A Tabby and Her Kit

by ubergrasshopper (minervad_18 @hotmail.com)

Rating: PG

Fandom: Harry Potter

Category: Drama, Romance.

Spoilers: AU; Pre-Hogwarts

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, from Privet Drive to the Burrow, belongs to the great J.K. Rowling. Anything you recognize that isn't from any of the books is probably from rotating fanfics, so take credit where it's due. Anything you absolutely don't recognize is mine. Lullaby is from *The Prince of Egypt* - "River Lullaby" sung by Amy Grant. Concept for binding spell from Tamora Pierce's *Woman Who Rides Like a Man*. Name of the inn mentioned later belongs to Tolkein. *The Cat in the Hat* belongs to the great Dr. Suess. Additional quote from *While You Were Sleeping*. Original concept for events in Chapter 17 comes courtesy of Daughter_of_Light.

Summary: Minerva stubbornly defies Dumbledore's command and rescues baby Harry Potter from his uncaring relatives. How will she handle raising him without the help of Hogwarts?

Chapter One: Rescued by a Lioness

In the perfectly normal muggle town of Little Whinging, Surrey, a heated argument was taking place on Privet Drive in the dead of night. The street lights had been snuffed out and two very strangely dressed adults stood before house number four. The woman was practically spitting nails, hands waving in every direction as she tried to make a point. The elderly man she directed her raving towards watched her serenely, as if he had expected the outburst.

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here!" the woman cried, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Albus - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said the man she had called Albus firmly, "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" she hissed angrily, proving yet again that Minerva McGonagall was a woman to be reckoned with. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter?" Albus winced at the tone she used calling him by his last name. "These people will never understand him!" she continued vehemently, "He'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future - there will be books written about Harry - every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Albus, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he is ready to take it?"

Eyes burning furiously she looked away, trying to calm her buzzing nerves before she said something she knew she would eventually regret. Finally, she quietly replied, "Yes - yes, you're right of course." They stood in silence, waiting for the child to seemingly fall from the sky. A loud roar filled the air, heralding the arrival of baby Harry Potter. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts gingerly hopped off a stylish motorcycle and greeted the two teachers, gently handing Dumbledore a small figure swathed in a soft blue blanket.

Minerva leaned towards the baby, stretching out a hand to smooth the soft black locks off of his forehead. "Is that where - ?" she whispered, tracing the cruel lightening shaped scar with a gentle finger.

"Yes, he'll have that scar forever," replied Dumbledore. He walked away, forcing the child's head to abandon Minerva's hand in mid-air. Stooping to place the child on the doorstep, he heard Minerva come up beside him. Straightening, he tore his gaze away from the small bundle on the doorstep, looked into his deputy headmistress' face, and was startled at what he found. Gaze fixed on the baby in front of her, her eyes were brimming with tears, her lips pressed into a thin line, but twitching all the same. Her hands trembled at her side. Knowing she would not thank him for noticing her distress, he turned and spoke to Hagrid.

Minerva fought valiantly to keep her heartbroken sobs silent, but a few unauthorized tears made their way down her cheeks.

"Well," she heard Dumbledore say, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

She barely recognized the sounds of Hagrid leaving, waging a serious battle in her own head. Try as she might, she could not shake the feeling that this was a very bad idea. So caught up in her thoughts, she jumped when Dumbledore addressed her.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," he said. Not turning, she nodded weakly, forcefully scrubbing the unbidden tears off her cheeks.

The man reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but changed his mind, turning and walking away from the scene. He pulled a shiny object out of his robes and clicked it once, returning the lights back to their respective lamps.

As soon as the street was light again, Minerva transformed into her animagus form, a tabby cat, and ran off around the corner. Albus watched her go, his heart heavy in his chest, as he silently pleaded for any deity to assure him that he was doing the right thing. Then, because he could not stand the situation any longer, he turned on heel and disappeared with a faint pop.

The tabby waited until she was sure the man was gone before she crept back to the sleeping baby. Sitting down next to it, she took in the tuft of black hair that was so like his father's and the offending scar on his forehead. The boy stirred, and she lowered her head to rub against his. Settling back with a quiet giggle, the boy drifted back into a deep slumber. Grinning to herself, Minerva lipped his nose gently and settled herself down next to him.

Minerva realized she must have dozed off, because the next sound she heard was a high-pitched wail from within the house. Opening one eye sleepily, she noticed that it was a little after dawn and that the neighborhood was beginning to awake. Getting up slowly, she stretched and turned her head slightly to regard the baby beside her. His eyes were wide open and staring fearfully around at his surroundings, but as soon as he caught sight of the tabby, he giggled and reached toward her. Minerva obliged and gave the boy her paw to entertain himself with as she sat down beside him once more.

'I'll just wait and see what happens,' she thought to herself, as she wrestled her paw away from the youngster and gently batted him on the nose. He giggled yet again and reached for her as she smiled and thought, 'I'll give it one day. I'm probably worried over nothing.'

The clink of milk bottles reached her through the closed door and she nuzzled Harry a quick good-bye. Minerva dived into the bushes to the side of the steps just as the door opened. A tall, gangly woman appeared. She stooped to put the bottles on the doorstep and froze, staring wide eyed at the green-eyed baby staring back at her. Slowly lowering the bottles onto the step, she reached for the letter beside the bundle.

'This cannot be Lily's sister,' Minerva thought savagely, 'She's far too horse-like. And why, pray tell, did she not pick up the baby first?'

For what seemed like ages, the woman stood there, her face paling by the second as she read the letter from Albus Dumbledore line by line. As she neared the end of the letter, a large, very fat baby crawled, or slid on his stomach, over to her. Seeing the strange new baby on his front doorstep, he reached a rough hand out to touch it. Noticing her son out of the corner of her eye, the woman reached down and swooped him up into her arms with a hateful glare at the baby on the ground.

"Duddy, dearest," she said in her annoyingly nasal voice, "you mustn't touch that thing." Minerva bristled and growled quietly. "You don't know where it's been." She reached down and grabbed a fistful of the blanket the child was in, holding the whole bundle out in front of her like it was a disease. Minerva scrambled up the steps as the woman kicked the door shut and poked a paw through the mail slot to see where the wench went. She peered into the muggle dwelling quietly and saw the woman disappear into a room at the back of the house.

Leaping off the steps, Minerva darted around the house to the back. She jumped up onto the windowsill, not caring if she was seen, and glared into the kitchen where the woman plopped the baby onto the table in front of the blob of a man who was her husband.

"Vernon," she began quietly as she gently placed her own son in his high chair, "This baby was on our front porch this morning."

Her husband looked up sharply, taking in the child with a shrew glance. "Why?" he asked bluntly, regarding the baby boy as if he was a piece of garbage that had found its way onto his kitchen table.

"It's Lily's baby," the woman replied neutrally, and continued nonchalantly, "She's dead and they want us to take care of it."

"WHAT?" Vernon thundered. "I am not having some freeloading infant dropped on our laps! I won't stand for this, Petunia! You write back to them and tell them they can bloody well take care of the thing themselves."

"Me?" she shrieked, "Why me? It's not my fault I was cursed with a freak for a sister. Besides," she continued maliciously, "They won't listen to reason, they have their own freakish way of doing things and I'll bet this child is going to grow up to be one of them."

As they went off, back and forth, ranting and raving about freaks and what should be done with them, Minerva watched from the window, her heart breaking for the little boy who was unceremoniously plopped onto the table by his last remaining blood relative. Her last reserves of patience were wearing thin when Petunia finallly ended the verbal bashing of the wizardring world with a prudent statement.

"Well, we'll have to keep it for today, we're having company over and there's no time to deal with this now."

"Quite right, quite right," Vernon replied, his moustache twitching fearfully as he thought of what his boss would say about all of this. "What should we do with it, then?"

Petunia thought for a moment before replying, "The cupboard under the stairs should do fine. I mean, we can't have it staying in Dudley's room, and the spare bedroom is for the rest of his toys and clothes."

"Yes," Vernon agreed. "And the guest bedroom is for guests not freeloaders," he stated, glaring, yet again, at the helpless baby on his table. "And he's certainly not staying in our room. Yes, the cupboard would be fine," he finished.

Over the course of this exchange, the tabby's mouth had dropped open and was now hanging weakly in a very un-cat-like manner. Minerva was convinced she must have misheard, for the glass windowpanes could distort the words coming through, but she was proved wrong as Petunia grabbed the blanket again and strode over to the cupboard under the stairs. Opening the thin door, she roughly placed the child inside and quickly shut the door again.

Fighting back a vengeful scream of rage, Minerva tried to force herself to sit quietly on the window and wait for the group to leave the kitchen. 'Forget waiting a day,' she fumed, 'that boy is not staying here a minute longer.' She pushed off the window ledge and ran around to the far side of the house. Finding a large rock about the size of a human fist, she transformed and flung it through the window of their living room, where there was a solid wall hiding the cupboard door from view.

Not waiting to see if they had reacted, she transformed back and darted around to the back door. Transforming again, she whispered an unlocking charm and hurried inside to the cupboard, ignoring the bellows of rage coming from the living room. She opened the door and stooped to enter. Baby Harry was curled up in a tiny ball beneath the lower stairs, his vivid green eyes clearly showing he was scared out of his mind. Cobwebs were now stuck in his hair as he had pushed himself into the tiniest corner he could find. His breath came in slow hiccups and his quiet sobs slowed as he regarded the woman staring down at him

Cursing the muggles under her breath, Minerva went down on her hands and knees and reached for the boy. He cringed as her hand drew closer and she stopped. Transforming into the tabby he had seen that morning, she trotted up to him. A small smile formed from beneath his dirty face and his tear-filled eyes lit up as she lipped him on the nose. She slowly sank her teeth into the sleeve of his now dust-covered shirt and tugged him out of the corner.

As soon as she was clear of the lower stairs, she transformed back and cracked her head on the ceiling. Biting back a shrill curse, she glanced down at the giggling baby at her feet. Grinning wryly to herself, she bent down and gathered up Harry and the blanket he had kicked out of. She stepped out of the closet cradling the child to her with one hand while shaking out the filthy blanket with the other.

The Dursleys had relocated to the kitchen where Petunia was on the phone with the police about the rock through her window. Luckily, her back was to the hallway as Minerva emerged. The witch made her way to the front door, putting the blanket over her shoulder as she proceeded to dust off the boy in her arms. Realizing that this was a futile task, she pulled out her wand and whispered a quick cleaning charm. Then she transfigured her outfit to muggle clothing: a long, thick gray woolen skirt, a white, button down shirt, and a black overcoat. She made her hat another blanket for Harry and wrapped him in both. By the time she reached the front door, she could pass as a muggle woman with her baby.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw the muggle woman fussing over her own chilid yet again while her husband reread the paper. She opened the door quietly, as to not draw attention, and shut it just as quietly behind her. From there, she apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. Only when she was halfway up the sloping drive to the castle did she stop dead and fully realize her actions. She had directly defied Albus Dumbledore.

Chapter Two: A Stronger Type of Love

Tensing, she tried to visualize the fight that would eventually take place in the Headmaster's office. A few seconds later, she felt a small pair of hands wind their way around her neck. Looking down at the bundle in her arms, she met the puzzled green-eyes of her charge. Smiling at his expression, she pulled him into a loving hug and whispered, "It will be all right, little one. I'll keep you safe no matter what happens." With that, the small boy snuggled into her embrace and she continued up the path to the castle.

In light of the recent defeat of Voldemort, the Headmaster had given the student body the rest of the week off in order to celebrate with family. Minerva opened the towering doors to the main entrance with a flick of her wand and stepped inside. The castle was, for the most part, completely devoid of life; the ghosts were probably down in the dungeons celebrating Voldemort's fall in their own way, even Flich had left with Mrs. Norris to join in the festivities. Her quick footsteps echoed throughout the cavernous halls, making her feel very small and insignificant against the grandness surrounding her.

