Minerva’s Demise
The war had almost destroyed Hogwarts in its entirety. Not the main castle, of course, but one wing had been badly damaged, multiple bridges had been ripped to shreds and the surroundings had burned, bright and hot, leaving only ashes in their place. As had the Quidditch pitch.
But that wasn’t what made Hogwarts feel destroyed. Not even close. Hogwarts had survived worse.
What had destroyed it was this: it was the atmosphere. Everything felt gloomy and too-quiet, as if a veil had been placed over the minds of the students and the teachers alike.
Whereas, once upon a time, loud chatter had filled the halls of Hogwarts, only sparse, serious discussion was now heard, giving the teachers the creeps at dinner. Less and less students came to eat.
Whereas, once upon a time, cheers had resonated among the Quidditch towers, rooting for their House and booing at the adversary, the people now only sadly stared at the burnt ruins of the wooden structure. The Quidditch teams had all but disappeared.
Whereas, once upon a time, students would fill Hogsmeade’s streets and shops with energy and life, the village was now a dark and lonely place, destroyed for most parts. The village was empty, soulless and lonely, the villagers shells of their old selves.
The newer students’ moods were pressed, no motivation in sight, as there had once been. They scurried from one classroom to the next, barely daring to lift their gazes in fear of catching those of the tormented older students’. There was such fear, sadness and trauma in their eyes.
They’d been scarred for life. Everyone had been, and the young ones felt it enough for it to affect them, too.
The teachers did their best to lighten the mood, make their lessons interesting, but, deep down, they didn’t feel any better than the students themselves, and so the attempts were half-hearted at best.
It couldn’t be said otherwise: Hogwarts had been destroyed.
.o0o.
It was in those conditions that Minerva McGonagall took her rightful place as Headmistress of Hogwarts. She was successor to Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest Hogwarts Headmasters, and had one hell of a legacy to live up to, she was aware.
She’d expected it for years. Albus hadn’t exactly kept it a secret that she would become the next headmistress, but the conditions in which she did? Absolutely terrible. Any other person would’ve probably run. Any sensitive person, at least. A less Gryffindor person, perhaps.
But Minerva McGonagall was a tough woman, toughened up even more by years of working with bra- children. With children. She was a teacher first and foremost, and everyone knew that.
So, like everything else in her life, she tackled the challenge with rigor and conviction, working her brain to shreds and her hands raw to rebuild Hogwarts. Her home.
Not only had the war destroyed the mentality of Hogwarts, but more than one teacher had left their life in it, too. Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, Transfiguration or Study of Ancient Runes were all unoccupied, and teachers to hire sparce.
Against her will she kept Sybil as the Divination teacher, because no one else would take the position, and she was better than a centaur.
(What had Albus been thinking? He hadn’t been, possibly, but probably he’d been thinking too far, passing over the fact that this was a school. With students and all.)
She kept Hagrid, too, because, again, no one else would want to work at Hogwarts right now, and even though the half-giant may not be a good teacher, he at least knew his way around magical creatures and had a good heart.
She was lucky to yet have Filius, Pomona, Rolanda and Aurora as Charms, Herbology, Flying and Astronomy teachers, knowing she could trust them, at least, to be reasonable teachers and people. Even though Filius had said to want to retreat soon. As had Pomona.
Well, Minerva ignored that last part, because she couldn’t break down into tears quite yet.
Cuthbert was of course still the teacher for History of Magic – it wasn’t like he’d been in any danger of dying – and Apparition was only barely under her jurisdiction anyway.
Now, Severus may not be the best person, or teacher, or anything, really, but at least he knew what he was doing. Also, he had similarities with burrs: very hard to get rid of. Very hard to kill, too, if this war had said anything on that.
(‘I always carry antivenom on me’ my ass, you’re probably resistant because of your snake heritage).
Severus could keep his potions position.
.o0o.
Now, the logical solution to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position seemed obvious: to hire Remus Lupin.
But on the other hand, the man was mourning his dead wife and child. Minerva hesitated for a solid five minutes, prayed to the gods to forgive her for another three and then sent off the letter to guilt-trip him into accepting the position.
No one had said she would be a nice headmistress. Just a good one. Bloody hell, she could almost understand Albus’s reasonings now. Would she hire a centaur? Probably not. Did she think guilt-tripping someone into working for her was an option? Definite yes.
Great, now she just needed a professor for the position of Study of Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies and- Transfiguration. Good grief, she had high standards for that position. She didn’t know if there was anyone out there that came even close to meet them.
In addition, she wanted someone good in Muggle Studies, to try and stop any new he-who-must-not-be-Voldemort. Merlindammit, one day she would get it right.
.o0o.
She was kind of on edge since she’d taken on the position, and it had reflected on her vocabulary, to her own indignation.
Also, she thought people had started to notice, if the scared glances she got were any indication of her temper.
