Thinking about Minerva’s love life. First, she loved the boy from Scotland; Dougal McGregor. A farm boy, a dreamer, who was nothing like ambitious, fierce Minerva at all. But they went together like bees and honey. She stayed with him through her childhood, and then in 1954, when he proposed, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t give up her dreams and ambitions at the Ministry, even for the boy she loved. Who she had loved since as long as she could remember. So she had to say no, she had to see that spark in his eyes that she had fallen in love with a million times die out. She turned away and did her best to never look back.
It would be a lie to say Poppy and Minnie had nothing going on, even before 1954. They’d cared for each other, truly and deeply, but they’d never voiced wanting to be more than friends. It was a quiet, tender secret sort of love that unfolded between them in pieces. And they left it like that, content with the memories to hold onto and the friendship to look forward to. Decades passed. 1982, Dougal died.
Dougal had a wife and kids. A wife and kids that weren’t Minnie. And she mourned that. She even taught his kids, had to send letters to the address she’d blocked off her mind years ago and write reports and messages. He’d only ever replied with the utmost courtesy. Ever the sweet gentlemen, Dougal always had a taste of pride and politeness in the way he spoke. A weird sort of balance to his speech. Just another thing Minnie had loved about him.
She inevitably marries another minister, Elphinstone. She doesn’t love him. Doesn’t hate him, either. He’s nice to her. Buys her things, compliments her, does his fair of chores. They do work together. They sleep in the same bed and hardly argue. But there’s no love. Just a mutual respect and a strong understanding, wanting independence and wanting peace, and finding a balance of that with each other.
Minerva never listened to her heart; even as it screamed at her and begged her to listen. She gave up both of the people she had ever loved because she knew society wouldn’t let her, and she regretted it ever since.
or:
Minerva & Dougal (darkwise/wisedark): childhood friends to lovers to strangers (I can’t believe SHE HAD TO TEACH HER FIRST LOVES CHILDREN 😭)
Minerva & Poppy (wiseflower): childhood friends, roommates, slow burn, coworkers and THEN after like 30 years finally maybe lovers
Minerva & Elphinstone (wisestone): respected each other greatly and had a mutual want for companionship and independence
My Elphinstone Urquart fancast is Ben Daniels (it took me a long time to choose, honestly). He's 40, she's 25, and it's 1961. Minerva has a short haircut—because why not? Before her husband's death, her life was far from limited to school. (Besides, young Maggie Smith with her bob is simply stunning.)
*Context: So, on August 1st, 1985 Severus Snape and Constance Hardbroom went to secretly eloped with only a few witnesses. While it was a (dare I say it) happy occasion, it still wasn't exempt from any...mishaps...*
*Amelia Cackle and Minerva McGonagall are leaving the room Constance was getting ready in.*
Amelia Cackle: Doesn't she look lovely, Minerva?
Minerva McGonagall: Absolutely! You've done a wonderful job with that fashion spell, Amelia. Such an elegant bridal dress! And a matching veil to go with it! I wonder how Severus would react?
Elphinestone Urquart: *rushes to them with irritation* Minnie, Amelia, we have a situation with the groom!
Minerva McGonagall: What, Elphie?
Amelia Cackle: Cold feet?
Elphinstone Urquart: Worse.
*Moments later, Elphinstone takes the ladies to see Severus wearing his usual, everyday robes but with a white rose pinned on his coat and his hair slightly curled.*
Severus Snape: *fails to see any issue with his stoic self*
“Tell me something, girl --
Are you happy in this modern world?
Or do you need more?
Is there something else you're searching for?
I'm falling...
In all the good times, I find myself longing for change,
And in the bad times, I fear myself...
Tell me something, boy --
Aren't you tired trying to fill that void?
Or do you need more?
Ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?
I'm falling...
In all the good times, I find myself longing for change,
And in the bad times, I fear myself...
I'm off the deep end -- watch as I dive in --
I'll never meet the ground...
Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us --
We're far from the shallow now.”
