FIC: "Asking the Right Questions" for istalksnape
Title: Asking the Right Questions
Author/Artist: ???
Recipient's name: istalksnape
Characters/Pairings: Minerva. Gen.
Rating: PG
Summary: Minerva looks to the Sorting Hat for answers.
Notes: (if any) alittlewhisper and sioniann are officially saints for putting up with my turning this in late like a really late thing. Scads of love to T for the beta.
-
The Sorting Ceremony, it seems, takes an absolute age. Her father had told her all about it, of course, as soon as she'd got her letter, but he had neglected to mention how terribly long it takes.
Minerva has just begun to tap her toe in impatience, thinking that it is terribly inconvenient to have a name so far from the beginning of the alphabet, when the bespectacled professor with the long beard finally calls her name.
She tosses her braid over her shoulder and sits down on the stool, solemnly looking up at Professor Dumbledore as he places the tattered old hat on her head.
"Hello, Miss McGonagall."
Hello, Hat.
"Have you any special requests for me?"
Not particularly. Ought I?
"Your father spent fully ten minutes trying to talk me out of sending him to Hufflepuff. I thought perhaps you might wish to do the same."
Well, it didn't work for him, did it?
"Quite right, quite right. But you're a bit more complicated than he was."
Am I?
"Oh, without doubt."
Where do you want me, then?
"You'd do well in any of three excellent houses."
What about the fourth?
"You're much too honest for Slytherin, my dear. Trust me."
Father says that Slytherins always cheat at Quidditch.
"Do you care so much about Quidditch, then?"
I like to watch. And I don't like cheats. Can we get on with it?
"We can, and we shall. Now let's see…you're clever, you incessantly ask questions, and you like to argue -"
I do not!
"Of course you do -"
I only argue because I -
"- but you've no appreciation for irony, so Ravenclaw is out."
You did that on purpose, you wretched Hat.
"My dear girl, they did make me the Sorting Hat for a reason."
Then hurry up and Sort me! Half the year is waiting, you know.
"Now there's a Hufflepuff talking."
Are we finished, then?
"No."
You're terrible, Hat. Do you do this to everyone?
"Not everyone requires it. You would make an excellent Hufflepuff, though."
And why is that?
"You have an overdeveloped sense of fair play, you work hard, and you respect authority."
That rather depends on the authority, really.
"Ah, and there we have it."
Have what?
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Eyes twinkling, Professor Dumbledore takes the hat from her head.
"That's a very talkative hat, sir," Minerva says, standing up.
"Indeed, Miss McGonagall."
"I thought it would ask more questions, though."
He smiles. "Why should it ask when it already knows the answers?"
Minerva thinks he might be spending too much time with that Hat for his own good.
-
Headmaster Dumbledore - Albus, his name is Albus - insists she come for tea after her first day of lessons. She protests, of course, but by the time she's through with the little beasts for the afternoon, Minerva is very glad she allowed him to talk her into it.
However, when she makes her way past the gargoyle and up the stairs, she finds herself alone. She sits primly in the high-backed chair in front of the headmaster's desk and gazes around the office, nodding politely at the portraits and surveying the headmaster's impressive collection of magical knickknacks with mild interest.
Then the Sorting Hat catches her eye, and she's out of the chair and across the room before she even realizes it.
Hesitant, she gently fingers the frayed silk before lifting it from the shelf.
"Hello, Minerva."
Hello, Hat. How have you been keeping?
"As well as any hat my age can possibly expect."
That hardly sounds comfortable.
"It's a living. At least I only have to deal with students one day a year."
Gods, don't remind me. I can't remember ever being so young.
"So stupid, you mean."
Well, yes, but it's hardly charitable of me to say so.
"It's almost as if I can read your mind!"
You're still impossible, I see.
"Rowena wouldn't have had me any other way."
Figures.
"I might have placed in you Ravenclaw after all, had I known you planned to teach."
It was a recent development.
"Indeed. The Ministry wasn't all you'd hoped for, then?"
Clearly not, Hat.
"And here I thought you'd returned for the scenery."
Among other things. I hope to find some time for research.
"Ah, I see. You're pursuing a feline line of inquiry?"
With any luck.
"Luck has nothing to do with it, my dear. May I call you Kitty when you've done it?"