.o0o.
Minerva had gotten surprisingly used to sit in Albus’s – hers, hers, hers – office. It had helped that it didn’t really look like it had once anymore, mostly because of the giant stacks of paperwork she’d found and deposited along the walls.
These giant stacks of paperwork she’d found had been hidden in Albus’s old living quarters, and were mostly highly important and confidential documents on the functioning of Hogwarts, that the man had hidden from her.
And, after months, she still wasn’t sure if it he’d done it because he’d taken to do them on his own or because of sheer laziness and procrastination. Of which Albus had been the world champion, for sure.
She also found the documents on the position of the ‘Keeper of the Keys’. It hadn’t existed ten years ago, but Hagrid had invented it to seem impressive in front of Mister- Harry, Dumbledore had heard of it and went ‘great! Just what we need!’ and made it official.
Furthermore, he went on to gaslight Minerva into believing she’d simply never paid enough attention and had missed it, because it just simply wasn’t possible for a position to just appear from one day to the next, was it?
.o0o.
Ugh, how she missed the old coot.
.o0o.
So, Transfiguration. Was it legal for the Headmistress to be a teacher?
Hm. Probably, and it wasn’t like she was about to read the three-thousand-six-hundred-forty-two-and-a-half pages of the Hogwarts rulebook again to go and look for it, so…
And she was Headmistress anyway, she could decide.
Was this an abuse of power? Certainly. Did she care? Absolutely not.
.o0o.
Nobody actually cared about Study of Ancient Runes, did they? That was surely just a joke a few people had among themselves were they did Transfiguration instead.
She could just peer pressure some random ministry official to do it if she wanted. And, it would be best for them to have been Gryffindor so she could have better control over them, to avoid any misunderstandings.
Also, she had no idea of the subject, so she couldn’t decide who was a good or bad choice. Maybe she should ask for help to find someone suitable, but then she would seem unfitting for the role of Headmistress, and that simply wasn’t true.
.o0o.
Merlin’s saggy balls, Albus had to have had nerves of steel. She would eat the next idiot that told her she wasn’t a good headmistress or that she wasn’t allowed this or that or any other thing.
.o0o.
You know what? She had the perfect person for the position of the Muggle Studies teacher.
Sirius Hell-No-Orion Not-Really-Actually-Black-Anymore.
He’d spent years in the muggle world in his time as escaped convict (yes, she wanted him for a teaching position, what was the problem?), so he potentially knew more about them than anyone else she knew and had access to right now. Even better, she had a direct liaison with him, he still respected her and he would be there to contro- uhm, help Remus if he ever snapped.
.o0o.
Kingsley Shacklebolt had finally been made official Minister of Magic, but she honestly didn’t care if that didn’t either mean she would get a pay raise, a new identity so she could move illegally to Bangladesh or that the stupid Quidditch pitch would get fixed.
(Oh yes, naturally, we understand, but we have to rebuild the homes and official buildings first! They could kiss her backside.)
.o0o.
Two years in, was it normal to consider people objects? For the sake of her own mental stability?
Of course it wasn’t. A therapist would do her so much good, but of course she couldn’t have one, because then she would be fed to the dogs by the Daily Prophet, even though it was slowly but surely getting de-corrupted.
Her respect for Albus? Went through the roof, landed on Mars a few days ago.
Also, Poppy retired. Someone would die today, preferably whoever decided on Fate.
.o0o.
Well, at least people had stopped being so depressive since she had passed the permission for parent visits and since the Quidditch pitch had been rebuilt (thank you, our saviour, our chosen one, her personal hero, Percy Weasley, for having pushed for it).
.o0o.
She would move to Jamaica, she then decided at two am in morning, bent over her desk, barely being able to decipher the chicken scrawl of one idiot or the other. At least it was better than Sirius’s calligraphy that she needed a calligraphy dictionary for to be able to read.
Jamaica was far, far away from Britain, the Hogwarts school board and the British Ministry. Meaning: all the people that had made it their life’s goal to make her life miserable. It was warm, and no one knew where it was.
Perfect, she sighed tiredly over her inch-thick pile of documents yet to be read and signed.
.o0o.
It was six years, three months and twelve days after having taken the seat that Minerva McGonagall cracked. She had just gotten the news she was about to be made Supreme Mugwump and why in the world would anyone want her as- that?
Didn’t she have enough to do already? Didn’t she already wake up at five and go to bed at eleven?
She briefly asked herself if this was rather considered torture or murder. Very, very slow murder. Then Minerva called together an impromptu teachers meeting directly in her office, and everyone had to be there in the next ten minutes. Or she would eat them.
Everyone was there in less than five, which, great. She’s got this Headmistress-thing down.
(She probably went mad somewhere along the way, but… who even cares at this point?)