~“Shallow (cover)” by JessiieSchembri
x~x~x~x
A special Teacher’s Appreciation event was hosted at the end of Carewyn Cromwell’s sixth year, as a special “thank you” to the faculty and staff for all of their hard work. Several students were handpicked by Dumbledore to write some short tributes to individual professors and present them before the school at the end of the month. Most of the students selected, like Penny, Carewyn guessed were chosen because they’d shown a talent for public speaking or because Dumbledore just determined they’d be the most likely to get on board with the idea. Either way, it wasn’t entirely surprising that Dumbledore asked Carewyn to give a tribute. Fortunately the one he’d asked her to prepare ended up being for the teacher she respected most out of the entire staff: Hogwarts’s Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor’s Head of House, Minerva McGonagall.
Now, unlike her magical prodigy older brother Jacob, Carewyn had never been good at Transfiguration. It was easily the subject she struggled the most with, out of all of them: she always did much better with Charms, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and defensive magic. Despite this, though, Carewyn worked her butt off in Transfiguration class -- McGonagall had always been strict, but only to the point of expecting her students to work hard and put in their best at all times. She would still praise when it was warranted, and if someone was struggling, she would still offer constructive guidance if it was really called for. This attitude, coupled with her extensive knowledge of the subject, made Carewyn respect McGonagall all the more and made determined to do well in her class, as she knew that the Deputy Headmistress would only give proper praise if it was truly earned. The thing that made Carewyn the proudest about earning all O’s on her OWLS was that she’d ended up earning an O on her Transfiguration OWL in particular...and when McGonagall likewise found out, she was just as proud herself.
When Carewyn met with McGonagall to ask her some interview questions so as to help her with her presentation, she instead found the Deputy Headmistress ready to play a game of Wizard’s Chess.
“My role in this school is to teach, much more than to be studied,” said McGonagall crisply, “which is why it’s important to me that you learn something yourself, as we conduct these interviews.”
She indicated the chessboard on her desk.
“This is my own personal chess set,” she said with a dewy smile. “And I must warn you -- I’m quite good.”
This Carewyn didn’t doubt at all. Wizard’s Chess wasn’t a game she’d ever really enjoyed, nor was it a game she was very good at -- but at the same time, the Slytherin Prefect was insightful enough to know that this was more than just a game. It was the language McGonagall wanted to speak to Carewyn with...for what reason, Carewyn wasn’t sure, but it seemed that McGonagall was more comfortable talking over a chessboard than over a cup of tea and some biscuits. So Carewyn agreed to play a match -- and when she (rather predictably, she thought sulkily) lost, she found herself suddenly hard-pressed to look McGonagall in the eye.
“I must say, Miss Cromwell,” said McGonagall, frowning deeply, “I’m disappointed. For as much effort as you put in my class, it really felt like you were holding back, during our match.”
Carewyn's eyes narrowed irritably despite her attempt to keep her composure.
“I wasn’t holding back,” she muttered.
“Yet you never took any initiative,” said McGonagall. “You only ever took my pieces after I made a move against you. Your strategy was purely reactionary -- a rather unusual one to choose, for someone who’s always had a flair for planning ahead.”
Carewyn felt like her chest was a briar patch, constantly pricking and poking at her heart, and McGonagall’s prodding only served to poke and prick at it more.
“Wizard’s Chess is just not something I’m very good at,” she said shortly. “That’s all.”
McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows. “And yet you haven’t pursued bettering yourself in it. Once again -- rather out of character for you.”
Carewyn didn’t answer. She crossed her arms and purposefully kept her eyes averted.
McGonagall tilted her head, looking over Carewyn with a discerning, but still rather baffled expression.
“I’ve never seen you this out of sorts before, Miss Cromwell. Are you truly so upset that I won our match? I did tell you that I was good.”
“No,” Carewyn said at once, very forcefully. “I’m not upset that you won. I knew you would, before we even started. I just...”
She crossed her arms a bit more tightly, slouching back a bit in her seat.
She didn’t want to talk about this. She wanted to just push the whole thing away, and pretend it was nothing. She didn’t want to explain how she felt.
But opening up to Jacob that last week, after all the time she’d spent bottling up her feelings...it had felt better to get it off her chest, hadn’t it? Even if it had hurt a bit, it had helped. It’d actually helped her and Jacob see eye-to-eye, for the first time in a really long time...
Carewyn felt ill. She hated this idea.
“...I just...don’t like doing things I’m not good at,” she said, her voice very low and forcibly controlled in the back of her throat. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t do something. Like I should’ve been able to do better, but even if I tried really hard and really wanted to win...none of it matters...”
