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Nothing surprised Minerva McGonagall anymore.
She’d been a professor for nearly 50 years. In that time, she’d grown from a young, pretty thing to an old woman with wrinkles carved deep into her skin. She’d lost colleagues to old age and disease. She’d lost students to accidents and war. She’d watched Tom Riddle rise to power and die at the hands of Harry Potter. And then she watched him rise again and die again—once again at the hands of Harry Potter.
She was back teaching at Hogwarts. Though she—and the castle—were a little worse for wear, she was surprised how quickly things felt ‘normal’ again. She settled into her new routine as Headmistress, meetings with the Board of Governors on the first Monday of the month, full staff meetings every Friday afternoon and a packed schedule of coordinating reconstruction efforts, handling student affairs, and working with the professors to provide support for the traumatized student body.
But Thursday at 3pm was her favorite time of the week. Because on Thursdays at 3pm, Minerva was back in the classroom, teaching Advanced Transfiguration to the 8th year students who’d selected to continue their studies. It was the only time of the week she got to teach in her new role as Headmistress, and she relished that time as an instructor.
Only six students signed up for the advanced course: Hermione Granger—the first to register for the course when it was announced during the welcome feast—Theodore Nott, Padma Patil, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin, and—last but not least—Draco Malfoy.
She’d shuddered when she noticed the sullen boy’s name on the roster. He’d always been unpleasant to work with, and knowing now his family’s full involvement in the war, she didn’t relish teaching the Malfoy heir any magic—let alone advanced magic.
But Minerva was a consummate professional. And she would not let herself ignore the academic needs of a 19-year-old student, even if he was almost certainly doomed to follow in his father’s wicked footsteps.
In all her years of teaching, Minerva knew the best way to stop any unwanted surprises was to have a plan.
“For your research project this term, you’ll be working in pairs. The partner assignments are as follows: Mr Nott and Mr Boot, Miss Turpin and Miss Patil, Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger,” her firm was firm as she announced each pair.
Hermione’s hand shot up, but she started speaking before she was called on. “Headmistress, I simply can’t work with Malfoy!” Her face was splotchy and her eyes wild as she protested, and Minerva could almost see the girl’s dreams for the future flickering in her wide eyes.
“I’m sorry Miss Granger. The assignments were randomized”—they weren’t—“and I expect you to work well together”—she didn’t expect that. What she expected was that the strong willed Hermione Granger would be able to keep Draco Malfoy in line and make her life just a bit easier this year. She trusted the girl would immediately report on any suspicious activity from the Slytherin, and even if they didn’t get along, they’d certainly both learn a great deal.
“Are you sure?” Hermione pleaded. “I could switch with Padma. Lisa and I both have a specialized interest in conjuring.”
“I’m happy with my partner,” Padma huffed. “And what makes your think I want to work with Malfoy?”
Minerva repeated herself. “There will be no switching partners.”
To her surprise, Malfoy did not protest.
“Headmistress, please reconsider,” Hermione was sitting across from her large ornate office chair. This was the second time she’d scheduled a meeting with Minerva in two weeks, both times on the same topic. “I cannot work with Malfoy; he’s impossible!”
Minerva picked up her small porcelain teacup, which she’d enchanted to never run out of tea, and took a sip. She knew her answer would not please the girl. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger, but sometimes we have to work with people we don’t like. Has he done something untoward? Or something dangerous, perhaps?” She would be lying if she wasn’t hopeful that the answer to those questions was yes.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh as she leaned back in her chair. “No, of course not. He’s been perfectly polite.”
Minerva gave her the type of look that only a much older woman can conjure up. “Then I don’t understand the problem.”
“The problem is he’s one of them!” Hermione’s cheeks burned red, and Minerva felt for the younger witch. She knew what she was doing was cruel, but yet, she was certain that Hermione, of all people, could handle herself.
She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but the Board of Governors has decided that we need to provide equal education to all students—regardless of blood status or ‘family allegiance during the war,’” she said quoting the exact words that had been conveyed to her that summer. “Besides, if you want to pursue a career at the Ministry, you’ll need to get used to working with people who hold these types of antiquated beliefs. Think of it as a lesson on how to work with people you don’t agree with.”
That seemed to resonate with the ambitious girl. “Fine. Although I don’t see an academic reason for your decision, I can concede that there is a professional lesson here.”
“Good. Now,” Minerva waved her wand to summon a stack of old scrolls. It would have to serve as a temporary peace offering. “I thought you might be interested in reviewing my old copies of The Journal for Advanced Study of Transfiguration.”
Hermione perked up almost immediately. “Oh! I’d love to.” She unfurled a scroll; her eyes scanning the first article. “Is this the 1978 issue on human-animal transfiguration by Professor Robert Aspice?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I knew him back at school…”
Minerva was glad for the distraction.
The next weeks, Minerva watched her Thursday afternoon students closely. She was pleased at Padma and Lisa’s progress deconstructing the historical and cultural use of conjuring in religious ceremonies in early modern England. Theodore and Terry, meanwhile, were using their time on the term project to refine a new wand technique that would allow wizards with less than five fingers on their wand hand to still cast more complicated transfiguration spells carefully.
Hermione and the Malfoy boy’s project was the one that intrigued her the most.
The pair had elected to push the limits of Gamp’s Law—by seeing if transfiguring individual molecules could circumvent the inability to conjure “good food.” At some point, magic knew the limit between food and not-food, and the two young adults were endeavoring to find exactly where that limit was.
