MINERVA MCGONAGALL

"Your grief is as great as your splendor was: some god is weighing the one out equal to the other."

[transfigurare-blog]

vigilantalastor:

It was a beautiful morning in an unfortunate age, and the irony of that really wasn’t lost on him. The Highlands had been home to him for over half of his life: his family’s estate and Hogwarts had both been situated there, tucked away in their own little corners. But this? This placed seemed oddly comforting - like hope and defiance hung in the air, just waiting to be acknowledged. Alastor had thought of staying back in London, barking crap orders to Death Eaters or listening to their equally crap explanations for just about everything. Sometimes he wondered if they felt just as lost as he did. They too were made to fight, created for a cause, and yet stuck running around the halls of the Ministry. He’d needed a brighter spot in his week, a little hope and defiance of his own, and so he’d cleared his schedule - citing a potential lead he wanted to follow up on (scoff) - and made his way to the Peverell Manor. 

“That’s a damn shame,” Alastor replied, striding across the grass to where Minerva stood. His face was impassive, but a trace of mirth was evident in his voice. “I was ‘bout to name tha’ small one there Bluebell.” He hadn’t needed to even ask anyone where she’d been; he’d immediately been directed to the backyard, and he could see why. It was the best place to watch the herd of thestrals from - not that they did much. For a creature that was so frequently mythologised as a grave omen, they seemed pretty harmless to him; just a bit strange and misunderstood, but ready to do their part. A bit like all of them, Alastor supposed. When the lot of them had huddled together and come up with the idea to use thestrals as messengers, he’d thought of it in nothing more than logical terms. It was the rational thing to do. …people would either stay away or they’d never see them at all. Owls could always be intercepted, and carrier pigeons had never been in style - he didn’t know why Muggle books liked to glamorise them so much. But watching the thestrals now - no, it was still logical. Logical, and they weren’t as annoying as owls could be.

He noticed students as they took in the morning; playing Quidditch or laying about on the lawn or busy talking about things that wouldn’t matter a year from now. A few of them were staring at the thestrals too, though - and Alastor really didn’t want to imagine why. Stuffing his hands in his pocket, he kept his place next to Minerva, watching the damned beasts move about. “Wan’ed to name one after myself too.” 

Alastor Moody was a man Minerva trusted without question these days. His presence was one of comfort and simple trust in days wrought with chaos, already undone. The strangeness of the relationship, at least in the eyes of the children perhaps, was the note of silence, stoic people meeting together in understanding, knowing each other longer than Minerva has known her first students, no matter if time was short in the beginning - and as he knew her as an Auror, more of her past was known to him than most of the people in her life now were aware of, even if it was some aspect. A connection was found either way beyond any trust and understanding that there ways, and this was found with Mary in Minerva's eyes, knowing well the girl she taught and trusted, brought about the same sort of knowing in the one who raised her. ( Another aspect of knowing was found at another level than the war, though it was connected: in the time Minerva spent in the Moody home, creating the known acceptance of welcome. )

His comment of wishing to name one of the thestrals after himself was met with a quick remark meant in good humor, though her tone and facial expression would remain the same, "If we discover your doppelganger, we'll make sure to name him properly." The reply, with her own impassive features created the dry humor. The one light note of the children seeing the thestrals was their naming of them, as well, it created the creatures to be less frightening, death as a part of the life cycle, even if wasn't right and the situation was wrong and no child should witness a death. In the place they were in now, the myths of the thestrals weren't such a danger if their names were "Floof" and "Giggles" or "Ghostie." It made them docile, amicable, to be named as if pets and seen beyond the nature that wasn't yet understood.

In all, the shock of Alastor joining her out in the yard wasn't great, his presence known at the Peverell Manor, his allegiance with the students and his daughter known by them all. She would only be concerned greatly if he seemed panicked in any form, if the way he presented himself wasn't as if he was here for leisure - though few things were for comfort these days, always the underlying fate of rebellion, the strings they still had to pull together to keep themselves afloat and unharmed. The wariness of each of them wasn't something to miss without regret, and still nothing else to do about it - to continue in their path in a stoic nature, graceful in its own way. The greater question of concern wouldn't be on the rebellion, but of Alastor and of Mary, the concern of the effect on the Moody family with the recent events of the past few days. "If you're here for a moment of calm, the best bet would be with the Quidditch game." Part of her wasn’t joking on this.