Nope. Saying this aloud only made her feel more nauseous. Carewyn stoically closed up like a clam.
“That’s all.”
McGonagall’s expression cleared slightly.
“I see,” she said softly. “So it’s not that I won our match...it’s that you did not?”
Carewyn nodded silently, her narrowed eyes still locked on the far corner.
McGonagall surveyed her student with a mild expression. “It’s perfectly natural to have setbacks, Miss Cromwell. It’s arguably what makes us human. No person can do everything perfectly all the time.”
“Jacob could,” Carewyn accidentally thought aloud.
McGonagall’s brows knit over her eyes reproachfully.
“Your brother may have been an exceptional student, Miss Cromwell,” she said sternly, “but there are quite a few things he never mastered, as you have. His magical talent may have made his classes easy and may have helped him a good deal with his other misadventures -- but it means that he never had as much empathy for those who struggled academically, nor felt the urge to nurture and encourage others, because he didn’t understand their struggle first hand. He never experienced the pride and sense of accomplishment that can come from mastering a subject you’ve always had trouble with.”
She offered Carewyn a slight smile. Carewyn herself didn’t feel in the mood to smile back, but she forced a nod all the same.
“...I suppose so.”
McGonagall’s smile faded and her face grew more serious again.
“All right, Miss Cromwell -- I do believe we’ve run out of time for today. We can resume this Monday afternoon, after classes are through.”
Carewyn felt awful about how she’d acted in front of McGonagall. She already had a lot of trouble opening up to people -- it was something she was still working on improving -- but rather than making anything better, all her opening up that bit had done had shown McGonagall a part of her Carewyn was ashamed of. And that Carewyn loathed the thought of. So she decided she was going to fix it straight away, so that their next interview session would be far more productive.
The following day, McGonagall received a package from Carewyn containing a rather strange-looking wooden board filled with colorful glass pebbles and a neatly handwritten letter.
The following Monday, Carewyn arrived in McGonagall’s office to find Gryffindor’s Head of House at the back of the room setting up the board on her desk.
“Good afternoon, Professor,” said Carewyn politely.
McGonagall looked up as Carewyn approached. “Good afternoon, Miss Cromwell.”
She settled herself down behind her desk on one side of the mancala board, adjusting her emerald green robes as she did so.
“Arif Sikander was fascinated by this, when I unpacked it at the staff table,” the Deputy Headmistress said dryly. “Upon reading the rules you wrote, he analyzed it as an ‘abstract strategy game, in the vein of Muggle Checkers.’ Though I must confess, I don’t know if Checkers is quite as old as Mancala.”
Carewyn considered this as she eased herself down into her own chair on the other side of McGonagall’s deck.
“...I think Checkers might be older, actually. I’d have to ask Mum. But Mancala was first discovered in Africa in the 3rd century, I think, so it is very old. From what I gather from Mum, though, it really never became popular over here the way it did further East...”
“It is interesting that a game like this would appeal to you as a child more than Wizard’s Chess, considering the magical component and your own brother’s skill for it,” said McGonagall. “The concept of capturing pieces is very much the same. The main difference is that you’re trying to collect the most pieces, rather than the most important piece.”
Carewyn shook her head. “It’s not the same. Not to me, at least.”
She gestured to the board.
“Look -- you see these pebbles? Mum told us when this game was played in ancient times, these pebbles were seeds. You’d remove a cluster of seeds from one of the pits and then ‘sow’ them across the board, trying to get them all back to your collection bank.”
Carewyn smiled broadly.
“So the idea was never beating the other person. It was trying to help the seeds -- or, in this case, pebbles -- travel to where they’re supposed to go. So when I was little, that’s what I did. I pretended that they were people trying to go home, whether to my house or Jacob’s house. No matter what road they took or which house they ended up in, as long as they ended up somewhere safe...that was the important part. So even if I was proud if I got more people home than Jacob...if I didn’t, that was okay, because at least it got done.”
McGonagall’s expression grew rather thoughtful. “...So rather than fighting your opponent, you work in conjunction with them, for the betterment of others.”
Carewyn nodded. “Yes.”
“Hm,” said McGonagall. “A rather idealistic perspective, for a simple game of winning and losing.”