Not in front of the Headmaster.
"Fair enough. I'm surprised, though."
How so?
"I'd have placed you for a bird. An owl, perhaps."
Heavens, no. Enough people expect wisdom from me as it is.
"Blame your father for that one, I suppose."
Indeed.
"Is it really so awful to be considered wise?"
No, but I would much rather be allowed to say "I don't know."
"A quandary."
Unless you are Albus, yes. Or perhaps the Sorting Hat.
"My dear, I am just a simple Thinking Cap."
There is nothing simple about you.
"Granted, but I am hardly infallible."
Albus told me once that you have all the answers.
"Ah, but he was wrong. I only know all of the questions."
That sounds like nonsense to me, Hat.
"The truth often does. And speaking of Albus -"
Minerva hastily pulls the hat off her head, one hand immediately smoothing her hair. "I'm terribly sorry, Headmaster, I was only…" She trails off at his bemused smile.
"It's quite alright, Minerva. It is, after all, a very talkative Hat." He sits down behind his desk and motions her towards one of the chairs in front of it. "How were they?"
"Wretched, witless little monsters."
"They always are. Sherbet lemon?"
-
Her heart feels leaden in her chest as she climbs the stairs to the Head's office - Albus' office, which she can't quite bear to think of as hers.
Minerva knows she must be strong, must put on a brave face for Hogwarts' sake if not her own. She looks at the portraits on the walls, all of them silent and solemn except for Dilys' quiet weeping. Her eyes seek out Albus, hoping to find strength there, but the sad facsimile of his twinkling gaze only makes her want to sink into the chair before the desk and cry like a child.
So she does.
When her tears have dwindled to sniffles, Minerva looks up at Albus' portrait again.
He smiles sadly from his frame. "You look like you could use some answers, my dear girl."
She almost laughs around the lump in her throat. "Answers seem to be in short supply lately."
"Perhaps you aren't asking the right questions."
Immediately, the quiet and bedraggled Hat draws her attention from its lonely place on the bookshelf. She pulls herself to her feet and reaches for it with shaking hands.
"Hello, Headmistress."
Don't.
"You'll find that denial gets very tiresome very quickly."
I am old and set in my ways; I assure you that I can sustain a paltry bit of denial for a good long while.
"Don't speak to me of age, Kitty."
I don't know what to do, Hat.
"Of course you do. You just don't want to do it."
I can't do it. I'm not Albus.
"There's only one person who expects you to be."
I hate this.
"Child, nobody at all expects you to like it."
Will you stop being so damnably reasonable?
"One of us has to be."
I miss him, Hat.
"I know."
Do you think the Governors will close the school?
"It would be easiest if they did."
That isn't an answer.
"I'm not a betting Hat, but all the same I wouldn't put a sickle on it."
Why not?
"Because bureaucrats only choose the easiest option when it's also the least intelligent."
Bloody fools.
"They're why we need our Headmistress to be strong."
I don't feel strong, Hat.
"He chose you for a reason."
I can't be wise the way he was. I can't command.
"Minerva."
What?
"Your father so named you for a reason, as well."
I am no Pallas, Hat. I bear no spear, I wear no aegis, and Nike certainly doesn't walk by my side.
"The Gorgon nevertheless needs slaying. Would you send Perseus ignorant and unarmed?"
Merlin preserve us.
"Merlin is dead and buried, Kitty."
I suppose it's up to me, then.
"Well, to be technical, it's up to young Master Potter. But he needs you. Hogwarts needs you."
Hat?
"Yes?"
That metaphor was perfectly awful, you know. Perseus, indeed.
"Oh, without question."
Thank you.
"What are Hats for?"
Minerva sets the Hat back atop its stool and picks up her wand.
"Phineas," she calls to one shadowed portrait.
"What?" he says.
"Go to Number Twelve and report back to me when the Order is assembled. Now." Her tone brooks no disagreement, and he disappears from his frame.
She goes to the window and thinks of clear blue eyes smiling at her across the desk, and a silvery owl springs from the tip of her wand, perching on the windowsill and looking at her expectantly.
"Go to Aberforth," she says. "Tell him we have work to do." Without turning to look, she knows that Albus is smiling at her from his portrait. She can feel it.
