A/N: I've been re-reading the Harry Potter books and I just couldn't help myself. I had to turn to fanfiction again. I hadn't written for Albus and Minerva in a long time. All my stories were old and really rather terrible, so I decided to start all over again. Literally. With the day they first met. I will stick to canon and everything Rowling published on Pottermore wherever I can. But I will determine Minerva's age based on the number of years she taught at Hogwarts (as given in Order of the Phoenix) and the number of years between her Hogwarts graduation and the start of her teaching career (as given on Pottermore) – which means that I will completely disregard the Fantastic Beasts movies. Also, this will probably become a romance at some point, but I'm not quite sure yet where my journey with these two characters will take me this time. Perhaps some of you would like to come along for the ride.
PART I
"It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be."
1. Hatstall
Hogwarts was the prettiest castle eleven-year-old Minerva McGonagall had ever seen. And having been born and raised in Scotland, she had seen loads. Of course, she had never been this anxiously waiting and at the same time secretly terrified to see any of them before.
Minerva could hear the noise of hundreds of students who were busy finding their seats in the Great Hall, greeting their classmates and chatting about the summer holidays without a care in the world. She longed to join them, but she and the other soon-to-be first-years had been told to wait in this small classroom.
Wait for the sorting to begin. Minerva felt like she had been waiting for this moment ever since she had figured out that she was different from all the other children in her village. Waiting and worrying and hoping, but always in secret, of course. Because the other kids and, more importantly, their parents could never find out that she was a… a witch.
Well, technically, she wasn't a real witch yet. She couldn't do any magic. Not on purpose anyway. Hopefully, that would change soon. She was dying to learn. She was dying to do anything that didn't involve more waiting.
Nevertheless, Minerva did her best to keep still. Most of her fellow first-years did the same. Of course, some of them looked like they were simply too scared or too nervous to move or talk. One boy seemed perfectly at ease, however. He was walking from one student to the next, asking everyone's names.
Minerva wasn't exactly anxious for him to reach her. He had a bit of a stuck-up look. But when he did get around to her, Minerva didn't want to be rude, so she told him her name. As soon as she had done so, the boy wrinkled his snobbish little nose.
"That's a funny name," he said.
Before Minerva could think of a reply, a girl next to her spoke up, "Yeah, I'm sure she's never heard that one before."
Surprised, Minerva looked to her left. She had, in fact, heard that one before. Many times. In a village like hers on the outskirts of Caithness, full of church-going, no-nonsense kind of people, the name of a heathen goddess did not fail to attract attention. Which was of course why her mother had given her the name. Much to her father's initial dismay. But Minerva was not only the name of the Roman goddess of wisdom, it had also been her grandmother's name, who, according to her mother, had been an extraordinary witch. And so Minerva was proud to bear her name.
On most days anyway. Today, it really was a bit of a funny name.
The boy looked askance at the girl who had come to Minerva's aid and walked off without asking any more questions.
"Thanks," Minerva said. "So, um, who are you?"
The girl was a little plump and quite a bit shorter than Minerva, but she had a head of curly hair and an easy smile. "My name's Augusta Longbottom."
Despite her nervousness, Minerva couldn't hide a grin. "Now that really is a funny name," she joked.
Augusta blinked, and for a moment, Minerva feared that she had offended her, but then Augusta burst out laughing and, feeling a lot better, Minerva joined in.
"I seem to have missed something extraordinarily funny," a deep voice suddenly said from behind them. "Would you two like to share with the rest of us?"
Minerva clamped her mouth shut so fast that her teeth rattled. With her heart in her throat, she turned around to the teacher who had just returned to the classroom and who was now looking right at her down a slightly crooked nose.
He had neatly trimmed auburn hair and a beard and wore magnificent robes of a deep midnight blue with golden stitching. Also, he was very tall and imposing, and, looking like a very powerful wizard, he could have been quite frightening. It was only the amused twinkle in his eyes behind those half-moon spectacles he was wearing that told Minerva that she wasn't being scolded.
Perhaps it was that twinkle that gave her the courage to answer. "No, Professor. It really wasn't that funny."
"What a pity. There's no such thing as too much laughter," he said before he turned his gaze on all of them. "We are ready for you now, and the sorting will begin momentarily. The sorting, that is, into one of Hogwarts' four houses, which, I'm sure you all know, are Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor."
He paused for a moment as if to prepare for a lengthy explanation of the four houses and Minerva was ready to memorize every word. But all he said was, "I will not bore you with the details as you will learn all there is to know about each of the four houses very shortly. Suffice it to say that, no matter which house you will be sorted into, Hogwarts will offer you a home if you so desire. And I hope each of you will give our school your very best in return."
