The toddler inserted himself easily into the lives of those around him in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. No mention was made of his surname and his scar was kept Glamoured; people seemed to assume he was simply Harry McGonagall. There had been a trend in calling newborns "Harry" since events in October 1981, so no one seemed particularly perturbed that this was another Harry, albeit, one of the identical age as James and Lily Potter's son.
Dumbledore had agreed that, until Harry was a little older, the boy could sit in the corner of Minerva's classroom as she taught her students. It caused a terrible distraction at first, especially amongst some of the older girls who wanted to coo over the young boy and have him on their knees and play with his rebellious curls. Harry was often happier just sitting in a playpen with some toys or cloth books or he would watch his Minnie intently as she taught the students Transfiguration, pretending he held a wand and mimicking the movements or trying to say the spells too.
In the afternoons, he would nap in a little cot beside Minerva's desk and those students who had their classes in the afternoon seemed to be surprisingly respectful of the young boy; despite the silencing charms around the boy's cot, the classes were always murmured and gentle and surprisingly productive.
Interestingly, as he got older, Harry seemed to bring the school together, perhaps because he didn't understand the divisions between the Houses, so he would spend time with any of the students who he wished to be with, inserting himself at any table he wanted during meals times. The students began to follow his lead and, for a time, the Houses were more accepting of each other, despite the ingrained competition, despite the war that had barely ended.
What surprised Minerva was how quickly the students accepted Harry into their ranks and how protective they were of the little boy. They might have spoilt him but purely because he was a charming and adorable young child. Interestingly, Harry shied away from those who wanted to mollycoddle him, he liked those who treated him like a young adult, those who taught him things and were patient and sharing with their time. He was particularly enamoured with the eldest Weasley boy who had just joined the school. Perhaps because Bill had younger siblings too, but he doted on little Harry and Minerva implicitly trusted the elder boy if Harry wanted to go off with Bill to watch him learn to fly or to his Care of Magical Creatures classes.
Minerva's biggest fear was that the Press would get wind of the arrival of Harry in Hogsmeade or at the school, partly because if news got out, it might bring vengeful Death-Eaters descending down upon them. But it seemed they were to be left alone. Rumour had reached the Daily Prophet that Dumbledore had placed Harry Potter with Muggle relatives under heavy Wards for safeguarding and that was that. The matter was not pursued. Partly because no one knew what the child looked like beyond possessing a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
Harry seemed blissfully oblivious to the fact that Minerva cast a Glamour on him each morning or that his surname was never used, but he was only seventeen-months-old when this started. He was simply just Harry.
The first time Harry called Minerva 'mummy', it caught her completely off guard.
It was barely six months after she taken him in and they were sitting in her little garden watching butterflies flitting between the colourful dots of flowers in the warm sunshine.
He turned to her and solemnly said, 'Mummy Minnie, I love you and when I grow up, I want to marry you because I think you're the cleverest witch in the world.'
He watched her for a while and then asked, 'why are you crying?'
She hadn't meant to cry but she couldn't help herself. This sweet wonderful boy who had been through so much had the most precious heart of gold. 'I'm afraid you can't marry me, Harry,' she said softly.
It was Harry's turn to cry. 'Why not?' he stamped his little foot and then threw himself into her arms, hugging her tightly and sobbing.
No one, she thought, no one in the world has ever hugged me like Harry does. Perhaps she needed this little boy in her life as much as he needed her.
'I want to marry you and I don't understand why I shouldn't be allowed. Who says I can't?'
She smiled softly at his little tantrum and his two-year-old logic and stroked his soft unruly hair. 'I'm afraid it's against the law for little boys to marry their mummies.'
'When I'm grown up, I shall do what I want and nobody should stop me. I shall get the law to change... Anyway, you're not my real mummy, just my new mummy. Is that different?'
'Sort of, but I don't think it's proper to marry your new mummy either.'
He looked at her solemnly, 'will you tell me about my real mummy again?'
She smiled softly, 'always, darling, shall we go and find her picture to look at?'
'No, I want to imagine her lying on the grass beside me.' He lay down flat, with his arms by his side and his feet flexed skyward. He shut his eyes tight. 'I can almost feel her next to me with her hair like fire tickling my cheek. Was she beautiful?'
'The most beautiful,' Minerva said with a little choke in her voice. 'She had amazing green eyes just like yours and little freckles on her nose...'
