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Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. Specific ideas and plot are my own.

A Whiz of a Wiz

Minerva McGonagall rushed through the cold stone hallways of Hogwarts, torches hurriedly bursting into flame as she passed, hair askew from her usually severe bun. Only moments prior she had received a note from her Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. This in itself wasn’t unusual; indeed, as Deputy Headmistress, Minerva dealt regularly with many matters on Albus’ behalf. This note, however, came in a flash of a silvery phoenix – Albus’ Patronus.

‘Minerva, Report to my office immediately, it’s concerning Harry. Be quick about it.’

Needless to say, she had moved as fast as possible, stubbing her toe along the way. Patronus messages were used only for the most important matters, and Harry Potter was the most important of all.

The Boy Who Lived, the defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord; the son of Lily and James Potter, Harry was a child of prophecy.  He was the Wizarding world’s icon. And his safety was entrusted to both Albus and herself. With a deep breath, Minerva stepped up to the great stone Gargoyle who guarded the Headmaster’s Office.

“Sherbet Lemon.”

The Gargoyle briefly nodded, and stepped away from the archway. Minerva stepped onto the revolving staircase, tapping a brick with her wand. The staircase whirred around her as she entered the Headmaster’s office, bypassing the protective spells.

“What’s happened, Albus?” She asked breathily.

He looked up from behind his desk, his pale eyes full of grief. Albus stood, his long white hair trailing behind him.

“I fear we have made a grave error in leaving young Harry with his relatives, Minerva.”

She heard the regret in his voice and ignored it, indignant at his inference.

“I warned you, Albus, that they were the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. Seven years he’s been with them. What have they done?”

He held out an old shoe.

“I’ve prepared a Portkey to Arabella’s home. We shall be removing Harry from Petunia’s care.” Albus was hiding something from her.

“Very well.” Minerva grasped the shoe and was whisked away as she felt a terrible pull from somewhere behind her navel.

The world swirled around her in a dimension of colours. In an instant, she found herself standing in a small room, decorated in chintz and lace, which smelled strongly of boiled cabbage. She watched as Albus left silently through the front door, his flowing purple robes and high-heeled boots looking quite out of place amongst the black pavement, and dull brick buildings of Little Whinging.

“Is that you Dumbledore? About time you showed up, I flooed you fifteen minu-”

“Arabella,” Minerva greeted, inclining her head slightly, “Albus has gone to remove the spellwork from the Dursleys’ home.”

“Good, good. They never appreciated it anyway, and to think what they’ve done to the boy; their own nephew!” The elderly squib raved, her grey hair stood in a shock of anger.

“Where is he? What’s happened?”

Arabella stooped over to pick up a fat black cat, scratching behind its ears.

“He’s in the spare bedroom, resting. Those horrible Muggles left him outside all day without a proper thing to wear. Wanted him to shovel the drive they said. The boy’s barely eight years old! I found him lying in the snow, his lips blue and hands frozen to death!” Minerva gasped, and nearly ran up the stairs to Arabella’s guest room.

‘What have you given him?’ She asked, opening the door silently.

‘Pepper-Up Potion for his cold, and an Ashwinder Ointment for his hands, they’ll be sore for a few days, but they’re just fine now.’ Arabella whispered.

Minerva sat beside the boy’s small form, feeling the hard springs of the mattress beneath her. He was small, with a thin face.

‘This boy is James’ son, through and through,’ she thought, smoothing his messy black hair with a sad frown.

“I’ll be taking him with me, I suppose.”

“But will the Blood connection be strong enough?”

Minerva paused, she hadn’t thought about her blood family for far too long. Since James had first stepped into Hogwarts. That was the first time she had met her younger cousin. Grandfather Potter hadn’t approved of her mother’s marriage to a Squib, and her mother had never forgiven the rest of her family for abandoning her.

“It must,” she said firmly; waving her wand over Harry’s small body, a whispered sleeping spell ensuring he wouldn’t be disturbed, “Tell Albus I’ve taken him; we’ll be at Hogwarts shortly.”

Arabella nodded as Minerva gathered Harry into her arms. A chill raced down their spines, and through the spell Harry groaned uncomfortably. The two women looked at each other with firm resolve. The Dursleys deserved whatever came to them now. Without another word, Minerva and Harry disappeared from Little Whinging, only a soft rustle of Mrs Figg’s robe an indicatior of their former presence.

