her question. It wouldn't be the first time, and class was over.

His black eyes, shining through his spectacles, seemed to fix themselves on some point beyond her; it was almost as if he were looking through her, but he did answer her. "You are the more intelligent of my students, Miss McLaggen. I would have thought you'd given up such a fairytale years ago."

She was beyond shocked he'd noticed her enough to discern her character though he'd gotten her name wrong as he did everyone's. However, she was even more shocked by his last statement. "What do you mean?"

"Adam and Eve indeed, a Muggle invention created to make up for their lack of magic. It's comforting to think there's a father, a benefactor with mankind's interests in mind when you have no power yourself. Here's a lesson for you: don't believe anything you can't see or touch. Facts must be proven to be facts."

She straightened her spine more though she was already standing up straight. "I suppose you're entitled to your beliefs, but I know there's a God."

"I'm dead. Don't you think I'd know if there was a God? " He spoke it as a question, but it was clear it was rhetorical in nature. In fact, he considered their conversation over as he disappeared behind the blackboard.

Her mind was whirling with the question he'd presented. There was an age-old debate about whether Professor Binns even knew he was dead. Now it was apparent he did, and it made sense that a spirit would know about the afterlife.

She almost forgot about her plans with Pomona. She considered canceling, not feeling up to the company; she wanted to be alone with her thoughts to sift and weigh this new information. But if she canceled, Pomona might think she didn't want to be friends.

Minerva didn't even want to be considering the fact that there might not be a God, but the doubt was there now, and there was nothing she could do to expel it until she worked through it.

Pomona had beat her the library and was waiting at a table near the invisibility section. Minerva paused to consider that particular spot. Just because something couldn't be seen didn't mean it wasn't there. She knew if she reached out and touched what appeared to be an empty section of the shelf, her hand would strike something solid. Of course, that meant it would pass Professor Binns' test as something that could be touched.

With a hello, she took a seat across from Pomona. It was her father who had taught her to play chess. He'd taught her about God, too. She wished he were here now to provide her answers and words of comfort.

But chances were if she posed her doubts to him, he would assume it a product of her schooling and take her and her brothers out, and Robert Jr. hadn't even gotten his acceptance letter yet. And even if he wouldn't, summer was a long time away, and it wasn't the kind of thing best put in a letter.

She readied the board that Vera had gotten her for Christmas last year. Her father would have hated Wizard's chess though it was played exactly the same way as Muggle's chess. The difference was the players didn't have to touch the pieces, and when they took another piece, it wasn't in the most peaceful of manners. "White or black?"

"It doesn't matter to me." She left it as it was, which meant she was white and Pomona was black.

She made the first move as white. They both chose to move a pawn. Then Minerva moved a knight, and Pomona moved hers.

To be honest, she was barely able to concentrate on the game, and she wasn't making conversation, not that she was a superb conversationalist anyway. Pomona probably hoped the game was over quickly.

Minerva moved her bishop, and Pomona moved her knight, apparently forgetting what the knight what guarding. Minerva's knight struck and dragged a pawn off. Pomona moved her queen; she must have desired to end the game as it was a poor way to try and attack a knight by making her queen vulnerable, the most valuable piece.

Minerva's knight took another pawn, and Pomona's queen took a pawn. It was only then that Minerva realized what she was trying to do. She moved her rook to safety, but Pomona's queen took another pawn. Minerva moved her bishop back, but when Pomona moved her knight, the game was over.

"Checkmate," Pomona said cheerfully but not in a conceited way. "Okay, what's bothering you?"

"Why would you think something's bothering me?"

"The most gifted witch of her year and possibly the whole school doesn't just walk into that very obvious trap unless they've got something on their mind. Of course, the other possibility is that you let me win, but I've seen you on the field, remember? You are entirely too competitive for that."

She smiled at the girl, who was obviously as talented with people as she must have been with plants, for that was an astute observation especially from one so young. "I'm not sure I know what to believe anymore."

"About?"

"Life. I'm not at all sure anymore that there is a God." She felt even more terrible for saying it. Wasn't it enough that her own faith was shattered that she had to go around shattering other people's?"

Pomona didn't appear to be disheartened by the suggestion that there might not be. It was like nothing could touch the joy that enveloped her. That must have been nice. She envied her at that moment. "What I think is that God is bigger than whether we believe or don't believe. You'll find your way back to belief if you want to that is."

The girl was wise beyond her years. It was a wonder she didn't have her own hatstall between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

"But what do I know?" Pomona continued. "You need to talk to a man of the cloth, the resident chaplain if it were, the Fat Friar."

"The Hufflepuff ghost? Would he talk to a student from Gryffindor?" What she was really thinking was she wasn't sure a man who called himself the Fat Friar could be taken seriously, and what was more, she wasn't Catholic.

"Of course. He wouldn't look down on any of God's people or creatures. Why I don't think he even holds a grudge against the churchmen that killed him."

That kind of forgiveness amazed her. She heard about it from the pews often enough, but forgiving your killers took more forgiveness than the average person offered. More than she believed she would have been capable of in his place. A man like that was worth talking to even if it was just to his ghost.

Besides, it was a ghost that had made her doubt, maybe it was a ghost that could restore her faith.

Chapter Text

Minerva met with the Fat Friar or rather he met with her. He found her after an astronomy lesson. She'd asked if she might stay out under the night sky a while longer, and the professor had agreed. It was no longer a required class after passing her O.W.L. last year with flying colors as she had all the classes she took. She still didn't believe the stars and planets could tell anything worthwhile about the future, but it could tell about its Creator, and that's why she continued to take it.

Of course, Professor Bins would say they had no creator, but how could something so beautiful and finite have always been there? The thought of there being no God, not only depressed her, it made no sense.

"I was told you might be in need of my services," he said as if they were about to talk about puppies and rainbows instead of having a serious conversation. If everyone in Hufflepuff was so perpetually sunny, that had to be grating.

But he had a nice smile that eased some of her anxiety, so she took a seat on an abandoned box someone had left on the tower. The Friar sat as well to further set her at ease rather than out of any physical need to do so.

"She didn't tell me what it was about," he said, starting the conversation.

Minerva wished Pomona had. It was distasteful in her mouth every time she said it. "I was told by Professor Binns that there is no God."

He chuckled. "Well, there's your problem. He wouldn't know. I don't think he believes anything exists beyond his history texts or these castle walls."

"But he would know, wouldn't he? He's a ghost."

"And that's exactly why you can't take him at his word. He can't change what he was in life, no ghost can. He died believing there was nothing after death, he continues to think there's nothing after death. If you introduced him to an angel, it wouldn't phase him. He can't learn anything new. Why do you think he can never call a student by their own name?"

The news relieved her, but the seed of doubt remained now that it was there. She bet her father had never had a crisis of faith. She was ashamed. She looked up at the dark sky and the stars blurred just a little bit.

"Beautiful, aren't they? This world's beautiful. I can only imagine how much more beautiful a world without sin will be."

He still anticipated heaven even as he lived life as a ghost. She wanted to know his story. "If you don't mind my asking, how'd you die?"

"I pulled rabbits out of the communion cups."

Minerva was horrified and shocked. She didn't believe the wine to be Jesus' actual blood as the Catholic Church did, but the irreverence in that act was astounding. Christians were celebrating Jesus' sacrifice at the cross when they partook of Communion.

"I can see you don't find it amusing. The churchmen of my day didn't either."

"You were killed for pulling rabbits out of a communion cup," she repeated in disbelief. Of all the ways and reasons to die that had to be a first and an only.

"I felt bad for the Muggles that came to the services. They didn't understand the service because they weren't taught Latin, and they often looked so disinterested. I was hoping to make them laugh."

There were better times to have a laugh, she thought. "And you couldn't convince them it was Muggle magic? They're not strangers to pulling rabbits out of hats."

"No. It was more than that. I was particularly gifted in healing magic. I could have and did ignore simple things like the sniffles, saying only a prayer on their behalf, but the pox was so rampant in my time. So many would die from smallpox, and when they didn't die, they were left with terrible scars or even blindness." He got a faraway look in his silver eyes as if he could see their misery still.

Shaking the vision away, he continued. "I couldn't ignore their suffering when it was in my power to help them, could I? Not when a touch of my wand could do so much. And what's more, I knew God wouldn't want me to ignore it."

This she could understand though she probably would have been a little more secretive about it. "You didn't try to cover up the fact that you were healing them?"

"I did. You had to understand the Muggles of the day. They were a superstitious lot, you know. I told them it the was the power of the stick doing it, not me."

"And they accepted that?"

"Many did, but as you can see by my presence with you, some did not. I was burned at the stake for practicing witchcraft. I don't recommend dying in such a manner. It's much nicer to slip off your mortal encasement while you're sleeping, or so I'm told, but if my Lord and Savior didn't escape death by execution, then why should I be surprised when the same was done to me? In a way, they made me a martyr, so it's really kind of a badge of honor."

"You don't sound as if you were afraid of death," she commented. That was sometimes a reason why a soul lingered.

"Goodness me, no. Why should I be? I know what lays after death. God. Heaven. Loved ones. Why would I be scared of that? No, I just knew I could be of further help to people. And there were no people I wanted to help more than Hogwarts students. I also remembered the feasts we had there fondly. Helga Hufflepuff's recipes and food charms were and are grand. Hogwarts still uses some of them today."

"You had no regrets?"

"Oh, no. I would have helped the Muggles with pox again if I had the chance. I suppose I could regret that I was caught, but I've forgiven those involved. I suppose if there was something to regret it's that I wasn't elected to be a cardinal, I could have helped so many more."

He was a noble man and so kind. She was about to tell him so when he continued with his mild rant. "I mean I would have made a very good cardinal. I wouldn't have spent my time persecuting people over silly things. I would have spent it helping them. And I happen to look very good in red."

She hid a smile, not wanting to offend. He was more resentful over the fact they hadn't elected him as a cardinal than the fact they'd killed him. "Sometimes I wonder if God even accepts me. If He's not like my father, expecting me to compartmentalize the magical side of me to be an acceptable Christian. After all, witchcraft is forbidden. I've read the verses myself."

"Witchcraft is when Muggles turn to the devil and his demons or themselves for power instead of looking to the Lord. We don't practice witchcraft, we practice a gift we were born with. Tell me, what do you look to when the going gets tough? Do you pick up your wand or do you turn to God first? If the first, then perhaps witchcraft is a problem for you."

"You're very wise. It's a real shame ghosts can't tell everyone about the afterlife for certain or that they're stuck here forever."

"Not forever. Just until Judgment Day. We must forgive Professor Binns for telling you wrong, but I guarantee He will believe in a God one day. We must pray for his soul."

"You must think me a terrible person for asking all these questions, a terrible Christian. I feel like one. I shouldn't doubt; I shouldn't ask questions."

"What does scripture say? Love the Lord God with all your heart, soul..." He paused to let her finish the verse.

"Mind, and strength."

"The Lord doesn't expect you not to think or reason. That's a foolish modern thought put out by the Enemy, and believe me, I've been around long enough to know. God expects you to know Him in every way there is to know Him: to love Him, feel Him, learn about Him, and pursue Him with everything in you."

So she did think about what she believed, and she believed there was a God, not only because she'd grown up in the church or because she was her father's daughter but because God was logical in every way. The Bible's complexity continued to challenge the way she understood things, and she saw its perfection even more completely the older she got. She saw the hand of God in the world, in the universe, in the kindness of the people around her, and she felt His presence on a daily basis. What other conclusion could she come to but that He existed? She'd be foolish not to believe.

The Fat Friar had stayed by her patiently as she had wandered down those avenues of thought, and he was smiling. He must have seen what she had concluded in her own smile and in her returned peace. Faith in God was one of the few areas of her life that fit into both the wizarding and Muggle world; she saw that clearly now, thanks to this spirit.

"You would have made a very good cardinal," she told him.

Chapter Text

"I have to what?" Minerva's father asked louder than necessary.

Her mother quietly answered. "Just go through the wall, dear. It's not solid at the moment. You didn't think we could have a train to Hogwarts in plain sight, did you?"

He looked around as if one of his parishioners might have followed him to London. Then he linked arms with his wife, and they went through the brick wall together. She had to hand it to her father. He didn't waiver from the task like some Muggles might have the first time.

He had stayed behind at the hotel while they had gotten supplies for Robert Jr., as well as her and Malcolm's books, so this was his first real taste of the wizarding world. Since it was the only time all three of his children would be in Hogwarts, he'd decided to make this journey just this once.

He shook his head in disbelief as he looked at all the witches and wizards roaming around the platform. "I really wish I was sending you all off to an all-girls and all-boys boarding schools. At least I know you have a good head on your shoulders, Minerva. You won't have your head turned by some flowery speech and a handsome face."

"What about me, Dad?" Malcolm asked with a smile even as the thirteen-year-old watched a platinum-haired classmate walk by.

"You're the one I worry about most, son. Keep your nose in your books. There'll be plenty of time for girls after you've got an education under your belt." He took a step back in shock as he saw a witch give her son a treat to take on the train, using just a wand. It appeared to come out of thin air, but if her father knew Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, he would know she had merely summoned the sweet from its last location. "As unorthodox as it may be."

Robert Jr.'s bright eyes were still transfixed on his new, gleaming sycamore wand. "You won't have to worry about me. I just want to learn everything there is to learn."

"I'm afraid of that, too. You tend to absorb it all, good and bad. It's hard to tell what you'll learn at that school." He sighed and turned his attention back to Minerva. "At least it's your last year. Then you'll be home for good."

Minerva wasn't so sure of that, but she didn't want to tell him so and make him worry more. The truth was she wasn't certain what she wanted to do yet. "Don't worry about Robert Jr. I'll make sure he only learns what's profitable." Keeping him away from the Restricted Section in the library was going to be tricky though. The boy was too curious for his own good. They might as well post a sign on the rope: "Come and read, Robert Jr."

Her father kept a constant eye on the train even as he carried on conversation as if he expected it to jump off the tracks at any moment and fly away.

Her mother noticed, too. "It's just a train, Robert."

"Nothing is just what it is around here." He wasn't reassured at all by her words. Her parents loved each other, but they didn't trust each other, and he probably suspected she was lying to him just to set his mind at ease.

"It really is just a regular train, Father. The only thing magical is the wall and the people on it, and I suppose it's fueled by magic rather than steam, but it operates in a normal fashion."

She spotted Pomona, who waved in her usual cheerful way. Minerva waved back.

"She looks like a nice girl. I'm glad you made another close friend," her mother said. "I know how you miss Vera."

"Friends are important," her father added. "I hope she's from a good Christian family."

She wondered if he fretted over that because Pomona had two wanded parents beside her, but it was her dad's business to fret over people's salvation and particularly his own children's. He would have asked the same if the friend had two Muggle parents. "Actually she is. Our shared faith is one of the ways we bonded."

"I thought as much. A minister can tell those things about people."

She looked harder at the Sprout family. She didn't know what he saw that she didn't. They did look happy though, but the McGonagalls were a Christian family, and they probably didn't look particularly happy to an outsider's eye.

It was nice to be reassured that her father didn't carry a prejudice towards witches and wizards and think they were excluded from walking with God. It certainly seemed that way at times when he insisted on there being no magic at all within their four walls.

"Well, I need to go help instruct the prefects on what to do before we get going," she announced.

"My daughter a head girl; I can't believe it," her mother said. "Actually I can. They couldn't find a smarter, harder working, honest, or all around good person. Though I may be a little bias, I admit."