She made her way to the Headmaster's office, where she supposed he was, holding the baby to her and steeling herself for an unpleasant meeting. The stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office stepped aside when it saw her, not even waiting for her to utter the password. Lifting her skirt with one hand, she climbed the spiral staircase up to his office. Once she reached the top, she knocked on the door quickly, before she could change her mind.

Opening the door, she saw the Headmaster sitting behind his desk, his elbows propped up on it, his hands steepled in front of his as he regarded her with flashing blue eyes devoid of their usual twinkle.

"Albus," she started quietly, not daring to do anything to enrage the wizard further, "I couldn't leave him there, his aunt - "

"This was not a decision for you to make," he replied, his voice rising dangerously as he continued, "His relatives provide him with the protection he needs, it was foolish of you to - "

"They don't love him, Dumbledore," she shot back, "Do you know what she did, his aunt? Do you even care?"

"Of course I care, it's just - "

"She tossed him into a closet!" Minerva yelled. Seeing Dumbledore open his mouth to question this, she continued, "Yes, she read the letter, yes, she realized that he was Lily's, but she didn't care! Neither of them did! They kept calling him 'it' and 'that thing' like he was a piece of rubbish rather than their nephew!"

"All the same, Minerva, he is pro- "

"I don't care if he's protected from Death Eaters there," she cried. "Who will protect him from his family? They don't love him, Dumbledore, and I refuse to leave him there," she finished, her chest heaving with emotion.

"As I said before," Albus stated, a dangerous edge to his voice, "This was not a decision you had the right to make. I have my reasons for leaving him with his relatives, there is - "

"Yes, yes," she cut in irritably, "There is an ancient magic you have set up to keep him safe through the blood of his relatives. I surmised as much."

Albus stood there, silently regarding the head-strong Gryffindor before him. Her cheeks were flushed in anger, but her hands were gentle as she cradled the small bundle in her arms. His eyes were drawn to the green eyes staring back at him with trepidation as his small hands firmly grasped the fabric of Minerva's coat, as if he could sense that the man before them sought to re-separate them.

'Perhaps there is a way,' a small part of him thought, 'Perhaps he could stay here.'

'And put the rest of the students in danger?' another part of him shot back. 'And what of the protection?'

'That can be dealt with,' the small part countered, 'There are magical binding spells that result in just as strong a bond as blood.'

'But they wouldn't work, now would they? Foster blood is not the same as blood blood.'

'Orphans adopted in our world go through it.'

'It is not the same, he's not an orphan yet. His family is still alive.'

'That doesn't matter,' the small part spat out, exasperated, 'they don't want him, didn't you hear her? They don't love him.'

'His protection is more important. The fate of the wizardring world lies with this boy.'

"Albus," Minerva started again, bringing him out of his reverie, "a child cannot grow up without love. Look at Tom Riddle."

He looked up sharply at the woman in front of him, wondering exactly why she had brought up that name. She was right, of course, a child growing up without love could have disastrous consequences. Still. . .

"Minerva," he replied gently, "the boy has far too much Gryffindor in his blood to turn evil. Tom Riddle was the heir of Slytherin, there was very little to stop it."

"I have a hard time believing in predestination, as you well know," she shot back. "Tom Riddle grew up in an orphanage without anyone to look out for him and love him. I refuse to allow the same to happen to Harry."

"It is out of the question," he uncharacteristically snapped. "There are too many lives at stake if he remains here. You know as well as I do that Voldemort will eventually return, it is only a matter of time."

"So you would sacrifice a boy's well-being for the sake of the greater good?" she snapped back. "And as for being a risk to the students if he were to stay here - what do you think is going to happen when he begins his schooling here? Do you honestly think the Dark Lord will just give up because the boy has reached the age of eleven?"

"So you would sacrifice the greater good for one child?"

"I know he can't stay here, Dumbledore," she spat, "I know the risks as well as you do. But the boy cannot stay with those people."

"And who would you leave him with?" he asked critically, "Sirius? You know that's out of the question. Remus Lupin? He will not be able to care for the child as he needs to be taken care of! Or have you forgotten his little problem that occurs during the full moon? Harry would not be safe with him. Besides, he's already taken off," he snapped his mouth shut, refusing to say more on that subject.

A tense silence filled the room as both realized the answer to the question.

"I will take him with me," Minerva stated firmly. Her stern glare told Dumbledore her decision was final.

Meeting her eyes stonily, he asked in a quiet, deadly voice, "And what of your teaching position?"

"Give it to someone without a child to care for," she hissed. She turned and strode out of the room without looking back.

Albus Dumbledore drew in a shuddering breath as she descended the spiral staircase and threw a disgusted glare at her retreating shadow. 'She'll come around,' he convinced himself, 'She won't leave.'

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she slumped against the hallway wall. Sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the ground, she brought her knees up and leaned the baby against them.

"What do I do, bebay?" she asked quietly, begging for some type of answer. He stared up at her through huge, bottle-green irises, and reached out to her grinning.

"Ma," he said as he reached up.

She froze and stared into his eyes as he grabbed a few strands of hair that had worked their way out of the tidy bun she kept it in. She laughed as he tugged gently and gazed down at him.

"Well, I suppose that settles it," she stated with a smile. "But it isn't 'ma' dearest, it's Aunt Minerva."

"An merva?"

She laughed again, untangling her hair from his tiny hand and said, "Yes, sweet, Aunt Minerva. Come on," she stood up slowly, "Let's go pack."

As she turned the corner to the transfigurations wing, she slowed, trying to savor the last time she walked down these halls. In her arms, Harry stared around, twisting his head from side to side, trying to take in everything at once. Vast floor to ceiling windows lined one side of the main hall, rich fabrics in burgundy, gold, and royal purple framing them. A suit of armor stood between each window against the stone of the castle. Harry squealed in delight shouting, "Ma! Ma! Yook! Yook!" as the suits waved to him cheerily. Minerva chuckled, repositioning the boy in her left arm so he could look out the window without twisting around backwards.

As they turned the next corner, Harry let out a surprised yell, "Kiddif! Yook, Ma! Kiddif!" and pointed energetically out the window. Minerva turned to see what was making him so excited and almost fell down laughing.

"Yes, Harry, Quidditch," she repeated, walking over to stand next to the window. Down the slope of the hill where Hogwarts stood was the Quidditch stadium. Harry had spotted the brightly colored flags of the different houses flying beneath the tall hoops of gold. "Your father's taught you all about Quidditch, now has he?" she inquired, thinking wryly of the Quidditch-crazed student she used to know.

"Kiddif got free chathers, an doo beaters, an'a keeper, an'a seeker, an'a kaffle, an'a buggers, an'a goyen snit!" he stated proudly, looking up into Minerva's face for confirmation.

"That's absolutely right!" And, because she couldn't resist, she asked, "And who's the best Quidditch team?"

"Giffdor!" Harry yelled.

She smiled down at him. "Gryffindor," she muttered. "Of course your father and Mr. Black took care of brainwashing you, didn't they?" she asked as they proceeded down the hall.

Reaching a painting of a young scribe hard at work, she stopped. Harry, amazed at the figure scribbling furiously on a blank piece of parchment, called, "Heyo?" Startled, the figure in the painting looked up at the baby boy waving shyly at him from within the sturdy grasp of Professor Minerva McGonagall.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor!" the figure cried. "I thought you were out celebrating!"

"It's quite alright, Equin," she replied. "Elladorna"

The picture slid to the side revealing a large, sturdy, oak door with a black handle and black hinges. Twisting the handle, she pushed and opened the door into a spacious, inviting suite. She across the living room and into the bedroom through the door in the far right-hand side of the space.

The room was large, but sufficiently filled with a huge armoire next to the bed and shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, and interesting knick-knacks acquired over the years. A large, queen-sized, four-poster bed stood against the wall on the other side of the door adorn in typical Gryffindor burgundy and gold. A small-ish fireplace was set in the stone directly across from the bed about three feet up the wall. Depositing Harry on the bed, she turned to open the drawer of her nightstand.

A stuffed Gryffindor lion, presented to her by the Headmaster as a joke, lay inside. She pulled it out slowly and handed it to the boy, who took it with a look of wonder on his face as the lion proceeded to roar and move its legs around as he held it.

Realizing that she had better pack fast before the gravity of the situation hit her, she pulled out her wand and opened the drawstring bag lying on top of the nightstand. With a wave of her wand, the books and other miscellaneous objects about her room flew into the bottomless bag. Next, her shrunk the contents of the nightstands and the armoire and waved them, too, into the bag, watching absently as her strict teaching wardrobe zoomed towards her. She left Harry on the bed as she packed up her bathroom, but picked him up and moved into the living room so she could keep an eye on him.

Soon, her rooms were empty, all of her belongings packed into the medium-sized bag she slung over her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she looked around at her empty quarters for the last time, sweeping the room and coming to a stop on the small boy before the huge, burning fire. The sides of her mouth curved upward in a loving smile as he made the roaring lion in his hands fly through the air as if on a broomstick. He stopped moving, feeling her gaze on him, and grinned at her. Rising unsteadily, he teetered towards her as she went down on her knees and opened her arms wide.

"Come on, love," she urged. He came closer and closer until he fell into her arms and she scooped him up, whispering into his ear, "Let's go home."

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pinch of Floo powder and cast it into the fire. The flames roared and turned green. "Hang on tight, Harry," she said, and stepped into the fire calling, "Marian Cottage" and then they were gone.

Chapter Three: Ma'

They spun for what seemed like ages to Harry, as he clung to Minerva with every ounce of strength he possessed until they reached their destination. Gracefully, she stepped out of the hearth and into her home, soothing the small boy in her arms as he still held her neck in a vice-like grip. "Harry, it's over, you can open your eyes now," she softly spoke into his ear.

Hesitating, he lifted his head slowly from the crook of Minerva's neck where he had buried his eyes. Exhausted, both physically and mentally, the witch walked over to the couch and slumped down onto it. Sensing something was wrong with his new guardian, Harry, who had settled into her lap, pulled himself up by the fabric of her shirt, balancing his tiny feet on her lap. Fully standing, he peered into the tired face of Hogwart's former Deputy Headmistress. Seeing her eyes closed, he poked her right one, trying to get them to open.

Groaning, she caught the offending fist in her eye with a pale hand and pulled the tiny boy to her. Harry let his head fall onto her collarbone, wrapping his other arm around Minerva's neck and heaving a deep sigh. They stayed like that for a time, until Harry spoke, "Ma?"

"Aunt Minerva, Harry," she corrected. She was not sure why the boy insisted on dubbing her 'ma' but she wanted to discourage it. She was not his mother, and she thought it wrong for him to be able to replace Lily so quickly.

He sighed in exasperation then corrected himself, "An Merva?"

"Yes?"

"Tummy?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, Harry!" Minerva exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and hurrying into the kitchen. "I forgot you haven't eaten today."

Looking at the plain, muggle clock hanging above the sink, she saw that it was nearly lunchtime. She rummaged around the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, pulling out various items until she had bread, applesauce, and milk on the kitchen counter. It was not a wholly nutritious lunch, but it was all she had and at least it wasn't junk.

The meal was finished quickly, both Minerva and Harry making a feast of the few edible items in her home. When they were done, she cleaned the countertop with a charm - she was far too tired to use the muggle method as she normally would.

"Come on, Harry," she said, stifling a yawn, "It's nap time."

"Mkay," came the placid reply.

Minerva raised her eyebrows - she had never heard of a toddler willingly subject himself to a mid-day nap, even if he really was tired. Harry met her gaze sleepily and reached his arms up in a silent demand to be carried. Shrugging inwardly, she obliged, picking him up and walking out of the kitchen as he latched his hands together behind her neck. She trudged up the stairs and into the larger of the two bedrooms on the floor. Balancing Harry with one hand, she took off her coat and tossed to over the back of the chair in front of a small vanity in the corner. She sat down on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay back slowly, sinking into the many pillows decorating her bed.

