Professor McGonagall
December 1956
"It seems so strange being back in the castle again," said Charles as he waved his wand at Minerva's dressing table and moved it over into the corner she had specified.
"Not to mention being in the teaching quarters," Sally remarked in her customary excitable Irish tone. "Have you seen Dumbledore yet?"
"Not yet," Minerva replied. "Not since he offered me the post."
"It's so great that you were recommended!" Sally exclaimed.
"Yeah, congratulations again, Minerva," said Charles. "Your reputation is obviously being paid attention to by the people who matter."
Minerva smiled. Her paper had done wonders for her reputation and she had had many people seeking her services for their various organisations and departments; though only one had mattered, and most people had seemed to know which.
"I've got them, Minerva."
Blake came stumbling through the door with rolls and rolls of parchment piled in his arms which were the remaining documents Minerva had to sign before next week's start of lessons. "Oh and I brought something else too."
Minerva had seen the 'something else' before Blake had said anything, and she smiled as Dumbledore stepped over the threshold.
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," he said, smiling broadly. "Settling in well, I hope?"
"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Sally said, and afterwards received a gentle elbow in the side from Charles.
"Good morning, Miss Aisling. Ah, my apologies – Mrs. Goddard."
Sally grinned and looked at Charles. He rolled his eyes but then chuckled and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"Hello, sir," Charles then said, holding his hand out to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore took it with a smile and said, "All's well with the muggles I hope, Mr Goddard."
"Never better, sir. We're in the calm before the storm, I think," he replied.
A titter reverberated round the room and Dumbledore looked back to Minerva.
"Is everything to your satisfaction, Minerva?"
Ignoring the wide eyed looks of her three companions at the mention of Minerva's first name, she replied, "Yes, sir, thank you. The rooms are much bigger than we all expected."
"Ah well," Dumbledore responded with feigned innocence. "Someone may have tweaked it in the interlude between staff." A smile was exchanged between the two professors. Dumbledore continued, "Dinner is at the usual time and place, Minerva; unless you would like to remain here and dine with your friends?"
"We have to be off I'm afraid, sir," Charles said, placing his arms around Sally's shoulders, indicating her as well.
"As do I," Blake added. "A popular store cannot run itself."
"I thought your father was there?" Minerva asked.
"Yes, he is," Blake replied disapprovingly with one eyebrow raised high. "As I said…"
"Well then," said Dumbledore, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed Blake's reproach, "I'll see you at dinner, Minerva. The rest of you take jolly good care of yourselves."
Minerva watched Dumbledore step back over the threshold and depart from the room, and then turned back to her friends.
"I didn't know you had to go," she said to Charles and Sally with a feeling of regret.
"Well, we don't really," Charles answered, removing his arm from around Sally's shoulders and turning back to Minerva's dressing table. "Only I thought you might want to spend your first evening with Professor – with the professors."
"I suppose you're right," Minerva responded. "It might seem rude if I'm absent from my first dinner as teacher."
"As Professor McGonagall," Sally added, with an eager grin.
The four friends worked for the next couple of hours organising Minerva's living quarters. A bedroom was attached by two double doors to a living room, and coming off the living room was a study in which Minerva and Sally were now arranging Minerva's books onto the plentiful shelves.
The study was large for a single person, which meant it was just the right size for Minerva. Like the library at her parents' home in Scotland the room had shelves completely covering all the walls. There were six walls in all, giving the room an odd shape for anywhere but Hogwarts. The carpet was green and the furniture mahogany, lending the room the scholarly feeling Minerva felt so comfortable in. There was a leather armchair close to a huge window that faced south, and an enormous fireplace in the centre of one of the walls to the left of the window which gave a flickering orange light to the entire room, save the four corners of its own wall.
Minerva and Sally quickly finished arranging the books; it was an easy job because they simply had to tell them where to go. After admiring the books' wonderful ability at following orders, they then moved from Minerva's study and into the living room where Charles and Blake were busy arranging Minerva's father's paintings on her walls.
"The one of Hogwarts should go above the fireplace, I think," Minerva heard Charles say.
"But what about the one of Minerva with that book," Blake replied. "Where's it gone?" he asked himself, looking around.
He was searching the few canvases to locate the desired painting when Sally took a step forward and made to comment, but Minerva held her back, wishing to observe the result of the men's dilemma.
"Blake," Charles said, rolling his eyes and chuckling as Blake levitated the painting with his wand. "Can you imagine Minerva having a painting of herself as the centrepiece in her own room?"
