5. Christmas Cheer

"Minerva. Wake up, dear."

Sleepy and confused, Minerva opened her eyes and blinked up into her father's face. "What's wrong?" she mumbled.

"Nothing's wrong. I just need your help with something."

"But it's not even light out yet," Minerva protested. That wasn't completely true. Morning was dawning outside her window but only just barely.

Either way, her father wouldn't give up. "Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise," he said. "Go on now, and don't wake your brothers."

Minerva yawned heartily, but she did as she was told and got dressed. She had been looking forward to being back at home for the Christmas holidays, but she hadn't anticipated such a strange wake-up call. Her confusion only grew when her father ushered her outside into the garden.

Robert McGonagall had always been an early riser. He was a man of discipline who loved his routines. As a little girl Minerva had often joined him on early morning walks to the church or the bakery. She had loved how quiet the village was when everyone was still sleeping or just getting up. And she had loved being alone with her father. Sometimes he had bought her some shortbread or a piece of Dundee cake and called it their little secret.

Now that Minerva had got used to three excellent meals a day at Hogwarts, the thought of being hauled out of bed for sweets wasn't quite as tempting anymore. But on this morning her father didn't leave the garden that belonged to the manse they lived in. He just pointed Minerva in the direction of a little wooden shed that she hadn't noticed when she had arrived yesterday.

"What do you think? I've been building it for weeks."

"What is it?" Minerva asked, frowning. "A broom shed?" Suddenly she was wide awake, picturing a bunch of brooms in there for her and her brothers.

"Not quite. I was hoping to keep owls in there," her father explained.

"What?"

"Obviously, your mother and I want you to keep writing to us, and we want to keep writing to you. Once your brothers start going to Hogwarts, that'll be thrice as many owls. So I thought if I were to tell everyone that I'm breeding them, the owls wouldn't attract so much attention anymore or raise uncomfortable questions."

Surprised, Minerva looked from the shed to her father. "Won't people think it weird that you suddenly decided to start breeding owls?"

"Oh, certainly, but all men pick up strange hobbies when they hit middle age. Fergus has those small pigs of his, then there's Calum and his rhododendrons, and don't even get me started on Glenn and his bowling pins. I want to see one of them come up to me after a service to tell me that there's something wrong with my owls." Robert looked thoughtfully at the shed. "I installed a few nesting boxes, so perhaps some of them really will choose to breed, and then I won't have to lie to anyone."

Knowing how much her father hated that he had to be untruthful to his parishioners to protect his family's magical secret, Minerva beamed at him with a little more enthusiasm than she usually would have displayed for an owl shed. "It's brilliant, Papa!"

"Well, I was hoping that you didn't get it all from your mother," Robert smiled back at her. "But I'll need your help to actually get an owl. I assume the ones you use are sort of magical, too."

Minerva wasn't an expert on owls, and she knew of only one place where one could buy them. "We'd have to go to Diagon Alley."

To her continued surprise, her father nodded. "I told your mother I would be taking you with me today to do some last-minute Christmas shopping. Of course, she rightly pointed out that we should have done that yesterday when we went to pick you up. But I actually do want to get a gift for your mother, too."

"Then we're going all the way to London?" Minerva asked excitedly.

"You didn't think that I pulled you out of bed at five in the morning to look at a broom shed, did you?"

Minerva flung her arms around her father's neck and he laughed.

She dashed back upstairs to get her robes and her wand. When her father saw that, the look on his face darkened.

"I hope you're not planning on doing any magic with that, lassie," he said.

"It's just to get us into Diagon Alley," Minerva promised and stuffed both into a backpack. She knew better than to violate the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. Certainly after having been punished for what had happened with Parker and Drew's cat.

Robert sighed. "All right, I'll get us to London, but you'll have to make sure that we get back again."

They drove to the nearest train station by car, with Minerva drumming her fingers on the window, wishing they could have Apparated or even used the Floo Network. But then she felt bad for preferring magical ways of travelling that would either be impossible for her father or make him feel extremely uncomfortable. So she didn't complain when they had to wait for the next train to go into London.

Once they were on board and seated by the window, Minerva remembered what her father had said earlier. "What do you want to get for Mama?"

"She knows about the owl shed, of course, so we can write to you children, but I thought it would also be the perfect opportunity to finally subscribe to that newspaper, the Daily Prophet, is it?" he asked, lowering his voice. "Now that you're at… school, it's even more difficult for your mother not to ken what's going on in your world. And I guess, I wouldn't mind learning about it either."

