A note on canon: this fic is technically AU in that I have written Minerva McGonagall as being roughly twenty years younger than she is in canon. This is because that was the age I already pictured her being when I first read the books. Her date of birth here is 04/10/54 rather than 04/10/35 which would put her in her final year around the time that the Marauders were second years and would fit with her coming back to teach when they were sixth years. The only points in book!canon that directly contradict this are the scene in OOTP where Minerva tells Umbridge she has taught at Hogwarts for 39 years and in DH when Snape remembers Minerva being there at his and Lily's sorting. I am choosing to ignore these, but have tried to be as canon-compliant as possible aside from this. This fic is also compliant with the early part of Minerva's backstory on Pottermore up to and including when she takes the job at Hogwarts.

Ioan is a Welsh name and is pronounced "Yo-an" with the emphasis on the first syllable (i.e. rhyming with 'rowan').

Usual disclaimers apply.

Of Time And Tide

Prologue: August 1993

It was summer.

It was hot.

Even in the northerly reaches of Scotland the sun was making its presence felt. The normally lush green lawns of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were looking distinctly wilted. Steam hissed from the vents of the greenhouses and several Thestrals had emerged from the Forbidden Forest to drink thirstily at the edge of the Black Lake.

For Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, however, the weather was not a concern. Her first floor study faced to the west and the thick stone walls remained cool even as the hottest hours of the early afternoon approached. As the days of August slipped steadily past her office had become a refuge, not just from the sticky heat but also from the frivolity it seemed to inspire amongst her colleagues. Skinny dipping in the lake, drunken Quidditch matches, raucous poker sessions in the staffroom… it was as if the absence of students sent all common sense flying out of the window.

But Minerva had no time for such irresponsible behaviour. Her only concession to the summer holidays was her attire: a smart green knee-length wrap dress instead of formal robes. Her hair remained in its tightly pinned bun, her spectacles firmly in place and her back as straight as ever as she surveyed the paperwork on her desk. Every year it seemed there was more to be done. Her Transfiguration lesson plans for the year ahead had been finalised and the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results had been sent out the previous week. Envelopes containing letters and booklists were stacked in a neat pile ready to go down to the Owlery for dispatch. Now she was working her way through departmental equipment requests, a task that strictly speaking belonged to the Headmaster, but which Albus had delegated to her with an apologetic smile and a promise of an extra weekend off.

When the knock at the office door came she'd assumed it was Pomona Sprout, here to tell her she'd missed lunch again and why wasn't she outside enjoying this glorious sunshine, didn't she know she was entitled to a holiday just like everyone else?

"Come in," she called, frowning over the parchment in front of her. Hagrid's untidy scrawl was difficult to decipher but from what she could make out he wanted to requisition half a dozen hippogriffs for his first lesson of the year. She winced at the thought. It wasn't that she begrudged him the job – heaven knew, he was more enthusiastic than the rest of the faculty put together. But she was beginning to wonder whether Albus had given the matter the careful consideration it deserved. She'd already had to respond to a lengthy complaint from the irate manager of Flourish and Blotts over Hagrid's unfortunate choice of textbook.

She only remembered her visitor when she heard a polite cough from the other side of her desk.

To her surprise, when she looked up it was not Pomona that stood in front of her but a stranger: a tall man with a pleasant expression and rather scruffy light brown hair in need of a trim.

"Minerva McGonagall?"

"Yes?" She couldn't keep the edge of irritation from her voice. Almost certainly he was a representative of one of the many commercial magical companies, keen to tell her about the latest homework-marking quills or persuade her to try an alternative supplier for potions ingredients. She loathed their uninvited visits and over the years had developed a careful system for avoiding them completely. It was unusual these days for such people to make it as far as her office without being intercepted – unusual, but not impossible.

"Whatever it is you're selling, Mr…"

"Chant. Ioan Chant. Department of Temporal Manipulation."

The stranger registered the look of confusion on her face and grinned.

"I did send you an owl, Minerva. Though I'm most amused that you think I would be selling anything. Perhaps I should ask for galleons in exchange for this time turner?"

He reached inside his robes and withdrew a small velvet pouch which he placed on the desk in front of her.

