The Keeper of the Bills
Minerva McGonnagall did not usually make mistakes. And when she did, she did not usually get caught in those mistakes. And she certainly could not remember the last time she had been disciplined for a mistake. And yet, here she was, standing in front of the headmaster's office like she was one of the Weasley twins.
She cleared her throat. Dumbledore looks up from the piece of parchment he was perusing.
"Is there anything you want to tell me, Minerva?"
She pretends to be thinking about it.
"I may have had some difficulty with delivering one of the first year's letters," she conceded. Dumbledore nodded.
"Does that have something to do with this bill I received from the Hogsmeade post office?" he asked, giving the roll of parchment a shake, allowing it to unroll across his quite large desk, past Fawks' perch, and along the floor until it bumped into McGonnagall's feet. It wasn't even completely unrolled yet.
Time to go on the defensive.
"You will recall I did suggest that you or I attend this particular case, due to the muggle guardians involved,"
Dumbledore's lips thinned, and expression that would have been far more intimidating if the beard surrounding those lips was not a bright shade of turquoise.
"And you will recall that I expressly forbid you to attend the property in any way.”
Minerva glared. She suspected. She suspected what was going on to that poor boy but she did not have any proof, and without proof she was not capable of going over Dumbledore’s head. She could not possible comprehend what was more important than the welfare of a child, especially in this day and age, but her hands were more or less tied. She just hoped that when the boy finally made it to Hogwarts it would appear that her concerns were unfounded.
“I will take over this particular case, Minerva,” Dumbledore continued, and then turned back to his work in a way that made it clear that she was dismissed. Her humiliation completed its transformation into indignation.
“Fine,” she snapped, “Though I hope you know I am very disappointed.”
As she stalked out of the room, she could not resist one parting barb.
“The fluorescent hair suits you,”
The echo of those words seeming, to Dumbledore at least, to ring much longer than the sound of the slamming door that followed them.
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Madame Pomfrey grinned at the basket of lethifold wool Dumbledore had delivered, her price for fixing his hair and beard and promising not to tell Minerva how it had become so brightly coloured.
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Minerva stood atop the astronomy tower, summoning owls as they headed towards the headmaster’s office. She would never hear the end of it if she couldn’t intercept the bill from The Magical Menagerie.