This was written in response to a fortnightly creative response challenge. Here are the three criteria for the challenge.
McGonagall
Marriage
Pre Marauders Era
All rights belong to J.K Rowling, Bloomsbury Book and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this work.
She could feel the pinpricks of tears behind her eyes and the tightness of her throat, but Eloura was right beside her, eyeing her like a hawk, and she fought to get through this day with dignity. She had sworn to herself that come Grindelwald or the muggle war, she would do this thing properly. Her Hogwarts uniform was prim; perfectly jet black, no fraying along the hemline, with an especially high neckline that clasped in the hollow between her collarbones with a smooth brooch of jade. Her hat stood straight up to a point, so black it shone even in the meagre sunlight the clouds deigned to shed on this day.
Minerva knew she looked like a proper witch, her head held high and proud. She scanned the crowd on the lawns, trying not to look anxious as she did so.
"Clove, Amalthea!" Boomed the voice of Headmaster Dippet, and applause broke out again, as it had periodically for the last ten minutes. Minerva clapped along politely with her classmates, still looking.
"Psst. Over there." Eloura inclined with her head to the pews on the far right. Minerva followed her direction, and after a few more seconds, her efforts were rewarded.
"Mother looks well." She commented quietly. Eloura smiled at her.
"I told you she'd come." Minerva just flushed and turned away.
"William Henderson!" Applause broke out again, and Minerva heard Eloura suck in a breath and hold it. She reached over and squeezed her friend's hand briefly before the voice called out again.
"Eloura Holt!" Eloura released the breath and Minerva's hand at the same time. It was a strange sensation, like letting go of a safety bar and suddenly balancing on your own. Minerva's heart clenched just a little, and the control she had on her tears slipped. She held her breath and swallowed a few times to stop herself from making any noise and a complete fool of herself, but her eyes blurred as she clapped for her best friend, now receiving her NEWT and Hogwarts Graduation Certificates, as well as a special award for Ancient Runes. She had legally been an adult since before school term started, but now this was really it; the start of real life, the time when close friends drift apart and never find their way back together. Minerva wasn't gone yet, but she felt the pre-emptive pang of the school she had loved for seven years, and the friends she might never see again.
She wiped her tears away in what she hoped was a subtle gesture before Eloura reached the other side of the platform and turned round again, with all those students who had already been called.
Quite some time passed until the Headmaster finally called out;
"Minerva Wilkes!" Drawing her posture so that it was, if possible, even more erect that it had been during the waiting period, she approached her Headmaster for the last time as a student, shook his hand with a smile, and accepted her award for topping her year in Transfiguration, as well as, finally, her tickets into the adult world of magic.
"Congratulations, graduating class of 1937!" And the cheer that rose up was deafening.
In the hours that followed, photos were taken, owl addresses exchanged, Minerva's mother even told her she looked like her grandmother, a compliment unprecedented in the young witch's life. It took a long time to say goodbye to a home of seven years, and the house elves had provided a sprawling luncheon for all the graduating students' families who had come for the event.
Minerva found herself alone at one point, when her mother had spotted an old acquaintance and an extended social catch up was in order. She helped herself to a glass of pumpkin juice, downed it, then more out of boredom than anything else transfigured it into a beautiful crystal goblet carved with a swan around the bowl, and set it down again on the table without much interest.
"May I ask what my top student intends to do with her remarkable skills in the near future? I do hope you won't let them go to waste in the ministry."
"Professor Dumbledore!" Minerva's ruler-straight posture did not change at all, but she did look around in surprise when she heard his voice. The professor's bright blue eyes gleamed over his spectacles, and a smile was visible beneath his trim moustache and beard.
"Minerva." He replied warmly.
"I was considering a few options really." She responded to his original question. "The ministry was one of them of course, it would be easy now, but I thought I might prefer going to France. The Headmaster referred me to a Madame Calanthe, who runs an advanced school of Transfiguration Artistry."
