A/N: This fic was written by me as a Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 4. This story is one that I'm really proud of, so I decided that the newly-edited version (which, because of my amazing team, was only a tense error that somehow skipped their notice) deserved to have its own place rather than remain a part of a collection. I wrote for the prompt The McGonagalls. I thank my old team for the beta work they did when I first wrote this.

Also, you might say the letters from younger Minerva have been edited a bit because I didn't want to make intentional misspells.

Word Count: 2487 (+4 for the title)

Disclaimer: I have no intentions of making money from this story, so all the recognisable stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling.

From Minerva to Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmother,

Mum told me today that she named me after you. She doesn't talk about you much, but I know that I would have liked to meet you. Mum says you're in heaven, and I can't send letters to you; I don't know if she's lying — she does that sometimes — but I wouldn't have been able to send them to you anyway because I don't have an owl. Dad doesn't like them.

Oh, how rude of me; I should have introduced myself first! I'm Minerva McGonagall, the only daughter of your youngest granddaughter Isobel. I'm eight.

What's heaven like? (I know you can't send me a reply, even if you can read this, but it doesn't hurt to ask.) Mum told me it's a nice place where you're happy forever. I think I'd like to visit one day; it sounds fun.

I have to blow the candle out and go to bed now, but I hope you get to read this soon.

I do hope to hear from you somehow,

Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmum,

How are you? I would have said I'm okay, but I am feeling very sad today. Robert summoned his picture book from a shelf he couldn't reach, and Dad stood up, frowning, and stormed out of the room. I've never seen him like that before — doesn't he like magic?

Wait, do you know Robert? He's my little brother — he's four years old. I have a second brother, Malcolm, but he is too little to even stand up.

I don't have a lot of time before school, so I'll end this letter here.

Love,

Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmum,

I feel that I write to you only when I'm sad, except for the very first letter I wrote to you, but today was a very bad day. Dad didn't come home last night, and Mum was crying. I asked where he was one time too many, I think. I really did not want to know that Dad doesn't like me — us, actually — just because we can do magic. Is that a bad thing, really? Did your Dad not like that, either?

I know I won't ever get a reply, but I would have really liked if you could have written back to me just this once.

Love,

Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmum,

I've moved on from accidental magic, and I can even make some things happen when I want them to now! I know it is a proud moment, and Mum told me that I might become a strong witch (when Father wasn't home to hear), but she didn't seem to be too happy.

I haven't been able to write to you for the past few months, but that's because I have been busy trying to conceal, with Mum's help, Malcolm and Robert's accidental magic from Father. He seems to be back to normal now, but I know what he really thinks.

Also, I got to hear Mum's tale. She didn't tell Father she was a witch until I started doing magic — can you believe it? I don't understand much of Father's hatred, but I think what Mum did was not right. I hope she knows I, for one, won't give up magic for Father, or anyone else, for that matter. I can feel it alive inside of me (the magic), and I wouldn't — will never, actually — trade it for anything else.

Love,

Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmum,

I got my Hogwarts letter today! I would have danced around the room all day, but Father's going to be home soon, and Robert still can't control his accidental magic too well — Mum's ill, so I'll have to cover it all up alone.

I know it was your alma mater, along with Mum's. What's it like? Mum doesn't like to talk about Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley — where I have to purchase all my things from, by the way, though I think you must already know that — but I would have loved it if she could share her stories from her Hogwarts days with me. Oh well.

Though, I do know a few things. I found this book in the attic some weeks back titled Hogwarts: A History. It is a very old edition, but it was really interesting, and I would really like to buy the newest version — I'm already saving my pocket money for that, but don't tell anyone. The book says there are four houses at the school. I don't know which one I will be in, but I'm not too cunning — Malcolm always manages to cheat when we play cards (Muggle ones because Mum and Father won't allow the magical ones in the house) — and I can't say I'm too loyal, either. There are some things I wouldn't give up for anyone else.

I do like to read, so I might get Ravenclaw. Gryffindor — I don't know if I'm brave enough, though Robert always calls for me if there's a spider in the room. Does that count? Probably not.

Wow, that was one long letter, and I hope you didn't get too bored listening to an eleven-year-old's musings.

Love,

Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmother,

I got sorted at last! It was a hatstall — I just couldn't not argue with the hat once it slipped in that there was a possibility for me to go into the house Albus Dumbledore belonged to — and after a long conversation, I won! The other option was Ravenclaw, but they didn't look too inviting to me. Besides, I heard Mum belonged to Ravenclaw, and I'm wanting to stay away from the path she followed.

I think my current annoyance at Mum is pretty obvious, but this is a happy occasion (Gryffindor! I've pinched myself enough times already), and I want to keep this letter in the same happy tone.

Which house were you in? Mum never told me.

Well, the chances are that it wasn't Gryffindor since it's only one house and there are three other options. So I'll describe it to you as if it wasn't, alright? If you were, feel free to skip it or think about your own memories instead or whatever.

The common room is very cosy and warm. It is decorated in red and gold and has a huge fireplace and lots of armchairs. I think it would be the perfect place to fall asleep reading… well, apart from all the noise. I guess I will get used to that, though.

I didn't talk to other people much besides them asking why it took me so long to get sorted. The curfew's later than the bedtime was at home. I have a feeling my extra time before bed will be spent studying soon after the classes begin. It's so weird to be able to talk about magic openly now. Back home, I always had to look around to double check that Father wasn't home before even saying the word. Here, it's just… normal.

