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As Minerva McGonagall launched into her usual speech of welcome for the first years, she did her best to ignore the dark haired child in front of her who was so curiously like and yet unlike the McGonagalls. Minerva had known she could not avoid coming face to face with her half sister at this time, but she certainly hadn't expected the girl to be close enough to touch whilst she spoke! It was with some relief, therefore, that she turned back into the entrance hall with the customary command for the children to stay where they were until they were called to come into the Great Hall for the Sorting.

All too soon, however, McGonagall had collected Hat, stool and her young charges, and was leading them down the middle of the Great Hall. Despite the knowledge that Meleta was directly behind her, Minerva found herself regaining her composure as she walked this most familiar walk. She came to a stop on the dais in front of the staff table, placed the stool in the centre and carefully set the hat on the stool, ready for the first candidate. Only then did the Deputy Headmistress turn back to face the assembled school, the swish of her heavy robes across the polished floor sounding strangely loud in the silent room as she moved.

With a flip and a shake, Minerva opened the scroll on which the new students names were inscribed, and eyed the owners of the names sternly over the top of her square spectacles.

"It is now time for you to be Sorted into your houses," she began impressively, the burr in her voice stronger than was its wont. "When I call your name, you will come forth, sit on the stool, and place the hat upon your head."

She paused for a moment and directed a second stern look at the children, who were clearly torn between amusement, fascinaton, and downright fear. A few of them nodded at her, and, taking that as a signal that they were ready, Minerva took a deep breath and began with "Bones, Edgar!".

As always, she paid close attention to where the children were Sorted, but even she could not help but raise an eyebrow when "Black, Sirius" was sorted into Gryffindor. The Blacks had been Slytherins for as long as anyone could remember, and the quick glance Minerva cast at Horace Slughorn told her that the Head of Slytherin shared her astonishment. The sorting of redheaded "Evans, Lily" into Gryffindor was less of a shock; Gryffindor always had the highest component of Muggleborns, coming second only to Hufflepuff. Minerva herself believed that this was because of the quality of bravery that characterised so many of the Muggleborns, most of whom had grown up with the belief that there was no such thing as magic in 'real life' as opposed to 'fairy tales'.

Nor was Minerva surprised to find that she would also now take charge of Remus Lupin, who'd been a victim of childhood lycanthropy. Only Dumbledore, Minerva herself, and Poppy Pomfrey (in her capacity of matron) knew that this most unusual student was a werewolf, and Minerva devoutly hoped it would stay that way. Again, there was no question of this boy's courage, she thought, as she noted the firm chin and steady gaze of this child who was so plainly terrified.

And now, at last, it was Meleta's turn, and Minerva had to take a deep breath to calm herself before calling "McGonagall, Meleta". She kept her attention focused on the girl in front of her, ignoring the rustle of sudden interest and speculation that ran through the school. Even the other first years looked surprised at Meleta's surname, Minerva noted. Evidently the child had not declared it.

Minerva shifted her weight slightly as the hat continued to ruminate on Meleta's fate. Minerva could not hear everything, but she could have sworn she heard the words 'Slytherin' and then 'Hufflepuff'...

Oh Merlin, let her be in Hufflepuff, Minerva prayed. Pomona Sprout could be depended on to look after the child.

But it was not to be. After further speculation (really, the Hat was being unusually talkative this year) it made up its mind, opened its ragged slit of a mouth, and roared "Gryffindor!"

Minerva noticed that Meleta's response seemed as mixed as her own, but she could give no further thought to either Meleta's emotions or her own, for it was time to move on to "Pettigrew, Peter". From there she continued down the list, until finally "Wilkes, John" had been sorted into Slytherin, and Minerva herself could return to her seat at Albus Dumbledore's right hand.

She was so busy watching Meleta amongst the Gryffindors that she gave only half an ear to the Sorting Hat's song (something about standing together) and the first half of Dumbledore's speech. At least Meleta and the Evans girl seem to be friendly, the mistress thought to herself. And there's the Lupin boy on her other side-

"- new addition to the grounds," Dumbledore said, his genial tone suddenly becoming serious as he finished his usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and the caretaker's list of contraband.