Compliments, however well intended, embarrassed her. She was only doing what was required of her. She hoped no one had heard. Enough of them thought her uppity as it was without her mother's gushing praise.

Her mother hugged Minerva tight. "I'm so proud of you I could burst."

"Come on, Isobel. Let the girl go," her father said. Though he didn't state his pride, she could hear it in his voice.

All of the prefects and Head Boys and Head Girls were waiting in the car reserved for them except for one, a Slytherin, who probably thought he was above such things as being on time as a pure-blood. The Ravenclaw Head Boy had been elected to recite the rules to the others.

The rules of being a prefect were now almost as familiar to her as scripture. Minerva's mind and gaze wandered out past the window to the platform where her parents stood, waiting to wave them off.

Her mother, though tearful at her empty nest, was as pleased as Punch that all her children were following in her footsteps in this way. Her father was a different story. She could see him struggling with the pain, trying to stand tall but sinking in shame.

It wasn't just that magic unsettled him though that was certainly true. It was the lies he had to tell that caused the shame. He'd looked like he was about to have a fit of apoplexy as he'd had to lie to the congregation about the trip from the pulpit, telling them he was taking them to schools he wasn't taking them to. She didn't blame him; she hated the lies just as much; she just got to live away from the lying for most of the year.

She knew one thing for sure about her future after Hogwarts. She couldn't ever go back to the lying, not full-time.

Chapter Text

Minerva looked to the stands at the start of the game as she hovered in the air. She could spot where her brothers sat together in the crowd quite easily because of the blue and bronze in the sea of scarlet and gold.

Robert Jr., had been sorted into Ravenclaw. She wished he'd been sorted into Gryffindor merely so she could keep closer tabs on him. But the Lord no doubt knew what He was doing having them sorted in different houses because Malcolm and Robert Jr. together constantly would have been a disaster. They had a tendency to get in more trouble together than they would apart, and she wouldn't always be here to look after them beyond this year.

It was a game against Slytherin and the one that would win the cup. It wouldn't be her first time if they won the championship, but it would be her last opportunity.

She was ever watchful for the flash of gold that would end the game. She spotted it before the other seeker, and she bobbed and weaved through the balls and players, her eyes ever on the prize. She almost had it in her grasp before the brawny, Slytherin beaters rammed into her.

She barely had time to realize she was plummeting, thanks to a snapped broom, before she hit the ground hard. The resulting pain was intense. It was the first time she had ever crashed on her broom in Quidditch or anywhere else. She could feel the pain every time she breathed in.

Before she had time to recover from her shock, she was being lifted onto a stretcher. She didn't realize she was still holding on tightly to the broken school broom until they pried it from her hands.

She heard the announcer as she was being carried away to the infirmary, "A foul on Slytherin."

The hospital wing smelled of rubbing alcohol and freshly brewed potions. She was poked and prodded in the typical medical fashion by Madame Pavlac until she presented her findings. "You have a concussion and three broken ribs. You're very lucky it wasn't worse."

She didn't feel lucky. She felt like getting even.

"Don't look so glum. I can fix the ribs right away." She pulled put a wand of hawthorn and said, "Brackium Emendo."

The pain in her side was gone immediately. "Then I can play right away." She started to throw off the covers, but Madame Pavlac tucked them back into place.

"The concussion will be a little longer as there's nothing magically or medically I can do for it but give it time."

"How long will the concussion last?"

"I'd guess no more than two days, and you cannot fall asleep for at least twelve hours," she warned, shaking her wand at her like it was a pointer.

That didn't seem like a pressing issue at the moment. She was too angry to be sleepy. "Got it."

She left her, and Minerva wondered for a moment if she could sneak out the window, so she could at least see the end of the game, but she'd probably get caught and her head did hurt.

Madame Pavlac came back after a little while. "I have three visitors who very much want to see you. You feeling up to it?"

She didn't need to ask to know who they were. "Send them in."

Malcolm, Robert Jr., and Pomona walked in a few moments later.

"That was just awful," Pomona fussed. "Those snakes wouldn't know fair play if it came and bit them in the you-know-what."

She appreciated the empathy and loyalty, but only one thing was on her mind at the moment. "Did we win?" she asked.

"No, but we should have," Malcolm said with the same fiery brimstone in his voice that her father used when preaching. "They knew we were going to win the cup and that blatching was their only chance. They could have killed you. It should have meant they forfeited the game, but all they got was a bloody penalty. Morgan's a passable substitute seeker, but he hasn't had enough broom time to compete against Slytherin in the final game. They knew that, the filthy buggers."

She was too disappointed at losing to correct his language. "Well, there's always next year. I just won't be here to see it."

"Don't worry Minerva," Robert Jr. said. "I'm going to be a beater next year, and I'll make sure I give them a taste of their own medicine."

She was so protective of her little brothers. It was a nice feeling to have the tables turned with them being protective of her. "I want you to play fair. I just want to see them crushed with defeat."

Pomona made the dreary room seem more cheerful with her friendly chatter, taking all their minds off the incident. She only left when a class forced her to leave. Her brothers got special permission to miss their classes, so they could help keep her awake. The rapscallions stayed by her bedside, keeping her entertained by showing her what they'd learned and telling her stories of their shenanigans. She didn't know how she'd gotten through so many years at Hogwarts without them.

Chapter Text

An owl dropped a cream-colored envelope into Minerva's lap. The script was too fancy to have come from home. Reading the return address, she saw it came from "Transfiguration Today", a well-known publication in the wizarding world. Her hands shook a little. What would they want with her? She hadn't been this excited over a letter since her Hogwarts letter had arrived seven years ago.

"Dear Miss McGonagall,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen by our staff to receive the Transfiguration Today Most Promising Newcomer Award. Congratulations on winning this most prestigious honor. Not only will we feature an article on you and your talent, but it comes with the prize of eight galleons. Expect one of our writers to contact you for an interview in the next few days. And again, our congratulations.

Sincerely, Transfiguration Today."

She knew there was only one person she could share the good news with first, Professor Dumbledore, who had nurtured her talent to extraordinary heights.

He was smiling before she even handed him the letter to read. "Congratulations," he said. He wasn't a bit surprised.

"You did this," she surmised.

"I might have had a hand in nominating you," he said with an artful twinkle in his eye.

"Well, thank you, sir."

"I wouldn't have nominated you if I didn't think you deserved it. It was your skill that beat your competitors."

sss

Minerva had put on her best robe and waited quietly on the bench in the transfiguration classroom for the journalist who would interview her. Professor Dumbledore had graciously lent it for the occasion but had made himself scarce, so as not to steal the spotlight.

If she had expecting someone scholarly-looking to represent the scholarly journal, she would have been very disappointed. Miss Graham, the journalist, looked London-sophisticated from her perfectly-coiled hair to her long, manicured nails. They shook hands and sat down.

Miss Graham was ready with her self-writing quill. "What do you credit your cleverness in transfiguration to?"

"To a great teacher. Professor Dumbledore is why I know so much about transfiguration, and he went above what was required of him by helping me become an animagnus."

"Which is a feat few accomplish even Professor Dumbledore himself. Most would have credited it to a natural talent or a great wand."

"Those things help, but they can't help you become the best without someone who can encourage you and who knows their subject well enough to inspire and impart it to you."

"Tell me about yourself, your background."

"I was born in a village in Caithness in the highlands of Scotland. My father pastors a church there. It was a fairly normal childhood, I suppose. Lots of love."

"Wait a minute," Miss Graham said, her well-groomed eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. "Are you Muggle-born?"

"My father's a Muggle, yes, and my mother's a witch."

"Your father's a Muggle," she repeated with equal mixtures of horror and disdain.

Minerva sighed audibly. Some wizards acted as if Muggles and wizards were two different species. They seemed to think Muggles were creatures who breathed the same air and who necessity required occasional interaction but no more. They almost put intermixing on the same level as bestiality. It was the same sort of mentality Hitler had possessed and such a view was dangerous. She could see it causing the same sort of problems one day, but there it was. "Unless there's something quite wrong with your hearing, I suggest we get on with the interview."

She asked her other questions like her favorite spell, her advice to those studying transfiguration, and other like questions, but it was hardly a light-hearted air in the room.

She put the unpleasant incident out of her mind. She didn't think of it again until Professor Dumbledore pulled out the latest copy of "Transfiguration Today". "I picked up an extra one for you."

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, feeling like a charity case, but she couldn't afford to get it, and not only would it be prideful not to accept, but she would be robbing him of the joy of giving a gift, so she simply said, "Thank you," as she took the magazine.

"I know your parents will be proud."

Well, one of them would. She had to hand it to Miss Graham as she read the article; she hadn't let her bias influence the piece. It was accurate and truthful. It ended with saying her plans for the future were undecided.

"I do hope you are seriously considering the position you were offered," he said seemingly reading her thoughts though he'd no do doubt read the article.

She hadn't told anyone about her job offer at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the British Ministry of Magic except Pomona. "I assume you had a hand in that as well."

"I put in a good word, but you've earned it. The ministry needs young people with a good head on their shoulders and an unwavering moral code."

It was a wonderful job offer. The only thing that held her back was that she was going to break her father's heart.

Pomona caught her in the hallway and saw the magazine in her hand. "Your article's out? Is it good?"

She let her read it.

"Wow. I'm jealous," she said, handing it back.

She wasn't though. It wasn't Pomona's way. Still, Minerva said, "If there was an award in herbology, you know you'd get it."

She shrugged modestly though the dirt that always seemed to cling to her spoke for itself. "How do you feel about winning? You couldn't tell you were excited to look at you."

"It's a splendid way to finish at Hogwarts, but I'm going to miss being here. I don't want to say that it was more my home than my home is, but it was a place of refuge from some of the storms at home."

"I can understand that."

She took a deep breath. She had to do what was right for her and not what her family wanted or didn't want for her. "I've chosen to take the job." Her friend knew better than anybody her struggle with it as she'd been her human sounding board, not being a thing she could discuss with her family without hurt feelings involved.

"I'm so happy for you." Pomona smiled so wide, a casual observer would've thought she was the one who'd gotten a job at the Ministry, but that's what made her a great friend. "What will your father say?"

There was that ever-present problem. He expected her to be done with witchcraft after this year, to lock her wand under her bed like her mother. She was going to have to find a way to break it to him this summer. "Probably things a minister ought not to say."

Pomona stepped into her path suddenly and hugged her tight. Though Minerva normally wasn't the hugging type and stiffened at the contact, she drew some comfort from it in that moment. "I'll miss you so next year," she said, hugging her back. "We must keep in touch."

"Oh, that's a given," Pomona said. "Things have a way of working out for God's own in the long-run. You'll see."

Chapter Text

"I've thought long and hard, Father, and I've prayed about it, and I know working for the Ministry in London is the right decision. It's very respectable. A great opportunity to use my magic for good and not pleasure."

Silence, but what did she expect when she was talking to a stone jutting out of the earth? For a Gryffindor graduate, she wasn't feeling very brave just that moment. She hated the thought of disappointing her father, whom she loved so much. But she was as immovable from the decision as the granite.

"It's not everyday you see a pretty lady talking to a rock. I don't know whether to leave you two alone to finish your conversation or quietly back away and pretend I never saw it."

She turned to find a young man near her own age with ginger hair and laughing brown eyes. "You're rather too late for the former. And if you weren't sneaking up on a person, you might not see such a strange sight." Even as she spoke her hand moved toward her hidden wand, in case she needed to make him forget that he had heard her say she had magic.

He laughed appreciatively at her sharp wit. The laughter came freely and easily like he laughed a lot. She wouldn't admit it to him, but it was a very pleasant sound. A sound she wouldn't mind hearing again. "Do you mind if I ask what you were telling it?" His eyes still sparkled with amusement at the situation.

"Not that it's any of your business," she said, brushing invisible dirt from her skirt with great dignity and trying to ignore the fact such a attractive man was talking to her, "but I was merely practicing a hard conversation with my father."

He seemed to sober a little then. "Conversations with fathers can be very difficult. We can never be all they want us to be, and they always think of us as their bairn."

"Aye. You have it exactly."

"I'm the voice of experience. My own father thinks I'm wasting my life by taking up farming. I had an all-expenses-paid scholarship to the University of Edinburgh, and I studied law for a while and got excellent marks, the best in my year, but I decided it just wasn't for me. Besides, I'm an only child. Someone had to take over the family farm or generations of McGregors would have turned over in their graves."

She smiled at his humor even as she said, "If you'll excuse me for saying so, but that does seem a waste. Being a solicitor is a fine career."

"So is farming."

"But it's a waste of the mind."

"Is it? Where would we be if great minds had not put their thoughts towards farming, inventing new farming techniques and tools that allowed more of the world to be fed?"

"I can't disagree. That was rather short-sighted of me to look down on farming."

He didn't seem annoyed with her. "And listen. Hear that?"

She tilted her head and listened to the sounds of birds and bleating sheep. "I don't hear anything."

There was a look of bliss on his face. "Exactly. In Edinburgh, all I heard was noise, noise, noise. And I observed so many cases where guilty people got off with a good solicitor. I didn't want to ever have to defend a guilty man, or worse, put an innocent man behind bars. I want a simpler life, where a man's conscience can rest easy. There's something about good, hard work that's very satisfying."

"You have me convinced on the merits of farming. Not that you had to explain anything to me."

"I wanted to. You're easy to talk to."

"Like a rock," she said, poking a little fun at herself.

"Like a rock," he agreed with a grin. He stuck out his hand for a handshake. "I'm Dougal McGregor."

She shook it. "Minerva McGonagall."

"The daughter of the minister at the Presbyterian kirk?"

And that's generally when the boys around here took off if they didn't know it already or if her personality hadn't intimidated them first. No one wanted to date the daughter of a pastor because they felt they had to be perfect: tidy, conservative in dress and manner, always punctual, have their life laid out, attend church every time the door was open, and never so much as hold her hand or spend a minute alone with her.

"I don't know of many other Minervas, do you?" It was a sharp comeback but one designed to protect herself from hurt.

He chuckled. "No. It fits you though, the goddess of wisdom and war, intelligent and fierce."

Few would have said a name associated with Roman paganism fit a good Presbyterian girl. She liked Dougal even more then. "I've never seen you at the kirk." A not so subtle way of asking him about his values.

"That's because I'm generally at Mass on Sundays, but for a sight of you, I'd attend your father's service."

Her cheeks colored, something that didn't happen to her very often but then neither did she talk to a man that was so handsome, clever, and funny very often. "Or you might find me walking on that dirt path over there this time tomorrow."

For once, there was no trace of humor in his manner. "Then that's where you'll find me as well."

Chapter Text

"Mother wore trousers to church. I thought Father was going to have a fit of apoplexy right behind the pulpit."

Her parents had argued long into the night after that fiasco. Her mother declaring loudly and often that she couldn't keep up with what Muggles were currently wearing, having seen a lady wearing a pair in a fashion magazine and thinking it looked quite classy and comfortable.

"One of the church ladies quoted 'A woman shall not wear a man's garment,' right to her face," she told Dougal. They were on one of the many nature walks they taken together in the past few weeks. "I quoted right back to her, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.'"

"You know what I love about you, Minerva? You're always so honest. You say exactly what you think."

She experienced a twinge of guilt. Certainly she was honest when she could be. The law kept her from revealing the one aspect of herself she hid from him. She told herself that it didn't matter. That he knew what was important about her. But a louder voice sometimes cried that it was important.

