Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall knew that she was neither the kindest nor most patient woman to ever draw breath. Oh, she wasn't a bad person, this much she knew, and she trusted her instincts with the sort of fervour generally left to religious organisations and political chicanery. She believed in goodness- her own, and the rather more general sort- but as much as she believed in the greater good, she also believed that goodness must be fought for, and monitored for inevitable acts of corruption. Her father had been devastated, had hoped for a sweet, doe-eyed daughter to mend clothes and marry well rather than, as her grandmother had wryly called her, Boadicea on a very bad day. Women, her father had lamented (often), should be meek and obedient, and they certainly should not run about having ideas and terrorising boys by telling them when they were wrong. Minerva thought sometimes that she sprang forth from the womb already possessing strong opinions, and her demeanour had only strengthened (or worsened, depending on who you spoke to) since developing the ability to articulate them.
She had never been, and would never be, a meek and obedient sort of a woman. Falling into line behind pretty words and kind smiles was not something she had ever thought herself capable of.
More fool her.
Idiocy was, to her mind, an unforgivable sin, and as such, she prided herself upon its eradication from her person, and took great pains to dispel the ignorance of students, staff, and anyone happening to be foolish in her vicinity. She did not tolerate gossip, machinations, nor unsubstantiated cockiness, and a poorly contemplated plan was liable to give her hives. It was one of the many reasons she had loved the Marauders- the boys had a knack for flawless planning that was only improved upon when Lily finally joined their ranks. Truthfully, for every time the Marauders were caught, there were dozens of pranks and incidents where there wasn't enough proof, just an unwavering certainty that they were involved. Once Lily was included, they were never caught again, but even before her arrival, the only times the boys had been caught was when Peter had been too excited to hide his actions. They all knew that when Peter made mischief, he was never alone.
It would be reassuring, perhaps, to pretend not to know when her descent into idiocy began, but the mortifying truth was that she could pinpoint it exactly. On the day after his parents were murdered, and his own life jeopardised by a genocidal fucktrumpet, she had known that Harry Potter was in dire need of protection. As the rest of the Wizarding World celebrated and schemed, she had even taken it upon herself to monitor the child's location, just in case he was found by the Death Eaters. She had settled into her mission upon an uncomfortable fence, moving only to better see and understand the situation young Harry was being thrown into. And what she saw certainly did not improve her mood. She had warned Albus on that very first day that the muggles Harry was to be left with were entirely unsuitable. She'd even volunteered to resign her position and raise the boy herself- anything would be better than such hateful bastards entrusted with a traumatised soul. She had vowed to drop by, keep a weather eye on the child, but after her first enraged welfare report, Albus had started to fill her spare hours with additional urgent tasks. She hadn't really noticed it at first, simply rolled up her sleeves and got to work keeping Hogwarts safe and functioning, promising herself she'd drop in on Privet Drive the next day. And then the next day. And then the next. But always, there was an emergency, or a favour to be asked, and it had always seemed wrong to postpone such vital tasks when Albus swore he'd only recently checked and Harry was fine.
She believed the kind smile and twinkling eyes. She trusted.
As Albus announced Harry's abduction to a silent and horrified Order, Minerva had finally begun to question whether Albus had truly needed her help, or simply wanted her to shut the hell up and stop causing trouble. She had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter. She had, at first, been furious at Albus for Harry's predicament- furious enough that she hadn't even savoured the look of terror as she'd transfigured every hair on his body into small, particularly viscous blast-ended skrewts she'd urged to wander and burrow and traumatise. And while his promise that the Book of Students would have set off fail-safe magic to alert him of a dangerous threat to Harry's safety, it was hardly enough to cool her temper.
She had stormed from the room, no one quite game to try and stop her, forgoing a nice and calming cup of tea to investigate the Book herself. Her fury had only grown as she noted alarm after alarm had been sounded about the boy's life at the Dursley's, all noted and discarded by the Headmaster. There was no satisfaction to being proven correct, only the sort of rage that left the room quaking in terror. And when she checked the book and found a muggleborn girl with almost as many notifications, and a pure blooded boy with an increasing number of alerts? The entire castle seemed to cower from her.
She had trusted, and in so doing, she had gambled with the safety of her students and lost, spectacularly. She would do better. She had to.
