A/N: This is the Chudley Cannons Chaser 1 checking in for Season 9 Round 4 of QLFC.
Chaser 1: American Horror Story: Coven
Optional Prompts: 9. (word) Priority; 10. (color) Pink; 13. (dialogue) "I feel like perhaps I am not being taken seriously."
Word count (before A/N): 2,674 words
Special thanks to Ashleigh for beta-ing!
Minerva smiled to herself as she exited The Hogwarts Express, her black winklepicker boots landing hard on the platform floor. She had been offered the Floo as a means of transport, but it was a rarity she had the opportunity to take the train. How convenient the summer routine maintenance ride was scheduled the same day she was due in London.
Nodding briefly to the attendant and hoisting her oversized bag into her arms, she walked toward the Platform 9 ¾ entrance, counting to three before walking through the barrier. It was silly, she knew, but she'd always waited those three seconds, even as a child, as if timing the Muggles on the other side. Somehow, it always worked too, because Minerva walked into the Muggle station without even the glance of a passer-by.
Again she smiled to herself. It was going to be a good day, indeed.
The wizarding world was healing slowly after the war, though with plenty of successes along the way. A new Minister of Magic, a new Headmistress at Hogwarts. She and Kinglesy had worked tirelessly the last five years to build back what they could and to innovate where they needed it most. With Kingsley's approval, Minerva was just a few minutes away from setting into motion one of her proudest projects yet: a Muggle-born integration program.
She'd always wondered why the wizarding community didn't take more time to acclimate young Muggle-born wizards and witches. Showing up unexpectedly at a Muggle family's house and telling them their eleven-year-old child was a magical being seemed like a poor introduction to their world. Especially after the divisiveness of the war, integrating Muggle-borns was a vital task. And so, Minerva had proposed they set up something like a trial classroom. She wouldn't be teaching these Muggle-borns magic; not yet, anyway. That was primarily the task of Hogwarts and its collection of brilliant professors.
Instead, she'd teach these new students about wizard culture. Explain terminology they might not know. Detail wizard currency. Introduce them to the recent history of wizardom without instituting fear.
She had twelve students in total. All eleven-years-old, already informed of their admission into Hogwarts that fall. They would be meeting weekly, each Saturday, for the entire summer.
Minerva tried not to feel disappointed by the attendance's small size. She wanted to have all of the soon-to-be students involved, but not every family had jumped at the opportunity. She could understand, to an extent. It couldn't possibly be easy to send your child into the unknown.
Still, twelve was a start. Coincidentally, it was twelve girls, too, and Minerva had made them her number one priority once all was said and done, pooling together resources and deciding how she'd work her way through the summer course. Excitement bubbled in her chest as she stepped into a deserted corner of the station and Disapperated to the little building just outside the Ministry she'd be meeting her ward.
"Professor McGonagall, you're right on time." She'd only just landed, but the tiny red-headed witch from the Ministry was already ushering her inside. "They're here, by the way, in the classroom we've set up. It's similar to Muggle school, as you requested, to help ease them into the process."
"Thank you, Charity." Minerva patted the young woman's hand as they rounded the final corner and stood just outside the classroom door. "Will I need to check in with the Minister after?"
"He said to owl him if there were any hiccups, but other than that, he has full faith in you," Charity said with a smile. Minerva nodded and pushed open the door.
Twelve sets of eyes turned toward her. Some looked hopeful while others looked ready to vomit. Minerva's boots click-clacked across the tiled floor, her eyes surreptitiously scanning the room. That is, until she had to do a double take, her sight lingering ever so slightly longer on an inquisitive looking girl in the front row decked in a head-to-foot pink gingham dress with matching pink ribbons nestled in raven black hair.
It was a style choice, for sure.
Minerva set her bag on the desk meant for her and assessed the room again, careful not to stare at the pink girl in front lest she make the poor thing uncomfortable. There were two rows with six seats in each, staggered so that no one blocked the view of the other. The windows had been charmed to mimic a Muggle classroom's as well, large and stretching the length of the room on one side. A chalkboard stood behind Minerva, blank and ready for learning.
The girls looked at her expectantly.
Normally, Minerva would transform into her cat form, but she wanted to take this slow. Besides, if she revealed her best trick now, the first day of term wouldn't be nearly as fun. Instead, she cleared her throat and introduced herself.
"Good morning, ladies. My name is Minerva McGonagall, though you will be better served to address me as Professor McGonagall once you arrive at Hogwarts. As you are familiar with at this point, I am here to introduce you to the wizarding world." She paused to see if they were listening, which, to her delight, they seemed enraptured. "Before I do that, are there any questions?"
