A/N: This is the Seeker from Montrose Magpies writing for QLFC Round 2.

Prompt: Write about a character(s) that seems conniving and manipulative but aren't bad people

Thanks to my team for looking through it!

Word Count: 1096

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

Wrongly Placed Blame

After two mornings of not dragging his cart to the village market — not getting out of the room, even, really — his mother pulls him from the bed just as the first few rays of sun fall through his window and drags him out. For a diminutive woman, she has too much strength, though it's not as if Douglas protests too much. He is shoved into the bathroom, and he lets his body go through the everyday routine — shower, clothes, food — without letting his mind wander. Because that would mean sorrow, and Douglas knows he will collapse on the floor, too weak to stand again.

As he pushes his plate away, his mother shoos him out of the house, and his younger brother is waiting there already, the cart loaded of fresh produce and strapped to the horse already. The younger man grins at him, eyes squinting as the sun hits his face. "Mum got ya up?"

Douglas makes a noncommittal noise and walks over to pat his horse. Mounting over, he looks over his shoulder. "Let's get going."

It is too soon that they reach the marketplace, and Douglas lets the squabble of housewives bargaining good-naturedly, the shopkeepers calling out the prices, the general chaos, wash over him, not thinking about how he had met—

Douglas halts that stream of thought there, getting off his horse, and walks over to help his brother who is already busy setting up the stall.

Soon, he's too busy arguing prices, weighing the greens, packing, to think of anything. That all stops, though, when she walks past. Their gaze locks, and though Douglas knows his eyes must be filled with accusation and hurt, hers don't hold any remorse.

He wants to ask why. Why had she forced her daughter with him — for he knows that Minerva, sweet Minerva, isn't capable of hurting him the way she had. He knows it must surely have been the woman who has now averted her gaze and is walking past hurriedly. Isobel McGonagall.

He wonders then. Had Minerva ever even liked him? Had she just always pretended to, because her mother had pushed her? Was there someone else, who she had eloped for? Why had it been him that Mrs McGonagall had manipulated into falling in love with her wonderful daughter?

He remembers how, the first time she had brought Minerva to the marketplace, Isobel had introduced them, gently pushing her daughter ahead to let Douglas kiss her knuckles. How she'd had this mischievous gleam in her eye when after buying all that she needed, she had said Minerva wasn't used to grocery shopping, not used to picking all the things up, and that she herself was feeling a bit sick, so could Douglas drop them off to her house?

He was asked to stay for breakfast, despite saying he'd already eaten — "Oh we have some carrot cake leftover. You certainly cannot refuse cake?" — and then asked to come over for dinner someday because he had refused the breakfast. "Bring your mother, too, young man. It's been a long time since I last sat down with her."

Minerva had stayed silent then, a light blush dusting her cheeks. Had that been there because of being forced with a man she didn't want? Douglas doesn't know, and he isn't too keen to find out.

At dinner, they'd been told to go have a walk — "It is such a pleasant evening. Surely you don't want to listen to old ladies' rambles, anyway." His mother had cried out in mock outrage at being called old, that she hadn't even married off her sons yet, and the older women had laughed, as if sharing a joke the other two were not privy to.

The conversation had picked up, during the walk, even after the stilted start. And talking to the witty, intelligent girl, Douglas had found himself just a bit in love.

Had Minerva ever felt that? The lightest of flutters, the barest of warmth seeping through as she laughed? Or had she, with some other man?

Douglas doesn't know. He thinks not, because why then, would she send back a letter that he found sitting on the porch of his house, with the ring with the tiny diamond he had been slightly ashamed of. The ring that he had put on her the evening before, as they traced the path they had walked down the very first time. With a few words enough to shatter him: "I'm sorry Douglas, but I cannot do this."

He had hated her a bit then, he is ashamed to admit. But more than that, as soon as his mind cleared enough to connect the dots, he had hated Isobel for her scheming that left him — and Minerva, too, he thinks — hurt. He hates Isobel.

"Mother," Minerva said, her voice small, as she walked into the kitchen. She wasn't very close to the older woman, but she knew, if there was someone who could help her then, it was her. "How did get to know Dad?"

Isobel had looked up when she walked in, and at her question, she wiped her hands off her apron and smiled. "I knew I would fall in love with him as soon as I saw him. I had been visiting a Muggleborn friend, and she knew his brother. She helped. I don't think I could have done it without him." Her smile turned mischievous then. "Is there someone I should know about, young lady?"

Minerva ducked her head, cheeks ablaze. "Uh… yeah? I-I don't know how to approach him, though. Will you help?" She started as Isobel placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Of course, I will." And Minerva couldn't help but talk all about the hazel-eyed man whose quick wit and easy nature had drawn her in.

A choking sob escaped her, and Isobel looked up from where she had been knitting, sitting in the armchair. "Mother." The word came out in a broken voice, and Isobel got up, wrapping her in her arms.

"What's wrong?"

"I do-don't think I can do this. You-You gave up magic for Father, but it's… I… I can't. And… what if he doesn't accept, either?"

Her mother tried to talk her out of it, to change her mind, but Minerva was been resolute. In the end, Isobel gave in. "You know, whatever you do, I love you, even though I haven't been the best mother ever. Know this, though, that he will be left broken, too. God bless him."