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Chapter Text

It had been years since Minerva had last been to Privet Drive, but in the intervening time she’d thought about Harry Potter often. The last she’d seen him, he’d been a sleeping little bundle on a doorstep, newly orphaned but too young to know it. Her last impression of the Dursleys: a pushover mother, a brat of a son, an overbearing father. Albus had told her explicitly not to get involved. He had been quite clear that it was best that Harry be raised by his aunt and uncle. But it wouldn’t hurt anything only to check, and it would put her mind at ease if she knew that James and Lily’s son was happy and well. It was just past sunrise on a Saturday morning when she leaped up onto the garden wall of Number Four, Privet Drive, and seated herself exactly where she had nearly four years ago so she could watch the front rooms of the Dursley house.

Twenty minutes into her watch, Harry’s aunt, in her dressing gown and a pair of slippers, came down the stairs, turned, and stopped beside them before leaning down to knock briskly on the cupboard door. Minerva couldn’t hear the words she spoke through the window, but she saw the mean twist of Mrs. Dursley’s mouth and bristled, horrified by what she was sure would happen next. The door was opened from inside, and out came a tiny, twiggy boy with a mess of black hair and his father’s distinctive nose. He was wearing clothes that, even for pajamas, were far too large, and when he looked up into his aunt’s face, he was met with a scowl. Despicable—to treat a five-year-old that way—but Minerva forced herself to keep still and straight-backed on the wall. Obviously, her initial suspicion that this would not be a suitable home for Harry had been well-founded, but she waited. Dumbledore might not be convinced so easily. His conviction that Harry was best left here had been so strong.

Harry walked into the kitchen, and under Minerva’s watchful eye and no other, he pulled out a step stool, filled a kettle and put it on the stove, and then proceeded to heat up a frying pan, bring out eggs and sausage, and start cooking. Without the stool he wouldn’t have been able to see the top of the stove, but even with it, the spatula looked awkward in his tiny hand, and it was all Minerva could do to resist the urge to transfigure back into her human form and go inside to take the boy away. But she only watched. Once breakfast was ready and Mrs. Dursley had called her husband and son down from upstairs, Harry served them all and poured their tea before going to fetch himself a plate. He paused when his uncle rapped hard on the window, and Minerva realized that he was rapping at her.

“Shoo!” Mr. Dursley’s muffled voice came from inside the house, but Minerva didn’t twitch a whisker. He said something to Harry, and a minute later, the little boy walked out of the house in bare feet and headed straight towards her.

“Hi there,” Harry said, having to tilt his head up to look at her on her perch, “Uncle Vernon says you’ve got to go. I’m sorry. He doesn’t like cats very much, and he hates strays.” What in the world had they done to teach Harry such sweet manners, when their own were so terrible? Unless Harry was naturally so kind-hearted that it hadn’t rubbed off on him yet, somehow. She tried to look less stern, softening her eyes and relaxing her tail, before, after a quick glance at the window, shaking her head.

“You don’t want to go?” Harry asked, eyes going round, “It’s really not so nice, here. You wouldn’t like it. Dudley will chase you or pull your tail. He doesn’t like cats, either.” Minerva could do nothing but shake her head again. She couldn’t transfigure here, in broad daylight on a muggle street, and she wouldn’t take Harry until she informed Dumbledore of the situation, and they could make arrangements. “Please?” Harry said, and there was a faint trace of fear in his voice, “Please go, or he’ll be angry I didn’t make you leave, and I’m really hungry.” It shouldn’t have come as a shock that the sort of people who would make a child live in a cupboard would also deny him meals, but Minerva still felt a jolt of white-hot rage sear down to her bones, and stiff as a spring, she bounded down from the garden wall. Harry gave an audible sigh. “Thank you. Sorry, kitty.” Minerva never tolerated being pet in her animagus form, but she made an exception for Harry, as the little boy squatted down to scratch her ears.

“You should have seen the way they were treating him,” Minerva said, shoulders set and jaw severe as she stared down Dumbledore across his desk, “Not like their child. Not like a child at all. A five-year-old, using a stove unsupervised. Cooking for the whole family. Made to eat last, and less. You should see him, Dumbledore. He’s skin and bones. Such a sweet boy, but he doesn’t get an ounce of affection from his aunt and uncle for it. And to live in a cupboard! They have plenty of room in that house. He could have a bedroom. They’re denying him a bed out of sheer spite.”

“As I said before,” Dumbledore said, watching Minerva placidly over his half-moon spectacles, “I have determined that it is vital to Harry’s safety that he remain with his aunt. It will provide him protection against Voldemort if and when he returns.”

“’If and when he returns’!” Minerva echoed, green eyes hard as glass, “They’re might not be a boy left to protect by the time that happens. He looks as though he’s starving. And I’m sure his aunt resents him his magic, and his uncle, judging by his personality, is probably repulsed by it. He could become an obscurial, if he doesn’t waste away first. Or his bully of a cousin could shove him down the stairs. And the muggles have their own way of protecting children. What if, when he goes to school, a teacher reports his family to the authorities. Will you hush them up too, or let him be taken into foster care?”

“Rest assured, Minerva, I have impressed upon them how important it is that Harry remain alive. I am confident he’ll get to Hogwarts in one piece.”

“That’s not good enough.” Minerva could not remember the last time she’d been this furious. She could feel the blood pulsing behind her eyes, though with every last thread of her will, she kept her voice level. Her knuckles were white as she gripped her wand at her side. “Alive and in one piece isn’t good enough. What about his well-being? What about his happiness? Can’t we find another means by which we can protect the boy? The Fidelius Charm, perhaps?”

“Has its flaws,” Dumbledore said, unruffled, steepling his fingers, “As Harry’s presence at Number Four can attest to, in the first place.”

“Only if the Secret-Keeper tells their secret,” Minerva answered, voice pitching higher and louder despite herself, “And I would protect the location of the Potters' son with my life.”

“But it would be of no help while he was at Hogwarts, and out and about in his daily life. Only when he was in the hiding place.”

“When he is at Hogwarts? Dumbledore, you are at Hogwarts. A dozen of the most skilled witches and wizards who stood against Voldemort live here. And Hogwarts has protections of its own. And even you admit the protection that those people provide will not last forever. Please,” As much as she could, Minerva softened her voice, “Allow me to take Harry. He can stay here. I’ll look after him and ensure his fame doesn’t go to his head.”

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed, and what looked like genuine sorrow showed in his eyes and the lines around his mouth. She was sure of what he would say when he opened his mouth, and knew what her own response would have to be, too. “I’m very sorry, Minerva. I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Well,” Minerva said, turning on her heel with a snap, and feeling her righteous rage spill out of her mouth like steam from the spout of a tea kettle as she whisked herself onto the staircase, “Then you’ll have to find a way to stop me within the next hour, Dumbledore. You can pry that boy out of my cold, dead hands.”

Chapter Text

Still trying to breathe evenly to keep the blotches of red from her cheeks to avoid frightening Harry, Minerva took the Floo Network from her office to The Three Broomsticks, gave Rosmerta a perfunctory hello, then stepped outside. With laser focus, she apparated from the street in Hogsmeade to a spot directly inside the fence of the Dursley’s back garden. Mauve robes seething around her, black hair as tight and neat as ever, Minerva stalked through the gate to the front door and knocked three times. Mrs. Dursley opened it a few seconds later, took one look at her, and widened her eyes in terror. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“A fine way to answer a door,” Minerva said, green eyes flashing, “I’m afraid you’ve been found wanting of any compassion or basic human decency whatsoever. On November the first, three years and eleven months ago, you and your husband were entrusted with the care of your nephew. It was an important duty. One that you have failed. Let me in, or I’ll have to invite myself.” Stunned into silence, Petunia fell back from the door, and Minerva stepped in, closing it behind herself. “Where is Harry?”