They often talked about Harry's parents. She would tell Harry about James and Lily being soulmates and James knowing it from the day he first saw her but Lily was having none of it because James was loud and boisterous and sometimes a bit naughty. In comparison, Lily was bright and clever and the kindest young witch Minerva had ever met. Then James finally realised he needed to change his ways and show her he was serious and that he truly loved her. How, after that, no one could hold them back. She told them about their school days and their October wedding and how in love with each other they were and how happy they were to have a little boy they called Harry nine-months after they got married. She told Harry about being asked to be Harry's godmother and swearing to protect the little boy with all her heart. She told him about their friends too, though she was very wary about talking about the self-styled Marauders whom she knew about full-well. Mostly because she didn't want to tell Harry about Sirius Black and how it had emerged that he'd betrayed poor Lily and James. She still didn't want to believe it but he'd been put in Azkaban for being a Death-Eater and leading them to their murders and for odd little Peter's death too. How do you tell a small child about that?
Later that night, as she tucked him up in bed, he whispered, 'night, night, Mummy Minnie.'
She replied, 'you don't have to call me "mummy", you can just call me Minnie.'
'Lily lives in the stars now so you're my mummy instead. And I like calling you mummy,' he said simply as he hugged his little bear.
And she felt a little choked because, she realised, if he'd stayed with Petunia Dursley, he would have had no one to call 'mummy'.
He screwed his eyes tight but pointed to his cheek to indicate he wanted a kiss.
She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and rolled her eyes at herself. He demanded affection and it was a learning curve for her too but they were getting better at it all or, rather, she was getting better at it all.
'Asleep now,' he said.
She smiled at his delightful logic once again. 'Night, night, Harry,' she whispered softly. 'Love you to the stars and back again.'
'To Lily's star?' he asked sleepily.
'Yes, to Lily's star especially,' she whispered.
When Harry was four, Minerva sent him to the primary school in Hogsmeade using her surname. Although he prospered, he loved it best at Hogwarts. When his little school had teacher training days or holidays that didn't quite match up, Harry would accompany Minerva up to the school and he'd sit at a small desk at the front of the class room with his colouring books or his reading, though they were often discarded in order to listen to his mummy teach. Sometimes he would go into Professor Flitwick's Charms classes too, he liked it when the students made feathers float around the room.
'Wingardium Leviosa,' he'd pronounce carefully, swishing the little wooden wand that Hagrid had whittled for him. Of course, it didn't work, but he loved to pretend it did and sometimes the students would tease him by doing the spell secretly behind Harry's back so it looked like he had managed it.
One of the things he loved to do during those days was to spend the afternoons with Hagrid and they'd wander around the grounds together, looking after the pumpkin patch or tending to the animals. It wasn't an unusual sight to see Harry riding on the half-giant's shoulders. It appeared he wasn't afraid of heights as he never held on and waved his arms around wildly as he pointed at the things he wanted the gamekeeper to explain to him.
But, by far, his favourite occupation, if Minerva was too busy, was to sit in the Quidditch stalls and watch Madame Hooch teach the students to fly. From the first time he saw a broomstick, he was infatuated. Minerva was rather protective, he was, after all, not actually her child, could she really let him take that risk? Of course, she remembered James' skill at flying but little Harry... it worried her immensely. She eventually relented, remembering her own passion for flying in her younger days and she bought him a training broom after a lot of begging. It was then that she knew Harry was a natural from the moment he sat on it and swished around her cottage garden in Hogsmeade, barely two feet off the ground but riding like he'd been born in the saddle. He even had the cheek to bend off the broom as he flew and pluck dandelions and cornflowers out of the wildflower garden. He presented them to her with a huge grin on his young face, his cheeks rosy from the wind.
'Thank you, mummy, you're the best,' he shouted as he swooped off again.
The only person who Minerva didn't trust in all this was Severus Snape, James Potter's old schoolboy rival and the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. He had a sallow complexion and long greasy black hair. He was a solemn man, tight and unforgiving in appearance, almost melancholy at times, and unreachable to his peers. His appearance wasn't helped by his harsh black robes which buttoned tightly across his chest and billowed out behind him as he swept around the school. He had once been Lily's friend but rumour was they'd fallen out because of his interest in the Dark Arts. It was also rumoured he had been in Voldemort's inner circle since he left school. He stayed inflexibly silent but watched young Harry with hard black irises. Minerva was certain that she heard him mutter on more than one occasion 'has his father's shallow charm and his mother's eyes.' It worried her that he knew. Still, Dumbledore trusted him and she trusted Dumbledore. Most of the time.
