minerva;

"It unscrews the other way."

[sorting-hat-style]

Minerva McGonagall

[transfigurist]

{ Home, or something like it }  Alastor + Minerva

[ruggedhighlander]

“We will ha’e the summer t’gether,” he pointed out, his voice softening. His lips brushed against her forehead. The calm sense he had felt at her touch seemed to wash over him. Engulf him in a way that he could never begin to understand. “There’s time a plenty then. No doubt we could think o’ things until then. File them fer later. Sort them all out t’gether.” He hadn’t wanted to upset her and he was annoyed with himself for letting himself get riled up.

He wrapped his arms around her firmly and dropped a kiss against the top of her head. The thought of Poppy being there made him consider something else entirely. Something neither of them had considered when trying to claim their idea was the better option. If not for the fact Poppy had a job - and it was at Hogwarts with Minerva - they would have had no qualms about asking her. “I just thought o’ somethin’ Pops would suggest,” he said slowly. “What if we found someone we both trust ta mo’e in here an’ look after the bairn? Then she does nae get mo’ed aboot an’ she’ll ha’e someone lookin’ after her when we’re both workin’.”

[transfigurist]

She was content where she stood, pressed against him into every crevice, and as he ran his mouth across her brow she exhaled slowly. “Aye,” she agreed, allowing herself to be calmed by the prospect of the summer holidays. Normally, she spent them at the castle, or as much time there as she could afford. It was easier, she’d found. “Aye,” Minerva repeated, the word trickling from her mouth as a breathy sigh. “We’ll think on it, then. I can do that.” She could try. Exams and final essays were the things that most took up her mind, these days. It didn’t help that the bairn seemed to be intent on making things harder by muddying her thoughts, causing entire trains of thought to be derailed and ideas to be thrown into the abyss, only to be regained hours later and long after the fact. It scared her, to some degree, because Minerva McGonagall had only ever been as good as her mind and now it felt as though it were shorting out.

Another breath and she looked up at his words, delivered slowly as though he were hesitant. She didn’t blame him. Their words were like armed weapons as of late, each and every one capable of causing damage or a cascade of explosive insults they’d both be sorry for after. “An’ who do ye know tha’ can simply drop everythin’ ta come an’ take care of a newborn child? Who do ye trust?” she asked, her cheek still flush against his collar bone and she’d listened to his words reverberating in his ribcage, lulled by the rise and fall of his chest. 

[victoiredelacourweasley]

[lexstrasshittyblog-deactivated2]

The world needs this movie, yes?

[transfigurist]

toil and trouble ; matt + minerva

She was restless, always so restless. The baby fluttered less and less as the days wore on and it began to kick and swirl with more vigor now. It was clear that it wasn’t simply a cluster of amphibious cells any longer, but beginning to resemble a human child. The thought scared her, and perhaps that was one part of it. As each day drew to a close she realized how much closer it brought them to the eventual due date. There wasn’t any turning back- that hadn’t been an option for a long while- and she was frightened for their child as the war raged on. Each time she thought things might settle, another ugly-headed monster reared up. Caught in the initial glow of the discovery it had been easy to imagine having a child. Now, after seeing Diagon Alley torn apart by Voldemort’s rabid supporters (so it seems), Minerva felt her heart thud against her ribs at the thought of loosing a child of her own into this strange and terrible world. These worries caused her to wake in the night, tossing and turning and the baby doing it’s own rendition. Deep breaths and even a tepid cup of tea couldn’t settle her mind, so the professor took to the halls. There was nothing to suggest that a student would be out of bed at this hour- it was far past the normal hours of delinquency. Still, the extra round of patrol couldn’t hurt.

It was quiet in empty corridors, for the most part. Minerva stepped into the darkness and pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. If one listened closely, they would hear the distant rattle of chains from the dungeons where the Baron suffered endlessly through the long nights. Or, elsewhere, there would be the occasional crash followed by an ear-splitting giggle: Peeves constantly wreaking his havoc even without any witnesses to admire his handiwork. Her steps took her slowly down the hallways, up and then down, her gaze distant and fixed on some point beyond the windows as she passed them by.

