Prompt for @hpwritersnet: Minerva Mcgonagall
Minerva Mcgonagall was nervous.
She didn’t show it, of course, keeping her spine straight and her expression neutral. Her father, a pastor, had taught her at least that much: when you’re a flurry of emotions, keep the storm inside until later, and let your best face show. Minerva didn’t know how well this had worked for her father, seeing as she hadn’t attended church for some odd ten years out of her eleven. But it seemed sound advice. So she kept the nervousness inside her as she listened to the giggles and whispers of her Hogwarts class. More than a few had made quite a few friends on the train and were eager to share their thoughts and fears for the sorting ahead with their peers.
But Minerva, or Minnie, as she liked to be called, had only made a single friend on the train ride–if he could even be called that. He had already gone up at the sound of his name (which was rather whimsical, Minerva thought, though her own name had caused quite the stir up in Scotland). A tattered hat had been perched atop his head for five long minutes before it roared a hearty “Ravenclaw!” and sent him to his appropriate table. She was happy for him; Filius Flitwick hadn’t wanted much, but he had wanted blue and bronze for house colors.