Harry released her neck but remained glued to her chest as he made himself comfortable on top of her. Minerva's hands held him in place, on hand supporting his head, the other resting on his back, the pillows buoying her arms. They lay like that for nearly an hour, breathing each other in and memorizing each other's scents. His forehead leaned on the side of her neck, his right hand on the left side of her collarbone, and his left hand behind his head on her shoulder.

"Ma?" he whispered after a while.

Minerva sighed, "Harry, I'm not your ma." She sat up, placing Harry beside her as she stretched over the rest of the bed to her nightstand. She pulled open the drawer, reached in, and drew out a nearly full photo album. These were pictures of her favorite students, dating all the way back to Molly Gardner and Arthur Weasley in the fifties. These were the students she stayed in touch with, even years after graduation. She flipped to the last few pages, where her most recent students were. The last page held pictures of last year's Gryffindor Champions and their Quidditch Cup. There were Arthur and Molly's children, Charlie and Bill. Little second year Charlie standing next to his older, taller brother, grinning widely and clutching the tiny golden snitch in his hand.

"Kiddif!" squealed Harry pointing at the picture with glee.

"Yes, yes, but that's not what I want to show you." She flipped further back to the year 1975, when the infamous Marauders began their reign of pranks on Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The first picture was of James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew, the Marauders in their first year.

Harry immediately pointed to James and said, "Daddy!"

"Yes, that's your father, Harry."

"No more," he stated matter-of-factly, "Daddy up inna sky wif d'angews - Mummy set."

Minerva stared at the picture, her eyes watering as she remembered two of her favorite students, even as she smoothed the soft black hair on their son's head. "That's right, dear, your Daddy's up in the sky with the angels. He's always watching you. And so is your mother," she said gently, turning to the next picture. Here, the Marauders were in sixth year - Lily and James held hands shyly in the middle of the picture while the three remaining Marauders snickered behind them.

She pointed to the young girl with fire hair holding his father's hand. "That's your mother, Harry."

Harry reached out to touch the picture, recognition flashing across his face as he said, "Mummy."

Minerva turned the page yet again, to his parents wedding day, again, the litany was said. The last picture in the album was of Lily seated in a regal pose, her husband standing proudly behind her with a hand on her shoulder and their son perched on her lap. Minerva smiled as she watched James bite his lower lip in an effort to stifle his laugher at the ridiculous pose. Lily rolled her eyes at her husband's antics and the baby started laughing and clapping as his father fell out of the picture, standing up again only to collapse against the side of the picture laughing hysterically. Even Lily couldn't completely mask her giggles as a few broke through her stern demeanor.

"Mummy and Daddy nah hewe," Harry said suddenly. "Dey up inna sky wif d'angews?"

"Yes, Harry, but they will always love you, and they'll always be watching out for you."

"Ma?"

"Aunt Minerva."

"Ma," he stated firmly, poking Minerva in the nose, emphasizing his point.

"Harry, what did I just tell you?" she asked exasperated.

"Mummy up inna sky wif d'angews, Ma dow hewer wif me," he said seriously, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Minerva as if daring her to argue with him again.

Minerva didn't know what to think. The fifteen month-old baby rationalized the situation differently than she had. He knew exactly what he was doing. His calling her 'Ma' was not him replacing Lily, but rather, him adopting a new guardian.

"Alright, Harry," she said finally, giving in to his glare and his reasoning.

A happy smile lit up his face as he reached out and triumphantly said, "Ma."

Laughing, she pulled him into a hug and laid him down on the bed beside her. She reached over him and pushed the photo album back onto the nightstand. Settling back into her pillows, she saw the baby asleep already, the ring finger of her left hand caught by his right and trapped in a death grip. She pried her finger out of his hand and he began to whimper. Smoothing the hair away from his forehead, she shushed him, humming an old song to him as he turned his head into her touch. Lying down, she set her head in the crook of her left arm and placed her right around the boy, going over his pudgy legs and reaching her hand up to touch his cheek with the tips of her fingers, fencing him in with her forearm.

Placing a light, loving kiss on the scar on his forehead, she drifted off to sleep, absently stroking his cheek.

"Ma," he muttered sleepily.

"Ma," she agreed with a smile.

Chapter Four: Of Work and Friendship

Marian Cottage was a humble dwelling, miles away from the nearest town of Ottery St. Catchpole. A thick line of trees blocked the view of the house from the narrow dirt road and traced the property's southern boundary around the house. The cottage itself was seated at the top of a small rise facing east. To the west, behind the house, the land leveled off for about an acre before gently sloping down towards a shallow lake, its east bank shaded by a small grove of trees.

The stone walls of the cottage were mostly gray, with a few dull red and orange stones mixed in. The shutters and tiled roof were a deep burgundy shade contrasting richly with the light oak wrap-around porch. Flowers and green plants accented the front of the house while a small vegetable garden grew to the side of it. A large gray dog was plopped on floor of the porch next to the back stairs, its head resting on its paws with its eyes closed - the picture of relaxation. On the grassy lawn, three smaller dogs chased each other energetically, frolicking playfully in the late afternoon sun. The cottage and its surroundings were the perfect picture of tranquility.

"Minerva Anne McGonagall!" a shriek pierced the calm stillness around the cottage. Immediately, the gray dog sprang into action, barreling through the large doggy door and through the kitchen to skid to a stop before the fireplace in the living room, barking loudly at the familiar furious face in the hearth. The three smaller dogs had followed the larger one inside and now slid to a halt next to it, wagging their tails excitedly and joining in the cacophony.

Upstairs, a woman with raven black hair sat bolt upright in bed, awoken from a peaceful sleep by an angry yell. Scrambling over the side of the bed, she grabbed her square glasses and wand from the nightstand and dashed into the hall. She careened down the stairs and into the living room, where her four dogs were madly barking at the head in her fireplace. The said head was just as madly shouting back.

"Quiet! Tate, stop it! Go find Minerva!" it yelled.

The woman rolled her eyes as she recognized the voice. "Tate, get back," she commanded, and the big gray dog bounded over to her, closely followed by the other three. She greeted each of them with a pat on the head and shooed them out of her way as she knelt before the fire to talk with the head.

"It's about time," the head spat. "Please, please, PLEASE tell me what Albus said isn't true."

"What did he say, Amanda?" Minerva asked warily, not wanting to re- ignite her friend's already strained temper.

Taking a deep breath, Amanda Hooch replied, "He said you were taking some time off to take care of something, and that we were not to contact you until you came to your senses and returned."

Raising her eyebrows, Minerva replied, "He said all that, did he?"

"Well, not in so many words, but it was implied."

"Well, what did he say?"

"I don't know, something like that, but tell me," Amanda said, eyeing her friend and colleague suspiciously, "what are you doing? What exactly are you taking care of? And why didn't I find out about this before he did?" she ended in a pout.

Minerva stayed silent, not knowing how to tell her friend that she had virtually kidnapped The-Boy-Who-Lived. With a sharp intake of breath, she spun around and sprinted back up the stairs to the bedroom. When she reached the doorway, she heaved a sigh of relief. The-Boy-Who-Lived was sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Looking up, he smiled sleepily and raised his arms out to Minerva.

"Ma," he called.

Smiling, Minerva walked over to the bed and lifted the little boy up and turned around, only to come face to face with the head from the fire, this time with the rest of the body attached.

"Ma?" she grinned evilly. "So this is what you've been up to. Minerva, you little vixen!" she teased.

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "Yes, Amanda, this is what I've been up to." As her friend's mouth dropped open, she continued, "However, it's not what you think it is. Come on, I'll tell you downstairs, I need a cup of tea."

Brushing past a gaping Amanda, she made her way down to the kitchen, where her dutiful watchdog lay in front of the oven.

"Some watchdog you are," she muttered as she transfigured a stool into a highchair for Harry, "where were you when I got home?"

As she placed the baby in the chair, Amanda walked in, still looking shell-shocked. Pointing her wand at the pair of teacups beside the sink, she turned to her friend, "Amanda," she began as the teacups floated over to them, "This is Harry Potter."

Amanda looked at her blankly for a moment, then turned to get a better look at the black-haired child next to her. Her eyes took in the jet- black hair, the vivid green eyes, and, most importantly, the lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead, but her mind was refusing to process what she was seeing.

"You're joking," she said flatly.

Nearly stomping her foot in exasperation, Minerva replied, "No, I'm not joking! Look at him! Look at his scar!"

"But how-?" Amanda started.

"It doesn't matter how," Minerva cut in firmly, "he's staying here and that's final."

"Why?" the gray-haired woman in front of her questioned, the tea on the counter forgotten.

"Because I couldn't leave him where he was," she replied quietly, reaching out to gently brush the baby's hair out of his face.

Amanda watched the action silently, noting her friend's softening features as she looked on the child. A tiny smile worked its way onto her face as the small boy grasped Minerva's hand tightly, tugging her closer and whispered urgently, "Ma, hu dat?"

"That's my friend, Amanda," Minerva replied, leaning down to speak softly in the boy's ear, "Why don't you say hello?"

"Hi," the boy shyly said in a soft voice.

"Hello, there," Amanda replied, unable to stay peeved at the boy for costing her friend her job; she could see why Minerva wanted to keep him.

"Amanda coaches Quidditch at Hogwarts," Minerva told Harry. Turning to Amanda, she said, "Harry knows all about Quidditch."

"I'll bet," Amanda muttered, remembering the boy's Quidditch-loving father.

Minerva stepped back and picked up her cup of tea as Amanda "talked" Quidditch with Harry. She knew why her friend had come, to convince her to return to Hogwarts. Watching Harry wave his hands around energetically as he described a chaser's job, she knew she could never go back, not when the tiny boy before her needed to be taken care of.

Amanda stayed for dinner, much to Harry's delight as he had taken to the witch as soon as he learned that she was, by his standards, well-versed in Quidditch. Over a makeshift feast of pasta and chicken, Minerva gave Amanda the details of how Harry came to be at Marian Cottage. As the moon came up, Harry's eyelids began to droop and his yawns grew bigger. Motioning for Amanda to wait in the living room, Minerva scooped the boy up and carried him up the stairs.

His head dropped down onto her shoulder as she made her way into the bedroom. Laying him down on the bed, she pulled out her wand and cast about for something to transfigure. Pushing her coat off of the chair beside the vanity, she picked up the chair and placed it at the foot of the bed. She pointed her wand at it and turned it into a sturdy crib. Tossing one of the many pillows on her bed into the crib, she transfigured that into a soft mattress and threw another one in to make it a soft pad to encircle the inside part of the crib.

She crawled up onto the bed and over to the baby fussing on it. She picked him up and tried to place him in the crib, but he grabbed a handful of her shirt and refused to let go. Sighing, she sat back and cradled him and began to softly sing to him.

[Hush now, my baby,
Be still love, don't cry.
Sleep like you're rocked by the sea
Sleep and remember my lullaby
So I'll be with you when you dream.
Drift on a river that flows through my arms
Drift as I'm singing to you
I see you smiling so peaceful and calm
And holding you I'm smiling too.]

Amanda watched her friend sing to the baby from the doorway, holding a stuffed lion in her hand. In the thirty years she'd known Minerva, she had never seen her like this. True, Minerva always had been headstrong and stubborn, traits of a true Gryffindor, but she had also always been the one to look at a situation objectively and not get personally involved. It was obvious to Amanda that her friend would stick to her decision. Still, she had to try, seeing as how she was under strict orders from Dumbledore to convince her to come back.

Harry was fast asleep in Minerva's arms by the time she finished the song. Rising to her knees, she made her way across the bed and laid the sleeping child down in the crib. Silently, Amanda walked over to them and placed the Gryffindor lion next to the boy as Minerva summoned a thick blanket from the bedroom across the hall.

Tate strolled in after the blanket, jumping up onto the bed next to Minerva and peering into the crib. She reached her hand over to scatch the big dog behind his ear and his tail wagged in appreciation. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the huge bloodhound jumped off the bed and trotted to the other side of the crib. He turned in a few circles before settling down on the thick carpet to the side of the sleeping baby, resuming his self-apppointed job of "head watchdog". A small smile made its way onto Minerva's face as the rest of her dogs came in and sprawled out to the left and right of Tate.

