Minerva McGonagall was a stern, very no-nonsense woman. Her position would allow her to be nothing less, of course, and she thought it suited her just fine.
So, whenever a student came to her, upset, she could do little more than offer refreshments and her best advice. Needless to say, students didn't come to her with emotional problems very much, and that was fine. Professor Sprout and even Madam Pomfrey were excellent at comforting children where she failed, and she knew that the Hufflepuff common room was host to a number of kind paintings, all of which would lend an ear to a student in need, no matter their house.
But now, being faced with a child that needed raw comfort? From her? She was at a total loss.
"Mr. Rolfe?" She asked the boy, "Are you quite alright?"
Stupid, she thought, of course he wasn't.
His tanned face was ashen, his eyes downcast. His eyes shouldn't have been so old, she thought. No child should have any reason to be so upset, especially the wisp of a lad before her.
So, she gave the only comfort she knew she could give.
"Mr. Rolfe, I will have you know that, while I may teach Transfiguration, I know my way around a Cheering Charm, and I am not afraid to use it."
He gave a small smile and, upon seeing her mock-stern expression, gave a snort. The twinkle of his eyes was starting to return.
"Madam McGonagall, you remind me of Lord Slytherin."
She wasn't quite sure if she should have been offended, but she supposed that she had never met the actual Salazar Slytherin, so there wasn't much of a reason to argue. She raised a single brow. "Oh?"
He grinned. "Yes, he says all those same things. Once he told a member of his House that he uses sad children as Potions ingredients!"
She smiled fondly, and gestured for him to continue.
He went on with vigor, explaining how each of his Professors acted and what they were best at, a smile so wide on his face that she thought it might split. His eyes held some light again, she thought fondly.
Maybe she was alright at this whole 'comfort' thing, after all.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore was contemplating the enigma that was Merry Rolfe.
The most obvious solution to him was to place Merry with a family that had a student in Hogwarts, to get the boy acclimated to the current youth and to help him with making friends. This meant, though, that he would have to be practically adopted into that family, and he wasn't sure how to go about it.
He wanted to find a student that was around the same age and came from a magical family that was wealthy enough that they could handle another child for 2 months out of the year, at least. He had a few candidates, but none seemed to be perfect.
Then, a thought occurred to him. Merry wouldn't have any friends, and would be entering into his third year, he estimated based on the boy's memories.
His eyes drifted over to a file he had discarded, and he quickly summoned it over to his desk.
James Potter
He hummed to himself and examined the file.
Overall, he was a good kid, just a prankster, and there would be no better family than the Potters, a couple who had desperately wanted children but could only have one. They would adore young Merry and he would adore them, and, as an added bonus, James was a Gryffindor, which he was certain Merry would be excited about, if his reverence to the house was anything to go by.
But much more importantly than all of that, taking Merry would entail a lot of work, mostly because the boy didn't have an identity in the eyes of the Magical World. The easiest way would be to have him registered at a Muggle orphanage, with a few Confundus charms for good measure, and then have him adopted by a magical family, which would get the lad paperwork in the magical world.
It would mean that the boy would have a family.
He nodded, his decision already made for him. From his perch, Fawkes gave a chirp.
"Yes Fawkes, I agree. James Potter is the perfect candidate. Now, how do we ask the family to accept a thousand year old boy into their home for the next two months?" He mused.
Fawkes let out a loud trill, puffing out his tail feathers. His beady eyes seemed to stare through the man.
Dumbledore smiled, for he knew what that look meant. "Of course, my friend, of course."
He summoned a quill and a small scroll of parchment, and began on his letter.
0o0o0o0o0o0
With a flash of light and fire, Fawkes appeared on the Potter's dinner table, a letter clutched in his talons.
The Potters were a reasonable family, and they were all very familiar with the concept of magic, all possessing it and growing up with it. So of course, if asked, they would say that a Phoenix appearing on their kitchen table was no big surprise and every family member took it calmly in stride.
Of course, they would be lying.
Fleamont Potter, the father of James and the husband of Euphemia, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, yelled and jumped to his feet, before tripping over the chair he had pushed over in his haste to get up. The gangly old man scrambled for purchase on the ground before giving up, either accepting his fate or praying his wife would solve the problem.
James Potter, the Potter Heir and proclaimed Marauder, fared no better, letting out an unmanly screech and falling down from the table, hitting his head on the floor.
Euphemia Potter, the woman who despised titles, fared much better, only knocking over a glass of water and drawing her wand, before her shock was mostly gone. The woman was certainly sturdier than her husband and son.
The Phoenix that had caused the commotion seemed rather undisturbed, preening a bit while he waited for one of the family members to accept the letter that he clutched in sharp talons.
Euphemia took the letter with steady hands, humor in her eyes. The phoenix was a better prankster than even her son, she mused, and it didn't even seem like the bird was trying.
"Bloody demon bird." Fleamont rubbed his sore behind, mostly trying to save his pride.
"Ruddy oversized chicken." James sent the phoenix a dirty look, a smile betraying his apparent ire.
As she read over the letter and her family arose from the floor, her eyebrows creased with thought. She turned to her husband. "Hurry and finish eating, we need to go see Albus."
James was worried. Was the Headmaster contacting his parents about him? He paled at the thought. What if they were going to separate him from his friends because of their pranks? Surely that couldn't be it, right? Right?
At the look on his son's face, Fleamont grinned, his injured pride no longer plaguing him. "Ah, so he's following up about James, then?"
James froze, looking between his parents with a growing horror. "Following up? What are you guys talking about?"
His parents exchanged a solemn glance before Euphemia snorted, a barely-suppressed grin on her face.
James groaned. "You guys are so mean to me! I thought I was your favorite son!"
Fleamont cracked a smile. "You're our only son, so by default, you're both our favorite and least favorite."
Euphemia sent a light stinging hex at her husband with a grin on her face. "Fleamont!" She scolded.
The man laughed before turning to pick up his chair and finish his food.
James looked to his mother. "So, if it's not about me, then why does the Headmaster need to see you?"
Euphemia shifted a bit, a frown marring her features, "I can't really tell you until we meet with him and have the discussion, but I suppose that your opinion matters, as well. If you'd like-"
"Yes, I would love to come!" James cheered, doing a victory jig.
"Finish your food, goofball." His mother lightly scolded the boy before she turned back to her own, deep in thought.
What would it mean, to bring another child into the house? Especially one with the troubles that Albus seemed to think he may have…
Well, she decided, there was only one way to find out.