His Deputy, knowing what he was about to say, roused herself from her reverie and prepared to glare warningly at various bright sparks in Gryffindor – of which she felt she had too many.

"- a Whomping Willow," the Headmaster said. "I must stress to you all that this is a very rare species of plant life, and also potentially a very dangerous one. It is not sentient; it responds to motion and acts on pure instinct. If you go too near, you will be injured, if not killed. I hope that is perfectly clear and that Madam Pomfrey does not need to waste her precious time this year putting various foolhardy students back together again!"

The school laughed, but Minerva kept her gaze fixed sternly on her known troublemakers, and was obliquely amused by the fact that they were evidently refusing to meet her eyes. At least the Prewett twins are old enough to have gained some sense, she thought, glancing over at the identical boys sitting near the top of the Gryffindor table, their russet heads together as always. A cheer rose from the students and Minerva looked up, realizing that the Headmaster had finished, and the feast had begun.

"You're rather distracted this evening, my dear," Dumbledore murmured in her ear as he seated himself and settled his richly embroidered purple robes about him. "I'm sure you must have missed all the pearls of wisdom I was pouring before you."

Minerva sniffed. "Indeed. I assure you, Albus, I have no intention of venturing alone into the Forest, or smuggling forbidden items into the castle, and I know about the Willow situation as well as you do. Does that satisfy, or have I missed something?" She picked up her fork and speared her salmon with it.

Albus's eyes twinkled. "Ah, Minerva. Will I ever get the better of you?"

"I wasn't aware you were trying."

The Headmaster loaded his own fork and took a mouthful with evident pleasure. "I do like a challenge, my dear. Hmm. The elves have outdone themselves, have they not? I see, by the way, that we have a new young McGonagall lioncub after all."

"Yes. I thought for a moment she was going to be one of Pomona's," Minerva told him ruefully, "but evidently not. Sometimes, Albus, I could believe that the Sorting Hat has a grudge against me." She shook her head slightly.

Her old friend grinned at her, although admittedly the only visible indication was the movement of his cheeks. "Nonsense. The Hat simply knows, as we all do, that you are our resident goddess of wisdom, and thus best suited to dealing with rambunctious young people."

Minerva snorted. "Flattery will get you no-where, Headmaster, and I'll remind you of that the next time you want to know why my Gryffindors seem bound and determined to bring the castle down around our ears."

"Let us hope that Miss McGonagall will choose not to follow her predecessor's example in that respect," Albus said absently.

Minerva, who was sipping her wine, glanced at him – and then the full meaning of what he had said permeated her brain and she only – just – avoided spluttering. "Albus Dumbledore! I never did anything of the kind!"

"Didn't you? Maybe you didn't." Albus paused and thought for a moment. "I apologise, Minerva. I was confusing you with your great-aunt, also Minerva, who caused a sensation by setting fire to Gryffindor tower in her third year."

"I don't want to know," Minerva muttered, "and please, Albus, avoid saying anything of the sort in front of Meleta. I know you find the antics of our young lions amusing, but then, you no longer have to discipline them!"

"Not that I was ever such a tyrant as you are," he teased gently.

"I need to be, to counteract your indulgence! Haven't you heard of 'good cop, bad cop'?"

"A Muggle term, I imagine."

"You imagine correctly. I overheard one of the children explaining the concept to another last term. Generally speaking, it refers to a method of interrogation whereby one questioner takes a gentle approach whilst the other is … stricter. I thought it … most applicable."

"Indeed. So tell me, Professor, are you going to renew your acquaintance with Miss McGonagall this evening?"

Minerva sighed and put her fork down. "I don't know. I know I should," she went on quickly as Albus moved to speak, "but I find myself reluctant to do so. She cannot fail to have noticed how the school reacted to her name, and I do not wish to draw further attention to her so soon."

