fanfic 100 #1 beginnings (Neville/Minerva)
“Minerva, what a pleasant surprise.”
It wasn’t unusual for one of Gran’s friends to come without warning and Professor McGonagall was the worst of them. She was a cross old bat who always seemed to show up when Neville was in trouble or acting like the Squib he almost certainly was. Even when she came around on an ordinary day, the way she looked at him made him feel as if he had forgotten what he had done wrong.
Still, she was one of Gran’s oldest friends and he had to treat her with respect. Even worse, she was a Professor at Hogwarts and that made her practically a hero in Gran’s eyes.
With all due respect, he wished she hadn’t turned up on his birthday.
It had been all right so far. Even though all his relatives kept glowering at the owl-less sky as if willing one of the Hogwarts birds to materialize, they had marked the occasion pretty decently so far. In their world, an eleventh birthday was a coming of age and they all knew it. There had been breakfast with loads of his favorite food, games with his cousins and the few friends that weren’t on holiday. Tonight, there would be presents and, best of all, Gran’s lemon cake.
No one had mentioned yet that he hadn’t gotten the one birthday present he’d wanted-his Hogwarts letter. It was one of those things that they had decided to ‘forget’ to be polite. Leave it to McGonagall to ruin that.
“Neville!”
Gran was sounding cross already, but then again, she always did. He’d probably forgotten to pick up after himself or left mud tracked through the kitchen. Either way, she didn’t sound happy about it.
“Neville,” she repeated sharply, “we have company.”
“Coming, Gran,” he shouted.
He glanced in the mirror to make sure that his shirt was tucked into his trousers and his jumper didn’t have any stains on it. The mirror helpfully bellowed, “COMB YOUR HAIR!” and he raked his fingers through hurriedly as he hurried out the door and down the stairs to the sitting room.
The scene hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d come downstairs-Algie and Enid didn’t seem to like moving if they had to and Gran stayed in the same armchair whenever they had company. He suspected that it was the closest thing she had to a judge’s bench or a throne.
The only change was that Professor McGonagall was on the ladderback chair closest to the windows and she was looking ready to have a competition with Gran on who could look the most imposing. This was nothing new-their ability to be cross and regal-looking was the most common ground they shared.
“Come for the party, have you?” Great-Uncle Algie was saying.
“No, no,” Professor McGonagall was saying dismissively, “I can only stay a few minutes.”
“Fancy a spot of tea, then?” Enid offered, always ready to butter up important guests. “I think I have some crumpets…”
“Ah, Neville,” Professor McGonagall interrupted as Neville reached the doorway. “Good of you to join us.”
“Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,” Neville said with breathless formality. “I hope you are well?”
“I am,” she said with what passed for a smile on a schoolteacher.
“I suppose you’ve heard that our young man is eleven today,” Algie interrupted with his usual bluster.
“That is, in fact, why I came by,” McGonagall said. “I thought I’d bring him his gift in person.”
“How kind of you,” Gran said. “What do you say, Neville?”
“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he said dutifully.
For the first time that day, Professor McGonagall looked actually cheerful. “I think you’d best save your thanks until you see what I’ve brought you.”
Without further explanation, she extracted a small bundle from beneath her cloak and extended it. “iEngorgio/i.”
Immediately, it returned to what was probably its normal size. It was a medium-sized flat box with a parchment envelope attached.
“Best open the parcel first,” she suggested as he took it with a muttered thanks.
The box contained a heavy black cloak with silver fastenings, just long enough that he would probably be growing into it for the next few years.
“Oh, how lovely,” Gran sighed as she fastened it around his neck. “He looks quite grown up.”
It went without saying that this was the sort of cloak that he should have gotten for Hogwarts, but she was being too polite to mention that today.
“Thank you, Professor,” Neville said, trying not to sound too gloomy.
“It suits him,” Algie grunted. “’Course, he could’ve used it for school…”
“Algie,” Enid said sharply.
“Let’s see the card, then,” Gran prompted before they could go any further.
“Oh,” Professor McGonagall said with an uncharacteristically sly smile, “I’m not sure you could call it a card…”
Neville had forgotten how to use his ears by that point. At least, that was the only explanation he had for why he couldn’t figure out what Gran was saying. It was just that the envelope contained not a card, but two pieces of parchment.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
“Go on, Neville,” Algie said impatiently, “what does it say?”
Gran was looking between the Professor and Neville as if she suspected something, but was not willing to put it into words. She must have guessed, though, from the way his hands were shaking.
“Would you be so kind as to read it out loud, Neville?” she requested quietly.
“S-s-sorry, Gran,” Neville stammered. “Dear Mr. Longbottom,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed…”
All further attempts to speak were cut off, since he was suddenly being crushed against Gran. On the other hand, someone-probably Great-Uncle Algie-was pounding him on the back. He wasn’t sure he was going to get out of this in one piece, but it could mean only one thing: he was going to grow up to make his family proud after all.
Gran finally let go, but then she was planting tearful kisses on his forehead, on his cheeks, everywhere that she could reach. For all his excitement, Algie might have just been handed a chocolate gateau. Enid was crying into the hem of her apron.
Professor McGonagall, for her part, was sitting almost motionless. Occasionally, her head would turn to watch one person or another, but she was wearing a strange kind of smile. It was the knowing sort of smirk that could only mean, “I told you so.”
“When I heard that your letter needed posting,” she interjected calmly, “I knew that we couldn’t trust it to one of those scrawny school owls. I had to bring it myself.”
Finally free from the family trap, Neville crossed the room to shake her hand rather nervously. “Thank you, Professor!”
“Oh, I’ll have to owl your cousins. They’ll want to know immediately…”
As usual, Professor McGonagall simply ignored the fact that the room had practically exploded. She stood and inclined her head in an informal kind of bow, and then straightened the cloak around his shoulders.
“I will not presume,” she said, “to guess where you will spend your time at Hogwarts. I know the boy you have been and I know the man you might become if you are anything like your father.”
It was the first time in several months that the comparison to his father hadn’t made him utterly miserable. He was going to Hogwarts. He could be as great a man as his father.
“Well, then,” he said shyly, “I hope to see you in Gryffindor, Professor.”
And then, finally, she looked as if she were really pleased with his answer. “We shall hope so, Mr. Longbottom.”