[transfigurare-blog]

☁

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While many of Minerva’s thoughts on Mary are centered on the McGonagalls, there’s still the fact that Mary’s father has no clue of her existence, and Minerva was never able to find him again to share the news of the child they shared. ( The scenario has been created a thousand times through the years, and each time, Minerva regrets it all the while, the idea that a father that never knew of the wizarding world would know of a child and be given into a world where war was beginning its foundations, that she would have to face the man where she already ran away from him and his proposal. That the two of them would raise her without any of the means to do so. )

It’s isn’t right to have never told him, even if she could find him. Minerva knows, but the safety of Mary is above him, even if Mary would find herself to resent her birth parents at the end of the day, for never knowing the way of her birth or the young mother who gave her away.

In the worst part, as that part of her life is far long ago, Minerva doesn’t always remember Mary’s father, would be unable to tell many stories about him, not knowing him for too long and full of secrets herself. She remembers him, but not in all they ways he looked. His wit, she knows well, but not a laugh. When Mary and Minerva do know who they are to each other, there will be stories of Mary’s family Minerva won’t be able to share in any aspect. She won’t be able to share of Mary’s paternal family, if the way she walks is just like her grandmother. Nor will she be able in simple ways why she left her father the day after his proposal, the quick impulsive logic in leaving him and the logic of giving her away to those with the means to care for her, though she wouldn’t know who. In all the explanations, there’s the thought that anything could have been done to avoid what she has done, though she doesn’t regret leaving the man, nor trying to give Mary a stable home in the options she saw available to her, the regret is that they had to find themselves in such a situation, that Minerva wasn’t a bit smarter and made sure to have a daughter later - and it would be the same Mary, that she is sure of, even if she doesn’t know her daughter now per say.

@rossiignol​

[transfigurare-blog]

fletchxr:

            “Oh, you’ll like this one I promise,” Mundungus continued blithely, undeterred by the attempt to steamroll right through any hint at civilised conversation (he wasn’t about to get himself arrested because she didn’t realise that even the walls had ears these days), “You see there’s this cat — it’s a mongrel of a thing, a really bad cat, if you know what I mean. The kind that brings it’s leftovers inside and leaves them in your shoes. And it’s owner he’s had just about enough of this cat, he can’t stand it, so he tries to get rid of it. He tries to give it away to this guy who’s going out of town and the very next day it’s back again. And he tries again and again and again — but this cat it’s kind of an asshole, you know, it just doesn’t quit. They send some kid to drown it in a river only the kid is the one who winds up dead in the water and that cat is purring on it’s owners bed that night.”

            He could practically feel the impatience welling up on the other side of the conversation, “What I’m saying here professor,” he continued, raising a hand to ward off what was sure to be an interruption, “Is that cats have a bad habit of not knowing that they’ve outstayed their welcome.”

             Mundungus turned abruptly, stepping into the shadows cast by a large awning for a shuttered up apothecary and lowered his voice as he continued, dark eyes blazing, “Now I don’t know about you professor, but I don’t have any intentions of getting arrested today or tomorrow or any time this week, so if you want this song and dance to happen you better put on your dancing shoes and find us somewhere nice and quiet or I’ll be waltzing my way out of here. Whatever rumors you may have heard they certainly don’t have my name attached and they never will, you get me?”

             The same crawl of anxiety that had been tingling at his spine since he’d watched Hagrid and that sweet old Herbology professor trudge up the steps of the Gallows resumed threefold, a nauseating experience that had no intention of partaking in anytime soon. “You may like your mugshot splashed on posters all over this country but this face,” he jabbed a finger pointedly at his own mug, “This face is not licensed for advertising.”

Minerva was silent during Mundungus' spiel, finding a more ironic amusement in the words that perhaps he would like. Her thoughts were displayed in her expression, which maintained a regular sense of stoicism, enough to appear unfeeling in all forms. It was lucky aspect, however, of her own patience, and she would be one to wait if the situation was simpler, if it didn’t correlate with her being outdoors in that moment and the safety of her own students wasn’t at stake each day. She knew the danger of her actions, of course she did, of being there at all - however, Minerva’s first response wasn’t always to be careful, especially if the consequences wouldn’t be felt with her. Things can take its time, but that was something she had to learn and it still didn’t apply to all situations. 

