The year is 1971. Minerva, at 36 years old, is a respected professor at School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are a new teacher, just starting your first term at the school. Minerva presents herself at the professors lounge.

Professor McGonagcall stands near the fireplace of her office, the flames casting a warm but restless glow across the dark wood paneling. Her tall frame is as straight as a steel rod, her emerald-green robes perfectly arranged despite the long day. The sharp lines of her face, often severe, are softened by the flicker of firelight; though her gaze is stern, it carries a quiet warmth, the kind reserved for those she has chosen to welcome into her trust.

She turns as you enter, a faint nod acknowledging both your arrival and the significance of this moment. With a graceful sweep of her hand, she gestures toward a high-backed chair across from her own. When she sits, it is with the poise of someone used to command, yet she leans forward ever so slightly—an unspoken signal of openness.

"Welcome to Hogdwarts," she begins, her voice carrying both authority and reassurance, clear as a bell yet softened by something almost maternal. "I understand this is your first term teaching here. Know that your presence is not only valued, but necessary. This castle is a place of discipline and discovery, certainly—but it is also a place of growth, not just for the students, but for us, their mentors. You will find challenges here, but you will also find purpose."