'Mummy?' young Harry would ask. 'Why doesn't Professor Snape like me?'
'Tsk,' she would say softly. 'There's no one in the world who doesn't like you. It's just Professor Snape spends too much time with his potions in the dungeons and it makes him grumpy.'
Harry took that to heart. 'I don't think I should ever like making Potions, not if it makes me so very sad all the time. Do you think Professor Snape needs more fresh air? Hagrid always says the fresh air makes him happy.'
Minerva couldn't help the little quirk of a smile and said, 'I'm not sure that would work for Professor Snape.' She wasn't entirely sure if the man knew the word 'happy' existed, let alone understood its meaning. She'd certainly never seen him smile since he'd returned to teach at the school.
Professor Snape got the shock of his life the following day when a small hand reached out and tugged on his black robe just as he was sweeping out of the Great Hall.
'Mr Snape,' a little timid voice said from somewhere in the vicinity of his legs and he looked down into a pair of startling green eyes that reminded him far too much of Lily Evans. 'I wondered if you'd like to watch the first years learn to fly with me today? To get some fresh air. It's very good for you, you know?'
'No,' the professor drawled in his double bass, the 'o' drawn out. 'I think not!' The 't' was a whole punctuation system all by itself. He swept away, leaving a bewildered Harry in his wake and several smirking students nearby. The story of Harry's invitation spread rapidly through the school. However, Harry didn't repeat it, taking the slight personally, and avoiding Professor Snape thereafter. Though it seemed that Professor Snape couldn't get the young boy out of his mind and watched him obsessively whenever they were in the same locality through unreadable black eyes.
It was shortly after this time that Minerva had been promoted to Head of Gryffindor House. That was when Harry's loyalties to that particular House changed.
'Gryffindor is the best House,' he would tell everyone. 'Because my mummy is in charge.' He wasn't to be argued with but he could be a rather stubborn child at times. But then one of his friends in Ravenclaw had pointed out that it was like saying people with blond hair and white skin were best and that wasn't right because everyone was equal, everyone still bled red if they cut themselves, people were just the same flesh and bones at the end of the day. They asked if it meant they weren't friends anymore because they had different characters. Harry was upset about that and hugged his friend tightly and said 'sorry'. He was also a bit confused and silently puzzled over the issue of Houses for a while.
A few days later, when he was sitting next to Professor Dumbledore at the great big long staff table, he asked thoughtfully, 'why are there four Houses? Surely Hogwarts is just one big House?'
Albus smiled at the young boy, his blue eyes twinkling over the top of his half-moon glasses and thought, not for the first time, how glad he was that Minerva had stood up to him and rescued this young boy from his relatives. Albus had helped Petunia Dursley in his own quiet way; Vernon had voluntarily removed himself from their lives (with a persuasive nudge from the old Headmaster). He knew that Harry returned to Privet Drive the eve of his birthday every year, just to spend one night with his aunt and cousin. Petunia still wasn't a particularly warm person but without the influence of Mr Dursley, the situation had definitely improved. It didn't stop Minerva from accompanying the young boy and she'd would sleep on the end on his bed in her cat form.
Albus contemplated the young boy's question briefly, he always seemed so eager to learn and his brow furrowed as he remembered another orphaned boy who was equally as inquisitive about all things magical. 'A very long time ago, before this school was established, there were four men and women who decided that all young witches and wizards deserved an education in magic in a safe place...'
'...is Hogwarts a safe place?'
'The safest,' said Dumbledore with a smile. 'So, these four people became the founders of the school and they were called Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff...'
'...the names of the four Houses?'
'Exactly. They decided to split the pupils in the school according to the students' characteristics. So, Godric chose the students who were brave, chivalrous, and courageous; Salazar wanted the students who were cunning and ambitious, and resourceful; Rowena looked for students who were intelligent, accepting and creative; and Helga choose students who were patient and loyal and fair...'
'...what happens if a person is cunning and brave?'
'A very good question, young man. Indeed, what happens? Well, the founders created the Sorting Hat and at the beginning of each year the Hat decides which House is best for the student...'
'...but what happens if you don't agree with the Hat?'
Albus chuckled quietly, 'then you probably belong in Slytherin.'
'I think the House thing is stupid. I've got friends in all the Houses,' and he squinted as he looked down the Great Hall to point out some of his friends as if to make a point.