Having said all he apparently had wanted to say, he turned around. But the boy from earlier, who seemed obsessed with names, stepped forward. "Excuse me, Professor, I didn't catch your name."
Minerva found the boy's behaviour very annoying, but the professor only gave a soft chuckle. "That's because I didn't give you my name. I find that most newly arrived students are too – shall we say – preoccupied to remember it. It is a fairly long name, you see? But since you asked so nicely…" His lips twitched. "My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. But don't worry, Professor Dumbledore will suffice. Now, if there are no other questions, please follow me."
There definitely would have been more questions, but Professor Dumbledore had turned around so fast that no one else got the chance to ask them. Minerva got the feeling that Dumbledore had done that on purpose, because as soon as he had told them who he was, all first-years had started whispering amongst themselves excitedly.
Dumbledore? The Dumbledore? Everybody knew that name of course. He had only just been awarded the Order of Merlin (First Class) for having defeated Grindelwald in what was now considered to have been the greatest duel ever fought between two wizards. More recently, there had even been rumours that he would become the next Minister for Magic. Minerva couldn't believe that he was still teaching here, that he would be teaching them. If she had been excited for classes to start before, she could hardly wait now. Of course, she wished Dumbledore hadn't just caught her laughing her head off like a silly little girl. In light of that, Minerva wouldn't have tried to ask any questions, even if Professor Dumbledore had given them the chance.
Which he didn't.
He led them out of the small classroom, through the Entrance Hall and a set of double doors into the grandest hall Minerva had ever seen. She had known that the Great Hall would be magical. But seeing it for herself was very different than just reading about it. She couldn't decide which was more intimidating – the enchanted ceiling (twinkling with hundreds of stars) or all those students and teachers staring at her and the other first-years.
They followed Professor Dumbledore like little ducklings and marched down the Great Hall all the way up to the High Table where the teachers were sitting. Right in front of the staff table sat a stool with an old hat on it. While the Great Hall was even more impressive than Minerva had imagined it to be, the Sorting Hat made for a rather sorry sight. It was patched in several places and it looked like it had sat on way too many different heads in his long life. Minerva would have felt much better if the future of her entire school career hadn't depended on something so… frayed.
No one else seemed particularly bothered or concerned by this, however. Everyone turned their attention towards the hat and after a short pause (for dramatic effect, Minerva supposed), the hat began to speak in a singsongy voice. As Professor Dumbledore had promised, the hat told them all about the four houses.
How Ravenclaw looked for students who were wise and smart, while Hufflepuff welcomed those who were kind and full of heart. Slytherin then favoured cleverness and ambition, whereas courage and chivalry were most important in Gryffindor's vision.
It was a nice song, but Minerva thought she would have preferred to hear about the houses from Dumbledore.
Still, she clapped like everyone else when the hat had finished. Professor Dumbledore picked up a scroll of parchment. "When I call your name, and only your name," he seemed to wink at the obnoxious boy with all his questions, "please come forward and put on the hat."
Minerva settled in for a bit of a wait, but watched with great interest as her fellow classmates were sorted into their new houses. Sometimes the hat's decision was instantaneous (the nosy boy, whose name, incidentally, was Eric Elcoat, was declared a Ravenclaw within seconds). Other times, the hat took a little longer to decide, but all in all, the sorting was swift and efficient.
The hat sent Augusta off to Gryffindor and suddenly it was Minerva's turn to put on the hat. It was too big for her and dropped over her eyes, even with her glasses. The Great Hall vanished from view and all Minerva could see was the black inside of the hat. It looked just as old and dirty from the inside as it had from the outside.
"Everybody's a critic," a small voice said in her ear, and Minerva jumped.
She wanted to apologize, but she would have felt silly talking to a hat.
"No need," the hat continued as if it were perfectly normal that it had just read her thoughts. "You have a very sharp mind. Inquisitive, demanding, a keen thirst for knowledge…"
Well, surely she wasn't as bad as that Elcoat boy, or so Minerva hoped. He had been made a Ravenclaw, though he hadn't seemed that smart to Minerva.
"You think you're smarter than him, eh?" the hat asked, and again Minerva winced.
That hadn't been a very nice thought, but she couldn't be punished for thinking it, could she?
"No, you might be right. I do see a lot more potential in you, lots of discipline, too, a quick wit. Ravenclaw would certainly help you find the answers you seek and learn all there is to learn."
