Some of this was inspired by a song. A song I doubt you will ever have heard of, but I give credit where it is due, to the tear-filled 'Sometimes' by Fascinating Aida. This song was the inspiration, not for Minerva having a past (I always knew she had one) but for revealing what that past was to me I'm sorry that it was so long in coming, I just hope you are still reading. Please review and let me know what you think. It is an AU so things don't happen quite as the books, some of it is similar though so I have spared the description of the actual sorting since there are no surprises in there.

Chapter seven: Sometimes

Sometimes Ron wasn't sure what to think. On the one hand, Harry Potter was a hero; he'd got rid of You-Know-Who when he was just a baby. But everyone knew that Sirius Black was You-Know-Who's right hand man and, since he had raised Harry, Harry was sure to be dark. But now, he, Ron, was sitting in a carriage with Harry and Harry seemed, well, almost normal. And he seemed to know all about Muggle stuff and everyone knew he must have been taught to hate Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was confusing.

Then he had threatened that Malfoy boy – well of course, Ron knew that the Malfoy's were dark. Ron's dad had complained often enough about Lucius Malfoy. So, threatening Malfoy was good because he was standing up for Dean and Ron, but Ron had to wonder, what sort of dark spells might Harry know that got Malfoy scared. Just as Ron was trying to work through his feelings, the door to their compartment opened again. A girl with lots of brown hair looked in.

"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy called Neville has lost one." She asked.

"No, sorry." Harry said. "He came in here a few minutes ago and asked and we told him we hadn't seen it."

"Oh dear. He is getting quite worried. Some of the older students have not been very nice."

"Sorry we can't help." Dean said. "We've only got an owl and a very shy rat in here."

"Honestly, I think he's more sulking than shy." Ron said, grinning at Dean.

"I'm Hermione Granger." the girl introduced herself, "And you are?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Really? I've read all about you. You're in …"

"Well whatever you've read, I bet its rubbish." Harry said, "Most of what's written about me is, so I don't really want to hear it thanks."

Hermione frowned. "No need to be rude!" she said indignantly, "I just wanted to read as much as I could so I'd be prepared for school. It's not my fault you don't like what's written." She glared at him.

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause. Just as Hermione turned to leave, Harry spoke, "Sorry, I guess I'm just fed up with people making, you know, like their own mind up and stuff when they don't know, they don't know anything."

"Assumptions, you mean." Hermione looked at him. "I'm sorry then too. I'll try not to do that. But there are some really interesting things that have been written about you, you know. I was just wondering, I mean, people have different theories and …"

Harry looked annoyed again. "Well, like I said they are all rubbish and I don't want to talk about it."

There was another awkward pause. "Well I better go and help Neville." Hermione said, "Nice to meet you. I expect we'll see each other later." She addressed that last comment mostly to Dean and Ron, but if Harry noticed he didn't say anything.

Both Dean and Ron muttered goodbyes a second too late, as Hermione shut the door firmly behind her.

"I guess we ought to get changed into our school robes." Ron said, desperate to break the silence and the three boys started pulling out their trunks to get ready. Sometimes Ron just wasn't sure what to think.

Most of the time Minerva was content with her life. She had no reason not to be. She enjoyed her job, and she had good friendships with most of her work colleagues (with a few obvious exceptions). Most of the time she couldn't imagine any other life and would be happy if things never changed. Most of the time nothing was missing from her life, nothing at all. And this time of year was always so busy, there was almost too much going on, it sometimes felt like there weren't enough hours in the day. But sometimes, sometimes she noticed it. Like there was a piece of the jigsaw missing.

It struck her at the strangest times, it wasn't something regular, wasn't something she could predict and prepare for. It always came quite suddenly, when she was most vulnerable to it. And it came then. As she stood there waiting for the first years to arrive, she suddenly felt so tired and she wished …

She fiddled with her scarf. She always wore it on the first day of term, as a good luck charm. The scarf was part of her life, like that box of memories she kept closed up and regularly dusted by hand; somehow she couldn't stand the thought of the house elves, or anyone else, touching it. It was silly really. There wasn't that much in it, just a few old photos, a couple of letters, and a few other bits and pieces. It was meaningless to anyone but her. She couldn't remember the last time she opened the box, but she knew its contents off by heart.

She heard the voices of the older students as they crowded into the great hall. A raucous laugh rang out above the others; it could only be one of the Weasley twins. What had they in store for her this year she wondered? Oh the times in the last two years, that she had retired to her rooms at the end of the day and laughed her head off at whatever they had done to cause their latest detention. For a moment a smile flickered on her lips. 'No one could be as funny as you, Terry, but at least I still know how to laugh.'

Then her mood came crashing back down. Sometimes she just felt so tired and she wished that she could see his smile again. His smile always made her so much better. She always said it had healing powers. She was sure not even Albus, who seemed to know so much, knew that sometimes she still wept in the dark. 'I wish I could see you, the while.' she whispered.