"Times are changing," he went on. "What makes it a man's garment if it was made for a woman? By that logic, we men would have to throw away our kilts if trousers are for men and skirts are for women."

She smiled, thinking of what Dougal would look like in a kilt. "There's no doubt they do make the trousers feminine, but there is something to be said for tradition and not making one's self into a spectacle, which was Father's issue. He argued with her back at home that she wouldn't have worn it to meet the queen, but knowing Mother, I rather think she would have."

He laughed loudly and merrily. "I'd like to meet your parents. They sound so amusing."

"That's one way of putting it," she said, purposefully ignoring the first part he'd said.

The lack of invitation didn't go unnoticed by Dougal. "Why won't you let me meet your parents? Is it because I'm Catholic?"

"No, of course not. Don't get me wrong. I don't think my father will be jumping up and down with joy that I'm not dating a good Presbyterian boy, but unlike some close-minded people, he knows we worship the same Lord and Savior."

"Well, why then?"

Why wouldn't she let him? The boys' didn't let their magic run wild like they had when they were younger, and other than the trousers incident, her mother seemed normal enough on the surface. They'd have to meet him sooner or later, but something kept her back from it. "I don't know. I suppose I want to keep you all to myself."

"That's as good a reason as any." He was staring at her with admiring eyes. It made her excited and embarrassed her a little at the same time.

He stopped to pluck a wild rose growing by the path. It was simpler than some roses, plainer, but still very pleasant to look at, and it smelled just as sweet. He stuck the pink blossom in her hair. "A Rosa acicularis. For my Scottish rose."

Her heart thrummed wildly at their close proximity. His soulful eyes pulled her in more than magic ever could, and before she knew it, they were kissing.

It was a quick and respectful kiss, more of a peck really. She wouldn't have tolerated a more passionate kiss before marriage, and Dougal knew her well enough to know that. The kiss communicated that he loved her and not that she was an object for his passions, but that didn't mean there wasn't passion. The light brushing of lips were enough to make her heart more fluttery than a dozen fairy wings.

"I love you, Minerva."

The words were sweet, but she had known it before he said it by his actions. "And I you, but I really must get home." She needed time to think about the kiss and him more than a need to obey a curfew.

"Where have you been?" her father demanded when she walked through the door.

Before she could answer, her mother jumped to her defense. "Robert, she's not a child anymore."

"She's my child," he insisted.

"She's also a good and sensible girl, and it makes it seem like you don't trust her when you grill her like a criminal the moment she walks through. She'll tell us in her own good time."

Did her mother have an inkling of her secret romance and was okay with it? Probably. She should have told her parents about Dougal then, but she didn't.

Behind the closed door of her room, she played every moment of the walk over again in her head, especially the last part of it. She didn't consider herself an overly sentimental person, but there was no denying she couldn't get him off her mind or that she spent an inordinate amount of time dreaming about a future with him. Maybe it was his droll quips or the stimulating conversation they shared over everything from philosophy to theology to science, but they connected somewhere in that realm known as love, and she knew without a doubt that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She sat down at her small, oak writing desk, a scratched up hand-me-down from one of the parishioners and began penning a letter to her friend with quill and parchment.

Dear Pomona,

Don't laugh, but I'm in love. I think you'd like him. He knows as much about Muggle plants as you know about wizarding ones. I hope you get a chance to meet him soon.

Chapter Text

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. McGregor, that was a lovely meal," Minerva said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

Dougal hadn't minded introducing her to his parents. In fact, he seemed eager for her to like them and them to like her.

She stood up to help clear the table, but Mrs. McGregor waved her away. "You and Dougal go out for a walk. It's too lovely an evening not to take advantage of it." She practically pushed them out the door.

"They like you," Dougal said when they were outside.

"And I them. They're nice, sensible people."

He slipped his hand in hers. She didn't mind. It was thrilling. Sometimes she thought people her age forgot how exciting the little things in a budding romance could be: a tender look or the brush of a hand.

The spell of being alone in each other's company was broken by someone walking up the path in the opposite direction. It didn't take long to determine who it was. Ms. Gow was known as the village crazy lady. She was talking animatedly to herself as she often did.

"I saw a dragon once, I did," she said upon seeing them.

"You're very fortunate to have walked away," Minerva said.

"The horrid beast burned down my family's cottage with my babies still inside, but nobody ever believes me." Minerva knew she spoke of an incident from years ago. She'd long since gotten a new home and new cats, but it didn't erase her memory. "They think I did it. Why would I set fire to my own house with my own cats inside?"

Minerva took her weathered hands in hers. "You wouldn't. I believe you, Ms. Gow."

It seemed to soothe the old woman just to be believed, and she went on her way, continuing her self-talking.

"She is certifiably insane," Dougal said. "No one else gives her the time of day except for you."

"Well, it's not her fault she was traumatized, is it?" she said with a sniff. "Besides, who's to say she didn't see a dragon?"

He chuckled. "You're a strange bird sometimes, Minerva, but you have the biggest heart I know. That's why I love you. Come with me to the barn."

It was a strange request, but she obliged, feeling she'd follow him anywhere. He led her up to the loft. There were three little kittens laying in the straw, who had barely opened their eyes, but a mother cat was nowhere to be seen.

She dropped to her knees and picked up the closest one and brought it to her chest. It was an adorable gray kitten with white paws and a patch of white just below his nose so that it looked like he had a milk mustache.

"If you want him, he's yours. In another week or so, he'll be weaned. His mother was hit by a car, but I think he's going to make it."

Another cat was what she wanted most. It was one more way he proved he knew her like a book. As she snuggled the kitten, she saw a stuffed rabbit. "What's that doing up here?"

"He needed to feel like he was still with his mother even though he's taking sheep milk well, so I took one of my sister's old stuffed animal and put my watch behind it, so it sounded like a heartbeat."

"That's so canny. You have a gift."

As she stroked the soft fur, enjoying the sound of his purr, she felt his eyes on her. "What?"

"Nothing I was just thinking the only thing more sweet than that kitten is you."

From another man that might have sounded like he was trying too hard, but Dougal had a way of being perfectly genuine that was endearing.

He gently took the kitten from her and set him near the rabbit. Then he helped her to her feet. "Come. There's something else I want to show you."

He took her out to the field behind his house. It had been plowed recently, and she had no doubt he had done it himself. It was why his arms and chest was so well-defined. The smell of fresh earth was heavy in the air and very pleasant indeed.

"What are you getting ready to plant?" she asked.

"Neeps to feed the sheep through the winter. The farm is thriving. We produce more wool every year, and I'm going to diversify into a cash crop next year."

She smiled, wondering why he felt the need to tell her this. He was acting so solemn. It wasn't like him at all. He hadn't cracked any jokes since dinner with his parents.

Before she could come to the very obvious and simple conclusion, his knee was going into the soft dirt and he'd clasped her left hand in his. "Minerva McGonagall, will you marry me?"

He was reaching for a ring in his pocket, but she could have cared less what it looked like. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

Chapter Text

Minerva McGregor. The names sounded quite lovely as one. She said them together in her head enough times that it became sort of a song.

Dougal walked her to her house. She stopped him at the grove of trees to maintain a cover of privacy as she put her arms around him. The moonlight that streamed through the trees still managed to catch the light of the small diamond on the ring, the reason for the floating, dizzy feeling of love she was currently experiencing.

To think she would have someone to walk through this life with and not just anyone but someone she loved so much it almost hurt. It was one of life's greatest blessings, and it had happened to her. She thanked the Lord above that she had met and fell for someone so wonderfully wonderful.

"I don't want you to go," Dougal said in an irresistibly low voice.

She smiled because she felt the same way. "We can't get married tonight."

"How about tomorrow then?"

She laughed, knowing he was kidding. "I love you, Dougal McGregor."

"Not as much as I love you." He kissed her sweetly on the nose, and she boldly went for his lips though she kept it brief only because if she made it any longer she might accept his offer to run away and get married tonight.

She felt like she was soaring on a broom all the way to the door though her feet never left the ground.

She couldn't wait to tell her parents the good news. She burst through the door and the words were on the tip of her tongue, but she pushed them back down in the face of yet another argument.

"Are they still going on about that? I think there would have been less scandal if I'd have worn my witch's robe to church, pointed hat and all."

"Isabel, you wouldn't." He said it calmly, but though they were hidden from view in the kitchen, she could imagine completely the way his eyes would be bugged out.

"Of course, I wouldn't. I got rid of the trousers, so you can announce it from the pulpit this Sunday. I can even come to the front and repent if need be, but maybe by then there'll be some new scandal to top it, an affair or someone's drinking problem should equal my grave sin."

"You're not very funny."

"I wasn't trying to be. If it seemed so, it's the ridiculousness of this whole situation."

She didn't want to hear more. "I'm home."

They came out into the doorway. False smiles were painted on their faces but the strain of their arguing still hung heavy in the air.

"Did you have a good time?" her mother asked.

Minerva kept her hand behind her back. Revealing her good news now would taint the memory of such a perfect evening if they added their disapproval of it, and her father would disapprove simply because he'd never met Dougal and because of their short courtship. Her mother might be happy for her, but not as happy as she would if the hurt of the argument with her husband wasn't lingering in her mind. It was better to wait until they were both in a more receptive mood. "The best. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Right now I think I'm going to go up to bed."

They wished her good night, and it didn't take her long to get into bed, but she didn't fall asleep. She twisted, and she turned. Then she twisted and turned some more. She listened for awhile to her brothers through the wall next to hers. It was happy, companionable hum. When that stilled, she could no longer tune out her parents quarrelling. They tried to keep it quiet; she couldn't make out the words, but she heard the tone well enough.

Finally, some time after midnight she sat up straight. Though the sound of her parents' fight had long since transitioned to the sound of chirping crickets, she couldn't sleep, and it was useless to pretend it was attainable any longer.

"I'm a witch," she said it in a whisper as if she were saying it to Dougal.

What would he say? Would he laugh, thinking she was joking? Would he become frightened of her? Would his love make him grudgingly tolerate the revelation like her father had?

She'd never know because she would never tell him. The law made that clear. It even discouraged her from telling him after they were married unless circumstance forced it. And if she married him with his not knowing her secret, what kind of marriage would that be? It would be one just like her mother's. Founded on a lie and doomed to a life of misery because she had to keep a part of herself locked away. He would be disappointed in her for not telling him, not understanding why she had to keep it a secret. He might even grow to resent her and regret asking her to marry him, and she wouldn't be able to bare that.

She took out her wand. It was hidden in her drawer but not locked away. If she chose to go to London, she would always be free to be who she really was.

Though her heart yearned to be with Dougal, she could not and would not be doomed to live her mother's life. Her mother wasn't happy. Her father wasn't happy. Anyone could see that. Love endured, but it didn't conquer all. Why they stayed together other than the fact that it was the right thing to do was anyone's guess.

Maybe after all the years together it would hurt her parents more to live apart, but she had the opportunity to break things now before the pain and bitterness of two mismatched people set in. It was better for her and Dougal this way.

In the morning, she would tell the only man she had ever loved that she couldn't be his wife.

Chapter Text

Minerva was up with the chickens as the saying went, but her steps were slow as if she were on her way to an execution, and it was the end of something, the end of a dream and a beautiful romance.

Dougal smiled so disarmingly when he spotted her. His sleeves were rolled up as he held a summer lamb. He looked both strong and gentle at once. Her mind snapped a mental picture to tuck away for the lonely nights ahead.

"Couldn't stay away from your fiancé one more hour, huh?" he teased.

She didn't smile. Minerva, never one to beat around the bush, came right out with it. "I've changed my mind. I can't marry you."

She held out the ring for him. He set the lamb down, but he didn't take it. He was too startled. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't make me say it again. It was hard enough the first time. Take it."

He put out his palm to receive it. Then he stared at it like it was a foreign object he wasn't quite sure what to do with. "It makes no sense. You were over the moon last night. We both were. What changed?"

"You wouldn't understand." Was the pain she saw in his eyes mirrored in her own? She certainly felt the hurt as keenly, and seeing his pain added to her own.

"Then explain it to me," he pleaded. "Don't I deserve an explanation?"

He did. If only she could explain it to him, but if she did, she would lose her job at the Ministry, and that was the one consolation prize she had in this decision. It was what she had chosen over him, and she couldn't risk it, but she couldn't lie to him either, so she told him what she could of it. "I want to be more than a farmer's wife. I have a job lined up for me in London. I plan to take it. I leave in three days."

He laughed though there was no humor in it. "You act so cold and speak so briskly, but I know better because I know you. I've seen your heart and your soul, and it is warm and loving. That is not your reason. Not entirely."

"It is all I have to offer. You are a good man, and I know you'll find someone else to love. Someone better suited."

"Give me back my ring if you want to, but don't patronize me with clichés. You're the one I love. You're the one I want."

"Goodbye, Dougal." She turned away abruptly not only to hide the tears welling up in her eyes but because she feared if she spent even a few more minutes with him, he might convince her to throw all her logic and valid reasons out the window. Love could do that to a person.

"You know where I am, Min, if London doesn't work out," he said to her retreating back, the devastation evident in his voice. "My love for you will never change."

He didn't mean for it to, but his words twisted the knife that was already in her heart. Most men might have become spiteful in the face of such rejection but not him. He was too fine a man for that.

As she reached for the doorknob of her house, she couldn't help notice how bare her hand looked now. She hadn't even worn the ring for twenty-four hours but already she missed the weight of it.

She spotted her mother first. Isabel hummed as she washed breakfast dishes, but Minerva didn't miss the way she looked back toward the bedroom. No doubt she was thinking of how quickly she could be done of the drudgery with a wand. That could have been her.

But Minerva had chosen her wand, her ambition, over the man that she loved. She couldn't have marked herself more differently from her mother. It was the right decision, not to have to live a lie that would eventually lead to unhappiness, she soothed herself. Why then did she have half a mind to snap the wood over her knee and go back to Dougal? It was an unfair world that made her choose herself over deception.

Her father had heard the door and had come to check it out. "You keep odd hours of late, Minerva. Is there something you'd like to tell us?"

Her mother stopped her task and turned to hear her answer, drying her dishpan hands on her apron. She had their full attention.

"Actually there is. I have a job at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

It was exactly as she'd imagined it would be. Her mother joyously embraced her with only a fleeting look of jealousy, and her father stood back, his mouth in a grim line. She waited for him to speak.

"I had hoped you would stay at home," he said at last.

She heard what wasn't said. He had hoped she was done with witchcraft and ready to settle into Muggle life. She almost had. He had no idea how close she had come. "It's a good and respectable job. I'll write often, and I'm sure I can get off for Christmas. It wasn't a quick decision. I've prayed a lot over it."

"That's all I wanted to hear. I won't pretend I'm happy about it, but I suppose I must accept it." He brought her into a hug. Her father wasn't a hugger. She wasn't normally one either though she tolerated her mother's hugs, and it felt a little strange at first, but it communicated, "I love you, and I'm proud of you," so marvelously.

It turned out to be an unexpected balm after the morning she'd had. If she didn't know better, she would say her father knew of it. She comforted herself with the knowledge that she would always have the love of one man in her life come what may, her father's.

Chapter Text

Minerva's first impression of the Ministry was that it was busy; everyone had their places to be and things to do keep things running smoothly and efficiently.

