So, I started writing this story ten years ago and then life happened, and now I find myself back writing it, and posting it here in case anyone wants to read it. I have finished most of it, so I'm going to upload a few chapters at a time and hopefully have all of them up soon. It will be quite long.

Three weeks later Minerva and Hagrid sat beside each other in the Gryffindor common room, both intently gazing intently at the bizarre object/creature in front of them, which had the furry legs and long tail of a large rat, but otherwise looked a fairly functional teapot.

"Well," said Minerva, "It's definitely progress, Hagrid. The top of it is perfect, you just need to focus on the legs a little more."

"It's hard, really," sighed Hagrid, "I think I liked him better as a rat."

Minerva smiled. "Let's try practising the other way then." She quickly waved her wand and a complete teapot stood before them. "Now," she said, gesturing towards it, "Transfigure me a rat."

Hagrid raised his wand and cast the spell. The teapot developed ears and beady eyes and the spout shrunk to become an inquisitive nose. Behind it a long tail lay across the table. But it still had the body of a teapot and no legs.

Hagrid gave a sigh of frustration.

Minerva waved her wand and the teapot was again devoid of all its rat features. She turned to Hagrid.

"Close your eyes," she told him.

He obeyed.

"Now picture a rat. Really picture it, focus on every detail – its nose, its face, its ears. What about its neck, its body, its fur. See the legs, the tail. Watch it move and picture it in every detail."

She watched Hagrid's eyes darting around beneath his closed lids and smiled. She lifted his wand arm so it was pointing at the teapot.

"Keep thinking about the rat," she said encouragingly, "Really fix it in your mind. And then, when you're ready, open your eyes, cast the spell, and see your rat."

Hagrid took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Then, suddenly, he opened them, waving his wand and shouting the spell. The teapot was thrown from the table with considerable force, but it was a rat that hit the floor and scurried away.

"Yes!" exclaimed Minerva, her eyes dancing, "You did it, Hagrid."

He beamed at her, "I really did, didn't I?"

She nodded eagerly, smiling at his excited face.

Just then the clocked chimed and Hagrid started, leaping to his feet.

"Sorry, Minerva," I gasped, "I've gotta run, gotta do something before bed."

"It's okay, Hagrid, I think we're done for tonight anyway."

"Thanks."

As she watched him race out of the common room Minerva looked down with a smile and stroked the visctepidus which remained curled up by her heart. She kept the creature with her at all times now, aside from Quidditch practice. In lessons he curled up in her bag, but as soon as the lesson ended she would lift him out and clutch him to her, his warmth somehow relieving some of the empty coldness that so scared her.

Meanwhile, Dippet and Dumbledore were sitting in the latter's study, Dippet reading from a newspaper, whilst Dumbledore played chess alone.

"More attacks, Dumbeldore," he said, shaking his head. "Wilfred and Katherine Bell and their three sons – all dead."

Dumbledore sighed, "I remember Katherine," he murmured softly, "Hufflepuff if I recall correctly. A gentle, loyal soul…"

"And Grindelwald slaughtered her." Dippet's voice was suddenly harsh. "Have the Aurors contacted you?"

"Should I be expecting them to?"

"I suspect they will seek your assistance in the pursuit of Grindelwald and his followers."

"I'm not an Auror, Armando, I'm a transfiguration teacher. Whatever the Sorting Hat may think, I am not the right person to face Grindelwald."

"Albus–"

"There is too much history, Armando. Too much you don't understand."

"I understand plenty, Albus. I understand that it is our choices that make us who we are. And you chose to come back to Hogwarts, to teach, to guide and to stand with what is good in our world. My friend, I truly believe that when the time comes you will do what needs to be done."

"It is not my responsibility, Armando. There are good Aurors, skilled individuals and they will do this."

"We shall see," said Dippet, closing the conversation. He knew better than to press the point while Dumbledore was still so opposed to the idea. "Are you playing both sides of that game, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled ruefully, "I've taught the black pieces to play by themselves. Unfortunately they only know the tactics I've shown them though, which makes them very predictable opposition. Would you like to play, Armando?"

"Sorry, I have no talent for the game. Have you no other opponent?"

"Not anymore," sighed Dumbledore sadly.

"The McGonagall girl?"

Dumbledore nodded quietly, and his eyes, which were focussed on the board, seemed suddenly without their usual twinkle. "Since the dementors and her father she has become very distant. And as she completed her transfiguration NEWT a year early and doesn't get into the kind of trouble that necessitates visiting me as her Head of House, I have very little cause to see her these days."

"I can't say I'm sorry," Dippet answered softly. "With the prophecy…"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE BLASTED PROPHECY!" Dumbledore was suddenly angry.

"Albus, please. Forget the prophecy then. But still, at least I'm sure we can both agree that it is healthy for her to have friends her own age."

"I'm not sure she has that many friends," replied Albus, "And in truth I have often felt Minerva a great deal older than her years."

"Still," said Dippet, "She has been looking better, I think. Certainly when I saw her she was less pale than she has been since her father… And she looks more alert, more engaged with the world again."

"True," smiled Dumbledore. "She looked a little recovered recently. And she seems to be getting on well with Hagrid, and his transfiguration is certainly coming on with her help."

"Excellent. She has something positive to occupy her time and efforts. And if she is less dependent on you, well, that can only be good for her."

"Dependent," Albus shook his head. "I don't think Minerva McGonagall has ever or will ever be dependent on anyone, Armando. She was simply glad of my friendship," he paused, and murmured more softly, "As I was of hers."

"Albus?" Dippet's voice was gentle.

Dumbledore sighed. "I miss her, Armando. That's the truth. I miss our chess matches, but most of all I miss our conversations. It feels a long time since I have talked with someone who genuinely loved learning for learning's sake, with neither ambition nor greed, he paused. "She has such wisdom and courage and humour and kindness – and she had such an open soul, before the dementors. I'm very much afraid she has lost that Armando – that beautiful, open, honest soul – and that would be a truly terrible loss."

Dippet looked at his friend's dejected expression.

"I'm sorry, Albus, I truly am. The poor girl did not deserve the dementors…"

"No. Nobody deserves to witness that, Armando. Nobody."

"And yet the Ministry seem convinced it is the price to protect our world."

The two wizards sat in silence, contemplating that price and the times they lived in.