Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.
Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. Feel free to back out if that's you.
Author's Note: I have always liked fanon!McGonagall more than I liked canon!McGonagall, because in fanon, Minerva McGonagall takes nobody's silliness, and she's a total BAMF who's super protective. So here's a little AU of how that scene at the beginning of Philosopher's Stone would have gone if the McGonagall that Dumbledore had encountered was the fanon version that we all love. You know, instead of the one that agreed to leave a naturally-sleeping toddler on a doorstep in the middle of the night in November without so much as a warming charm. Unfortunately, she's still dealing with the canon Dumbledore who believes that only he knows best and everyone will agree with him.
Submitting Info:
Stacked with: MC4A; House Competition (Term 4); Spring Bingo
Individual Challenges: Gryffindor MC (x2) (N); Yellow Ribbon (N); Yellow Ribbon Redux (N); Sett to Destroy (Y); Everyone's Cousin (N); Click Bait It (N); Short Jog (N); Advice from the Mug (N)
House: Hufflepuff
Role: Player (7th Year)
Category: Standard
Prompt: "Keep talking. I'm starting to believe you." (speech)
Space (Prompt): 5C (Frog)
Representation(s): Minerva McGonagall
Bonus Challenges: Odd Feathers; Pear-Shaped; Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress
Word Count: 1962 words
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Witch Got A Wand
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Minerva had never been less impressed with a Muggle family. Even her own family had not been as toxic as the household she had just spent a very long day watching, and her father had been determined to exorcise any trace of magic from Minerva and her mother. At least she had the cold comfort that her father had only the well-being of their eternal souls in mind, even when his methods left much to be desired. These Muggles dripped disdain even when they were being loving towards each other. It flowed freely when the subject of anything even hinting at magic was broached.
How in the name of all considered sacred had the same family that had produced Lily Evans Potter also produced such a disagreeable harpy as Petunia Evans Dursley?
There were lemon peels with less sour bitterness.
To make a horrible day even worse, Lily's son was currently missing. She had run into Sirius Black briefly, who said that Hagrid had insisted on taking him because Dumbledore had ordered it. The poor bairn must be so frightened. Black had pulled him crying from his crib, no more than five feet from Lily and what appeared to be the remains of You-Know-Who. Then to go with a near-stranger to who knows where? What was Dumbledore thinking? She had no question about why Black allowed Hagrid to take the boy. As good-hearted as Hagrid was, he could be difficult to reason with when it came to anything related to Albus Dumbledore. There was just too much risk of little Harry getting caught in the scuffle and further traumatized.
Still, with Albus Dumbledore well-ensconced at the ministry doing the necessary politicking for whatever plan he was brewing and Hagrid nowhere to be found, Minerva felt her best bet for finding the boy was to come to this dreadfully homogenous Muggle neighborhood and wait. It was not as if she felt like partaking in any of the raucous merriment that was going on as the wizarding world celebrated the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If the rumor was true, it certainly would be a cause for celebration, but all she could think about was the fact that she had lost two very dear friends, that a little boy had lost his parents.
Joy felt very near impossible in the face of such a loss.
The waiting wasn't helping, even if she did know that Albus was likely to show up here eventually.
Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to cast a decent warming charm before she had transformed into her Animagus form. Despite how nice the weather had been during the day, once the sun had gone down, it had grown bitterly cold with a gentle but constant breeze. The moisture in the air became lacy patterns on anything metal as the day's heat faded from it. The cold kept her from giving into the exhaustion that had been steadily eating at her, as she approached nearly two full days awake, one of which had been spent supervising detentions.
Sitting on a rock wall in a Muggle neighborhood watching an absolutely dreadful woman was not Minerva's preference for how to spend a Sunday that happened to have nice weather. It was not even in her top ten list of things to do with such a day. It really wasn't what she wanted to be doing after losing friends. If Dumbledore didn't show up soon, she'd be forced to return to the castle or risk falling asleep in her Animagus form.
The nearby church bell tower was ringing out midnight when she spotted the man down the street. Somehow, Albus must have managed to talk Alastor into lending out his latest invention, because he was using it to steal the glow of the streetlamps that lined either side of Privet Drive. If she had lips, she would be frowning. Was he trying to draw attention from the Muggles? It would be far less conspicuous to just leave everything the same. Muggles would assume that nothing odd was happening if there weren't major changes to their expectations.
Honestly, did the man not read any of the Muggle-born orientation pamphlets ever in his entire history of working for the school?
Though she did suppose that would explain why he had shown up to her cousin Throckmorton's house wearing a velvet suit in a vibrant violet and embossed with silver stars. The Muggles of the village still mentioned the encounter whenever she visited. It was rather embarrassing, actually.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall," Albus greeted as he sat on the wall beside her. A practiced flick of his wrist made sure that the purple cloak he was wearing over his acid-green robes (perhaps she should ask Poppy to check his vision) did not end up under him. Instead, it draped over the back of the wall, offering a tempting place of refuge from the chilly wind. She immediately transformed back to human with flawless fluidity.
