Life Keeps Moving On

by HermioneBelleAthena

This goes into the history of one of our favorite professors: Minerva McGonagall. We don't get much information on this amazing professor, so this fanfiction is a possibility of what her life was like. In this one, Minerva finds herself struggling with poverty, but finds comfort in her husband, Richard. A job oppurtunity and a shocking death keep Minerva's head spinning.

1. Chapter 1: The Hog's Head

Chapter One: The Hog's Head/The Three Broomsticks

I sighed heavily, looking around at the customers of the Hog's Head and blowing away my brown hair. How did a witch at the top of her class get here? A bartender paid only two sickles a week, barely enough for food. I couldn't believe that this was the career I ended up with. At least I had Richard McGonagall, my husband whom I had just married. His job, which paid for all other necessities, didn't pay much either. It didn't matter. We were pretty happy. I even had a garden for vegetables so we didn't have to purchase all our food. During my free time, I tended it and pulled weeds, my least favorite job as a small child. I wondered why it was necessary, but now, I realized somberly, it was one of the only things I could do to help with my situation.

I was yanked out of my thoughts as a drunkard grabbed my arm, asking for another round. I gently took his hand off my arm and told him calmly, "It's probably best if you go home now. You know how the Ministry is about Apparating at certain hours." Quite a few wizards who spent time here disliked that about the Ministry. They were normally nosy if you Apparated or Disapparated between nine p.m. and four a.m., unless you worked a shift at that time.

My side comment had the wanted effect: the man scowled and replied, "Damn Min'stry. Needs to keep its nose out of ev'ryone else's business. Why the hell does it care if we Apparate at the crack of dawn? None o' their concern, it is. I swear to the Lord Almighty, if they do not get off ev'ryone else's case, there ought t' be an uprising. That bloody Min'ster thinks he knows what is best, but it's bullock." I nodded from time to time and added an "Of course" or two.

After his long rant, I stretched and advised "Best be going." He nodded, laid down the money for his last drink or two, and left. I collected, then noticed that, instead of ten knuts, he left three sickles. My eyes widened. I was about to yell after him, when I saw the man stumble out the door. I couldn't leave without being fired, especially during a time with all these customers. I kept two of the sickles and made change for the last one, giving me two sickles and nineteen knuts. How would they know? They would never. The rest of the hour seemed to fly by. I barely remember serving a professor who seemed to recognize me at first, then pushed away the idea, along with the woman with four men following her around. Nine o'clock came, and I grinned as I stepped outside to the warm night and Apparated home.