Chapter 18 – Professor McGonagall
The reply to Hogwarts went out that same evening.
Mum had insisted I write it neatly — twice — before she finally let me seal it. I suppose she wanted to be sure no smudge or stray crumb would offend a Deputy Headmistress. After all, this wasn't a normal school we were dealing with.
The owl that had delivered my letter was still perched on the garden fence, preening itself with casual dignity. I gave it a small piece of toast (the last of my birthday breakfast) and held out the envelope.
"Please deliver this to Hogwarts," I said softly.
The owl blinked, took the letter carefully in its beak, and launched itself into the evening sky. I watched it go until it was nothing more than a dark speck against the orange clouds. Somewhere beyond those clouds, at the edge of everything I knew, waited Hogwarts.
When I turned back, Mum was wiping her hands on her apron though they were already clean. Dad looked as if he'd just seen off a tax inspector. Harry and Dudley were whispering about what sort of people would come to take me shopping.
I didn't have to wait long to find out.
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The very next morning, just as Dad had settled behind his newspaper and Mum had begun her second cup of tea, a sharp knock-knock echoed through the house.
Everyone froze.
"Who could that be this early?" Mum murmured.
Dad gave me a look — the kind that said, this is one of yours, isn't it?
I went to the door. When I opened it, a tall woman in emerald-green robes stood on the step. Her hair was streaked with silver and pulled tightly into a bun, her sharp eyes glimmering behind square spectacles. She carried herself like someone used to being obeyed — not out of fear, but respect.
"Good morning," she said crisply. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
For a moment, no one breathed. Then Mum gasped softly.
"Minerva… McGonagall?" she repeated, almost to herself.
Professor McGonagall turned her head sharply toward her. "Mrs Dursley?"
Mum nodded, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and recognition. "You came for my sister once. For Lily."
The professor's stern face softened. "Indeed I did. You must be Petunia Evans. Or Petunia Dursley now, I suppose."
"Yes," Mum said quietly. "It's been… a long time."
Professor McGonagall smiled — a rare, small smile that made her look almost kind. "Far too long."
Then she turned to me. "And this must be Arthur Dursley. Our newest Hogwarts student."
I swallowed and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Excellent. I received your reply promptly — thank you for that. I thought it best to come in person, to explain a few things and… to see how you're all managing."
She stepped into the house, her eyes taking in every detail — the tidy hallway, the framed family photos, the faint smell of pancakes lingering from breakfast. I saw her gaze linger briefly on Harry, who was peeking shyly from behind Mum's skirt.
Her expression changed — just slightly. Something gentle passed through her eyes.
"Harry Potter," she said softly. "My word."
Harry blinked. "Do I… know you?"
She smiled, more warmly now. "No, my dear. But I knew your parents."
Mum shifted uneasily, but Professor McGonagall's tone was kind, not probing. "You look well. Very well indeed."
"Thank you," Mum said quickly. "We've… done our best."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Yes. I can see that."
It was clear she had expected something else entirely — and was quietly delighted to be wrong.
She took a seat at the kitchen table when Mum offered tea (a rather nervous "Would you like some tea, Professor?"). Within minutes, the four of us were seated together — me, Mum, Dad, and the Professor — while Harry and Dudley hovered near the doorway, pretending not to listen.
"I'll admit," Professor McGonagall began, setting her teacup down neatly, "when I first read the name Arthur Dursley on our Hogwarts registry, I was… surprised. Your family has not exactly been known for its magical inclination."
Dad cleared his throat. "You could say that," he muttered.
"But," she continued, "when I saw the address — Number Four, Privet Drive — I confess I was even more curious. I went straight to the Headmaster."
"Dumbledore," I said before I could stop myself.
Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Yes. Professor Dumbledore. I showed him the address and asked if it was correct."
"And what did he say?" Mum asked softly.
Her smile deepened, a hint of fond exasperation in it. "He said nothing at all. Just looked at me with that infuriating twinkle of his and told me to 'wait and see.' So here I am — waiting, and seeing."
She glanced toward Harry again. "I also thought it would be wise to check on young Mr Potter. It has been eight years since I last saw him."
Harry stepped forward a little. "You knew my mum and dad?"
Professor McGonagall nodded, her expression softening again. "Yes, Harry. They were two of the finest students Hogwarts ever had. Brave, clever, and kind. I am very glad to see you so well cared for."
Mum's eyes shone, though her lips were pressed tight. "We've tried," she said quietly. "It wasn't easy at first, but… things changed."
The Professor regarded her closely, and I could tell she saw what I did every day — the quiet strength in Mum's eyes, the fierce love she tried to hide behind her tidiness and tea rituals.
"Yes," said McGonagall at last, nodding approvingly. "I can see that they did."
Dad, who had been silent till now, finally spoke. "So you're the one who'll be taking him to… what was it? Diagonal something?"
"Diagon Alley," she corrected, though not unkindly. "Yes. I shall accompany Arthur there to collect his school things. It's a rather complicated place to find if one isn't familiar with the magical world."
"I'll say," Dad muttered.
Professor McGonagall's lips twitched, as though she were suppressing a smile. "You needn't worry, Mr Dursley. It's perfectly safe. Quite busy this time of year, but safe."
"Good," Mum said quickly. "Arthur's been studying so hard these past months — I just want him to have what he needs."
At that, the Professor looked at me again, studying me over the rim of her glasses. Her gaze was sharp but not unkind.
"I've heard from a certain Professor Snape that you are… unusually prepared for your age," she said.
I blushed. "I've just been reading ahead. A bit."
"'A bit,'" she repeated, sounding amused. "If you truly managed Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa on your own, that's more than a bit."
Mum looked ready to faint at the mention of levitating things. "He—he's been careful," she stammered. "No explosions since February."
McGonagall chuckled quietly — a rare sound, crisp and short. "That's more than most young wizards can claim."
She rose, straightening her robes. "Well then, Mr Dursley — Arthur — if you're ready, we shall go tomorrow morning to Diagon Alley. I'll make the arrangements."
"Tomorrow?" I said, hardly believing it.
"Yes. Best not to leave it late. You'll need your wand, robes, and books before term begins."
I nodded, hardly able to contain my excitement.
As she moved toward the door, she paused and looked once more at Harry. "Mr Potter," she said softly. "I'll see you soon, I expect."
Harry grinned. "You mean when I'm eleven?"
Her eyes softened. "Exactly."
Then she turned to Mum. "You've done well, Mrs Dursley. Truly."
Mum smiled, almost shyly. "Thank you, Professor."
And with that, Professor McGonagall stepped out into the bright morning, her emerald robes sweeping behind her like a whisper of another world.
For a long moment, none of us spoke. Then Dad exhaled and muttered, "Well, she's certainly not what I expected."
Mum smiled faintly. "No. But she was exactly what I remembered."
End of Chapter 18 – Professor McGonagall