A round, curious face at knee height peered out of the kitchen. Mrs. Dursley’s eyes flew to the soapy water Harry was dripping from a sponge in his hand onto the floor, but, though her face grew taut, she said nothing. “I’m here,” Harry said, gaze trailing upward to the top of Minerva’s pointed hat, “What is it?”

“Go gather your things, Harry,” Minerva said, softening her voice, “Any toys you have. Any clothes you like. Your toothbrush, too. You’ve been invited to a very special school, and unless you want to come back to visit, I don’t think you’ll be returning here again.” Harry’s eyes lit up like fireworks.

“Okay,” He said, and he was off in a snap towards the cupboard under the stairs.

“Now then,” Minerva reached into her pocket and drew out a roll of parchment and a quill. Petunia eyed it suspiciously, jumping when Minerva let go of it, and the quill hovered in the air just above the parchment she was holding, “Let’s get something in writing.” Petunia, though, had finally found her voice.

“Taking him? You’re taking him? You can’t take him. In Dumbledore’s letter he said—”

“The situation has changed,” Minerva interrupted, “It’s been determined you are an unsuitable guardian for the child. And don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what I mean. I’ve dealt with quite a lot of lies today and I’m very near the end of my rope. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Seen it?” Petunia hissed, “You’ve been watching us?”

“I have,” Minerva said, cold as ice, “And what I saw reflected quite poorly on you. I think, if you have any sense, you’ll sign this statement I’m about to transcribe.” She cleared her throat, and the quill stiffened to attention. “I, Petunia Evans Dursley, the primary caretaker of Harry James Potter, being of capable mind and under no duress, do hereby grant all legal guardianship and responsibility of Harry Potter to Minerva Gregoria McGonagall. I do so knowing that this transfer of legal guardianship is permanent, binding, and irreversible. I hereby swear that I will not seek to be his guardian or caretaker again, and furthermore attest that it was to Minerva McGonagall personally and alone, acting as an agent only to herself, to whom I have granted legal guardianship. I understand that he will no longer be living with me or my family. I am willing to attest to the above in court, should the matter ever fall into question.” Minerva stopped speaking, and the quill finished its last few letters before freezing. She read over what it had written before creating a copy with a doubling charm. “Sign and date both,” She said, “Assuming you find no flaws in the document and I will be happy to leave your home with Harry.”

Petunia stared at the quill she was being offered as though she was afraid it was going to bite her before taking it and doing as she was told. It was difficult for Minerva to hide her relief as she signed the papers too, before returning them to an inner pocket of her robes. She left the kitchen and walked into the entry hall, where Harry was dragging a sad bundle of items out of the closet on a blanket, a toothbrush clutched in one hand.

“We’re going to be walking a little bit,” Minerva said to him, “Why don’t I give you some help with that.” Drawing her wand out of her pocket, she pointed it at his makeshift parcel and said, “Diminuendo.” The bundle shrank to the size of a grapefruit. Harry’s mouth dropped open.

“How did you do that? Are you… You know…” Harry finished the sentence with a tiny, mischievous whisper, “Magic?”

“That was a shrinking spell,” Minerva said, smiling at the expression of hushed delight on Harry’s face, “And yes, I’m a witch, and I’d be very surprised if you didn’t grow into a wizard yourself. What are you doing?” Harry was pinching his arm.

“Pinching myself. Checking to see if I’m dreaming.”

“I promise this isn’t a dream. Now, I’m sure you have quite a lot of questions, and I imagine you’ll come up with more before I can answer them. And I will be happy to answer them all later, but for the moment it’s very important that we be quick. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Harry said, clutching his things a little closer.

“Good. Let’s leave, then. Did you want to say goodbye?” Harry looked back towards the kitchen door, where his aunt was standing white-faced and tight-lipped.

“Goodbye, Aunt Petunia. Tell Dudley and Uncle Vernon I said goodbye when they get back.” Without a word, Petunia turned her back on Harry and walked into the kitchen, out of sight.

“Really,” Minerva said, watching her go with disdain, “No manners. Come now, Harry. We’re going to Mrs. Figg’s house.”

“I don’t want to live there either,” Harry said, though he followed her out the door anyway.

“Oh, you’ve been to her house, then?” Minerva said, voice sharper than she had intended. Harry looked abashed.

“Err… Yes. Shouldn’t I?”

“It’s not that, Harry. I just thought that if Mrs. Figg had spent any amount of time with you, she might have told someone how you were being treated,” She said, checking her tone. Their feet, even with Harry’s short little legs, ate up the distance to Arabella’s house.

“How I was being treated?”

“Yes. You must have figured out that you’re the only person in this neighborhood who sleeps in a cupboard.”

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said they didn’t want me getting in the way,” Harry explained, and Minerva’s nostrils flared.

“And if I thought it would do them a lick of good, I’d go back and give them both the talking-to of their lives. But I see no reason to believe they’d listen, considering how shamelessly they behaved. You had a right to be there. You have a right to space and fair treatment always. They treated you badly, and there’s no excuse for it. Speaking of no excuse…” They had reached Arabella’s house, and Minerva rang the bell. Arabella, her grey hair more flyaway than usual, answered the door.

“Oh. Minerva,” She didn’t sound happy, “Dumbledore just sent me a letter telling me you might be on your way over. Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Mrs. Figg,” Harry answered, glancing around the house with its many pictures of cats.

“Did he now?” Minerva asked, feeling righteousness swell up in her chest again, “I hope he didn’t want you to stop me.”

“No, he didn’t. He said he didn’t expect I’d be able to, anyway.” Of course not. It wouldn’t have been fair in the least for Arabella to try to match herself against her. “Where are you taking Harry to, Minerva?”

“Hogwarts, of course. I’ll need to use your fireplace. But before we go, I wanted to have a word with you. Harry told me he’s visited your home?”

“Yes, I watch him, sometimes, when the Dursleys go out for the day,” Arabella said, clutching at her own fingers.

“Then haven’t you noticed? Haven’t you asked about him? Hasn’t he said a word to you?”

“Well I know they’re not exactly—“

“You were supposed to be watching over him. You were supposed to give word if things looked as though they were going badly.”

“I did!” Arabella said quickly, “I wrote Dumbledore. I told him. But Dumbledore said—”

“I couldn’t care less what Dumbledore said,” Minerva snapped, and despite her best efforts, she could feel heat rising in her cheeks, and she knew that they had gone red, even though she hadn’t raised her voice, “You saw the boy was suffering. You knew he was going unloved. You were told to ignore the evidence of your own eyes, and happily you made yourself blind to it. I expected much better of you.” Arabella’s mouth twisted.

“I was only trying to help the Order, Minerva. I thought it was the best option. I still think—”

“If an ‘option’ involves letting a child be abused, then it’s no option at all,” Minerva said, before turning away from Arabella pointedly, and looking down at Harry, “I’ve got to deliver some paperwork to the Ministry—it’s the government for witches and wizards in the UK. We’re going to be traveling by Floo Network. It may seem frightening, and you may get dizzy, but I promise if you just hold onto my arm and stay close, it’s perfectly safe and it won’t hurt a bit. It’s as ordinary for witches and wizards as cars are for you. Alright?”

“Okay,” Harry said, but there was a wideness to his green eyes that hadn’t been there before, and when he took Minerva’s hand, she could feel him clutching tight.

