Author's note:

I don't own Harry Potter. I'm just playing with the characters. And I'm not making any money on it.

I love Maggie Smith. She's a fabulous actress, and she did a fabulous job portraying Minerva McGonagall in the HP films; however, the description of McGonagall in the books doesn't really fit her. So, in this story, I'm picturing MM as she is described in the books. A tall, slender, woman with a stern expression, black hair, and green eyes.

Also, because witches and wizards have a much longer life-expectancy than muggles, I'm using this formula (which I've seen in a few other fanfics) to calculate age for those with magic: A witch or wizard achieves physical maturity at the age of 17 and then ages at ½ the rate of a muggle. So, as MM was born in Oct. of 1935, when this story begins she is 53 years old, but would appear to be in her mid-30s. (53 – 17 = 36 /2 = 18 + 17 = 35)

CHAPTER 1

(Summer 1989)

Minerva slowly opened her eyes and shut them again quickly. Her head ached, her body ached, even her fur ached; however, the aches in the rest of her body paled in comparison to the sharp, throbbing pain in her rear, right leg. She looked over her shoulder, and her leg was encased in a cast.

My leg must be broken, she thought to herself. I can't transform back.

One of the perils of being an animagus was that if one was badly injured while in one's animagus form, the body had to heal before transforming back. Minor cuts and bruises wouldn't prevent a return to one's human form, but a broken bone certainly would.

If I could get Poppy to heal my leg, then I could transform back. Minerva briefly thought. Then she remembered. Shit! Poppy Pomfrey, her friend and mediwitch who well knew that Minerva was an amimagus and was well acquainted with her tabby cat form, was thousands of miles away…in a completely different country…on a completely different continent, in fact. Because Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, and all-round brilliant witch, was spending her summer holiday on the east coast of the bloody United States of America.

Damn! She mentally cursed her luck. Okay, she told herself, don't panic. There is no need to panic. First, assess your surroundings.

The room was dimly lit and not large. She was lying on the floor, curled up on a soft flannel blanket. Shelves with books and knickknacks lined the walls. There was a leather couch, an armchair, a desk, a fireplace, and a muggle television set.

Her sensitive cat nose assessed the room as well. Smells a bit like Albus' study. She would have been reassured by this thought if she'd ever seen this room before, but she hadn't.

Where am I?

She heard a toilet flush nearby and the sounds of someone washing their hands. Then a door opened, footsteps approached, and a man entered the room.

"You're awake!" a soft baritone voice said.

Minerva tensed, eyes wide, pupils dilated, fur standing on end.

"Shhhhh…shhhhh…I won't hurt you, kitty." A man of medium build, who looked to be in his early 40s slowly approached her, knelt down, and offered her his hand to smell.

Minerva didn't move.

"Poor kitty." The man sighed. "You're probably totally freaked out."

That's the understatement of the year, Minerva grumbled to herself.

A loud peal suddenly rang through the room. Minerva tried to spring to her feet, but the agonizing pain in her leg prevented her.

"It's okay, kitty! It's okay! It's just the phone!" the man quickly sprang to his feet and picked up the telephone receiver on the desk.

"Hello?

"Jimmy! How's it going, man?

Minerva listened to the one-sided conversation with curiosity. Who is this man? She wondered as she watched him settle himself at the desk.

"Great! I'm doing great! Well…I've got a cat!"

Minerva laid back her ears at this. You what?

"Yeah," the man continued into the phone, "That really bad storm the night before last?"

Oh! Minerva suddenly remembered. There was a storm. It came up so fast!

"The next morning, I was picking up all of the downed branches in my yard, and I found this little, gray tabby cat next to one of the branches. She must've been on the branch when it fell."

Minerva remembered. She'd been trying to scramble down from the tree while its branches thrashed in the wind. Like the bloody whomping willow. There'd been a loud crack, a falling sensation, and then darkness.

"It freaked me out! I thought she was dead at first, but then I could see her breathing, so I scooped her up and took her to a veterinary hospital. One of her rear legs is broken, but it's not a bad break, so they said it should heal in about 4 – 6 weeks."

A month?! Minerva started panicking now. I can't spend a month living with a strange man!