The Owl and the Letter

Isobel McGonagall woke on 4 October, 1946 with excitement coursing through her veins. It was Minerva's eleventh birthday.

Isobel dressed, threw her hair into a braid, pausing on the loose floorboard in the bedroom, her heart pounding. She glanced in the mirror over the dresser, at her husband, who was laying in bed still, his glasses on his nose, face etched in concentration as he read his daily Bible passage. Robert barely noticed when Isobel slipped out the door.

In her bedroom, Minerva was just waking up, the cat, Puddy, licking her cheek.

Happy Birthday, Minerva, Puddy was saying, his whiskers tickling her nose as she stretched and yawned widely, one of her shoulders from having leaned against it all night. There were a chorus of meowed well wishes from the cats and Minnie smiled, unable to think of a better way to wake up than the sound of a clowder of cats wishing her happy birthday.

She sat up and looked around at them - and to her surprise, it was not only cats in the room. But there, perched on the high back of her desk chair, clutching a weathered envelope in his beak, sat an owl. The owl ruffled it's feathers and fluttered his wings menacingly at one of the cats - a light orange one she'd named Honey - as it tried to bat the bird down.

Minnie stared at the owl in disbelief.

What in the world was an owl doing in her bedroom? What in the world was an owl doing... holding an envelope?

Carefully, Minnie crawled across her bed and instantly at least three of the cats curled up in the warm hollow space that her body had made in the sheets. She studied the owl as she neared it, kneeling at the end of her bed and clutching one of the four posters to balance herself. The owl hooted around the letter in it's mouth, it's eyes wide and staring at her.

The bedroom door opened then and several of the cats hissed, expecting Robert McGonagall, but it was not the minister, it was his wife, Minerva's mother, who they all liked and they went back to looking hungrily at the owl, who would make a grand feast for them all if only he could be conquered.

Isobel paused in the doorway when she saw the bird and she gasped and hurried through, glancing back into the hallway, then pushing the door shut. "I knew it," she whispered, "I knew it all along. Oh blessed day!" she hurried across the room. "Go on, Minerva," she whispered, breathlessly standing just a few steps away. "Go on and take the letter from his beak. It'll be for you, dear." The excitement in Isobel's voice was unlike any Minerva had ever heard.

Carefully, Minnie reached for the letter. The moment her fingers took hold upon it, the owl let go and fluttered to the window, slipping through the gap onto the roof, and flying away. The cats were disappointed. They all groaned and complained, though only Minnie could hear their complaints. Isobel quickly came over, sitting on the edge of the desk chair, looking eager and tremulously excited at exactly the same time. She stared over Minnie's shoulder as she looked the envelope over.

Minerva McGonagall
Her Bedroom, The Minister's Farm
Faere Dhu Village, The Highlands, Scotland

What a funny way to address an envelope! Minnie stared at the green ink in a slanting, cursive hand. Whoever would send such a letter?

"Open it," begged Isobel.

Minerva turned the envelope over. On the back was a red wax seal bearing a coat of arms - a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake. Across the back flap read the title Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minerva's eyes grew wide and she looked up at Isobel with fear. "W-witchcraft?" she whispered, her voice trembling with terror.

"It's not like you think, not like your father speaks about. Open it! Open it!" Isobel begged.

Minerva was fearful, whatever her mother said. She slid her thumb beneath the wax, breaking the seal and opened the envelope. Inside were several sheets of parchment and she took them out with a trembling hand and unfolded them. That same slanted cursive hand had written the letter within, dated 4 October, 1946.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Armando Dippett

Dear Ms. McGonagall,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the term beginning 1 September 1947.
Enclosed you shall find a list of book and equipment.
Please send a return owl no later than 31 October, confirming receipt of this letter, along with the enclosed list of required Ministry Documents - including your proof of wizarding birth.
We shall send a subsequent owl on 1 August 1947 with your ticket aboard the Hogwarts Express.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Deputy Headmaster

Minerva turned over the other parchments and looked them over, confused. She looked up at her mother. "It's a school? A secondary school? They've got a place for me? A witchcraft school?" Puddy could feel her fear and he rubbed against her hip, purring that it would be okay, not to be frightened.

But Minerva was frightened.

Robert had preached that witches burned in the fires the devil lit beneath the earth's crust, in a deep, dark place, far below her feet in the center of the earth - in the place he called Hell.

As though on a cue, Robert himself poked his head into the bedroom and the cats hissed (this time they were right about it being the minister and the fur on their backs stood to attention). Isobel snatched the letters from Minerva's hand as quick as lightening and held them behind her back while Robert looked down to step over the cats without crushing any of them. He walked over to the bed and he gave Minerva a hug and he said, "Happy birthday, my little lamb!"

