Harry shifted nervously outside Professor McGonagall's office door. He raised his hand to knock but, before his hand made contact with the wood, quickly returned it to his side. He exhaled sharply. He didn't know why he was so nervous, Professor McGonagall hadn't expelled him after his first flying lesson when he had deliberately disobeyed a teacher, she hadn't even taken house points, so she was hardly going to now when all he wanted to do was thank her for buying him a broomstick. Holding onto that thought he took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the door.

'Enter,' McGonagall called from inside. Harry opened the door and tentatively entered the room. McGonagall looked up. Harry thought he saw a flicker of surprise cross her face when she saw him but it vanished so quickly that he couldn't be sure.

'If you wouldn't mind taking a seat, Mr Potter,' she said, gesturing to a hard wooden chair in front of her desk, 'I'll just finish marking this essay and then I'll be right with you.'

Harry nodded mutely. Seating himself on the chair, he allowed his eyes to wander. He had never been inside McGonagall's office before and was surprised to find that it was nothing like what he would have expected. In his mind's eye he had seen a cold, stone room filled with books. A room with an air as strict and unbending as the Professor. Well, the walls were stone, but they were covered in tapestries which made the room look warm. There were also books, lots of books, but as well as books there were ornaments, the odd fanged Frisbee and dungbomb that Harry could only assume she had confiscated from other students, and photos. It was the photos that surprised him most as they predominantly seemed to portray ex-students, but he realised that even that shouldn't surprise him as he himself had seen the care she had for her students. For the first time since the event he considered McGonagall's words as he lay on the floor clutching Neville's Remembrall, '- might have broken your neck - ' With shock he realised she was the first person that he remembered actually expressing concern for his safety. Before he could wrap his head around this revelation McGonagall spoke:

"So Mr Potter, what brings you to my office this evening?"

Harry examined his knees.

"Well Professor ... I just wanted to say thank you for my broomstick ... I mean I was talking to Ron and he said that it was a very good broomstick so it must have cost lots of money and you really didn't have to, no one has ever given me anything new before, except Hagrid, and you barely know me and you can't just buy everyone a broomstick ..." he trailed off, "so er yeah thanks."

With these last words his eyes flicked to McGonagall's face. She gave him a small smile.

"You're welcome, Harry." Her eyes caught his, and for a second it seemed to Harry as though she could see right through him.

"Was there anything else?" Harry shifted in his chair.

"You said my father was an excellent Quidditch player, Professor," he mumbled at last, "does that mean you knew him?"

"I did, both during his time at school here and after and I meant what I said, he would have been very proud of you."

"Did you know my mother too then? Hagrid told me that she was head girl here when my Dad was head boy."

"Yes, and I dare say she would also be proud of you, once she had finished giving you a hard time for breaking the rules and endangering your life."

"Can you tell me about them Professor? My Aunt didn't like to talk about them..." He trailed off, "I don't even know what they looked like." He admitted softly.

Professor McGonagall stood abruptly. For a moment Harry thought she was going to throw him out of her office for his impertinence, after all his Aunt and Uncle had drilled it into him from a young age that he shouldn't ask questions. Instead of shouting a him though, McGonagall walked over to a filing cabinet, rifled through it and bought out a small piece of paper. Pointing her wand at it she muttered the spell, "Geminio," and an identical piece of paper appeared in her hand with the original. She cast a few more spells on the new piece before passing the first to Harry.

It was a photograph.

Harry stared at it in awe. It showed a red-headed girl with green eyes and a black-haired boy with hazel eyes a few years older than him smiling proudly in their Hogwarts uniform.

"It was taken at their graduation," McGonagall said, "they were two of my favourite students so I asked if I could keep a copy. I have others too, including a few with you in I think, but it will take me a while to track them down so that will have to assuage your curiosity for the time being."

Harry didn't respond, he was too busy trying to commit every aspect of his parent's appearance to memory. He was amazed at how accurate Hagrid's description had been when he had said that he looked a lot like his Dad but with his mother's eyes. He also found he could detect similarities between his Mother's appearance and that of his Aunt and for the first time he truly appreciated the fact that his Aunt, however unwillingly, was a real connection between himself and the mother he had never known.

"He looks like me," Harry said finally, "and my mother, she has my eyes."

"Yes," said McGonagall, "though by the time you have finished at Hogwarts I'm sure you will be tired of hearing it."

"Am I like them at all? Except how I look I mean."

McGonagall eyed him critically.

"Well, you are a Griffindor like them, but that in itself doesn't say much. It looks like you have your father's skill on a broomstick, and his recklessness to boot, but you certainly have less of a knack for trouble than your father did. I caught him and his friends out after curfew four times in the first week alone. I'm inclined to think that you are more like your mother, she didn't like to be in the spotlight either and was always willing to defend anyone who needed it." She paused before continuing. "But Harry, however much you look like them, you are your own person, and they would have loved you whether you were like them or not."

Harry nodded, there was a lump lodged awkwardly in his throat so he swallowed a few times to make it go away.

"Now, Mr Potter I'm sure I've given you enough to think about this evening and Mr Weasley is probably wondering where you have got to."

"Thank you Professor." He held the photo out to her.

"Keep it, your parents would have wanted you to have it." Harry nodded again and made his way to the door.

"And Mr Potter," Harry turned, "If you have any more questions, whether they are about your parents, the wizarding world in general, or simply your transfiguration work, you know where my door is."

"Yes Professor, thank you Professor." And he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.