AN: For the QFL. Write about the McGonagalls. Word count is 957.
The black cat often known as Casper padded gently over to where Minerva sat in the Gryffindor common room. Her sharp green eyes were focused on the needlepoint she was making with the needle between her long pale fingers. She did not even seem to notice tendrils of her long black hair falling out of her airtight bun. Casper leapt up onto the armrest of the comfy red chair and rubbed his face all over her black robes.
Minerva blinked, and looked away from the needlepoint to her cat. A thin smile stretched across her austere features. She'd been told by her father that like him, she appeared to be born at thirty-eight and have aged more every year. She patted Casper's head.
"I cannot play right now, Casper," she said. "I have to finish this. Let me finish at least this stitch."
Casper plopped down, his furry rump resting on her elbow. A chuckle escape her lips, and she patted the cat on the head before continuing in her needlepoint of a majestic lion in the savannah she read about in news articles about the War.
Needlepoint she found particularly soothing while in recovery from Quidditch injuries over the years. She was recovering from the first Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match of the year- she'd broken her arm thanks to a Bludger, and while her arm healed up good as new, Madam Hooch insisted that she not push it for another week or so. Minerva thought that to be rubbish.
Some of the other witches in her year had suggested that she use magic to do needlepoint, as if the thought hadn't occurred to the witch that was already an Animagus by her sixth year and on the cover of Transfiguration Today at least three times. Minerva simply preferred honing her own skill. No witch needed to wave her wand for every little thing in life. Sometimes she just needed the challenge. Unlike magic, which had at this point required little-to-no-effort from her, she needed actual skill to make the picture come out right. Finesse appeared to not be a trait appreciated by other witches and wizards, it seemed.
It tied her closer to her mother. Isobel and Minerva had a complicated relationship, to say the least. Minerva was too aware of how jealous Isobel was of her and her powers. She cried with envy when Minerva got her letter, and again each time that Minerva showed her a new cover of Transfiguration Today that she was on. After the second time, she stopped showing Isobel. She couldn't stand it anymore.
Besides, Minerva resented Isobel forcing her to become a second mother to her brothers. It wasn't fair. She already was a mature young lady- why couldn't she have fun and let her mother handle her brothers? But of course, that was immature behavior. Still, was it it wrong for her to want a little bit of fun?
That was what had attracted her to Quidditch, after all. She was free on that pitch, and she could have as much fun as she wanted. Flying took away all her cares and worries and inhibitions.
Needlepoint, however, reminded Minerva of those patient hours on rainy days in which instead of simply and curtly telling Minerva what it was she was doing, Isobel would take Minerva's chubby hands and show her. She would make Minerva help her darn the sock, boil the potatoes, or do the needlepoint for the pillows that would decorate their modest cottage.
She finished her stitch, and looked to Casper.
"I suppose I can spare a little time for you," she said. She took the spare string out of her sewing kit, and dangled a little bit over Casper's head. Minerva felt an empathetic surge of joy as Casper purred and jumped for the string at the same.
No wonder her Animagus was a cat.
Briefly distracted by that thought, Minerva wasn't paying attention as Casper snagged the string and ran off with his prize.
"Wait! Casper-" Minerva sighed, and sat up in a more dignified position. She glanced outside, her sharp green eyes catching through the rim of her glasses the Quidditch pitch. Her beloved Quidditch pitch.
She sighed, and looked back to her needlework. She only had to finish a few more stitches, and it would be finished. She'd most likely hang it on her wall. It would be a nice change from Quidditch posters and her Transfiguration Today covers. Her roommates thought the latter to be particularly obnoxious. She thought they were envious. After all, who wouldn't envy the greatest Quidditch prodigy to go through Hogwarts?
It wasn't obnoxious, it was true! At least, that was Minerva's defense.
She finished up her stitches, and smiled. As if sensing her satisfaction, Robert Jr. and Malcolm approached, sitting on both of the armrests, despite Minerva's endless scolding, telling them not to do so.
"What did you make this time, Minnie?" Malcolm asked.
Minerva's features softened at her brother's affectionate nickname for her. "I think you can tell for yourself. It isn't so bad that you cannot make out what it depicts."
"He meant is it a pillow or a picture?" Robert Jr. clarified.
"Wall-hanging," Minerva answered.
"Can I have it for my wall?" Malcolm asked.
"No," Minerva said.
"Please, Minnie?" he begged.
"Last time I made you anything you complained that the other boys would make fun of you," she retorted.
"Oh, Minnie, please?" Malcolm pleaded.
"Only if you get on the cover of Transfiguration Today," she said.
He rolled his eyes amusedly. "Like we'd ever live up to big sis."
"In your wildest dreams," she suggested.
Whatever her problems were with her family, they were worth fighting for.