I think the last helping of pudding was a bit too much — it has made my head go all woozy. I'll be off now!

Love,

Minerva

Dear Great-Grandmother,

It has been, what, five years since I last wrote to you about my sorting? It might seem like a flimsy excuse, but between classes at Hogwarts and dealing with Mother and Father whilst pretending I don't spend nine months of the year learning magic, I haven't had enough time to do anything for myself.

Is it obvious that I am bitter?

Because I am. Mother is more jealous than happy every time I achieve something in the world she willingly gave up. I think she could have tried to be a bit more supportive when I got my Prefect badge. She said congratulations, but it was obvious that she didn't mean it, and she changed the subject almost immediately.

I think I could tolerate her envy if it were just me, but Robert's due to start at Hogwarts this coming September, and it's hurting him, too. He was so excited when he got the letter, jumping around to show it to everyone. He ended up in tears when Father just grunted and Mother looked the other way. She later asked me to take him along to Diagon Alley with me when I go in with Abigail.

I don't think you know Abigail. She's my best friend, and sometimes it is just her letters that keep me sane during the holidays, even though I'm envious that her Muggle parents are more supportive of magic than my witch mother is. I only met her parents once, but they both asked me all sorts of questions about what I'm studying and what they do differently in the wizarding world. And they were actually interested in my answers. What would it be like to grow up with that all the time?

Wow, this is quickly turning into another depressing ramble. I'll spare you the musings of an annoyed sixteen-year-old.

Sincerely,

Minerva

Great-Grandmother Minerva,

Yet again, I haven't written to you in a long time. I feel guilty, but the truth is, I had forgotten all about these letters until I stumbled upon them today.

Anyway, this one is not going to be long, but I need to confess to someone that I am in love! His name is Dougal. We met at the marketplace when I was buying groceries; his father's a farmer, so Dougal often takes produce to the market to sell for him. He was funny and quick-witted, and his eyes were the most peculiar shade of hazel. I couldn't stop thinking about him for the rest of the day! The next weekend, I went back just before the markets closed so I could stay and talk to him afterwards. I didn't think anything would come of it — honestly, I was just hoping that he would say something foolish so I wouldn't see him as some perfect figure and would be able to get back to my work. Instead, I just ended up falling for him even more. He has his faults, but he really is one of the most intelligent and interesting people I have ever met.

We've had a few talks while walking together around the village since then, and last night, he asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course. I didn't even have to think about it.

But I haven't told Mother and Father about it yet. It's still too new and precious to share with them — especially since I don't know how they will react when they find out.

You see, Dougal is a Muggle. From my previous letters, I'm sure you know why that won't go over well with either of my parents. Truth be told… they might be right. I don't think I can have both him and magic in my life, not after seeing how it tore apart Mother and Father's marriage. And I can't tell him about magic before the wedding, either; if I tried, the Ministry would Obliviate him. He would probably remember me, but only as a passing fling that didn't work out.

I… I think being magical doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. Most people get on well enough without it.

I have to go!

Sincerely,

Minerva

As Minerva folded up the most recent letter to her namesake, she looked at the stack of old, unopened letters. How much she had changed since she started writing them. Feeling curious about her own self as a child, she pulled out the first letter and spread it out across her lap. As her eyes skimmed the spindly-looking words of her eight-year-old self, she couldn't help but laugh at her silliness.

Those were good times, Minerva mused as she moved on to the next letter, her eyes taking in the words. A frown formed on her face as she remembered her father's reaction on the day Robert performed magic for the first time.

She moved on to the next letter. That had been a bad day; she had learnt her father valued his ideals from Church more than he did his family.

Not wanting to give it too much of a thought, she moved to open the next letter. She remembered the follies of childhood, where every little thing looked like it would be the end of the world, until the problems faded away, forgotten in favour of the next 'big' (small) issue.

She was sure that the next letter would be happier.

I hope she knows I, for one, won't give up magic for Father, or anyone else, for that matter. I can feel it alive inside of me (the magic), and I wouldn't — will never, actually — trade it for anything else.

Minerva read and re-read that line until the words blurred together. She had said that, hadn't she? And now she was making the same mistake her mother had made by agreeing to marry a Muggle. She was sure that Dougal would never react the way her father had — but then her mind argued that her mother had truly believed that about Father as well. Minerva had no counter for that.

What had she been thinking the previous night? How had she forgotten all that she and her brothers had lived through when they were children in the haze of love?

She loved Dougal, she did, but she couldn't know for certain how he would react to the news. She would have to either tell him after the wedding and risk his hatred and disgust or quit her job and stow her wand away for good. She wasn't sure if she could — not after reading the letter. And even if she were willing to make that sacrifice, what would happen if one of their children one day exhibited magic? Her life and that of her family would go down the same spiral she had hated so much and had fought to escape as a child.

No, Minerva could not do this. She closed her eyes, letting the tears escape, and resolved to tell Dougal that very day that although she loved him very much, they were not meant to be.

She tried not to think about how that would break both hers and Dougal's hearts.

With shaky hands, she reopened the most recent letter and added:

P.S. Thank you so much for listening to me ramble over all of these years. Your help has truly been invaluable. However, I suspect that this may be the last time I write to you. It's time for me to move on. I cannot force the life that Robert and Malcolm and I lived upon any children I could have had with Dougal. I will depart from the village by dawn tomorrow, leaving Mother, Father, Robert and Malcolm — and Dougal — behind.