She had gone to see the boys off to Hogwarts. They had seemed quite down that she wouldn't be at home on their holidays until she had reminded them that Hogwarts wasn't all that far away and she could visit them now and again.

Her mother had helped her get situated in her flat before she left for Scotland. It was barely three rooms and slightly run-down, but she was proud of it because it meant she was self-sufficient, and she wasn't the type of person to need a fancy place to live as long as there was space for her books she was happy.

"Excuse me," she said to a passing lady, "I'm looking for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Looking slightly annoyed to have been interrupted, the woman answered anyway, "Try the second level. The lifts are over there." She was pointing in the general direction.

Minerva barely had the time to say thank you before the woman hurried on her way. She found her way to the lifts. The doors were quite fancy. An attendant in a snappy uniform was there to operate it.

"Second level, please." He gave a nod but made no move towards moving the lift. "What are we waiting for?" She wondered if service was always this slow, or if she was just this lucky. She made a note to get here earlier to compensate in the future though she was hardly running late.

"There's more to get on yet."

She peered out through the open doors. "I don't see anyone," she said, looking for a witch or wizard scrambling to get on before the lift went without them.

She soon discovered it wasn't people hurrying to get on but lavender paper airplanes. After the planes boarded, they were on their way.

It wasn't her first time on a lift, but it was her first time on a wizard lift. It was much faster than the Muggle counterpart, and she soon found out what the golden ropes were for that were hanging from the ceiling as she grabbed a hold of one to keep from falling over when it came to a violent stop.

A voice began listing all the offices that could be found on this level. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement took up the whole level, but the voice listed all the divisions of the department, which made up rather a long list. The voice was still droning on after she had gotten off along with two of the paper airplanes.

The airplanes knew where they were going. She did not. She had to read the names on the corridor doors until she found the one labeled Wizengamot Administration Services. This was where she would be working.

She knocked on the door, and a man opened it. He was surrounded by filing cabinets on every side.

"I'm Minerva McGonagall."

"Right on time. I like that. I'm Elphinstone Urquart. You'll be working under me." He held out a hand for her to shake.

She took the opportunity to assess his physical appearance during the brief handshake. Elphinstone was a man in his forties with graying hair and bony elbows that were highlighted by the worn suede patches at the elbows of his sleeves. He wasn't what you'd call an attractive man, but Minerva liked him at once. He had a very pleasant look about him that communicated he'd make a kind and easygoing boss.

"As the name suggests, we provide the clerical and administrative duties needed by the Wizengamot. You might need to find information for the judges or juggle their schedules, but mostly you'll be taking the records from the court scribe and filing them away. I will mostly be taking care of the administrative duties involved during court cases, but you are welcome to attend them if your work isn't too pressing. They're good training."

It was not the most exciting job she could have landed, but everyone had to start somewhere, and the cases themselves would be very interesting. She would attend as many as she could.

"I'm aware that it's far beneath your abilities," he said seemingly reading her thoughts, "but it is a stepping stone to bigger and better things."

"I'm just content to be working at the Ministry."

"It has its rewards," he agreed. "Come with me, and I'll give you a tour of the rest of the floor."

The sun was shining though the window she noted as they turned to head back into the corridor. "The rain let up fast. It was raining buckets when I came in."

"Just an illusion. Though to tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind seeing a little more London fog and rain. It makes one feel terribly cozy, I think, but most people prefer sunshine, so sunshine it is most days."

Enchanted windows. "Of course." She felt like an idiot; they were underground after all.

He took her around to the other offices some of which operated more out of closets than rooms. The most impressive one was through the oak double doors at the end of the corridor. There was a large open room behind it with lots of cubicles.

"This is where the Aurors work. They may come to you at times, needing you to know if a wizard or witch has ever been in legal trouble or what a particular law is."

"It'll be an honor to serve them in whatever way I can, sir."

"You'll do well, Minerva, I can tell, and knowing the Head Auror like I do, he may well hold you to that."

She had a mind to ask him what he meant by that, but he was already moving on.

Back in their own office, he handed her a book, a rather thick tome. "You should familiarize yourself with the law."

She politely took it but answered. "I already have it mostly memorized. I studied it over the summer."

He chuckled. "Albus told me you were smart and a go-getter." He pointed to a stack of papers on one of the two small desks. "No time like the present to get started. I'm afraid my last employee quit rather suddenly, and the filing hasn't been first priority. I hope you don't mind."

Not challenging work but certainly busy work, and she needed to stay busy to keep her mind off Dougal. "Not at all. It's what I was hired for."

Chapter Text

It was pitch black outside by the time Minerva got off work. It made her wish she could illuminate her wand, as the street lights were barely adequate.

"How are you getting home?" Elphinstone asked.

She was surprised at the question but realized it came from a place of caring. "I don't live far. Just a couple blocks away."

"I take the floo home, but I'd be happy to walk you if you'd like. I know how overwhelming it can be to move to a big city where you don't know many people."

It was a sweet offer to keep her company on the short walk, but she felt like being alone with her thoughts. "Thank you, but I believe I'll take a rain check."

"Goodnight then."

It really was a short walk. She was at the converted townhouse in less than ten minutes.

Her land lady lived on the bottom floor and was waiting with the door open, having seen her coming. "I don't think it's right a young lady living on her own," she fussed rather than issuing a hello. The ironic part was that Ms. Chapman was a woman living alone herself. Minerva doubted being in her sixties meant she'd crossed over into some safe zone that kept the criminal element away.

"I can take care of myself," Minerva assured her.

"That's what everyone says until something happens to them," she mumbled.

Except in her case, it was perfectly true. She pitied the person who tried to jump her because she could pull out her wand in seconds. She also knew some nonverbal magic that would make a potential attacker think twice before they attacked a seemingly harmless woman again.

"Oh, a letter for you came," Mrs. Chapman said, waving it in front of her until she took it.

She recognized the handwriting immediately, bold and masculine. Dougal had written her a letter. She maintained her composure in front of Ms. Chapman to avoid receiving a barrage of questions she didn't want to answer. "Goodnight, Ms. Chapman."

"Goodnight."

Up the stairs and behind closed door, a barrage of her own questions hit.

How had he gotten her address? Probably from someone at her church. They all had her new address there. She'd already gotten a couple of care packages. What did it say? Was it a letter of love or news?

Her heart beat wildly. A part of her dreaded to open the letter, but the other part couldn't resist hearing what he had to say though it would change nothing at all. She settled on the couch and opened it with care.

My Dearest Min,

I hope this letter finds you well and that you've had time to think over your decision. Is it too much to hope you've had a change of heart? Wait, don't answer that in a return letter, unless of course that answer is yes.

He was adorably funny even in a letter.

If you were nervous, I'd understand. Sometimes I get nervous too not knowing what tomorrow might bring, but then I look into your eyes, and I know our futures are intertwined. You give me courage about a life together, about everything.

She was beginning to wish she'd never opened it. It was putting her heart through a wringer.

I want my children to look like you and to have your kindness, but mostly I want, no need, you. When I imagine my tomorrows without you, I can't. I love you. I just wanted you to know my door is still open literally and figuratively. (Just don't spread it around. Quiet though our village is, I don't want to attract any thieves.)

But seriously, you haven't broken any ties that can't be mended if you miss me like I miss you. And I miss you so much that every time I turn around, I think I see you, and in that breadth of time, I'm the happiest man in the world if only for a moment.

Yours Forever,

Dougal

Teardrops splashed on the page, blurring his name. If only memory of him could fade as easily, but she would love and miss him forever as well. And maybe when the nights were long, she could reread this beautiful letter though she knew she would soon have every word of it committed to heart.

Chapter Text

Minerva, keeping her promise to visit her brothers often, took a Saturday to go to Hogsmeade, using the Floo Network for quick travel.

She found Malcolm in The Three Broomsticks, drinking a foaming tankard, and waiting at an empty table.

"Are you drinking butterbeer?" she asked.

"What of it?"

"Did you know it contains alcohol?"

He chuckled. "I'm not a house-elf. Do you know how many tankards I'd have to drink before I got drunk? More than my friends can afford to buy me and more than I'd want to drink or would be possible, I think."

"That's not the point. Any beverage or substance that exerts any influence over your reason or behavior, however slight, is evil and ungodly."

"You sound just like Father when you say that. Got his same disapproving look, too, peering down your nose and through your spectacles with a pursed mouth. It's positively uncanny."

"You may think it's a joke, but I don't. I've half a mind to write him."

"Oh, please don't, Miverva," he pleaded, his voice taking a serious tone at last. "He'd have me out of Hogwarts so fast, you'd swear he had magic of his own."

"Then make better choices," she said, sitting down with him. "I wish I could see Robert Jr., too, but it'll have to wait until family day, since he's not old enough to leave school grounds yet."

"He's a mite disappointed to be sure, but I imagine he's keeping himself well-entertained. He's always got his nose in a book."

"You know it wouldn't hurt you to put your nose in a book once in a while."

"Isn't one dull brother enough for you?" he teased.

"I'm sure you're managing to draw your 'dull' brother into plenty of mischief," she said, finally cracking a grin.

They visited over the nonalcoholic cherry syrups she bought them in place of the unfinished butterbeer.

Sensing he'd rather spend the rest of his day with his friends than his big sister, she excused herself and ended up bumping into Pomona. Of course, Pomona insisted on grabbing a table and catching up.

"How's that handsome Muggle farmer of yours?"

In all the chaos of a broken relationship, a big move, and a new job, she hadn't had time to write her about it. "It didn't work out after all."

"Why ever not?"

"I decided we were too different."

"And he reached the same conclusion?" she said, her eyes still round with surprise.

Minerva was carrying around the second letter he had sent. Why she couldn't say except that it was like having a piece of him with her. Rather than answer her verbally, she let her read it.

Dear Minerva,

I hope you're not angry with me. I pray my letter was simply lost in the post though I know that's probably not true, but stranger things have happened. I won't implore you to write back. I won't get down on my hands and knees (unless of course, it'd work).

I ask myself a hundred times a day what I can do to win you back, and the only thing that comes to me is to write another letter. Maybe if I can find the right words to express the depth of my love then you'd give yourself another chance to fall in love with me. So here goes:

My love for you is so high even the stars couldn't twinkle down on it. My love is so deep that the oceans seem but puddles in comparison. The love I feel for you is so wide even I don't know where it ends. My love is eternal.

But here's the kicker, Min, my love for you is so strong that though it makes me the most miserable man on the planet to be apart from you, I desire your happiness above all else. And if you are happy in London, then that's enough for me. It will have to be.

But a part of me doubts that you are. Maybe it's only wishful thinking on my part, but this summer was the best and happiest summer of my life. Wasn't it yours?

All my love,

Dougal

"You're a strong woman if you can ignore a letter like that," she said, giving it back over. "I don't know that I could."

"It's not easy because it was the happiest summer of my life. I just know it's for the best. I don't want to end up like my parents is all." It was nice to be able to say it out loud, to share it with another human being.

"But you're not your parents. Besides, how do you know he won't want you to practice your magic? Your father's a minister, so it's understandable, but you haven't given Dougal a chance."

"Even if he accepted me for who I am, he wants to farm in Caithness. I want a career in London."

"So? You just traveled from London to Hogsmeade, which is also in the highlands of Scotland if you hadn't noticed. You could easily go from the farm to the Ministry." Pomona paused to thank the server for the soda she'd requested. "And times are changing. There are a lot of women, Muggle and witch, who aren't satisfying staying at home anymore, not after women practically ran the country during the last war."

"But I wouldn't know for sure he'd allow all that until after we were married, and marriage is for life."

"Well, if anything besides God means more to you than Dougal, you're making the right decision not marrying him."

"You think I'm a terrible person."

"No, not at all. I don't plan to marry myself and not because of my classically good looks," she said, taking a light jab at her stature and weight in her cheerful way, "but because I don't think I want to. The Lord made some women for marriage and some for other roles. Neither one is right or wrong. Just different. After all, no one bats an eye when a man chooses not to marry. Why should women be treated any differently for making the same choice?"

"You're a feminist," Minerva said with mild astonishment.

"If that means I believe equality of the sexes than yes I am."

"So am I, but I wanted to get married. I guess I wanted to have it all."

"You still can."

"Even when my heart belongs to another? I'm not sure I could fall in love again, and as much as this hurts, I'm not sure I'd want to. I thought the right thing was supposed to feel good."

"It does oftentimes, but sometimes the reward we reap for it is a long time coming like waiting for a harvest."

She hadn't failed to notice the farm language she'd used. "I hope you're right." Minerva felt as if she could use a harvest.

Chapter Text

"You are sharp," Elphinstone said, looking over at Minerva with admiration. "No other clerk would have noticed that mistake in the contract much less have had the nerve to go down to the courtroom and point it out in the middle of the case."

"It wasn't so much," she said, working on the filing as she talked. "I was just interested in reading it, and I saw the company was trying to hide the fact that they were stealing Mr. Maynard blind under all that legal gobbledygook, and it just so happened that the semicolon, or rather lack there of, made all the difference in the world, the difference between cheating him out of a portion of his earnings or giving him his fair cut."

"Say what you like, it was brilliant. You missed your calling as an editor. I think Drooble's solicter will certainly exercise more caution in the future over his syntax when drawing up company contracts, but your passion for grammar has made Mr. Maynard forever indebted to you, I'm sure. "

"Well, I think it's perfectly silly to invent candy that floats when you could just as easily cast a simple levitation charm, but it was Mr. Maynard's creation, and their mistake was his good fortune."

"You act glib about it all, but under your stern exterior, you hide a warm heart. I know you were going over it with a fine-tooth comb for his sake even if catching grammatical mistakes is a hobby of yours." He eyed her latest copy of Transfiguration Today. She took it to work and on her breaks, the journal soon filled up with red markings as she corrected the scholarly articles.

She glowed at his high opinion. She was becoming quite fond of him. He was not only an intelligent man but as amiable as he'd appeared at the outset, and it was pleasant whenever a good person saw good in you.

She wondered if Dougal would have been interested in hearing about the case as an almost-solicitor. It was a foolish notion as if she'd chosen him, there wouldn't be a case to discuss, and if she tried to continue a friendship, which she knew would hurt them both too much, it was a part of her life she could never discuss. Yet, entertain it, she did.

"There you go again with those sad, sad eyes. I wish you would tell me what's wrong."

He knew she wasn't letting him in when he had no qualms about sharing his inner thoughts and feelings, and she felt bad about it in a way, but she was a private person, and he was her boss. "Nothing time won't fix. I guess it's time to call it a day."

He glanced at the clock. "I guess it is. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she replied politely.

As she sorted through her mail that evening back at her flat, her heart plummeted at the sight of Dougal's script, and she somehow knew before she ever opened it. She knew it would be the last letter she would receive from him.

If Elphinstone had thought she had sad eyes at the office, he should see them now. They were so blurred with tears she could barely read, but she did.

Dear Minerva,

Summer has turned to autumn, autumn to winter, and now it's spring, and you're still not here, and you still haven't found the time to write me back. I must accept that we will never be though my treacherous heart still protests.

I'm not even sure why I'm trying to write you for a third time, unless it's because of the old adage that the third time is the charm, but I know it isn't.

And so, I guess I just want to say goodbye. I never really got to as your sudden leaving took me by surprise. So goodbye to the cleverest, strongest, kindest woman I know.

I wish you could have been mine but know that I will find comfort in the magical memories that we made together and treasure their warmth. May all your dreams come true.

