"Minerva!" a sharp voice called, and the young girl trembled.
"Yes, Papa!" she answered loudly, running as quickly as her seven-year-old legs could take her to the table
where her father sat. He was a big man, with midnight black straight hair and cold, steel grey eyes, noticing
every failure. He thumped his fist on the table. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked chillingly, and she
saw with a shiver he held a paper from Muggle school, a large 'B' scrawled across the top.
"I - " she stammered, but could get no more out.
"What's happened here, Minerva?" he asked softly, so softly that it seemed almost kind.
"I've been a bad girl, Papa," she answered obediently in a whisper, terror in her voice and shining in the eyes
she had inherited from this man.
"That's right. And what does Papa do with bad girls?"
Her voice shook. "P- punish them, Papa."
"That's right, Minerva." He kept his voice soft. "Are you going to do it or must I?" The tone dropped a bit
and he shook his head in apparent sorrow. "I thought I had trained you better than to disappoint me like this."
Her lower lip trembled but she did not cry. Crying was a sign of weakness. Papa didn't like weakness in his
girls. "I will do it, Papa," she whispered.
"Get the wand." He left no room for argument. She scampered away to fetch the birch wand shimmering with
scarlet-coloured scales from a mermaid, almost afraid to return but terrified to stay away. "Ice."
Papa watched the young witch relax. This was one of the more minor punishments he reserved for his girls.
She pointed the wand at herself, her eyes dry as she muttered, "Frigus incumbo." A blast of frigid air shot from
the tip of the wand, covering her. She began to shiver.
"Again!"
"Frigus incumbo!" she choked out, her breath coming out in clouds and her hand shaking so badly she could
barely hold the wand.
"Minerva!"
"Frigus incumbo!" she shrieked, tears frozen on her face, the wand now clenched so tightly she doubted she
could let go if she tried.
"You disappointed me!" he thundered, rising from his chair.
She screamed in pain, the cold biting and stinging every inch of her exposed flesh. "FRIGUS INCUMBO!" she
howled, and collapsed unconcious on the floor as the wand struck. Tiny slivers of ice coated her robes,
perfectly formed frozen teardrops clung to her eyelashes. Her blue-black hair was shimmering with cold, misty
ice-fog, and her breath gasped out in rhythmical, visual puffs. He bent beside her, tenderly removing the wand
from her clenched fist. After a moment, debating on whether to move the child with magic or by physical means,
he murmured the magical words, pointing the wand at his child and directing her to be taken to her bed.
~~~
Professor McGonagall fingered a pale birch wand shimmering with scarlet-coloured scales from a mermaid. Her
head throbbed with words of guilt, each one confessing her horrible crime. Lying to a student. Yes, she had
been flustered, and yes, she had been caught between revealing a secret not her own and lying, but she had
lied.
"Professor, is Snape dating Madam Pomfrey?" a second year had asked curiously.
She had stammered a bit, then faltered, "No, no of course not...." then had regained her compusure and snapped,
"_Professor Snape_, Timothy. And don't ask such inappropriate questions."
But she had lied.
Thoughts of her father surfaced. How he had always insisted they tell the truth, or be Punished. She smiled
fondly at the memory of her father. Perhaps he had been a little too harsh, but he had raised her well. She could
almost hear him now, counseling her.
That low voice, so soft, almost caring. What's happened here, Minerva?
"I lied, Papa," she whispered to the memory. "I've been a bad girl."
That's right. And what does Papa do with bad girls? She closed her eyes, almost convincing herself he was in
the room with her, staring at her with quiet judgement in his eyes.
"Punish them, Papa," she murmured, and the first word echoed in the empty room.
Punish...
She held the wand so it faced her, and murmured "Ultio ultionis." Punishment. A wave of red heat pain washed
over her and she gasped softly. That wasn't enough. She wasn't punished enough. "Ultio ultionis," she
repeated, louder, and tears stung in her eyes. "Ultio ultionis," she said desperately. "Ultio ultionis!"
She bent double in pain, unable to see for the crimson streaks before her eyes. "Ultio - ultio - nis - " she rasped,
and the wand fell from her nerveless hand.
