Title: Becoming Minerva
Author: Keppiehed
Disclaimer: This all belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Word Count: 792
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild violence
Prompt: a young Minerva
A/N: This is a gift!fic for Strav, who won the Mod's Choice at DeathEaterDrabs this last round. Many congratulations go to you on a job well done! The prompt was wide open, and while I tried for dark!, given the community we belong to, I rather think I tend towards angst unless given a strict nudge. Let it be a lesson to you! I do hope this is pleasing to you, at any rate.
It was a curious thing, that the item that would change the course of her life forever could fit in a pocket. That such a small thing could hold a tremendous sway over her future was very nearly inconceivable. Minerva didn't usually wax poetic, but today was special. Today was the day when everything was going to be different for her. Her dreams were finally coming true.
"What's that you have there, girlie?"
Minerva closed her eyes. He had seen, then. There was no time to keep the news to herself, to savor the delicious secret. She turned to face him.
"No use hiding. Give it over," her father demanded.
"I've been offered a position at Hogwarts. You can see right there." Minerva kept her voice firm, but her hand betrayed her as it shook.
Her father snatched the letter and scanned it. "As what? Cook? That's all ye're good for. I'll not lose ye, girlie, and ye knows it."
Minerva sniffed in disdain. "Cook? Certainly not. As professor. I am to have full appointment." The pride in her voice wouldn't be concealed.
"Ye're staying right here." Her father narrowed his eyes. "Now, go mind the little ones and enough of this nonsense.
Minerva's world fell out from under her. All of those years of schooling, all of the perfect grades—for what? To be little better than a nursemaid and caretaker for her father? She had to find her nerve now, or she never would.
"No."
He half-turned from where he had already left her standing. Her answer hadn't been worthy of so much as an second glance. Or so he'd thought. "What?"
"I said no. I am taking the position."
The silence in the room was worse than anything he could have said. Minerva held her breath and waited for the axe to fall. It didn't take long.
Her father's Scottish temper exploded, and from the size of the cottage he didn't have far to come to reach her. It took two strides before he was upon her, clutching her birdlike shoulders in his meaty grasp. He shook her, a dog shaking his bone. She belonged to him. She could feel her teeth rattling. Her whole world tilted crazily under the force of his wrath.
"Ye'll not defy me! Ye'll stay here, do ye ken?" He crumpled the letter and threw it to the floor.
Minerva felt the pull of obedience, the way of that things that had always been. Tradition had lulled her mother and countless other women before her into a treacherous stupor. She could hear the clarion call of duty, of bending to a will greater than hers, of shutting of the mind and of closing the eye until she was little better than the dust that would coat her own grave. It would be far easier to acquiesce, but her new life beckoned to her, and the steel in her spine gave her courage. She glared at him. This was not to be her fate. Not today. "No. I'm leaving."
He let go of her as though he had been branded. Minerva didn't have time to prepare for the blow that caught her in the jaw, but she could taste the blood in her mouth from her tongue. She was grateful to him for that, for erasing whatever regret she might have had. For her, the metallic taste of blood would always remind her of freedom.
Her father must have seen the fire in her eyes. "If ye leave here, ye're dead to me, do ye hear me? Dead. Ye'll never be welcome in this house again. I will have no daughter."
Minerva reached down and picked up the letter. "It doesn't have to be this way."
Her father crossed his arms. "Get out. And take nothing with you save ye're traitorous self."
As the door slammed shut behind her, Minerva spared one moment for tears. She smoothed out her acceptance letter, but the words swam before her eyes. The cold wind from the Scottish coast stung, and she knew she'd never be back to see this place. She would never see her sisters again, nor be allowed entrance to this home where she had grown from girlhood. The loss was all-consuming, the hole in her heart irreconcilable.
Then she squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. That was the last bit of weakness she was ever resolved to show. No man would ever hold such a position of strength in her life. No man would ever have a chance to tell her what to do. No man would break her heart again.
With her face set, Minerva stepped into her future.