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” She said, “You can close your eyes, if you like. You don’t have to do anything. In fact, it might be better if you did.” And Harry obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut. Taking a handful of Floo powder from the sugar pot on the mantle, Minerva threw it into the fireplace. The green flames leaped up and she stepped in, guiding Harry in after her and drawing him in close, away from the brick walls that might clip his elbows once they started traveling. “The Atrium, Ministry of Magic,” She said through the rising ash, and in a whirl, they were off.

Chapter Text

Minerva kept a tight hold on Harry’s hand through the baffling spin of fireplaces until they finally came to a stop in the Atrium, still at this time on the weekend. “Here we are, Harry,” Minerva said, giving Harry’s hand a quick squeeze before releasing him, “Keep close to me, now, we can’t have you getting lost.” Harry’s eyes were as wide as they could get as he peered around the vast new space, and at the great fountain at its heart. Minerva sniffed at is as they passed. “Oh, yes, it looks pretty enough,” She said as they approached the front desk, “But if you expect a goblin or centaur to look at you like that, you’ve got another thing coming. Not that I think you’d behave like that.”

“Are they real?” Harry blurted out, before giving the smallest flinch, “Sorry, I forgot. No questions yet.”

“It’s quite alright, Harry,” Minerva said, looking down at the little boy, “They are real. Good morning, Miss Prusset.” The witch in the crisp green uniform of a Ministry security guard looked up from the copy of Witch Weekly she was reading before brightening in a smile.

“Oh, hello Professor McGonagall. What brings you all the way down to London today?” She didn’t notice the inch or so of Harry’s head sticking up over the top of the desk.

“I’ve got some documents to put on record. I’m in quite a hurry, or I’d stay to chat. Here,” She handed Prusset her wand, and reliably quick as her old student has always been, she put the wand on the brass wand weigher and took the strip of paper it spat out. “I’m accompanying a child under eleven years old, too,” Minerva said offhandedly, hoping that Prusset would be so lost in the rhythm of her job that she would only make a note of it before ushering her on. Maybe during a busier time she would have, but on a Saturday morning, she had no such luck.

“Oh?” Prusset stood up from her chair to smile down at Harry, “Hello there, sorry I—” her eyes caught Harry’s, then flicked up to his scar, then to his shock of black hair, identical to his father’s, even at this age, “Is that Harry Potter?” Harry looked up at Prusset in blank confusion. This had been the exact sort of conversation Minerva had been hoping to avoid here.”

“Please, Victoria, I’m in a hurry. I have to bring Harry to Hogwarts. Could I have my wand back?” Prusset obliged,  and Minerva took Harry’s hand again to hurry him forward into a lift. “Thank you,” She said over her shoulder, “And if you could hold off on the gossip for a day or two, I would be very grateful.” The lift doors closed behind them, and Minerva took a relieved breath before releasing Harry and pressing the button for basement level two. She could see Harry all but holding a question in his mouth and gave him a placating look as the lift slid into motion. “I promise I’ll explain everything as best I can later, Harry,” She said, knowing how pressing a child’s curiosity could be, “Just wait until we’re settled in at Hogwarts.”

“I remember,” Harry said, and Minerva smiled at him. They stopped at level three to take on a few interdepartmental memos before they and the memos both exited at level two.

“Stay close and quiet,” Minerva warned as they walked past a break room full of Aurors, and Harry’s head turned to peer at them. It was only natural. The Aurors—especially these Aurors, young veterans of the last war, youthfulness tempered by hardship and tragedy, but many bright and cheerful in the peace—had a definite allure. Minerva didn’t know who was to blame for the recent uniform redesign, but someone had put in a lot of effort to make them look cool. Dragonhide dueling gloves and combat boots. Sleek red coats with gold accents. Wand holsters. They looked heroic and, laughing over their mugs of tea in the breakroom, as though they were having quite a lot of fun. Minerva would keep her views on encouraging children to idolize Aurors quiet for now, but of more pressing concern was that some of them might feel inclined to question her current choices regarding Harry’s care. Better to avoid the entire sub-department if she could. She shepherded Harry past the doors leading to Auror working spaces and a private office, and into the quieter back half of the floor. Thankful that they had managed to make it this far without further interruption, Minerva opened the door into the records office of the Wizengamot Administration Services sub-department, beaming when, just as she had hoped she would, she found Lottie Chaucer hunched over a stack of documents.

“Good morning, Miss Chaucer,” She said, taking the two statements Petunia had signed—original and copy—out from the inside pocket of her robe, “I wanted to put one of these on file, regarding the legal residence and guardianship of Harry Potter.” Lottie, hands stilling over her work, looked up to register Minerva, and smiled distantly before looking down at Harry. Her dark eyes only flashed for a split second to his scar to show recognition of the name before she stood up and held out a hand.

“Alright. Let me have a look at both of those.” Minerva surrendered both, and Lottie drew her wand. Lack of efficiency had never been a vice of hers as a student, and Minerva was happy to see the same was true of the former Hufflepuff now. With minute attention, Lottie scrutinized the documents, cast several charms, and then slid the papers under a probity probe, before glancing back over her shoulder at a motionless secrecy sensor.

“Lovely. Let me just check for any redundancies before I approve this,” She said, making eye contact with Minerva again just long enough to flash a smile before setting down the documents, turning, and disappearing almost at once into the floor to ceiling stacks of filing cabinets. Minerva gave Harry, who was looking a bit stiff, a reassuring smile before Lottie returned, glanced briefly between the two near-identical pieces of parchment before taking the copy and stamping it twice—a black date and a gleaming red seal. “I can give you a receipt of its acceptance, then, Professor,” Lottie said, hands busying themselves with a quill and a slip of parchment, which she filled with lightning speed before marking it with the same red seal, “And you can keep the original.” She slid both the receipt and the original copy of the document Petunia had signed back to Minerva, and at last, Minerva felt the tight knot of tension between her shoulders loosen somewhat. Lottie relaxed too, setting her quill back in its ink well and looking up at Minerva. “It’s nice to see you again. Did you step in to say hello too, or was it just for the document?”

“Thank you very much, Miss Chaucer,” Minerva said, glancing at a clock on the wall before pursing her lips, “I’m sorry. I would like to catch up and see how you’re doing, but I’m afraid I’m in a rush today. I’ll send you an owl once I get back to Hogwarts. We should get tea, if you have time.”

“It’s alright,” Lottie said, nodding down to her mountain of documents, “I’m pressed for time too. It’s nice to see you, anyway. I’ll be looking for the owl. Take care.” She picked up her quill again, flicked off the excess ink, then returned to writing.

“You too, Miss Chaucer.” Thank the stars for Lottie Chaucer, Minerva thought as she retreated out the door and into the hallway again, Harry at her side: loyal to the task at hand, deadly efficient with a quill, and never, ever a gossip. The Ministry had never seen a better records administrator, she was sure of it. And she was doubly sure that nothing Dumbledore said could guilt or bamboozle Lottie into doing her job incorrectly. As soon as she got the chance, she was going to send her a tin of biscuits.

“Just one more stop, Harry,” Minerva said as they exited the lifts together back into the Atrium again, “I have to put this document somewhere safe. I imagine you’ll find this next stop a little more interesting, though. You’ll meet a few goblins, as well. I know you’ve never seen one before but remember not to stare.”

