From the Diaries of Minerva McGonagall: January 8, 1955

Dear Diary,

I thought I would hate going back to London after the holidays but I found myself missing it more than I anticipated. I loved seeing my family again, but it felt a bit like a favourite jumper gone small in the wash; still beloved even though it doesn’t quite fit at the shoulders. If it were a real jumper I could stretch it with magic, but a family is different. We have to stretch each other with love, I suppose.

It feels strange not to know where my home is. When I was at home, it was home; when I was at Hogwarts, it was both Hogwarts and home, back and forth over the terms and holidays. After I arrived in London I was certain I’d never feel at home there, but I became homesick for it the minute I went away.

I think it’s because I’ve finally made a friend. I haven’t written much about Elphinstone Urquart yet because at first I didn’t realize he was a friend; he was my boss, and bosses and junior staff aren’t supposed to be friends. But I walked into his office one day and he smiled, and the next day he asked if I would have a cup of tea with him, and then we became friends. (Not immediately after the first cup of tea. Possibly after the third one.)

He’s still my boss, of course, but he doesn’t treat me like the other bosses. He listens to me. He says I’ve got a brilliant mind, which I’m honestly kind of used to by now, but he also laughs at the jokes I make, which nobody ever does. Dougal would never laugh at anything. He was so serious and romantic.

I can’t believe I just wrote about Dougal like that—calling him romantic as if it were ridiculous. I used to think he was the best person in the world. I almost thought I’d marry him! But I still carry thoughts in my mind for Dougal; stories from the Ministry I wish I could tell him, bits of sunset from my window I wish he could see. I have conversations with him in my head, imagining how he would respond.

I mentioned Dougal to Elphinstone. Not the part about the ring, just the part about how I’d how I’d made this Muggle friend, and how it was unfair that I couldn’t tell him who I really was. Elphinstone doesn’t have much experience with Muggles—his family have been witches and wizards for years and years—but he doesn’t dislike them the way other people do. He asked me if I would really want to know that other people had talents I would never possess, and I said I already knew that. Everybody’s got different talents. I’ll never be able to calm a screaming mandrake the way Pomona does, or give a sermon like my father. I’ll never be a headmaster like Professor Dumbledore.

He said it was different, though. He asked me to think of Squibs, and how sad they always seemed to be. I said it was because we didn’t let Squibs be part of the magical world, not really; we always told them they were less capable than the rest of us, instead of asking them what their talents were. I also said it was a mistake to think that Squibs were always sad, or to equate mental state with lack of ability; in fact, I could name half-a-dozen wizards who were perpetually dismal even though their magic was perfectly capable!

Elphinstone laughed, after that, and he told me I was right. I wish there was a way to make it right for everybody, though. Maybe working at the Ministry is the best way to start. Maybe that’s why I’m starting to feel like London is my home.

Yours faithfully,

Minerva

Previously in The Diaries of Minerva McGonagall

Will Elphinstone cut it, or is dating your wizard boss always a poor idea?