Her thoughts were clouded, murky and dark and swirling around inside her head and she found herself distracted- such so that she, at first, didn’t register the soft shuffling noise at a niche in one of the long corridors behind a suit of armor. Minerva paused, listening more closely, her hand at her wand. A slight glow emitted from the tip after she silently called upon the spell, casting her feet and the floor within radius in a gentle light. “Who’s there?” she asked sharply, lifting the wand and peering into the darkness. “Show yourself!”

[transfigurist]

after the storm ; evan + minerva

Recent events among the wizarding community had made going out something to caution against- and so the Transfiguration professor was met with near-empty streets and brisk wind from the sea that seemed to emulate the chill of the situation. She drew her shawl more tightly around her narrow shoulders and cast a silent warming spell to ward off the cold that’d already penetrated the thin material and drew goosebumps atop the surface of her skin. She could not deny that curiosity that had initially drawn her from the haven that was Hogwarts, but in the end it was Albus that had encouraged the trip to Diagon Alley on this particularly grey and not at all summery afternoon. It was one of the last weekends before exams, and while she had a lot to do, the Headmaster had made it quite clear that any information that could be extracted from the scene of the attack could be immensely valuable. It wasn’t an official investigation by any means, more a casual poke around while the dust began to settle. It wasn’t entirely strange to find a professor in London this close to the end of the term, and she would limit her interactions to shops with a focus on the intellectual: bookstores, student supply, and that quaint little parchment dealer on the corner. 

Minerva was glad for the excursion because she was restless within the castle walls, as though they imparted some sort of palpable pressure that she could feel even while lying awake in her four-poster, fretting over the families of the deceased, the wounded and one in particular. 

The professor knew quite well that information could best be gleaned from pages pressed between ancient pieces of chipboard and leather, as well as from conversations drifting between the rows and rows of bound books. She’d been a student once, after all, and everyone knew that the most tantalizing tales were whispered over texts laid flat upon mahogany tables in the library- the idea was the same, here, as she slowly perused the shelves inside Obscurus Books. There must be something about the pages of literature, their own secrets laid bare to the reader, that enticed forth the most alluring confessions, Minerva decided. An index finger traced the spines of books as she moved along one of the back shelves, her lips moving as she read the titles inscribed so lovingly into the leather. She’d read them all, this was the Transfiguration section, but it was always nice to visit old friends. It was in this reverie that the older woman found herself, enshrouded by time and an almost physical sense of reminiscence. So distracted and calmed by the atmosphere of the shop in the aftermath of the disturbance, Minerva hardly realized that there was another being just around the corner as she turned. The sudden presence brought her to an abrupt stop and she held up a reactive hand.

“Pardon me- oh! Excuse me, Mr. Rosier– I didn’t expect to see you there.”

[minerrvas]

minerva mcgonagall + hands

knowledge, something to keep her from going insane in that castle, showing admiration, protection, collecting emotions & calming down, FIGHTING & D E F E N D I N G  WHAT SHE HOLDS DEAR

[madamspeaker]

Warriors suffer their pain silently

[alsk00]

The Lobster (2015) dir.Yorgos Lanthimos

[transfigurist]

{ Home, or something like it }  Alastor + Minerva

[ruggedhighlander]

As she pressed his hand to her abdomen he felt himself beginning to calm again. Her physical presence and the knowledge that their child was beneath his palm seemed to work wonders. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was some magic she was working that went unnoticed. Perhaps it was. Stranger things had happened and she was a Ross woman after all.

“We ha’e ta talk aboot this,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His lips lingered there a moment. As though the motion alone expressed just how deeply sorry he was for the things he had just said. “We cannae just lea’e it be when we ha’e such strong opinions aboot it. If Poppy was here she’d ha’e us both by the ear by noo.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the old expression. A joke shared between the two of them that was only amusing until their friend actually forced information out of them.

