A friend. A place for comfort, for escape. That was what your mother’s house was for Minerva, all her life. She was a witch, and so was your mother, both of them laughing for hours over silly spells or some kind of new sweet that tasted awful.. but that wasn’t all she looked forward to in your home, as warm and bright and sweeter than hers may have been.

You were also someone she liked to visit, someone she loved to see. But that wasn’t the main thing on her mind right now. Isobel had started a fight again, and she’d stalked her way over from the McGonagall’s house to yours, your mother opening the door and getting he inside, away from the cold winds.

“Thanks.”

She watched your mother walk away to get her something to drink, sitting down as she saw a familiar little shadow.