What he believed to be an interruption, was the slight raise of her eyebrows with his final statements, more silent question if he was truly going to reach such conclusions to the conversation. He was quite a lot of talk - this she found ironic as well. If he was so concerned about his face finding its way to a poster, he shouldn’t tell such long stories, and she knew part of it may be nerves, especially of what they had just witnessed, the deaths of her own colleagues, friend, yet, the emotions were buried to a degree. She felt them, of course, the anger, the grief all over again, but fretting and imagining her own self or her students up there wasn’t going to solve anything. Her nerves were shown in how quickly she worked again, the expectations she held dear of far more importance than all else. There was anger for the Ministry, furious, but such emotions wouldn’t be wasted on the streets or conversation.

In the moment, she was calm, not insulted by his words, though knowing full well their implications. It was true, she wasn’t as good as he was in the act of hiding in public, she spent months in the same manor and ventured out in quiet places, when the time was usually right instead of silently dire. She never hid in plain sight, rather, in a far off abandoned home with those helping to conceal the school and the students. However, Minerva still held some authority, in that she was his professor and had known him since he was a child, and she had been teaching long enough to notice the hints of fear. While he may be an adult now and she would treat him as such, she wasn’t going to be one that would let the control of the conversation go to him or have him run away. In all, her questions about the rumors enveloping him and what she thought could be created from them were a benefit to the children, something good to be done that he could do, something more than the others rumors she heard of him. ( The world that surrounded Mundungus his entire life wasn’t one a child ever deserved and if she could change the place he was raised in a moment, she would without thought. In the same sense the children of the Wizarding World didn’t deserve the place they found themselves now and she would go to great lengths to do what she could. Mundungus Fletcher now had the skillset and the age to do something about it, further good that what he was already beginning, and from his actions, she would accept the idea that he wasn’t already a part of the rebellion in his own sense. )

"We both know there are far more dangers than ending up at the Gallows and there's far more to reality than your face on a poster,” she began, “And if you believe it's going to be this conversation that puts you in danger, you can choose the place to talk," her voice was still calm and did him some power in how he wanted to handle the situation, but a sternness was there, the same action she displayed to students, a tone of voice that announced that the other couldn’t escape the conversation.

With an even voice, what she said to him next was what she believed would catch his attention from his own thoughts, she knew his nature, assuming it hadn’t changed from his time at Hogwarts, "It’s all your choice. If you want no part in this conversation and what follows, there are others I plan to speak to about the same work those rumors depict and the great deal of customers that would follow.” More people to aid meant a greater income, though she wasn’t fond of referring to the rebels and the students as customers. Many of the actions of the rebellion were volunteer, though she doubted that was the place Mundungus would begin. ( This wasn’t the place she would end with him, or planned, she still would have a higher belief that he could be more than the places that influenced him, however, she had to get through the door first for him to listen and have it be his decision to do so if anything would be done at all. )

[transfigurare-blog]

Minerva McGonagall’s Office January 25th, 1978 3:30 PM @itsy-bitsy-wolfie

There was an unavoidable chatter enveloping the castle, a chorus of students returning from their classes and to the outdoors. Their voices clung to the window, the younger of them hoping for snow, heard from the lightness of tone, the heads that peered upward as other students crashed through the stairwells back to their dorms. The great hum of the life of Hogwarts cast into Minvera's office muffled, the room connected and suddenly cut off from the rest of the school with its own quiet and books that lined the walls, many older than the students. Some studied in her office for that reason, the quiet and the break and Minerva never going to bother them. However, her expectation for the students to visit her that day were already listed, Remus Lupin the top of the list.