Motioning for them to go back downstairs, Amanda walked out the door. Minerva followed quietly after another glance at Harry, and met her friend down in the living room.

They sat in silence for a while before Amanda started, "Minerva, why did you take that boy in? And don't feed me that bull about not being able to leave him with his relatives," she snapped as the other woman opened her mouth.

Minerva thought for a while, but, finding no real answer to her friend's question, she replied, "I don't know."

Maybe it was the way she said it or the light in her eyes whenever she looked at him, but after that statement, Amanda knew why, even if Minerva didn't. Resigned, she looked over her friend with a critical eye and remarked, "You know you ARE allowed to take care of yourself even if you have a baby in the house."

Minerva's hair was a mess, compared to its usual state of rigid tidiness, and her clothes were wrinkled.

"I know, I know," Minerva clipped, pulling her hair completely out of its bun, "I just haven't had a chance today."

"Are you ready for this?" Amanda wanted to know. "Are you sure you can handle all of this? I mean, you are only one woman."

"It is not uncommon for a woman to raise a child on her own," Minerva replied calmly, "Besides, I'm the oldest of nine children. I think I'll be able to handle one baby boy."

"Suit yourself," Amanda grinned. After a pause, she asked, "What are you going to do about Albus?"

"What about him?" Minerva bristled.

"Well, he seemed quite set on having his Transfigurations teacher back by the time Hogwarts reopens in three days."

"I'm not going back," she stated with an air of finality.

"I know you're not," Amanda conceded, "but what are you going to tell him? He doesn't seem to understand that yet."

"What does he want then?" she cried. "A formal letter of resignation?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

Silence. "Fine," Minerva said icily. "Fine."

With that, she rose and walked past the stairs to the study on the other side. Curious, Amanda followed her, wincing slightly as the other woman snapped viciously to no one in particular.

"Stubborn prick," she fumed, "wouldn't believe a bloody thing if it's not in writing."

"Now, Minerva, that's not fair - " the gray-haired witch began, but stopped abruptly as Minerva's eyes snapped up and glared at her. Sliding meekly into a plush arm chair in front of the desk Minerva sat behind, Amanda kept all thoughts and comments to herself. Minerva quickly scribbled something down on a piece of parchment and held it out to the other witch.

"Here, read it," she commanded. "Do you think it's clear enough?"

[To Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,

I, Minerva McGonagall, hereby resign from my position as Transfigurations teacher and Head of Gryffindor house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I also resign from my administrative position of Deputy Headmistress at said school. Please accept my resignation as I am no longer able to perform my assigned tasks.

Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall]

"Well?" she prompted.

"It's very abrupt, dear," Amanda commented, "But I think he'll get it."

"Good, will you take it to him?"

"ME?!" Amanda shrieked, jumping up from the chair and waving her hands around. "Are you out of your mind?!"

"Ssssh!" she hissed, "You'll wake the baby. And yes, you, and no, I am not out of my mind. You need to take it to him so he knows I'm serious."

Looking at Minerva with the utmost horror upon her face, Amanda gulped and nodded weakly. "Fine," she croaked. "But would it be alright if I give it to him and run, or just slip it under his door?"

"Amanda," Minerva groaned, "be serious. I need him to know that I will not be returning."

"Who will teach in your place?"

"Last time I checked, Dumbledore was a certified transfigurations teacher."

"Oooh - good point. But I'm still not waiting around for him to open AND read it AND tell him, so just put a post script at the end or something.

Minerva rolled her eyes and took the paper back. Thinking for a moment on how to word the suggestion, she shrugged and wrote:

[PS: If a substitute transfigurations teacher is unable to be found at such short notice, I suggest browsing through transcripts of past applicants, say, from 1906.]

"Minerva, do you really have to be so sarcastic? We're putting my life at risk here."

"Don't be ridiculous, it's fine, and you won't be in any sort of danger. You're going to hand it to him then run, remember?"

Amanda grunted, folding the paper neatly and putting it in her pocket.

"When are you going back?" Minerva asked.

"Right after I leave here, actually. I'll floo to Hogsmeade then fly over. I left my broomstick at the Three Broomsticks. Speaking of which," she said, glancing at her watch, "I'd better go now. I'll give it to him as soon as I find him, say, tomorrow morning, when I feel up to running?"

"Fine, just be sure that he gets it. Floo powder's on the mantle in the blue bowl."

A few minutes later, Amanda was gone and Minerva doused the fire. Making her way back upstairs, she wondered about her decision to resign. She wondered, for the first time, what would happen if she found another home for the boy. She would have her old life back, teaching students all about transfigurations and playing a random game of chess with Albus in the teacher's room. Leaning over the side of the crib, she watched Harry sleep. Then realization struck her in full force: she loved this child. She wouldn't trade this boy for anything in the world. She would sacrifice anything to keep him safe and happy, even friendship. 'Albus,' she thought, 'why do you have to be so stubborn?'

Chapter Five: To Poke a Lion in the Eye

Dawn broke gracefully over the horizon and covered the magnificent castle in a harsh golden light. In the teacher's room, a witch with short gray hair and gleaming yellow hawk eyes paced before the fire. Her midnight blue robes swirled about her petite frame as she changed direction, the silver embroidery catching the firelight and refracting it over the room. She had been up long before dawn, trying distract herself by placing a huge order to restock Minerva's kitchen, then giving up on distractions and trying to think of a way to break the news to her boss. Although she had jokingly said she would give him the letter and run, she hadn't meant it, it was far too cowardly. However, sleeping on it led her to believe that this was the wisest course of action. Shaking her head and steeling herself against the inevitable fury of the headmaster, she threw back her shoulders and walked purposefully out the door.

She made it all the way to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to his office before she began to have second thoughts. . . again. Unfortunately for her, at that moment the gargoyle stepped aside to reveal none other than the headmaster himself.

With his signature blue eyes sparkling behind half moon spectacles, he greeted the flustered witch, "Ah, Amanda, how are you this morning?"

"I, um-" she began nervously.

"Come, walk with me down to breakfast, I hear the house elves have sugary danishes awaiting our arrival."

Amanda groaned inwardly - danishes were Minerva's favorite and he knew it. 'This is just a BRILLIANT start to my day,' she thought sarcastically. 'Now I have to SIT by him while he opens it.'

Amanda strode into the great hall half a step behind the twinkling Dumbledore who surveyed the high table serenely, until coming to the empty chair beside his own. He raised his eyebrows slightly, turning to Amanda and asked simply, "Where is she?" as the twinkle in his eyes slowly receded. Keeping her face calm while her brain was screaming "Run! RUN! MOVE QUICKLY!" she reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope addressed to the headmaster in Minerva's neat script. Silently, she handed it to the headmaster and willed herself to walk - not run - over to her seat on the other side of Professor Sinastra.

Albus stood in the center of the Great Hall regarding the envelope with a puzzled expression. Shrugging inwardly, he began to open it as he climbed up to his seat on the dais. As he sat down, he pulled the letter out and unfolded it. Amanda watched him from four seats away as his expression froze, then settled into a neutral look. 'Oh, boy,' she thought, attempting to hide herself behind both Professor Sinastra's and Professor Snape's profiles, 'Here we go.'

"Madame Hooch, please meet me in my office," Dumbledore commanded quietly. Silently, he rose - his face still expressionless as he walked out of the Great Hall.

Professor Sinastra leaned over to Amanda and whispered, "What did you do?"

Glaring at her, Amanda rose from the table and followed the Headmaster out at a much slower pace. Severus Snape fixed her with his trademark superior smirk as she looked over the staff table for any form of support. Frowning when she met his gaze, she glared at him and dutifully made her way to the headmaster's office, all but shuffling moodily through the corridors.

Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards alive, sat behind his desk in his circular office, staring at the piece of parchment before him. It lay in the center of the desk, mocking him as he read the words over and over again without processing them. The door across from the desk opened quietly, admitting a subdued flying instructor. Suddenly, he grinned, as if having an epiphany, gestured for her to sit and, true to form, offered her a lemon drop. He chuckled as she raised her eyebrows and politely declined, guessing why the usually active woman was unusually quiet.

"I'm not mad at you, Amanda," he said, eyes twinkling. "I think it's a very good joke," he chuckled calmly.

Staring at the headmaster, Amanda wondered to herself, "Has he always been so slow on the uptake, or is he being impossibly stubborn?"

"It's not a joke, Headmaster," she replied calmly, his calm and twinkling eyes giving her reason to believe he wouldn't kill her on the spot for speaking the truth.

"Oh?" he said with a trace of amusement, "And I suppose she's planning on taking care of the boy on her own, now is she? You can tell her I expect her back by Sunday, she has classes to teach once the students return."

"On the risk that I may lose my job," Amanda said, jumping out of her chair and raising her voice as her notorious temper flared up, "you are being a complete ass about this, Headmaster. She's not coming back so I would strongly suggest finding a replacement transfigurations teacher."

With that, she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. 'Minerva was right,' she fumed as she headed back to the Great Hall, 'he IS a stubborn prick.'

Back in the circular office, Albus sat staring at the door that had slammed in Madame Hooch's wake. Without another word, he stood and stalked over to the fireplace to the side of the desk. "Marian Cottage," he snapped as he threw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames. In an instant, he was gone.

Minerva had not slept well. Harry had woken up screaming at four o'clock in the morning, scared out of his wits and crying hysterically until she rocked him back to sleep, waking up and starting again every time she put him back into his crib. Her heart broke as she realized he must have been having a nightmare, and she could guess what it was about. She ended up laying Harry down beside her on the bed just as she had the afternoon before. She awoke again an hour later, a little before dawn. Unable to go back to sleep, she got up and placed Harry back in his crib, giving Tate and the others strict orders to watch him as she went to take a quick shower.

Climbing out of the shower fifteen minutes later, she threw a thick bathrobe around her and quietly walked back into her room. The bathroom was at the end of a short hallway that separated the top floor of the house. On one side was a smallish bedroom, and on the other was the slightly larger master bedroom. Minerva walked into the latter room and leaned over the side of the crib. Harry slept peacefully, his face relaxed and calm, without a trace of the terrified expression he'd worn just hours before.

Minerva rummaged through the closet that took up an entire wall directly across from her bed. Pulling out undergarments and socks quickly, she sifted through the robes and muggle clothing that hung side by side and some that were neatly piled on top of each other in functional cubby holes. She settled on a long, burgundy, a-line skirt and a cream colored turtleneck. When she was finished changing, she opened another door of the closet and pulled out soft calf-high low heeled boots that she wore with everything.

She looked into the crib again as she passed it on her way to the vanity on the side of the bed. Opening one of the drawers, she pulled out a brush and began to pull it through her medium-length wavy black hair. Seating herself on edge of the bed, she untangled her hair slowly, gazing out of the large window beside the mirror. The sky was just beginning to light up, chasing away the pink that had covered the horizon when she woke. 'It's so beautiful here,' she thought as she put the brush away and pulled out a black hair tie, 'I can't believe I used to willingly leave this every year.' She quickly plaited her hair and threw the finished product over her shoulder as she heard the soft stirrings of baby Harry.

"Well, good morning, bebay," she crooned, lifting him up as he reached for her. She walked back over to the nightstand and slipped her wand into the deep pocket of her skirt. An idea forming in her mind, she walked across the hall and muttered "Lumos" and the lights in the smaller bedroom flickered on. Amanda used to call this room the "furniture graveyard" for all the odds and end that filled it. In the absence of an attic, this extra bedroom was where all miscellaneous items she had collected over the years came to take up space and collect dust, or as Amanda put it - to die.

With a quick wave of her wand, the dust disappeared and the room was left virtually spotless, with the notable exception of the clutter. Pointing her wand at a hideous-looking lamp from her mother, she transfigured it into a quick high chair. Setting Harry in it, she glanced around the room, deciding where to start.

