Harry walked across the polished wood floor, eyes focused on the parchment in his hand. Passers chirped their hellos and good mornings as he crossed the atrium towards the thin crowd of people bustling in and out of the gilded lifts in the adjacent hall. Without looking up, he joined an elderly witch wearing a plum, brimmed hat and two wizards in puce robes in an open lift. The woman wrinkled her lips into a small smile when she saw who had joined her.
A few moments passed and the grilles of the lift clattered shut. The lift took off with a lurch. Carefully arranging her face into a well-practiced stern gaze, the witch peered over her spectacles at Harry and cleared her throat. Harry looked up at the familiar sound.
"Professor!" He exclaimed.
"Mr. Potter." She smiled. The other two wizards took a quick, interested glance at Harry. Ministry employees were accustomed to sighting him in the Ministry, but he still drew curious looks (much to his chagrin). Not everyone could say they worked in the same building as the famous Harry Potter, and those who didn't personally know him enjoyed boasting to their friends that they had found themselves shoved between a crate of Blast-Ended Skrewts and Harry in a crowded lift, overheard him talking animatedly with the Minister about security concerns outside the Minister's office, or even merited a "hullo" from the man himself as they passed each other in a corridor.
The woman, who wore plum robes with a large silver "W" emblazoned across the front, switched her handbag to her other arm so she could return Harry's handshake.
"It's been a while, Professor. How are you doing?" Harry folded the papers together and pushed them into his robe's pocket.
"No complaints. I haven't seen you since Horace's 100th birthday party," she replied. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the memory. "And I'm no longer 'Professor,' you know."
"Yes, I read that in the Prophet a few weeks back. Congratulations on a well deserved retirement." He smiled warmly at her.
"I'll say. 56 years of teaching can take a toll on a person. Some years more than others."
Harry shuffled his feet, uncomfortably aware that his years at Hogwarts were sure to have weighed heavily in the "more" category. A cool, chiming voice echoed in the lift as they came to a shuddering stop.
"Level 7, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office."
The two wizards in puce robes exited, the taller of the two with his head turned, inconspicuously listening in on their conversation until the grate closed behind him with a clunk.
"How old is your eldest, now?" she asked as the lift took off.
"8 years old last November, if you can believe it," Harry grinned.
"8 years old already?" she replied incredulously, as Harry nodded. McGonagall frowned. It seemed like only yesterday she was watching the scrawny, younger version of the man in front of her as he stumbled towards the Sorting Hat in the Great Hall.
For that matter, she could clearly remember his father's jaunty walk towards the same hat. 3 seconds, she thought, remembering how quickly the hat sent James off to Gryffindor, as he dashed towards his table to a hearty round of applause and a smack on the back from Sirius Black.
They are still so young to me, she thought. She felt the familiar tingling of nostalgia eating away at the corners of her heart. Old age does things to a heart, she had discovered. The echoes of the past easily seep their way into a mind that had been, at one time, well trained on the present.
The clear, disembodied voice interrupted the reflective silence in the lift as it called out the next floor.
"Level 6, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Center."
The lift doors opened with a jolt, and a paper memo fluttered into the lift, hovering above Harry's head, adding a fluttering, violet filter to the light above them. The doors slid shut and the lift rattled upwards.
She pushed the memories away for the moment, and cleared her voice.
"Well, I am glad to be done with it before the next wave of Weasleys storm Hogwarts. Two generations of Potters and Weasleys is quite enough trouble for one lifetime. Mr. Lupin has been a shocking reminder of what is to come."
Harry noticed she couldn't quite hide the smile at the corner of her mouth, and he laughed.
"Yes… I had quite a stern talking-to with him over summer, you know," he added perfunctorily. McGonagall looked at him closely.
"Well, it never did you three any good…or your father and his friends for that matter. But hope springs eternal," she replied. Harry chuckled again, adjusting his glasses before responding.
"I've discovered a good scolding only goes so far against what they see as family legacy and a predisposition for trouble," he sighed.
She smiled knowingly as the lift voice called out.
"Level 5, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats."
The grille clattered open and a chatty pair of young witches, conversing rapidly in what sounded like Dutch, entered the lift. The violet memo batted one of the girls in the face as it tried to flutter between them out the door, and the witch huffed and smacked it the rest of the way through the gate, the paper narrowly missing the closing grille.
McGonagall's mind drifted to years long ago as the lift shuddered into motion. She hadn't been in the ministry much, not since she left her job with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement all those years ago to pursue teaching. Now she only came occasionally when called in for a trial. This was the place I met Elph, she thought for the hundredth time. I hated this place back then…
"Time makes fools of us all," Dumbledore had often said to her. She had found this to be true enough.
"Level 4, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau."
Another witch with frizzled hair rushed up to the lift and slid through the gates before the grille clanged shut. She was balancing a high stack of parchment, and nearly ran into the two witches having an animate conversation in the corner. The lift lurched upward.
"You're here on Wizengamot business, I take it," Harry asked McGonagall as he budged over to give the witches more room.
"Yes, yes. There is a hearing today for a Class IV illegal importation of Chimaeras from Taipei," she sighed. "Merlin knows why I accepted the appointment to begin with. At this time of year I should be out by the lake drinking Gillywater, enjoying retirement and spending time with my great-grand-nieces and nephew."
Harry could understand this. Ginny, Hermione, and Ron had brought the kids to the coast for the day, taking advantage of one of the rare alignments of good weather and a day-off for Hermione. Harry wasn't so lucky, and got called in last minute for the urgent matter detailed on the parchment in his pocket.
"Level 3, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee."
The chatty witches pushed their way past the harassed-looking woman with the stack of papers as several more memos zoomed into the lift. With a clang, the grille closed and the lift jolted upwards again.
"The Wizengamot is lucky to have you. I heard a rumor the other day that you are being considered for Chief Warlock whenever Tennyson decides to resign," he said. Minerva had a heard a similar rumor earlier that week, and didn't know what to think about it. She made a noncommittal sniff.
"You can always tell them to bugger off," Harry suggested with a smile, but they both knew what her answer would be. Never in her life had she put her own happiness before the work to be done.
"Level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."
Harry stepped aside to allow McGonagall to exit, then followed behind her.
"Well Potter, send my regards to Ginevra. I enjoyed her latest article on the Magpies victory over the Cannons. I hope her prediction for a championship finish is correct, I have a bet with Filius and I don't fancy losing."
"Will do, Professor – er, Minerva." They exchanged smiles, and Harry headed briskly towards the Auror office around the corner, thinking if he was lucky he might be able to get out to the coast before midday.
McGonagall watched Harry walk away. She shook her head as she took the first door on her left, walking purposefully down the short corridor towards the glass double doors emblazoned with the same "W" as on her robes.
Time has a strange way of passing by, she thought to herself, pausing at the doors. One minute you're an eleven-year-old girl off to Hogwarts for the first time, and the next moment you find yourself white-haired, wizened, and sitting on a council made up of the eldest group of senile witches and wizards in Britain. Shaking her head, she pushed open the doors and walked inside.