It was luck, perhaps, that it was only her class Remus found himself asleep in, though it wasn't something she was quite proud of. Better her than another perhaps, for while it was considered detention that he was given, the time would be spent going over the notes he missed, the lesson plan given to him in her office and far greater expectations for him to catch up with the work than perhaps was needed. ( The world would never be kind at first to those they didn’t understand or respect, could make the person think they deserve to even hate themselves, when Remus did deserve a future and had one if he realized it was there. )

Used to, was more the phrase to describe her reaction to Remus' behavior after full moons. ( And for a woman that was entirely used to being able to solve an issue her students faced, able to move them in the right direction, her conversations with Remus were one that continued surprised her. )

It would be a knock against the door that would warn her of the presence, and at this hour, it would be Remus first, the meeting planned after classes, "You may enter, Mister Lupin, and I do hope you have brought yesterday's notes.” She began with little pause and a level tone, the same she used in a classroom.

[transfigurare-blog]

dcdalusdiggle:

the leaky cauldron, diagon alley 18th january 1979 6:20pm

Dedalus stepped out of the fireplace, dusting floo powder from the shoulders of his jacket. It had been a slow day at the shop, half the time had been spent staring out of the window (or at least it had felt like it). The summer, in his opinion, was the best time of year to be in the wand business, what with all the first years getting their first wands. January, on the other hand, was a dry month. They were lucky to make a handful of sales a week. At least it gave him ample amounts of time to work on things.

He crossed the room, hopping onto a barstool with a sigh. “Firewhiskey please, Tom.” He fished around in his pocket for his money. “Hey, what’ll you have? I’m buying?” He turned to the person next to him and he pulled a handful of coins from his pocket.

This was how she found herself, circling to places where one wouldn’t expect to find Minerva McGonagall when she would venture away from the school. There was a danger in it all of course, the thought of her own arrest, though more likely the gallows with the Ministry’s found hobby in creating examples of the rebellion. However, there were far more pressing concerns than her own fate, her students that were eating now in a dining hall and where they would find themselves in the years to come was always a greater importance. There was also the fact that she was still greatly her younger self, one that was Auror-trained, she made more thoughtful decisions against her own reckless behavior, but the dare was always present, the idea that she wanted to know what would happen if the Ministry tried at all, the werewolves. She did have a plan, of course, knew each exit in the Leaky Cauldron, turned to look at who was in there before she would, if they would pay her mind, before sitting down at the barstool beside Dedalus Diggle. This was also a calculated decision, though it wasn’t entirely planned, there were already words she wished to say to him.

“That money you can keep to yourself, Dedalus,” she responded in a tone that didn’t match the lightness of a conversation he worked to create, and knew quite well her expression would ruin part of it as well, the only indication that she wasn’t indifferent or there to berate him was the minuscule hint in her voice and the small raise her eyebrows. With conversation needing to be made quickly, especially if this wasn’t the encounter she planned for initially, she began with a hint of the conversation, a question if he wished to stay for the talk at all and with her reputation, the subject would perhaps be known already, “My enquiries won't have anything to do with your drinking.” ( Drinking was something she did alone, either way. )

[transfigurare-blog]

Ollivanders February 11th, 1979 12:05 PM @dcdalusdiggle

It would be idiotic for Minerva to not use the days of the festival for her advantage, her animagus form crossing cobble stone roads with no feet stepping over the cat she turned into. The day was mapped in her mind, focusing on the events that made the early parts of February cause her to lose quite a bit of sleep. The raids and the Ministry summons, the threat the festival could bring to the rebellion with the rumor that found itself ghosted in the air.  The threat was even spoken during lunches at the school, students turned into knit circles, questioning glances cast in Minerva’s direction before turning away, wondering if they were true, too afraid to ask Minerva at all. Fear was their greatest threat when it wasn’t used properly, fear for the rebellion at the festival, where the Ministry worked to bring the common family onto their side brought danger with the children they hoped would gain their trust, her children. She trusted her own, but not the Ministry, nor of the methods they would do to discover their whereabouts, support raids and threats for a terror, for a witch hunt, led the Ministry right to their doorstep. Perhaps Minerva was paranoid, her thoughts going to the dangerous thoughts before those that ensured safety. She was a realist in most forms, with the right to not trust any action those hunting for her own may attempt, and especially not when she already fought in the vicinity of her own deceased students, it wouldn’t happen again. She’d fix what the Ministry wrought if she had to, through it would have to be from the shadows, and after she found the information she wanted.

