Harry Potter: Magical Memories

She was then subject to watching as the young man was mobbed by a horde of well-wishers. For a moment she felt disgust well up within her. How could these people just invade a person's personal space like that? Was there no common decency in this world anymore?

Disgust soon turned to pity as she watched the people clawing at the boy, trying to shake his hand, trying to touch him. They were loud, impossibly so, as they offered platitudes and salutations, and McGonagall didn't even want to think about how the volume of the shouting horde of fans must be up close.

Pity soon gave way to alarm. Being the only person in the room who was not only not mobbing the boy, but also on the other side of the room, McGonagall saw the tableware begin to shake, candles started to flicker and the air grew heavy. Magic. She could almost feel the magic in the air, and it was all emanating from the boy. She looked back at the boy, his face looked panicked; McGonagall knew she had to act.

Casting away her surprise at seeing such a harsh display of accidental magic from one who should be too old to have cases of accidental magic, McGonagall stood up and marched headlong into the horde of excited witches and wizards. She pushed and shoved and glared her way to the center, where she found Harry Potter, his breathing labored and his body shaking. Her anger increased. She grabbed the boy by the arm, helping him keep his balance, and began making her way out of the mob. Those who tried touching the boy again became the subject of the most stern glare she could muster, which under the circumstances, was about ten times worse than what she usually gave when people around her were misbehaving. It was a look everyone in the pub had seen before, albeit, its terror inducing abilities magnified by a factor of ten, and no one wanted to be on the receiving end of. They began to back off. McGonagall managed to get outside to the back of the pub. There, she let go of Harry, who dropped to his hands and knees, his body still shaking.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" she asked, her voice concerned as she looked him over. While he did not appear to have suffered any physical damage, his body was shaking and his brow was glossed over with a sheen of sweat. He looked to be on the verge of a heart attack. It was quite worrying.

"I..." Harry sucked in a deep breath, his teeth grit. "I'm fine." He pushed himself backwards, landing on his butt, and McGonagall watched the young man force himself into a cross-legged position. His eyes closed, his breathing slowed, and ever so slowly, his shaking ceased. McGonagall found herself both worried and impressed. She had no clue what he was doing, but it seemed to be some kind of calming exercise. Perhaps a strange form of clearing your mind like those used by Occlumens.

Emerald green eyes snapped open once more, fixing McGonagall with their piercing stare. The Hogwarts Professor was surprised by how sharp his eyes were now compared to a few moments ago. Just how a boy so young could regain control of himself so quickly when only those who were talented in the mind arts should be capable of such feats was beyond her.

The boy stood up, dusting himself off, before straightening to his full height. He gave her a slight bow of his head in gratitude. "Thank you for that," he began, "I had not been expecting something like that to happen to me today and was caught by surprise. I appreciate your help in getting me out of there."

McGonagall frowned, not only due to his words, but also due to how he had reacted to all those people. Granted, getting mobbed by several dozen people was bound to make anyone freak out a little bit, but the way Harry had nearly lost control of his magic had been startling. Then there were his words, there was just something about the way he spoke that seemed... off. It was too old, she would say. He sounded like someone twice his age, and it bothered her a good deal.

She didn't say anything about this, however, and merely inclined her head.

"It is quite alright, Mr. Potter," she said, before getting down to business. There was something else about his presence here that bothered her a great deal. "Now, perhaps you can tell me just what you are doing here without the witch or wizard who was sent to escort you through Diagon Alley?"

That was what she was most curious about. It was not just tradition that caused each Head of House to meet with and speak to the families of muggleborn's that would be going to Hogwarts each year. It was necessity. The magical world was a hidden one, kept from the prying eyes of those who did not have magic through the use of enchantments and spells. Those children born to non-magical parents would know nothing of the world they belonged to, and it was the duty of the teacher's at Hogwarts to inform them and their parents of the world the child in question was a part of.

It was the same for Harry Potter, though the circumstances were different. Harry was what one would call Muggle-raised. Born to a wizarding family, yet raised in a non-magical household due to a series of complications. And while McGonagall knew that his aunt had passing knowledge of the wizarding world, the woman did not know nearly enough to help Harry start his first year at Hogwarts. It was a wonder he'd even managed to find the Leaky Cauldron!

"I'm sorry," Harry started, his lips forming a frown. "But just how is it that you and everyone else seem to know my name?"

McGonagall blinked. Frowned. Then blinked again. Finally, her mind registered the words and she was almost tempted to rub her temples in order to stifle the coming headache.

This was not good. Not good at all.

XoX

Minerva McGonagall was a stern looking woman. Her face was lined with age, and her lips seemed to be in an almost constant line that denoted neither sadness nor anger, neither hate nor love, neither joy nor depression. It was almost like she was in teacher mode all the time, he mused.

Harry Potter listened with rapt attention as Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of the House of Gryffindor explained why he was so famous to him. It was a most unusual experience, he had to admit. Being told by someone else that he was famed for defeating the darkest wizard of the century. He was not quite sure what to think about that, but if nothing else, he knew her words to be true.

It was also disconcerting to discover that everyone in the wizarding world knew of what happened that night. It seemed that in the ten years he had been left on the Dursley's doorstep, those living in the world of magic had been celebrating his victory over the man known as Voldemort. This man had apparently started a war within magical Britain, one that had nearly destroyed the wizarding world and almost leaked over into the non-magical one. With his Death Eaters by his side, Voldemort had carved a bloody path through the world of magic. Many witches and wizards had been killed. No. Not killed. Killed isn't a strong enough word. Neither was murdered. Most of the victims to Death Eater attacks had suffered horrendously before being allowed the sweet embrace of death.

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