[transfigurist]

The air around them seemed to still, even, and she could feel his heartbeat through her cheek when she exhaled. She wasn’t aware of her toxicity yet, but would be an advantageous discovery later on. It would prove frustrating, though, when she actually wanted to start an argument. The weight of his lips on her hair serves as apology enough and she accepts it just as silently as it was given- the pheromones clearly working her as well and keeping her from holding any sort of grudge for words that he hadn’t really meant. 

“I know,” she murmured, slipping an arm around his back to hold herself close, pressed against one side of his body. “We have ta talk abou’ it. Will there ever be a good time?” Minerva knew that he was right and she wished deeply for Poppy to be there. The woman had always had a diplomatic air about her whenever the three of them were together. It was helpful, if not a little irritating at times (but only when she pointed out when Minerva was in the wrong). “Aye, but ye’d probably have landed on yer arse for wha’ ye just said,” she pointed out wickedly.

[transfigurist]

{ Home, or something like it }  Alastor + Minerva

[ruggedhighlander]

As she turned back to him, her eyes wet with tears, he sighed and looked away momentarily. “It’s nae that, Hen,” he murmured as he met her gaze again. “I dinnae think that o’ ye. It’s true yer a proud Highlander an’ Gryffindor ta boot. Ye’ve ne’er liked askin’ fer help, but that doesnae mean ye see yerself that way…”

He shook his head and left go of her arm. Fingers drifted down to her elbow before he abandoned the touch altogether. He had to be honest with her, he reminded himself. Honest and open. It would have been a damn sight easier had Poppy been with them. She tended to speak for both of them when they were both being too stubborn. But without the third member of their unlikely triad he was on his own and that meant he would have to admit some things he didn’t even want to admit to himself. One in particular he hadn’t said since he was still wee enough to sit on his father’s knee.

“M’anger was nae at ye. It was just lookin’ fer an excuse ta rear it’s ugly head. I cannae tame it an’ the longer this case goes on the worse it gets. Seein’ ye when I came home, I thought it was under control. I thought it had all but gone away,” he ran his hand through his hair. A hesitant motion that looked strange on the usually overly self-assured Auror. “But when ye said aboot nae bein’ able ta leave the two o’ us - I got scared, Minerva. I got scared an’ the anger came back. We’ve lost so much out o’ sheer stubborness from the both o’ us. It was all well an’ good when we were nineteen an’ indestructible, but there’s so much more ta lose noo. I’m nae ready ta make that sacrifice.”

[transfigurist]

Even as he released her arm, she felt herself drifting forward and away from the wall, as if drawn to his touch, but she stopped short of throwing her arms around him. He was a frustrating thing- for all his intelligence she felt as though he acted foolish just in order to get a rise from her. “There’s nothin’ ta sacrifice,” she assured him. “I promise. I’m nae goin’ anywhere.” Their situation was solvable, she knew it, but it might require some sort of bend from either stubborn side. This was what worried Minerva. She dreaded having to give up her position at Hogwarts, but it seemed more and more that this might be the most beneficial route they take. She pushed the thought from her head. They had months and months to fuss and fret, even if it felt like time was flying by. The witch lifted a hand to dab at the wetness below her lashline with her sleeve; the tears and cause for them had gone now and in their wake she felt calmed, like the earth after a rainshower. A smile flitted across her features at his movements; the hesitant motion was a stark contrast to the self-assured man she’d always known.

She closed the gap between them, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to bring him close. “Of all th’ things ta be afraid of, me leavin’ is nae one of them.” The baby was fluttering around in her stomach, clearly enjoying the vast amount of space it had for the time being. It seemed spurred on by the deep rumble of his voice- this much hadn’t gone unnoticed by the keen, dark-headed witch. She wondered seriously if it could sense his presence; it hadn’t moved nearly this much in one sitting since it’d started. Her hand moved automatically to find his, pulling it until his palm was pressed against the small swell of her abdomen.

“Ye cannae get rid of me if ye tried, Alastor Moody,” she teased gently, leaning into him and resting her cheek atop his shoulder.

