Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall had a feeling this was going to be a very strange year for her, indeed.
Her day had started out relatively normal. She was triple-checking her lesson plans for the coming school year, listening to faint footsteps and the sound of protective spells being casted in the halls outside (the other professors getting the school ready for some of their more troublemaking students) when an eager red and yellow bird appeared out of thin air in a flash of fire, landing with a thump on her newly polished desk.
Minerva had started slightly, then let out a sigh and gently relieved the old phoenix of the letter he carried in his wrinkled talons.
Her eyes narrowed in concern as she read,
Dear Minerva, there is something of importance I would very much like to discuss with you in person. I would appreciate it greatly if you would care to come to my office for some Malted Milk Balls, and a chat! Sincerely, your friend, Albus Dumbledore.
“Why bother to send Fawkes? I’m only on the other side of the castle, he could have come and notified me, himself!” She huffed exasperatedly, watching the phoenix preen itself happily before disappearing with another flash. It must be urgent, then, if Dumbledore couldn’t bring himself to walk out of his office.
She stood with a heavy sigh, slipping her lesson plan and the letter into her drawer, and left her office.
She jogged briskly across the castle, stopping at the gargoyle to give the password, “Malted Milk Balls.” With a creak, the gargoyle shifted out of the way, and Minerva started her quick ascent up the long spiral staircase.
“Minerva! So glad you arrived!”
Minerva stopped, panting from the lengthy climb- she really must enchant those stairs sometime to act something like a muggle escalator, just to save her poor legs- and forced a smile. “Albus, what- Good to see you.” She knew for a fact that Albus wouldn’t wield any answers until he was ready, so there was time to waste on pleasantries.
Dumbledore smiled in that distinctly… Dumbledore way, and let her inside. “You look quite out of breath. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No thank you.” Minerva said, stiffly, then realized her tone might be disrespectful. “I mean, I’m alright. What did you need to see me for so urgently, headmaster?”
“I’ll tell you shortly, have a seat.” Dumbledore pulled out a plush chair for her, and Minerva sat, fidgeting with the hem of her robes in impatience.
“Yes?”
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I called you here, Minerva, to get the word around that we will be having exactly ten students entering our school last-minute.”
“What?” Minerva frowned. “Ten students? How did this happen, I mean, every witch and wizard in Britain and Ireland should have been contacted. We triple-checked with the Ministry-”
Dumbledore pushed his half-moon glasses up his long nose, tutting quietly. “Ah, Minerva, special circumstances. These ten children were discovered late, and are quite behind in their magical education.”
“But how?” Minerva resisted the urge to throw her hands in the air in frustration. “How could the Ministry have let an oversight this large-”
“It was not our Ministry that missed them, Minerva,” Dumbledore hummed, "as these students are not in this fine land, but in another entirely...”