All at once she understood: this was Ioan Chant, senior fellow at the Institute for Magical Research, and the wizard with whom she had been corresponding for several months in her quest to obtain a time turner for Hermione Granger. There had been an owl, she recalled, something about the need to sign out the time turner from Ministry stock, but not to worry, he would take care of it, and then…

"You said it would be safer for you to bring it directly to Hogwarts," she finished weakly.

"Ah, so you do remember me. Thank goodness. I was beginning to wonder if I had dreamt the whole thing."

It was a long time since she had seen a time turner and it looked so small, dangling from the delicate golden chain. Afraid of damaging it, Minerva tucked it back into its velvet pouch. She still wasn't entirely sure if she was doing the right thing. Hermione Granger was exceptionally bright, that went without saying. But twelve O.W.L. subjects? It was a lot of pressure.

She cleared her throat. "Dr Chant. Thank you. This will mean an awful lot to Miss Granger. I give you my personal assurance that it will not be misused in any way."

She stood and held the door open for him, her favoured method of hastening visitors from her office. But Ioan Chant did not move. "I've travelled a long way today," he said instead. "I was thinking I might stop for a drink in the village before I head back to Cornwall. Would you care to accompany me?"

Inwardly Minerva was dismayed. An hour of polite small talk under the watch of the gossipy residents of Hogsmeade was most definitely not on her agenda for the day. However she couldn't deny that Dr Chant had done her a significant favour by agreeing to her request, not to mention saved her making the trip to the Ministry of Magic by delivering the time turner himself. Courtesy dictated that she ought to supply appropriate sustenance. But did it have to be the local pub?

"I'm sure we could provide you with ample refreshment here in the castle," she offered, hoping this would be adequate instead.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble the house elves. And besides, on a day like this nothing beats the Three Broomsticks. Let's go!"

Reluctantly Minerva followed her guest along the corridor and down the marble staircase to the entrance hall. The castle seemed strangely quiet without the clatter and noise of the students. Minerva had never been able to get used to it. She enjoyed the peace and not having to do nighttime patrols of the corridors was a godsend but still, it felt as if Hogwarts was missing part of its soul. Secretly she was looking forward to the start of the new term. As they stepped through the castle doors and out into the bright August sun she quickened her pace. The sooner they got there, after all, the sooner she could make her excuses and get back to more important things.

The Three Broomsticks was crowded despite the heat. The doors at the back of the inn had been thrown open allowing customers to spill out into the garden beyond. Several faces turned to watch Minerva curiously as she and Ioan joined the throng of witches and wizards at the bar. She wasn't a frequent visitor to the pub, nor was she often seen in the company of unfamiliar men. Out in the garden she could see quite a few of the Hogwarts staff squashed together on the wooden benches. Aurora Sinistra, tall green cocktail in hand, noticed Minerva and raised her glass politely. Beside her Charity Burbage was spluttering magnificently, having nearly choked at the sight of the Deputy Headmistress. Minerva sighed and turned back to the bar, where Ioan had finally succeeded in getting Rosmerta's attention.

"Yes, thank you, we'll have…"

Ioan paused and glanced over at Minerva.

"A small Gillywater for me, please," she said primly.

"Two large glasses of your homemade raspberry wine, please."

"I said Gillywater!" Minerva protested, but it was too late: Rosmerta had uncorked a bottle so cold that ice crystals were forming on the sides and poured out two generous measures of crimson liquid. Ioan deposited a handful of coins on the bar and squeezed through a gaggle of wizards towards a recently-vacated table in the corner, glasses in hand.

"I said Gillywater!" His presumption annoyed her immensely. If she'd wanted wine she'd have asked for it.

But Ioan did not seem the least bit ruffled. "Oh come on," he said with a grin. "It's Friday afternoon. Push the boat out. Live a little. Besides, this stuff is fantastic. Have you tried it?"

"No," Minerva admitted grudgingly.

"Well, try it. And if you don't like it, I'll have yours. And I'll get you a gillywater. And possibly a seat further away from me so nobody knows we're together."

She opened her mouth to protest but then caught the glint of humour in his eyes.

"Oh, very amusing." She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right: it was delicious. The crisp taste of fresh raspberries was very much in evidence and yet somehow it wasn't too sickly. A shudder ran through her as she swallowed and she realised that what it lacked in sweetness, it certainly made up for in alcohol content. She set the glass down and settled herself a little more comfortably into her chair.

"It must be lovely working at Hogwarts," Ioan said conversationally. "I still remember my own schooldays with great fondness. In fact, I don't think I can have been many years behind you."