[transfigurist]

Professor McGonagall: [walks into seemingly empty office, pauses and looks around]

Professor McGonagall: Well, I guess the room is empty. What a perfect time to set fire to my desk.

[Marauders scramble out from under desk]

[transfigurist]

{ Home, or something like it }  Alastor + Minerva

[transfigurist]

. ruggedhighlander:

He couldn’t let her go even if he tried. The muscles in his arm seemed to have frozen altogether. Acting on the knowledge that he’d lose her if he let go. There was so much more to lose this time around. But even without the baby, it was not a direction he wanted to revisit.

“I can do this, Minerva,” he found himself saying. She wasn’t interested, he was sure, but he had to say what was on his mind. If he was going to call her on it, then he needed to be open with her. As difficult as it was. “This is my child too. Maybe ye ha’e more experience than me but as far as I’m aware no bairn comes with a handbook. Dinnae go dismissin’ me so quickly. I dinnae ken whether or nae I’ll make a good Father. But I will ne’er risk the safety o’ m’own blood an’ I will nae let ye take her from me.”

He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t her Father. Perhaps he’s never truly know the extent of what she grew up with. But if that was all she grew up with, it wouldn’t be difficult to expect the same of him. “Y’are m’best friend, Mac, an’ e’en more than that,” he said. “If ye dinnae believe I can do this - I’ve got no hope.”

“Yer a dolt, a fool. If ne’ver said ye could nae do it, an’ I dinnae think I’ve ever insinuated such a thing.” She was upset with him. Upset that he thought that she had no faith in him, upset with the fact that he would think so lowly of her- the insulting comments of his tirade moments earlier still stung. Minerva moved her arm sharply in his grasp and frowned sharply at him when it was not released. “I think ye’ll make a fine father, and I dinnae think that I’m the be all, end all- the alpha an’ omega or whatever it is ye think of me.” Tears gathered along her lower lashline once more and she inwardly cursed them, looking up and away from him. 

It was a shame because their evening hadn’t started out all that poorly. When she turned back to look at him her eyes were still glistening with tears. “I ne’er planned on takin’ her from ye. Tha’s the last thing I want.” Her words felt thick in her mouth, and she paused to let out a heavy sigh, only wishing that he’d believe her. “I dinnae know how ta make this right. I dinnae have th’ answers ye want,” she said. Not knowing, not being in control of the situation- she wasn’t used to this, to fielding a problem that seemed unsolvable. 

[lvnderbrwn-blog]

name meanings + harry potter girls (pt 6)

inspo {x}

[transfigurist]

“Alastor!” she barked, the third year Gryffindor marching up to the red-headed Ravenclaw boy who’d backed a shy, stammering Prefect into a corner. Only Minerva had noticed that he’d drawn his wand. When she drew near enough she grabbed him roughly by the arm and yanked him away (quite the feat for the slight, willowy girl who’d only just gained her height). 

