Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry was proud to say she could not tolerate foolishness, thank you very much. She was the last person you'd expect to be involved in anything rash or dangerous, because she just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Prof. McGonagall was the Transfigurations teacher as well as head of Gryffindor house and Deputy Headmistress. She had black hair, pulled back into bun. She wore square glasses and had beady eyes. She rarely smiled.
McGonagall was a severe woman but was at heart a kind woman. She had been just as terrified as everyone else had been during these last eleven years, and with the headmaster's constant abstinces off fighting the death eaters, she had had to much more work than a deputy headmistress normally would have to.
As she woke up the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, she could hear distinctly the sounds of cheering echoing from around the castle.
"Good grief," thought McGonagall to herself. "These students had an entire feast last night and they still haven't stopped their Halloween shananigans."
But as she got out of bed to change into her emerald green robe, she saw outside her window. Hundreds, no thousands of owls, everywhere, blotting out the sky. What was happening. Suddenly, the door flew open.
"Minerva! Minerva!" shouted the small woman at the door. "Minerva, incredible news, have you heard it yet?"
"News? What news? What's happening Prof. Sprout?"
"It's, him, you-know-who, he's gone!"
"Gone?"
"Gone!"
"But, how Pomona?"
"Nobody's sure yet, but owl's have been coming into the castle since before the crack of dawn. They say, they say you-know-who went to the Potter's, Lily and James, and killed them both. But he couldn't manage to kill their baby son Harry, and now he's disappeared. Isn't this wonderful!"
"The Potters…" said McGonagall quietly to herself. "Where is Dumbledore? Is he in the castle?"
"No, Flitwick tried going up to see him in his office but he's left."
"How about Hagrid?"
"He's out in his cabin, I think."
Without another word McGonagall left her room and ran as fast as she could downstairs. All through the halls there were students, ghosts, and even some disgraceful teachers looking like they'd just won the Quidditch World Cup. She caught Peeves trying to scare some first-year students telling them he was the ghost of Voldemort and was going to to feed them to the death eaters. An exuburant house-elf was jumping through the halls until she caught sight of McGonagall and begged her pardon. And as she rushed past the Great Hall she could hear the last verses of the school song being sung.
She had to find Hagrid. She knew that Dumbledore always told Hagrid everything, or at least more than most people, so he must know what was happening. If it were true. She knocked at his door and the giant man quickly stepped out and closed the door behind him.
"Good mornin' there Professor," he said glumly.
"Hagrid, oh Hagrid. What's going on. Has Albus told you anything?"
"Oh yea, he has, but don't be askin' me nothin' abou' all that. It's confidential that is and…"
"Really Hagrid, since when has something being secret kept you from revealing it to anybody who would hear you?"
"Well this is important, I ain't to tell nobody, not even the professors."
"Can you, can you at least tell me where Albus is, so I can talk to him?"
"I don't rightly know where the headmaster is at the moment, to be honest," he said, nervously.
"Hagrid, please."
"Alright, he told me to meet 'im down at Surrey, in a muggle town."
"A muggle town in Surrey? Why?"
"Now, please…"
"Can you tell where WHERE than?"
"He sent this map along with his owl," said Hagrid, passing the map to her. McGonagall grabbed her wand from her pocket, tapped the map and instantly an exact copy of it was made.
"Thank you Rubeus. Thank you very much." She could not bare to say anything else, she had to know the truth, so she dashed away.
McGonagall was not usually impulsive like this. But she knew she had to be. Besides, she doubted anyone would miss her at the castle, those sutdents used any excuse to get out of class and they would milk this for all its worth. So she hiked on outside of Hogwarts ground, and as soon as she had she disapparated.
She apparated very far from where she had started. She had concentrated on going somewhere secluded, off from the town, Little Whinging. She walked into the town and soon realized she was not in muggle attire. She had not been within the limits of Little Whinging more than five minutes before she realized this did not matter. All through the streets she could see people who were obviously magical. They were dressed in full robes and did not care. The nerve of them, thought McGonagall. She had only been here like this as an emergency. What was there excuse? If this many had gathered here she dreaded to imagine what was happening in busier muggle parts like London.
She did not feel like meeting up with anybody she knew and get delayed, so she pulled into an abandoned alleyway. She tapped her wand on the map leading to the marked place, Privet Drive. She tapped her wand on it, placing a charm on it that would allow her to make it appear and disappear anywhere at anytime by only her thoughts. This was complex magic she had devoloped herself. She hadn't even named the spell yet. After she had sent her map to the ether, she transformed instantly into a tabby cat, with black square markings around its eyes.
This was much easier, she thought, walking past the shops and cars, between the legs of wizards and muggles alike. After going through the town she walked through streets and streets of nearly identical houses, until she reached a street corner. She was fairly sure this was the direction, but to be sure she summoned her map again. She looked through it quickly. Yes, this was the way.
Suddenly, she realized in horror that a muggle car had pulled up in front of her. She made her map disappear quickly and stood perfectly still The muggle was staring at her. She knew that muggles had the tendancy to think magical things they saw were only their imaginations, so she tried not to do anything. Finally, the man drove away. In her opinion, he certainly looked like quite a stupid muggle. She looked up at the street sign, she was at the corner of Magnolia Crescent and Privet Drive. She continued forward.