"Wait just a moment, dearest," she soothed as he began to fuss at losing contact, "Ma'll be finished in just a moment."

Pursing her lips, she pointed at various useless objects and created a new, more inviting space. With a final wave of her wand, she sent a large pile of newly-transfigured diapers into the empty built-in closets behind her, followed by a few sets of baby clothes. "Don't worry, we'll go shopping soon," she told Harry, with a small grin on her face. It wasn't that Minerva normally enjoyed window shopping, but she felt a strong desire to look at all the adorable baby things in the shops.

Setting permanent charms on the remainder of the room, she surveyed it critically. One of the only things that remained the same was the thick baby-blue carpet covering the entire floor, which had only needed a few cleaning charms to restore. A plush, inviting, navy blue loveseat that used to be a large, black desk, sat almost against the near wall, facing a pair of huge bay windows and the amazing view through the glass. A small, narrow table, formerly another hideous lamp, stood between the wall and the loveseat, coming up to within two inches of the top of the back of the chair.

In front and to the left of the loveseat was a comfortable looking, honey-oak rocking chair, another piece that remained the same. This was an old piece, handmade and shipped to her from a former student who was currently a carpenter in Switzerland. On the far wall behind the rocking chair was a low bookshelf of the same wood as the rocking chair that used to be a useless baroque-style curio cabinet. On the shelves sat a variety of plush toys that used to be figurines, empty picture frames, and the like.

Five oil paintings, the only other original inhabitants of the room, hung along the walls in a somewhat straight line. Lifting Harry out of the high chair and gently placing him on the floor, she studied the paintings. These were also gifts from students, each reflecting their different attitudes and personalities. The largest painting was done by her Gryffindor seventh years from 1955, Arthur Weasley's class. Besides James Potter's class, they were her favorite, able to surprise, challenge, vex, and amuse her throughout their time at Hogwarts. Theirs was a painting of a Quidditch game, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, just as it had been during their last Quidditch final. The tiny scarlet clad figures zoomed around the painting, scoring again and again against a disgruntled Slytherin team. The other paintings were done by individual students: a black and white picture of Hogwarts from Remus Lupin, a busy scene of Hogsmeade from Frank Longbottom, a colorful garden scene, complete with pixies, from Sarah Sprout, currently Herbology teacher at Hogwarts, and finally, a stunning portrait of Viviane, ancient high priestess of Avalon, from Grace Alden.

A loud giggle brought her back to the present and she looked over to Harry. He sat in the center of the room, between the sofa and the window, surrounded by three very curious dogs. Tate sat behind him, supporting his back as his three shadows sniffed the boy all over, their cold noses producing shrill bursts of laughter from the boy. Smiling, she turned around to the closets behind the door. These were nearly identical to the ones in her rooms, only more slender, given the room's narrower width. Opening the door that hid the diapers and other baby items, she pulled out the rolling changing platform she'd put in.

"Stay," she commanded her dogs as she summoned a giggling Harry to her, "I'll give him back in a minute."

Laying Harry on his back, her years as oldest sibling kicked in as she placed her wand back in her pocket and removed his now soiled diaper with ease, her mind and body remembering the almost forgotten task. Looking at the slobber-covered infant before her, she shook her head, grabbed a clean diaper and a set of clothes, and carried him to the bathroom.

Placing him in the tub, she turned the water on, filling the bottom of the tub as she pushed her sleeves up past her elbows. She tested the water continually, making sure it wasn't too hot or too cold. Once it reached his stomach, she turned the water off and summoned a large plastic pitcher from the kitchen. Lathering a soft washcloth with mild soap with her left hand, she caught the pitcher in her right as it sailed into the bathroom. Slipping her wand back into her pocket, she filled the pitcher with water and carefully poured it over Harry's head. It was the work of a few minutes to get the tiny baby clean.

She had finished drying him and was in the process of re-diapering him when an angry yell echoed up the stairs. Rolling her eyes, she sighed as Harry giggled, and strapped his diaper on securely. "Let's go see what the old coot's got to say, shall we?" she said wryly as Harry giggled. She dressed him in a warm, long sleeved shirt with a gray dog chasing its tail on it, baby trousers, and tiny socks and sneakers, then drained the tub and rose. "Alright," she muttered picking the boy up, and stole a phrase from Amanda, "here we go."

An irate headmaster stood in her living room before the fire as her dogs surrounded him, tails wagging cautiously, not knowing what to make of the new emotion radiating from the normally good-natured headmaster. His arms were crossed over his chest and he glared at her, his scowl deepening as she entered.

"Yes, Albus?" she asked, walking straight through the living room to the kitchen in search of something to eat. Amanda had sent out massive order for "real food," as she called it, as soon as she saw the state of Minerva's pantry the night before, and now her cupboards were fully stocked and devoid of stale food. Opening the cupboard over the countertop, she grinned. Stacks of baby food and formula mixes filled the space from top to bottom; fruits on the bottom shelf, vegetables in the middle, and the formulas on the top. Selecting a banana jar, she set Harry in the highchair and fished about in her utensil drawer for a desert spoon. Grinning again, she found that Amanda had outdone herself with a set of baby spoons beside her normal ones. She turned to find Albus still glaring at her, his frown deepening still when he caught sight of the grin on her face.

"And WHAT, pray tell, do you find so amusing?" he snapped.

Harry made an indignant noise that sounded suspiciously like, "Ole Coot!"

Minerva bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at the expression on Albus' face and instead turned her attention towards opening the jar of baby food. It twisted open with a dull pop, much like the kind she herself made when she turned into her animagus form. She pointedly ignored the white-bearded man beside her and concentrated on feeding Harry, who glared at Dumbledore with as much malice his baby face could muster.

Albus, nonplussed by the baby's stare, continued to glare at Minerva, watching the way she fed the baby. She murmured softly to him, soothing his angry frame with her voice. Slowly, he relaxed and began to ignore the headmaster as well, eating the mush with apparent relish. An unbidden smile creased her face as she continued to feed the baby, gently scraping away excess food from his mouth. Albus' frown deepened even more as she continued to concentrate solely on the child before her.

When Harry refused to eat any more, Minerva re-capped the jar and placed it on the counter, dropping the spoon into the sink with a loud clang. Picking up an empty bottle waiting on the countertop (courtesy of Amanda), she took down the formula and proceeded to mix it, continuing to ignore the headmaster.

"Ma?" Harry began tentatively.

"Yes?" Minerva answered. Albus raised his eyebrows in disbelief, his surprise conflicting violently with the anger on his face.

"Hu dat?" he asked quietly, pointing at the tall old man standing in the doorway.

Minerva glanced at the headmaster and told Harry, "That's Headmaster Dumbledore. Why don't you ask him what he wants?"

Turning to Albus, the tiny boy asked politely, "Hea Dum'dore, wat you wan?"

Still glaring at his deputy, he replied icily, "You can tell the obstinate witch next to you I wish to speak with her."

"Ma," Harry relayed to her, "he wanna talk at you."

"I'm sure he does, Harry," she quipped, hiding a grin at the child's prudent choice of words. Picking the boy up out of the high chair, she nodded her head at Albus, presumably ordering him to follow her. She went around the back of the stairs, through a small dining room to the study. Sitting behind the desk in a comfortable swivel chair, she motioned for Albus to sit opposite her. She settled Harry in her lap as the headmaster perched on the chair.

They sat in silence for a while. Harry's baby talk to Tate, who had followed them into the room, was the only noise breaking the silence. Finally, Minerva said, "You'd better say what you have to say, Albus. And soon - I do not appreciate you glaring at me," she snapped back with a shrewd glare.

Harry quietly settled himself in her lap, favoring Albus with a glare of his own. The headmaster met Minerva's eyes evenly and stated, "You have to come back."

"Fine," she replied.

"Good, I expect to see you tomorrow. The students arrive on Monday."

"Yes, Albus, we'll be there tomorrow."

"We?" he questioned. Minerva nodded at the boy on her lap. "Absolutely not!" he thundered, jumping out of his seat, "We've already been through this, Minerva! He cannot stay at Hogwarts, it's too dangerous! You drop him back with his relatives and come back straight away!"

"I will do no such thing," came the steady reply. "I told you already, I am NOT leaving him with those people."

"Then find some other family to take him in," Dumbledore snapped. "He is not your responsibility."

Minerva stared at him furiously, her mind accepting that he could be right while her heart screamed that he was wrong. She fought down the frustrated yell that threatened to break loose yet again, and took a deep breath.

"I am not leaving him," she said sternly, fixing Albus with a glare that would silence any argument, but unfortunately not his.

"Minerva, you are not a mother, you're a teacher," he replied, his usual calm back in place. Then, just as Minerva was starting to consider a compromise, he said, "And I am surprised at you, allowing the boy to call you 'ma'. I know you're attached to the boy, but you're not even blood related. You've never even had a child to raise before, so it's not as though you have the faintest idea what you're doing. What possessed you to think you could replace his mother? Aunt Minerva would have been far enough, but 'ma'? You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Lily would have never-"

"Get out," she commanded, her cheeks flushed with emotion. "Get out of my house," her voice quivered with anger and her hand trembled as she pointed towards the fireplace. "I told you, I'm not leaving him. He goes where I go," she finished, her eyes blazing with fury. The air around her crackled dangerously and Albus knew he had stepped out of line. Refusing to verbally back down or apologize, he turned and left, calling, "Hogwarts" into the fireplace and stepping into the green flames. He was the only person with the ability to Floo directly into the school.

Minerva let out a ragged breath and leaned back in the chair. Sensing something was wrong, Harry pulled himself upright, balancing his feet on her lap and peering into her face. Minerva peered back, wondering if anything Albus had said was true. Was she unfit to call herself a mother? Was she brainwashing the boy?

"Ma?" Harry asked.

"Yes?" she whispered, afraid to speak louder, knowing the emotions pushing against her throat and stinging her eyes would break her if she gave them an inch.

"Ma, I love you," he stated simply and he wrapped his little arms around her neck, holding her tight.

Minerva's tears came freely then, as she chocked out, "I love you, too, bebay." She held him close and cried into his tiny shoulder, her worries and second thoughts about her decision flowing out of her, leaving her confident and determined. "I love you, too."

Amanda was waiting for Dumbledore to return from his little escapade. She knew exactly where he had gone when she came up after breakfast to check on him only to find his office empty. She had made herself comfortable in one of the chairs before his desk, turning it so she faced the fire. After a while, the red flames in the hearth turned green, and the headmaster of Hogwarts stepped out, absently brushing ashes off of his robes. He saw Amanda sitting placidly in his office and scowled.

"She's not coming back, and you still have your job," he said heavily.

"Well, in the light of my still having my job, I will refrain from saying I told you so."

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "But why?" he murmured to himself. "Why won't she let him stay with someone else?"

"Are you kidding?" Amanda asked skeptically. "Didn't you see her with Harry?"

"Yes, she's got the child calling her 'ma'," he frowned darkly. "I can't believe she lets him."

"She's got a good reason, well, he's got a good reason anyway," she paused, taking in the headmaster's downtrodden expression, then asked warily, "I hope you didn't voice your opinion to her, did you?"

"What, about the 'ma' title?" he asked, looking up and meeting the woman's yellow hawk eyes. "Of course I did, it's not right for-"

"Albus Dumbledore, you blundering idiot!" Amanda yelled, jumping up out of her seat. "Can't you see she loves that boy with everything she has? Are you really that blind?"

"How can she love him?" he snapped. "She's only known him for two days."

'He's jealous,' Amanda realized with astonishment, watching the headmaster's face darken as he recalled the moments she was with the baby, 'He's jealous and he doesn't even know it!' She almost laughed aloud before she caught herself and looked him squarely in the eye. "You know what you have to do, don't you?" she asked, daring him to refuse, "You need to apologize for whatever idiot thing you said to her."

"I didn't do anything, she-"

"If you don't apologize she'll never speak to you again," Amanda threatened, knowing her friend's stubborn nature. "I highly doubt she'll ever speak to you again as it is."