“I won’t,” Harry said, craning his neck again with his eyes wide and bright to follow a pair of dark-robed Unspeakables ghosting past, deep in quiet conversation, “Where are we going?” He didn’t wince away at asking a question this time, which was something of a relief. She still wanted to make good time, but now the most pressing part of the morning’s errands were over, and more important regardless was that Harry wasn’t afraid to ask questions. It was painful to see the child so worried about upsetting her over a small slip-up.

“Gringotts Wizarding Bank, in Diagon Alley. In London, still,” She said as she approached a fireplace, took a handful of the provided floo powder, and ushered Harry in with her, “Now, you know the drill, Harry. Elbows in, eyes closed if you get dizzy.”  The Atrium disappeared in another whirl of ash and warm, green flames.

Chapter Text

Some wizards faulted goblins for their failure to kowtow to humans, but as far as Minerva was concerned, their independence was both justified and a blessing in times like this. Gringotts was every bit the bureaucracy the Ministry was, but whereas the Ministry would be all but useless were it not for the rare gems like Lottie under its employ, Gringotts was as efficient and indifferent to politics as a wound and oiled clock. Harry, face full of amazement as he looked up at the high ceilings and peered at the selection of gemstones a goblin at a neighbouring desk was grading, had a rumpled handful of Minerva’s robes in his grip. It was very endearing, that childish show of trust, but she was not about to let herself go all soppy over the Potter’s son while there was still work to do, even if it would only take a minute or so.

Drokvat, her usual banker, extended her wand back to her before holding out his hand. “The document,” He said, and Minerva obliged. He examined the signed statement, studied the Ministry stamps under a magnifying glass, then held it up to the light before sliding it into a protective sleeve of dragon membrane and sealing it closed. “A record will be made of its receipt,” Drokvat said before raising his hand, “Kigraff!” Another goblin moved out from behind a desk to take the file, “Place this in Minerva McGonagall’s vault.” Kigraff was gone with the file as quick as he had come. Minerva could see Harry watching him dart off out of the corners of his eyes. “Will that be all?” Drokvat asked, looking up at her again.

“Yes, that’s all. Thank you, Drokvat,” Minerva said, unsmiling, before nudging Harry’s shoulder and lowering her voice, “Come along now, Harry. Time to go.” Together they walked out through Gringotts’ great double doors and into the cheerful mess of Diagon Alley. Compared to the pristine quiet of the bank, Minerva found returning to the hubbub of the street jarring, but there was no denying that Harry looked delighted by it all. Now that there was no prohibition on where he might look and for how long, he stared at the tall, colourful hats of passing witches and wizards, into the display windows of potion supply stores, curio shops and Eeylops Owl Emporium, and then, for just a moment too long for Minerva to miss, at the gleaming candy stripe awning of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

They still had to hurry back to Hogwarts, even with the legal ‘i’s dotted and ‘t’s crossed, but Minerva’s step faltered. Harry was a very young boy who had behaved himself impeccably all morning, and there was little doubt that he was hungry by now. There was always food at Hogwarts, but she couldn’t imagine that he’d been allowed many treats in his life. She stopped, nodding in the direction of the ice cream parlour, “Do you want a sundae, Harry?” She might as well have asked if he planned on sprouting feathers in the near future. His reaction would have been the same. He stopped dead too, eyes snapping away from the cheerful little shop to her face.

“What?” His eyes were full of blank confusion, as though he must have misheard. Minerva almost regretted not transfiguring the Dursleys’ silverware into something nasty.

“Do you want a sundae?” She said again, and then, just to be sure, “Ice cream. From Florean Fortescue’s, right there. I think now’s a good time for a treat.”

“Really? You mean it?” There was a dawning eagerness on Harry’s face.

“That would be a very cruel joke to play on you, if I didn’t mean it,” Minerva said, starting for the door to the ice cream parlour, “Come along, now.”

Inside, standing among the cheerfully coloured chairs and in front of the illuminated case of dozens of flavours of ice cream and at least half as many different toppings Minerva watched Harry’s wonder with mixed delight and horror. Happy as she was to see the little boy so overwhelmed with lovely possibility, knowing why it was he was so dazed by it all was another story. Charming as Florean Fortescue's was, Minerva had been to a muggle ice cream parlour before, and the difference was not so shocking. They might have Maltesers instead of Fudge Flies, but the whirring chocolates weren’t what was capturing Harry’s attention. Florean Fortescue himself beamed as he leaned on the counter, glancing from Minerva to Harry.

“Hello there! Let me know if you want to try anything before you decide,” He seemed to realize something was not quite right half a moment later, as his attention darted back to Harry. His eyes found the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s brow, and after a long moment, he looked at Minerva. “Merlin’s beard. Is that Harry Potter?”

“Yes, it is,” Minerva said, giving Florean a quelling look, “Though you’ll do well to remember that he’s a five-year-old boy, that he’s had a long morning, and that he knows even less about it than you do.” Florean shrunk back at once under Minerva’s hard gaze, looking sheepish. Some damage had already been done, though. Harry had pried his eyes away from the ice cream to look between them.

“Sorry, Minerva,” Florean said a bit more softly, before clearing his throat and fixing Harry with a smile that was all professional enthusiasm. “What do you think?” He asked Harry, “See anything that sparks your interest? The treacle fudge is a particular favourite of mine.”

“Do you need help reading anything, Harry?” Minerva offered, as she watched Harry rake his eyes over the tubs of ice cream again. Harry, though, shook his head.

“That’s alright, thanks. I’ll have a vanilla,” He said, looking away from the display counter and up at her, “Thank you, Ms. Minerva.” Too polite, too meek, as though he were afraid of straining her generosity, or thought that if he asked for too much, it would all be taken away. Minerva cast a quick glance at Florean and gave a tiny shake of her head to stay the enchanted ice cream scoop that was headed for the vanilla before drawing Harry aside, crouching down a little to speak to him.

“Don’t let me talk you out of something you want and into something you don’t, Harry,” She said as gently as she could, realizing in a flash how long it had been since she’d spoken to a child so young she’d had to squat to get to their eye level, “But you can get anything you like. You can take your time to decide. You can ask for help with the labels if you don’t know how to read yet. You can get toppings. I don’t think you’ve got enough room in you to want more than a small sundae, but other than that, I won’t stop you. If all you want is plain vanilla ice cream that’s quite alright, but I’m not about to snatch your treat away because you asked for whipped cream or chocolate sauce.”  Harry watched her in silence for two long seconds before throwing his arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. Tears pricked at Minerva’s eyes, but she returned Harry’s embrace, not wanting to cut short a hug it seemed he desperately needed. He held on a long time before pulling away with a broad grin on his face, and Minerva plucked a handkerchief from her pocket to swiftly dab away her tears.

“Thank you,” He said, and Minerva smiled.

“It’s no trouble at all, Harry,” She said, her voice a little more choked than she would have liked.

In the end, Harry got a Chocoball sundae with strawberry sauce and whipped cream, which he ate while perched on the edge of one of the ice cream parlour’s chairs so he could reach the table. He had been smiling so much for so long that Minerva was sure that by now his cheeks must hurt. Finally, with sticky fingers and a streak of strawberry sauce on the over-large shirt he was wearing, Harry set down his spoon in the sundae dish and beamed at her, “I’m all done! Thank you, Ms. Minerva.”

“That’s quite alright,” Minerva said, surveying the damage the sundae had done to Harry’s hands and clothes, “Let me just clean you up. Put your hands out for me.” With a quick scouring charm, Harry was spotless again, and Minerva put her wand away, though Harry’s gaze followed it, curious. “There we are,” She said as Harry rubbed his fingers together, getting up and offering out her hand for him to take, “We’re heading to your new home now. We’ll get you settled in, and then I’ll answer all of your questions, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry answered, and Minerva was happy to see him walk just a bit taller now that he was no longer hungry, with a little more confidence in his step. There was a touch of James Potter shining through in his son.