Blake laughed in response and said, "Perhaps not."
"Dumbledore would probably like it," Charles replied and the two men laughed.
"That's enough of that," Minerva interrupted, snappishly. "I'll have that one over the fire."
Charles whipped his head around, looking rather relieved that Minerva had chosen not to comment on his final remark, although he began to feel somewhat uneasy at her thinning white lips and flaring nostrils. She marched past him over to the picture her father had painted of their favourite bench situated against the side-wall of an old wand shop that was covered with the brilliant autumn red leaves of ivy, some of which had the tiniest hints of yellow-green at the stalks. In front of the bench was an old-fashioned, narrow cobbled lane in a wizarding village behind Blackmount in Rannoch Moor. The village was completely disguised to muggles with help from the mountains of the Moor and the usual mist that was often present, and of course a touch of magic. It was a wonderful painting and captured the charming essence of the village perfectly. Minerva's tense features began to soften.
"Good choice, Minerva," Blake said, a smile threatening at stretch his lips as Minerva levitated the painting with her wand.
"Right," she said, after straightening the picture above the fireplace. "What time is it?"
"Half six," Charles told her. "I suppose we should be off then."
"Thanks for coming and helping," Minerva said.
"It's fine," Sally added, pulling Minerva into a tight hug. "I'll really miss you, Minerva. You always seem to be the one going away."
Minerva smiled and pulled out of the hug.
"I'll come and visit when I can, I promise," said Minerva, with another smile at Sally's consistently emotional farewells.
She embraced Charles and Blake (and Sally again) with further promises of letters and visits. Watching them depart, Minerva felt a bizarre mixture of emotions – excitement and woe.
x x x
The good weekend moods of the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be heard for miles of corridor before one reached the Great Hall. As Minerva's steps drew her closer, predictably the riotous voices of hundreds of pupils grew louder and louder, and Minerva's nerves grew more unsteady.
As she walked among several groups of first years heading towards the Hall, no one seemed to notice her; presumably they believed her to be a teacher whom they had simply not come across yet. She therefore used this lack of regard to regain her composure. She breathed deeply through her nostrils, clenched her jaw and quickened her pace as the main doors of the Great Hall came into view. She turned left down a narrow corridor just before the doors and set off towards the staff entrance.
It was quieter here. The thick, heavy tapestries of the victories and defeats of battles that clothed the walls muffled the noise around her, and the cold stone of the narrow floor and low ceiling cooled the breeze that fluttered down the corridor.
Minerva pushed the small but thick-set wooden door at the end of the corridor which then opened in the middle of a wall in a room about a third the size of the Great Hall. The room had a high ceiling and several fires were blazing in their grates all around, making the room appear as though it was moving in fits and starts. The room was void of any furniture save four tables at elbow-height for members of staff to stand around with their drinks before or after their meals, should they wish to.
"Professor McGonagall." A familiar voice sounded from Minerva's left. She turned and attached the voice to its rightful owner. "Good evening," said Slughorn. "Nervous, eh? Never you mind about that."
Professor Slughorn was the last person with whom Minerva wished to have a conversation, especially because his assumption of her mindset was now entirely false, for she had calmed her nerves and anticipation of the evening had replaced them. Annoyance flashed up inside her at his comment; her lips thinned and her nostrils flared for the second time that evening.
"I am simply going to eat my dinner among noisy students," she replied sharply. "Do you usually become nervous at such things? Pity," she added, and then left before he could respond.
She knew that her comments were impolite, but the joy she felt at being able to openly talk with Slughorn as an equal and without the result of being punished with a detention was worth the lifted eyebrow and the 'tut' of the two witches close by, whom she did not recognise but assumed to be members of the Hogwarts teaching staff.
Minerva walked towards the door in the corner of the wall to her right on the far side of the room, behind which she knew lay the Great Hall and all the students of Hogwarts. She had just reached the door when, all of a sudden, her spine straightened and her shoulder blades quivered as she felt a presence materialise behind her. She turned and as she did so saw the twinkling eyes and soft smile of Dumbledore dressed in royal blue robes embroidered with a spiralling silver pattern made from a material she had never seen before; it looked like liquidised silver and had a shine to match the glint in his eyes.
Minerva had taken in a quick, audible breath when she turned, and so released it steadily as she relaxed in his presence.
"Ready to face you latest challenge?" Dumbledore said softly.