"I'll apologize when I feel I have done something for which to apologize," he snapped. Then, with a ghost of the usual twinkle in his eye, he commented, "On your way out, please tell Severus he can come in."

Shaking her head, she turned and left, stalking straight through Snape without looking at him. This was going to be a LONG year.

Chapter Six: Binding by Love

A thick coating of snow covered the land surrounding the quaint cottage and gave the windows a frosted, sugary look. Cozy lights blazed on the bottom floor, setting off a welcoming warmth. Inside, two women, four dogs, and a raven haired baby sat around a roaring fire.

"Amanda, all I need is one more person to take part in the ceremony, please?" Minerva pleaded.

"Absolutely not, what if I do something wrong?" she shot back.

"Nothing will go wrong, alright? I know the entire ceremony by heart. I'll say it - you just need to sit there and toss the dust on our hands before they stop bleeding."

"And that's another thing, you know I hate blood."

"Yes, that's why you played professional Quidditch for twenty years, because you hate blood," the black-haired witch said sarcastically. "Tell me, how many times were you bleeding and broken by bludgers?"

"That's different," the other witch said stubbornly, "it's the heat of battle, you don't feel anything then."

"Amanda, please? There won't be that much blood and I'll let you convince Harry that the Sussex Stars are the best team ever."

"No."

"Oh come on," she stated firmly, "I know exactly what I'm doing, and this is the only way I can think of to bind us properly so I can set the same protection around here that Dumbledore used on his aunt's house."

Silence. "Fine," Amanda said shortly. "But don't blame me if you both get blown up."

"Oh that's very funny," Minerva said rolling her eyes.

It was Christmas, the first Minerva had with Harry, and he was sitting on the floor enjoying his presents with the four dogs watching him warily as he waved a small broomstick around. Over the past two months, Minerva had been researching bonding magic used by the ancient Celtic tribes who bound themselves to virtually everything. A few weeks before Christmas, she came across an ancient spell used by her own ancesters. It was an arcane magic - not used, or even heard of in the modern wizarding world. But that didn't stop Minerva from being convinced that it would work.

"I swear it'll work," she said yet again, "My ancestors used it to bind themselves to those that married into the family and those who were adopted into it. It will work."

"Fine, fine," Amanda replied, too tired to argue, "Whatever you say."

"It needs to be done on the Winter Solstice, right at midnight, that's five days from now."

"Yes, yes, you've said that about a million times already."

"Alright, fine. I'll just get Harry up to bed now."

"Nu-uh!" the baby on the floor said, shaking his head energetically, "'m not sweepy."

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and Minerva scooped him up. "I'll be down in a minute," she told Amanda, then grinned mischievously, "help yourself to the liquor cabinet."

Amanda frowned at her friend's retreating back, who knew full well she needed a drink, but Minerva had no alcohol whatsoever in the house.

Minerva made her way up the stairs to the bedroom, cradling the sleepy child in her arms, humming softly to him as he settled his head on her shoulder. Instead of turning left into the master bedroom, she turned right, into the other room. She muttered a soft "Lumos," making the lights come on dimly as she settled into the rocking chair and gazed out the window.

Gently, she shifted his figure so she cradled him and rocked him to sleep. On the Winter Solstice, Harry would have been with her for two months. Taking care of the boy had come to her naturally - as if she had been ready for this responsibility her whole life. Every morning, she would wake before him, shower and change then spend the rest of the day entertaining him, a chore she never tired of. She knew that eventually her savings from when she taught at Hogwarts would run out, and she would have to look for work again. She wasn't worried tough, she had a plan to begin writing textbooks for students learning transfigurations, the texts they used now were pitifully inadequate.

Harry fussed in her arms and she leaned down to talk softly into her ear.

"Harry, go to sleep, love," she soothed, "It's alright, I won't let anything happen to you. I'll take care of you bebay, you'll be alright."

Half an hour later, she laid him down in the crib at the foot of her bed and covered him with a thick blanket. She tucked the sleeping Gryffindor lion in next to him and smoothed his hair away from his face as Tate walked in with two other dogs. The younger dogs were beginning to wean themselves away from the stoic bloodhound and now he was down to two shadows. Smiling as the trio made themselves comfortable at her feet beside the crib, she waded out of the mass and walked back down the stairs.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Amanda asked as Minerva walked back into the living room. The other witch took a seat in the armchair opposite Amanda and a small black and white blur hopped up onto her lap.

"Switch," she sighed, attempting to dislodge the dog from her lap, "you really shouldn't jump on the furniture."

"Minerva," Amanda said warningly, commanding her to answer the question.

The other witch looked up slowly, mulling the question over silently as she scratched the head of the dog in her lap.

"Yes," she finally replied, "I can do this. It's a part of me, Amanda, a part of my heritage. What?" she asked, seeing her friend's skeptical look, "You don't think I'm powerful enough?"

"For the binding yes," she replied, "For the other thing. . . no." They sat in silence for a while, both witched staring into the flames. Amanda sighed and said, "I know you're a very powerful witch, Minerva, but I can't see you focused enough to complete a charm as complex as that."

"Well, who else would do it? Dumbledore?" she spat out the name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "He would never agree to it. He never wanted me to take in the boy in the first place."

Amanda stared into the flames thoughtfully, wondering if Dumbledore could be convinced to place the spell on the cottage. Figuring that it was worth a shot, Amanda replied carefully, "Well, just don't do anything crazy, I'll see if someone else would be able to cast it."

"All right," Minerva sighed as Switch rolled over onto her back on her lap, her four paws sticking up in the air and her long ears flopped out to the sides of her head.

"Give me one week after the charm to find someone," requested Amanda, already deep in thought as to how she would convince the one someone powerful enough to cast it. She sighed inwardly; it was time for some mind games.

"Fine," Minerva agreed, "just make sure they know how to do it properly, alright? I won't know how to fix it if they botch the job."

Five days later, Minerva sat cross-legged in a symmetrical circle before the fire in her living room. Across from her in another circle sat a baby boy with bright bottle-green eyes. Amanda sat a little away from them, positioned right around the part where the two circles were closest.

"Are you ready?" Amanda asked quietly, as the minutes grew closer and closer to midnight.

"Yes," she replied steadily as the child watched her with eyes full of trust. Beside her lay a plain white dagger, made of the finest ivory, passed down through generation after generation of her people. In the past, Minerva had regarded it as nothing more than a family heirloom, but now understood and appreciated its importance. A bowl made of the same ivory sat in front of Amanda, filled with white sand from the seashore mixed with crushed amethyst, the most powerful binding crystal known to man. The soft purple sparkled calmly against the white of the sand, giving it an ethereal appearance. The sandy mixture was what formed the circles Minerva and Harry sat in.

"Harry," Minerva began as the clock would its way down to midnight, "This is going to hurt a little bit, but I need you to be a big boy and not cry alright?"

Harry nodded in response and Minerva took a deep breath. At the stroke of twelve, she whispered, "Lachemec" and the sand glowed with a soft white light.

Picking up the dagger, she pierced the skin on the palm of her right hand. Leaning over the outline of her circle, she reached for Harry's right hand and did the same to his palm. The baby's faced scrunched up with held back tears, but relaxed as the cuts began to glow in the same soft white as the circles around them. Gripping Harry's hand firmly, she placed her cut over his and intertwined her fingers in his. Squeezing his hand in reassurance, Minerva spoke the forgotten language to call upon the ancient magic of the land. Amanda's eyes grew wide as she heard a chorus of unearthly voices echo Minerva's words.

Faela di faela (Blood to blood)

Aiyan di aiyan (Heart to heart)

Reda coe aire ne coe immae (Bound by love and by fate)

Ni gienaire mente (Two separate now)

Lodonai ecren avae don mecha (Become one with each other)

Machen ne coen (Mother and son)

The circles began to glow stronger and white beams of light shot out from cracks between their joined hands. When she said "mother and son" the sands emitted a strong purple flash and Amanda tossed the sand in the bowl over their hands and Minerva said the final words of the ceremony.

"Garen salae."

The sand immediately vanished, swirling around the two sitting figures in a fading whirlwind before vanishing, leaving both Minerva and Harry glowing amethyst for a moment before all of the lights disappeared.

No one moved or spoke for a full minute, until Harry eased his hand out of Minerva's grip to study his palm. Nothing of the cut was left but a small white scar. Triumphantly, he held his palm up for Minerva to see. "All gone!" he said, his eyes twinkling despite the hour.

"It worked, didn't it?" Amanda demanded, wanting verbal confirmation from the castor.

Blinking, Minerva turned and looked at her. "Yes," she said, sounding surprised, "It worked."

Then she began to laugh. Harry got up and teetered into her open arms, wondering what exactly his new mother was laughing about. Amanda rolled her eyes at her friend's antics and announced that she had better be getting back to Hogwarts.

"Don't be ridiculous," Minerva said as she stood up without any trace of stiffness, "Stay the night."

"No, I'd best be going back. I have some work to finish up before the students come back." What she was really thinking was, 'Alright, one week. I have one week to convince Albus to cast that spell.'

After helping, or watching, Minerva put Harry to sleep (which was the work of about two and a half hours), Amanda Flooed back to the Three Broomsticks and waved hello to Rosemerta who was serving a late-night group of drinkers at the bar.

Pulling a toothpick and her wand out of her pocket, she walked outside and transfigured the former object back into her broom. Kicking off, she thought to herself, 'Mind games. I never was any good at them, but stubborn people can be stupid, and that stupidity can be manipulated.' It was with this thought that she approached the headmaster in his office late the next afternoon.

"Ah, Amanda, good evening," he greeted her cheerfully, his eyes twinkling with holiday cheer. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Nothing negative, I assure you," she said wryly, remembering the last time she had something important to tell him. 'But I'm not _telling_ him this time,' she thought, 'I'm merely giving him a push . . . or energetic shove, in the right direction.'

Having rehearsed this conversation in her head and explored the different directions it could take, she began confidently, "I just came back from Minerva's this morning."

His face darkened almost imperceptibly. 'Bingo,' she thought. "Oh?" he replied, feigning indifference. "And how was she?" he asked politely.

"She was fine, but she had an eventful New Year's," Amanda chuckled, watching the Headmaster's face out of the corner of her eye.

Giving up his side of the charade, he questioned, "How so?" his voice barely succeeding in masking the stab of betrayal he felt for no particular reason.

Amanda knew exactly what he was thinking and threw him for a loop when she said, "She dug up some old binding spell and made Harry her son."

Albus stared at her in disbelief as his mouth dropped open. Giving a loud war-whoop inside of her head in congratulations, she continued, "You remember she's of Celtic descent, right?" and proceeded to airily tell him the whole story, finishing with, "She wants to perform that protection charms now so she can keep him safe. I told her she might as well since no one else with that kind of power would do it for her. She should be able to manage it, don't you think, Headmaster?"

Albus continued to stare at her in shock, his mouth dropping lower and lower until Amanda was sure his bottom jaw would snap right off. With a satisfied grin to herself, she bade farewell to the gaping headmaster. "I'll just send her an owl to make sure she's alright, she wasn't looking very energetic when I left. Good day, Albus," and walked out of his office with a definite spring in her step. She sighed happily and thought to herself, 'My work here is done.'

The headmaster sat behind his desk staring into space as Amanda left, unable to immediately process the information that was just dropped into his lap. He couldn't even think straight, his thoughts coming out in sputtered exclamations of surprise - not at all helpful. It was dark by the time he collected his thoughts enough to make one coherent sentence in his brain. 'Minerva is Harry's bound mother.' Even in his mind the thought seemed ludicrous, but he knew it was true. He'd known from the day she kicked him out of her house that she loved that boy enough to magically bind herself to him. He hadn't believed she would, a part of him refusing to accept the fact that she would give up everything she had for a boy she had just met.