Chapter Text

Not wanting to subject Harry to the discomforts and dangers of apparition so very young, Minerva took him to the Three Broomsticks via the Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace. The air was crisper in the Scottish Highlands than it had been in London. Minerva regretted not being able to stay in Diagon Alley longer, so she could get some suitable clothes for Harry—perhaps even ones made for someone his size. She cast a warming spell on Harry’s shirt for now, and Harry beamed as they walked down the road towards Hogwarts. His smile wasn’t directed at her, though, but rather at all the students enjoying their Hogsmeade weekend, cramming themselves into Honeydukes and Zonko’s Joke Shop, chatting too loudly amongst themselves to give him much notice.

“Those are Hogwarts students,” Minerva explained as they moved from Hogsmeade to the wooded drive up to the castle, “I’m afraid they’re all rather older than you, but I’m sure a lot of them will be happy to make friends anyway. I don’t imagine any of them would insult you or try to hurt you, but if they do, you should know that I won’t stand for bullying. You can come to me, and I’ll have a word with them. Alright, Harry?”

Harry was craning his neck over his shoulder, trying to catch a few more glimpses of the cheerful bunch. “They seem really happy,” He said, looking back at her with a poignant look of hope on his face that made Minerva give his arm a small, encouraging pat, “They like this school? Hogwarts?”

“I dare say they do,” Minerva said, mouth tugging into a smile as she considered the unruly lot of students in her house. ‘Happy’ was one word for them. “Quite a few of them are sad to leave when they graduate, as they have a lot of fun while they’re here. Some of them like it so much they return later as teachers. Me, for instance. People of all sorts call Hogwarts home, and it is my personal belief that it will feel like home to you in short order.” They crested a hill, and Hogwarts rose into view, perched on its cliff overlooking the lake, which shone in the sun. The six golden hoops of the quidditch pitch and the bright stands draped in house colours gleamed bright, and Minerva looked down to find Harry looking more dazzled than he’d been even in Gringotts or in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

“Is that Hogwarts?” He asked after a long silence, pointing up at the castle. Minerva nodded.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it? Yes, that’s Hogwarts. It was built about one thousand years ago by four witches and wizards who wanted a way to teach young people from across the UK and Ireland magic. They did a fine job. Students have never stopped attending the school they built, and we continue to teach to a very high standard. It’s a good school,” She said, trying to sate smaller curiosities as Harry was still having to wait to voice the larger ones.

“I’ve never seen a school like that before,” He said, “It’s really pretty.” It had been a long time since Minerva had tried to look at Hogwarts with fresh eyes, but she did then, imagining how it must feel to be a young child without any sort of decent home or family, and no knowledge of magic besides, looking up at it for the first time. A literal castle, vast and grand, full of mystery, excitement, and fresh promise. And, so long as Dumbledore hadn’t gotten up to too much in her absence, Minerva felt certain Hogwarts would live up to its image for Harry.

“It is,” She said gently, watching her walking speed as they started up the winding path to the castle’s entrance. Minerva tightened her hand on her wand as they crossed a bridge into the castle’s large courtyard, fearing that here might be the point where Dumbledore chose to attempt to stop their progress. But the only trouble came in the form of a group of chatty Gryffindor second years, who didn’t have candy or joke items to distract themselves with. Among them, with an enormous grey cat curled around his neck like a stole, was Charlie Weasley. Well, this would be it for the secrecy. Minerva braced herself for the inevitable as Charlie stopped laughing over the affections of the cat long enough to spot her and wave a hand.

“Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,” He called, “I wanted to ask you something about animagi.” He stood up, and the cat clung onto him for a few paces before leaping off and trotting back towards the doors into the entry hall, tail held high. Charlie had only just stopped in front of Minerva when he caught a glimpse of Harry standing close by her side, “Oh, hello. Who are you?”

“I’m Harry,” Harry said, and Minerva watched the gears in Charlie’s head turn, then saw realization dawn on his face. Behind him, Eugenia Wiles pointed a surreptitious finger at Harry’s forehead, and John Chen elbowed his friend in the side to get his attention. Charlie was still and silent for a moment, then slid back into motion as though nothing had happened, sticking out his hand stoutly for Harry to shake.

“Charlie Weasley, nice to meet you. Are you going to be sticking around?” He cast a glance up at Minerva, who nodded, then returned his attention to Harry.

“I’m going to live here now,” Harry said, not noticing the stifled chaos of the other second years carrying on behind Charlie.

“Excellent,” He said, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his knuckles, “Great to have you. Do you like quidditch at all? I’ve been looking for someone to help me train—not on brooms, of course, professor,” He added quickly, catching the sudden, stern spark in Minerva’s eye, “What do you think? Would you be up for it?”

“Yeah, sure!” Harry said, grinning, “Only, what’s quidditch?”

“It’s my favourite sport. S’a bit hard to explain. You’ll get loads of chances to watch matches, though, so don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” Harry said, smile undimmed. Minerva should have known that, out of anyone, the Weasley boys would be alright. They both knew enough about kids Harry’s age from their younger siblings that they knew better than to ask him questions that he couldn’t or wouldn’t want to answer. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t gossip, but at this point, secrecy would inevitably be lost.

“I need to get Harry settled in now, Weasley,” Minerva said, less sternly than she might have if Charlie hadn’t conducted himself so well, “I’ll answer any questions you might have about animagi after class on Monday, or you can find me in my office Monday evening for an hour or two after dinner. Alright?”

“Sure thing, Professor,” Charlie said, and was about to step away when Minerva stopped him.

“Just one more thing, Weasley. When you or your older brother write to your mother about this, please try to impress upon her that, understandable though her sympathy will be, she doesn’t have anything to worry about, and any… material outpourings of affection are unnecessary. I promise that I will see to everything. There’s no need to inspire feelings of celebrity in anyone. She may know the story, but she doesn’t know the person behind it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Charlie laughed. “I’ll try my best,” He said, “No promises. Maybe I can talk her down to socks.”

“Thank you,” Minerva said, glad that Charlie had grasped her meaning, “Five points to Gryffindor, for your excellent discretion.”

“No problem, Professor,” Charlie said, then waved to Harry, “See you!” And with that, he jogged back to his friends. His hair had grown six inches since the start of the semester. There was no way that was natural. He was either brewing a hair-growth potion or having someone else do it for him: not at all an approved use of the student potion ingredients supply store. But part of being a Hogwarts professor was knowing when to leave well enough alone.  If Charlie wanted to grow his hair out when his mother wasn’t looking, Minerva was not about to stop him.

“He was really nice,” Harry said as they started off again, looking over her shoulder at Charlie, who was being accosted by the rest of the group’s raucous interest, certainly asking about his conversation with Harry.

“He is a kind boy. He’s in his second year, he’s in my house—Gryffindor—and if I’m not mistaken, I think he has a younger brother about your age. I bet he’d really enjoy your company,” Minerva said, and Harry smiled, still watching Charlie and the throng of happy friends. 

Chapter Text

They didn’t have far to travel to reach Minerva’s office. Harry only got a few seconds to gape at the dozens of floating staircases and the hundreds of moving portraits in the entrance hall before she drew him down a corridor to her study. There was a fire crackling in the hearth, and Dumbledore wasn’t there to greet them. Good. Taking a long breath, Minerva walked across the study to a bookshelf, glancing at a brass bookend shaped like a winged boar tucked into one corner, then peered down at Harry.