The pink girl's hand shot right up. Little brown freckles raced up and down her pale arms, extending upward across her round face. Her hand waited patiently in the air for permission to speak.
"Yes, Miss—"
"Penelope, ma'am."
"Right, Penelope. What is your question?"
The girl opened her mouth and shut it just as quick. At first, Minerva feared that even the seemingly bravest of the bunch might feel intimidated by her, but then Minerva caught the subtle eagerness hidden behind the girl's bright blue eyes.
"Can you—if it's not any trouble," Penelope started. "Can you show us a bit of magic?"
A murmur of approval spread across the room. Minerva allowed herself to smile, a small gesture she hoped they wouldn't notice too easily. She liked this Penelope girl, pink ribbons and all.
"That is an excellent request." Extracting her wand from the inside of her long sleeves, Minerva silently cast a litany of tiny sparks, the tip of her wand lighting up red and blue. She made sure to keep the demonstration contained, but even the short display turned the hesitant students into awestruck participants.
"So we really are witches?" another little voice piped up. Minerva turned to her, a thin girl in the second row with neatly braided hair and warm brown skin. She stared wide-eyed, the deep black of her irises nearly blending with her pupils.
"Your name?" Minerva asked the girl.
"Flynn."
This time, Minerva let them see her smile outright. "Yes, Flynn. You really are witches."
Their excitement washed over her, warming her with a delight she could only describe as glowing. Suddenly, the added chatter from her students didn't upset Minerva like it normally would have in a regular classroom setting. She wanted them to explore this side of themselves. She'd spent countless hours prioritizing these girls' needs in the weeks leading up to this, and now they had the chance to revel in magic without being overwhelmed or out of their depth.
Minerva was excited, too.
"Professor?"
It was the second Saturday of the Muggle-born integration program, and Minerva had been late. Peeves had decided to, that very morning, blow out the doors of the seventh floor corridor's hallway, all the hinges rusted overnight by a potion he'd somehow managed to get ahold of. Minerva spent the better part of the morning chastising Horace for not locking up his storage room instead of getting ready. By the time she had to Floo to London, she was barely dressed and had forgotten her bag.
The girls were supposed to be learning about wizarding currency, but she didn't have any on her. So now Minerva had to improvise. She started with asking if there were any questions.
"Yes, Penelope?" She addressed the only girl with her hand up. This week, Penelope was clad in all purple, from the sandals on her freckled feet all the way up to the clips in her hair. Minerva almost missed the pink.
"Are we a coven?"
"Are we a—what?"
"I was doing some research at the library this week about witches. My mum works there, and she just got a brand new computer in her office, so I went online to see what else I could find." Minerva only had a vague sense of what a computer was, and the term "online" was definitely new. Regardless, she schooled her face to keep Penelope from knowing her lack of understanding. "The internet says thirteen witches is a coven. There's twelve of us and one of you, so that's thirteen," Penelope finished.
"Well—"
"Wait, weren't covens from the time of the witch hunts?" another girl, Lorna, piped up.
"Right!" Penelope looked very pleased with herself. "I read the witch hunts lasted for hundreds of years. Is that true, Professor McGonagall?"
"Well, yes," Minerva started. But then the room broke out into tiny whispers and gasps, and Minerva knew immediately that she should have chosen her words better. However, a tried-and-true educator, she reined her lot back to the present. "But the witch hunts and trials are long over. It's part of the reason why we keep the wizarding world separate. To protect ourselves, as well as the Muggles. Mass hysteria like that doesn't just hurt actual wizards and witches. Many Muggles fell into the crosshairs."
She cleared her throat. "Now, this is all history that you will be learning in Professor Binns's class once you're at school. I'd hate to usurp his lessons," she had to hold back a grimace. These students would probably learn more from her than Binns any day, "so let's move on. Any other questions?"
Flynn's hand shot up. "So, are we a coven then?"
Minerva closed her eyes. This would be a long lesson after all.
One week later, all hell broke loose. Minerva blamed the internet.
While she had been successful in pulling the girls' attention back to the wizarding world and not the ancient covens of witches past, the seed had been sown. Every single one had gone home to their computer machines and spent time on the elusive "online."
"When does a witch's skin turn green? Or is that only the wicked witches?"
"Will I grow warts on my nose?"
"Do we really use man's tongue as an ingredient in potions?"