"As always," replied Minerva, sounding surprisingly certain to her ears, which made her feel even more sure of her confidence.
Dumbledore moved to her left side and pushed the door open with his hand, holding it wide enough for her to pass through before him. As she passed she felt his long beard tickle her arm and his breath swim just under the rim of her hat, and she felt poise sail through every vein of her being. Lifting her chin, Minerva took several confident steps forward to her designated seat (the far end but one) at the staff table.
x x x
"…and then I vanished to a room on the sixth floor inside the castle!"
A roar of laughter went up in the room off the Great Hall, mixed with several impressed 'oohs'. Dinner was over and it had not done its build up any justice. It was uneventful apart from Dumbledore's announcement of the new Transfiguration teacher which came with an applause that was rather louder than Minerva had expected. She had even heard a few students in the sea of black hats 'whoop' for her. In the few moments after dinner, however, the situation had been entirely different. Around one of the high tables Slughorn had begun to tell the story of Minerva's Relocation Dome in her final year to an attentive audience of a few members of staff, including the two witches she had seen in the same room just before dinner.
Minerva was not embarrassed in the slightest; why should she be? She received several astounded looks from a few of the teachers and it would be a good starting point in a conversation with them. A short, dumpy looking witch left the small group around Slughorn and Minerva watched as she waddled up to her. Her eyes were a fantastic shade of pure violet and her hair seemed to be blacker than the pitch night as it sprang loosely just below her shoulders as she walked. She had a very pretty face and Minerva was trying to recall whether or not she had ever come across her before because she could not be much older than Minerva herself.
"Professor McGonagall?" the witch asked in a deep, husky voice, as though she had a sore throat.
Minerva nodded and smiled politely at the pretty witch who was at this point standing opposite, and Minerva now observed that her eyes shone like purple jewels in firelight.
"I'm Margery Badgerjack – the new astronomy professor." She spoke quickly but clearly and with what Minerva could only describe as 'oomph'. She held out her hand to Minerva, who took it with surprise. In her mind Professor Badgerjack had born more of a resemblance to an aunt (also named Margery) whom Minerva had never exactly seen eye to eye with. This aunt had been tall and as thin as a wand with flaming red hair, very pale skin and deep brown eyes.
"How do you do?" said Minerva, conquering her surprise immediately and shaking Badgerjack's hand.
"Looking forward to your new classes?" Badgerjack asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, said, "They're all right really. You just have to make sure they respect you instantly and you're unscathed for the rest of their school years."
Minerva joined in Badgerjack's chuckle and replied, "Thank you, I'll bear that in mind."
Another laugh erupted from Slughorn's group and Badgerjack turned to watch them, her eyes narrowed.
"A right character, that Slughorn, isn't he?" she said. It wasn't meant as a question and Minerva stayed silent. "He wasn't here when I was at school. Started the year I left, I think – thirty, was it?"
"I'm not sure," Minerva replied, then noting that Badgerjack was a student at Hogwarts several years before Minerva; they would have never crossed paths. "It was around that time. He'd been here for a few years before I joined in thirty six."
"Hmm. I read your paper, by the way," Badgerjack revealed. "It was astounding. I'm not surprised your name has been at the top of Dumbledore's list for Merlin knows how many years. I'm not aware of any other witch or wizard even being mentioned until it was certain you weren't available. I'd like to discuss your work with you when you have a free moment, if that's okay with you?"
This one was a question. "Of course," Minerva responded with zeal. "I'd be glad too."
"Wonderful!" Badgerjack exclaimed. "Ah, Dumbledore."
For the second time that evening, Dumbledore had made an appearance behind Minerva, and once again a shiver had straightened her spine.
"Good evening, Margery; Minerva," Dumbledore said, touching his hand to his hat in greeting. "Marvellous meal was it not?" he asked happily, bouncing once on the balls of his feet.
"Delicious, Dumbledore," Badgerjack replied energetically.
"Very nice," said Minerva, characteristically not overdoing her praise.
"I wonder if I could have a quick tête-à-tête for a short moment with you, Minerva," Dumbledore inquired. "I shan't keep you new friend long, Margery," Dumbledore told Badgerjack with a smile, and Minerva felt his hand enclose around her arm just above her right elbow as he gently tugged her towards the door that led into the draughty corridor Minerva had walked through on her way to dinner.