Carewyn’s expression grew a bit more serious. “But isn’t that just it, Professor? It’s like you said -- it felt to you like I was holding back, in our chess match. And thinking back on it...yeah, I guess I was. But the reason I was holding back is because I don’t like beating people at games. I like playing games. I like playing Quidditch, and having fun, and doing my best. What I don’t like is the feeling of losing...like you should’ve been able to do better, but you didn’t -- so you feel angry and bitter and hurt and self-loathing. Like a failure and a disappointment to yourself and to others...”
Her blue eyes narrowed just a bit.
“...And really...I don’t like making anyone else feel like that either, if I can help it. It’s terrible. That’s why I don’t get competitive. That’s why I don’t like it when people treat games like war -- because people can’t be mended like chess pieces can, with a simple Reparo.”
McGonagall considered Carewyn for a long moment. Then, very slowly, something in her expression melted, softening the creases around her eyes and deepening the wrinkles around her lips.
“...You truly are a very gentle soul, aren’t you, Miss Cromwell?” she said softly. “For as strong of a face you put on -- a face rather typical to students from Severus’s house -- you sincerely care for other people’s happiness far more than you do for your own achievement.”
Carewyn smiled. “And for as confident a face as you always put on, you really don’t like talking about yourself very much, do you, Professor?”
McGonagall blinked in surprise.
“That’s why you wanted to talk over a game of Wizard’s Chess, rather than just talk. It let you focus on the match when you didn’t want to answer certain questions, without compromising your pride. Even right now, talking about mancala gave you the chance to tap my brain rather than let me ask you any questions about yourself.”
McGonagall looked oddly flustered.
“I do believe I already said that I am far more experienced with teaching than being a subject to study,” she said at last rather stiffly.
Carewyn’s smile softened.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about certain things, you know,” she said gently. “I won’t think any less of you, if you want to change the subject. I mean, I reckon I’ve already shown you the worst side of me,” she added a bit more ruefully, “so I’m already playing catch-up there...”
“The worst side of you? Miss Cromwell,” McGonagall said reproachfully, “since we parted ways after that match, you’ve been doing more than your fair share to improve on your shortcomings. I’d say that is the very best side of you.”
Carewyn didn’t wholly agree, but receiving validation from the usually faint-of-praise Professor McGonagall felt nice, all the same.
“Thank you, Professor.”
“Now then,” said McGonagall, “shall we start our game?”
“Yes,” said Carewyn. “Why don’t you make the first move?”
McGonagall moved her first cluster of pebbles from the third pit across the board. Landing one pebble in the collection bank gave her the chance to go again, and she emptied the second pit across her side of the board.
“Is there no way to determine who moves first?” asked the Professor.
“Sometimes people flip a coin,” said Carewyn, emptying her third pit and then fourth pit so that she “sowed” pebbles both on her and McGonagall’s side of the board. “But I don’t mind going second.”
“Wouldn’t going first give that player the advantage?”
“Sort of. But going first doesn’t guarantee you’ll win. And really, I don’t mind not having the advantage -- I don’t need it.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so overconfident.”
“And perhaps you shouldn’t assume me letting you have the advantage means I'm planning something,”
“Well, now you’ve made me wonder, Miss Cromwell,” said McGonagall rather dryly.
Carewyn laughed. “This is your first time playing this game, Professor. I’m just trying to be nice. And besides...we Slytherins love a good underdog story.”
She brought her pebbles across the board to an empty pit right across from one of McGonagall’s full pits, using the move to “capture” both her single pebble and McGonagall’s ten.
“My score is now 20,” said Carewyn with a smile. “Five more, and I win.”
McGonagall’s face spread into a fuller, more determined smirk than Carewyn had ever seen before.
“Challenge accepted, Miss Cromwell.”
The first game Carewyn won 28-20. It ended fast enough that there was time for a few more rounds, and as they played, the two women actually started talking more casually.
“Did you play Quidditch, Professor?”
“Indeed I did. I was on the Gryffindor team nearly my entire time at Hogwarts, much like your friend, Charlie Weasley.”
“Were you a Seeker, then?” asked Carewyn curiously. “For some reason I had you pegged more as a Chaser.”
McGonagall’s lips curled up in a cool smile. “Your instincts are correct. I was a Chaser. A talented one as well, if I do say so myself.”