“This is my office. You’re free to spend as much time here as you like. It’s where I prepare lessons and talk to students. I’m afraid it’s not particularly exciting, but you’re always welcome here. This little flying pig can let you into my other rooms. There’s a bathroom and my bedroom, and a room I was using as a bit of storage space that I’m sure we can convince her to turn into a bedroom of your own. To use it, you just need to touch her, say her name, and then the room you want to go to. For instance: Penny, bathroom.” Silently, as though on hinges, the bookshelf swung away from the wall, and Minerva stepped back to let it open, revealing a bathroom complete with a claw-footed tub. Harry had a look of giddy delight on his face.

“You’ve got a secret room in your office. That’s really cool,” He said, taking a step inside to look around the bathroom, then exiting again.

“Would you like to see if Penny can make a bedroom for you?” Minerva asked, smiling as she closed the bookshelf again—Harry’s cheer was infectious.

“Yes, please,” Harry said, and Minerva nodded, reaching out for the brass boar and extending a silent prayer that the magic of the school would be cooperative.

“Penny, please reorder my spare room into a bedroom suitable for a young boy. I would like to call it ‘Harry’s room’.” The brass boar animated just enough to grunt and flutter its wings once, and then there was a great sound of shifting stone and scraping furniture, though from the safety of the study, no movement was visible. After fifteen seconds, the sounds softened, then silenced altogether, and Minerva gave the bookend a long, searching look, as though she could glean a hint about the success or failure of the effort from the boar’s expressionless face. She reached out and laid a finger on the boar’s head, then said with careful clarity, “Penny, Harry’s room.” Just as before, the bookcase swung back, and Minerva moved out of the way before looking into the room that had opened—then caught her breath. She had only visited the Potters once at Godric’s Hollow, shortly after Harry’s birth. She was certain that it must be her memory of the nursery that had coloured the castle’s creation of the new room for Harry.

The walls were the same spotless shade of summer sky, and frolicking across it were fourteen miniature quidditch players in Gryffindor red and gold and Slytherin silver and green. One Gryffindor chaser even had the same jersey number and dark, messy hair as James Potter, who’d bragged to her all those years ago about Lily painting and charming the mural herself. A stout little chair, upholstered in patchwork, was reminiscent of the handmade quilt and rocking chair that Hagrid had given James and Lily at their baby shower. There were differences, of course. The small four-poster looked much more like a Gryffindor dormitory bed—though with navy drapes instead of red—than it did Harry’s long-forgotten crib. There was a child-sized table sitting before the chair, a clothes trunk at the foot of the bed, and a small shelf of baskets and children’s books. Still, the similarities—that mural! —were enough to put Minerva on the brink of tears again as she remembered the young, happy family as they once were. Harry didn’t share her sentimentality.

He wandered into the room, eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth open in the expression of wonderment she’d seen on him so many times today, touching the wall as a Slytherin beater zoomed by under his hand, then the plush comforter on the bed, the little square window looking out on the lake, the back of the chair that was just a little bit too big for him… His voice was hushed as he turned back to Minerva, “Is this really all for me?”

Minerva cleared her throat and called herself back to the moment at hand. “Yes. The castle thinks this will suit you, and I agree. Do you like it?”

“It’s amazing!” Harry said, hurrying to open the trunk at the foot of the bed to reveal a few sets of oddly agnostic Hogwarts uniforms that looked about the right size, with white and grey trimmings.

“I’m glad you like it. If you want to put up different decorations, I’d be happy to see what I can do.” The baskets were mostly empty, though with a smattering of assorted toys and one screaming yo-yo, which Minerva quickly vanished before Harry had the chance to register what it was. Other than that, it was a charming room, and Minerva gave it a satisfied nod, wondering as she had on several occasions before if the castle could tell when it had done well. Now even clothes shopping could be delayed for a little while, until Harry had settled in and Minerva didn’t have classes to teach. “Oh, I still have your things, Harry,” She said, remembering in a flash the bundle Harry had packed and drawing it out of her pocket, “Engorgio. You can sort your things as you like and explore your new room. I’ll be in the study whenever you want to ask your questions.” The bundle bloomed back to its full size, and Harry set about unpacking it at once as Minerva turned and retreated to her study.  

The time of greatest danger had ended but her worry was only replaced by more questions. Why had Dumbledore refused to give her permission to fetch Harry if he had no intention of doing anything to stop her? Was there any chance he would go as far as trying to through Harry out of the school at this point, after the boy had received a room inside its walls? She’d legally protected Harry against being removed from her care, but that wouldn’t stop Dumbledore from throwing the both out of Hogwarts by firing her if he wanted, if for no other reason than because she’d had the impunity to disobey him. Unlikely, but possible. What game was it he was playing that necessitated a child’s suffering? Albus Dumbledore, like the dark wizards he was famous for fighting, was a great man. Powerful. A brilliant magical mind. But fit to look after the best interests of children? Absolutely not. She was in uncharted territory now, though. Minerva had never found herself on the wrong side of Dumbledore before.

She was still pondering the matter over a cup of strong tea when Harry, dressed in a not-quite-properly-buttoned uniform, a lumpy tie, and a tall black hat, walked out from behind the bookcase flushed with delight. “I’m dressed like one of the students, now,” he said, straightening his hat as he moved to stand before her desk, “Is it alright if I sit down?” Minerva stifled a laugh, not wanting to hurt Harry’s pride in the job he’d done dressing himself, but she couldn’t help a smile.

“Of course, you can sit down. It looks as though some of your buttons have gotten away from you, though. How about you take your tie off and give it another go. Starting at the very top—up one more, just at the collar. There you go. Do you know how to tie trainers?” Harry looked up from redoing his buttons and nodded, setting his hat at a new, jaunty angle. “You can probably manage a tie, then, with a bit of practice. There you are. That looks much better now that it’s buttoned properly. Here, let me help you with the tie…”

Minerva ended up doing the brunt of the work tying Harry’s tie, but he looked very pleased nonetheless as he settled down in front of her desk, so dwarfed by the chair that only his hat reached over its back. Minerva sat down again, considering her next words, then took a breath, “Would you like something to drink, Harry? Water? Pumpkin juice?”

“No thanks, I’m alright,” Harry said, then straight to the heart of the matter, “What were you talking about with those people? The ones who knew my name. How do they know me?” Any number of questions he might have asked about magic, the wizarding community, Hogwarts or goblins, and allowed her to delay beginning this hardest, inevitable conversation. But no. He had to dive right in at the first possible opportunity. The instinct of children was sharp enough to be frightening. This was for the best, though. It was better to let Harry understand all he could straight away. He’d been living in the dark for long enough.

Chapter Text

“What I want you to know first,” Minerva said after a long moment of consideration, “Is that none of what I’m about to tell you is your fault. You’re not to blame for anything that happened, and you were too young to do anything different. So young that I’m sure you don’t remember any of this. So even though this story is sad, and may be a little frightening, just keep in mind that there was nothing you could have done. Don’t feel guilty, understand?” Almost comically grave in his wizard’s hat, Harry nodded. “Good,” Minerva said, waiting one last moment to find the proper words before diving in.

