AN: One last fic for 2011. For Lexi - Unsuspected. Happy New Year, everyone!
Changeable
She really should not be doing this.
But going the whole summer without magic? Unthinkable. Minerva can't stand even the thought of it. If she's going to do well in that Magical Law Enforcement job, she has to keep up on her spellwork.
"Avis," she whispers, giving her wand a slight twirl.
The birds flock around her head, sometimes stopping to rest on the roof of the barn. With another quick movement, a canary changes into a toucan – another flick, suddenly a purple bird is perched on a tree – and she can't imagine what her father would say if he came out and saw a peacock sitting in the grass behind the house—
A crunching sound.
She freezes, and then with a quickly whispered "Evanesco!" the birds vanish.
"Oh. Hello there," comes a male voice from up the path. Minerva looks up and sees a dark-haired boy, around her age, walking towards the McGonagall house with a bag of some sort slung over his back.
She hopes her "hello" doesn't sound too strange. Oh Merlin, if he sees her wand, she'll lose her job at the Ministry before she's even started.
"Are you the Reverend's daughter?" the boy asks.
"Yes. He's in the house; I can take you."
"Thank you, …"
"I'm Minerva McGonagall," she says, extending her hand. "And you are?"
He grins easily. "Dougal McGregor. Say, what was that thing you had earlier? I saw it when I was coming up the path… looked like a stick? Funny thing to be waving around."
Minerva is not one for profanity, but her thoughts right now would make a sailor blush.
"Oh, yes. It's – a friend gave it to me," she explains. "Training to become a carpenter, and he made this… Of course, you can't do much with it. But it looks nice, I suppose."
"Huh." Dougal McGregor stares at her wand. "Interesting."
"Well, you said you needed to talk to my father, didn't you? Come on, then. Hopefully he hasn't left yet."
….
Dougal comes with another delivery for her father. Minerva suspects—well, it's more like a very accurate assumption—he does not have to make these deliveries (mostly crops and seeds) quite so frequently. Her father has even commented on "that McGregor boy" coming around more often.
Not that Minerva minds.
….
He plays with a strand of grass as she reads.
"Minerva?"
"Hmm?" She doesn't look up from her book.
"What do you think about the future? Your future. And our future."
Minerva's hand freezes on the page. Slowly – giving herself time to think – she reaches for a piece of grass just like his and uses it as a bookmark.
"Well… I don't know, Dougal. The future is so changeable."
Her plans tell her that her future involves a job at the Ministry and a life in the city, correcting the injustices of the Wizarding world. In May she would have said that romance was not of immediate importance – she might meet someone through work and eventually fall in love.
But now… well, now her heart tells her that Dougal is her future.
He keeps toying with that piece of grass as he asks, "Do you want me in your future?"
Dougal McGregor makes her laugh. His smile is breathtaking, his kindness unending, his wit lightning-fast. She loves the way his hair is never neat and his eyes always shine.
"Yes."
….
"C'mon," he says. His hand slips down her arm, his fingers link with hers. "I've got something to show you."
Minerva purses her lips. "This had better not be another deformed stalk of wheat though—"
"Don't worry. It's not." Without waiting for a reply, Dougal strengthens his grip on her hand and drags her farther into the field, weaving in and out of rows. Completely unnecessary, Minerva thinks – there are perpendicular rows every twenty metres (she's counted), so that nobody has to step on the crops, which Dougal has just done now. He must be excited if he's willing to ruin a perfectly good –
"Minerva?"
He's panting now, walking so quickly that he's almost running, but she keeps pace with him. Quidditch has kept her in shape for the last six years. (She misses flying.)
"Dougal?"
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes." She pauses… "Why do you ask?"
And then, hand still attached to hers as if by a Sticking Ch—as if by paste, that is, he stops short and spins around to face her.
Minerva has one of those strange, unbelievable moments when you're aware of everything.
The sunlight – today is a rare sunny day – on his eyelashes and the way the light throws into shadow the small scars on his cheek. The barley stalks behind him, swaying to and fro calmly, aren't quite ready for harvest, maybe a few weeks more. His grin. Blue eyes staring into hers. A lock of black hair has slipped out of her bun and she brushes it into place.
"So, er… I was thinking…"
"You were thinking? Wow, this must be bad, if it's come to that."
He scratches the back of his head. He always does that when he's nervous.
And then suddenly he's looking up at her.
Oh, Merlin—
He's down on one knee.
….
When Minerva McGonagall comes home that day, she quickly bids goodnight to her mother and father and slips into her bedroom and sits right down on her bed, wondering about the future.
Soon, in just a few months – a wedding doesn't take very long to plan out here in the farmland, after all – she will be Minerva McGregor. Mrs. McGregor, the farmer's wife. Dougal might have let her keep her maiden name, but his parents – oh, no, his parents would throw them out on the streets at just the hint of such a scandal. A woman keeping her maiden name? Merlin – no, heaven forbid.
Yes, she could have such a nice little life on the farm. Growing and harvesting crops, raising buckets of Dougal's dark-haired, blue-eyed children, telling those children about the Wizarding world and keeping everything hidden from their father, locking away her wand, sending her children off to "boarding school"…
But she would be with Dougal for all of that – surely that is enough. Love conquers all – isn't that what Professor Dumbledore always says? Love, the most mysterious and wonderful and magical thing in the world. She could live for love.
She could live without one kind of magic in order to have another – right?
She glances up at the clock. Yes, it's late enough that her father will be asleep. Tiptoeing over to her dresser, she opens the tiny compartment (tiny only on the outside, of course – she's rather good at Undetectable Expansion Charms) and reveals her wand.
The fir feels warm between her fingers.
Magic practically hums throughout her now, refreshing her and making her feel like she's downed a whole quart of Butterbeer.
She thinks of the bright light of spells and her friends in Gryffindor. Her very own office someday – maybe even becoming Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had been planning to move into a small flat in London in September.
Can she give this up for Dougal McGregor?