Carewyn grinned. “It’s a shame we never got to play a Friendly match... though judging by how competitive you are, I don’t know how ‘friendly’ that match would’ve been!”
McGonagall gave a light “hn!” through her nose. “Your instincts once again are correct, Miss Cromwell. I frankly was almost relieved that you didn’t return to the Slytherin team in your third year, prior to their match against Gryffindor -- it made it far easier for us to crush them decisively.”
Carewyn frowned deeply. “Charlie did a great job in that match, but so did Orion and the others. They’re all very talented players.”
“I’m afraid having a lot of talent is not always enough to ensure victory, Miss Cromwell,” McGonagall said lightly. “I myself learned that very lesson, in a match against Slytherin, no less.”
She offered something of a wry smile.
“...I admit, though...I have spoken with Severus in the past about how surprised we were that you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor. I think both of us see the rationale for your placement much better now, but in the beginning, it did confuse us. Mr. Amari’s placement, however, I still don’t know the reason for -- Pomona and I could very easily see him in her house instead...”
Carewyn cocked her eyebrows coolly. "Orion isn’t someone you can know. You can only try to see the world through his eyes, and maybe understand him a bit better through what you see.”
McGonagall raised her eyes up to the ceiling with a sigh. “And now I’m reminded more of Filius’s house, for the two of you -- overly complicated and a bit too stuck in one’s own head.”
Carewyn covered her mouth with her hand to hold in a giggle. “That sounds like Jacob! And Mum a bit, sometimes. Though she’s really just quiet, when she’s in her head. She’s never liked being in crowds.”
McGonagall nodded. “Yes, I remember Lane -- she started at school the very year I started teaching.”
“Really?” said Carewyn, interested.
“Yes. She wasn’t as adept at the subject as you or your brother, but she was a capable student. She simply wasn’t the kind to showcase her abilities.”
“She never has been.”
“It surprised me, when I found out she eloped with your father,” McGonagall said grimly. “Decisions like that...ones where you’re forced to choose between love and following the Statute of Secrecy...they’re never easy.”
Carewyn sensed something oddly sad, almost longing coming off of McGonagall...something empathetic. She got the feeling McGonagall knew the gravity of Lane’s decision to marry Evan Bach very well -- maybe almost admired it, in a strange way.
Rather than confront the issue, though, Carewyn decided to sidestep it.
“...Mm, well...Mum’s family situation was a factor too, though. Even if Dad and Mum’s marriage didn’t work out...well, he still treated her better than her family did. That I do know for sure.”
McGonagall’s face gained a rather cold edge. “Oh yes -- yes, I’m certain of that, as well. From my experience with Lane’s siblings, who foolishly dropped everything they learned that didn’t match up with their narrow world view...I’d say your mother escaping that house was the best decision she ever made.”
McGonagall dropped the last of her pebbles in the collection bank.
“22-26. My win. Shall we have another round, to break the tie?”
“Sure.”
Once the board had been reset, Carewyn took the first move, “sowing” her pebbles across the board as she shifted gears.
“...Were you Muggle-born, Professor?” she asked. When McGonagall looked startled, she explained, “You seem really comfortable talking about Muggle things like Checkers...and the surname ‘McGonagall’ isn’t one I recognize. So I figure you’ve got to be a Halfblood like me, or a Muggle-born like Ben, right?”
“Well-reasoned,” said McGonagall coolly. “Yes, Miss Cromwell, like you, I had both a Muggle and a magical parent.”
“A Muggle father and a witch mother too, I’d guess,” said Carewyn with a wry smile, “since you have your dad’s surname.”
McGonagall gave a light sniff. “Well-reasoned again, Miss Cromwell.”
Sensing that was all the professor wanted to say about the matter, Carewyn didn’t poke any more.
“I don’t remember my dad very well,” she admitted, “but I remember Jacob receiving his Hogwarts letter. He was really happy about it, and Mum was really proud. And then immediately after...well, I remember Mum got really quiet and upset, and Jacob looked furious. I reckon it was because Dad left...Mum explained to me when I was older that Dad didn’t really know how to accept the truth, that we had magic -- that he’d felt angry and betrayed that the Statute of Secrecy forced Mum not to tell him sooner.”
Carewyn offered McGonagall a rather empathetic look.