"How many houses have fallen on a witch before? Statistically speaking, should I be worried?"
"Is Love Potion Number Nine real?"
"If I wiggle my nose, will I cast a spell? Or snap my fingers and point?"
"But I don't want to be burned at the stake!"
Minerva sat tucked behind her desk, one hand covering her mouth, the other toying with the wand in her pocket. If she Disapparated, would anyone truly know? The girls would simply think she vanished or maybe ask the internet what had happened. Sure, Charity would have to tell Kingsley, which would be humiliating. All those meetings, all that planning—she couldn't give up just like that.
The girls' inquisition grew a decibel louder at someone's mention of summoning the dead.
"Albus, help me," Minerva mumbled to herself. What other ridiculous notions existed in the Muggle lexicon about witches? Had her kind really become so far removed from the world that this was what was left of their culture?
She was done feeling sorry and overwhelmed. She'd fought for this class, after all, and it was about time she retook control.
"Alright, that's quite enough." Minerva stood, both hands landing hard against the surface of the desk in front of her with a bang. The room immediately quieted. "I feel like perhaps I have not been taken seriously in these lessons, but I assure you that's about to change."
She peered across the room. Twelve sets of eyes locked onto her, watching her every move now, their questions fading on their tongues like wisps of candy floss.
Minerva continued, "I don't know very much about this internet thing, but I can assure you that you can't possibly believe everything it has to say. The wizarding world is a beautiful place, with many opportunities for each and every one of you. I wonder if prioritizing a Muggle setting has potentially led you all to forget that magic does, in fact, exist."
An idea clicked in her mind. "We're going on a trip next week. To Hogwarts. In the meantime, I will be the one asking questions: What does 'online' actually mean?"
The weeks began to blur after that, each one growing exceedingly brighter in Minerva's mind. The girls finally settled into the routine, and while the odd question lingered—particularly around "hocus pocus" and virgin candles, whatever that meant—they were able to make it through the summer without another day of chaos.
In fact, Minerva felt right pleased with the progress they'd made. Going to Hogwarts proved a positive adventure. Suddenly, magic became the focal point, and the girls took to it like a hippogriff to the sky. They'd covered currency, wizarding landmarks, walked the halls of the Ministry as well as the compartments on the Hogwarts Express. Minerva even demonstrated how to get to and from Platform 9 ¾.
One of their final meetings had been spent speaking with Muggle-born fifth, sixth, and seventh years, who, Minerva quickly learned, loved this new program. They'd said as much just as they left the classroom, wishing they'd had something similar to make the transition to Hogwarts less harrowing that first year.
"So." Kingsley smiled at her from across the same room. He'd sat in on her last class of the summer, and now she was soaking in the final memories like she always did at the end of term—by sitting quietly behind her desk in her empty classroom. Just her and the warm summer sun seeping through the window panes.
"A success, I take it?" he asked her, approaching slowly.
"I'll say." She gave him a knowing glance. "We've done well since the war."
"We're a good team, Minerva." He sank into a seat in the front row. "I'm really glad that it worked out. All twelve seem like bright individuals. That Penelope is a character."
"I know I shouldn't have favorites, but I quite liked that one. Even when she brings up her wild Muggle theories." They both laughed. Minerva continued, "Next year, do you think we'll have a bigger turn out? Assuming, of course, the program gets a sophomore season."
"A safe assumption. Though, I thought you appreciated the smaller size." Kingsley scratched his chin. "I picked twelve for a reason, you know."
She cocked an eyebrow. "I thought the other parents refused to participate?"
"Oh, no," he laughed, "I capped the class at twelve. Seemed appropriate and all. There's powerful magic behind the number thirteen, after all. A connection back to our roots and the days of strong female covens."
Minerva gripped the armrests on her chair, her eyes growing wide. She looked him over, hoping he wasn't possibly serious. And yet, his face held firm, his eyes thoughtful.
Sweat pooled on the back of Minerva's neck, and she desperately wanted to bring her girls back and tell them they were right… even if she found the mere notion of covens ridiculous. They'd been right!
Kingsley let out a boisterous laugh, pulling Minerva from her thoughts. Her mood soured instantly. "You're joking, aren't you?"
"I couldn't resist!" He wiped away a tear. "Your face. Priceless, Minerva."
She shook her head, pursing her lips. They did make a great team. Not many people were able to get that kind of rise out of her. She let the Minister finish his chuckles, all the while knowing her program would in fact be returning. The smile on Kingsley's face said it all.