“I’m sure you know that not everyone is a good person. Your aunt and uncle treated you badly even though they should have been taking care of you. There are bad people in the real world just like there are villains in story books. Sometimes they’re bad in small ways—calling other people names or refusing to be kind to people who deserve some kindness. Sometimes, if they’re powerful, they are bad in much larger ways. When your parents were young, before you were born, there was a wizard… Voldemort,” She couldn’t help but falter over the name, unsure whether or not she should say it at all. But refusing to speak it would only cause confusion, and Harry had a right to know. “A very powerful bad person. He thought that people born without magic, and people born with magic but to non-magical families, weren’t as good as witches and wizards with magical parents. He thought that magical people from magical families deserved to rule over everyone else. Of course, having magic doesn’t make a person any better or worse. It’s power, but it’s not power that’s earned. People can’t learn to become magical if they’re not, any more than you could decide to be born with red hair instead of black. So, the whole idea is very unfair.”

“Lots of people thought that Voldemort’s ideas were wrong and cruel, so they fought back against him and his supporters. James and Lily—your parents—were two of the people who chose to fight him. James was what we call a pureblood: a wizard from a wizarding family. If he had decided not to fight and just go along with what Voldemort wanted, he would have been left alone. But he knew it was wrong and he wanted to try to put a stop to it, so he put himself in danger anyway. Lily was a muggle-born—a witch from a non-magical family—and someone that Voldemort would have liked to see imprisoned or made a second-class citizen or killed. Her choices were to surrender and let Voldemort do whatever he wanted, to flee the country, or to fight. She decided to fight too. Your parents were both powerful magic-users, Harry. They were well-loved. They rallied other people to the fight. They were also quite clever, helping those of us resisting Voldemort to come up with plans to make things more difficult for him, and to eventually defeat him. They were wonderful people, Harry, and they poured themselves into the fight with all their hearts. But Voldemort wanted them out of the picture, and because he was afraid that you would grow strong enough to defeat him, he wanted you dead too.”

She stopped to study Harry’s stern face. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed together. “Are you alright, Harry?” She asked, voice soft, “I know this is quite a lot to take in. We could always take a break for now and keep going later.”               

“No,” Harry said with surprising force for such a small boy, “I want to know what happened to my parents. My uncle and aunt told me they died in a car crash.”

“Alright, then. If you want me to stop, just let me know… You were very young at the time, just a little more than a year old. Your family was protected by a spell that would keep them hidden from Voldemort, so long as a friend they trusted kept their secret. But their friend told Voldemort where they were, so he came to kill them. Your parents didn’t know he was coming, so they weren’t ready. Your father died trying to protect you and your mother. Voldemort killed your mother while she was trying to protect you. Then he turned his wand on you. But when he tried to kill you, something happened. The magic rebounded, somehow, and he lost his body and his strength. You were left alive, with the scar on your forehead from where his magic touched you.”

“People had been so afraid of Voldemort for so long that everyone who knew his name was happy he was gone, and they credited you for his downfall. Many people in the wizarding world consider you a hero, and every witch and wizard in the country knows your story. But they forget you’re only five-years-old. They forget you were only one when Voldemort fell from power. They see you as the hero in a story book, and they expect more from you because of what happened four years ago than they would from any other child your age—which isn’t fair to you. They’ll try to ask you to remember what you did, but if I had to guess what is was you did that night, I would say that you sat in your crib and cried because you were afraid. That’s how you were found, at the very least,” Minerva sighed and folded her hands on the desk, wondering if she had drawn the right line. She wanted it to be clear that Harry had no personal responsibility for either the death of his parents or Voldemort’s retreat into the shadows, but she didn’t want to belittle him either. “You were only a baby,” She reiterated, “You couldn’t have done anything different.”

Harry had a look of intense concentration on his face, and he was biting his bottom lip fiercely. There were tears welling up in his eyes despite this. Minerva wasn’t used to children this young and had little experience with children crying. Her own students rarely had cause to choke back tears. Harry had plenty of reason and was quite a small child but was trying to bottle it up regardless. His uncle and aunt must have despised him crying for any reason, the brutes. “It’s alright, Harry,” Minerva soothed, nudging a box of tissues closer, “You can cry if you like. It is very sad.” Harry bowed his head, and she saw his shoulders shudder. One fat tear, then another, dripped from his hidden face.

“They did love me. They loved me, but I can’t remember them at all,” Harry said. Such a quiet, heart-rending little voice.

“They did love you,” Minerva said, “And I am very, very sorry that you didn’t get the chance to know them yourself. But as I said, your parents were surrounded by people who loved them. They had friends who still remember their names and stories about them. If you like, I could write to some of them. I’m sure they would be happy to spend some time with you and tell you stories about them. Maybe they have pictures of them they could show you. Would you like that?” Harry’s shoulders shuddered again, but this time, he couldn’t hold himself back. A small, wet sob tore through his chest. Then another. Then another. And within seconds, he was bent and crying, tears falling into his lap. The tears tugged at Minerva, and she stood, crossing over to the other side of her desk to put a hand on Harry’s back, steading him through the tears as he cried.

It took a long time for Harry to finish pouring out all the tears, punctuated by many messy daubs of tissues at his running nose that Minerva vanished as they were placed aside. Eventually, though, the sobs dried, then quieted completely. For a minute Harry sat with somewhat swollen eyes, sniffling, and then, at last, he looked up at Minerva.

“I want to meet their friends,” Harry said, voice small and raw, “I want to see pictures of them.”

“Of course,” Minerva said, giving Harry an encouraging smile, “I’m sure they’d be delighted, Harry. Many of them were quite upset that they weren’t allowed to see you all this time. Once they find out you’re at Hogwarts, I think I would have to try to stop them from coming to visit. Now, here. Have a glass of water.” She summoned a glass from a cabinet and filled it with a stream of water from her wand before offering it out to Harry, “It will help you feel better.” Harry took a few big gulps, drinking just more than half before setting the glass down on her desk.

“Thank you,” Harry said, managing a small, faint smile.

“That’s quite alright,” Minerva said, returning it, “How about you go and take a nap in your new room, Harry. It’s been quite a long day. After that, we can have supper, and I can take you on a tour of part of the castle. Tomorrow, I can show you most of the rest of it, and if the weather is nice, you can explore the grounds too. I’ll introduce you to some of the other teachers at the school, and I’ll try to get into contact with some of your parents’ old friends as well. How does that suit you?”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, rubbing at his reddened eyes, “I’ll try to take a nap.” And, without pause or problem, he shuffled over to the bookcase to give his order to the winged boar.

It would have been more pleasant to talk about some of the intricacies of the magical world first, Minerva thought again. That had been a difficult explanation, and one that had left her heart aching for Harry. But it was better to give him the truth he wanted now than to delay telling him out of imagined kindness. Better not to walk on eggshells around him. Satisfied that she had done the right thing and that Harry would indeed be alright, Minerva returned to her now cold cup of tea to wait.

Chapter Text

Rumple-robed and messy-haired under his hat, Harry emerged from his room an hour and a half later. Minerva had made quite a lot of headway grading the third years’ essays in the interim, but sent the stack whizzing into a drawer and stoppered her bottle of ink with a sweep of her wand. “Good afternoon, Harry,” She said, sparing another flick of her wand for Harry’s robes, which straightened themselves, “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good,” Harry said, yawning before straightening up and giving her a smile, “Can we go and see the rest of the castle now, please?” Such lovely manners, she noted, not for the first time.