Not only that, the two seemed to be working well together. Hermione had taken to sitting with the Malfoy boy during class, and on more than one occasion, she’d seen her animatedly run over to the wizard in the Great Hall to tell him something about their experiment.
Minerva was pleased that she’d been clever enough to partner the two together.
“Granger, stop!” The commotion outside of Minerva’s office echoed up the stairs. She recognized that voice, and immediately, grabbed her wand to investigate. Even now three months into the school year, she didn’t trust the Malfoy heir.
“Why would you do that?” A witch shrieked—and Minerva knew it immediately as the voice of Hermione Granger. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Minerva paused right at the edge of threshold before pushing the door open. In her years as a professor, she’d learned it was better to let students work things out amongst themselves, but she would stay there, ear pressed to the mahogany door, in case the argument escalated.
“I didn’t mean it—” There was an unfamiliar desperation in the boy’s voice that Minerva didn’t recognize. “Please don’t be mad.”
“How could you not mean it?” Hermione said, her voice cracking as she spoke. Minerva was certain she knew what had happened—the Malfoy penchant for blood supremacy had surely reared its ugly head. If anything, she was surprised it had taken this long.
“We work well together. Don’t let this one thing ruin it,” the wizard pleaded. It wasn’t really an apology, but Minerva also knew the Malfoys were too proud to apologize for things they weren’t sorry for.
“Just… leave me alone.” Hermione’s voice was quiet.
Minerva only heard one pair of footsteps walk towards Gryffindor Tower, and a long moment later, the second set departed in the opposite direction.
“You asked to see me, Headmistress?” The Malfoy boy stood at the edge of her office, his robes perfectly pressed and his hair precisely quaffed.
“Yes, come in.” She used magic to summon the wizard a cup of tea and to indicate which seat he was to sit in.
He looked paler than usual, and he was fidgeting with the edge of his robe sleeve as he slipped down into the chair provided for him. He lifted the teacup to his lips and took a long sip.
“How is your term project with Miss Granger going?”
In the week since she’d overheard their fight, she’d noticed that Hermione had been ignoring the blonde wizard entirely. She’d taken to sitting sullenly in the back of the classroom, piling books on the empty space beside her to ensure that no one sat at her table. Draco Malfoy hadn’t tried to sit with her, instead, he slipped quietly into the seat next to Theodore Nott. She watched him repeatedly sneak glances at Hermione, trying his best not to be noticed.
The witch seemed determine to not let herself even look at him.
Draco frowned slightly. “Things were going well, but we,” he paused, looking for the right word. “had a misunderstanding. Things have been difficult since then.”
The choice of words was curious. It seemed like more than a misunderstanding based on their conversation. “Have you tried apologizing?”
The Malfoy boy visibly prickled at her question. “I don’t have anything to apologise for,” he snapped.
That response was even more surprising. Minerva was certain that for the sake of his reputation, he’d be willing to apologise to the witch—if only for the social mobility that would come from a friendship with Gryffindor’s Golden Girl. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the misunderstanding about? Perhaps, I can help offer some advice.”
“It’s a private matter. Not related to the assignment.” She could see that he was grinding his teeth.
She took a deep breath. “If it’s about Miss Granger’s blood status—”
The Malfoy heir stood up, his chair scraping along the floor as he did. “As I discussed, it’s a private matter. If this meeting was scheduled just for you to meddle in my personal affairs, I’ll be going.”
She didn’t stop him as he stormed out of her office.
But she thought she saw the evidence of a blush as he exited.
She regretted forcing Hermione to work with the Malfoy boy. In this post-war world, she’d let her suspicions get the better of her, even though there was no evidence that he was anything more than a privileged brat. And it was now affecting the girl’s education.
While the other students used their class time in the second to last week before the end of term to work on their projects, Hermione and Draco remained on separate sides of the classroom independently working and refusing to speak to one another.
After her meeting with the Malfoy boy had gone poorly, Minerva had tried to speak with Hermione, who had simply blanched and told the professor that she’d rather not talk about it.
She was at a loss at what to do.
At the end of class, she reminded her students, “Next week, please be ready for your partner presentations.”
She hoped it wouldn’t go as badly as she expected.
“And that’s how we discovered the exact point when Gamp’s law takes effect,” Hermione concluded, beaming from ear to ear.
Minerva was blown away by the presentation. Hermione and Draco’s research had been impressive, and they had given it with the near perfect synergy that only comes from careful preparation.
As the students were packing up their bags, Minerva stopped her two star students. “I’m glad to see you’ve worked through your differences.”
“Yes, it would appear we have.” Hermione’s eyes flickered up to Draco’s as she spoke, sparkling with some unsaid sentiment.
“Mr Malfoy apologised then?” Minerva couldn’t help but ask.
Draco laughed. “No, actually she actually apologised to me.”
Minerva’s eyebrows lifted practically into her hairline. “Really?”
Her eyes grew wide as Draco snaked his hand into Hermione’s, his fingers interlacing with hers. The witch seemed to glow with happiness at his reassuring touch. “It was my fault, when Draco kissed me after our first big break through, I—I was afraid it would risk our academic and professional partnership, but last night…” She let her voice trail off.
Minerva didn’t need to imagine what had happened last night. “Well, I don’t need any of the sordid details.”
“Oh no, Professor!” Hermione protested, clearly embarrassed.
Draco explained, “Last night, when we were preparing the final presentation together, we were forced to have a conversation about what we really wanted. And now that this assignment is over—”
“There was no reason for us to stay apart,” Hermione finished.
And for the first time in many years, Minerva McGonagall felt true surprise.