Lies
By: epiphanies AKA MarkEvans formerly known as Emma
One-shot Minerva based fic. My first real teacher fic. Humour/Tragedy (strange combination!)
Minerva McGonagall had never been one for facades.
She didn't believe in hiding facts and making excuses.
In fact, she hadn't told a lie in over fifty years, which is a rather remarkable achievement if she did say so herself.
The last lie she had uttered, she had been seventeen. Those words, that lie, had ruined her.
It would be easy to believe that Minerva McGonagall had always been her current age, seventy-six. It would be easy to accept that she had been born with the lines that creased her face, or even beyond that, that she had never been born at all. That she had always just been there, an everlasting presence that would never and had never ceased.
But if she told you this, it would be a lie, and Minerva McGonagall had not lied in over fifty years.
On the last night of summer, Ron Weasley yawned. He and Harry sat, side by side at the bonfire cracking merrily out in the back yard of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
Originally it had been a great shindig, with every member of the Order, sitting out back, roasting marshmallows and laughing over the comics in the Daily Prophet. ("They have some people that belong in the Order up at the Prophet," joked Remus Lupin, "if they know how to make us laugh at Fudge a different way every Tuesday!")
Know that, however, not every day that first summer without Sirius was a happy-go-lucky-bonfire-party. No, this had been one of the few nights that everybody had forgotten about the sorry demise of their dear friend - in other words, it had been a regular depressing day until the grown-ups said "Let's get drunk!"
Most of the Order had either passed out or stumbled inside by this point in the evening. Only Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were still out at the bonfire, and, to Ron's slight but quiet disappointment, still completely sober.
"All right, this is getting boring," complained Ginny, "Think of something to talk about or I'm going in to help Mum keep her hair out of the toilet."
Hermione's face was usually blank, but before anyone could call her on it, her eyes sparkled and they lost their chance.
"Uh oh," Ron groaned at Hermione, exchanging a look with Harry, "I am -not- giving Kreacher a complimentary massage!"
Hermione frowned at him, "Shut up, Ron. No, I have an idea. It's a sort of game-"
Harry and Ron shuddered instantaneously.
"-but it's really fun," Hermione said loudly, "Where one person names two people and you have to pick which one you'd sleep with."
The three others merely stared at Hermione.
Ginny fidgeted, "You don't actually have to sleep with them, do you? Because, if they're gross-"
"GINNY! WHO CARES if they're GROSS? You're FIFTEEN! No sleeping for you EVER, do you under-"
"No, guys, no! You don't have to sleep with them!" Hermione explained hurriedly as Ginny pried Ron's fingernails from her arm, "It's just a silly sort of thing...who would you, if you had to, you know?"
Harry smirked suddenly.
"Can I ask first?" he said. Too innocently.
Hermione nodded.
He grinned at her.
"Hermione...Neville or Colin Creevey?"
Hermione's eyebrows heightened considerably, "Well...Neville."
"Neville!" shouted Ron over Harry's laughter, looking scandalised, "Why?"
Hermione shrugged, "He's nice. Plus, I wouldn't have to be worried about him having a weird fetish with nude photography or anything."
Ron had looked angry up until the mention of nude photography. He would hope that nobody would see the glazed over look in his eyes.
"Well," Hermione said sportingly, "Ginny?"
Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Snape or Flitwick?"
Ron snapped immediately back to life as Harry's jaw dropped and Ginny sent Hermione the death glare, who only smiled sweetly back.
"Convent."
"Not fair, Ginny. You have to choose one."
"Fine then. Snape."
"WHAT?!?!" shouted Harry and Ron, and Ginny went red in the face, "Flitwick is too small! It's not my fault that people even smaller than I am creep me out!"
Harry and Ron just stared at her as she clapped her hands together.
"For Harry and Ron... Umbridge or McGonagall."
"NOOOOOO!" screamed Ron, falling off of his chair as Harry clutched his eyes, as if they were burning.
Hermione gave Ginny a hearty wink, "Answer, boys."
They trembled, before whispering in unison, "McGonagall."
Then, they went back to themselves, trying to rid their perverse minds of those *shudder* images....
Minerva McGonagall clicked down the corridor to her private quarters, humming tunelessly, for the corridor was empty, and she was -tired-.
Four classes today, two of which being first years, can tire a woman out better than the words "I have a headache" can anger a man.
Speaking of a man, one appeared at the end of the corridor, allowing Minerva to cease her humming and put on her business face.
"Minerva, have you been here all summer long again?" the man stepped out of the shadows and she sighed.
"Victor, you know perfectly well that I stay throughout all of the holidays."
"But why?" the professor of Arithmancy said plainly as Minerva tapped her heavy door twice with her wand. It swung open.
"Because I have business here, Victor."
"What business?"
Minerva looked him straight into his fudge-brown eyes and said, "Business that is none of yours."
"Minerva, you cannot just shut me out of your life." Professor Vector sighed, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"What I choose to do with my life is entirely my choice, Victor. Just because we had one fling last year doesn't give you the right to assume I will always be there for you, and you I. We had both been in bad places. I had been foolishly dwelling on memories of my past, and you had separated from your wife."
"We are together again, Minerva. She took me back." he said softly.
Only, Minerva was pleased to discover that she didn't care.
"Victor, that is a lovely accomplishment and I am very proud of you. So why is it that you aren't with Cleantha right now?"
Victor eyed her, "I wanted to speak to you. I am doing well again, but I am afraid that I cannot say that same for you."
Minerva felt a wave of fury wash over her, "How presumptuous you have become, Victor, assuming that you know my mind after one night of solace!"
"I do not claim to know you, Minerva," Victor said gently, reaching to touch her arm. She snatched herself away and stepped into her quarters.
"I want only to help you!" he said louder as she closed the door behind her.
She could feel her nostrils flaring.
Her obviously did not understand.
For Minerva McGonagall, no matter how tough her exterior, was truly an old softie who indeed did cry on the occasions that tempted her.
Still, on every occasion like this one, she would think, she would cry a bit, she would sip her tea, and she would reflect.
Had she lied this evening?
She smiled as she realized that no, sadly enough, no matter how much she wished that she -had- been lying, she hadn't been. She didn't want Victor, or anybody. She enjoyed her solitude. It was true.
She hadn't told a lie in over fifty years.