"Ah yes, a very good choice indeed. I am very happy to see you pursuing your talents Minerva, though you seem to feel rather nonchalant about leaving England behind. Is there nothing keeping you here?" She frowned.
"Well, there's dear Eloura of course, but she's to be married to Boris Whitehall before the end of summer. I don't think she'll have a lot of time for me after that. Mother has told me that a married woman can think only of her family."
"I see." said Dumbledore diplomatically. "And you don't wish to get married yourself?"
Minerva looked away uncomfortably. There was suddenly a status shift between them, she realised. Yesterday she had been Dumbledore's pupil. Today she was a graduate, and from tomorrow forever onwards, they were both adults, and could speak to each other as such.
"Marriage?" She queried dismissively. "What use have I for it? Boys here are terribly silly, I imagine they must be much the same anywhere. Don't you agree professor?" Dumbledore laughed.
"True Minerva, quite true. Indeed, a witch who achieved her first complete animagus transformation in her OWL year, and is to date the only witch in her year to have achieved it at all would need a high calibre of wizard to match her." Minerva flushed a little under the praise.
"You flatter me sir. Your own inanimate-to-living objects transfigurations are far more impressive than anything I've ever seen, let alone could hope to match." She shifted a little uncomfortably, then added more quietly; "Anyway, there aren't any boys who find me 'marriage suitable'." Then, for suddenly wanting to try out this new power of being able to speak to her now former teachers almost like equals, she ventured a personal question. "Sir, how about you? Have you ever been married?"
Dumbledore laughed again. "Merlin's beard no! I snore far too loudly and have too terrible a taste in socks to ever wish to submit anyone to that." Minerva smiled.
"Well, perhaps I shall become a Priori teacher, and we can have teachers' conferences occasionally and chat about spinsterhood over tea." Dumbledore smiled at her, but answered her seriously.
"Minerva, I do believe you would make a splendid teacher. But far from wishing very young witches and wizards on you, I do hope you stand where I do some day. You will, with a few years of experience in your wand, be more than capable of teaching NEWT level Transfiguration. France is a very sound choice."
"Professor!" She protested. "I would never dream of replacing you! Besides, France may not happen in any case. Mother is quite against it you see."
"Oh?" He raised his excessively bushy eyebrows. "Why would that be?"
"Well, you know. The Daily Prophet. It's been saying Grindelwald's been spreading his influence into France recently. Mother believes I'll be safer here." Dumbledore's gaze shifted to the Hogwarts gates and beyond, as if searching for something in the distance.
"Ah yes. I can see how that would be a concern. Your mother may be right."
"Sir, you don't think he could come here do you?" Despite all the symbolism and ceremony here today proclaiming Minerva an adult, she was surprised at how very young she sounded in her worry. But instead of the comforting answer a child might have been given, Dumbledore sighed deeply.
"I truly hope not Minerva."
At that moment, the young witch startled badly as a flash of light streaked past her across the table. As she turned and got a second look at the spell, she could see the bright outline of a cat bounding away in the grass. Turning her head swiftly in the direction the patronus had come from, she spotted a group of boys laughing like donkeys. One boy she recognised who had given her grief ever since that day in her fifth year – getting a personal victory in a Quidditch match when she'd shot the decisive goal through his hoop seconds before the snitch had been caught.
Forgetting entirely that she was supposed to be talking to Professor Dumbledore, she stomped over to the group, straight up to the boy who had cast the patronus and poked her wand against his chest.
"Really McGonagall, did you have to have to behave like a juvenile even on graduation day? I simply don't understand you!" She scolded.
From a comfortable observation distance, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, old Professor Merrythought, drew up beside Professor Dumbledore, and the two exchanged amused smiles.
"Ah, to be so young and oblivious, don't you think Professor Merrythought?" Dumbledore commented.
"So I gather Miss Wilkes still doesn't understand the concept of a patronus very well?" Merrythought tutted.
"No. I do believe it will take Miss Wilkes a few more years to fully grasp what she's done to that poor boy."