Saturday Tea
We thought that James Sirius and Professor McGonagall would have something of a special relationship. Here's what we imagine...
Saturday teas with Professor McGonagall were one of James’ favorite things about summer. It had started when Al caught the Dragon Pox when James was five and his parents, with no one else available and at the end of their wits, had sent him to stay with Professor McGonagall for a few weeks. She had been having him over for afternoon tea in the summers ever since, and Saturday teas were now a special tradition between just him and Professor McGonagall. Every summer, her fulltime presence at Hogwarts no longer required, Professor McGonagall sent an owl to Grimmauld Place requesting the presence of James Potter for afternoon tea at her cottage in the Highlands. It was currently the summer before James’ first year at Hogwarts, and every week he had chatted with the professor about how much he was looking forward to September 1st.
In James’ opinion, Professor McGonagall provided a better spread than even the Burrow, and probably better than the Queen of England. Her scones could certainly rival the Burrow, and, unlike Grandma, she always let him take as many biscuits as he wanted. And he was pretty sure the Queen didn’t serve anything as delicious as ginger newts.
The conversation was certainly more interesting than anything he’d heard (or overheard) at the Burrow or imagined he’d hear at Buckingham Palace: Professor McGonagall regaled him with stories of his Potter great-grandparents, her own escapades from the war against Grindelwald, and some of his namesakes’ more ridiculous hi-jinks.
However, on this particular Saturday afternoon the conversation was not so welcome.
“You’re retiring?” James was aghast, though he tried not to show it, “But how can you retire, just like that?”
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow and gave him a Look over her spectacles.
“I believe the typical protocol is to announce one’s retirement to the Board of Governors, which I did last night. And for your information, it was not ‘just like that.’ I’ve been planning on retiring for quite some time. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
James ignored the last sentence.
“But I was looking forward to seeing you at Hogwarts!”
“Why do you think I’m retiring? I’m too old to be teaching a third generation of Potters. Good heavens, your father’s years at Hogwarts nearly finished me off for good!”
James tried not to feel insulted.
“Besides,” said Professor McGonagall briskly, pouring him a second cup of tea, “if I was Headmistress I’d have to give you detentions and write letters to your parents. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
James shrugged, staring at his trainers.
“James, trust me, you wouldn’t like having me as your Headmistress. It would be like having your father teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“But Uncle Neville teaches Herbology!”
“It’s not the same, James, and you know it.”
James scowled. He did know it. Uncle Neville was brilliant and it was always a fun time when he dropped by Sunday dinner at the Burrow, but he wasn’t like Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall was special. She was all James’. She didn’t have anyone else over for tea every week, did she?
“And this way,” Professor McGonagall continued, “I can send you letters every week. Perhaps even a tin of scones on Saturdays.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And I’m going to be expecting regular updates, James Sirius. After all, someone will have to keep an eye on my successor, won’t they?”
James smiled and bit off the head of a ginger newt. He was disappointed that Professor McGonagall wouldn’t be there to see him Sorted, but it had just occurred to him that the new Head probably wouldn’t know the school’s secrets like Minerva McGonagall did, thereby making it much easier for him to sneak out after curfew with Fred and have adventures. And if she was going to send him letters regularly, not to mention sweets…
It was going to be a very good year indeed.
Saturday teas with Professor McGonagall were one of James’ favorite things about summer. It had started when Al caught the Dragon Pox when James was five and his parents, with no one else available and at the end of their wits, had sent him to stay with Professor McGonagall for a few weeks. She had been having him over for afternoon tea in the summers ever since, and Saturday teas were now a special tradition between just him and Professor McGonagall. Every summer, her fulltime presence at Hogwarts no longer required, Professor McGonagall sent an owl to Grimmauld Place requesting the presence of James Potter for afternoon tea at her cottage in the Highlands. It was currently the summer before James’ first year at Hogwarts, and every week he had chatted with the professor about how much he was looking forward to September 1st.
In James’ opinion, Professor McGonagall provided a better spread than even the Burrow, and probably better than the Queen of England. Her scones could certainly rival the Burrow, and, unlike Grandma, she always let him take as many biscuits as he wanted. And he was pretty sure the Queen didn’t serve anything as delicious as ginger newts.
The conversation was certainly more interesting than anything he’d heard (or overheard) at the Burrow or imagined he’d hear at Buckingham Palace: Professor McGonagall regaled him with stories of his Potter great-grandparents, her own escapades from the war against Grindelwald, and some of his namesakes’ more ridiculous hi-jinks.
However, on this particular Saturday afternoon the conversation was not so welcome.
“You’re retiring?” James was aghast, though he tried not to show it, “But how can you retire, just like that?”
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow and gave him a Look over her spectacles.
“I believe the typical protocol is to announce one’s retirement to the Board of Governors, which I did last night. And for your information, it was not ‘just like that.’ I’ve been planning on retiring for quite some time. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
James ignored the last sentence.
“But I was looking forward to seeing you at Hogwarts!”
“Why do you think I’m retiring? I’m too old to be teaching a third generation of Potters. Good heavens, your father’s years at Hogwarts nearly finished me off for good!”
James tried not to feel insulted.
“Besides,” said Professor McGonagall briskly, pouring him a second cup of tea, “if I was Headmistress I’d have to give you detentions and write letters to your parents. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
James shrugged, staring at his trainers.
“James, trust me, you wouldn’t like having me as your Headmistress. It would be like having your father teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“But Uncle Neville teaches Herbology!”
“It’s not the same, James, and you know it.”
James scowled. He did know it. Uncle Neville was brilliant and it was always a fun time when he dropped by Sunday dinner at the Burrow, but he wasn’t like Professor McGonagall. Professor McGonagall was special. She was all James’. She didn’t have anyone else over for tea every week, did she?
“And this way,” Professor McGonagall continued, “I can send you letters every week. Perhaps even a tin of scones on Saturdays.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And I’m going to be expecting regular updates, James Sirius. After all, someone will have to keep an eye on my successor, won’t they?”
James smiled and bit off the head of a ginger newt. He was disappointed that Professor McGonagall wouldn’t be there to see him Sorted, but it had just occurred to him that the new Head probably wouldn’t know the school’s secrets like Minerva McGonagall did, thereby making it much easier for him to sneak out after curfew with Fred and have adventures. And if she was going to send him letters regularly, not to mention sweets…
It was going to be a very good year indeed.