“I don’t remember my dad well enough for him leaving to have really hurt me as much as it probably should have...but I reckon a lot of people weren’t as lucky as me. ...I know Jacob wasn’t.”
Something oddly vulnerable seemed to flicker through McGonagall’s green eyes. It was such a small flicker, though, that it vanished very quickly.
“...For all of his magical talent, and the arrogance that came with it,” McGonagall said softly, “your brother had his fair share of disadvantages too.”
The memory of Jacob bursting into sobs and clawing at his own face back at the Lake rippled again over Carewyn’s mind.
“...What was Jacob like, at school?” Carewyn asked curiously.
McGonagall gave a wry, but oddly fond smile. “Oh, where do I begin...?”
The conversation moved from Jacob and some of his “experiments” outside of McGonagall’s class, to the subject of Transfiguration itself, to when McGonagall first started teaching Transfiguration back in 1956, at the age of 21.
The thought of McGonagall becoming a professor at such a young age made Carewyn’s heart ache. Rowan had always said she was going to be the youngest professor in Hogwarts history -- she would’ve had to have been younger than 21 to do it.
Now, though...now she’d never...
McGonagall noticed how quiet Carewyn had gotten, and seemed to have guessed why.
“Miss Khanna always esteemed being a professor herself someday, if I remember correctly,” she said quietly.
Carewyn nodded, her gaze falling down to her arms leaning on the desk.
“She didn’t care which subject, so long as she could teach,” she murmured. “But she thought History of Magic would be fun...she already taught our class most of the time anyhow...”
She swallowed, trying and failing to dislodge the lump that had cropped up in her throat at the thought of her best friend -- beaming and smiling, at the front of the History of Magic classroom -- vacant-eyed and empty, on the grass...
“I know with how much Miss Khanna meant to you, you will likely miss her most out of anyone here at Hogwarts,” said McGonagall gently, “but always know that you are not alone, in grieving her loss.”
Carewyn closed her eyes. In her mind, she saw the new Circle of Khanna -- the determined faces of her friends, flanked by Charlie, Ben, Merula, and Bill.
“I know.”
McGonagall’s eyes grew grimmer, darker, as they ran over Carewyn’s face. She seemed to hesitate before speaking again.
“...I must confess, Miss Cromwell...when the Headmaster told me that he was assigning my...‘tribute’ for this Teacher’s event to you...I was actually rather glad for it.”
Carewyn looked up in surprise, pausing before she could “sow” the single pebble she’d picked up out of her third pit.
“I suppose I was pleased that we’d be able to have some time one-on-one, to speak candidly,” said McGonagall, and her stiff voice betrayed her discomfort. Her eyes even actually seemed a little misty. “...What happened to Miss Khanna...it affected you so starkly, so badly. Professor Dumbledore was convinced you felt responsible for what had happened, but knew no way he might be able to help you. He seemed to think that whatever wisdom he could try to impart, you wouldn’t hear. And the rest of us...we felt just as lost in how to help you as he did. I remember Filius crying in the staff room one day, saying that he’d just realized that he hadn’t heard you sing once in an entire week.”
The thought of Professor Flitwick actually crying for her sake made Carewyn’s heart hurt.
“I knew the kind of grief you felt, but I...well...I don’t profess myself an expert in dealing with such matters,” said McGonagall. “Even when...I lost someone very important to me, several years ago...I struggled with how best to cope.”
Carewyn was startled by the amount of emotion she felt coming off of McGonagall through her Legilimency. Not just empathy, sorrow, and discomfort, like the kind in her eyes -- but grief. Overwhelming, crippling, devastating grief -- an absence that made one feel like they couldn’t physically stand -- a loss that made one feel frozen, empty, alone...an emptiness that one couldn’t put into words -- that no comfort or sincere plea to help could reach...
“In the end, all I did was bury the feelings deep down and power through,” McGonagall said softly. “In some ways...it’s what I continue to do, even now. And I knew that that would be the last thing that could have possibly helped you, in that state.”
She put on a rather brave smile, despite the slight shine to her eyes.
“...Fortunately...it seems you surrounded yourself with people far wiser about how best to help you than any of us faculty members were.”
Carewyn was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes ran over McGonagall’s face, taking it in critically. The dark, suffocating grief from before still sloshed off of McGonagall, drowning Carewyn in its depths -- inside her eyelids she could almost see the empty, dark house McGonagall couldn’t stand to stay in -- the arms of the man the Professor so longed to be enveloped in again, for just a moment...