God bless you and keep you,

Dougal

Minerva set the letter down and picked up her needlework. Most witches did it with magic if they engaged in the pastime at all, but Minerva preferred the Muggle way. Her father often said that hands were the devil's playthings; it was best to keep them busy.

But at the moment, it wasn't her hands that needed distracting; it was her brain. For her disloyal mind kept playing out the might-have-beens. She tried hard to let it distract her, but needlework in the Muggle fashion required dry eyes, and she had none to give. Not tonight anyway. So she pulled out her wand and set to work. After all, it was her reward for the life she'd chosen.

Chapter Text

"So a Muggle walks into the pub. And he walks into the pub. And he walks into the pub. 'What are you doing?', asks the barkeeper, coming out after hearing the thumps. He replies, 'I can't see the door. In fact, I can't see the pub, but I swear I saw someone disappear here.'"

A coworker hooted with laughter. "That's a good one. I can just picture a Muggle mindlessly walking into a brick wall over and over. They're so stupid."

The two men huddled by a golden spout in the wall. You waved your wand over it and a cup of free gillywater appeared in your hand. It was the equivalent of the proverbial, Muggle water cooler right down to the mean jokes and gossip.

"They are not stupid," Minerva said, the slow and careful way she spoke belying the pure fury inside. "If anyone lacks intelligence, it's you two for telling and laughing at such an abysmal joke."

"Sheesh," said the first, "you'd think you were a Muggle. It was just a bit of fun."

"It wasn't a bit of fun. It was not funny in the least. It's a stereotype and because most wizards and witches will never get to know Muggles, you perpetuate it. And you know something? Pretty soon you might even start to believe they're all idiots yourself and beneath you."

"You're overreacting. I don't see the big deal."

"The big deal is that stereotypes lead to prejudice and prejudice leads to one group causing harm to the other based on fiction. Wars have been fought over stereotypes."

"I guess so," he said though he didn't look as if he agreed at all.

"Furthermore, some of the finest people I know are Muggles." She thought of her father and Dougal. A person couldn't find finer men if you were to search the whole Wizard population over. "On the other hand, I know quite a few idiotic Wizards." She didn't say who they were, but the pointed way she looked at them left them no room to doubt that she meant them.

It soured her day though it was a commonplace occurrence around the Ministry. She slammed the door to the office.

"Bad morning?" Ephinstone asked rather than fuss at her for her unprofessionalism.

"I'm tired of the ill-bred, ugly jokes about Muggles that passes as humor around here."

"I know, but what can you do about it? Most people know the jokes are in poor taste. You just have to let it roll off of you like water off a duck's back."

"Forgive me," she said. "You might be right. They certainly won't see reason." Ephinstone was so patient with people. He'd never give in to such an ugly display of temper as she'd just given. She had tried to draw him into arguments sometimes for the joy of a good debate, but he wasn't the arguing kind.

She sighed. Dougal had been. On their long walks, they'd argued about politics, religion, life. The arguments had always ended up making her love him just a little more afterwards. He had contained mysterious depths that she could have spent a lifetime exploring.

Elphinstone caught his tie in his desk drawer, bringing her to the present. He freed himself and then fumbled to tie it back, struggling without having a mirror handy. She chuckled. This man was not mysterious. He was what he was, an incredibly nice man if a little clumsy.

She went over and helped him tie it. He turned a little red in response.

"Th-thank you, Minerva. I have good news."

She opened one of the filing drawers. "I could use some."

"You're going to be offered a promotion, the Junior Advisor to the Minster for Magic. What do you think of that?"

Minerva wasn't sure what to think except that the thought of a promotion didn't set well with her.

Ephinstone didn't notice her lack of enthusiasm. "You earned it. I've gotten used to having you around after almost two years. You're gifted and most efficient. I don't quite know how I'll get on without you, you've been such a boon around here, but I'll manage. I'm excited for you."

"Are you?"

"Yes. You're going places. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to see you become the Minister of Magic one day."

"When do they need an answer?"

He blinked, a little owl-like. "They'd probably give you a week to accept it. Maybe two. Why wouldn't you accept it? It means more money and more prestige."

"I know it does, but money and prestige are not everything. I need time to think about it."

Chapter Text

Minerva untied the mask from her face, protection against breathing in the pollution known as London fog. It was a particularly thick night. The light from her wand could barely penetrate it much less the lamps.

She longed for Scotland with its rugged coastline and rolling farmland and not just because of the smog. She longed to be around the people, who might sometimes stick their noses in your business because of a sense of community and family but would never stick it in the air and refuse to help anyone but themselves.

"Oh, Lord, I am not happy here in London. I never have been. Does that mean You have something better planned for me? I know You never promised happiness, but I need a to do something different. I need fulfillment. I want to know my life means something beyond office work."

Working at the Ministry should have been a dream job for her, but it wasn't. Perhaps her sorrow over Dougal had colored her perception of it. Nonetheless, not only did she not want the promotion, it was a wake-up call. She didn't want to be working there at all.

She couldn't run home with her tail between her legs. As much as she loved her parents, she had no desire to live wandless.

It was a shame she couldn't return to Hogwarts. Those had been some of the happiest years of her life where she'd found joy and freedom. Then the thought occurred to her almost as if it had come directly from above. Why couldn't she return to Hogwarts?

She'd learned from her brothers that Professor Dumbledore had been made headmaster last year. If he'd recommended her for the Ministry, he would let her teach provided there was an opening, wouldn't he?

Her a teacher? Professor McGonagall? The thought thrilled her in a way she could hardly put into words. It was the human connection to her work something that more often than not seemed lacking in her current work. It was a chance to build character in young people. To have witches and wizards who would not only find and develop their talents under her tutelage but who would learn the kind of discipline that would better prepare them for life.

So the next morning at the Ministry, she borrowed an owl. She had spent hours the previous evening going through ink and paper, trying to pen the right words. In the end, it simply said:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I am looking to make a change. I would be most honored if you would consider me for any open teaching posts.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

The letter came from Hogwarts only hours later, sliding under her office door. The seal was unmistakable.

Dear Minerva,

It would be not only my honor to offer you a position as the new professor of Transfiguration, it would be my privilege. I have been teaching the classes as well as juggling headmaster duties until a suitable replacement could be found.

I shall ready you a room at once. I believe you'll find it easy to take over as we are not far into term, and I have no concerns over your abilities to manage some of our rowdier students of which two will be your brothers.

If you would kindly let me know when you could start, I will be looking forward to your arrival. Hope to see you soon.

Most sincerely yours,

Albus Dumbledore

"Is that from Hogwarts?" Elphinstone asked with mild astonishment.

"It is," she answered. It was harder to say than she'd expected. He'd be the one part she'd miss about London and the Ministry. "I've been offered employment, and I want to take it. I will give you two weeks notice."

He waved her off. "Forget it. You're not that indispensable around here. Just finish out the day, and I'll be satisfied. I will miss you though, but I think Hogwarts couldn't have landed themselves a finer teacher."

"We will stay friends, won't we?"

"I can find the owls, too."

She chuckled. "Thank you for everything, Elphinstone."

He studied her a moment probably taking in her already lighter countenance. "You know I think you made the right decision."

"So do I, but time will tell."

Chapter Text

Minerva breathed in the smell of chalk dust and old books, a heavenly and homey scent to her. She relished the quiet as she got the classroom organized and ready before the hordes descended as it were.

Her first class was the six-years. She made herself clear from the moment they sat down. "You'll find I brook no nonsense. You all are in a critical year. I expect every one of you to work hard in my class. Everyone has passed their O.W.L.s, but that is only the beginning. You all will have to work harder than ever to keep up in here, and you can expect to receive a lot of homework."

There were whispers of disbelief and groans.

"It is not a punishment. This is the most complex branch of magic offered here, and one day you will thank me. Some of you have only gotten Acceptables, which I will no longer allow students to continue with in the future. I think it's too dangerous if your mind is not fully engaged. I don't expect those at that level to last the year, but I will offer those students help in any way I can, including suggestions of classes more in line with your abilities."

They were now silenced and had moved to a state of shock.

"Any fooling around or wasting my time or yours will lead to an immediate dismissal from my class and loss of house points no ifs, ands, or buts. You may think that's harsh, but fooling around in here leads to injury."

Malcolm leaned over to his buddy beside him and said audibly, "She's not kidding about being strict. Remember Minerva as a Prefect and the Head Girl?"

"And that includes from persons I may be related to," she said, pinning him with a hard stare. "Furthermore, all students are to address me as Professor McGonagall."

"Sure, Minerva," Malcolm said. "I mean Professor McGonagall."

She gave him a sideways look that said she would be watching him. He may have been sixteen, but she knew his love for mischief lingered. "Now that I've dispensed with the warning, let's get down to business."

There was no hesitancy like one might expect from a new teacher on their first day. She rolled forward the way a general pushed into battle.

"May I see you after class, Mr. McGonagall?" she asked when the class was over. It was phrased as a question but left no room for doubt that it was really an order.

He waited until they were alone and said, "Yes, Professor?"

"You don't have to call me professor in privacy. I'm professor by day, sister by night."

He didn't crack a grin. "Lucky me. You couldn't have waited until I graduated to come work at Hogwarts? Were you really that miserable working at the Ministry?"

"Yes, I really was," she said, folding her hands together and resting them on the desk as he took in her demeanor.

"Well, I don't want you to be miserable. But you realize if I get good marks, everyone's going to say you gave them to me, and if I get bad ones, they're going to label me the family idiot."

"I wouldn't worry about that. Should you get good marks, everyone will know you earned them."

"I'm afraid of that, too. That you'll be twice as hard on me. Irregardless, you being a professor is not going to be good for my social standing."

She showed a spark of rare mischief of her own. "What social standing?"

"Very funny, Minerva," he said dryly, but he smiled that time as he turned to go.

sss

By the time the fourth years came into the classroom at the end of the day, she felt like an old pro. She gave them the customary warning of her expectations.

Robert Jr. sat front and center, taking copious notes as she lectured and then when it came time to do the spell, he performed it to near perfection.

"That was very good, McGonagall."

"Thank you, Professor."

She called Robert Jr.'s name as the students were filing out, and he stayed behind.

"I hope you don't mind my being here too awfully."

"Mind? Why I'm excited to learn from the best."

"Don't tell Malcolm, but you're my favorite brother." The twinkle in her eye let him know she was only kidding and that she loved them both equally.

"I knew it already," he replied also kidding.

Out in the hall, she ran into Pomona. Her friend hadn't grown much from her first year at Hogwarts except perhaps out. "Am I ever glad you are here. I could use a friend. Maybe you can help me pass my Transfiguration O.W.L. I'm so nervous about having to take O.W.L.s this year."

"You know I will, but they're not as bad as they seem. You'll do better than fine."

Worries forgotten for the moment, Pomona asked cheerfully, "How was your first day of teaching?"

"Tiring in a way but nice. Like I've finally found my place in life."

"That's great. I envy you, you know. The only thing more wonderful than being a student at Hogwarts must be being a teacher at Hogwarts."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised if you don't become a professor yourself one day. I can't think of anyone more suited to teach Herbology."

She chuckled. "True. I've gotten in trouble for keeping plants in the dormitory. If I was the Head of House, I'd fill the common room with all kinds of interesting plants. Don't you think students would enjoy that? It adds more cheer to the room."

"Sounds like you're already making plans," Minerva said with amusement.

"Oh, who am I kidding? Who would want to leave a dream job like that before retirement age anyway?"

"Professor Beery did."

"Professor Beery was a nut," Pomona said with a laugh.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Was there anything more beautiful than spring at Hogwarts? Fluffy white clouds floated in a sky of faultless blue. The first flowers of the year danced in the wind, and the waters were calm. It was a kind of magic of its own, God's magic. Minerva wasn't normally so sentimental. She figured it must be contentment.

The laughter of children broke the silence. It should have been a pleasant sound, but it made her suspicious, and she followed it. A group surrounded one of the children who struggled with transfiguration, a Slytherin boy who managed to be cocky anyway. His fellow students taunted him with magic, performing cruel spells like making various parts of his body into animal parts when he was too inept to defend himself, a prime example of why underage witches and wizards couldn't perform magic off school grounds; they misused it more often than not. Why were kids this age so cruel to each other? And she was sorry to see all the taunters were from Gryffindor.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor," she shouted in a voice as brisk as the breeze. It was going to put them behind Slytherin but so be it. "Each."

"But professor he-" one of them began.

"Perkins, your voice sounds dangerously like a whine, which I detest almost as much as your actions. Furthermore, you all will join me in detention tomorrow where you will write me a thousand-word essay on what it means to have good character and how that manifests itself in the magic you choose to use or not use as the case may be."

They didn't dare grumble this time for fear she would lengthen the essay. There were mumbles of "yes, Professor" as they dispersed.

She was surprised by a familiar chuckle from behind her. "You are in your element here, aren't you?"

"Elphinstone, whatever are you doing here?" she asked, her mouth agape and her eyes blinking at him a little owl-like.

"Not the reception I expected. I hope that doesn't mean you're unhappy to see me."

"No, of course not. It just caught me off guard."

"Mr. Dumbledore told me you were out here. I just happened to be on holiday in Scotland, and I thought I'd see how my favorite employee was fairing. Things haven't been the same without you."

She was too ashamed to admit she hadn't given him a second thought beyond the occasional letter she wrote in response to the ones he had sent her though she did hold him in the warmest regards.

"I hear Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop is unrivaled. Perhaps we could visit there."

Color rose in her cheeks. It was normally a place for couples who were courting, but of course, he didn't know that. "Why not? I don't have any classes today."

So they went together to Hogsmeade and straight to the tea shop. Madam Puddifoot's had very frou-frou decor and was a sharp contrast to her plain tastes. On top of that, it was mildly embarrassing to be surrounded by her students on their romantic outings. No doubt their tongues would be wagging tomorrow about the professor and her "boyfriend". And it was cramped. They would've had more room had they decided to take tea in a closet. The tea was passably good but not worth all the other aggravations. Elphinstone didn't seem to mind any of it though.

She apologized as her elbow hit the side of his arm as she lifted her tea. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry." He was smiling at her warmly. "You look quite happy. I know you said you were happy in your letters, but now I see it, and this is quite a nice corner of earth."

"It beats London any day," she agreed.

"You see your family often?"

"My brothers nearly daily."

"Of course. I'd almost forgotten they're still at Hogwarts. I'd like to meet your brothers."

She thought the request rather odd, but she did tend to talk about them. She brushed the thought aside and continued, "My parents I saw at Christmas and Easter, and I'll spend at least a week with them this summer."

"How nice."

"You'd think so. I love my parents, but I have to say I'm not exactly looking forward to it."

"Why is that?"

"You'd have to know my parents. My mother will spend the time wringing out every little bit of Wizarding news or stories out of me that she can, and my father will spend every moment hating hearing about it. I think my father still hopes I'll return to the village and marry a Muggle boy."

"No chance of that, huh?"

Memories of Dougal rose unbidden pained even more by her imaginings of his wedding. "None."

"I can't imagine how you must feel pulled between two worlds like that. I suppose I was fortunate both my parents were magical."

"Sometimes I think it would have better to have been born pureblood, but I love my father. I wouldn't change a hair on his head. And I'm proud of my Muggle heritage," she added if the tartan she wore didn't make it obvious enough.

