Minerva McGonagall: Deputy Headmistress
Prophecy
On an early Tuesday morning, St. Mungo's was relatively quiet. Relatively – a man with two snake heads ranted in the lobby, and the Spell Damage ward had emitted a large explosion a minute ago. Healers rushed to and fro, pristine, white coats pushed back by their air of preoccupation.
By far, the busiest ward lay off the ground floor. It was to this ward that the majority of Healers, sleeves rolled above the elbow, rushed to. One battered-looking Healer stepped out of the ward and leaned against the door frame. His glowing white coat had been spotted with blood, and his bared arms were coated with a great deal more. As he reentered the ward, the occupants of the lobby heard a chilling shriek issue from within.
A grandmotherly witch stepped into the lobby. She was distinguished by dark-rimmed glasses, curly brown hair tied into a waist-length braid, and a faded blue, crocheted shawl tucked about her shoulders. She glanced around mistrustingly – never have been fond of hospitals. The witch readjusted her shawl and stepped into the line before the 'Welcome Witch' desk. She noted that the line was considerably shorter than it had been during her last visit.
When she reached the front of the line, she asked for the ward and room number of the woman she had come here to find. The impatient witch jerked her thumb towards the busy ward and muttered, "Room seven."
"Thank you," the elderly witch replied, tugging the edges of her shawl into line once more. She knew this was the ward she would like least – this couldn't possibly be sanitary. She had undergone this procedure herself, many years ago, but she had undergone it in her own home, whose cleanliness she had confidence in.
The witch found room number seven without difficulty. All was quiet as she entered. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, illuminating the other two occupants of the hospital room. One was a tall man. His light brown hair was untinged by gray age, and light, unlined eyes revealed that he was rather young – he looked to be about twenty-eight or so years of age. He possessed an air of strength tempered by intelligence, gentleness, and reason.
One of his large hands rested on the shoulder of the room's other occupant. A slight woman, also young – looking, sat up in the bed. Her dark hair was streaked with sweat, and her serene face almost hid the exhaustion the elderly witch could see in her eyes. In her arms lay a twisted bundle of blankets. Both the man and the woman turned to look at the door as they heard the elderly witch enter.
"Cassandra," the man said. "This is a pleasant surprise."
"Well, Alphard, you know very well that this is not a surprise," Cassandra Trelawney replied. The young woman glanced up at her husband, puzzlement evident in her eyes. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
"Cassandra – what are you doing here? I mean – my mother hasn't even come yet," the young woman said.
"Congratulations, Melandra," the elderly witch replied. "Is it a boy or a girl?" She was clearly evading the question.
"A girl. Seriously, Cassandra –"
"And her name is?"
"Minerva. Really, Cassandra – answer the question."
"I thought so. All the signs are right. Even the prophecy that she would be prophesied about is soon to come true."
Melandra turned and looked up to Alphard. "You knew that our daughter was going to be prophesied about, and you… you said nothing?! I like to know these things, Alphard!" He quieted her and smoothed a lock of hair back behind her ear.
"Yes, Cassandra. Where is it?" he asked. Cassandra removed a clear glass orb from her bag. It sparkled faintly. A tag dangling by a piece of thread from the orb read, in spidery writing:
Minerva McGonagall
Cassandra Trelawney
Alphard stretched his hand out for the ball, and Cassandra handed it to him. "It's a copy, so you can smash it," Cassandra said matter-of-factly. Melandra's eyes followed the orb as Alphard weighed it in his hand, tossed it up and caught it, and finally, released it to break on the linoleum floor of the hospital room.
"… She will be the hope of the Wizarding world, a scholar and a teacher. Her inspiration
will lead us to defeat the Dark One… She must prevail…"
Cassandra's miniature, smoky figure died away. Alphard looked shocked for a moment, then sat down heavily in the chair next to his wife's bed. Melandra looked surprisingly calm; her expecting eyes were focused on Cassandra.
"Well?" she asked.
"Well… guard her carefully," Cassandra said, weighing her words carefully.
"Are you sure it – are you sure this refers to our daughter?" Alphard asked hoarsely. Cassandra nodded.
"The Dark One – surely you don't mean –" Melandra said breathlessly.
"Grindelwald," croaked Alphard.
"We have reason to believe that this doesn't refer to Grindelwald," Cassandra said. "For one, she won't be old enough…"
"That's why I'm worried," Alphard interrupted.
"I'm sorry, but it's not all bad. We will win…. You just had the right to know," Cassandra said. "She has the right to know."
"How could we not tell her?" Melandra wondered out loud.
"Because I know you'll want to be good parents. She's a lucky girl. Congratulations," Cassandra said. As she stood up, wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and exited the room, the small bundle still resting in Melandra's arms let out a small cry.
Because this is a new story, I really appreciate any and all the feedback I get. Even if you just want to give your opinions on the story, please please please please please leave a review! Thanks!