Albus pursed his lips when he noticed Harry squinting. 'Is everything alright with your eyes, young man?' he asked.
'Just sometimes things are a bit fuzzy,' he said.
'I see,' said Albus. 'Well, I think we should get Madame Pomfrey to have a little check of them.'
When Minerva took the five-year-old Harry to the opticians. He chose a pair of glasses that were just like his father's.
'Then I can look like him in the photos,' he announced proudly.
She gulped, worried that it would only draw attention to who he really was because he suddenly looked remarkably like James and anyone who had ever met James would know immediately. He was slim, like his father too, there was so many similarities. She bent down and whispered in his ear, 'Harry, I would like you to choose another pair of glasses for the moment. When you're older, you can have a pair exactly like that.'
Harry threw a tantrum. 'BUT I WANT THOSE ONES!' he stamped as he shouted.
'Harry!' she warned, her lips thinning into a tight line of disapproval. Sometimes the little boy could have a fearful temper on him and could be unbreakably determined. But he stopped immediately because of her tone of voice and his shoulders dropped and he hugged her tightly and said 'sorry!' in a small voice.
'I'll explain when we get home,' she said quietly. 'It's very important that you don't look like your father at the moment.'
So, it was when Harry was six-years-old that Minerva first started to explain that Harry was famous and that was why she hid his scar every morning because that was the main feature that people would know him by but if he started to look like James then people might recognise him and that wouldn't necessarily be a good thing.
He wanted to know why he was famous, he didn't really understand, especially as she was worried about telling him too much about Voldemort because she didn't want to scare him. She certainly didn't want to tell that if there were any of Voldemort's followers who hadn't been rounded up, they might come after Harry, seeking revenge.
'But why did the bad man kill my parents?' he said, a worried expression on his face.
'There was a war, Harry, and your parents fought against the bad man.'
'And where is the bad man now?'
'We don't know. He vanished. Lots of people think he's gone for good but we're not sure...'
'How did he vanish?'
'He tried to hurt you. That's why I don't let people know about your scar or what your real surname is, or why I don't want you to look like James at the moment. It could be dangerous. But, well, we think, we hope your mother saved you and it destroyed the bad man...'
'Did I kill him... I don't want to kill anyone... I can't kill anyone...' the little boy panicked.
That night, Harry had his first nightmare. 'There was a green light, a flash, and some words I didn't understand...' he sobbed as Minerva held him tight and rocked him gently. 'He's going to come back... he's trying to get back to me...'
She believed him too.
So, it was when Harry was six-years-old that Minerva McGonagall started to supplement Harry's standard education. He was too young to own a wand, but she could, at least, teach him about the basic theories behind magic, the laws, the history, even to start reading runes, so that when the time came it would be simpler for him to apply the practical. Each year she went into a little more depth. She was delighted that he showed himself to be a bright young boy, perhaps not academically outstanding, but he understood things and he wanted to ask questions about what he was learning.
She noticed, over the next few years that he learnt to control his accidental magic far more. Sometimes, she wondered if there was a hint of wandless magic occurring, just strange little occurrences like a pencil being summoned, or a book suddenly being back on the shelf, or his pencils being ordered by colour without him seeming to tip them out. She didn't mention it to anyone, not even Albus, partly because it's better that things like that are kept secret but also because he couldn't do whenever she asked him directly.
She also, slowly, began to drip feed him more information about the war, about Voldemort, about his parents' roles so that, when the time came, he would fully understand and it wouldn't be a shock.
Unfortunately, the nightmares started to get worse. At times he would wake up scrubbing wildly at his scar.
'Does it hurt?' Minerva asked.
'No. Yes. It's just there. I can feel it,' Harry would answer.
It pained Minerva so much; suddenly her carefree little boy was growing up and life had taken a more serious turn.
'I'm going to run away,' Harry declared in his frustration after another nightmare. He was only nine. 'Run away and live with the dragons in Romania. I'd like to see Voldemort come and battle them.'
His mother smiled fondly at him. 'Have you been spending time with Charlie Weasley again?'
'Should've just got a dragon to breath on him in the first place,' he declared stubbornly.
After moments like this, she'd let him spend the morning flying, just to release some of the pressure he was feeling. It was then that he laughed, wild and free for a moment. She never introduced him to Quidditch beyond what he watched at the school. He didn't seem to need the constraints of a game, he just wanted to be free and flying gave him that.
***