Chapter Text
Minerva McGonagall was a clever, no-nonsense type of woman. She expected full effort from each of her students, regardless of house or family background. Excuses for late homework or botched assignments were met with a stern, disappointed stare, and were quickly turned into apologies, or in particularly weak-willed students, tears.
She was by no means cruel though. No, even the students that left her classroom in tears were seen out with a biscuit or comforting advice. She believed that each of her students could do well, and sometimes, that belief was all they needed.
By the second week of term the first years had learned that she would not turn them away when the homesickness became overwhelming at night. She was a stern, but empathetic listening ear.
So, when Albus Dumbledore called her to a muggle home to transfer the infant that just defeated the dark lord to the care of the painfully average muggle family, she had several protests.
“I have watched them all day, Albus, they will either spoil the girl rotten like their dreadful son or ignore her completely because she comes from our world.”
“Now Minerva, she is best off with her own relatives. They will not treat her as a celebrity or savior, as any wizarding family might,” Dumbledore said sagely, not looking at the infant in his arms or the outraged woman to his right.
“She will know nothing of her parents, her heritage, or her future responsibilities” McGonagall protested “How do you expect a muggle-raised girl to succeed as an Heiress to the Nobel house of Potter? She will be lost when she comes of age, and our ministry does not need anymore clueless nobles."
McGonagall stepped closer, moving the blanket away from the sleeping baby’s face to peer at the child unaware of her fate being decided above her.
“What do you suggest then, Minerva? What family could keep her safe from those that are angry with their lord’s defeat, while not allowing her to be placed on a pedestal? There are too many that would take advantage of such access to the girl-who-lived, as they are calling her.” Dumbledore asked distractedly. McGonagall studied the headmaster, wondering if there were not some hidden motives he had not revealed to her. She was not entirely sure he was not one of those that should not have too much access to the girl.
An idea occurred to her. An idea more reckless and Gryffindor-like than any stunt her students had pulled since the Marauders graduated.
“I could do it,” she said, hardly believing the words were leaving her own mouth. She had dreamed of having children once, with a woman long gone, in a time long faded away. The children of Hogwarts had filled that part of her that longed to care for people. She was perfectly content guiding the education of Magical Britain’s bright youth.
Something about little Harriet’s innocent face and the idea of her being subjected to the uncouth parenting of Petunia Dursely was unacceptable to the old professor. She would not stand for it. Poor Harriet was completely alone in the world.
McGonagall had loved the girl’s parents, and had been told months into Lily’s pregnancy that if it was a girl, they were going to have the middle name be Minerva, for strength and light. She had not been able to protect Lily and James, and would never be able to replace them for Harriet, but she owed the girl her best effort.
“Are you certain, Minerva? A child at your age would be no small challenge.”
Dumbledore's response was met with an arched eyebrow that had him placing his hands up in surrender.
“All I am saying, dear Minerva, is that a baby would require much time and attention, perhaps more than being a teacher will allow you to spare,” Dumbledore said in his best forebodingly wise voice. McGonagall sniffed in disdain and carefully took the child from the old man’s arms.
“I am old, Albus, not incapable. I will make all necessary arrangements for the girl. My family elf has been bored for many years now, she will be delighted to assist in caring for Harriet,” McGonagall straightened up to her full height and stared Dumbledore down. “I fully believe myself capable of being Harriet's guardian.” Dumbledore made his first sensible decision that evening and chose not to fight against the woman that had every Gryffindor of the past thirty year’s loyalty.
A calculating look passed briefly over the old man’s face before being replaced by the kind, grandfatherly gaze she was so often subjected to. “Alright, Minerva, you shall be the protector and guardian of dear Miss Potter here. We shall see your rooms at Hogwarts adjusted accordingly.” With a tip of his head in goodbye, he was apparating away.
McGonagall was alone with her new charge.
“Well dear one, it seems we are to get to know one another quite well. I am Minerva McGonagall, and you are Harriet Minerva Potter. We make a fitting pair, I believe.”