“Lollipop,” said the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, and the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Head’s Office leapt aside to permit her entry.

Minerva almost sighed as she stepped onto the staircase and it began to ascend. Albus Dumbledore’s proclivity for using muggle confections as the passwords to his office had been amusing at some point, now however, it was just another of the ageing Headmaster’s antics that mostly left her fondly exasperated.

The staircase finally stopped, and Minerva pushed open the heavy oak doors and strode into Albus’ office, where she was greeted by the familiar tweaking, and popping, and fizzing sounds that the odd instruments all over the room tended to make.

The man himself was seated at his large, claw-footed desk. His familiar, Fawkes, was perched on the surface near him, with Albus running his thin, long fingers through the phoenix’s vibrant, red plumage, and on the other end of the table, sat the Sorting Hat, old and worn, but somehow, still in one piece despite all these years.

Both of those were usually on their respective perches, which was not Albus’ desk.

“Ah, Minerva,” Albus Dumbledore said as she came in, “thank you for coming.”

Minerva dipped her head slightly at the phoenix as she sat. “Fawkes,” she said in greeting. She was one of the few who understood that the firebird was much more than a mere animal.

The phoenix dipped his head distractedly in return. The bird looked almost euphoric.

“Seeing Harry with his owl today made me realise how much I’ve been neglecting poor Fawkes recently,” Albus said, and Minerva hummed thoughtfully.

Before she could say anything however, Albus asked, gaze thoughtful. “What did you think of the boy, Minnie?”

Minerva was surprised. Not at the question, no, she’d known Albus had called her here to discuss Harry, what surprised her was that he hadn’t offered her a sweet before beginning.

It would appear this was more serious than she’d thought.

“I thought he was a lot like James,” she said. “Confident, charismatic... too much of a jokester.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Albus agreed, and though he smiled while he said it, Minerva could see that the thought didn’t really please him, and she had a suspicion as to why.

Albus had been hoping for more of Lily in the boy.

Not that she could fault him for that, she had hoped the same. While James’ heart had always been in the right place, it was Lily who had helped him become the remarkable man most remembered. Lily who had given James a reason to want to be better. Minerva supposed that both she and Albus had hoped that Harry would have enough of his mother in him, despite his physical resemblance to James, that he would never have to go through the... phase that James had in his younger years.

Stolen novel; please report.

Alas, it looked like that would not be happening.

Then again, there was the Granger girl. She seemed like she had a good, steady head on her shoulders. Maybe she could be for Harry what his mother was for James.

Though, it might be a tad soon to tell.

As though he could read her mind, Albus asked, “and what about Harry’s friend, Hermione Granger? What would you say is Harry’s opinion of her?”

Unbidden, the memory of Harry’s words to the girl on the way to The Great Hall came to Minerva, and she relayed the information to Albus.

“He sounded like he meant every word,” she added, when she was done.

Oddly enough, Albus looked somewhat troubled when he replied, “I’m quite certain he did.” And with the way he said it, Minerva was unsure if Albus was saying he was certain Harry had meant every word, or if he was saying he was sure Harry had sounded like he meant every word.

There was a difference in there somewhere.

Minerva shook away those thoughts. “I suspect he was just trying to flatter her,” she said.

“He wasn’t,” The Sorting Hat, Nilrem, disagreed, speaking up for the first time since the conversation began. “He may have exaggerated a little bit, but he was right; Hermione Granger is most certainly a pupil to look out for.” A pause, then: “she asked me my name.”

Minerva’s eyebrows climbed.

Only a dozen pupils had ever asked the hat for his name since the founding of Hogwarts, and for good or ill, all twelve of them had become very amazing witches and wizards.

Of their number, the last two were the only ones still alive today; Albus Dumbledore, and Tom Marvolo Riddle.

“Well, looks like Harry has more of his mother in him than we thought,” Minerva said.

Lily had always been gifted at seeing the shine in people, regardless of their exterior. Although, as Snape proved, it was up to the person themselves to polish that shine into something worthwhile.

Albus still looked worried however, and it was starting to make Minerva worry too, so, finally, she came right out and asked. “What is it, Albus? You seem worried.”

Albus Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes peered at her over his half-moon spectacles. There was no twinkle. “Nilrem,” Albus said, “please tell Minerva what you told me about Harry.”

“As I told you, and the boy himself, Albus; his head is the most interesting one I’ve ever sat on.”

Minerva blinked. So that was why the boy had made the comment about being special.

“What do you mean by interesting?” The woman asked the hat.

“It’s his soul,” the hat replied. “It has more weight than it should. Not quite that of two but—” the hat sighed “—much more than a boy should have.”

Minerva looked from the hat to Albus and back again. “What does this mean?” She asked the two.

It was Dumbledore who spoke, his fingers having not ceased their stroking of his now sleeping familiar’s feathers even once. “I believe it would behoove us to keep a close eye on Harry, Minerva. Just to be sure.”

Why they needed to keep a close eye on Harry? Albus hadn’t said.

Sure of what? Albus hadn’t said.

What the thing with Harry’s soul meant? Albus hadn’t said.

And though she would have liked to have those questions answered, and it rankled knowing that Albus would not answer them even if she asked until she was blue in the face, Minerva nodded and agreed with The Headmaster’s request.

Because he was a man she trusted and respected, and once, long ago, loved, and she would follow him anywhere.

They talked about some other things, trivial things, and a few minutes later, Minerva left the office she tried not to remember would be hers one day. Probably soon. And returned to her quarters.

She slept fitfully, and when she woke the morning after, she could not remember if she’d dreamed.