He smiled a smile that wasn't condescending in the least. "As you should be."

She longed for a day when Wizards and Muggles alike saw people as people, image-bearers of God, who were all worthy of respect like Elphinstone did, but she doubted that day would ever come, at least not this side of heaven. Wrapped up in that thought, she almost didn't see him go for his pocket.

A cold feeling of dread appeared in the pit of her stomach. It couldn't be what she thought, but that feeling spread across her whole body when she saw the velvet box that revealed a platinum setting with a medium-sized stone, simple and tasteful.

"Minerva, will you do me the honor of-"

"No!" It was short and sharp.

It would have hurt the feelings of a lesser man, but he closed the box and put it back in his pocket with a smile still on his face.

She was mortified, not only for being asked in this very public of places but having to say no to a man she held dear. It wouldn't be right, easy maybe, but definitely not right, not when her heart belonged to another man. If there'd never been Dougal, she might have said yes despite the lack of passion for she really was very fond of him, but marrying him would have mean she'd commit an adultery of the heart and that would hardly be fair to Elphinstone. "I can't."

"You don't have to explain," he assured her though he must have been as embarrassed as she, and she grew fonder of him still.

Chapter Text

Minerva smiled to herself as she took a bite of the saltiest cullen skink she'd ever had the pleasure of eating. One would think her mother would have learned to cook by now, but she was obviously still getting their meals from cans. A man with weaker principles would have given in and let his wife use the wand for meals.

She looked at her father now. He looked deep in thought, not tasting the soup at all. "You must be thinking hard about next week's sermon," she said.

"I'm thinking seriously about retiring."

The news surprised her. Robert McGonagall wasn't the retiring type. If it wasn't immoral to gamble, she would've bet all she owned that he would pastor until his last breath. "Oh?"

"You don't know what's been happening in the world, nestled away in that castle like you are. Young people don't care about church anymore."

"I'm not sure that it isn't that they don't care, but it's the age when a person starts making their own choices, and they probably resent their parents for making the decision of attending church for them. All you can do is provide wisdom and guidance when they're ready to hear it. That's all God expects of you is to be ready with an answer when they ask for it."

"It's not only that though. The economy's terrible right now, but I don't guess you know about that either being that you can whip food and clothing out of thin air. I could make more money as a bricklayer."

Her lips twitched with humor, ignoring the dig and knowing he wouldn't care that it wasn't true theoretically about something coming from nothing unless you were God, which was one of the first things you learned in Transfiguration. She understood him better than anyone and so knew he thought she had locked away herself away from the world. Maybe in a way, she had, hiding from the never resolved tension in this house. "But you don't want to be a bricklayer. And without another job lined up, can you afford to retire?"

"No," her mother answered for him. She also changed the subject. "You met any nice wizards?"

It didn't matter whether you were Muggle or witch when you reached a certain age, all your mother could do was ask you when you were getting married. "No."

"When are you going to give me grandkids? I'm not getting any younger, and neither are you."

"You may have some luck in that department with Malcolm. Malcolm's been with a girl named Ava for months now. Serious as a heart attack, but she laughs at all his juvenile jokes. I expect he will ask her to marry him any day now."

"She's a witch, I suppose," her father asked though it was clear he already knew the answer by his tone.

It was a little awkward, considering he was in a room with witches right now. Did he only tolerate his family? Did he wish he hadn't married a witch and had magical children? "Yes. They both do the same work," she answered.

"My son, the dragon killer. I never know what to say to people without lying when they ask what he does for a living now that he's out of school. At least I can say you're a teacher."

"Just say he takes down wild creatures when they pose a threat to people."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it," he agreed. "Have you heard what Robert Jr. wants to do?"

"No, but he's gotten superior N.E.W.T.s in almost everything. The door's wide open for any career of his choosing," she said like the proud big sister that she was.

"In the wizarding world you mean," he said.

"Of course, that's what she means," her mother said with a temper that made Minerva inwardly cringe. "Why don't you just say what you want to say? You want them all to lock away their wands and settle here with all these horrid people who still act as if they're in the Dark Ages. You wish they'd never been born with magic."

"What I wish is that you wouldn't put words in my mouth. Though that might have been easier on everyone if they had been, but what the Lord wills is," he replied calmly, which she knew only irritated her mother further. To Minerva, he said, "I only hope he knows that Muggle jobs are not off the table and certainly an option."

"I'm certain he knows that," she said. "And if he doesn't, I will remind him." Though the fact that he had chosen to spend Easter at school with friends, making the excuse of needing the time to study, said how seriously he was considering that option.

Chapter Text

"Your grandmother has died," said the man in black robes.

Minerva didn't know exactly what to say to that. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn't completely sure that she was alive. And you are?"

"I work in wizarding law and Muggle law when it affects wizarding kind. Your grandfather died a few years before. She has seen fit to leave you and your brothers all her worldly goods to be divided amongst the three of you."

That bit of news was yet more surprising. She'd never even met her grandparents on her mother's side.

"There will be a funeral on Saturday. After which, there'll be an official reading of the will, and you'll be able to dispose of her property as you wish."

Minerva was tempted to refuse, but there was no one else to do it if she'd made them her heirs. "I'll get in touch with my brothers and let them know."

She contacted Malcolm first through a fire-call as she wasn't sure there were phones where he was, and there was certainly none at Hogwarts.

"Not really interested," he said. "You can take my share. My work is dangerous, but it pays well. Besides, I promised Ava I 'd help her move to her new flat on Saturday."

"I'm sure if you explain the circumstances," she began.

He interrupted. "Don't really want to explain. That may seem cold, but she was only a grandmother in name, a complete stranger. But don't worry, sis, if it was your funeral, I'd drop everything."

She rolled her eyes. How like him to end a serious conversation with a joke, however poor in taste. "How comforting."

Robert Jr. wasn't any more receptive to the idea when she gave him a fire-call. "She can keep her money, so to speak. Why should I pretend to mourn the woman who disowned Mother? No. Sorry, Minerva. I don't want to go. And why didn't she make Mother her beneficiary? It's a slap to the face from beyond the grave. I want no part of it."

"Everything going well? Are you enjoying being a part of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad?" It amused her that he was now employed at what she had done for free for him and Malcolm countless times.

"Immensely. We go to such interesting places and the situations can provide even more interesting challenges. I may move to a different office in time, but that's the great thing about the Ministry, the options are almost limitless. I don't know why you left it."

"It's not for everybody, but I am glad it's for you."

She understood their positions. She didn't really need the money either. Most of her expenses were paid, since she lived on Hogwarts property. Perhaps, it was curiosity that drove her or more likely family duty. It seems disrespectful not to mark her passing in some way. Her mother would be too upset to attend, but she would grieve over the loss and the never restored relationship. She could tell the way it had pained her whenever there had been even a small mention of her childhood. Isobel would know about it because she still subscribed to her hometown paper.

Minerva remembered her father's parents well. They were such strict Presbyterians that they made her and her father look lax, but they had loved her and her brothers; she remembered that despite the never-ending rules that they laid out for their grandchildren when they visited on the occasional weekend. Isobel Ross hadn't been their favorite person, but they had politely tolerated her. They had probably considered her too liberal for their conservative son, but Minerva rather believed that was what had drawn her parents together and why they loved each other still, for their very different natures.

The only appropriate play on Sunday at Grandpa and Grandpa McGonagall's house had been Bible picture books or a Noah's ark. Even the ark had become banned when the boys had turned it from a Bible story into a fantastical one where the animals turned on and ate each other or had conversations with each other. She remembered how hard it had been to hide their magic from her grandparents on those days because the boys were so bored that they looked for mischief, but she had managed it every time. They had died when she was ten, one of heart failure and the other of diabetic complications. Separate diseases but they were gone in months of each other as couples who had been together a long time seemed to do.

She had never really truly considered that her mother's parents were also in the same village though she'd known it in the back of her mind. Perhaps, it was too painful for a child to wonder why their grandparents refused their love.

She didn't go alone though. Pomona had surprised her friend with a visit just as she was about to leave and insisted on going with her.

"You didn't have to come," Minerva repeated as they entered the church and slipped onto the back pew. The peculiar dress of most of the attendees as they struggled to dress Muggle-style spoke to the fact that all of her dead grandmother's acquaintances and friends had been wizards, which wasn't a shock considering how vehemently she had objected to her parents' marriage, enough to disown her daughter and never even see her grandchildren once.

"Poppycock. You shouldn't have to come to something like this alone." They still waited for the ceremony to begin, and she gave Minerva a sly look. "Have you heard from Elphinstone lately?"

She hadn't told her about the proposal. How could her friend suspect anything, but how many bosses went out of their way to visit their old employees? "He is just a friend. I've been blessed to form friendships with the people over me."

"I'll say. I don't think you realize how lucky you are to have such nice bosses. Mine is an ogre."

"You exaggerate."

"No, really. He has to be part ogre. I'm sure of it. Or troll."

It was hard not to laugh, which would have been really dreadful considering their current location. "I've been keeping my ear out for any openings at Hogwarts."

"I appreciate that. I'll take anything. Even window-washer. I hate being stuck at a desk all day never even seeing other people except the one who criticizes my every move."

The minister went to the front, silencing their conversation. It was a typical service. He spoke of how he was sure she was in a better place and of how it reminded one to take stock of their own short life and make they were prepared for the hereafter. No one came forward to speak kind words or tell stories that would amuse or touch. It spoke volumes to the kind of woman she had been and that made the service sadder than it would have been if the room had been full of people crying tears.

Even fewer attended the graveside. No one asked who Minerva was, but perhaps they remembered her from when she'd visited the village as a child or maybe they just saw the family resemblance. The casket had never opened to reveal the face, so Minerva really couldn't say. What a lonely woman she must have been. Minerva couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her despite the fact that her grandmother had been the author of her fate.

Rhea Ross had a three-bedroom house with personal affects and a bank account with a few galleons to her name. Minerva walked through it with Pomona after the reading of the will. This time it was definitely curiosity that drove her.

There were plenty of wizarding items out on display, proof that the Rosses would never have let a Muggle darken their doorway. One thing and one thing alone made her think on her more tenderly. Isobel's room remained untouched. It was as pink and filled with childhood things as it must have been when she'd left it, and a picture of her mother on her broom in her Captain's uniform set on the dresser like a memorial.

It hadn't had to have been that way. Her mother had not been dead, but some small part of her grandmother must have regretted losing her daughter.

With Pomona's help, she packed everything up. She paid to ship what looked sentimental to her parent's house, so her mother could decide what to keep, if anything. The rest she intended to donate to charity, Muggle charity. And once it sold, she would do the same from the sale of the house. In some small way, her grandmother would finally show kindness to a Muggle. And she didn't know why, maybe it was hope that she had finally seen the light on her deathbed and felt regret, but she had a feeling that Rhea Ross might possibly approve.

Chapter Text

Minerva's father pulled at his collar, looking more nervous than the bride and groom to be surrounded by all the magic. Not that people were going about waving their wands left and right, but they were out.

Robert McGonagall presided over the ceremony. Malcolm and Ava repeated the traditional vows with eyes only on each other.

After he pronounced them man and wife, the bride's father came up and a shower of shining stars issued from the wand he held over the couple and intertwined them.

She held her breath, waiting for her father to protest, but though he didn't look thrilled at the display, he kept silent.

Almost immediately, the chairs disappeared and a lovely banquet was in its place, along with servers and musicians. It was fortunate her father was a man of a strong constitution, or he might have had heart palpitations or a fainting spell. It wasn't his first time among other wizards besides his family, but it was his first wedding among wizard kind, and he was not accustomed to such unapologetic displays of magic.

She went over to him, seeing he needed a little moral support.

"What's going to be next?" he asked. "Is someone going to pull a rabbit out of their hat?"

Minerva chuckled. "No, now we just eat and dance."

"Is that alcohol?" he asked disapprovingly as glasses of frothy, golden liquid passed by him.

"Butterbeer. You'd have to drink a whole lot to fall under its influence. Ava's family partakes in alcoholic drinks, but they don't drink to excess, I don't believe. Malcolm has a gillywater," she added.

"What's a gillywater?" he asked, staring at the glass with suspicion.

"Water flavored with gillyweed."

"Of course," he said sarcastically. "Well, I'm glad to see he hasn't forsaken everything."

"Father, no one's forsaken anything you've taught us. It's simply more comfortable for us to live among people who are more like us. We don't have to have as many secrets."

Couples began to fill the dance floor.

"I pray they aren't going to dance too closely. I've seen some young people doing some jerking of the hips when they dance that's quite distasteful."

"You mean that American dance, the twist? That's probably something you're more likely to find at a teenager's party, not a wedding party. I think you can relax."

The answer smoothed the lines on his forehead. "Good, because I wouldn't be afraid to give them all a sermon they'd remember."

"I believe it," she said with a tender smile.

"Your mother looks happy, very in her element," he commented, while he looked at his wife, who was speaking with old acquaintances. "Perhaps, I should have allowed her to make more visits with-how'd you put it-people more like herself? Though with all three of you a part of the wizard world now that shouldn't be much of a problem anymore."

It warmed her heart to know he was putting her mother's wellbeing ahead of his desire to live normally because she knew how he felt about magic. "I'm sure she will appreciate that."

"I need to visit the gentleman's room. Are there any surprises there I should be aware of?"

"I don't think so." If the bathroom did happen to be haunted by a ghost like poor Moaning Myrtle, her father as a Muggle would never see it.

She made her way toward Robert Jr., "Father's doing surprisingly well with everything."

"I wondered how he'd do. You have to give him credit."

Her mother saw them standing together and came over. She looked at Robert Jr. as she said, "I went to school with one of the guests. Her daughter is very pretty and, if anything like her mother, very nice. You know I've always wanted tow-headed grandchildren."

"Mother," Robert Jr. said with a roll of his eyes.

"It's just a thought," she said, hands raised in defense, before moving on to do more mingling.

"You'd think Mother would ease up with her incessant need to see us all tie the knot and give her grandchildren, wouldn't you? Now that Malcolm's taken the plunge."

"No, I believe it just causes her to focus all her energies on us," she said with a snort. "Unfortunately."

However, when Robert Jr. saw just how pretty the blonde daughter was, he left Minerva to make her acquaintance.

Minerva was taken aback to see Elphinstone among the guests. He saw her, too, and joined her.

"You look lovely," he said, looking pleasant-faced as always.

Minerva was plain even in her bridesmaid frippery, a lacy, peachy thing, and she knew it, but she heard his sincerity and appreciated the sentiment. "Thank you. You must know the bride."

"I do. I believe Ava is my second cousin twice removed on my mother's side, but long story short our families have always been great friends, taking holidays together and the like."

"How nice. It is a small world."

They stood together in a companionable and comfortable silence, watching the others dance.

"They look happy together, don't they?" he asked, speaking of the bridal couple, who had a sparkle and radiance that didn't come from any wand.

"Very." Though if she admitted it to herself, it was hard being at a wedding when a different choice might have had her at the altar first with Dougal, but she didn't regret it. She didn't.

"My offer from last year still stands if you've changed your mind."

"I haven't." She was thankful that he didn't wax romantically where her family might have overheard. Anyone listening might think they were discussing business. He was a good man, who would make someone a solid husband. That's why he deserved to have someone who loved him.

"How about a spin on the dance floor then?"

That she could handle. "I'd be delighted," she said, placing her hand in his.