Her husband, Carewyn somehow knew. McGonagall had lost the man she loved.
Her almond-shaped blue eyes became a little smaller and sadder. Putting down the pebble she’d been holding in her hand back down in its pit, Carewyn slowly reached out and actually took McGonagall’s hand. The kind gesture startled the Deputy Headmistress visibly, making her shoulders stiffen.
“...Did you...not have anyone to talk to about it?” murmured Carewyn. “I mean...when Rowan...”
Her best friend’s name was a hand squeezing her throat, making it harder to speak.
“...when...I lost her...I had Duncan. I had Bill, and Charlie and Ben and Merula too. ...When you lost him...was it just too hard to talk about? Is that why you buried how much pain you were in...how much pain you’re still in?”
Carewyn hated the thought of someone with as many friends as Professor McGonagall still somehow feeling alone in her grief. She hated thinking that her professor had been just as alone and helpless as she was, but had had no one there to reach out a hand and pull her out of that chasm of despair.
McGonagall stared at Carewyn for a long moment, the emotion ebbing off of her little by little as she considered her. Despite the stiffness of McGonagall’s shoulders, the Transfiguration professor’s face within a moment had amazingly regained all of its composure, becoming rather mild again as she slid her wrinkled hand out of Carewyn’s.
“...There are two people whom I have discussed the matter with,” she said softly, as she rested her folded hands on the desk. “Professor Dumbledore, of course. He knew Elphinstone before, and he’d heard the news of his passing before anyone else. And more recently…”
The professor gave a slight wry smile.
“...I spoke to a young lady who went through something similar herself…and rather than merely play the neutral observer and counsel her through her grief, as I’d planned…she outplayed me to the point that I found myself opening up to her just as much myself.”
Carewyn stared, stunned, as McGonagall’s smile flickered with a bit more fondness. The Slytherin Prefect opened her mouth as if to respond, reconsidered, and then closed her mouth, her eyes falling down to the mancala board between them absently.
After another moment, Carewyn very slowly felt her lips curl up in a smile as she looked up at McGonagall again.
“...This isn’t Wizard’s Chess, Professor. I wasn’t trying to outplay you.”
She picked up the pebble out of her third pit again and dropped it in the next one to pick up both her single pebble and McGonagall’s five on the other side and drop them off in her collection bank.
“I have no more pebbles, so the rest on your side go to you,” said Carewyn with a broad smile. “24-24: game over.”
x~x~x~x
Tagging my darling @department-shoe-stud, who expressed interest in reading something featuring “Mini-Mom” and “Minnie-Mom!” (I’m sorry those monikers are so friggin’ adorable, I can’t!! 🥰💗)
“I dare you to prank call our stationery supplier,” the dark-haired boy rounded on his coworker, “Why do we deal in so much stationery anyway?”
“What do I say?”
“Whatever I tell you.”
Lily raised an eyebrow and hit the dial, “It’s ringing.”
“Tell them we’ve flooded,” prompted James, mischief making his pretty face look like the sun itself.
“Hi, yes, we’ve had a flood and need some new supply.”
“Immediately.”
“Immediately,” she echoed.
“A very demanding paper pusher is making all kinds of threats.”
“A very demanding paper pusher is making all kinds of threats,” Lily rolled her eyes although the sales rep couldn’t see her.
“Lady looks like a toad. Wears pink from her headband to her goody-two-shoes.”
“Actually, I don’t mind if you delay it, personally. The toad could stand to be denied something for once in her life. Gods, looking at her, you’d think she regularly bathed in pink glitter.”
“Tell them the toilets are busted. That’s why there’s a flood.”
“Well, I suppose you could call it a natural disaster of sorts. Our toilet just exploded out of nowhere.”
James covered his mouth to inhibit his laugh, saying, “Tell them you think it was a ghost.”
“I think it’s a ghost, if you want to know the truth,” Lily cleared her throat in an effort to stay in character, “What products would we like? Well let’s see…”
“Quills,” whispered James.
“Do you have any quills? You know, like the feather pens that you need to stick in an ink bottle?”
“Parchment.”
“And a nice large roll of parchment. A foot wide ought to do the trick.”