"I can understand that – and yet, it would do no harm for you to speak to her and give her some reassurance, which I am certain she is in much need of tonight. Indeed, I'm sure all of your new children would appreciate some kind words from their new Head of House."

Minerva looked at her friend sharply, but his eyes were fixed downward, on his plate. She frowned slightly. "I know Pomona and Filius do that," she admitted, "but I never have." She looked away in her own turn. "That social incompetence again, I fear."

"You are your own sternest critic, Minerva. You always have been. I agree, you lack Filius's ability to charm –"

"Thank you, Headmaster," Minerva said, drily.

" – and you certainly do not have Pomona's easy maternalism. What you do have, however, is your students trust and respect, and not only from the Gryffindors. If I am the barmy old coot, you, my dear, are our dispenser of wisdom and justice."

"Since neither wisdom nor justice is relevant in the present case, I don't see how that is helpful," Minerva snapped.

"Ah, but I think they are relevant. Wisdom dictates that children who start school feeling safe and secure settle in well and perform to their best ability, whilst it is only fair that your sister should be acknowledged before her fellow Gryffindors as your sister, both for her sake and yours."

Minerva twisted her napkin in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. "I can't argue with that. Very well, I'll speak to my new cubs." She gave a wry smile. "I can always blame you if Meleta decides she does not want her stern old sister to sit in judgement over her. I'm warning you now, Albus, if that child becomes a troublemaker, she'll be making her way to you sooner rather than later!"

With that, she gave her hands a final wipe with the napkin, and pushed her chair back from the table in order to rise. As she did so, Albus gave her hand a squeeze, and his gentle "Good luck, my dear," buoyed her as she crossed to the Gryffindor table and began to chivvy her charges, new and old, towards their common room.

Meta McGonagall stayed close to Remus and Lily as they followed their Head of House from the Great Hall. She was very aware of the eyes on her, and the whispers …

"Never thought old McGonagall had it in her," she overheard one fourth year say to another as they walked past.

"I wonder who the father is?" his friend responded, and Meta had to dig her nails into the fleshy part of her hands. It had never occurred to her that her fellow pupils might think that she was Minerva's daughter. Even at nearly twelve, Meta was well aware of the stigma that was still attached to illegitimacy in the wizarding world.

She felt someone grip her arm, and she looked at Lily, whose green eyes were flashing. "Just ignore them, Meta. They don't know what they're talking about."

Meta nodded.

"It happened at my old school," Lily continued as they followed Professor McGonagall up the stairs. "Relatives like parents and kids, or brothers and sisters and so on. It doesn't mean anything. If anything," Lily went on, "we felt sorry for them. They got no favours and got jumped on twice as hard as everyone else."

Meta grimaced and looked towards the slim, stern figure of her sister. "That's what'll happen here, I tell you," she began gloomily. "Min – er, Professor McGona –EEK!"

"Meta!"

Meta clung gratefully to the other girl. Neither had being paying attention, and the stairs had chosen that moment to move. Now instead of facing towards Gryffindor, the girls found themselves confronted with Slytherins, who were not slow to sneer at them.

Severus, Meta noted, said nothing, but hung back. She was grateful for that.

"Miss Evans! Miss McGonagall!" a familiar voice snapped from just behind them.

Lily and Meta swung around and found themselves face to face with their Head of House, who looked decidedly irritated. Meta, who had seen that expression a couple of times as a small child, gulped, but Lily was staring at the mistress in frank admiration.

"Wow! How did you do that?"

Meta winced.

"Assuming you pay better attention in class than you have been doing just now, Miss Evans, you will no doubt be able to accomplish the same thing yourselves before the term is done. Now come along!"

Wordlessly, the girls followed her back up the (now stationary) staircase and through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. Silence fell at once as the older students took in the unusual sight of their Head of House shepherding her new cubs.

Professor McGonagall glared at them, and Meta saw one or two students shut their mouths abruptly. Then McGonagall gestured towards a door and led the first years through it into what was plainly a disused classroom.

