A/N: Well, here we go. I can only hope that this is the beginning of a long and exciting adventure. For the moment, I make no promises about updates. Nor do I promise a conventional plot. Instead, I like to think of this as sort of a tribute to JKR's world and the beauty that exists in the small moments, the supporting characters, the brief glances into a magical world that has captured the imagination of a real world sick to death of being so real. This is the story of Minna, the Minerva McGonagall that might have been, if she had lived an ordinary life. And the story of Minerva, who lived an extraordinary one. I confess, I find her fascinating. And so, let it begin.
Disclaimer: I want to live in J. K. Rowling's world, but I certainly don't own it.
Minna: Prologue
Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was sipping Earl Grey with lemon in the quiet of her neat, tartan-draped office. She was dressed in her oldest, most comfortable set of work robes and several strands of her hair had fallen out of its bun. It was the sort of rainy and lazy day that only a Tuesday can be, and she had not been able to summon the energy that morning to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Not that she would be missed. Hogwarts was empty in the summertime, with the few remaining professors and staff rattling around the giant castle like peas in a metal bowl. Indeed, only the Heads of House, the caretaker, the gamekeeper, and the librarian were currently in residence.
But Minerva was not lonely on this gray Tuesday morning in the middle of August. No, she was kept company by the generations of headmasters and headmistresses that adorned her walls. She looked up from her correspondence briefly to observe her companions.
There was Newt Scamander, who sat in his frame surrounded by animal specimens and spent considerable time each day observing their behavior. There was Everard, dressed in an elegant Wizengamot robe, who took pleasure in telling anyone who would listen about the merits and failings of the latest Ministry decisions. There was the smiling Dilys Derwent, who insisted upon making a daily report of new discoveries and queer cases at St. Mungo's. There were the bumbling Armando Dippet and the haughty Phineas Nigellus Black.
But it was the two men who sat immediately behind Minerva's desk that provided her with the greatest companion–
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Minerva looked to the window in pleased anticipation, and was rewarded with the sight of the elegant plumage of her eagle owl, Artemis. She stood and walked quickly to where the owl waited, waved her wand to Vanish the glass of the window, and held out her arm. Artemis hopped onto the proffered perch, pecking affectionately at Minerva's hand.
"Well, my dear," Minerva asked the owl as she replaced the glass and returned to her desk, "did he say yea or nay?"
The owl hooted mournfully in reply, holding out her leg to her owner.
"Ah, I see," Minerva said, sighing and seating herself. She unfolded the letter and began to read.
My dearest Minerva,
It is with deepest regret that I must turn down your offer to take Sydney Harding's place as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I have discussed it with Sara and she feels that I would be unsafe in the position. You must acknowledge, Minerva, that although twenty-three years have passed since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you have yet to have a Defense professor last more than five years. Poor Allison McLane actually died. Sara believes that those who take the position are at an inherent risk from Dark sympathizers.
Wishing you luck in your search and with deepest regrets,
Michael Corner
Minerva sighed. Corner had been her last hope. None of the Aurors wanted the position; they were all too content under Head Auror Potter…
Nonetheless, she was almost glad that Corner had turned her down. He had always been a little haughty, a little over-confident. He had been a Ravenclaw, yes, but he had had the arrogance and ambition to rival a Slytherin, the blind bravado of a Gryffindor. It was ridiculously audacious, the way he had addressed her, My dearest Minerva. The last time they had spoken, it had been as Headmistress to pupil, "Good luck, Mr. Corner." "Thank you, Headmistress."
She smiled, remembering all those years ago, when the staff had gained a new potions master.
"Hello, Mr. Snape," Minerva McGonagall said, looking up at the tall, dark student that she had never really liked. He had always been so brooding, so malignant. Except, of course, around Miss Evans.
"Good day, Professor McGonagall," the man said, looking into her eyes for the first time in the three years since their last Transfiguration class. They were dark and black, as always, but as she met them with her own light brown ones, she saw, for the first time ever, that they were filled with emotion.
"Are you quite all right, Severus?" she had asked, gently, all strictness gone from her voice.
"No, Professor," the man replied. She remembered what Albus had confided in her: Severus Snape was far darker than they had feared. He had become a Death Eater. But, according to Albus, he had renounced You-Know-Who. He was now serving the Order of the Phoenix.
"I'm sure you will be," she replied soothingly.
He gave her a wry smirk. "I think not, Professor. But perhaps we should go meet the rest of the staff."
She nodded. What was wrong with the poor man, that he would never be all right? "Very well, Severus. And please, call me Minerva."
He shook his head. "Not today, Professor. I keep forgetting that I am not here for a reprimanding. Perhaps, in time."
Minerva nodded slowly. "Very well, Professor Snape, let us go."
Severus had called her Professor or Professor McGonagall for the next few months. In time, yes, he had accepted his new role and they had gradually become equals. Minerva had known, always, that she and Severus were Albus's top officers. They, together, had formed Hogwarts's chain of command. Oh, how it had hurt to know that her superior was dead at the hand of her long-time colleague.