“Journals that write back to you like a therapist.”
“Oh, and journals that write back to you like a therapist,” she repeated, “Hello? Are you still there?” Lily put down the phone, “I’m honestly surprised they stayed on the line after the bit about the ghost anyway.”
“That was brilliant!” James exalted.
Read on Ao3 :)
A/N: Someone please explain to me why I keep automatically typing “Merlin” as “Merline” and then backspacing the ‘e’?? Does this ever happen to you, my fellow HP writers??
Check out @tiny-gorilla if you haven’t already!! (the artist of the incredible work of fluff below) She’s doing some lovely BLM commissions!!
Ok, so back at the beginning of the year, when I was finishing my Harry Potter fic, I started a Minerva McGonagall/Elphinstone Urquat fic. It’s a WIP, and like the Star Trek fic, will probably remain that way for some time. But I’ll share this little tidbit.
It took her walking away for him to realize that he had actually fallen in love with her. Elphinstone wondered at what point during the last two years that he lost his heart, but he was in love with Minerva McGonagall and she was walking away. He sat behind his desk and stared at the folded piece of paper she had left for him to find. Her perfect handwriting looped out his name: Elphinstone Urquart.
She let out a deep breath and sat on the end of her bed, reaching up and rubbing her sore shoulder. Rolling out her neck, Minerva made her way closer to the headboard and laid down on her back and pulled a blanket over her. After a rather uneventful day, she felt more tired than usual.
Her eyes drifted closed and the night slipped away into darkness - until a few hours later, she heard a familiar voice whispering to her.
“Minnie,” said the voice gently, “Minnie, it’s time to go.”
Minerva opened her eyes and saw her husband Elphinstone for the first time in years. She gasped at the sight of him. The last time she remembered him, he was cold and pale, the blood having rushed out of his body. Minerva had been the one to discover him by the lake. He looked older than he ever had. But this time - this time he was young, like he was when they first met. He was wearing his best robes.
His hand reached out to hers, and she hesitated for a moment before taking it in hers. He pulled her up to him, their bodies touching. Minerva noticed that the pain that had grown to accompany movement over the years was gone.
“Phin,” she breathed, putting her forehead against his. They sat together for a moment, before he pulled back to look at her again.
“Minnie, you’ve done so well,” he used his hand to stroke the side of her face, “I’m so, so proud of you.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
Silence. And then, “Are you ready to go?”
Minerva was confused, and looked around the room. She looked back at the bed and saw that he body was still laying, appearing to sleep peacefully under the covers. She waited to watch her chest rise and fall, but it did not. Her eyes met his again.
“Yes, Phin. I think I am.”
She caught a glimpse in the mirror behind him, and finally noticed that they both were not solid - rather, they were translucent, the clear appearance of ghosts. Like Phin, she looked like she had in her twenties, at her prime. She did not have the scars of war that not laced her body, Something moved near the doorway of the room, and she saw the figures of her mother and brothers waiting for her. Malcolm and Robbie both had their shit-eating grins on their faces that she remembered.
“Headmistress McGonagall,” said Malcolm teasingly. “You’ve done well, sis.”
“The most feared and respected!” echoed Robbie.
Her mother, Isobel, came forward and hugged her. “You’ve had a long, full life, Minerva. You deserve rest.”
A crashing sound came from the opposite side of the room. “Oh! Sorry we’re late, Minnie!”
She snapped her head over and saw five more figures had suddenly appeared.
“Damn! We missed her reunion with Phin!”
“This is all your fault, Moony!”
“She deserves respect, Prongs - did you want to be here to watch her die!”
The suave figure of Sirius Black turned to great her. “Minnie!” he said cooly, “You look good, Minnie.”
“Oh, stop, Sirius,” said Lily, approaching Minerva. “Are you ready to go?”
Minerva felt herself truly laugh for the first time in many, many years. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Great!” said Nymphadora Tonks. “We don’t have much time down here - let’s go ahead and go.”
“Real smooth, Nymphadora,” said James Potter, teasing her. She turned to glare at him, but Lily stopped her. Phin turned back to her.
“Let’s go, my love.”
With one last look at her body, she finally felt safe.
The next morning, her room was found by Filius Flitwick, without the ghosts, and the peaceful body of the most renown Headmistress in the history of Hogwarts, with a small smile on her face.