"Yes, imagine that," Minerva said, her tone as stiff as her muscles after sitting on a stone wall for most of a day. She was cold. She was hungry. Most of all, she was tired, even more so with Dumbledore proving her assumption correct. Lily had never made her estrangement from her sister (and the hateful prejudice that fueled it) a secret from the Order, but Dumbledore clearly intended to deliver a defenseless child into the care of this lemon peel of a woman?
Mayhaps Poppy needed to assess more than just Albus' vision, because he has clearly gone daft.
"Would you care for a lemon drop?" Albus asked. He was already digging through the moleskin purse on his belt. The waxed paper bag he pulled from it had seen better days, even if it practically stank of preserving charms. Minerva couldn't quite mediate the severity of the frown she sent him. At least she was human and lacked a tail to give away the breadth of her ire. Not that Albus appeared to be paying any attention at all as he pried two pale yellow sweets apart with a concentration level more aligned with advanced transfiguration. "It smells a bit like rain."
"Are we really going to pretend that we don't know why the other is here then?" The question was waspish enough that Albus startled, dropping both lemon drops to the shatter on the sidewalk near the tips of his painfully-bright blue boots. He looked genuinely surprised. Did people really not direct him to the point of things so rarely? To distract herself, she pointed at number four. "That is the home of Petunia Dursley, a peak example of the vileness that humanity has to offer exceeded only by that horrid man you hired as the Defense professor this term—"
"Really, my dear," Albus interrupted her, "you shouldn't say such things about Severus. It's not befitting a woman of your age."
"The only thing not befitting anyone is that man teaching Defense—"
"Quite right," Albus interrupted once more, as if they were having a pleasant conversation over tea. "I think he'd be much better suited to teaching Potions."
"Snape isn't fit to teach house elves how to knit tablecloths!"
"Professor Snape," he corrected calmly. Minerva found herself eying his beard, calculating if she could strangle him with it, and forced herself to take a deep breath. Debating Albus' questionable new hire was not important at this time. As if agreeing with her silent admonishment, Albus pulled out his pocket watch and frowned thoughtfully before tucking it back into his moleskin purse. "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Actually, I have this thing," she corrected drily. "It's terribly newfangled but all the rage in certain circles. I'm not entirely sure that it will catch on, but I do have high hopes for it."
"What in the name of Merlin are you going on about, my dear?"
"Honestly, Albus, if you had Hagrid take the boy from his godfather, the only logical conclusion is that you mean to bring him to the next closest blood relative! It's not a difficult train of thought to follow!"
"I knew that you would understand that this is the best place for him."
Minerva stared at him. How had he come to that conclusion? Dear Lord, did he hear himself? Normally, she was one of his staunchest supporters but at the moment, she could see why many had suggested that his age was catching up to him.
"Do you really think the same woman who viciously tore into Lily at their parents' funeral would be even remotely pleasant if woken in the middle of the night to learn of her sister's death and that she's expected to take in her nephew?"
"Funerals are always full of high emotions," Albus soothed, clearly hinting at the common knowledge that his brother had punched him at their sister's funeral. "Besides, I wouldn't expect anyone other than young Aurora to be pleasant in the middle of the night. That's why I've written them a letter explaining it all."
"A letter?" she repeated. Her head was spinning from the blood draining from her face. Surely Albus wasn't suggesting what she thought he was. Had she somehow fallen into a Shakespearean play? Maybe she was actually asleep, and this was a horrible nightmare caused by going to sleep hungry. The fact that Albus seemed oblivious to her dilemma was just surreal.
"A letter," Albus agreed. He nodded his head sagely. "It will stress how important it is that the dear boy dwell with his mother's blood. As long as he calls his aunt's house home, he'll be safe from those who would seek to avenge their vanquished lord."
"And what of those who seek to harm him for being Lily's son? Or the Potter Heir? Or even simply being different?"
"I'm surprised at you, my dear," Albus scolded as if she had suggested something outrageously offensive rather than simply logical. If only he would get this tone when Snape began his tirades against Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in the staff lounge! "Such prejudices are completely unfounded, and I would expect better of someone with your mixed heritage. Family is the best place for children in these troubling times."
"Keep talking," she said, regaining a bit of strength from the fresh wave of fury he had inspired. "I'm starting to believe you."
"I knew I could make you see reason."
She wondered if she could get off the hex that would make his beard strangle him for her. Under normal circumstances, she would say it was impossible, but clearly Albus was not functioning with full situational awareness. On the other hand, she did hold a mastery in her subject, and the idea taking root in her head was a worthy legacy to James Potter.
A flurry of motion later had her staring at a newly transfigured frog laying stunned on the wall where Albus had been. It was not her best work, as the frog still sported a comical white beard and skin matching the atrocious colors he had been wearing. She kindly cast a warming charm on him before dropping his hat over him as further protection from the elements.
Hagrid was most relieved to hear about Albus' sudden change of heart about little Harry living with his Muggle relatives instead of his godfathers.
Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were even more relieved to have their young charge with them once more.
They were suitably impressed when they had learned of how exactly she had managed to subdue the great Albus Dumbledore. If she was fifty years younger, she might even take Black's proposal of marriage seriously.
She was old, after all, not dead.