“Of course, Harry,” She said, rising from her desk and escorting Harry out of her office. The halls were quiet: it was still a couple hours before dinner, and between the nice weather, the Hogsmeade weekend, and the house common rooms, few students were choosing to mill about in the hallways. Harry kept pace with her, eyes bright with curiosity as she walked him through some of the most prominent parts of the castle. “This is the staff room,” she said, walking past the stone gargoyles at the entrance to open the door into the panelled room, “It is where Hogwarts’ faculty and staff sometimes spend time between classes, when they are not in their offices. Generally, I don’t see any reason you should want to pass time in this room, but if you are quiet and don’t disturb anyone who is working, then you’re perfectly free to spend time here. And it’s a good place to check if you need some help in a pinch. I’ll have a word with the gargoyles later, so they won’t bother you.” Minerva nodded at the statues flanking the door, before guiding Harry into the entrance hall.

“This is the entrance hall,” She said, gesturing up at the stairs, and towards the distant ceiling that Harry was gaping up at, “Those stairs lead up to the castle’s main staircase, which feeds into the rest of the castle. Down those stairs are the dungeon, where the Slytherin house common room is located, potions class is held, and the school stores unused items. Do you understand school houses, Harry?”

“I think so,” Harry said, walking as though inexorably drawn towards a portrait of a wizard with a niffler tucked under either arm, “They’re sort of like teams inside a school?”

Minerva stifled a laugh as Harry reached up towards the painted nifflers, to their snuffly, squirmy delight, “Oh, you’re fond of the portraits? I know they must be new to you. Magical paintings can capture the personality and even the knowledge of the painting’s subject. Hogwarts has quite a lot of them. For the most part, they’re very helpful. But a few of them can be rude or mischievous. They make for interesting conversation partners as you walk about, though. They can move from painting to painting. As for houses, Hogwarts has four. They are Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. You’ll find there is quite a lot of student loyalty to their house. But first and foremost, all students are Hogwarts students.” Some students would do well to remember that. “Still,” She went on, “Houses determine where the students live, which professor they primarily answer to outside of class hours, where they sit at meals, and class schedules. So they are rather important. I am the head of Gryffindor house. And as I mentioned, the Slytherin dorms are down those stairs. I’ll show you where the other houses’ dorms are located later.”

“Alright,” Harry said stoutly, having given up trying to pet the wriggling nifflers, “I’ll remember that.”

“It’s perfectly natural to forget or get lost, especially in the beginning,” Minerva said, giving Harry a pat on the shoulder, “You can always ask a portrait or a student. There is always someone around who can help. Now. Through these doors is the great hall…” She pushed open the double doors into the enormous space, whose ceiling was currently showing a cloud-streaked sky, tinged with warm, sunset tones. “This is where everyone eats meals, and where the school holds special events. You can eat up at the staff table with me. But as you make friends, and so long as you promise to eat plenty of vegetables and fruit, you can eat anywhere you like, as far as I’m concerned. I will always take you to meals, though, so you don’t have to worry about missing any.”

But Harry, it seemed, was concerned with less practical considerations, “There are so many candles! How are they all floating? Are they magic?” Minerva had to smile.

“They started out perfectly ordinary candles,” She explained, “But they were enchanted, to stop them from burning down or dripping wax, and to levitate. Simple charms—though you’ll have to wait to learn them until the fall after your eleventh birthday, just like everyone else.” It seemed as though Harry was doing his best to hide it, but five-year-olds weren’t skilled at concealing their emotions. He looked clearly crestfallen, though he didn’t make a peep. “I know it seems like a very long time to wait,” Minerva said, “But you’ll have plenty to learn in the meantime, and plenty else to do in the castle. It won’t feel as long as you think it will.”

“That’s six years away, though,” Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching at a pout.

“It is,” Minerva said, a touch more sternly, “And that’s the way it should be. Magic can be very dangerous if it’s not used properly, and you have to be old enough to be reasonably expected to manage the responsibility. Anyway, like I said, it’s not as though you won’t be learning. There is much more to the world than just picking up a wand and waving it about. I promise, your time here will be well-spent.” That seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded in agreement. “Very good,” She said, gesturing back towards the entrance hall, “Shall we continue our tour?”

Minerva showed Harry the hallway containing the kitchens and the door into the Hufflepuff dormitory, the transfiguration classroom, the hospital wing, and then how to navigate the meandering stairways in the castle’s heart; they went up the stairs to the library, where Minerva introduced Harry to Irma Pince, who eyed him suspiciously and warned him off bringing sweets or sticky fingers into the library, which was a ruder interaction than Minerva liked, but true enough that she didn’t contradict the librarian. She also showed him the locations of the most accessible bathrooms, the art and music classrooms, and the entrances to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. It was rather a lot of information and walking for a child of Harry’s age to take, and by the time Minerva led him back into the entrance hall, he was looking more than a little dazed. The school’s ground floor was more crowded now, too. Night had fallen outside, and in the time leading up to dinner, a couple dozen students were milling around in the area outside the great hall, many laden with items they’d bought from Hogsmeade.

Nymphadora Tonks and Aleena Mills were talking excitedly with a few Hufflepuff third years, who  were dividing up fat strawberry bonbons, rolls of Snapping Candy, and boxes of Fudge Flies. One particularly energetic candy fly escaped its open box, and Tonks, quick as a whip, snapped her tongue out at it, catching it as easily as a frog to the glee of her friends. Harry laughed, and the sound of such a young voice caught Tonks’s attention for a moment, and she grinned at him, sticking out her tongue again, which lolled like a dog’s. Then she licked her eye like a lizard, before wiggling it into her nose in a display that Minerva found stomach-turning but sent Harry into fits. Tonks faked a dramatic sneeze, and her nose grew three inches straight out, and adopted the approximate colour of a raspberry. Her friends were silly with giggles, but Harry, little legs splayed out before him was clutching at his stomach and sobbing with it. Tonks looked delighted with herself and grinned at Minerva before popping another Fudge Fly into her mouth—normally this time, which was a relief to her appetite. But Tonks either didn’t question why there was a young child at Hogwarts or else dinner was simply more pressing, because as the doors to the great hall opened, she turned away from Harry, and she and her friends traipsed inside together.

Harry was still laughing, a tear rolling from his eye, by the time they’d disappeared. The other students were beginning to take notice, and a few older Gryffindors—who had perhaps passed by Charlie Weasley and his friends on their way back from their day trip—paused and pointed in Harry’s direction. Now, in what was sure to be the tender prelude to a surge of The Boy Who Lived-related excitement, was no time to allow Harry to be swamped by students.

“Come now, Harry,” She said gently, helping Harry, who was wiping at his eyes, up to his feet again, “Let’s go get dinner. You must be hungry. And you—Hodgins, Meyer, Smith—didn’t anyone ever teach you it was rude to point? Five points from Gryffindor.” They left the entrance hall to a small chorus of complaints.  

“What was she doing with her face?” Harry asked breathlessly as Minerva led him into the great hall, where the tables were now laden with steaming platters, bowls, and tureens of food, “It was so funny! Can you do that?”

“That was Nymphadora Tonks,” Minerva said, unable to quite hide a smile as she led Harry up to the staff table, looking over towards the Hufflepuff table at Tonks, who had just accidentally upset a pitcher of pumpkin juice with her elbow, dousing her own lap, “She’s a metamorphmagus—someone who is born with the ability to change their appearance at will. She doesn’t have to use a wand to do it, which I would surely have to do, and even if I had a wand, I’m sure I could never approach the ease with which she does it. She was born with the ability, and as you can see, she practices quite a bit, too. She’s in the same year as Charlie Weasley, who you met earlier. Though she is a member of Hufflepuff, not Gryffindor. Now…” After a brief moment of silent concentration, Minerva conjured a tall chair for Harry next to her own spot at the table, on the far side from Dumbledore’s central seat, “How about you sit down, and I’ll make up a plate for you to eat."