"Really? I'm afraid I never really knew many of the younger students outside of my own House. But I'm sure I would have remembered you had you been in Gryffindor."

"I was in Ravenclaw. But now that I've seen you I think I remember watching you play Quidditch a few times."

Minerva smiled at the memory.

"Now that was a long time ago."

Ioan took a long sip of his wine. "Did you every think about playing professionally?" he asked.

"No. Don't misunderstand me, I loved Quidditch. And I did have a tentative offer from one of the league teams. But I knew it would never be a long term career, and then I was injured and that put me right off, I'm afraid."

"Do you ever regret it?"

"No," Minerva said with a wry smile. "Never. Well, maybe in my Ministry years. But as soon as I started teaching at Hogwarts I knew I'd made the right choice."

"Well I must say I'm impressed at your dedication. I don't remember any of my teachers going to the lengths you've gone to for this Granger girl."

"Hermione Granger is a very talented young witch. She deserves to achieve her full potential. And – not that this really has anything to do with it - but I must say I derive a considerable amount of satisfaction from seeing a muggle-born student score the highest exam marks of her yeargroup."

"Really?" Ioan raised an eyebrow. "That's an interesting comment. Many of your contemporaries would think a muggle-born student was most definitely not worth this level of attention."

Minerva stiffened. "And is that what you think, Dr Chant? If so," she continued in icy tones, "you will no doubt be dreadfully disappointed to learn that my own father was a muggle. It is my firmly held belief that blood status has absolutely no relevance in modern Wizarding society and I'm afraid I have very little time for anyone who thinks otherwise."

She glared at him defiantly.

"Both my parents are muggles," Ioan said softly. "It infuriates me to hear anyone speak of muggles in derogatory terms. Rest assured, I feel exactly the same way as you."

Minerva was rather taken aback by this. "I see," was all she could manage.

"So tell me," Ioan said, changing the subject with remarkable tact. "I've always wanted to meet an animagus. What are your thoughts on the editorial in last month's Transfiguration Today? Do you agree animagus ability is likely to become a lost art now that you can buy potions that give the impression of transformation for just a few galleons?"

By the time they eventually left the Three Broomsticks, Minerva and Ioan had spent several hours discussing everything from the latest developments in advanced transfiguration theory to the upcoming Quidditch season, and between them had finished off a bottle and a half of wine. This was significantly more than Minerva was used to drinking, a situation that was highlighted embarrassingly when she stumbled over the doorstep on the way out of the pub and almost hit her head on one of Rosmerta's hanging baskets.

The sweltering heat of the afternoon had given way to a balmy evening, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle, and she felt slightly foolish in her formal dress and heels as they walked together back through the village. She couldn't remember when she'd last had such an enjoyable time. The conversation had flowed easily between them. They'd shared the same views on many subjects, yet still there were enough differences between them to allow for a lively debate. Ioan had listened with interest to her opinions, and his dry sense of humour had enlivened the discussion no end.

All too soon they had reached the tall iron gates of Hogwarts, the last possible point from which Ioan could apparate back to his home in Tinworth, close to the I.M.R.

Minerva took a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I was a little abrupt earlier. I completely forgot you were intending to deliver the timeturner personally."

"Well, I wouldn't have normally. But it is an exceptionally valuable object. And I'll admit I was curious to meet you face-to-face after the letters we've exchanged and what little I knew about you already."

"I see."

"Well, I hope you'll forgive me for dragging you out with me. I know you must have had work to do but I couldn't bear to leave you sitting alone in that office on a beautiful day like this."

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. To her surprise, Minerva felt a shiver run through her body that had nothing to do with the alcohol. She barely managed to mumble a farewell before he turned on the spot and was gone from her sight.

As she made her way back up to the drive, Minerva felt curiously bereft. You're being ridiculous, she chastised herself. You hardly know the man. You drank far too much wine and made an exhibition of yourself, and now you need to pull yourself together and stop lusting after a complete stranger.

Still, as complete strangers went, Dr Ioan Chant was a remarkably attractive one. When dinner was over and she was finally alone again she allowed herself the brief luxury of imagining another evening with him, one that most definitely did not end with a chaste kiss at the school gates.

Perhaps she would see him again soon. She hoped so.

Sadly for Minerva, it would be another two years before her wish was granted.