Groaning, he folded his arms on the desk in front of him and dropped his head into the crook, remembering the fight that had preceded his ejection from her house. 'How could I have been so stupid not to see it then?' he bitingly thought to himself. He knew what would happen now - she would devote her life to that boy and, because he wouldn't let her bring him to Hogwarts, he would never see her again. 'Besides the parent-teacher conferences,' he mused with a dark frown. He had stubbornly refused to allow the boy to be protected at the school, backed by what seemed to be a perfectly valid reason at the time. He could not risk the lives of the rest of the student body. 'It still makes sense,' he thought stubbornly, sitting up straight, and realizing that this was the only way for everything to be alright. Sighing, he rose from his chair and swept out of his office.

Amanda watched him cross the grounds with a triumphant smile on her face.

The headmaster strode through the gates of the school and disapparated. He appeared on the road in front of Marian Cottage and stood still for a moment, taking in the crystal calmness of the evening. Glancing at his odd little pocket watch with planets and stars on the face, he saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock at night. Stuffing the shiny object back into his robes, he pulled out his wand and closed his eyes.

In his mind's eye, he saw the extent of the property, up to the road, back through the pond and the grove of trees, through the dense forest to the south, and across the vast plain to the north. Taking a deep breath, he began the intricate charm. He saw the two figures resting side by side in the large bedroom in the cottage and carefully drew on the strong tie of love, magic, and blood that bound them together. In his mind, the two figures glowed a soft blue/white hue, which was a good sign, the paler the blue, the stronger the bond, the more powerful the magic. Taking another breath, he muttered the ancient charm, watching as the cloud stretched and spread out over the entire cottage, over the property, and, since there was so much magic left over (as both were of magical descent), he placed a more dilute form of the cloud over the ramshackle house a few miles beyond the cottage. Opening his eyes, he saw the last vestiges of the magic fade into the snow.

With a satisfied twinkle, he whispered into the night, "Good luck, Harry Potter." Then, he turned on his heel, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

Minerva woke the next morning to a soft tapping on her window. Forehead creasing in annoyance, she pried open one eye and glared out the window at a small, hyper-active tawny owl fluttering around on the other side of the glass. Pushing the window open, she snatched the letter off the creature's leg as it zoomed in. She ignored its prattle for a moment as she read the letter from Amanda.

[Dear Minerva,

A very good morning to you! Now don't go beating the stuffing out of my owl for waking you as I've grown rather fond of him. I just owled to let you know that the spell has been set around your house. It's a rather strong one, I'd imagine, given the caliber of wizard who set it and the strength of its two subjects. I wanted to get it up as soon as possible so you wouldn't try anything crazy on your own, and don't frown at me, you know you would have. Anyway, in case you wanted to send a thank you note to the castor, send it to Hogwarts, the headmaster's office, if you don't mind. And be cordial about it - he didn't have to agree to it. Cheers!

Your favorite flying instructor,

Amanda

PS: Give Harry a kiss for me!]

Chapter Seven: As the Years Go By

Four years and six months had passed since that first week of January in which unheard of amounts of magic passed through the cottage at Marian Hill. The living room of the cottage told the story of the years, photographs covering every flat surface and cascading down the walls. On the end tables, in a few of the oldest pictures, a small baby boy with jet black hair, bottle green eyes and a tell-tale scar on his forehead played. In one, he rolled around on a blue carpet with four protective dogs hovering around him. In another, he sat in the lap of an older witch with similar raven locks, giggling as she bounced him on her knee while writing something down on a piece of parchment before her.

More pictures were on the broad mantelpiece over the fireplace and showed the child growing older and more and more energetic, curious, and mischievous. In many of them, he was surrounded by a group of brothers and their sister, all with flaming red hair. A redheaded boy the same age as him accompanied him everywhere, sharing his brothers and his family with the black-haired boy. In one photo, the two of them sat in front of two older redheads on separate broomsticks, giggling madly as they performed loops and spins in the air as a redheaded woman stood below, yelling herself hoarse at them to get down. In another, they sat with a set of twins, trying in vain to hold back hysterical laughter as the twins put something soft and slimy down the shirt of another redhead only a few years older than them.

The pictures on the wall displayed the milestones of his young life. First, he was a pink newborn in the arms of a tired-looking redhead stretched out on a hospital bed, while a man with messy black hair in a hospital robe leaned over them protectively, a hand on the baby's head. Then, he was perched on the lap of his mother, the red head, while his father broke into spontaneous fits of giggles behind them. Then, he lay peacefully on a large bed next to a black-haired witch. In another, he slept soundly in her arms as she sat in a rocking chair humming softly to him. A gray-haired witch with eagle-like yellow eyes took him up for his first ride on a broomstick. He paraded around proudly with a small broom in his hand after he opened his presents from his fourth birthday. He smiled in triumph as he completed tying his shoes for the first time. He read slowly to the raven-haired witch, perched on her lap with a large picture book in his hands as he sounded words out, only asking for help occasionally.

It was nearing the end of June; a warm breeze blew through the open windows and ruffled the unopened letters sitting on the desk of the study, where a few more framed pictures held them down. In the kitchen, a small, chubby black dog lay in front of the refrigerator, inconveniently blocking the doorway to the living room with his stubby paws and rotund body. The small dining room lay uninhabited, the lacey drapery billowing softly in the wind. Out the back door, on a sturdy oak porch, a large gray bloodhound flopped lazily next to the stairs, his drooling snout hung over the top stair as he faced the top branches of a grove of trees a little way down the hill in the distance. His slit-like eyes that may or may not have been open fluttered every so often in the cool breeze. High-pitched laughs of a group of children, coupled with the energetic barks of dogs younger than he reached his ears as they twitched in recognition and his tail gave a lazy wag, then slumped back onto the porch.

Down the hill, through the grove of trees, was a broad expanse of water. The lake was shallow, only five feet deep at its deepest point. In that respect, it was more like an enormous pond, but the water was too clean, and the rocks at the bottom too rounded for it to be considered a mere pond. Six young children and a tan, short-haired bull of a dog splashed around in the shallows. About twenty feet into the lake from the east bank, the black-haired witch from the pictures sat on a wide, comfortable chair that used to be a piece of driftwood. A narrow catwalk led to the seat, which was raised out of the water by about six inches. A medium-sized black and white dog lay beside the woman on the chair, her head resting in the woman's lap. The woman wore a long, light, sleeveless summer dress which was pinned up above her knees as she dangled her feet in the water. Her black hair was pinned up into a bun on the top of her head and square spectacles were balanced upon her delicate nose as she leafed through a thick book titled, Advanced Transfigurations by Emeric Switch. She looked up often, keeping a sharp eye on the children in the lake.

"But I don't wanna be Viviane!" a small red-headed girl complained, "I want to be Nimue!"

"Fine, Gin," the tallest red head conceded, "But you're the only girl, so you have to be both, alright?"

She stood silently for a moment, considering the proposition as the water lapped at her toes. "Ok," she said finally, and announced, "I'm gonna wait for you guys in Avalon!" Then she hopped off the large rock she'd been perched on and swam over to the woman in the chair.

Minerva McGonagall looked up as she heard the announcement and grinned as the little girl made her way over. Reaching a hand down to help her onto "Avalon," she placed the book beside her and covered it with a towel she conjured up with the wand from her pocket.

"I'll be Merlin," announced the tallest boy, "and, Ron, you can be-"

"You always get to be Merlin, Perce," one of the twins complained.

"Yeah, why can't you be, Viviane?" the other twin snipped, and got the intended laughs from the other boys.

"I will NOT play a girl, Fred," the oldest snapped.

"When's Charlie coming back?" piped the small black-haired boy with them.

"Yeah," echoed the youngest red-head boy, "I wanna go play Quidditch."

The bickering continued for a few minutes, with added random comments from the two six year-olds (well, one six year old, and one almost six year old). Eventually, all involved parties grew bored and began a loud splash war that left each one of them water logged and sputtering through mouthfuls of water. Luckily, the witch was seated far enough away that she only got sprayed with the small of sprinkles from the fight.

The young girl who had climbed up onto the chair beside the woman sighed dramatically and flopped down onto the wood. Minerva smiled sympathetically and reached for the towel to dry the girl off.

"Aunt McGonagall?" the little girl asked. "Can I read here with you?"

"May I, Ginny," she corrected, wringing the girl's hair out gently. It was under the influence of their oldest brothers who had been taught by Professor McGonagall that the younger Weasleys refrained from called her Aunt Minerva, settling instead for Aunt McGonagall.

Sighing, the girl corrected herself, "May I read here with you?"

The woman's lips twitched, hiding a smile at the girl's exasperated expression as she replied, "Of course, what would you like to read?"

"What're you reading?"

"You don't wanna read that Gin!" the black-haired boy called, "Ma wrote that for older kids, even Charlie wouldn't get it!"

"Well, Charlie's not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, now is he?" one of the twins quipped.

"George," the witch reprimanded, "Your brother happens to be a very intelligent transfigurations student."

The twin grinned cheekily and continued to bombard his brothers and the black-haired boy with water. Ginny sighed and shook her head knowingly at her brother's grin, then turned and told the witch, "Mama says that grin will be the death of her. She says the twins will be the bane of Hogwarts when they go."

"I don't doubt that," Minerva replied wryly.

"Aunt McGonagall, who's Emeric?" the little girl questioned, changing the subject quickly as any five-year-old would. "I know Switch is Switch," she said, glancing at the black and white dog sharing the chair as her ears perked up at the sound of her name, "But who's Emeric?"

"Emeric was my grandfather's name," she replied, "He was the one who got me interested in transfigurations to begin with."

The group stayed outside until the witch felt the air get a little chillier. "Harry, Ron, Fred, George, come out now," she called. "Percy, will you help them?"

She walked along the catwalk carrying the book in one hand and holding Ginny's hand with the other as the little redhead led them to the bank. The bulky cream-colored dog stood at the edge of the water and shook energetically as the children made their way onto the bank.

"Beans!" they cried giggling. The dog's name was really Bruno, but Harry had reduced it to "Beans" by the time he was three. Shaking her head and laughing, the witch conjured towels out of nothing and draped them over each of the slightly shivering boys.

"Race you back to the house!" yelled Ron, and he and Harry tore through the few trees in their way up to the house with the twins on their heels, Ginny a step behind them, and Beans and Switch following her. Percy followed them at a somewhat slower pace, having picked up his belongings and trying to remind everyone and anyone that he was the oldest child in attendance.

Allowing herself a happy smile, the witch slipped on her sandals, unpinned her dress to let it flow by her ankles, and gathered the rest of the children's sandals and t-shirts. With long, catlike strides, she made her way through the trees and up to the house. Halfway across the sloping lawn that separated the trees and the house, she was met by the twins, who were panting heavily after their sprint.

Shaking her head, she held their things out to them as they gasped, "Sorry, Aunt McGonagall, we forgot." Then, in another race, no doubt, they tore back up to the house, sandals and shirts in hand.

Twenty steps closer to the house, she was met by her six year olds, also panting, and after similar excuses, they too sprinted back to the house. Another twenty steps and she met the baby girl, who very nearly collapsed when she reached her. Scooping her up, and balancing her on a hip with one arm, the witch scolded gently, "Ginny, you really didn't have to run all the way back, I was bringing everything up anyway. Next time, though, you should remember to get these before you take off, it'll save you a trip," she finished as the porch came into view.

The four younger boys were flopped onto various porch chairs; Harry and Ron in an oversized wicker armchair with a thick, comfy cushion, and the twins on the long wicker lounge chair - Fred leaning against the back and George sprawled out on the flat part. Percy sat in a slightly more dignified manner on the other armchair. A long, low wicker table with a flat glass top (charmed to be unbreakable) stood in the center of the chairs: the lounge chair on the right, Percy's chair to the left, and Harry and Ron's chair in the center. Setting Ginny down, she told them, "You stay here and behave yourselves while I get you something to eat." Ginny walked over to Percy's chair and made herself comfortable in his lap as the witch entered the house, stepping over a comatose gray dog and around a tan Labrador roadblock with a dainty black and white spaniel at her heels.