At last, all the teachers were standing in a half-moon around her desk, and Minerva looked at all of them in turn until they started shifting uncomfortably.
“Remus,” she finally said to the DADA teacher. “Why don’t you have a go?”
Remus blinked confusedly. “…Have a go?”
Minerva sighed impatiently and gestured towards her desk and the documents on it. “Yes, a go. At being Headmaster,” she explained.
The teachers’ eyes went wide. Filius looked at her as if she were mad. Well, she was, very much so, so she couldn’t even feel insulted.
“Headmaster?” Remus asked with eyes the size of saucers. “No, please. I don’t. I really, really don’t. I-”
The Headmistress shook her head and smiled forcefully. “It’s very easy,” she said – what a lie – and stood up. “And I can make you Headmaster right here, if you want?”
Remus anxiously shook his head in turn. “No, really, that is not necessary. I swear. Just- no.”
Minerva frowned. “Look, I’ll just try to give you Hogwarts’ magic, and if she wants you then-”
Panicking described very well how Remus looked and Minerva felt. She just wanted out. Remus also wanted out, apparently.
Minerva channelled Hogwarts’ magic straight in direction of Remus, who looked at it as if it would bite, and suddenly the magic started to flow on its own. Minerva almost started dancing, because the magic had found its new owner, and if the magic wanted it, well so would it be. No take-backs.
The magic approached the panicking Remus in front of everyone’s wide eyes, but just before it hit him it-
What?
Someone gasped loudly. Minerva’s heartrate spiked. What was happening?
Just before Hogwarts’ magic had hit Remus it… separated into two and went into…
Sirius. And Severus. Both.
“What the fuck?” hissed Sirius.
Minerva sagged into the Headmistress’ chair, muttering, “Merlin’s saggy motherfucking balls.”
.o0o.
“What in the ever-loving- ?” Severus began but was cut off as the magic fused with his magical core. It felt like a punch in the guts. A good one. Like a very nice, loving punch in the guts.
He and Black made very convincing imitations of each other as they doubled over, groaning, gagging and cursing. The room spun around Severus and the other teachers were either stunned or panicking, staring at them.
Pomona, compassionate as always, scurried to the two men and yelled for the others to do something, but everyone knew that you couldn’t really do something against Hogwarts’ magic. Especially if it had chosen its master- masters? which hadn’t happened in a while. Like, six to seven centuries.
And it definitely never had chosen two masters at the same time.
Yes, about that: what the fuck? Hadn’t their life been eventful enough? They’d won wars, been spies and criminals and have fucked up youths.
But noooo, they had to become Headmasters. The first co-masters in the history of Hogwarts. Ugh.
Eventually the pain/nice punch in the gut began to fade and Snape straightened himself again. It felt somewhat like just having grown a new limb, and that… well, Severus was really good at ignoring things, were they annoying students, a crutiatus from a manic master or new limbs.
“Well,” Pomona said anxiously, bringing her hands together, “it appears you- you two are the new Headmaster. Headmasters. You- both. The two of you. Oh, Merlin, what a mess.”
“I can see that!” hissed back Severus annoyedly. Now, what was he supposed to do about it? Was he now just Headmaster? How was this legal anyway?
(Honestly, fuck the magical world)
“Well,” began Filius, “we cannot exactly refuse the magic. It has decided you two to be worthy Headmasters. Hm, wait, no, it has decided you two to be the perfect options. You are now Headmasters and no one can refuse, not even you.”
Sirius and Severus were silent for a few moments before Sirius asked, “perfect options? What the fuck was the magic smoking and where did it get it? I want some.”
Severus scowled, though he silently agreed. “There is no way I will be doing anything with this dim-witted fool,” he snapped.
“Well, it’s mutual!” Sirius bit right back. “Fuckin’ asshole you are. Couldn’t even be a decent person to save your life!”
“And it is entirely my intention to not accept this position,” Severus went on, completely ignoring Sirius. He glared at Minerva.
“Well,” Sirius hissed, “didn’t you listen, fuckhead? Filius said we can’t refuse! Are you seriously going to run away like that? Oh, a challenge, I have to run! Coward.”
Severus’s temper boiled at the bad imitation of him and he sneered. “Do not lower yourself to such infantile insults, Black. You are Headmaster, now, after all.”
Sirius growled at him and Pomona had to put a calming hand on Sirius’s hand to keep him from stepping up to Severus. “Luckily I’m Headmaster! Wouldn’t want you to torture these children to death! Like you probably would! Snivellus.”
“Like you could ever deal with children! You would just run off to drink yourself into oblivion with a girl on each knee like the slag you are!” Severus ground out.
Sirius pulled himself free from Pomona and in an instant he was in Severus’s private sphere with his wand against his throat.
“We’re so screwed,” Severus heard someone say in the background, and when even Sybil acquiesced, his heart sank. Screwed indeed. This school would be going to shreds.