"Yes, Papa!" she answered loudly, running as quickly as her seven-year-old legs could take her to the table
where her father sat. He was a big man, with midnight black straight hair and cold, steel grey eyes, noticing
every failure. He thumped his fist on the table. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked chillingly, and she
saw with a shiver he held a paper from Muggle school, a large 'B' scrawled across the top.
"I - " she stammered, but could get no more out.
"What's happened here, Minerva?" he asked softly, so softly that it seemed almost kind.
"I've been a bad girl, Papa," she answered obediently in a whisper, terror in her voice and shining in the eyes
she had inherited from this man.
"That's right. And what does Papa do with bad girls?"
Her voice shook. "P- punish them, Papa."
"That's right, Minerva." He kept his voice soft. "Are you going to do it or must I?" The tone dropped a bit
and he shook his head in apparent sorrow. "I thought I had trained you better than to disappoint me like this."
Her lower lip trembled but she did not cry. Crying was a sign of weakness. Papa didn't like weakness in his
girls. "I will do it, Papa," she whispered.
"Get the wand." He left no room for argument. She scampered away to fetch the birch wand shimmering with
scarlet-coloured scales from a mermaid, almost afraid to return but terrified to stay away. "Ice."
Papa watched the young witch relax. This was one of the more minor punishments he reserved for his girls.
She pointed the wand at herself, her eyes dry as she muttered, "Frigus incumbo." A blast of frigid air shot from
the tip of the wand, covering her. She began to shiver.
"Again!"
"Frigus incumbo!" she choked out, her breath coming out in clouds and her hand shaking so badly she could
barely hold the wand.
"Minerva!"
"Frigus incumbo!" she shrieked, tears frozen on her face, the wand now clenched so tightly she doubted she
could let go if she tried.
"You disappointed me!" he thundered, rising from his chair.
She screamed in pain, the cold biting and stinging every inch of her exposed flesh. "FRIGUS INCUMBO!" she
howled, and collapsed unconcious on the floor as the wand struck. Tiny slivers of ice coated her robes,
perfectly formed frozen teardrops clung to her eyelashes. Her blue-black hair was shimmering with cold, misty
ice-fog, and her breath gasped out in rhythmical, visual puffs. He bent beside her, tenderly removing the wand
from her clenched fist. After a moment, debating on whether to move the child with magic or by physical means,
he murmured the magical words, pointing the wand at his child and directing her to be taken to her bed.
~~~
Professor McGonagall fingered a pale birch wand shimmering with scarlet-coloured scales from a mermaid. Her
head throbbed with words of guilt, each one confessing her horrible crime. Lying to a student. Yes, she had
been flustered, and yes, she had been caught between revealing a secret not her own and lying, but she had
lied.
"Professor, is Snape dating Madam Pomfrey?" a second year had asked curiously.
She had stammered a bit, then faltered, "No, no of course not...." then had regained her compusure and snapped,
"_Professor Snape_, Timothy. And don't ask such inappropriate questions."
But she had lied.
Thoughts of her father surfaced. How he had always insisted they tell the truth, or be Punished. She smiled
fondly at the memory of her father. Perhaps he had been a little too harsh, but he had raised her well. She could
almost hear him now, counseling her.
That low voice, so soft, almost caring. What's happened here, Minerva?
"I lied, Papa," she whispered to the memory. "I've been a bad girl."
That's right. And what does Papa do with bad girls? She closed her eyes, almost convincing herself he was in
the room with her, staring at her with quiet judgement in his eyes.
"Punish them, Papa," she murmured, and the first word echoed in the empty room.
Punish...
She held the wand so it faced her, and murmured "Ultio ultionis." Punishment. A wave of red heat pain washed
over her and she gasped softly. That wasn't enough. She wasn't punished enough. "Ultio ultionis," she
repeated, louder, and tears stung in her eyes. "Ultio ultionis," she said desperately. "Ultio ultionis!"
She bent double in pain, unable to see for the crimson streaks before her eyes. "Ultio - ultio - nis - " she rasped,
and the wand fell from her nerveless hand.