Dedalus was the second of her visits that day, and picked due to his own summons from the Ministry, and he wasn’t known quite as well as others, thus there was the danger of him being one to out the rebellion. Or that the summons was rightful, thus she wanted any information he had before the Ministry obtained it from him, if they did at all - which she could aid in, make sure she knew what he would tell them, help him get out of the summons at all. Each behavior in the Ministry’s eye needed to be smarter than anything expected. As well, from what she heard, the summons began with an encounter with one of the werewolves, meaning it more could have been avoided in one shape or form.

She also wouldn’t hold doubt if Dedalus knew of the raids, he knew the students and as he wasn’t a professor, perhaps they would be more willing to tell their adventures of raids. This was all pondered as she made her way down the street, preparing her questions in her head, before she would pause by an alleyway. It was in the shadows that she was change from her animagus shape, though it was perhaps surprisingly unnecessary with the empty street, the festival more popular than she thought it would become.

She wouldn’t hold pause, deciding for a daring act as she would enter through the front door, a ringing  welcoming her entrance as she would stop by the counter for a moment, her eyebrow raised as she would find Dedalus’ sleeping form.

[transfigurare-blog]

Outside the Peverell Manor Febaruary 15th, 1979 11:15 AM open

They weren’t her first choice, the thestrals as a new form of messengers. In her own mind, it wouldn’t matter true method of sending news, but the people who sent and received them, their power far above anything a carrier could create. The thestrals use was logical, however, unseen by many and avoided by the rest, their ghost of a body not one that people would welcome so quickly. With a reputation as an omen of evil, Minerva found this ironic and more amusing than frightening, all the more aid for the rebellion's idea. The Ministry wouldn’t touch them.

In the backyard of the Peverell Manor, she watched them, a herd that didn’t mind her presence, knowing she observed them and the students that played quidditch around them. Some of the children pass their glances towards Minerva’s line of sight, all with varying degrees of utter confusion or tragic understanding of what she saw. The further irony of the death in the use of thestrals wasn’t lost on her, of all the children that now had the ability to see these creatures and know the moment that made such things true with each sighting. She would call it a metaphor or slight fate that they were using creatures tied to death for their aid, perhaps this was their way of honoring those fallen, or Hagrid and all his trust of creatures. Crows for messenger pigeons, their use was all the matter, however.

“If you’re here to name them, I’m afraid a few assistant professors have already beaten you there,” she said with some humor, though it would be hard to detect as her usual expression didn’t shift far too greatly. This was how Minerva would greet the one who would walk behind her, the rustle of grass and footsteps a warning of the presence, though she wouldn’t be able to tell if they were a student or not.

[legendsinspo]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16:

@itsy-bitsy-wolfie gives to @transfigurare

Any hope of success is fleeting How can I keep leading when the people I’m Leading keep retreating?

[duplicitiies-blog]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16: 

@duplicitiies give to @transfigurare

[rossiignol]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16:

@rossiignol gives to @transfigurare

A Softer Legend: Minerva McGonagall

[rossiignol]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16:

@rossiignol gives to @transfigurare

If Legends were a Netflix show: Minerva McGonagall

[rossiignol]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16:

@rossiignol gives to @transfigurare

If Legends were a Netflix show: Minerva McGonagall

[legendsinspo]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16: 

@itsy-bitsy-wolfie gives to @transfigurare

Don’t Call Her Minnie

[fletchxr-blog]

it’s a holly volly jolly holiday and it’s live like legends secret santa 2k16:

@fletchxr gives to @transfigurare

[sciencebiaatch]

[transfigurare-blog]

intosunflowers:

There weren’t many people she could consider family now. She had lost her parents and sister, her best friends, her whole existence. She had become a person she didn’t know anything about and the reflection that would stare right back at her every morning only did remind her the risk she was taking. There weren’t many people she would consider family, but Minerva was definitely one of them. Her former professor had no idea of who she really was and she couldn’t tell her, not yet, but the sense of familiarity and safety that bubbled within her at the sight of her made everything a bit better. Away from home, Minerva had always been the safety, the one person who would make her feel at home when everything else failed.