The door opened of its own accord, as if knowing that someone wished to exit the room. Dumbledore guided Minerva through, still with his hand on her arm and then nudged her gently forward so that she could walk ahead of him in the narrow corridor, which was too small it seemed to allow two people to walk abreast.
The tapestries once again made the silence deepen as the two professors walked through, and muffled the sound of Minerva's heels that were gently tapping on the stone surface. She could feel Dumbledore's presence behind her the whole time although not one sound escaped from him; his breathing was not audible, neither were his shoes nor his cloak. It would have been as if no one was there if Minerva could not feel her skin prickling at the base of her neck.
She stepped out of the corridor and turned back, lifting an eyebrow in question. Dumbledore joined her in the Entrance Hall and gestured to his right up the stairs and into a much wider and warmer corridor than the one they had just abandoned. It was then that Minerva knew where she was being taken. The path they were walking was the same path she had taken almost every day for seven years; the one which had led her to her favourite subject and Dumbledore's lessons.
They stopped just outside the door to the Transfiguration classroom. Minerva noticed that Dumbledore stepped back to give her space and privacy. She took a deep breath causing her nostrils to gently expand, and let it out slowly through a tiny gap in her lips. She began to feel aware of every inch of her skin and could feel her blood reach the tips of her fingers and toes as it coursed through her veins. As she lifted her hand to the doorknob she could feel each individual molecule of air brush against her arm, then she felt the sharp coolness of metal against her palm and fingers, and with some effort turned it until she heard it click.
The door itself was not as heavy as she remembered as she pushed it open and stepped into her new classroom. Half aware that Dumbledore followed only as far as the threshold and didn't enter with her, she swept her eyes over every part of the room; her room. There were about thirteen desks in total which could seat two students each, the dark mahogany finish shining brightly. These all faced a much larger desk, polished in the same way but appearing much grander than its onlookers. In this desk there were six drawers, three each side of a large chair which also had the same dark finish but included a deep red cushioned seat and backrest. There were wood carvings and engravings on its arms and around the cushion on the backrest which matched the legs of the desk it stood with.
The rest of the room was bare; quite different to the way it had been when she had first glimpsed it. At that time there had been all sorts of contraptions surrounding Minerva and her classmates; some sent small puffs of clouds floating into the air, others shimmered and shook and caused many students' eyes to tire if they stared for too long, and even more devices simply stood stationary, but looked peculiar as they remained immobile.
"It is yours to do with as you please." Dumbledore's voice floated softly to Minerva's ears from behind her by the door, and she welcomed it gratefully.
"I shall," she replied, turning to face him. "Thank you."
As Minerva looked at him a silence grew between them. Neither knew what to say at such a moment of appreciation; one felt gratitude for the offer of a job she would give a lifetime to fulfil, the other a heartfelt contentment because the woman before him had finally accepted his offer.
Minerva struggled to find words in her mind and therefore threw the verbally complex topic aside and picked a feeling out of her mind that was just forming; thirst.
"Would you like to stay for a drink, Prof– Albus?" Minerva asked. "You look as though you are about to leave. Why don't you come in?"
Dumbledore stepped over the threshold into Minerva's classroom in answer. Standing next to her chair, Minerva waved her wand and a hot chocolate and a cup of lemon tea appeared on coasters on her desk. Dumbledore also waved his wand at one of the small desks and a second chair, more cushioned than Minerva's, appeared at the front of the desk. He took his seat only after Minerva had taken hers. She watched as he picked up his hot chocolate, closed his eyes and sighed comfortably into his newly created chair.
Minerva also sat back in her new chair. She had picked up her tea, holding it in her two hands with her elbows resting on the chair arms and began blowing upon the surface of her hot tea. She peered at Dumbledore over the glasses resting near the tip of her nose. He opened his eyes and smiled cheerfully at her.
"I hope you have plans to do remarkable things to this dreary room, Minerva," said Dumbledore.
One corner of Minerva's lips tweaked upwards. "I'm not sure about remarkable," she said, "but I'll certainly do my best to make it more cheerful. I'm not sure about matching the contraptions you placed around the room though." Dumbledore smiled as she spoke. "They distracted many of us you know," she said.
"I find it hard to believe that you could be distracted in one of my lessons, Minerva," replied Dumbledore. "Or any lesson for that matter. You were quite the academic; and I am lead to believe that you still are," he continued.
"You read my paper?"
"I flatter myself that I was one of the first," he replied, doing his best impression of exaggerated superiority.