Setting the book down on the kitchen counter, she tried to remember what she had in her house that would be suitable for children to eat on a summer evening. Sliding a chubby black ball out of the way, she opened the fridge and brought out a whole watermelon. Knowing she would regret the mess later, but giving in to the joys of summer, she placed it on a large platter and pointed her wand at it. Immediately, the fruit was sliced and she levitated it out to the porch. When the children saw it, their mouths began to water, and they went in for the kill as soon as the plate set down on the table.

A loud chime echoed through the house, announcing the arrival of a visitor by the Floo network. Making her way back through the kitchen, she walked into the living room to see who was calling.

"Oh, Molly, come right over," she said, seeing the familiar face in the fire. Waving her wand, she took down the wards that blocked her Floo connection from unwelcome visitors and let her former student in.

Molly Weasley spun into her living room, brushing herself off and addressing the older witch immediately, "Thank you again for watching my little imps, Minerva."

"It was my pleasure, dear," she replied, leading the younger woman out to the back porch. "And they were very good today."

"I'm sure," Molly replied, eyeing her juice-covered children with skepticism.

"We were good, mum!" Fred exclaimed indignantly.

"And we didn't nick the watermelon either," chimed George.

"And they only made fun of Charlie once," said Ron, earning a glare from the twins.

"I see," she said, narrowing her eyes at the two boys on the lounge chair. Seeing their cowed expressions, she relented and changed the subject, "So what did you lot do today?"

All six children launched into a vivid account of their day, all of them beginning with sandwiches for lunch on the porch, a swim in the lake, and watermelon to finish the day off. Each one of them embellished with their own adventures as the two women leaned against the railing of the porch and listened to their tales. When they were done, Molly announced that she and her children had to leave. They left by way of Floo one by one, Molly and Ginny first and Percy last.

Harry yawned hugely and climbed into Minerva's lap as she sat down in an armchair beside the fireplace. His feet dangled over the end of her knees and he leaned back to rest his head against her chest as her arms came up to wrap around him. He settled his little arms on top of hers and she leaned her cheek against his unruly hair. Breathing deep, they sat like that in silence for a moment, before Harry decided the quiet was annoying him.

"Ma, when's Aunt Manda coming over?" he questioned. Amanda always came over in the summertime to bring Harry to various Quidditch games while Minerva tagged along.

"Classes are over now, so I think she'll be by sometime next week, or maybe this weekend," came the reply. "But you mustn't badger her, Harry, she needs some time for herself. It's not always about you, you know," she teased, tickling his stomach.

He laughed and tried to wriggle out of her embrace, but she stood and swung him up onto her hip. "Come on, now, bedtime," she said, stifling a yawn.

"But Maaaa," he protested.

"You can read me a story before you go to sleep."

"Ok!" he replied enthusiastically. One of the things Minerva loved most about Harry, besides the fact that he was her pride and joy, was his thirst to challenge himself. At the age of four, he had practically bullied Percy Weasley into teaching him numbers and simple addition and subtraction. He learned to read by the time he was five, and could finish whole picture books by himself, with minimal help from Minerva.

Unfortunately, it wasn't solely academically that he challenged himself. He was always running off with Ron "borrowing" Charlie's old broomstick to practice Quidditch, or following a little runt of a bird halfway to the village to see if it needed any help. His numerous outings had left Minerva sick with worry, and the few gray strands of hair on her head proved that. Each time she would tell him off soundly and he would behave for a while. But a garden gnome biting one of the dogs would send him off on another mission and the cycle would begin again. After his first few escapades, she noticed that he never ran off for a silly prank or just to make her worry for fun. Instead, he always seemed to have a reason and, though it didn't stop Minerva from punishing him, it helped her to see how the boy thought. His mother was the same way, though she would have asked for the help of a grown-up rather than barrel headlong into a problem - that charming trait came from his father.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she put the boy down and told him to wash up and get ready for bed. As he ran to the end of the hall and into the bathroom, she made her way into his bedroom. She gazed wryly about the room, every avaible inch of wall space taken up by vivid orange posters of seven witches and wizards. Even though Amanda had attempted to make him a Sussex Stars fanatic, he had followed his best friend Ron's lead and adopted the Chudley Cannons. Minerva fleetingly wished that he had become a Stars fan - purple and silver were much easier on the eyes than orange.

The room itself had undergone yet another make-over, first being a "furniture graveyard," then a tranquil sitting room, and now a shrine to the Chudley Cannons. Minerva had flat out refused to make the entire room orange, and reached a grudging compromise with Harry. The carpet was a light gray, the walls a deep, rich shade of blue, and the cabinets were painted a cheery white. Bright orange posters covered the ceiling and the walls from top to bottom, but Minerva had made sure that there was at least an inch of wall between them all - it had a framing effect on the posters. The only non-orange hanging on the walls was the painting of the 1955 Quidditch final the hung over the bed, but even that was flanked by orange. Plain white curtains covered the windows, but were now tied back to allow the summer breeze to sweep through the house. Two narrow white shelves stood on either side of the bed, filled with books on a wide variety of subjects, but mostly storybooks with pictures. At the foot of the bed stood the old rocking chair, unchanged and inviting. The bed itself was about four feet wide and six feet long, two feet narrower and a foot shorter than Minerva's own, and completely covered in orange. A light, white blanket currently lay at the foot of the bed, a stuffed lion purring contentedly on it beside a small black bundle of fur.

Sighing, Minerva took three steps from the doorway to the foot of the bed, and lifted the black lump off of the bed.

"Spud," she reprimanded as she placed the little terrier on the floor, "you are not supposed to be on the furniture."

Tate, who had relocated from his position at the back door and was now sprawled out on the carpet next to the rocking chair, opened one eye lazily as the terrier strolled over and made itself comfortable on his paw. If dogs could roll their eyes, he would have, but instead settled for snuffing at the smaller dog and promptly ignoring it.

"Ma, can we read this one?" Harry asked as he ran into the room, pounced on his bed, and snatched up the book from the top of his nightstand.

Minerva raised her eyebrows at the book, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and commented, "I thought YOU wanted to read."

"Nah, changed my mind, so can we?"

"Alright, but just one chapter," she said firmly. The boy nodded and she moved to sit next to him on the bed. Crossing her legs Indian style, she leaned against the soft, padded orange headboard as he climbed into her lap. Once they were both settled, she began, "Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. . ."

By the time she reached the end of the chapter where Lucy meets a cheery little Faun, Harry was sound asleep, his head resting against her arm holding the book before them. Closing the book softly, she placed it back onto the nightstand, taking care not to wake the child in her lap. Gently, she lifted him off of her lap and laid him out on the bed. Unfolding the thin blanket at the foot of the bed, she draped it over his small frame and whispered "Nox". The lights in the bedroom promptly went out, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Placing a light kiss on the scar on the boy's head like she did every night, she smoothed his hair back from his face and left.

She made her way to the study, where her letters were waiting. They had arrived just as she was leaving for the lake with the children, so she left them on the table, anchored down with frames and other knickknacks. Thinking back, there had been one from Hogwarts, but she hadn't given it much thought, assuming it was from Amanda. Looking at the swirling script now, she recognized it immediately, but was still puzzled, she hadn't heard from this particular person for almost five years. 'Better to save that one for last,' she thought, and proceeded to open the rest of her mail. There was indeed a letter from Amanda, but it was the usual rambling: she couldn't take it anymore, hadn't had a decent flier since Charlie Weasley; Snape was getting on her nerves; a demand for her, Minerva, to come and visit her at Hogwarts; and an invitation for herself to visit the cottage sometime over the weekend. There was nothing out of the ordinary to hint at what the other letter contained.

Still refusing to let her curiosity win, she opened the letter from her publisher. Inside was a paycheck to be paid to the order of "Emeric Switch" a.k.a. Minerva McGonagall. Grinning, she set this one aside in her "to do" tray and moved on to the third and final letter. Breaking the seal with hands that trembled a little, she prepared herself for another bashing of her "nonexistent" mothering skills. As she read the first three lines, her jaw dropped in disbelief. There was no way this was happening, she thought, re-reading the lines, no way.

Chapter Eight: Admitting Defeat

A young man with dark black hair strode purposefully out of the headmaster's office, his black robes billowing behind him. His sharp black eyes scanned the corridor before him for his reluctant partner in crime as he made his way back to the dungeons. Turning around a dark corner, he nearly tripped over a figure that had nimbly stepped out of the shadows. Cursing under his breath and trying to slow his rapidly beating heart, he glared at the little witch, who glared right back at him with unwavering yellow eyes. Rolling his eyes, he curtly nodded once and then strode past her, continuing his decent to the dungeons.

Watching his figure disappear around the next corner, Amanda shivered. 'Dealings with Slytherins,' she mused grimly, 'What IS this world coming to?' Then, remembering the nod, gave a loud war whoop in her head, 'Ate it up, did he? MAN I'm good.' Making her way back to her chambers, she thought, 'This had better work. It's been almost five years.'

Back in the headmaster's office, an old man with long white hair and a matching beard stared thoughtfully into the flames in the fireplace, mulling over his late night talk with the youngest professor in the school. In his infinite wisdom, and an unbidden spark of inspiration, the headmaster had told the young, disillusioned man,

"The mistakes of our pasts can be corrected, but it takes a great deal of strength to admit to our wrongs. I have faith in you, Severus. You have proved before that you are able to accept that you have wronged, and that you are willing to make amends. There are some with less willpower than you, and their mistakes haunt them for the rest of their lives. In educating the future, you make up for the past. I know it seems difficult to bear, but you can do it."

The young potions master had come to the headmaster begging to be released of his teaching contract, unable to face the students whose parents, relatives, and friends had died at the hands of his former master. The two men had this kind conversation at least eight times in the first year the younger man had been hired. Albus thought they had resolved it years ago, but obviously not. However, this argument about uncorrectable mistakes had been a new topic. Sighing, he mused, 'He'll learn eventually. I always win in these little spats.'

Frowning immediately after he thought this, he remembered one dispute that he had lost, soundly. This particular "spat" had cost the school a brilliant professor, an able deputy headmistress, and had cost him an irreplaceable friendship. He opened the middle drawer of his desk slowly, and pulled out a short, curt note that summed up the current status of their relationship quite accurately.

[Thank you for setting up the wards, but that doesn't mean you're absolved. It means you now have a chance to apologize and be forgiven. . . eventually.]

Minerva McGonagall had been a headstrong woman for as long as he had known her. He watched her grow from a feisty first year into a beautiful young woman with so much potential. He was there beside her as she became a teacher and then earned her right to be called a professor. Loathe as he was to admit it now, she was the best in the business. She could command a student's attention with a look, and never backed down when she formed an idea in her head. The latter attribute was the reason she was gone and he was left without a suitable transfigurations teacher. Almost five years later, he was no closer to finding a replacement than he had been when she first left.

He had stubbornly not bowed to her request and she had not sent him another, cutting off all communication between the one-time friends. Albus stared into the flames again, his mind repeating his words to his potions master. ". . . it takes a great deal of strength to admit to our wrongs. . ." he had said.

In the back of his mind, a little voice had screamed itself hoarse telling him that he was a prick and had to apologize to the woman immediately. However, he had pointedly ignored it, stubbornly supporting his primary decision. He knew why she was upset - he had seen the injured look on her face when he said that she could not be a mother. He had seen her hand tremble with rage as she pointed him towards the exit. As the years passed, he had trouble remembering his reasons for saying what he did.

". . . it takes a great deal of strength to admit to our wrongs. . ."

He had been wrong. The realization struck him hard. He had been wrong all along and Minerva had been right. The boy could have been protected anywhere, if the right spells were cast. Hogwarts would have protected him, the ancient magic of the school would have been enough, not to mention that he himself would be there.

Groaning inwardly, he propped his elbows onto the table, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was a stubborn prick. How could he have let this carry on for so long? Why did he never attempt to salvage their friendship? With these thoughts rolling around in his head, he pulled out a piece of parchment and picked up a quill. He sat there writing, erasing and re-writing a long-o