Another rustling breeze signalled Minerva’s arrival home. The small home she had inherited from her parents, where she was raised. The stone structure looked desolate surrounded by sweeping banks of snow, the lone structure all that could be seen save the small wood it was situated within; it had been many years since she had returned here, preferring to reside at Hogwarts. A swish of her wand opened the rusted gate as she stepped through; checking her locking spells were still in place. A wave of nostalgia rushed over Minerva as she entered her childhood home, the dingy shield bearing the McGonagall coat-of-arms peered out at her from above the large fireplace which dominated the front room.

“Minerva? Is that you?” Called a hoarse voice.

Minerva froze, shifting her grip on the young boy in her arms, as memories of her childhood assaulted her. Looking towards a portrait across the hall, its occupant obscured by years of black-caked dust.

“Aunt Elsbeth?”

“Yes, dear, finally left that dreadful castle, have you? I can’t see a thing through this filth. Be a darling and fetch Mopsey for me?”

A small smile flittered across Minerva’s face, Aunt Elsbeth was several times her Great-Aunt, and died nearing her 300th birthday, shortly after Minerva started at Hogwarts. Aunt Elsbeth had been her favourite relative, and in fact the only relative she had spent any time with – the McGonagall name had dwindled and her father was the last, and the Potters… In any event, Minerva had learned early on that some things were better left unsaid.

“I’m quite busy at the moment, Aunt Elsbeth; perhaps when I’ve finished here.” She began walking up the stairs, their faded carpeting groaning and creaking with every step.

The portrait’s reply was muffled as Minerva rushed across the creaking floors into the closest bedroom. Her parent’s bedroom was decorated sparsely, though with great care. A wardrobe that had belonged to Albion McGonagall, a pioneer in the study of Magical Flora and one of the first explorers of the Americas, stood in a corner, its robust carvings obscured by decades of dust and dirt. The wallpaper was faded and peeling at the corners, and her mother’s great mirror was spotty and tarnished.

A few muttered words and the moth-eaten bed was cleared of dust, although there was a musty smell when Minerva placed Harry atop the covers. A flicker of sadness flashed through her eyes as she saw the state of her home. With great care, Minerva tapped her wand in a complicated pattern on the carvings of Albion’s wardrobe; muttering an incantation under her breath and flicking her wand like a fishing rod towards the bed, where Harry lay sleeping. Almost at once a cloud of dust fell to the floor, revealing a golden ring that was set into the wood.

Frowning as something tickled her nose; Minerva pried the ring loose and set it on a conjured chain, its squarish emerald glinting in the dusky moonlight that filtered through moth-eaten curtains. She fixed the chain around Harry’s neck, her brow set in resolve, and the ring belonged to him now. With a last look around the desolate room, Minerva removed Harry from the mouldy bed-sheets, and lifted him across her shoulder; she had finished her duty to James.

As she hefted Harry back down the stairs, Minerva’s breath caught and she sneezed loudly, stumbling slightly. Her face went ashen as she shifted Harry in her arms, raising her wand sharply, her feline eyes darting quickly across the room. She twitched her left hand, and a silvery dart shot forward from her wand, and out the back of the house. Spinning slightly, she twirled her wand in a great spiral above her head as she gathered herself and dust began to swirl restlessly.

Salvio HexiaCave Inimicium Incipio Munimentum!”

An almost imperceptible shift in air pressure spread through the house as Minerva’s protective spells took hold. She peered through the closest window, protectively shielding Harry from view.

Four dark figures were standing stock-still around the home, their white masks gleaming in the moonlight. A shiver of fear ran through Minerva as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She watched the fifth figure, a short squat one, waving its wand in specific motions. Minerva’s eyes narrowed as she recognised the wand. Retreating from the window, she steeled herself and waved her wand over Harry’s slumbering form.

“Harry,” she whispered softly. “Harry, wake up.”

He groaned slightly, shaking his head as tired green eyes began to open, he struggled in Minerva’s grip, and she set him down on the dark floor.

“Mrs Figg?” His voice was soft, tentative, as he took in the greying hair and odd surroundings.

“No, Harry, my name is Minerva. I’ve taken you away from those horrible Dursleys.”

Harry’s eyes widened in wonder, and he moved forward as if to hug the woman, but stopped half-way as if he thought better of it.

“Who are you, where are we?”

“I’m… a cousin of your father’s. This is my house. I’ll protect you now.”

She knelt down and pulled him into a hug, he stiffened, and she sneezed again.