Minerva supposed she would have to get along with Elcoat. Perhaps he hadn't meant to be rude. She should probably give him a second chance. But if he did turn out to be a horse's ass, then Minerva vowed here and now to stand up to him next time he bothered her or Augusta, should they have classes together. Though Augusta probably didn't need Minerva's help to stand up for herself.
"Feeling chivalrous now, are we?" the hat noted.
Minerva had almost forgotten that he was there. Had he still not decided? With all the other students, he had shouted the name of the house for everyone to hear. Minerva hadn't heard him yell anything yet.
"Hmm, I see determination and great strength, stubbornness even, a strong will, kept in check, hidden down deep, yes… Gryffindor could help you free those feelings."
Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Minerva grabbed the edges of the stool she was sitting on. She didn't like being judged like this. It wasn't as if she had been imprisoned at home. Yes, she had been afraid to do magic accidentally. And it had been even more difficult to stop her brothers from doing the same. But it was worth the effort. If the people in her village had found out, her father would have lost face. Minerva never wanted to hurt him.
"So very selfless, so very brave… oh yes, you would do very well in Gryffindor," the hat finally seemed to have made his decision and Minerva's grip relaxed. "But oh, what a waste! All that wisdom, all that talent! Ravenclaw would surely set you on a path to do great things, sharpen that clever mind of yours… Oh, what to do with you?"
As much as she tried not to, Minerva was beginning to panic. She couldn't remember if there had ever been a case of the hat being unable to decide. What would happen then? They couldn't send her away again, could they? Her mother could certainly use her help with Junior and Malcom. But no, she couldn't go home. She wouldn't.
"So much spirit and yet so little faith." The hat tutted, if hats could do that. "Ever since Godric Gryffindor bewitched me himself, I have yet to fail to make a decision. But I suppose you know better than the great Gryffindor himself?"
'No, of course not! But, um, could you maybe hurry up a little?' Minerva thought desperately. 'Er… hurry up, please?'
"Now, which is it? Do you want me to choose right or choose fast?" the hat asked.
'Er… both?'
"So you want to have your cake and eat it to, eh? Most Gryffindors do…" The hat trailed off thoughtfully.
Minerva waited with bated breath. 'So… if most signs point towards Gryffindor, and you're never wrong, then you should send me to Gryffindor, right?' she thought.
"A very astute observation, my dear girl. What a fine Ravenclaw you would make!"
Minerva's shoulders slumped. 'Then I'll go to Ravenclaw. Just give me a chance. Please. I'll work hard. I promise.'
It almost felt as if the hat was nodding – and making Minerva's head move along with it. "Ravenclaw does like hard workers, indeed."
'Great. I'll do it. I'll study. I'll help my classmates. I'll even be nice to Elcoat. I will do whatever it takes!'
"Such a strong fighter you are," the hat marvelled. "Oh, very well then. GRYFFINDOR!"
Minerva almost couldn't believe it when she heard the hat shout that last word out loud. But her relief was short-lived. So far, all the hat's announcements had been followed by applause. This time, however, she could hear people yell stuff like 'Finally!' and 'About bloody time!'.
She had no idea how long she had been sitting on that stool. But it must have been way longer than anyone else. Minerva could feel her cheeks burn hot with embarrassment and she jumped to her feet and ran over to the Gryffindor house table as fast as she could.
So fast, in fact, that she forgot to take off the hat first.
Now, people were laughing, too. Minerva wanted to disappear on the very spot and she couldn't bring her legs to move and go back. But she didn't have to.
Professor Dumbledore had followed her. "I'm afraid I'll be needing that back," he said, pointing at the hat.
Minerva couldn't say anything to him. She knew her entire face must still be flaming red.
As Dumbledore reached out to take the hat from her, he gently rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. "Welcome in Gryffindor," he said quietly. "I have a feeling we'll be lucky to have you. Very lucky, indeed."
Her eyes widened. Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't wait for a response. He strode back towards the remaining first-years and continued with the sorting.
Minerva sank onto the bench at the Gryffindor table, prepared not to look at anyone ever again. But Augusta scooted over to her. "Merlin's Beard! You must have set a new record!"
"How… how long was I…?" Minerva wasn't sure if she really wanted to know so she didn't actually finish her question.
"At least five minutes, maybe six, I reckon," Augusta answered it, anyway. "Everyone will be talking about this."
Minerva buried her face in her hands. All her life she had tried not to give people reason to talk about her…
"What did Dumbledore say to you just now?" Augusta wanted to know, quite oblivious to Minerva's distress.