Chapter Text

Minerva ran into Pomona in one of the many hallways of Hogwarts. Her friend was carrying a potted plant with swaying, tentacle-like leaves. "That's a particularly healthy-looking specimen," she commented.

"Isn't it? It was a sickly flitterbloom if I ever saw one. I used a little dragon dung fertilizer on it though, and it perked it right up. I feel there are many untapped uses to that potion. Such a cheerful little thing now. It'll give a homey feel to the Hufflepuff common room."

"So it will." She was delighted to have her old friend back at Hogwarts and even more delighted a position had opened up that Pomona had been made for.

Raised voices were coming from the headmaster's office that could be heard even through the thick walls though it didn't sound angry exactly.

"My, oh my. I wonder what that's about?" Pomona said. "It doesn't sound like a student, does it?"

"No, but I don't suppose it is any of our concern."

"I quite agree. I did sound like a busybody saying that, didn't I? I better be getting along. My next class starts in fifteen minutes." Pomona hurried along on her mission.

Minerva had to wait. Dumbledore had asked to see her. However, she wasn't in any danger of eavesdropping as she couldn't make out the words.

Suddenly, the door flung open, and a man only a little older than herself stepped out. His features were handsome enough, dark hair and dark eyes. It was like looking into the face of evil though when he gave her a passing glance, like the face of Satan himself. She had never met him before, but she had an inkling that it was a slip of a mask and that he was normally quite charming.

If she hadn't moved quickly against the wall, he would no doubt have bowled her over.

Dumbledore had come out into the hall to watch his departure, and Minerva moved beside him, saying not a word but watching the stormy exit as well.

"That was Tom Riddle," he said, answering the question she didn't ask. "He was a student here before your time. He desperately wants a position here as Professor of Defense Against Dark Arts. It's not the first time he's asked for it, but I have a hunch it was his last."

Her brows furrowed. It was a position Dumbledore currently had to fill for lack of a teacher. "He wasn't qualified?"

"Oh, very qualified. In fact, I say you'd be hard-pressed to find another with more knowledge of the Dark Arts than he."

"Then if you don't mind my asking, why didn't you hire him?"

"Because I believe he has that knowledge more from practicing it than defending. I wouldn't trust Britain's next wizards and witches to him for anything. They would not be his students but his pawns."

She was aghast. "You have first-hand knowledge of this?"

"No. Conjecture on my part, or he'd be in Azkaban, but I fear everyone will soon know of his crimes, and it will be too late to stop him before he leaves a trail of death and destruction in his wake."

A shiver went up her spine. If she didn't know better, she would say he'd just spoken a prophecy. "Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?"

He smiled. "No. Step into my office."

She followed him into the circular room with enough interesting objects to start a museum.

He offered her a seat before saying, "I want you to be my deputy headmistress if you'll accept. You are respected by everyone in the faculty and by the students too for that matter. I can't think of anyone better to help me with the administrative tasks or to take my place if I'm called away on business. I could focus on what I need to do, knowing you'd have the school in better hand than if I were here."

"I doubt that, but it is kind of you to say so, and I'd love to accept."

"Are you sure you don't want time to think it over?"

"No, I know my own mind."

He chuckled. "That you do."

She was pleased by it not because of the increased prestige and the added salary it would bring, though there was that, but because she watched Dumbledore. He carried a weight on his shoulders, especially of late, and she was happy to be able to assist by helping to shoulder some of his workload. She couldn't help wonder if that weight had anything to do with Tom Riddle.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore came to her classroom and held a paper out for her to read. She was almost loathe to read it for she had the distinct feeling it wasn't good news, and it wasn't.

The headline was about a Muggle village that had been laid to waste in Ireland. Muggles were saying it was meteors or a freak storm or even bombs from the warring factions, but any wizard knew better. The craters the size of very large fists, the utter destruction down to the last living creature without a structure left standing; she could see it plainly in the grainy photograph. "Giants."

"Yes."

"Do you think it's the work of Tom Riddle?"

"I know it's the work of Tom Riddle. Giants don't work together in groups to inflict this kind of damage. They have neither the intelligence to plan nor the patience to persevere; they would turn on each other long before they finished destroying a whole village. There's a wizard behind this."

"You're right of course."

"And it's not the only creatures or race he'll get on his side or at least attempt to get, and I wish to God I wasn't right."

"We must alert the Ministry."

"For years, I've warned the Ministry that we must take action. I believe he has spent a good deal of time gathering up followers by hook or crook. I may finally convince them to take action after this incident for all the good it will do."

"You think he intends to take over the world?"

"And destroy Muggles in the process," he added too well-acquainted with the ideology. "Lord Voldemort it's rumored he called himself now. An anagram of his name and a rejection of his Muggle father's name."

The name even sounded like death, she thought. The door swung open before she had time to reply.

"You're early, Potter," she accused.

"Yesterday you fussed at me for being late. Make up your mind, Professor. Do you want me early or late to class?" James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A first-year, who was an imp, and she knew it, but he reminded her of her brothers when they were his age, and so she had a soft spot for him.

"What I want is you on time, " she said more sternly than she felt. She had too much inward unease to have any room at the moment for sternness.

"Well, I think we were done talking for the moment." Dumbledore still had his customary twinkle in his eyes that no mere mortal circumstance could strip from him, and he turned it on James. "You'd be prudent to pay careful attention to the time and use it wisely."

"Yes, sir."

"You must indeed try to convince them, however long it takes," Minerva urged quietly before he left, "and advise them if you have any ideas. I'll take over your work here while you're gone, of course."

He smiled. "I knew I could depend on you, and I have something I wish to discuss with you further when I return, regarding your services."

She didn't know it was, but she was sure she would do it. She trusted him enough to follow him to the gates of hell and back. And before this was all over, she might end up doing just that.

sss

"Did Robert Jr. have a chance to tell you his good news?" her mother asked. "He and Ava are expecting a baby."

"No, he hasn't told me. Though I've been under a heavy workload as of late. I haven't had much time for visiting."

"Oh, well, act surprised when they spring it on you though he probably assumed I'd tell you, since he knew you were coming down this weekend."

"That is good news." It was exciting to think she'd soon have a little niece or nephew. They'd been trying for years; she was beyond happy for them. And it was sweet piece of news to lighten up the coming dark days. She hadn't heard from Dumbledore yet, but the fact that he hadn't returned immediately had to be a good sign. They'd obviously realized his words held merit and were deciding the best way of capturing the madman.

"Any chance he'll be a Muggle?" her father asked dryly and a little hopefully.

"We call a child born to a witch or wizard but without magic a squib, not a Muggle," her mother explained, "but hopefully not. It gives them the feeling of being isolated."

He looked at his wife with raised eyebrows and muttered something like, "I know the feeling."

"Thank the Lord it's a rare thing to have happen," she continued, either not hearing him or pretending not to hear him.

Before an argument ensued, she broke in with a warning. "Things are bad right now for wizards and Muggles alike. Dark forces are at work. I can't explain it all yet, but Mother, take out your wand from your box and carry it wherever you go."

Both her parents gasped. They knew how serious it must be in the wizarding world for her to suggest such a thing for the wand was a symbol of the bone of contention between them and any McGonagall would blush to even allude to the magical object.

"Must she?" her father asked quietly.

"She must. It would set my mind at ease greatly." She didn't add that she didn't know if it really was enough protection. She kept picturing that scene of the completely destroyed Muggle village. It could just have easily been this one. She could be mourning her parents right now.

"Then she will," he said, surprising her and her mother at how quickly he agreed, "but know this, daughter. There is no greater protection than the hand of God."

He was right. It would be the hand of God if they came through what was coming unscathed. "I know, Father. And I pray the evil is quickly crushed. I think I'll take a walk."

The fresh air and untouched countryside did do her good. As she passed some Muggles, she realized with a chuckle that her Muggle clothing was almost twenty years out of fashion, but at least it wasn't ridiculous like the wizards who had never lived in Muggle society.

A boy about nine-years-old crashed into her with a thud, having been looking behind him rather than in front. He had probably been running from another child in some sort of game most likely. For just a moment, he looked fearful. She did look rather severe in her dark clothing, dark spectacles, and tight bun, but then he must have decided she had kind eyes. "Sorry, ma'am."

"I hope you don't make it a habit of plowing into people."

"No, ma'am." He flashed her a charming grin that would one day melt the heart of young ladies. "Though I do plow the ground quite a bit."

"What's your name?" she asked, suddenly caught with a strange sense of familiarity.

"Doug. Actually Dougal McGregor II, but Doug is what my friends call me."

Her heart clenched as she realized this boy might have been her own if she'd made a different choice all those years ago. "And I bet you're the apple of your father's eye. Run along and try not to get into anymore mischief."

He grinned again and scampered away, leaving behind an aching for what never could be and never would be. Old wounds never truly healed it seemed.

Chapter Text

Minerva didn't even pause to say hello when Dumbledore returned. "Did you convince them they need to take action?"

"It wasn't easy. I think they're still not completely convinced it wasn't just a random act of violence, but they've agreed to have their aurors investigate."

"That's something," Minerva said. It would be better if he'd said they had him in custody, but they both knew the solution would be neither so easy nor swift.

"Yes, but Lord Voldemort as he calls himself is too crafty for their aurors. He's going to see the witches and wizards coming a mile away. A cat on the other hand..."

"He won't."

"I want you to act as a spy. I know it's a lot to ask of you; your life will be in danger if you do it. Maybe even your family's lives."

"Did you even have to ask? I'll do anything to stop more deaths from happening. The victims were someone's family too, and if I don't do anything to prevent the evil from happening, it is a sin against God. I may as well be committing the acts of evil myself."

Dumbledore smiled. "Well said. I spoke to the Ministry, and they have sanctioned you to act as a spy."

He knew her well. It would have niggled her conscience not to pursue the work through legal channels. "Thank you."

sss

And spy she did. Her first mission came as soon as the next night. She was to trail Lucius Malfoy.

She knew Lucius well, newly graduated and perhaps the most arrogant Slytherin student she had ever had the privilege of teaching, which was saying something among Slytherins.

She sat outside his ancestral home, her tail swishing with impatience as she waited for him to make a move.

He finally left, his dark clothing almost blending him into the dark if not for his pale hair. He didn't use any mode of transportation but his feet, which was very unlike him and aroused her suspicion.

Her cat eyes allowed her to see in the dark without need for a light, and they didn't miss even a flutter of movement as he walked along. Malfoy wasn't so blessed and used the tip of his wand to light his way. His gait was slow because of an unneeded walking stick and his head held so highly that it was a wonder he didn't stumble over something on the ground. He put her in mind of a peacock.

He must have had the sense that he was being watched for he turned around once, searching, or perhaps it was his deeds giving him an attack of conscience and making him feel followed though that perhaps was too much to be hoped for.

She hid behind a trashcan as if she were a common alley cat, and he didn't even look in her direction. Foolish of him on his part when she had spent a lesson showing her students the skill of an animagnus but fortunate for her part.

He finally stopped. He was at the Black house. Were they mixed in nefarious schemes as well? She wouldn't be surprised. They too were an old wizard family that also prized ancestry over ability.

Instead of going to the door, he was moving to the side of the house. He was met up with Narcissa. Judging from the way he kissed her, it was a romantic rendezvous. The kiss he gave made Minerva blush beneath her fur. She really shouldn't be watching this, and yet, it was her task. He might let something useful slip to her while they were talking if they talked.

She considered it strange they appeared to be sneaking around because they'd been together even at Hogwarts and their parents no doubt approved of the match. He had to be being covert for another reason. Though maybe it was as simple as they wanted a few moments of privacy that they weren't afforded in a house of servants or chaperoning parents.

He raised his sleeve to show her something on his forearm. Minerva was too far away to see exactly what it was, and she feared being discovered if she moved closer, but she had a feeling it was more than just a mole or freckle.

sss

She'd spent so much time as a cat lately, she almost come up to the door as a cat. She quickly transformed back. Spying had proved to be a dull activity. Nowhere near as exciting as books and movies made it seem.

She spent her time following suspected followers, but she had yet to find the man himself, but she would. Sooner or later, someone would lead her right to his hiding place or let something slip that would be vital to his downfall.

Robert answered the door, and the smile as wide as the Thames on his face told her the baby had come. "Do I have a niece or a nephew?"

"A nephew. Come and look. He's the most beautiful baby you've ever seen."

She had to agree as a disheveled Ava placed the bundled baby in her arms even though he was as red as a beet and as bald as a cucumber. His fists were curled and his eyes scrunched up tight, but he was so warm and sweet. It made her long for a babe of her own.

"His name is Ewan David McGonagall," Robert said as proudly as if he'd invented the names himself.

It was certainly love at first hold for her. "Welcome to the world, Ewan. I'm your Aunt Minerva," she said it as formally as if she were introducing herself to a student. She thought people who cooed baby talk at their infants quite silly. Ewan made a little noise as if he appreciated it.

Ewan was what made the fighting all worth it. Even if it meant she'd one day be caught spying and pay for it with her life. It was a small price to pay to ensure he grew up in a world that was safe and free from fear.

Chapter Text

Minerva watched as two of Voldemort's followers conspired in one of Hogmeade's alleys as if they were safe from prying eyes there. They revealed the skull and snake that marred the skin of their forearm. She had since learned through spying that the marks made them known as part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. It also summoned them somehow, and she watched them apperate to wherever he was.

If only she knew where they were meeting. Then, she could alert the aurors, who could find Voldemort and lock him up in Askaban. If only it were that simple, she thought, but he was too smart, and after all his studying of dark magic, too powerful. But they had to keep trying.

She apperated herself to the Ministry after turning back to her human form, specifically to the head auror's office.

"I wish you would apperate outside my door," he said, his heavy breathing signaling that she had startled him. "Times are too dangerous right now. I could have used my wand to disastrous effect."

"Don't worry. I would have countered if you had. It couldn't wait for courtesy's sake. I just saw two wizards get the call in Hogsmeade and apperate from there. He must be about to strike."

"I'll put everyone on high alert for all the good it will do." His tired voice already said he expected lives to be lost. It was only a year and a half into the Ministry's involvement and already they were feeling defeated.

She could relate. Nonetheless, she believed the Light would eventually triumph. It always did. Love was the most powerful force and magic of all because God was love. And so, she had hope. "Don't give up. We will win."

He muttered, and she left his office by the door this time. She thought she'd stop by her brother's office to say hello as long as she was here. She should have known she would run into Elphinstone, not that she was trying to hide from him.

"Minerva, what brings you here?" he asked. "Never mind. I know. It's him."

"Isn't it always him these days?" Why did they collectively avoid saying his name? Was it because they were being secretive or was it out of fear? At any rate, avoid it they did.

"Makes you think of the future, doesn't it, and how short our time here is?"

"It does at that."

"Does it make you wish you'd answered differently the last time I asked you?"

He was such a dear, sweet man. It hurt her every time she had to say no. "No, it was the right answer then, and it's still the right one."

A hundred rejections couldn't erase the man's goodness or his feelings towards her apparently for he looked at her with the same loving kindness he always did. She only wished she were free to love. If she could choose who she loved in that way, it would be him. "Can't blame a man for trying. I was thinking of going to Scotland again this summer. Could I drop in on you if I did?"

"I can't bar you from entering the country," she dryly.

"You what I mean," he said softly, getting her humor but wanting an answer.

"Elphinstone, I mean this sincerely. I never want to lose your friendship. I'd be offended if you were in Scotland and didn't come and see me, but how much time I have to devote to visiting, I don't know."