“Harry, there are some very bad people outside, who want to take you away–”

“Back to Aunt Petunia?” He said shrilly, pulling away from Minerva.

“Of course not, never. I need you to go upstairs into the first bedroom, hide inside the wardrobe and I want you to say the words ‘Protego Totalum’ over and over again. Can you do that?”

Harry nodded and spoke softly, “Protego Totalum.

A sound like a whip crack reverberated through the home, making Harry jump and Minerva stand straight up, holding her wand like a sword.

“Go now, Harry. And whatever you do, don’t stop saying it.”

Harry’s face was white with terror as flashes of light and a terrible whistling noise came through the front windows, he ran up the rough steps muttering all the way,

Protego Totalum.”

As he reached the top step, he saw that a white haired man had appeared next to Minerva, wearing a tall pointed hat and long robes which reached the ground. For a moment, vivid green eyes met icy blue and Harry heard quite clearly; though he was certain the old man’s mouth did not move,

‘Hide now, Harry,’ and Harry hid.

He ran to the first room he saw, and found the large wooden wardrobe that was covered in carvings of plants and flowers. He heard shouts from outside, and more flashes of light came through the window; and, for a moment, Harry froze as a bright green light streamed in through the curtains. Without hesitation, he ran to the window and peered through the limp fabric, still muttering under his breath.

Through the frosty window, people in dark capes and white masks were firing terrible crackling jets of light towards Minerva and the old man, who were sending them careening off in the opposite directions, and occasionally sending one of their own creation. All of the odd people were waving sticks about and shouting, and as Harry watched another of the dark people send a beam of nauseating green towards the old man, he changed his mind. They weren’t sticks. Uncle Vernon was wrong. These people were magic, and those sticks were wands.

And that old man was Merlin.  

Harry hid as the old man turned to look at the window, and jumped inside the wardrobe, all the while saying the words he knew had to be a spell.

Protego Totalum.”

Albus rose abruptly to his feet, knocking his desk forward as Minerva’s elf shaped Patronus flew into his room, and spoke in her rushed voice,

‘I’m at The Grove, someone is attacking my wards, Harry is safe for now.’

His miserable torpor disappeared as his wand appeared in his hand, tapping a quill from his desk he incanted,


And without preamble; he appeared beside Minerva McGonagall.

“You should not have brought him here.” He spoke softly, his anger tightly reigned. He looked quickly around the room, and spotted a small figure at the top of the stairs, a thin face filled with fright, though his eyes spoke of nothing but wonder and curiosity.

‘Hide now, Harry’

The boy started at his message, and took off with the speed of youth. If not for the situation, Albus would have found it amusing.

“He needed James’ ring. I had no choice, this is a family matter, Albus, and it should have been from the beginning. I should have taken him rather than let you take him to those Muggles!” Minerva spoke heatedly, a flush running across her cheeks.

“This is no time for argument. We must protect him at all costs.”

Without warning, Minerva sneezed again violently.

“My spells have broken, Albus.”

Before she finished speaking, however, the Wizard had disappeared, and she saw the flash of curses being thrown from outside. With a huff of anger she stepped forward, and appeared behind the line of Death Eaters with a nearly inaudible ‘pop!’ She drew her wand in a tight circle and a trail of blue flames streamed towards the closest figure. The squat Death Eater dove to the side, hitting the ground hard as Minerva deflected a hex back at its caster.

The dumpy witch pulled herself from the ground, covered in cold snow, wand trained sharply towards Minerva.

“Minerva.” Her voice was scratchy and deep.

“Alecto,” Minerva replied, “You never could best me in a duel. Leave before I force you.”

The squat witch laughed wheezily, and jabbed her wand forward screaming,

Avada Kedavra!”

Minerva spun on her heel and reappeared beside Albus, deflecting a hex that was headed his way.

Albus waved his wand broadly, sending crackling sparks of light towards the dark wizards, felling one and injuring a second. With a grimace, Albus side-stepped another Killing Curse, allowing it to splash explosively across the house. As he continued to deflect dark curses, allowing Minerva to respond with volleys of her own unique jinxes, Albus felt the beginnings of a protective enchantment from somewhere behind him, the power was not one he had felt before, and it was potent. He turned his head and saw the flash of green eyes dart away from behind the curtains.

“Your master is destroyed and his power broken, leave this place!”

His words carried far, though he hadn’t raised his voice.

“And your power dwindles, old man,” screamed the scratchy voice of Alecto. “Give us the boy! Confringo!