The way he said 'your world' gave Minerva a little pang of sorrow, but she smiled. "That's a great idea," she said, because she did think it was.

"I want to ask them to only send the evening edition since it'll be less conspicuous at night." Robert paused. "Perhaps I can ask that professor of yours to only send owls in the evening as well."

Minerva jumped in her seat, having not seen this coming. "Professor Dumbledore wrote to you?"

"Yes, he did. Something about an incident involving a cat…"

"It was an accident!" Minerva said quickly, but when she saw the stern look on her father's face, her shoulders slumped. "Fine, it wasn't exactly an accident."

"Did I teach you that it was okay to hurt others?" Robert McGonagall asked, using his minister voice.

Minerva sighed. "No," she said meekly.

"Did I teach you that it was okay to lie?"

"No."

"Then I don't understand what made you act this way."

"Parker said something horrible," Minerva explained slowly.

"About me?" her father asked knowingly. "At least that's what your teacher hinted at."

Minerva nodded.

Her father leaned forward in his seat. "Listen, Minerva, I don't pretend to know everything that's going on in your life anymore. But I do know you. You're my daughter, and I raised you better than this."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I really am," Minerva assured him. She would never like Parker, but in hindsight, she wouldn't hurt him like that again. "I got detention for it and everything…" she said, just in case her father had been thinking about punishing her, too.

"What exactly did you have to do in detention?" he asked curiously.

"Professor Dumbledore made me write lines. 'I shall not use my considerable talents to set other people's pets on my enemies,'" she quoted. She was unlikely to forget that sentence any time soon.

Her father frowned. "Then it's a good thing that you don't have any pets, since that sounds as though it would have been okay if you'd used your own cat." He had clearly expected her to laugh about this, but Minerva didn't feel like it. "Oh, don't make such a face. I'm not angry with you."

"But I think Professor Dumbledore is," she admitted.

"Did you tell him that you're sorry?" her father asked.

Minerva shrugged.

"I'd give that a try. An apology usually goes a long way. I hope you apologised to that boy, too."

Minerva rolled her eyes, but only when her father wasn't looking.

When they arrived in London, Minerva steered them towards the Leaky Cauldron, where she changed into her robes. Once she had opened the archway to Diagon Alley, remembering which bricks in the wall to tap, just like her mother had shown her a couple of months ago, her father didn't look quite so sure anymore that coming here had been a good idea.

"Don't worry, Papa," she said, taking his hand. She wasn't a little girl anymore and now it was time for her to lead the way. "I got you."

On Christmas morning they gathered around the Christmas tree, all of them in a differently coloured, tartan dressing gown. They had been a gift from the congregation, so of course they all had to wear them. At least they were comfortable.

Junior and Malcolm had already ripped open all their gifts and Minerva hadn't been far behind. She was quite happy because she had even got little presents from Augusta and Alison. The two owls who had delivered those gifts were now resting in their new shed, which in turn made her father happy. Not as happy, however, as presenting his gift to his wife, namely last night's edition of the Evening Prophet.

Her brothers were busy playing with their new toys, but Minerva looked up to watch her mother's reaction. At first, the look in her eyes was pained when she saw the newspaper. Then she got curious and when Robert explained that he had taken out a prescription, her whole face lit up, shining a light on her beauty, which, incidentally, Minerva had not inherited.

Isobel McGonagall was fairer and prettier than her daughter and once she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. This was one of those times.

"We should celebrate this with a round of Butterbeer," she said after she had heard the whole story of how Robert and Minerva had made it to Diagon Alley and back.

"What's that?" Robert asked warily.

"You'll like it. And the children can have some, too," Isobel said simply.

Junior's head whipped around immediately. "We can drink beer?"

"I want beer!" Malcolm yelled excitedly.

"You will most certainly not be drinking anything of the sort," their father shut them down immediately.

Isobel rested a hand on his arm. "It's not Muggle beer, Robert. It's fine."

That didn't seem to reassure him, but he asked, "Where would you get it?"

"I could take Minerva and go grab some in Hogsmeade. It won't take long."

Now it was Minerva's turn to pay close attention. "Hogsmeade?" She had always wanted to go there, but she had thought she would have to wait till her third year.

"You want to go now?" Robert asked, confused.

"If you can take our daughter to Diagon Alley, I can certainly take her to Hogsmeade," Isobel said, standing up.

"But how?"

Isobel hesitated. "This is probably a good time to tell you that I got our fireplace connected to the Floo Network."

"The what now?" Robert asked, his eyes widening. They stayed that way even after his wife had explained to him how the Floo Network worked. "And why exactly would we need that?"