And it suddenly occurs to her that there is no room for Nike in her office, anyway.
Author/Artist: ???
Recipient's name: istalksnape
Characters/Pairings: Minerva. Gen.
Rating: PG
Summary: Minerva looks to the Sorting Hat for answers.
Notes: (if any) alittlewhisper and sioniann are officially saints for putting up with my turning this in late like a really late thing. Scads of love to T for the beta.
-
The Sorting Ceremony, it seems, takes an absolute age. Her father had told her all about it, of course, as soon as she'd got her letter, but he had neglected to mention how terribly long it takes.
Minerva has just begun to tap her toe in impatience, thinking that it is terribly inconvenient to have a name so far from the beginning of the alphabet, when the bespectacled professor with the long beard finally calls her name.
She tosses her braid over her shoulder and sits down on the stool, solemnly looking up at Professor Dumbledore as he places the tattered old hat on her head.
"Hello, Miss McGonagall."
Hello, Hat.
"Have you any special requests for me?"
Not particularly. Ought I?
"Your father spent fully ten minutes trying to talk me out of sending him to Hufflepuff. I thought perhaps you might wish to do the same."
Well, it didn't work for him, did it?
"Quite right, quite right. But you're a bit more complicated than he was."
Am I?
"Oh, without doubt."
Where do you want me, then?
"You'd do well in any of three excellent houses."
What about the fourth?
"You're much too honest for Slytherin, my dear. Trust me."
Father says that Slytherins always cheat at Quidditch.
"Do you care so much about Quidditch, then?"
I like to watch. And I don't like cheats. Can we get on with it?
"We can, and we shall. Now let's see…you're clever, you incessantly ask questions, and you like to argue -"
I do not!
"Of course you do -"
I only argue because I -
"- but you've no appreciation for irony, so Ravenclaw is out."
You did that on purpose, you wretched Hat.
"My dear girl, they did make me the Sorting Hat for a reason."
Then hurry up and Sort me! Half the year is waiting, you know.
"Now there's a Hufflepuff talking."
Are we finished, then?
"No."
You're terrible, Hat. Do you do this to everyone?
"Not everyone requires it. You would make an excellent Hufflepuff, though."
And why is that?
"You have an overdeveloped sense of fair play, you work hard, and you respect authority."
That rather depends on the authority, really.
"Ah, and there we have it."
Have what?
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Eyes twinkling, Professor Dumbledore takes the hat from her head.
"That's a very talkative hat, sir," Minerva says, standing up.
"Indeed, Miss McGonagall."
"I thought it would ask more questions, though."
He smiles. "Why should it ask when it already knows the answers?"
Minerva thinks he might be spending too much time with that Hat for his own good.
-
Headmaster Dumbledore - Albus, his name is Albus - insists she come for tea after her first day of lessons. She protests, of course, but by the time she's through with the little beasts for the afternoon, Minerva is very glad she allowed him to talk her into it.
However, when she makes her way past the gargoyle and up the stairs, she finds herself alone. She sits primly in the high-backed chair in front of the headmaster's desk and gazes around the office, nodding politely at the portraits and surveying the headmaster's impressive collection of magical knickknacks with mild interest.
Then the Sorting Hat catches her eye, and she's out of the chair and across the room before she even realizes it.
Hesitant, she gently fingers the frayed silk before lifting it from the shelf.
"Hello, Minerva."
Hello, Hat. How have you been keeping?
"As well as any hat my age can possibly expect."
That hardly sounds comfortable.
"It's a living. At least I only have to deal with students one day a year."
Gods, don't remind me. I can't remember ever being so young.
"So stupid, you mean."
Well, yes, but it's hardly charitable of me to say so.
"It's almost as if I can read your mind!"
You're still impossible, I see.
"Rowena wouldn't have had me any other way."
Figures.
"I might have placed in you Ravenclaw after all, had I known you planned to teach."
It was a recent development.
"Indeed. The Ministry wasn't all you'd hoped for, then?"
Clearly not, Hat.
"And here I thought you'd returned for the scenery."
Among other things. I hope to find some time for research.
"Ah, I see. You're pursuing a feline line of inquiry?"
With any luck.
"Luck has nothing to do with it, my dear. May I call you Kitty when you've done it?"
Not in front of the Headmaster.