"That won't matter. If all you can give is only a few minutes, that's good enough for me. I'd better get back to work."

"Hopefully, I'll see you this summer then."

On she went, to her brother's office. It was decked out in the calming colors of blue and bronze to show his house pride. He had moved to the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee.

"Look at who the cat dragged in," Robert Jr. said with a smile, setting his quill down.

"Something like that," she said shutting the door behind her.

"So how is life as James Bond treating you?"

"James Bond?" Her brows raised in question.

"Don't you keep up with Muggle culture? It's only the most popular spy films to ever come out."

"I have more important things to worry about than keeping up with inane stories from the cinema."

"Ouch," he said with a chuckle, not offended in the least. "I call it research."

She looked at the papers piled up on his desk, waiting for him to come up with creative excuses to explain away small magical disasters. "Busy?"

"And how. I barely see Calliope and the baby these days." His wife, proof that sometimes a mother's meddling in romantic affairs paid off, and little Gawain, who was as blonde as their mother had hoped for at Malcolm's wedding, were the apples of his eye. He really must have been busy to miss out on any time at home.

"I'll be going then."

"Only if you promise to join us for supper. I'm not so swamped that I don't want to catch up with my favorite sister."

"Your only sister, you mean. Well, if you're sure I won't be intruding."

"You could never intrude. I'm just thankful I don't work for the Office of Misinformation. They've had to work overtime with the catastrophes You-Know-Who has been creating. How do you keep thinking of excuses to tell the Muggles for all these senseless deaths?"

"Terrorism," she said, having read the Muggle papers, despite not keeping up with popular culture.

"Mostly," he agreed. "I pray for it to stop every night."

"So do I," she said. "So do I."

Chapter Text

Lily Evans was one of Minerva's brightest students if not the brightest she'd ever had the pleasure of teaching. Her green eyes seemed to see more than most twelve-year-olds. She could read people as easily as she read her textbooks. "Something terrible is going on, isn't it?"

The adults hadn't done as great a job of hiding their anxiety as they had hoped. And God help them, she knew of at least one student who had become a "Death Eater" as they were now called; she had seen him while spying.

The name "Death Eater" came from the rumors that Voldemort sought not only power but the ability to cheat death. The name itself was blasphemous. There was only One who had truly swallowed up death and Voldemort wasn't Him.

"Why are you asking me, Evans?"

"Because you're the only professor who will tell me the truth, or at least as much of it as she can."

She did think the students had a right to know in the softest terms possible. It was their world too, and it was better than finding out misinformation from their peers. "Sometimes people get ugly ideas about people not like themselves. They start out like harmless jokes. I'm sure you've heard the jokes about Muggles, but there's a part of them that believes the lies. And the next thing you know, there is violence taking place because they've become united under those lies, but you're safe here. Hogwarts is probably the most protected place in the world."

"What about my family?"

That was harder to promise. She could tell her not to worry, but Minerva knew the way she worried about her own parents out in an all-Muggle village, but their life went on as it ever had, her father ministering and her mother supporting him. The one difference was that her mother now carried her wand because you never knew a day could bring forth. Both Lily's parents were Muggles and her sister. There was no one there to protect them.

"Sometimes you just have to trust that everything's going to be okay. There are many witches and wizards working on the problem."

She nodded. "What can I do to help?"

Minerva was sympathetic and thought her bravery was inspiring. She'd seen the way Lily had befriended Severus Snape, a loner who the others made fun of. She had a good heart. "Keep being a friend. Show the others that being Muggle-born doesn't make you less of a witch or a person. Sometimes we're so eager to change the world, we forget that we can change it one person at a time within the circle of our influence."

As Minerva looked at the stars from on top of the tower later that evening, she was reminded of simpler times when she was only a student whose sole responsibility was to learn. At least, it had seemed simpler then, but was it really having just come off the Second World War, when another madman had been insistent on stamping out the "undesirable"? So many had lost fathers, sons, brothers. History had a way of repeating itself over and over again.

A ghostly phoenix flew her way. "Your information was correct. We've caught twenty Death Eaters," it said to her before fading away.

Dumbledore had figured out a way to make their patronuses carry messages. It was unique just like the man himself in his purple velvet robes.

The news should have cheered her, but twenty Death Eaters were nothing these days, and probably none were in the inner circle, which meant no useful information could be pulled out of them. At least, they were off the streets though he could probably rise twenty more up out of the dust. Young people were so impressionable.

Dumbledore had formed a group called the Order of the Phoenix and was off doing the business that entailed. He feared the Ministry had been infiltrated, and it probably had that's why she only talked to a select few. In fact, she was almost positive there was a leak somewhere because the Aurors' missions kept failing, not so with the Order, their attacks were more sudden and secretive. She supported it without supporting it with her full membership. She believed the Ministry leak was small and could be found out.

Despite her reservations that it was a victory, her cat patronus sent back only a short message to let him know she'd gotten it. "Thank God."

Chapter Text

It was three years in before the war became really personal. Minerva would never forget the day. She was coming down to dinner from her room, and Malcolm came walking toward her in the empty hallway. She froze immediately and her heart stopped. He wouldn't have been here unless something major had happened.

"Robert Jr. died," he said so softly she almost didn't hear him.

"No," she said. Her voice echoed off the stone walls.

"He was called to the field as a substitute to explain away the magic caused by Voldemort's minions, and the cowards were still there, hiding, and they killed him with the killing curse."

"No," she repeated, this time her voice strangled with sorrow. Her denial didn't change anything. It wouldn't bring her brother back or erase what she'd just heard, but she said it again. "No."

He hugged her. They never hugged and that brought the reality of what had happened home. It was like a bad dream, but it wasn't a dream.

Dumbledore took over her classes, so she could attend the funeral. He had found a teacher for Defense against the Dark Arts, so it wasn't too much of an extra burden for him. In fact, he found one every year, but ever since Voldemort's curse, they only stayed a year tops. She had lesson plans for the next three months, but knowing Dumbledore, he would likely teach his own lessons anyway. At any rate, she didn't have to worry about her students.

Her father conducted the funeral in their small parish church. She didn't know how he had the strength to stand up there and not break down over the fact that his youngest child rested in the casket.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," he said, his voice booming with a strength that couldn't have come from himself. "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Minerva said amen along with the rest of the congregation. Her mother beside her couldn't say a word for the tears and silent sobs that wracked her body.

She looked to her other side where her widowed sister-in-law sat, hugging her children close as she cried. Little Gawain was only two, and Zoe, who hadn't even learned to sit up yet, was even younger. Neither would have memories to cherish of their father. She would tell them every story she knew as they grew and make him as real to them as she could, but they'd been robbed more than anyone here.

Time dragged because of the misery of the proceedings, and yet it went by too quickly. She wasn't ready to lay her brother down in his body's final resting place. It was like some sort of time paradox.

She knew where there was a Time-Turner. She could use it to go back and make it so that he never died, but she knew better than to play God. She wouldn't even go back to kill Voldemort. One only had to look at Eloise Mintumble to know why you didn't play with time though it could perhaps be used for something minor and cause no harm if the witch or wizard were competent. But God help her, she wished she could use it for this, to protect her little brother one last time.

At the gravesite, she concentrated on the single red rose she'd been given to place on the casket rather than fall apart as she would if she concentrated on her grieving family. She listened as one of the church ladies beautifully sang a old hymn.

"Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me."

Though she was Muggle, it was like the singer knew all that was happening, but she didn't. She couldn't have chosen a more apt hymn if she did.

Minerva was the last one to drop the rose. She stood there looking down at the deep black hole and wooden coffin for the longest time with dry eyes. She finally felt her father's hand on her shoulder. "You don't always have to be the strong one. It's okay to cry."

Even as her eyes began to sting with unshed tears, she retorted. "You're one to talk."

"I suppose we are too much alike. We forget that sometimes tears are a sign of strength. 'Jesus wept' is the shortest but one of the most powerful verses in the Bible." Her father sounded old for the first time in memory.

A hard lesson but she finally gave herself the freedom to weep. "If I ever find out who they were, I'm not sure they'll make it to Azkaban in one piece." She might even be tempted to use the killing curse herself, but she knew it was the anger talking.

"Vengance is mine, saith the Lord."

He was right. She didn't know how, and she didn't know when, but Voldemort and his followers would fall, and she hoped she was there to see it. She let go of the rose and watched it drop. She could taste the tears that were now running down her face. She refused to say goodbye. "See you later, Robert Jr."

Chapter Text

"Such a shame what happened to the McGregors," her mother mentioned casually over tea one day.

For a moment, she wondered almost hopefully if they'd separated though she chastised herself immediately for the unchristian, uncharitable thought.

"The war's hit our village twice now. First Robert," here her mother began to choke up. Her mother still wore black though it'd been almost a year. Her mourning was more inward but not a day went by when she didn't miss her brother too, but she had the strong urge to shake her to get the rest of the words out of her. 'What happened to Dougal?', she wanted to cry, but she couldn't show her deep interest. "That poor family. Innocent Muggles caught in the crossfires of a wizarding war."

"What happened?" she finally asked a trifle too urgently.

Her mother looked at her a few moments and took a few slow blinks almost as if she were a Legilimens, which she knew she wasn't, but it still made her unsettled. "They were on holiday, the victims of a random, anti-Muggle attack by the Deatheaters. I heard it was quick."

As if the thought of it being quick could make it any better or less painful. She didn't know how she kept it together as she said stiffly, "Excuse me. It's hot in here. I need to go outside for a moment."

She didn't stop outside the door. She found herself walking to the field where Dougal had proposed all those years ago almost as if her feet had a mind of their own.

The neeps he'd promised to plant were now many generations away from the original seeds, of course, but they were in full bloom, the fruit of his hard work and proof of his success as a farmer. It would soon rot if whoever the farm had gone to didn't pick them.

And strangely enough, it was that thought that brought on the first tears as if she cared about neeps. All the dreams and love they'd shared came rushing to the surface as if it'd all happened yesterday.

It was her fault. If she'd married him, she could have protected him and any of their children. She still saw that little boy in her mind's eye, his son, so full of life and charm. Even his wife's death was her fault as she would have married someone else and still be alive. She felt even more guilty because she'd harbored jealousy toward the poor woman, whose only crime had been to take what she had turned down.

"Lord, bring their souls rest as I know You will. Bring comfort to their family and friends and to me. And forgive me for any part I played. And bring all this to an end. Almost two thousand years ago, You changed the course of human history with a little baby boy. Intervene again, and I pray on that day You do that I'm there to see it. Amen."

It was random the killing her mother had said. Nothing personal against her but so unjust and such a terrible blow to her that it might as well have been. One thing it had done was to add fuel to the fire of her desire to see their downfall as Robert Jr's death had done. "I will live through this war to see your downfall and your followers' downfall," she said to the air, spoken like a prophesy.

sss

She carried the pain around like a burr in her chest. It clung there and festered though she believed that it didn't affect her lessons in the classroom. She must have been wrong though because her favorite students, who were now courting shot her compassionate looks as they filed out. Lily went so far as to place a hand on her arm in a show of sympathy, but the girl had always been uncommonly perceptive. Nonetheless, she couldn't bare her soul to her students.

That's why her heart leapt with joy when she saw Elphinstone come for his annual visit. Here was someone whose shoulder she could cry into, and she did. He smelled of old tomes and spicy cologne, a strangely comforting combined scent maybe because it was so familiar. He was always there for her in spite of herself and in spite of the number of times she had turned down this sweet man.

"The love of my youth died at the hands of Deatheaters."

"You couldn't have protected him," he said to her so softly that she wasn't sure she had heard him right.

She looked up at him, shocked. Did anyone else know her so well?

"You are a powerful and gifted witch, but you are not God, and you can't expect yourself to be."

She leaned against him again and cried some more. She did that a lot during this particular holiday of his, but he never complained or tried to get away. He even asked her to tell him more about Dougal. It wasn't the only way that marked it different from the other holidays. He didn't ask her to marry him when she was feeling vulnerable enough that she may have actually said yes. And that's when she realized she might be falling in love with Elphinstone.

Chapter Text

Minerva's shoes clacked against the marble floor, not as much because her heels were noisy as because of her frustration. She had just come from the trial of Amycus Carrow. He was a Death Eater that had been captured as a direct result of her spy work, but he had just avoided Askaban by saying he'd been under the Imperius curse. Many Death Eaters were, but she didn't believe it of Carrow. He'd had sadistic tendencies even when he'd been in her classroom. He took perverse pleasure in the misfortune of others and was quick to get in fights with his fellow students. He hadn't been overly bright or talented either. They wouldn't deign to waste the curse on such a young man.

She went into Elphinstone's office. He was happy to see her as always. "Here on business?"

"Partially. I had to testify at a trial for all the good it did. He got off when he didn't deserve it."

"Well, at least, he's not likely to return to them after such a close call. Azkaban is no picnic. "

"It doesn't matter if there's one less of them. They're like weeds. When one Death Eater is taken down, two more grows in his place."

"I know it must seem like that-"

"It is like that, and some of them are my former students. I've seen it with my own eyes, and I wonder if I spend too much time on Transfiguration and not enough time on their moral character."

"You aren't their parents. You hold too much on your own shoulders. You've done so much for this war effort, and you do so much for your students. Sure, there are a few bad apples, but think how many students' lives you've affected and changed for the better. I've seen their respect and admiration for you with these old eyes. And speaking of old, I'm retiring in June."

"You are not old," she protested. She meant it. She really didn't see their age difference. He had always seemed more youthful in his outlook, and she probably always seemed older than her age though she was now firmly in her late forties, "but I am happy for you. I know how much you've looked forward to having more leisure time."

"Immensely."

"I happened to bring enough lunch for two, and I thought if you didn't have plans on your lunch hour, we might go to the park and enjoy it."

"Sure just let me finish a few things around here."

"No hurry," she said, taking a seat to wait. She watched the way he ran tapped a finger against his upper lip when he was deep in thought. It was really kind of endearing. She wondered why she'd never noticed despite having shared office space for so long.

It didn't take him too long, merely twenty minutes, and they were soon strolling in Hyde Park, walking off the lunch they'd just eaten as they admired the lake. Though it couldn't begin to compare with the lake at Hogwarts in Minerva's opinion.

"Do you know that I've completely fallen in love with Scotland? It has a way of getting in your blood and staying there."

She flushed because she thought when he said Scotland, he meant her. "Does it? I suppose it does. I remember how dreary I found London." Lest he thought she meant him when she said that, she added, "You were the one bright spot from those days."

His face lit up as if she'd just given him the Hope Diamond. Did she pay so little compliments to those in her life? She supposed that was a character flaw of hers. She made a mental note to try and work on that in the future.

"In fact, I have my eye on a lovely little cottage in Hogesmeade Village."

"Oh?" Her heartbeat sped up at the thought of him being so close. They'd been friends for years. She didn't know why her heart should suddenly decide to love Elphinstone. Love was a funny, unpredictable thing, perhaps the strangest magic of all.

"That doesn't bother you, does it?" he said, pausing their walk to sincerely gauge her reaction.

"Why should it bother me? I consider you my dearest friend." Why couldn't she admit she felt more now? Pride? Or just shame that she'd turned down his proposal so many times?

"Good, good. I'm glad," and he continued their walk.

It was the first time she'd ever been let down that he hadn't proposed. Had she waited too long to come around?