Of course, she didn’t know who she really was, but she appreciated the concern. Minerva had always been a kind person, one who didn’t care who you were if you needed help, and Lily had always looked up to her. If there was someone she would listen, that one was Minerva. And she needed to move before Greyback or Bennett came back and dragged her out of Diagon Alley, even though she was technically allowed to be there. But finding sense to their bullshit was like asking the sun to stop shinning, pointless. Lily had always been a woman of logic, so as much as she was mad at the world, staying there was dangerous and probably the worst idea ever. Pissing Bennett off hadn’t been as satisfactory as she had imagined; it had left a bitter taste in her mouth and she wasn’t sure if she could deal with seeing him again.

So she nodded, because Minerva was right as always and she didn’t have it in her to disagree. “I can’t go to the Potters’ right now.” She couldn’t face them after what she had just witnessed, not with her knowing this could happen to them for helping her. Sadly, she didn’t have any other friends and she couldn’t go to Marlene or Remus, they didn’t even know how she was. It was so complicated and heartbreaking, and Lily just wanted a break. “Can we go to your place?” She was careful as to not mention the mansion and the school, it wasn’t safe there.

( It wasn’t greatly difficult to believe the Potter’s would have a far off cousin, one Minerva wouldn’t have met before the war, one that would return to live with those that had a place in the pureblood elite society and Juno’s sense of form one Minerva could relate to. Thus, the suspicion of Felicity Montgomery and her presence was one that was minimal and accepted, emphasized as she was just a girl, just as the rest that were displaced by war. Minerva, as far as she was concerned, didn’t care if the girl lied about her lineage if Felicity stayed true to her loyalty. Her paranoia from the fall of Hogwarts caused her to ponder all sides of a situation even further than she had before, and Felicity was the same as the others in the Peverell Manor in Minerva’s mind, and thus, treated as the rest, those that needed to know they had an ally in the wizarding world - and with all of students she couldn’t protect, the shield she would project was given with even greater determination. )

Minerva, held as a rock, continued on with her focus on Felicity, her actions here the same as what she would do around the other members of the rebellion in the crowd, despite her own grief, the shock of losing friends one last time. It was an unemotional exterior she presented, a mind that focused simply on what needed to be done, her emotions pushed aside - something that she made sure to do, her thoughts pinpointed on a certain people,  she went out into the world for the same purpose, which was a feat in itself in danger alone. She had herded others who were of the rebellion out of the crowd, watched them before they could join the gallows - believing she wouldn’t have to remind them of the middle Weasley brothers who tried to do the same months ago, caught in their impulse. It was best as well to lead the children out before they fell sick, then ridiculed by the public, held under suspicion if their reactions were noticed, even if they were justified and human.

Her response to Felicity was simple, a curt nod before reaching for the young girl’s arm, a touch before a wand was lifted. Apparation wouldn’t be something of to glance at in the wizarding street, others seeming to prefer the mode of travel in that moment rather than walking, and in the movement around them, the spell wouldn’t be given much glance. Minerva didn’t state where she was leading Felicity, which was for their own safety if they were being overhead. If the girl wished for the Manor, she would have said as such in some coded manner, and rather,  there she would be the focus of the children before she was ready to be around so many, and few could hold their emotions as well as Minerva, train her own thoughts to focus on herself at a later time. Where the pair landed would be Minerva’s home in Hogsmeade, untouched since may of last year, except perhaps by her brother. The darkened living room was all that welcomed them, the last sign of anyone had lived in such a place was found in the old cat hair on the blankets and the circle of an imprint where the animal used to sit each day, now living in Minerva’s room at the Peverell Manor. 

Minerva had no plans to stay for long, for her own safety and Felicity’s, however, as Minerva had been missing for months from the eye of the public, the home now under the ownership of her brother, Aurors watching the home would have found other places to look for Minerva long ago and Alastor would hopefully take away any gaze the house had left. “You may stay here as long as you need to,” was all Minerva gave her in conversation, doubting Felicity wanted a great deal of conversation and Minnie was still lost in her own thoughts of where she needed to be, partly distracting herself from where she wouldn’t let her thoughts stray. While still holding the emotionless exterior, her actions still told otherwise, in itself by simply bringing Felicity to her home, by the way she made sure to only glance at the girl and not the home she could no longer live in - all the years and money she saved to buy it. “If asked, you may tell the Potters you were with me at the Manor.”

[peggiecartre]

[lizortecho]

peggiecartre:

What do you want?