Minerva breathed out sharply through her nose in a quiet laugh and inquired as to whether or not he approved.
"How could I not take pleasure in reading such an exquisite piece of writing?" he declared enthusiastically. "I shall even go as far as to say that I believe I benefited from reading it. I particularly enjoyed the explanation of transfiguration in religious rituals."
"That was one of my favourite sections," Minerva stated with fervour. "When I was travelling up the east of Egypt I came across ancient rituals that are still being carried out today of wizards and witches transforming inanimate objects into creatures and back again, like a snake into a stick or a beetle into a stone, to display the control of their power to the Gods.
"One group asked me to stay after I told them why I was there because they wanted me to join them and transfigure myself to make their ritual all the more powerful."
"And did you?" Dumbledore asked, curious of her answer.
"I stayed, but I didn't join the ritual," Minerva answered plainly.
"May I ask why?" Dumbledore urged.
Minerva looked at him as she answered. "I don't share their beliefs," she replied simply. "I wasn't comfortable worshipping Gods I don't believe in and I didn't think it fair to mislead them. They understood and allowed me to stay and observe their traditions."
"How did you find it?" asked Dumbledore, still interested in what she had to say.
"It was –" Minerva struggled to find the right word. There didn't seem to be any to express what she had felt that night. "– elevating," she finished, frowning, unsatisfied with the word but unable to find another more suitable one lurking in her mind.
"I understand." Dumbledore's response sounded genuine and was a surprise to Minerva, but as she looked back at him she thought of how many moments he must have had in which he could not find the words to express the emotion he had felt in a certain situation. Dumbledore will have had far more adventures in his past and, given his pleasure in the unusual and the unexplored, there would definitely be emotions in him too great to express. She smiled at him and saw him smile warmly in return.
"I have something for you," Dumbledore said, reaching into his robes. Minerva watched as he placed on the desk between them a jet black stone about the size of a snitch. Minerva recognised it from one of the items that had cluttered the Transfiguration classroom when she had been his pupil. She looked from the stone to the man opposite, an inquisitive expression forming her features.
"I was younger than you are now," he continued, "and possibly a little too confident of the effect my powers would have on the ritual." Minerva's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Yes," he said answering her unspoken question. "I have attended one of the rituals you talk of. However, I did not have the feeling that I was invading a ceremony I did not believe in, although perhaps I should have had that courtesy. I was simply caught up in the exhilaration running through me, and so granted the wizards their request for me to attend."
"What happened?" Minerva's voice was almost a whisper. She felt like she was asking a very personal question.
"My powers made no extraordinary effect – probably because I was not overcome with the feeling of the Gods entering my body as they claim. However, the thrill that ran through me then was something I had never experienced and still haven't to this day. It is something I cannot put to words, as you know."
"And the stone?"
"The stone was a scarab beetle. They asked me to keep it; to remind me of the feeling that overpowered me and gave me a rush of life. I want you to keep it here to remind you of that feeling, and to help you teach your students that the world is bigger than the walls of the castle, and that most of it is exciting and unknown."
Minerva looked at Dumbledore in silence. He had just put to words some of the feelings she had been experiencing since she had returned from her travels.
"Thank you, sir," she whispered. "Albus."
Minerva pulled her wand out of her robes and moved the stone into the exact position it had been in when she was a student at the school. Dumbledore followed it with his eyes, which crinkled with his smile.
"One thing you do need in here is a clock," he said merrily, bringing his eyes back to face Minerva. "I'm afraid I moved my rather elaborate one up to my office when I became headmaster." He pulled out his watch from his robes and sighed. "It's getting late," he said heaving himself out of his chair. "I should let you get to your rooms and get some rest. I'll apologise to Margery for keeping you longer than I promised."
Minerva stood with rather less effort than Dumbledore because her chair was more solid and easier to get out of.
"Goodnight, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, standing in front of her.
"Goodnight, Albus," she replied, looking up into the face that was looking softly down at her, but not smiling.
He did not leave. He held her gaze and made no effort to move towards the door. Minerva's mind began to swim, and her head felt heavy as if she had stood up too quickly. She saw his face inch closer and felt his lips softly brush her own. She kissed him back gently and they both pulled away before the kiss was given a chance to deepen.
He looked at her once more and, not quite smiling, he said, "I'll see you at breakfast."
She watched him walk away and, as she heard the door click, the breath she had unknowingly been holding rushed from her lungs as water from a floodgate.