"What if there's an emergency at Hogwarts with one of the children and I'm not there and you need to get there on your own? With the Floo Network you could at least get as far as Hogsmeade, and then you could probably get some help there to reach out to someone up at the castle."

Minerva's father looked at the fireplace as though he couldn't think of an emergency serious enough for him to go in there. "But… wizards are not just going to come out of there all of a sudden, are they?"

"Not any more than they'd come bursting through the front door," her mother replied somewhat impatiently. Noticing Minerva's indecision throughout this discussion between her parents, she added, "Go get dressed, Minerva."

She really wanted to go and so she sprinted up the stairs before her mother could change her mind or her father could change it for her.

The castle was unusually quiet, even for the Christmas holidays. Even with the war behind them, both in the Wizarding and the Muggle word, parents still seemed anxious to call their children back home when they got the chance.

Albus had used the free time to write a letter to Nicholas, telling him about his newest discoveries, and to finish an article for Transfiguration Today he had been meaning to hand in for a while. But eventually, the quiet got to him, and he found that his studies weren't sufficient to distract him any longer.

Fawkes let out a low musical cry.

"Yes, Merry Christmas to you, too," Albus said softly.

The phoenix cocked its head.

"It's just a saying, Fawkes. It's not my fault that it doesn't always feel all that merry," Albus replied. "If only they could see me now. Quite the hero, indeed…"

Staring at him without blinking, Fawkes cried again, more insistent this time.

"Are you suggesting that I should get out of here rather than pity myself? I suppose you're right," Albus said and got up, pausing to caress the phoenix's magnificent red and gold plumage. "Don't worry. I'll bring you back your favourite."

Albus left his private rooms and decided to walk down into Hogsmeade to see if Aberforth was in enough of a Christmas spirit to have a drink with him. He was just strolling down High Street when he spotted two faces he hadn't expected to see here today. Minerva McGonagall and her mother were just leaving the post office.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"Hello, Isobel. Nice to see you again," he greeted the mother, causing the daughter to do a double take.

"You know each other?" she asked in that rather direct way Albus had already noticed about the girl.

"Who did you think taught me when I was at school?" Isobel said to her daughter.

Albus had indeed taught her once and so he knew that the good people in her husband's congregation could count themselves lucky to have got a minister's wife like that. It was anyone's guess what Isobel could have achieved had she chosen to pursue a wizarding career. The same, Albus supposed, could now be said about her daughter.

Who was still staring, struck by the realisation how old her Transfiguration teacher had to be, or conversely, how young her mother still was.

"Sometimes it surprises me, too, how old I really am, but I do think I still look rather well for my age," Albus told her conspiratorially.

She seemed to be at a loss as to what to say to that, so he asked, "Are you having a good Christmas?"

"Yes, Professor, only…" She hesitated. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened. It was wrong, and I shouldn't have lied to you about it."

Albus smiled softly. "Thank you for saying that."

"Professor? Can I ask you a question?"

Albus chuckled. "I daresay you'll find that you can."

Miss McGonagall hesitated, trying to decipher that answer, but then she just went ahead and asked, "What will happen with Alison? She said you would give her until Christmas…"

Even though he had expected that question, Albus still hesitated with his answer. He really shouldn't be telling her this since it was none of her business. Then again, it was Christmas, and what was the point of Christmas if not to spread some Christmas joy? "Her magic improved enough for her to close out the year, and then we shall see," he informed her. After all, she had been involved in Miss Quinn's situation to some degree anyway. "Miss Quinn said that you helped her with some of her classwork."

Miss McGonagall nodded. "I tried."

"That was very kind of you. While it's clearly unwise to make an enemy of you, it seems to be equally beneficial to be your friend," he told her.

A smile brightened up her face, and her mother looked similarly delighted.

"We were just on our way to grab some Butterbeer," Isobel said. "Would you care to join us?"

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly intrude. I'm meeting someone in the Hog's Head."

"Of course," Isobel said. "Well, come along then, Minerva."

Minerva was about to follow her mother but turned around one more time. "Will we be starting on Untransfiguration after Christmas?" she asked eagerly.

Albus certainly appreciated her enthusiasm, but he said, "Your guess is as good as mine, since I haven't actually prepared the lesson yet. Teachers go on holiday, too, you know."

"Right, sorry, sir," she laughed. "Oh, and Merry Christmas, Professor!"

"Yes, a very Merry Christmas to you, too," Albus replied and watched the McGonagalls hurry off in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

As he continued on his way to the Hog's Head, he found that he now felt rather more cheerful.