Over his shoulder, Isobel held her finger to her lips to tell Minerva to stay quiet about the letter the owl had delivered.

"I suppose soon I shall have to call you a sheep instead, you're growing up so quickly," Robert commented as he released her. "Eleven already!" He looked to Isobel, "Can you believe we've had this little one eleven years already?"

"I cannot," Isobel replied, smiling.

Robert smiled, even as Puddy's tail flickered angrily at him, and reached into the watch pocket of his vest. "I have something very special for you," he informed her. And from his pocket he withdrew a small gold necklace with a tiny gold cross. He held it up for her to see. "This was my mam's, and her mam's before her, and her's before her... and so on and so forth." He smiled and gently slid his hands around her neck, doing the clasp at the nape at the very base of Minerva's hair, and the little gold cross fell, cool and heavy against her collarbone and he smiled and ran his hand over her forehead, smoothing the wild locks that crossed it, and pressed a kiss directly in the center of it. "You're a blessing, Minerva, and I thank the Lord for you each and everyday."

Minerva touched the necklace with her little fingers and smiled up at her father. As harsh as he could be, she truly loved and admired the man with all of her heart, and she held onto that cross - a symbol of her father's love. "Thank you, Da," she said.

He smiled and his hand trailed away over her hair and he turned, headed for the door, stepping over the clowder of cats once more as he left.

Isobel listened for the creaking of the stairs beneath her husband's feet as he descended down them. She waited until he was completely to the bottom before she withdrew the letters from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry back out from behind her back. She stared down at them, at the green lettering on the fine parchment, at the slanted cursive and even the broken wax seal with an expression of fond longing. She looked up at Minerva and she whispered, "Stay here. Mummy will be right back. I have something very important to show you, and I shall explain all of this to you. You must stay here while I fetch it."

"Yes Mum," Minerva replied.

Isobel gave Minerva back her letter and hurried from the room as quietly as she could, closing the door behind her. Malcolm and Robbie were just getting up and she touched their heads gently as they passed and bade them good morning, told them their father was downstairs already and she would be along presently, and they scurried down the stairs, the steps creaking beneath them. Isobel slipped through the door into her bedroom and she locked the door and went over to the loose floorboard by the dresser.

Her fingers shook as she gently pulled the board up and pushed it aside, looking into the crevice below. She pulled out a narrow purple and gold box and blew the dust away. She ran her fingers over the lid of it, her heart in her throat and she reached down and withdrew an old leather bound photo album, and a small golden ball, which she clutched tightly in her fingers as two silver wings fluttered, tired, from the ball's sides. Tears filled her eyes.

Isobel put the ball back - she would have time to go over the other items in the floorboards another day. Today, she needed only the album and the narrow box. She watched the wings of the ball slow and then slide back into the gold, too tired and old and unused to continue fluttering, and she felt sorry for it. She knew how that poor little ball felt sometimes. Carefully, Isobel pushed the board back into place and she gathered up the photo album and the narrow box and snuck back to Minerva's bedroom.

Minerva had read over the slanted cursive handwriting several times over by now, afraid as ever.

When Isobel came back, she closed and this time spun the key, locking Minerva's bedroom door. She walked quickly across the floor, the cats leaping out of her way. She sat on the edge of the bed and all but Puddy got down, scattering about the room - several went through the crack in the window and onto the roof outside. Isobel put the album down on her lap and held the narrow box, opening it slowly, shaking the lid to release the base, and Minerva leaned closer to see there was gold lettering embossed upon the lid.

Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.

When the lid released, Isobel put it aside and the base held a fine purple velvet cushion and resting upon it, sleek and polished and waiting, was...

"A stick?" Minerva looked up at her mum. She'd lost her mind, clearly.

"No, Minerva," Isobel whispered. "A magic wand."

"Magic?" They had spoke of magic before. Magic was what kept Minerva safe from falling in the barn. Magic was what brought the cats to her, what made her hear their words. Magic was what it was when she wanted something from the top shelf and it would come to her without any help at all. Magic was what her mum had told her, very sternly, they could not speak of, they could not use on purpose, they could not let their father see. Magic was taboo, magic was classified.

Magic had always fascinated her.

She stared up at her mother with wide eyes.

Isobel whispered reverently the words that her mum had told her and her mum before her had told her, and her before her, and so on and so forth --

"Minerva McGonagall, you... are a witch."