The blasting curse was not however, aimed towards the witch and wizard protecting the small cottage, but towards the window where a small white face was again peering through the dingy glass. Albus and Minerva sprung into action without hesitation; Dumbledore swirled around beard and robes billowing ominously, a deflection charm flying from his wand. Minerva’s arm swung around her head like a lasso, drawing a line of flame behind it. Her neat bun had fallen and hair was wildly splayed across her scowling face.


Terrible flames gushed from her wand, a roaring pride of lions that sprung forward steam rising from the ground as they paced back and forth, bathing the area in flickering orange light.

A great crashing of glass and stone made her spin around; and there standing in a great hole in the side of her home was small Harry Potter covered in scratches and dust, hands covering his face; his childish muttering of Protego Totalum could be heard above the crackling of her Fiendfyre. A faint shimmer through the dust illustrated the enchantment to all present.

Albus’ face was filled with emotion that Minerva had never seen and for a moment, she thought he hated Alecto. She watched as he raised his wand sharply, cold blue eyes narrowed in anger as a frigid wind picked up, fluttering his beard and hair violently. Then she felt it, the power that Dark Wizards had grown to fear over the past century, a pure force of light that sang with phoenix song. It brought hope to her and drove the fear she was feeling for Harry away. But only for a moment, as the elderly mage’s skin began to radiate with power he spoke harshly,

“You would do well to remember to whom you are speaking, Carrow,” his voice catching her breath and freezing it in her lungs. And in that moment Minerva felt the terror Albus could create, as she began to shiver.

Without warning, he swirled his wand in a spiral and with a great whistling sound snow and ice rose from the ground in a great blizzard, extinguishing the Fiendfyre. Another swish of his wand and the maelstrom of steam, water, and ice struck the stunned Death Eaters.

A quill tapping against her hand roused Minerva from the scene before her.

“Take Harry and go.” Albus ordered; his tone and stony expression leaving no room for argument.

Harry stood in the dark, terrified at the scene before him. He shivered, still muttering the words through chattering teeth, his hands gripped firmly around his head. The terrifying fiery lions paced back and forth, snapping their molten jaws at the dark people, whose faces were covered with masks that shone in the flickering light. The old man ‘Merlin’ Harry told himself, started speaking, but Harry couldn’t hear over the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He caught a glimpse of the lions as they disappeared in the swirling hail of snow.

A loud crack from behind him made Harry jump away from the window, darting inside the wardrobe, behind musty clothes. Loud cracks and a terrible howling wind could be heard from where Merlin was fighting the dark magicians.

“Harry?” a hoarse voice came from the bedroom.

Harry crouched back further into the wardrobe, shaking with tears of terror trailing from his eyes. Arms reached through the hanging clothes for him, hands firmly closing around his shoulders.

“No, no, NO!” Harry swung his arms out, pushing the woman away. It was the short one who attacked him, and in his panic he felt something snap out from his arm, sending her tumbling backwards.

He leapt from the depths of the cabinet and scampered down the stairs as only an eight year old can. And ran headfirst into a soft tall object; again hands grabbed his shoulders, holding his tightly. Harry struggled again, trying to push again, like he had in the bedroom.

“Harry, Harry stop. It’s alright.” The stern voice of the old man surprised him as the hands let go. “We drove them off Harry, you’re safe now.”

Harry stepped back, looking upwards at his wrinkled face, some of his beard was blackened and ash was smeared across one of his cheeks.

“Minerva, the Portkey.” Harry spun to see his father’s cousin limping down the stairs. Her hair was wild, like the manes of the fiery lions he had seen her make. Her lips were pressed in a firm line.

‘Like Aunt Petunia when she’s mad’ Harry thought, grabbing at Merlin’s robe.

She held out a large feather and smiled down at him.

“You pack quite a punch.”

Harry hid his face as he felt his cheeks redden, both raw from his crying and from embarrassment.

“Grab hold, Harry,” the old man’s voice had become kind, “We’re leaving now.”

Harry looked into his blue eyes, and to the feather that Minerva held outwards. He reached out and grabbed it, as the old man did the same.

“Hogwarts,” Harry only barely heard the word before there was an odd feeling of something grabbing inside his stomach. And then his world exploded in a swirl of colour.

Albus sat behind his desk, calmly sipping his steaming tea, the astringently floral liquid soothing his tired mind. The various portraits of past headmasters no longer feigned sleep; instead they sat intently staring at the pair, Minerva pointedly ignoring the uncomfortable feeling.

