Disclaimer: Despite wishing on multiple eyelashes, I do not own Harry Potter.
Written for the QLFC Round 4: Getting Those Feelings Out
Position: Chaser 2, Harpies
Prompts:
Emotion - Lonely
7 (word) tranquil
11 (restriction) no dialogue
13 (word) icicle
Word Count: 1,681
I really enjoyed exploring McGonagall's past, it's something we know little about so it was fun to write about. A huge thank you to Lizzie (TheNextFolchart) for doing an absolutely fantastic job of beta'ing this! Enjoy :)
Somewhere in London, there was a statue of Achilles. Although Minerva hadn't learnt about any muggle mythology during her time at Hogwarts, growing up in their isolated house in the Scottish Highlands meant she had been bought up hearing her father retell stories and myths and legends, often set to the soundtrack of storms and howling winds as icicles formed outside the widows. There were none of his stories by the statue here; its worn metal glowed in the summer sun, while tourists read about the hero's epic tale, which had been summarised to three lines on a small plaque.
If you went past the statue, down a road called Church Street (which resembled a cold dark alley more than it did a street) and, turned left and then left again, you'd reach Highland Drive. At the end of the road, was a crumbling house, with a broken gate and tiles missing from the roof. In the basement flat, on a second hand bed, laid a young woman, who spent her days staring up at the damp on the ceiling of the room of the house on the road that was called Highland Drive but was a million miles from the highlands she called home.
The four walls that surrounded Minerva were covered in greying and peeling paper. A single candle gave the room a dingy glow from its place atop the sea of boxes, which had remained untouched for the past three days. Tomorrow these walls would become the home of the respectable Ministry employee that she was to become. But until then, this place housed only a broken heart and the shell of the woman who was sometimes a cat because cats couldn't cry and it was often easier like that.
It was quiet and tranquil in that house, and that was something unlike home. In the highlands her brothers were constantly causing mischief, which she and her mother had worked to hide from her poor father. He may have accepted that he had married a witch, but even from a young age Minerva had recognised the fear that flashed through his eyes whenever something out of the ordinary happened. She'd found the calmness of London reassuring at first, but she missed the company of people — even if those people were her permanently hyper brothers, her on-edge father, and her mother, who walked around as if constantly about to break into tears. Because without the distractions of her dysfunctional family, Minerva had no choice but to think, and the more she thought, the more her mind went to him.
Minerva wiped a tear out of her eye and waved goodbye to her friends as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station. She walked back to the village and met her mother for the last time,; they lived too close to the castle for it to be worth catching the train. She wondered when she'd see this village again —after this summer she'd be moving to London to begin her job at the Ministry. She'd be dining in restaurants and sleeping in her flat in Diagon Alley, and she couldn't wait for September to arrive so she could begin her new life.
She and her mother apparated back to the house, arriving in the kitchen. There were voices outside the front door, and when Minerva went to investigate she found herself face- to- face with a grinning young man. A lock of blond hair had escaped from under his flat cap, and his grin became even wider when he saw her; she found herself wishing she had freshened up before she'd come to the door. He passed her father a box of eggs with one hand, and pocketed the money he received with the other, and then with a tip of his hat to her, he left. She thought she heard her father welcome her home and tell her they'd started buying eggs from the local farm, but she was too busy trying to work out what time she'd have to casually happen by the door to collect tomorrow's eggs.
Each time he came to the house they would stay by the door for longer and longer. She sometimes found herself not even listening to what he was saying, just watching his lips move and his eyes sparkle like The Great Lake in the height of summer. After a week, he timidly enquired as to whether she'd like to visit the farm with him the next day, assuring her that he would walk her back when he bought the eggs. Trying to contain her excitement, she agreed, and he left with a grin bigger than she thought was possible - even for him.
The next day he knocked nervously at the door, and Minerva hesitated a moment before answering so he wouldn't realise that she'd been waiting on the other side for the past hour or so. He took her hand, her stomach fluttered, and they set off. He led her to a field of thick green grass that felt like the softest rug under her feet. She saw a picnic blanket under a tree, and sure enough, they sat down there and spent hours talking about anything and everything that came to mind. When he finally walked her back to her house, he promised her that they would do it again sometime, and kissed her cheek lightly before leaving. She positively skipped upstairs, and collapsed on her bed before letting out a groan and wondering what had happened to the sensible girl who had just graduated from Hogwarts.
From then on, they met up every day. Whether it was a walk to the village, a stroll along the river, or just lying in a field, the two were never apart. They filled their hours with laughter and debates and sharing their lives with one another — or, in Minerva's case, part of her life. Minerva couldn't bring herself to tell him about Hogwarts, or her interests, or magic. She hated lying to him, but she couldn't bear to ruin everything –. She'd surely lose her job if he found out, but worse than that, she'd lose the young man she knew she had fallen in love with. So instead she kept quiet, invented a past for herself about some boarding school in the south of England and her job in a normal office in London, and ignored the nagging voice that told her she was setting herself up for a life just like her mother's.
A week before she was due to leave for London, they met as usual at her house. They walked, and she soon recognised the field in which they'd had their picnic—not so long ago, but it felt like years had passed since that first day. The greenery was gone, as it had been recently ploughed, but there was still a patch of grass under the tree big enough to sit on.
Or kneel on. On one knee.
Minerva stood there stunned as he poured his heart out about how he couldn't let her leave for London without him, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and that he was completely and utterly in love with her. When he finally asked and she accepted, he leapt to his feet and spun her round, and she had never felt happier.
Back in the flat in London, Minerva lay on her decidedly uncomfortable bed, unable to sleep. After he had dropped her home, still elated, she hadn't told her mother. Years earlier, when Minerva was still a carefree child, she had been exploring her mother's closet when she'd come across a box. It was locked, but when she'd wished hard enough it had opened for her. Inside she'd found a broken stick; disappointed, she had tossed it aside and continued exploring. It wasn't until she went to Ollivander's that the memory had resurfaced and the realisation had hit - not only about what she had found, but about what her mother had sacrificed to be with man she loved. And how it had broken her heart.
She remembered how from then on she'd hidden her magic from her mother as much as possible in order not to upset her any more. But it was useless. Minerva had always known her mother was sad, but breaking her wand had broken something inside of her. The cloud of love had cleared from Minerva's mind just long enough for the nagging voice to be heard, and she had realized she couldn't put herself through what her mother had been through.
After lying awake all night she'd gotten up to see him and tell him that she couldn't marry him. She couldn't tell him why — couldn't bring herself to reveal all the lies she'd told him. So she'd turned away, not quite quickly enough to miss his face shatter, and ran home. She'd locked herself in her room and packed her things, and left for a hurriedly found flat in London as soon as possible.
His face was constantly on her mind. Most often it was the broken look, his eyes reflecting the heart that was breaking. That look she could cope with; eventually he would forget her and find another girl to mend his heart. But it was when she saw his face grinning that it hit her how much she missed him, just how hollow she felt without him. They'd spent every day together, and now suddenly she had no one there to talk to, to laugh with, to hold, to make her feel protected and loved. She wondered if her voice would even work tomorrow on her first day at the Ministry. She found she didn't care. She didn't want to speak to anyone - at least, not anyone but him.
And so it was that in a dark little flat in London, not far from a statue of Achilles, that Minerva McGonagall realized she had not one Achilles Heel, but two: while she knew she couldn't live with Dougal, she couldn't live without him, either.