WHEN THE CRADLE BREAKS
Author: Catherine E. Grant (avatar_31@angelfire.com)
A/N: In my funny little world, Minerva, Sybill & Severus were in the same year, but Minerva is two years younger because she started early. The trio are 7 years ahead of the marauders so she's five years older. No I'm not being pedantic it's important to me. So there!
Disclaimer: Oh for a polyjuice potion to make me into J.K. Rowling! For the want of a potion the character rights were lost… None of these characters belong to me, but a good guideline is if you recognise them, they're Rowling's, if not, they're mine. Duh. Nevermind J.K, I'm only borrowing your characters while I try to think of some of my own (and because I really like 'em!)
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WHEN THE CRADLE BREAKS
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The words on the page seemed to be taking on a life of their own when Minerva McGonagall finally put away the book she'd been trying to read. It was no use. Tiredly she rubbed her eyes and sipped at the hot chocolate she had brought from the kitchen over an hour ago. It was, as she had expected, stone cold. "Holius" she muttered softly and the liquid began to bubble in response.
The Transfigurations teacher held the warm mug against her forehead and sighed. Sometimes reading helped her to relax, but not tonight. What would her colleagues do? She couldn't imagine Dumbledore ever being stressed out. Not even Voldemort fazed him. And Sprout? Snape? She shuddered. Trelawney?
They'd talk to someone. But who did she have to talk to? Dumbledore? Not likely. Fellow teacher or not, Minerva always had the horrible feeling that he was only amused if she tried to bring a problem to his attention. That was the problem with the huge age gap between them; he treated her more like one his students than anything else. And it hurt.
Minerva wondered briefly what had brought her to this juncture in her life. Here she was, at the start of a secure career, so many possible futures arrayed before her, but with nothing to really call her own. Oh, she had Hogwarts, but so did all her colleagues and a damned large amount of underage wizards. Expand that. Professor McGonagall had Hogwarts.
Minerva had nothing. No family, no siblings, no lover, husband or parents to turn to. No friends.
"Face it Minnie, you've done a pretty good job of turning yourself into the loneliest little witch in the wizarding world; you shut out everyone who wanted to care until they walked away in disgust. Now you're as alone as you deserve…"
There'd been Sybill, once. Not any more. Though once as close as sisters (or so it had felt) there was now a pretty big rift between the two. Sybill Trelawney, everything anyone could have wanted. Pretty? Yes, she had been. With a cute smile, a lovely cloud of blonde hair that was always set in some attractive smile, a figure that always stayed slim and svelte no matter how much chocolate she ate, Sybill had been the unquestioned queen of the form. The Hufflepuff Honey… and the Gryffindor Gargoyle.
The old, cruel nickname still brought tears to Minerva's eyes. Oh, yes, children could be cruel. She was no princess, she'd be the first to admit it, but she'd been teased so much she never expected anyone but her teachers, family, and Sybill to call her by her real name.
"McGonagall misfit! Gryffindor Gargoyle!"
Sybill had always been the perfect friend. She'd seemed so wonderful, so sweet and caring that it had been no wonder the easily influenced Minerva had fallen completely under her charm. They'd met on the train when Sybill had stopped some Slytherin boys who had stolen her wand from breaking her arm.
Why hadn't she fitted in? She'd just never seemed to matter to anyone, really… There'd been the age gap, of course. Minerva had been sent to Hogwarts two years earlier than normal, the customary response to an extremely precocious child. She'd topped her form and her parents had been so proud.
The first thing Minerva did upon becoming a teacher was outlaw that custom.
They teased her for being smart. They teased her for being younger than they were. They'd teased her for her appearance. She'd never been called pretty, but her looks had always been unique. She'd been gaunt, even then; frosty skin as bleached as parchment stretched across fragile bones to define sharp features. Wild raven locks that defied styling and fought brushing. Haunted eyes. A lost appearance. Like something from a muggle child's storybook about vampires.
"Hey, Lady Death!"
Girl walking quickly down the corridor balancing a large pile of books and trying to ignore the insults. Hot tears spilling from red rimmed eyes across chalky cheeks. "Didn't you hear me! Misfit! Freak! Gargoyle!"
Laughter. Someone crashes into her, books go flying everywhere. A boy picks one up. It is her transfiguration book. "Ohhhh, Transfiguration for seniors, ey? And you just a little thing! Second year and yet you think you're smarter than us!"
She has learnt not to stand up to them. One day, she vows behind silent lips, she will be the one stopping creatures like them…the person she has always needed herself.
"Say it! Tell 'em what a freak you are, Gargoyle!"
Leering, spitting faces. Bruises, hexes, curses. Running between classes so she doesn't get caught by another student. Standing in Sybill's shadow listening to the older girl defend her.
Minerva shook her head quietly, staring into the flickering embers of her dying fire. She had no urge to rekindle it. Somehow, it felt appropriate for her mood.
Sybill had stood up for her but she hadn't been there when she'd needed her most.
Hands, pushing her roughly against the floor. The common room. Such an innocent place for such a worldly act. Torn robes, probing fingers. Hands across her mouth, warning her not to scream. Agony, tearing ripping agony sending the threads of her dignity wailing off into an abyss. She'd screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but no one came to help her. She'd only known one face. Severus Snape.
Slytherin bully boy.
Sybill's boyfriend.
At the time she'd wondered how in the world he got in there, but she saw later more than one sly, knowing glance directed her way from a Gryffindor smirk. That had cut the most. Slytherins she could deal with, but other Gryffindors?
She'd never been able to tell anyone what happened. She'd tried to tell Sybill, but when she began to force the words out, Severus had walked up and put his arms around Sybill and told her to get lost. The glint of hatred sparkled in his caustic ebony gaze, a terrible light that beginning to be reflected in her best friend's eyes.
"Sybill?" Frantically.
"Get lost, misfit." Snape, leering at her, twitching his hand suggestively. The hand that had stopped her screaming. Skin tearing. Blood. Don't think about that Minnie, don't think about it, you can't let yourself think about it.
"Sybill?"
"Just give us some time alone, will you? I never have any time with Severus." Simpers, smiles at him.
Big fake grin.
He smirks at Minerva.
"Oh, if she wants a good time she knows where to find me…" Suggestively.
Rage boils up inside her. Tears cut ruby streaks upon that alabaster skin.
"Sybill?" One last time. Plaintively.
"Piss off, McGonagall."
Friends no longer.
Sometimes when she dreams she can still see his smirking face, leering at her. "Want a good time, little misfit?"
Oh how it hurt.
Shadows from the past swirled around the huddled figure on the chair. McGonagall wept.
Burning eyes fogged steaming glasses as she groped blindly for the sleeping potion on the tiny table. She knocked it with the side of her hand. The precious liquid poured silently into the single cup, mixing with the shuddering substance it contained. Forgotten potion; it had seemed too silly to drink once she made it, but she had been loathe to toss it out. Potions had never been her strong suit.
Angry hisses rent the air as the liquid bubbled, yet they were covered by the sound of Minerva's sniffling. Fumbling fingers grasped the flagon, raised it to trembling lips. She took a long gulp.
Glass shattered loudly, released from nerveless fingers to strike the floorboards. Liquid seeped unheeded into the grain of the wood, as slow, regular breathing replaced the rapid pounding of her heart.
Though she slept as though at peace, the pallor of the battered, lonely woman left no doubt that she was finally being courted by the Lord whose lady she had been named.
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