She gestured at them to sit. "Welcome to Gryffindor House," she said at last when they were settled. "Remember, you were deliberately chosen as Gryffindors. That means, however much you may doubt it, that each and every one of you is capable of bravery of heart and nobility of soul. Whether you develop those qualities is, of course, up to you, but here at Hogwarts we shall do our best to help you become those very things and more. Now, you will find that your things have already been moved into your various dormitories; when I leave you, the prefects will direct you. They will also inform you of the password. The Fat Lady will not let you pass into the common room without one, although, as you have seen, as Head of House I do not need it myself. I think that is all for now, although I would like to speak to my sister. Miss McGonagall, remain behind, please. The rest of you – good night, and good luck!"

Meta frankly gaped in shock as her fellow first years filed back into the common room, although Lily squeezed her arm in passing and Remus shot her a grin that lightened his small serious face. Two other boys goggled at her with more curiosity than manners as they passed, and Meta sent them a glare of her own that sent them scuttling off. Feeling cheered at this small victory, she turned back to her sister, facing the latter alone for the first time in nearly five years.

Silence fell, and stretched beyond comfort. Meta fiddled with the fabric of her robe, unsure of what to say.

Finally: "You've grown."

Rather startled at the banality, Meta looked up and met the grey eyes that were so like her own. "I'm nearly twelve," she mentioned.

Her sister's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "So you are. Are you glad to be here, at Hogwarts?" She was trying to make conversation.

Meta shrugged. "I don't know." It wasn't polite, she thought, but at least it was honest.

She was surprised when Minerva – Professor McGonagall – put her face in her hands for a moment and then turned away in a swirl of green velvet. Tentatively, Meta approached the older woman, but did not try to touch her.

"I'm sorry, for being in Gryffindor," she said after another awkward silence.

Her sister looked down at her. "Don't apologise, Meleta," she said with some weariness. "You cannot help being what you are." She grimaced a little. "I will admit that I had hoped that you would not be in Gryffindor. I cannot be both your sister and your Head of House, and do justice to both those offices."

Meta gulped as tears came to her eyes. Suddenly, she wanted her mother, and not this stern woman who was her sister and yet also, for these next months, in loco parentis. Minerva seemed to realize it, for her gazed softened.

"I have already spoken to the Headmaster," she said, abruptly. "If it should become necessary, due to a conflict of interest, he will undertake the disciplinary duties of Head of House towards you."

"Yes, Professor," Meta said quietly. She looked up at her sister through her lashes, and thought, I see what Mum means. Minerva's old. She's older than my mum. She can't be a normal sister. "Will I go, then?" she asked, not wanting to prolong this uncomfortable interview further.

She tried not to feel hurt at the brief look of relief that crossed McGonagall's face. "Yes. Yes. You must be tired, Meleta."

Meta stopped on her way to the door and turned back. "If you're gonna be my sister at all, my name's Meta," she said.

Professor McGonagall looked startled, but she nodded. "Very well. Informally, 'Meta' it will be. I, of course, am Minerva. Not 'Minnie'!" she added with some sharpness.

For a moment Meta thought Minerva had heard about the cat, but then remembered how, as a small child, she'd insisted on addressing her sister by that name. Despite herself, a giggle escaped her.

Minerva's lips quirked again. "Indeed. Now it is late, and we must both go. I shall see you in class tomorrow, Mel – Meta. Remember," she added warningly, "then it must be 'Professor McGonagall'."

Meta nodded, suddenly too tired to say anything more on this long, strange day. Her sister came up to her and put a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Come, child," she said, her voice sharp again. "Time for you to go to bed. The others should already be there," she added as they came into the empty commonroom. "As they are. The girls' staircase is that way - and don't worry," Minerva put in tartly, "they don't move. The first year dormitory is on the first landing. Can you find your own way up?"

"Yes."

"Very well. You may go. Good night – Meta."

Meta stumbled towards the stairs, and then turned back a final time. "G'night, Minerva," she managed, before continuing up into her dormitory. She only vaguely noticed that Lily was also there, and had a moment's appreciation for the rich red and gold of draperies and the deep softness of the feather mattress before sleep claimed her for its own.