A/N: Hi there! I'm Tea, this is my first story and I'm kinda nervous! This is starting out as a McGonagall fic, but eventually it will turn into a Harry/Good vs. Evil fic. Hopefully! Anyway, all familiar characters belong to Jo, all strange new ones are mine. Thanks!
And Only Time Will Tell - 1
December, 1949
Thud! Crash! Bang!
Stomp-stomp-stomp - CRASH!
Sixteen year old Minerva McGonagall buried her head under her pillow, wondering why she hadn't stayed at school over Christmas vacation. It was only six o'clock in the morning, but already the
McGonagall household was in full swing. Somewhere far below
her, she could hear her mother yelling nondescript threats at
one of her six younger brothers. Her cries were followed by another
loud bang, and a rowdy burst of laughter. Yes, it was definitely
going to be an interesting week.
A sudden knock at her bedroom door startled Minerva into full
consciousness. "Com'in" she mumbled, her voice still
half-muffled by the pillow pulled firmly over her head. She heard
the door creek open and a few seconds later felt the mattress
groan under the weight of her visitor.
"You're missing all the fun, you know." a dry, amused
voice greeted her.
"Am I?" her tired response was once again obstructed
by the pillow over her face.
"Come on, Kitty, don't be such a grump!" the pillow
was yanked unceremoniously from her head, and Minerva found herself
blinking into the identical brown eyes of her twin brother, Malcolm.
His dark hair lay messily across his forehead as he grinned at
her dumbly.
"Hello!" he said brightly.
She sighed. "Malcolm- I'm sleeping!" she grumbled,
snatching her pillow back.
"No, you're not."
"Well, I was sleeping before you felt the need
to come bother me."
He laughed at her. "Come on now, honestly, you couldn't
have slept through that!" As if on cue, another tremendous
bang from downstairs punctuated the end of his sentence. "Greggie's
turned the range into a rabbit or some nonsense like that, and
they've been chasing it all over the house for the past hour!"
Minerva grinned at this amusing news. "How did he manage
that?" she asked.
"Got me, he's nearly failed out of Transfiguration this term. Father was about ready to let him have it last night when he got Dumbledore's note. 'Disgrace to the family' . . . 'ought to be ashamed of himself' . . . 'cast off to go live with Muggles' . . . I believe those were the highlights of his welcome home lecture." Malcolm recalled, flopping down beside his sister, his head propped up on his arm.
"How's your headache?" he asked.
"Better - believe it or not, with all that noise downstairs."
Minerva replied with a crooked smile. Her brother chuckled and
yawned,
"They tried to keep it down to a dull roar last night.
You know, mustn't disturb the princess."
"Don't start!" she snapped, trying to shove him off
the bed.
"All right! Only joking! No need to get so feisty!"
Malcolm sat up with his hands in the air in a sign of truce.
"You know how I hate that." Minerva said quietly.
Her brother's face softened slightly with sympathy.
"Nobody blames you for it, Min. The boys know thats
just the way Dad is."
"Yes . . . well, it's not all fun and games, being his
pet." Minerva said sharply, brushing a dark curl away from
her face.
"I know that, and the rest of them know it too. I give
you a lot of credit, Minnie, I could never live up to his standards
like you do." said Malcolm, looking at her with genuine admiration.
She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "Thanks."
"Let's just try to enjoy this vacation, all right? I'm
going to go see if they've managed to track down the stove yet,
I'm starving. Get yourself out of bed, or I'll send the circus
up to wrestle with you!" he called over his shoulder as he
left the room.
Minerva sat up and stared out the window at the rolling expanse
of white, snow covered hills, thinking about what her brother
had said. Live up to his standards. Sometimes she wasn't even
sure if she could live up to her father's standards. True,
she was his favorite. That came from being the only girl in a
family of 8 boys. More importantly, though, Minerva McGonagall
was a prodigy. At age seven, her father had recognized in her
a special something - a 'presence' was what he'd called it. He'd
begun teaching her things- transfiguration spells, incantations.
For hours each night she'd sit in his huge, dark study, going
over and over the various spells. By age 8, she had achieved what
often took grown wizards years to accomplish. She'd become an
Animagi.
She'd never forget the day her father took her up to London
before the board of Registration at the Ministry - she'd never
been so scared in her entire life. Her father sat off to the side,
his chest puffed up with superior pride, while she'd stood before
the panel of 7 grizzled wizards who had eyed her suspiciously
over the table. She didn't want to do it, but she knew she had
to. When her transformation was over, the older wizards began
bombarding her with questions - how had she managed it? Was it
safe for a girl of her years to be practicing such complex and
potentially dangerous magic? Her father had stepped in, explaining
away all their fears, while she'd stood there trembling under
everyone's gaze, feeling like a bug under glass. In the end, they
registered her, the youngest witch to ever become a certified
Animagi since anyone could remember. Her father had to lift her
up to sign the immense registry book. For several weeks after,
reporters from the Daily Prophet and other wizarding media were
banging down her front door, wanting to get a picture of her -
and her father.
Minerva wanted no part in the fame, and nearly buckled under
the attention. She dreaded the day she would have to go to Hogwarts,
knowing the other kids would cast her out because she was different
- special. But by the time she'd come of age, most people had
forgotten about the amazing Minerva McGonagall, and she found
that she fit in quite nicely at school. She had her friends, she
could do what she liked, there was no one around to constantly
bother her. At home, however, was a different story. Her father
had her on a pedestal - his little prodigy. He expected perfection
in everything she did. He treated her like a museum piece - like
something delicate and easily broken. Luckily her mother and her
brothers did not share these feelings. They treated her like a
normal person. Why in hell couldn't he?
"Minerva? Are you awake? Breakfast is almost ready!"
her mother's voice called to her up the stairs.
"I'm coming!" she called back, and pulled herself
reluctantly out of bed.
* Thats it for now, what'd you think? There is action coming,
I promise, but I would really, really appreciate any and all comments
and suggestions! Especially from the veteran authors/readers/reviewers!
Thanks!*