"Our Father, which art in heaven,
Hallowed by thy name."

(Matthew 6:9 King James Version)

Many people would be shock if they saw the Lord's Prayer, on a tapestry, on her living room's wall. For she was not like the sort who would believe in something unseen, believe in a God that condemns witchcraft. And yet, that old handwoven tapestry has a place above her sofa.

"Thy Kingdom.
Thy will be done in earth,
As it is in heaven."

(Matthew 6:10, KJV)

So often she found herself quoting this verse. Quoting it when a classmate slurs her for her upbringing. Quoting it when an employer overlooks her academic achievements because of the smudge on her heritage. Quoting it when the news depicts a world of terror, of strife, and the type of news where mothers want to hold their babies forever. She quotes this verse for a variety of reasons, some she does not even know, but for one reason she knows: It is for her daddy.

"Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive them that trespasses against us."

(Matthew 6:11-12, KJV)

When she was a first year, freshly sorted, she wrote a letter to her daddy. She told him all about Hogwarts, her favorite classes, her house, her new friends, and even about the cute gray-eyed Slytherin boy in her year. The next day, at post, her face lit up when her owl swooped down with a letter from her daddy.

Promptly forgetting her orange marmalade-smeared toast and hot breakfast tea, she creased out the letter and read her daddy's neat cursive handwriting. Even to old age, his handwriting was still so neat and was more stereotypically feminine, something that always impressed his only daughter. She read his letter, her ear-to-ear grin falling as she masked her frown to be of a small smile. Her father made no mention of being proud, just that she would do good.

It was her first taste of her father's indifference of herself and she did not understand why. But it was the first time, she truly yearned for her father's approval.

Throughout her school career, she excelled academically, and all of her professors raved about her. She was among the best pupil, top of the class, and during winter and summer breaks she would return home. She would speak to her father, share jokes and stories but without a fail the moment would vanish leaving the daughter fatherless.

It was her fifth year. She was on the school grounds with her friends when a boy – that same, cute gray-eyed Slytherin – caused an altercation with her. She did not remember what the altercation was, for she and the boy often had several spats. But this particular one got nasty, hexes flew back and forth until the boy reverted to immature name-calling: "At least, I'm not a filthy half-blood" was what he had slurred.

The gray-eyed boy smirked and winked at her frozen look, before turning on his heels. She watched the Slytherin saunter away as her friends attempted to console her. Half-blood? Yes, she knew full well of her magical heritage. She knew that pureblood wizards and witches thought of people with a muggle heritage, such as herself, as below dirt. But never once, did she ever experience discrimination for being a half-blood.

The witch excused herself from her girlfriends, darting off inside and to a secret passageway. She kept running, her face white and before she knew it she was in an abandoned corridor. She hiccuped, leaned against the stone wall, and slid down the stone wall. Her bottom lip quivered, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She thought back to her father and his ill-treatment toward her. Was his indifference because of her blood status? She balled her fist, shaking her head. It could not be so, not her father – not her daddy! After all, he married her mother and he knows full well what her mother and she is. He simply could not disparage his only daughter or his wife because of something so silly like magic!

"I will make Daddy proud."

"And lead us not into temptation,
Deliver us from the evil one."

(Matthew 6:13a, KJV)

And she worked hard in her academics and extracurricular activities. She graduated, her father was in attendance, and he told her congratulations for pleasantries. She blinked back tears, feeling more fatherless than ever. So, she changed the conversation and felt more fathered.

She met a boy (not the gray-eyed Slytherin, for he grew up and married a respectable well-bred, pureblood witch) and fell in love. She was pledged to marry the boy but backed out after taking a good, hard look at her parents' marriage. She feared that this boy, the one whom her heart loved the most, would give her the same disapprovingly look her father had given to his own wife.

Decades after her father's death, the daughter worked tirelessly and worked for others. She believed her father was never truly proud, never truly loved her. She wanted someone to think highly of her, to love every part of her being like a father should to his little girl. She would pray and go through the actions, but each time it felt falsified. She settled on working for others, hoping it would dissolve her yearning for a father's love if someone else loved her.

And people did admire her; but alas, it was never enough.

"For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, For ever and ever. Amen."

(Matthew 6:13b, KJV)

Then a day that would live on in history, a day of victory, although at the time it was a dark and solemn day, she pulled out an old wooden memory box. She unclasped it, pulling a gold cross out. She pulled out an old wedding ring and looped it through the chain, wearing both jewelry around her neck for luck. Today was the day she was going to fight for magic, for the magic that she so dearly loves. The magic that her father hated but was the same magic that made her brothers, her mother, and she who she was. For the first time, the daughter smiled and at peace that her father and she had different views of magic.

Before she closed the box, she discovered a yellowing torn page of a journal. Curious, she opened it and was shocked to discover the impossibly neat, cursive writing of her father:

Lord, I am at a dilemma. I love my wife and children, but I made a grave mistake. All my life I've been taught one thing and I acted as such, acted on how I raised. Now the most important people in my life do not know how much I love them. My daughter is grown, and I hope she is truly happy in her field, she missed out on so much because of the same fears I had. Father, forgive me of my transgressions. In some ways, I hate magic but only because of the rift it caused between my family and myself. I pray to You that my little girl will know that I love her, that I always loved her. Amen.

She pocketed the letter, stored the memory box away, wiped away tears, and said a prayer (and this time, it felt so incredibly right):

"Lord, I am at a dilemma," quoted the daughter, standing by the door. "All my life, I assumed Daddy hated me for my magic and I fought so hard to make him love me – all of me! But he always loved me, just afraid and scared on how to deal with something new. Now I'm afraid..." Her hand reached for the brass knob, her heart thumping. "But I put my fears aside. I will not let fear govern me no longer. Daddy's love and Yours is sufficient. I taught students impressive magic, to pick up their wands and fight. I have achieved powerful transformation skills at a young age. I am Minerva McGonagall, the proud daughter of muggle reverend Robert and witch Isobel McGonagall, and I stand for muggles and magic."