Step one was to seize control of student welfare.
The door had slammed itself open in its desperation to be away from her, its quivering announcing her arrival to the suddenly silent Order. She had strode back into the meeting, her meticulously styled hair sparking in her rage, and stared Albus down in front of the entire Order. No one moved, or spoke, and even the louder breathers in the room managed to keep quiet. 'Three students, Albus. Three too many.' He had given her his best confused expression, but now that she knew he could not be trusted, she could see the slightest hint of concern. Good. Just because she hated using fear as a weapon didn't mean she wasn't perfectly capable of doing so. 'I went and looked at the Book of Students. Harry Potter had multiple welfare alarms sounded, as did a muggleborn girl, Hermione Granger. Neville Longbottom has four dismissed alerts! The Book's records state that each alert was dismissed without action. You stood here and told us you'd protected the boy, and he'd been stolen. It looks to me like both of these students were removed from their homes for their own safety. You have two choices, Albus: either you relinquish control of the Book and all student admissions to me, or I will report this to the Ministry.' She had forced the rage from her expression, replaced it with a mimicry of sadness and regret that seemed far too believable to the Order members watching the showdown. Idiots. 'Fudge has been looking for a reason to remove you from Hogwarts, and much as it pains me, your refusal to protect potential students would be more than reason enough. What is your choice?'
'Of course I will grant you control over student admissions, Minerva. If you wanted such a responsibility, you need only have asked.' The rage was back with a vengeance, but she had forced it down, staring at Albus until he nervously dropped his gaze, and tried to regain control of the meeting. Though only temporary, the damage was done, the meeting adjourned with nothing to show for it but frustrated murmuring.
*
Her first act had been to go and put the fear of McGonagall into Neville's grandmother (oh, sure, people talk always of the fear of God, but Minerva learned quickly that gods were intangible beings far too easy to ignore. Her wrath, however, could not go ignored, and it was rather more helpful if people could picture her enraged face as a reason not to do stupid things, or contemplate her use of transfigured skrewts to prove a point). Making it clear that one more alert would see the boy removed from his grandmother's care was enough to silence the irate old bat's ranting, at least. Albus hadn't been brave enough to reprimand her, even after Mrs Longbottom lodged an official complaint.
Minerva sent a copy of the complaint, and records of the alerts listed for the Longbottom family to her nephew, Head of the Auror's Welfare Department. Just in case.
She would not be fooled twice.
The names Harry Potter-Fell and Hermione Crowley were her first thoughts upon waking, and the last before sleep claimed her. She had searched with bloody-minded determination for the two of them, had ignored Albus's chiding that Harry should be prioritised over the search for Hermione (well, beyond implementing a series of rather wicked retaliations he had never been able to prove her involvement in, of course). She had trusted him with the welfare of her students, and seeing him so blithely sacrifice a child's welfare for the sake of convenience left her hating not just Albus, but herself. How had she fallen in line behind such a man, overlooking what was far too easy to see? Where had the righteous fire of Boadicea gone? Where had the wisdom of her namesake gone?
Minerva McGonagall would earn her forgiveness, or die trying.
Minerva didn't believe in coincidences, and even accounting for muggle authorities becoming involved, two seemingly abused magical children vanishing on the same day was far too coincidental to be shrugged off. And she certainly didn't trust Albus's assurances that Hermione was probably fine. How would he know? He'd never met the girl, never responded to a single alert. He wouldn't even know her if she walked up and asked him for directions! Though she had never put much faith in divination, her instincts roared that the two children's lives had intertwined, and that finding one would inevitably reveal the other. Besides, there was no success without both students being found safe and well. She had let Hermione down once, before she'd ever even known the child existed. She would not fail her again.
An alarm sounded, and Minerva ran to the Book, heart thundering in her chest as she hoped, prayed, that her kittens were okay. She had spent so long searching, worrying, that they were family to her now, and the idea that she could come so close only to lose either felt like talons raking along her heart. There was no relief, though, to see that it was another alert concerning Neville. Sighing, she sent her patronus to her nephew before calling for a house elf to take her to the apparition point.
Two hours later, she was the legal guardian of one Neville Longbottom, hugging the crying boy tightly as she carried him to Poppy Pomfrey to mend a broken arm.
Albus had to glamour an unburned beard into place for weeks.