"Um… he said that… Gryffindor would be lucky to have me."
"Oh, well, that was awfully nice of him, wasn't it?"
Minerva lifted her head and dared to glance Dumbledore's way. He clapped politely along with everyone else as the hat announced that 'O'Connor, Tara' would become a Hufflepuff.
"Yes. Yes, I suppose it was," she whispered and felt a little bit better.
"There you are, Albus! Sit, sit, and tuck in, before it's all gone!" The headmaster greeted him with great enthusiasm when Albus made his way to the High Table after returning the Sorting Hat.
"I daresay it is quite impossible to go hungry at a Hogwarts feast, although you seem determined to prove me wrong," Albus said.
Armando Dippet paused with a sausage halfway to his mouth. "Sorry, I'm starved. Couldn't have known that we would have a hatstall today of all days or I wouldn't have skipped lunch!" He laughed and downed his sausage. "Can you believe it, though?"
"Can I believe what?" Albus asked, reaching for some kidney pie.
"The hatstall! Must have been the first in fifty years. Have you seen one before?"
"I have not."
Dippet frowned. "Not a fan, are you?"
"I do not care much for the term. It suggests that there is something wrong with the hat taking its time," Albus explained.
"There is if you're hungry." Dippet chuckled.
Albus glanced at the headmaster's protruding belly. "I'm quite sure you were in no immediate danger."
"You're in a mood today, aren't you?" Dippet said unperturbed. "Not happy that the hatstall girl landed in your house?"
"Please do not refer to her as the 'hatstall girl'," Albus asked him, but there was a certain sharpness to his voice.
Dippet now seemed to accept that he was being a little cavalier this evening. "I'm sorry. Turns out that as headmaster you only get to deal with the troublemakers. Guess I'll have to watch my attitude," he said thoughtfully. "So, what's your problem with hatstalls?"
"I don't have one. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm surprised they don't occur a lot more often than they do," Albus replied.
"How do you figure?"
"Well, we're all only human. We have certain qualities we're proud of and some that we're not. Sometimes, we're aware of our abilities and other times we are caught completely by surprise by some of them. I would think five minutes is not a long time to sort all of that out."
Dippet actually stopped eating for a minute to look at him. "Sounds reasonable enough," he agreed. "But coming from you of all people, I'm not so sure you're actually as human as the rest of us."
"Oh, I can assure you, Armando, I am no more or less human than anyone else in this school," Albus said quietly.
"There is an Order of Merlin, First Class, in your office that begs to differ. Come to think of it, where exactly is it? Don't tell me you've stuffed it in a drawer somewhere!"
Albus turned his attention back to his own plate. "That award won't help me teach."
"No, but it could help you do a lot of other stuff, like, govern the entire British wizarding community perhaps?"
"Are you firing me?"
Dippet startled so badly that he knocked over his goblet and spilled wine all over Professor Sowerby's lap. "Oh, terribly sorry, Cyrille!" He quickly waved his wand to clean up the mess before he focused on Albus again. "Galloping Gargoyles! What in the name of Merlin are you talking about? Me firing Albus Dumbledore? I could just as well fire myself."
"You just seemed very keen on talking me into taking another job," Albus pointed out.
"Only because… well… after defeating the most powerful…" Dippet was clearly searching for the right words. "I'd imagine that teaching has to seem very dull in comparison. People are wondering…"
"I am exactly where I want to be, Armando," Albus interrupted him and he hoped that he sounded quite final.
Apparently, he did. "Great. Guess that's settled then. It's not as if I wanted to have to look for a new Head of our Transfiguration Department. As if anyone could follow you…" Dippet laughed and shook his head. "But if I were you, I'd prepare for an onslaught of questions tomorrow. Or would you like me to say something in my speech?"
"I hardly think my actions or titles are of any consequence for the upcoming school year," Albus declined.
"Other than that you ended a Wizarding War for all of us, you mean?" Dippet snorted, but something in Albus' face convinced him to let the matter go. "Fine, have it your way."
There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, so Dippet said, "What was it we were originally talking about? Oh right, let me know if you ever find out between which houses the Sorting Hat couldn't decide with your hatstall gir… I mean… your newest Gryffindor student."
Albus looked in the direction of the Gryffindor table and nodded absent-mindedly, though he had no intention of telling the headmaster any such thing. He thought every Hogwarts student had a right to a private conversation with the Sorting Hat. He also thought it possible, however, that it would eventually become apparent to everyone what sort of talents this (Albus glanced at the parchment with the list of new names again) Minerva McGonagall had in store for them.
