Author's Note: this story is inspired by Pixar and the Sappily Ever After series of one shots.

Minerva McGonagall and the Wandmaker's Son

Sometimes she looked older than her eleven years. She was tall and willowy with glasses and when she wore her hair twisted into a bun she looked at least seventeen. Of course, with her hair down and her glasses off, she looked exactly her age. Consequently, Minerva always kept her hair in a tight, controlled bun whenever she wandered about London on her own. "It's better to look like a librarian than a child any day," she told herself.

Her favorite pastime was perusing the aisles at Flourish and Blott's Bookstore in Diagon Alley. She especially liked the section on transfiguration, transmogrification, and animagism. She looked forward attending Hogwarts so she could begin studying these fields in earnest.

She hadn't actually gotten her Hogwart's Letter of Invitation yet, but she knew she soon would. Most children received their letters before their eleventh birthday, but being born in January, Minerva turned eleven before the letters were sent during summer holiday. However, summer wore on; June turned into July, then July turned into August and still, no letter.

Every morning Minerva sat in the front parlor, staring at the blue sky, waiting for an owl on the horizon. Every noon, her mother called her to the kitchen for lunch. No letter. Again. "What is that Headmaster Phinneas Nigellas playing at?" her mother fumed. "Does he really think that he can postpone the owls to Gryffindor families until after the start of term? Just because he was in Slytherin house."

Then, on the first day of September, it happened. Minerva was staring into the sky, just like every morning, when an owl flew into view. "Mother, Mother!" Minerva yelled at the top of her voice…just like an eleven-year-old.

"Minerva, don't shout in the house," Mrs. McGonagall scolded.

"Sorry, Mum, but it's here. It's here! My letter is finally here." Minerva was so excited and jumpy that she could barely crack the red wax seal from the parchment of her envelope.

"Well, then we haven't a moment to spare." Mrs. McGonagall walked to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of floo powder. She then grabbed her hat and her daughter's hand, "Diagon Alley," she commanded.

They reappeared in the fireplace at Gringott's Bank. "Run along, Minerva," her mother instructed. "I've got to make a withdrawal. I'll meet you at Ollivander's Wand Shop."

Minerva stepped from the bank into the street at the same time as boy with a shock of unruly hair. When she turned right, he turned right. As she walked toward Ollivander's, he walked toward Ollivander's. When she opened the door, he followed her inside. "Stop following me," she hissed. "Who do you think you are?"

"There you are, son," boomed the voice of Mr. Ollivander. "I thought you'd got lost between here and the bank."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." This is what Minerva tried to say. But, as she looked at the boy to apologise, all she could say was, "oh. I, uh, umm." Her face turned scarlet as she looked into his eyes.

"Wanna buy a wand?" he asked. "Let's see: hazel wood with a tiger whisker or maybe birch. What do you think father? Toss us down a few boxes, would you?"

Before Minerva had a chance to feel any more awkward than she already did, she had a wand in her fingertips. She pushed her hair behind her ears to concentrate on flicking the wand the proper way. Her hair. It was down. They'd left the house in such a rush, she hadn't had time to pin it up. And her robe, a ratty old thing with a hole in the elbow and about 4 inches too short. As she flicked her wand and thought of her robe, it caught fire at the hem.

Just as quickly, old Mr. Ollivander put the fire out. Now her robe was 6 inches too short. And burnt. But, she had her wand. Her very own wand.

Mrs. McGonagall entered the shop carrying several parcels. She'd evidently been shopping already. "Have you found a wand, then, Minerva, dear?" she asked. She paid Mr. Ollivander and walked toward the door.

The boy leaned toward Minerva and whispered in her ear, "I was following you, by the way. I think I'm in love with your hair."