“Did nae ken they went ‘round makin’ third years Head Girls noo,” Alastor growled, ripping his arm out of her grasp and glaring at her hard enough to make even the lowliest of professors shrink beneath his gaze.  “They haven’t, and you’re lucky for that,” Minerva replied succinctly, careful to enunciate her words, hiding her brogue beneath clipped, stilted syllables.  The Ravenclaw boy was already moving away from her. “Leave me alone,” he grumbled, shrugging his shoulders as if shaking off the prior encounter. Minerva watched him go, her lips pressed thinly together until he slipped off down an adjacent corridor. It wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed him picking fights with older students, and she had an inkling as to what his motivations were. --- “He’s dead, Minerva. Dead. An’ noo I’m supposed ta live up ta his legend? How’m I supposed ta do tha’?”  “Dueling in the corridors isn’t going to bring him back,” the dark-haired witch pointed out lowly, her head bowed over the book from which they were supposed to be copying lines. He’d landed them in detention. It was his fault because he’d been provoking a seventh-year and Minerva, ever the busy-body, had yet again intervened. Her expression softened when she realized the harshness of her words. “Whatever it is ye’re doin’ isn’t going to change what’s already happened.” The professor overseeing their punishment looked up and snapped his fingers. The students ducked their heads immediately, but Alastor relaxed visibly a moment later. He’d already memorized the page and copied it word for word while Minerva slaved over the open tome.  He was quiet for awhile and he watched her quill bob up and down as she scratched frantically at the parchment. He wondered if it was her first time in detention.  “Ye’re right,” he admitted finally, his voice so low that she could barely hear him and it came out like a whooshing breath. She paused, unsure of what she’d actually heard. “I’m what?” she whispered, unable to hide the gleeful glint in her eye. Minerva turned her face a fraction of an inch- it was all she dared beneath the watchful gaze of their chaperone.  Alastor grumbled and shook his head, reaching over in one swift motion and slamming the book shut so that she’d have to locate her place again. “Don’t push it,” he growled, standing and striding to the desk at the front of the room. He deposited the completed piece of parchment on the professor’s desk and threw a wicked smirk over his shoulder at her as he walked out of the room. “Write quickly, Minerva, else ye’ll be here all night. Merlin knows we’ve got tha’ Charms exam firs’ thing,” he reminded her in a mocking tone that faded with his footsteps. 

[transfigurist]

Tried to keep you close to me, But life got in between Tried to square not being there But think that I should have been

[transfigurist]

{ Home, or something like it }  Alastor + Minerva

[ruggedhighlander]

They didn’t speak for twenty years because she decided not to talk to him when their relationship took a turn. He couldn’t bring that up again. He couldn’t say it. They’d discussed it and they’d settled the mistakes they’d made on that topic. To continually throw it in her face helped neither of them. He grabbed her arm as she moved back to the stairs. Physically stopping her with his grasp. It was perhaps a little tighter than he meant it to be. But he had to prevent her from leaving again. If she walked out the door after this fight it would be another twenty years, at the least, before he saw her again. Even with a child in the mix.

It took him a moment to calm himself, focus his temper and hold it back for the time being. There was one goal now. A more narrowed mindset. Not letting her leave. Which, to be fair, had been what had worked him up in the first place. Her arm moved in his grasp. He could feel the muscles shifting beneath his fingers and she lifted her hand to wipe at her face. She was crying. He’d noted, he realised, before she moved to the stairs, but only now did it actually hit him. Hormones, no doubt, but he’d forced it out of her. It hurt to see. It hurt more than anything they’d said to each other. It hurt more than when she had left him all those years ago. Because he had caused this.

“We dinnae speak fer twenty years because we dinnae bother voicin’ the thoughts that led us there,” he finally said, his voice lower and calmer than it had been moments ago.

[transfigurist]

“Stop it,” she said lowly, shirking away from his grasp but his hand remained tight on her arm. She was perhaps angrier than she should have been, partially because she was crying and he could see it. What did it matter? It made her feel as though he’d won, and she’d always been a rather sore loser. “Ye jus’ voiced all it is ye need ta say, I think,” Minerva replied succinctly, lifting her chin. A small muscle near the base of her jaw twitched and her eyes were glassy but it seemed as though the tears had stopped. She wanted to go now, even if that meant tallying a loss. She wanted to retreat and to cry and get control over whatever it was that was happening to her at the present moment. “Unless there’s more ye want ta tack on,” she continued, forging on where others might wither. Even though it was pointless, she couldn’t help but sneak in one more slight jab, insinuating that he wasn’t quite finished pointing out her shortcomings. 

The calmness in his tone didn’t go unnoticed, but Minerva wanted nothing more to do with it at the present moment. The swiftness of the change was enough to give her whiplash. She tried to move again but found that she was secured quite firmly to the spot and that he didn’t intend on allowing her to move. She frowned at him, because this wasn’t fair. “Say yer piece, then,” she snapped, a careless wave of her hand accompanying her words and she looked away from him, back toward the staircase if only to avoid his gaze.