“I trust you slept well, Minerva?”

Minerva pursed her lips as she leant forward, pouring herself a cup of the steaming elixir.

“Not a wink more than you Albus, the boy is sleeping in my quarters. Poppy is keeping an eye on him.”

She nibbled on a warm piece of toast, the crumb sticking in her throat uncomfortably. She had scarcely left his side since they arrived at the castle.

“Indeed, there remains much to do regarding Harry. His placement with blood relatives is most necessary at this point for his protection.”

“He’ll be staying with me, there’s nobody else to do it then. We’ll return to the Grove shortly, he’ll have to stay in the castle during the days of course, but I’ll be moving home permanently.”

Albus lowered his cup with a great sigh. Tugging on his beard he leaned back, sinking into the soft leather of his chair. Forlornly he looked towards Fawkes, the flamboyant bird stared at Minerva as he preened his feathers.

“I placed powerful enchantments upon the Grove after I dispatched Carrow and her accomplices. It is now quite safe from those who would mean you harm.” Again Albus sighed regarding his closest companion with a hard look in his eye, “Fiendfyre, Minerva? I thought better of you.”

She flushed, ignoring the mutters and shaking heads of the portraits, Minerva sat at attention, meeting his gaze with equal intensity.

“You’re no saint, Albus Dumbledore.”

He sipped at his tea once more.

“It was remarkably well controlled,” he said, a glimmer of amusement crossed his lips.

Minerva bristled, absently fixing the drape of her robes. She caught a glimpse of Phineas Nigellus from the corner of her eye, watching her with rapt enthusiasm. She exhaled softly,

“Do not discount my skill.”

Albus looked downwards at the tea in his cup, swirling the golden liquor. He sat forward, straightening the crick in his lower back, and set the delicate china on his desk.

“I’m afraid you may not take custody of Harry. It is simply impossible.”

Minerva sat silently, staring at the man before her. Her cheeks turned a pale sort of colour, and her mouth moved as if she were speaking silently for a moment,

“I’m his only remaining family, you cannot possibly think of returning him to those, those animals!” she raved.

“It is not that simple Minerva. Although the Grove is now quite well defended, I’m afraid the blood charm will not take hold. It must be connected to Lily’s blood.”

Minerva looked green. She began pacing the length of his office, wringing her hands.

“Did you -”

“I tried, Minerva.” His voice was drawn and hoarse.

Albus rose to his feet, withdrawing his wand. Tiredly he crossed the office. Tapping his wand upon a cabinet it opened, revealing a large stone basin filled with a swirling silver miasma, its’ edge was ornately carved with runes. Minerva stared blankly at him, looking away uncomfortably, drawing her wand absently.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Albus placed his wand tip to his temple, and with a grimace pulled another silver strand from his head, depositing it within the basin.

“My apologies Minerva, I have found the pensieve to be an invaluable resource in aiding my memory.”

Minerva looked sceptical, approaching the cabinet gingerly; taking care not to get close to pull of the object, feeling her curiosity grow. Albus touched his wand to the mire, stirring it intently.

“Arabella reported Harry’s living conditions as being quite inappropriate, three years ago. I confronted Petunia at that time, and left with the belief that he would be looked after properly.”

A ghostly image of a house emerged from the pensieve, a large Victorian manor, surrounded by beautiful gardens.

“That isn’t Privet Drive.” Minerva stated, her curiosity drawing her closer to the cabinet.

“No, it is not. This home is at 1329 Prescott Avenue, the address of another of Lily’s relatives, through a connection which would only be recognised by the most extreme of pureblood Wizards. I made a visit to the house when it became apparent that Privet Drive may not be the refuge I had intended.”

The image sunk back into the swirling mass, replaced with the image of an elderly looking woman wearing a long flowing robe, her short grey hair accented sharp eyes and features.

“Her name is Penelope Halliwell.”

Minerva observed the stern looking woman, feeling the same protective nature rise upon her as the moment she had cast Fiendfyre in her nephew’s defense.

“Another muggle?” she gripped her wand firmly, as if to hex the hazy image.

Albus tapped the cabinet again, allowing the overwhelming presence of the pensieve to retreat from his office. With a knowing smile, he shrugged.



Yes, I made this a oneshot. I have other things on my mind now, an original novel for one, and I might be starting a Post-DH fic very soon. So, again; this is the end of my Harry Potter/Charmed crossover. Thanks to all those who were interested.