The doors opened and in walked the new first years. Minerva shook herself out of her feeling and looked down at the crowd before her, searching it for one face. He was there, looking happy but nervous, as they all were. She caught his eye and gave him a slight smile. Stepping forward she surveyed the group again until they were all quiet.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." she said.

Minerva tried to pretend throughout the sorting that she was equally as interested in all the students, but, in truth, it was only one person she was interested in. And the hat seemed to take its time with him. It may have been Minerva's imagination, it often seemed that things took longer when one cared more about the results. Finally the hat shouted out "Gryffindor!"

Minerva let out the breath she hadn't even been aware she had been holding. The hope that had kindled in her when she first heard Harry's story crystallised. He is a Gryffindor. While part of her wanted to shout out 'Black raised him right, he must be innocent!' the other, more cynical part, interjected 'Gryffindor doesn't mean good, no matter how fond you are of your own house.' But she couldn't help believing. Couldn't help hoping. Couldn't help knowing in her heart.

That evening, as she closed her door on the world outside, she started laughing. One of her favourite – no not favourite, Minerva McGonagall didn't have favourites. One of her most memorable students was innocent of the horrible things she had thought he had done. 'Possibly innocent,' she reminded herself 'possibly.' But, for the moment, Minerva refused to listen to that inner, sensible, voice. He was innocent. She knew it in her heart the way she had never known it, never understood it, when she believed he was guilty. That young boy, with the laughing grey eyes, who'd caused her so much trouble, who'd reminded her so much of another laughing young man, many years beforehand. Another young man …

And suddenly there were tears in amongst the laughter as she wept for all the laughing young men she had known, who had been through so much, who had suffered so much. And of all the times the laughter had turned to tears. And of what was to become of the laughing young men she knew now, would their laughter turn to tears too? In a few years time would she be weeping for the Weasley boys, for Harry, as she had wept for James, for Sirius, for Benjy, for Remus? Would she know anew the pain she had felt, as she had wept for all the other laughing young men and women who she had nurtured before the last war who had, either never left it, or left a part of themselves behind in it; and as she had wept for those before them, for those for whom Grindelwald was the thing in the dark to be feared; for Terry?

Sometimes, she felt so old, and, as the tears fell silently down her cheeks, she closed her eyes and whispered, "I just wish you would walk through the door."

Sirius knew it was stupid, but he had to come north, get as close as possible to Hogwarts on this special day. It was ridiculous of course. What could it matter how far away he was? He couldn't see Harry no matter what.

Sometimes Sirius wished he'd never taken Harry. As he lay down and tried to sleep all he could think about was Harry, his first day at school and how hard it must have been for him. Was he all right? How had the other Gryffindors, for Sirius had no doubt that Harry would be in Gryffindor, treated him? He remembered the day so well, that day he had gone to the Dursley's and seen Harry, seen how he was treated. He had reacted on instinct but he wondered; had he done the right thing?

He knew Harry had been happy growing up, Harry had been such a loving, joyful, child. And he knew that Harry would never be that free at the Dursley's, because Harry had been free. No matter that they had been in hiding, he had had the freedom of a happy childhood. But now Sirius wondered, as he had wondered occasionally in the past, had he, in the long run, made Harry's life harder?

Nothing was going right. Sirius had known, intellectually, that finding one rat in the whole of the country was not going to be easy, especially not when the last clues he had were nearly ten years old. But somehow he had never really believed that he might have been searching for a couple of months without a single clue. There had been absolutely nothing to give him hope, and today, such an important day for Harry, had brought it home to him with a bump. He had had nine wonderful years with Harry but they were over.

Sometimes Sirius wondered what the point was anymore of anything. What was he ever going to achieve with this search? What was he ever going to achieve with the rest of his life? Perhaps he should just give up and go abroad somewhere, far away, forget about this, start a new life?

Harry didn't need him any more – or rather, he was never going to be able to be there when Harry needed him. The search was hopeless, so why was he bothering at all? If he could never be with Harry, did it matter whether he was in the same country or not? Did it even matter if he was free? Maybe he should just allow himself to get caught, go to Azkaban? It wasn't like he was going to be able to make many more happy memories anyway.

Suddenly he heard a faint noise and felt the breeze of an owl's flight into the cave. He looked up, and there she was. Harry's owl. He retrieved the letter and she nibbled his hand affectionately before flying off. His hands trembled slightly as he opened the scroll. As he read the letter the cold he was feeling started to dissipate as he was filled with a warm glow.

Dear Snuffles,

I'm in Gryffindor. I've made friends with a boy called Dean and I've threatened Draco Malfoy. I'm going to try and turn his hair pink. Malfoy's hair not Dean's hair, I think Dean likes his hair black. I'm going to bed now but I'll write more soon.

I love you.

Harry

As he read the note for the third time, a big grin crossed his face. Sometimes Sirius knew that taking Harry was the best thing he had ever done.