"Fair enough. I'm surprised, though."
How so?
"I'd have placed you for a bird. An owl, perhaps."
Heavens, no. Enough people expect wisdom from me as it is.
"Blame your father for that one, I suppose."
Indeed.
"Is it really so awful to be considered wise?"
No, but I would much rather be allowed to say "I don't know."
"A quandary."
Unless you are Albus, yes. Or perhaps the Sorting Hat.
"My dear, I am just a simple Thinking Cap."
There is nothing simple about you.
"Granted, but I am hardly infallible."
Albus told me once that you have all the answers.
"Ah, but he was wrong. I only know all of the questions."
That sounds like nonsense to me, Hat.
"The truth often does. And speaking of Albus -"
Minerva hastily pulls the hat off her head, one hand immediately smoothing her hair. "I'm terribly sorry, Headmaster, I was only…" She trails off at his bemused smile.
"It's quite alright, Minerva. It is, after all, a very talkative Hat." He sits down behind his desk and motions her towards one of the chairs in front of it. "How were they?"
"Wretched, witless little monsters."
"They always are. Sherbet lemon?"
-
Her heart feels leaden in her chest as she climbs the stairs to the Head's office - Albus' office, which she can't quite bear to think of as hers.
Minerva knows she must be strong, must put on a brave face for Hogwarts' sake if not her own. She looks at the portraits on the walls, all of them silent and solemn except for Dilys' quiet weeping. Her eyes seek out Albus, hoping to find strength there, but the sad facsimile of his twinkling gaze only makes her want to sink into the chair before the desk and cry like a child.
So she does.
When her tears have dwindled to sniffles, Minerva looks up at Albus' portrait again.
He smiles sadly from his frame. "You look like you could use some answers, my dear girl."
She almost laughs around the lump in her throat. "Answers seem to be in short supply lately."
"Perhaps you aren't asking the right questions."
Immediately, the quiet and bedraggled Hat draws her attention from its lonely place on the bookshelf. She pulls herself to her feet and reaches for it with shaking hands.
"Hello, Headmistress."
Don't.
"You'll find that denial gets very tiresome very quickly."
I am old and set in my ways; I assure you that I can sustain a paltry bit of denial for a good long while.
"Don't speak to me of age, Kitty."
I don't know what to do, Hat.
"Of course you do. You just don't want to do it."
I can't do it. I'm not Albus.
"There's only one person who expects you to be."
I hate this.
"Child, nobody at all expects you to like it."
Will you stop being so damnably reasonable?
"One of us has to be."
I miss him, Hat.
"I know."
Do you think the Governors will close the school?
"It would be easiest if they did."
That isn't an answer.
"I'm not a betting Hat, but all the same I wouldn't put a sickle on it."
Why not?
"Because bureaucrats only choose the easiest option when it's also the least intelligent."
Bloody fools.
"They're why we need our Headmistress to be strong."
I don't feel strong, Hat.
"He chose you for a reason."
I can't be wise the way he was. I can't command.
"Minerva."
What?
"Your father so named you for a reason, as well."
I am no Pallas, Hat. I bear no spear, I wear no aegis, and Nike certainly doesn't walk by my side.
"The Gorgon nevertheless needs slaying. Would you send Perseus ignorant and unarmed?"
Merlin preserve us.
"Merlin is dead and buried, Kitty."
I suppose it's up to me, then.
"Well, to be technical, it's up to young Master Potter. But he needs you. Hogwarts needs you."
Hat?
"Yes?"
That metaphor was perfectly awful, you know. Perseus, indeed.
"Oh, without question."
Thank you.
"What are Hats for?"
Minerva sets the Hat back atop its stool and picks up her wand.
"Phineas," she calls to one shadowed portrait.
"What?" he says.
"Go to Number Twelve and report back to me when the Order is assembled. Now." Her tone brooks no disagreement, and he disappears from his frame.
She goes to the window and thinks of clear blue eyes smiling at her across the desk, and a silvery owl springs from the tip of her wand, perching on the windowsill and looking at her expectantly.
"Go to Aberforth," she says. "Tell him we have work to do." Without turning to look, she knows that Albus is smiling at her from his portrait. She can feel it.
And it suddenly occurs to her that there is no room for Nike in her office, anyway.