@takethesword and I were talking about how Everyone Is A Lesbian and we came to an important realization

Minerva McGonagall/Jennifer Honey: OTP

Minerva comes in person to deliver Matilda’s hogwarts letter, Jennifer Honey gently interrogates her about pedagogical practices at Hogwarts, Minerva doesn’t know what to say

they meet for tea and Miss Honey lends her a book on different classroom models

(sidenote, Matilda gets sorted into slytherin without hesitation)

I’m in love with this. Matilda has long conversations with Minerva about the ethics of magic and when muggleborns are brought into the know and somehow Minerva finds herself not only escorting them to Diagon Alley but coming over for weekly dinners to elaborate on finer points of the evolving discussion. She finds herself looking up at Ms. Honey halfway through passing the gravy at dinner and realizes she’s so utterly at home and doesn’t want to leave.

Minerva McGonagall rarely delivers Hogwarts letters herself these days, but this girl is a special case. The roster spell seems confused by her; her address varies for days, text spinning so wildly that it can hardly be read. Minerva sees it settle at one point on an address in Guam, and then again on a house in a little village in Buckhamshire, but all the other letters are sent out before the parchment finally comes to a conclusion: eleven year old Matilda Wormwood lives in the United States, in a small town in southern California, in the 2nd upstairs bedroom. 

They don’t take many students from the United States, but if Matilda’s name has appeared on the list of prospective students, then she belongs at Hogwarts. Minerva has never seen the roster spell make a mistake before. Of course, she’s also never seen it struggle to turn up an address. There are so many special factors – muggleborn, American, terminal parchment confusion – that Minerva decides it’s best handled personally.

The house, when she comes to it, is a little magical in and of itself. The garden is overflowing with wildflowers, a miniature jungle of color, and she can see gnomes scurrying out of her sight below the petals. It looks like the unconscious work of a young witch with an affinity for flowers, and Minerva smiles to herself and makes a private bet that this one is for Hufflepuff – one of Pomona Sprout’s, undoubtedly.

She raps briskly on the door. She hasn’t broken news like this since she was a deputy headmistress, but she hasn’t forgotten how. Best to be as practical and to-the-point as possible, rather than drawing out the shock.

It’s the child who answers. She’s small for an eleven year old, and very slender, but something about her pointed chin and the large dark eyes gazing out of her small face convince Minerva. This isn’t a younger sibling; this child is the one she’s come for.

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