Prompt: cat on a wall, boy on the doorstep
Note: Someone wondered what would happen to Sirius without Harry there. So, this is still at the beginning of Lucas' third year.
Minerva McGonagall is not a fearful woman. No one could call her that. She is proud and she is brave, and she is among the greatest transfiguration masters in the world. Many have written to her, young witches and wizards, or their parents, from every corner of the Earth, asking for an apprenticeship. She always respectfully declines.
She stays at Hogwarts for Albus. It is not love, not the way she loved her husband. But she respects him; she is loyal. For a long time, that loyalty blinded her, just a bit. But she is not blind now.
Albus may very well be the most powerful wizard in Britain. But Voldemort – yes, Voldemort, no lioness fears a mere name, and she's been fluent in French since her girlhood – was not Albus' equal till near the end. Maybe in raw power, but not in knowledge, not in experience. So why –
Minerva hates prophecies. She went to the Dursleys at Albus' request nearly a week before Sirius Black found Peter Pettigrew. And while she is still so furious at that charming knave who used to grin at her as he mastered spells years ahead of his classmates, she has had a decade now to consider that horrible time.
There was no trial. She has asked Albus, as both the Chief Warlock and the Supreme Mugwump, as her friend, as her one-time mentor – and she can no longer let herself be placated like a child. She is decades out of girlhood and she will stand the silence no longer.
If Sirius Black were guilty, then no one would deny him a trial. And Albus is the most powerful man in Europe, both magically and politically. Minerva is not as cunning as a Slytherin, but she saw the people Albus left Harry Potter with, despite her protests. A week before everyone saw how unfit Harry's rightful guardian was, Albus left him with the worst sort of muggles. But with the godfather in prison and the godmother – oh, poor, dear Alice – in St. Mungo's…
Who could demand custody of the Boy Who Lived and actually receive it?
And now, Sirius Black has escaped. Minerva no longer believes he could be guilty – he loved James too much, and what is the use of a Secret Keeper the whole world knows the identity of? Twelve years in Azkaban without a trial. How could he possibly not be mad? And who could he possibly be after at Hogwarts? Not Harry Potter. Harry Potter is still missing – and most people, though Minerva still refuses to, believe him dead.
Eyes closed, Minerva tilts her head, listening to something scurry along the floor. Ms. Norris isn't enough cat to catch every vermin –
Vermin.
Sirius Black was a transfiguration prodigy, and James Potter not too far behind him. That they believed she didn't know of their animagus studies showed a startling lack of thought. She smelled it on them – woodsy prey on James, dog on Sirius, and rat on Peter. And all they ever found of Peter was a finger.
Minerva hisses, turning to glare towards Gryffindor Tower.
Every student must register their familiar or pet. Ron Weasley's pet is the same as his brother Percy's: a rat. But not even magical rats can survive a decade without becoming too feeble to move.
And Scabbers, as his identifying feature, is recorded as missing a toe on his left front paw.
She wants to scream, to tear everything in sight to pieces – but she is no longer a little girl. She is a renowned Transfiguration Mistress, a respected professor, the Head of Gryffindor, the Deputy Headmistress. She will set a trap to catch a rat.
Minerva takes a deep, steadying breath. She is a lioness and she has a school to protect. So she rises to her feet.
It is time to inspect all of the pets in her House. Never know what nasty diseases animals might carry.
.
PETTIGREW ALIVE! every headline in the UK shouts. Minerva smiles down at the picture of the shabby little man blinking stupidly at the cuffs on his hands. Magical bindings to stop animagi were invented well before her time, but she did tweak these a bit. Even after they've been removed, the magic will stay on his traitorous skin for a full seven days. The spell will also transfer to the bars of whatever cell they put him in.
No scurrying away for that vermin.
.
BLACK INNOCENT! every headline shouts the next day. To her discerning eye, after decades of knowing the man, Albus is not as happy as he should be that a once-favored student has been vindicated.
Oh, Albus, she thinks ruefully, watching the students buzz with the news. She still loves the man, but her respect… she has stayed for him. She is not a teacher, not like Filius and Pomona. She'd prefer to work with older students, one-on-one. An apprenticeship, not a classroom. But he asked her, in the earliest days of Voldemort's rise, to come to Hogwarts to help guard the students from danger.
She doesn't trust prophecies. She never has. If the great Albus Dumbledore could not defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort, a babe-in-mother's arms surely couldn't. And now, as Albus closes his paper, eyes not twinkling at all, Minerva wonders, Did you ever try to beat him?
Minerva sighs, eyes drawn to her Gryffindors. All of the Weasleys are gone for the week; Ron and Percy were both wrecks, and she had never seen the twins so serious. All of Ron's dorm mates are confused, but the full details have yet to come out.
Sirius Black is still being sought, but the kill-on-sight order has been rescinded. He'll definitely need aid of some kind, so she hopes he turns himself in soon. Severus scowls down at the paper; Remus has looked gobsmacked since yesterday morning.
It will be a wonderful day, Minerva thinks, rising to her feet. She claps her hands together, catching everyone's attention. "Breakfast is done," she announces. "Make your way to your first class. There will be a five minute grace period. If you are tardy despite that, it will be a point a minute. Off you go!"
She glances at Albus. He meets her eyes and – for the first time – looks every one of his years. "Minerva," he says, "I have been summoned by both the ICW and the Wizengamut. I must leave the school in your hands for a few days."
"Of course, Albus," she says. "Give your duties all of your attention." She turns; the Hall is empty of students. Only Sibyll is still at the Head Table. "I must go," she says. "Good luck." As she steps off the dais, she glances back. He looks so weary, this man she once so admired.
For the first time, as she pads as silently as a cat from the Great Hall, she thinks, It might be time for him to step down. They'll speak on that when he returns.