She stopped in front of the house the map at marked, number four. Just what Dumbledore would want to do here she hadn't the foggiest. The only appealing thing to be said about the house was the garden. Other than that, it looked like all the others, a large dull looking box.
She climbed up onto the garden wall and stayed there. Dumbledore must be arriving shortly. She'd wait as long as she would have to to find out the truth. And so she waited, perfectly still in the cold for hours on end. Just after noon, she could hear yelling voice coming from a neighboring house. It was at this time a woman came out of number four carrying a watering can. She was a very thin blonde woman with a very long neck. Although she seemed to be concentrated on watering a hydrangea bush, McGonagall could see her craning her long neck over the garden fence ever so often, listening to the arguing women.
She wondered whether this woman could be a spy for Dumbledore. She certainly had the qualities of one. But the woman looked much too like a muggle. After some time of witnessing this eavesdropping, a toddler came out of the house and up to the women.
"Sweets!" cried the toddler.
"Now Dudley, don't you think you had enough chocolate yesterday?"
"Sweets mummy! Sweets!" Then the toddler kicked his mother in the shin, causing her to cry out in pain. "Want sweets!"
"Mummy's very sorry Dudley, but we don't have any sweets in the house for you."
This seemed to infuriate little Dudley, and soon he was kicking his mother down the street as she told him to stop. "Won't!" he cried, until finally she gave in and said,
"Alright, Dudley, let's go to the sweets shop and buy you something." Then she picked him up and kissed him. "Mummy's very sorry."
McGonagall could not believe her eyes. It was exactly because of parents like that teacher's lives could be so miserable. She waited for another half hour, without leaving the wall, when the women returned with her in one hand and a large bag with the word "Mars" on the other.
McGonagall looked in through the front window, to their living room. The mother place the child into a highchair in front of a muggle devise that she believed was called television, and left him with the bag of sweets. The mother disappeared for hours, though she could she her briefly in an upstairs window cleaning a bedroom.
The patient cat waited the entire afternoon and yet still Dumbledore hadn't arrived. At dusk a car pulled into the driveway. In fact, she realized it was the same car she had seen this morning. Finding out this man lived here seemed to confirm her suspicions of his being stupid.
The man came right up to her and screamed, "Shoo!" McGonagall no longer cared whether she looked like a normal cat anymore and just gave him a stern look.
The man went in and still McGonagall waited. She was getting quite tired, but she didn't care. She had to know. At around ten o'clock she could see the man come into the living room. She heard the sound the television made, it seemed like a news report.
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern. Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
The part of the owls did not surprise her at all. Her only past time all day was to count how many owls flew by her, and she had lost count after two in the afternoon. The part about the shooting stars was much more shocking. She had a pretty good idea who set off the ones in Kent.
Soon after this the television was turned off, and the only light in the house came from an upstairs window. McGonagall was getting stiff all over from standing in the same spot for almost twelve hours. She was almost afraid to leave now, it would be admitting defeat and that something must have gone horribley. She'd give it one more hour. She looked forlornley down the street, hoping to see him. In the house the last light was turned off and she was left with only the street lights. Still, despite the cold, despite her fear, she knew she had to stay. She didn't care if everyone else was celebrating the Dark Lord's defeat. She just needed to know from the person she trusted must in the world whether the Potters were really dead.
Meanwhile, far away in the air, Rubeus Hagrid was riding on an enormous flying motorcylce. His long beard was whipping around all over the place, he still wasn't quite sure how the controls worked, and was making sure to hold on tight to the bundle of blankets he held.
He had been flying for hours, over most of the country, to get to number four, Privet Drive. He didn't dare stop anything he was doing to look at the map, so he had gotten lost and was probably going to be a little later than what Dumbledore had told him.
He looked down at the little baby Harry Potter. He remembered the first day he had seen him, almost fourteen months ago, and he never imagined then that it would come to this. Luckily the boy wasn't crying anymore. Poor thing, thought Hagrid, if he only knew what had happened, how much more would it have been crying.
He was horrified when he got to the house and saw the huge red gash on the dear boy's forehead. He hardly believed it when Albus told him to get down there in the middle of the night. Voldemort's powers had been broken by a baby.
It horrible, when Sirius Black had come. The poor man, he thought. He had never seen two closer friends, and Hagrid had to be the one to tell him he was being sent off to live away from the wizarding world. He got back to Hogwarts in the early morning along with baby Harry, who he kept hidden in his cabin until it was time to start the journey to Harry's aunt and uncle's. They had to come under the cloak of night, when there weren't no muggle – or worst - eyes prying.
Hagrid felt exhausted when he finally found the place, and landed quite abruptly. Dumbledore was there and he could see McGonagall with him dabbing her eyes. He would have told her everything by now.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. They could just say the face of the sleeping baby, the turt of jet-black hair and the scar.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" asked McGonagall.
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."
A part of Hagrid did not want to let him go, but Dumbledore always knew what was right, and so he handed him over.
"Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Hagrid could not hold it in any longer, and let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
Hagrid couldn't help but remember, back at the cottage, when he considered asking Dumbledore to let him take care of boy, raise it there in his cabin at Hogwarts like he'd been raised when his dad died. It would probably be the closest thing he could ever have had to a son, he doubted there was any woman in the world like him.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, though he did not feel like celebrating, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
He looked back down at the little squares that were the houses. The lights had come back to Privet Drive and he knew he was somewhere down below.
"Bye for now, Harry," he said to himself.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"