She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at the two portraits behind the desk. There, directly above her head, sat Albus Dumbledore, watching her calmly. To his right was the portrait of Severus Snape, with his single year as Headmaster listed beneath his frame. Many of the people who visited this office were infuriated to see him sitting there. Only Harry Potter had been pleased.
Minerva never knew why he had suddenly forgiven Severus, but she had known that it was a complete and irreversible change of heart. And Potter, as always, had been desperate to make up for his hatred of the greasy git of the dungeons. He had been determined to defend Severus's memory, as there was nothing else he could do.
"Minerva," said a snide voice, "you're daydreaming again."
The Headmistress's eyes snapped into focus and her back straightened. "Thank you, Phineas," she said sharply, quite irritated with the portrait. "I shall try to refrain from doing so in the future."
"Well," said the old Slytherin, "you ought to be finding a new professor."
"Enough, Phineas," said the kind voice of Albus Dumbledore. "The news on Michael Corner, Minerva?"
"He refused," she replied, a little sadly.
"Don't take it to heart," said Albus, but when she turned fully in her chair to look at him, there was concern in his twinkling blue eyes.
"He was always a coward, Minerva," a new, silky voice added. "You would not have wanted him here."
She sighed and smiled at the two men. "Thank you, Severus," she said, "but sadly, we're a little desperate."
The dark-haired Slytherin shrugged. "How about Rosanna Darin? Allison McLane used to rave about her."
Minerva was caught by surprise. Why not Miss Darin? She had always been a model student, obeyed the rules, and been a willing tutor for her peers. She had been good in many classes, but unrivaled in Charms and Defense. She had also been a Ravenclaw. She would fit in quite nicely. But…
"Miss Darin is only twenty-one," she said sharply.
"And?" said Severus quietly. Minerva realized quite suddenly that Severus Snape had died a young man. He had died having taught for eighteen years, but he was only thirty-eight when he was murdered.
"Excellent idea, Severus," said Albus. Minerva continued to stare. No wonder she always felt alone, as though the world had grown up without her. No wonder all her friends were dead and gone. She was an old woman. The years had simply melted away, but it had been twenty-three years since little Severus Snape had died at the age of thirty-eight. Minerva had started teaching when he was ten. And she had been forty-two at the time.
"Merlin, I'm old," she muttered.
Severus smirked at her. "I've been telling you that for years, Minerva."
"Yes, but when this year's first years graduate, I will be one hundred years old."
Albus smiled, "You don't look a day over seventeen, Minerva."
Minerva and Severus snorted together. "I do hope she wasn't that wrinkly at seventeen," Severus scoffed.
Minerva laughed and began to pen out a new letter:
Dear Miss Darin,
I hope this letter finds you well and prospering. I've heard from one of your teachers at Auror school that you are doing wonderfully. Mr. Weasley says that he has not seen a student so skilled since the days of the war, and that, my dear, is a compliment beyond measure.
If you have guessed that this is not merely a social letter, you have guessed correctly. I find myself, once again, short a member of staff. I know that Professor McLane's death hit you particularly hard, but she, I am certain, would have recommended you most highly for this position.
I am speaking, of course, of the position of Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher. Many say the job is cursed, but I refuse to believe such nonsense. Many worthy candidates have, however, turned down the post for that precise reason.
I am sure that your professors at Auror school will be willing to continue training you on the side. If you would like, I will speak to Head Auror Potter himself about getting a tutor. I know him as a very obliging man.
Please do consider this, Rosanna. I am in dire straits.
Cordially yours,
Professor M. McGonagall,
Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Having finished her letter, Minerva offered it to Artemis. The owl gazed at her with unblinking eyes as if to say, "Out in that weather again? After barely half an hour?" And so, excusing herself, Minerva went to post the letter. All the way to the Owlery, she was thinking about the upcoming school year and the staff meetings she had yet to plan.
When she reached that quiet place, however, with the owls gently snoozing above her, she was suddenly reminded, painfully once more, of how old she was growing. It was a strange feeling. Not one of the Heads of House she had taught with during the days of the Second War remained. Severus and Filius had passed on and Pomona had retired. Poppy, too, had resigned and even Sibyll was missed. Not even Rubeus Hagrid was still with them. That had been a wretched day indeed. His funeral had been an affair of many tears and excellent stories.
In their place, however, were new, wonderful people. Linnhe Whiteclaw taught Transfiguration, Neville Longbottom had taken Herbology, Alana Richards presided over Charms, and Melanie Sarston instructed Potions. Those four were Heads of Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, respectively. A woman named Rachael Erins had taken over Poppy's hospital wing and Marcus Brocklehurst ruled the library.
She loved them, too, but it was so, so strange to think that they were the third generation of Hogwarts professors she had known.
With a sigh, she tied her letter to a brown barn owl and made her way to the Transfiguration wing.
She knocked gently at the door and said clearly, "Linnhe, I'd like a cup of tea."