House: Gryffindor

Position: Astronomy (stand-in)

Category: Drabble

Prompt: [First line] She opened the book and began to read; the storm was just beginning.

Word Count: 982

A/N: AU I envision this as happening about five to ten years after Minerva's failed engagement to Dougal McGregor, but prior to her romance and eventual marriage to Ephinstone Urquart. I am envisioning a time of sorrow and a turning point wherein Minerva could have chosen a more solitary path had her mother not intervened. However, I have no indication from JKR's universe that such a conversation or intervention was necessary, so I am listing this as AU.

Oddly, Minerva's birth year is not listed in the HP Wiki (only the date of 4 OCT); thankfully, her engagement to Dougal MacGregor is firmly listed as being the summer of 1954 when she was eighteen years of age, so I can feel confident in giving her one of the famed Agatha Christie Miss Marple novels to read in this one. This is also post the 1939 release of The Wizard of Oz movie, so all WWoW references should be safe.

Finally, it is common knowledge that Isobel Ross was a witch who married a Muggle and attempted to keep her magic secret. This created all sorts of problems within her marriage and family life, and, in canon, Minerva is greatly affected by this. Allusions to family turmoil in the McGonagall home are solely related to this canon.

Many thanks to Copper's Mama, Charlie9646 for beta love!

The Calm After the Storm

She opened the book and began to read; the storm was just beginning, and Minerva McGonnegal liked nothing better than to spend a cold, and blustery Scottish autumn day indoors with a good book. 'A new Miss Marple, nonetheless,' she thought as she unfolded her favorite tartan blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders. She had settled the tea cozy about the pot and transported it to the end table nearest her favourite reading chair, when a banging at the door disturbed her preparations.

The door flew open in a rush of leaves, wind and driving rain; and through it emerged Isobel Ross.

"Mother," Minerva drawled, none too pleased to see her maternal parent. "What brings you here in such a mess?"

"Can't I stop by for a visit with my eldest child without suspicion?" Isobel retorted.

Minerva rolled her eyes as she closed the door, warding it against the storm that was gearing up to be a gale of monstrous proportions. 'I should probably keep the Wicked Witch of the West comments to myself,' she thought with a smirk.

"So," she said as she whisked the water from her mother's dripping overcoat and proceeded towards the kitchen to set more water to boil. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Her mother propped herself up against the lintel as she busied herself about the small kitchen. "I, for one, have never been one for receiving advice," she began, "so let me acknowledge that I'm not much of a role model."

Minerva felt a flush rise to her cheeks. 'Oh, no. Here it comes.'

"I'm not fourteen anymore, mother," Minerva replied, hastily. "I don't need to call on you at every bump in the road."

"And I do appreciate that," Isobel replied, gliding herself onto a stool. "It's just that I didn't give you much of an example, did I?"

The kettle whistled, but the steam was coming from Minerva's ears, not the pot. "Mother, I am not discussing this," she managed through clenched teeth.

"You don't need to say anything," Isobel went on. "All I need you to do is listen."

"I believe you have said quite enough on the subject," Minerva hissed before crossing to the pantry and spending an extra long time rummaging therein. This was not the time for this conversation. As far as Minerva was concerned, she could never have this conversation with her mother and it would be too soon.

Finding the Lapsang Souchong that Isobel preferred, Minerva returned, pouring the hot water through the loose leaves to raise the wood smoke and pine odours she associated with tea times of her childhood. When she looked up, she saw Isobel sitting across the small wooden table with her eyes closed taking in the aromas as she herself had been.

"Now that is a tea for a stormy day," she said, a smile spreading on her face.

Minerva loudly rummaged about in another cabinet to find a suitable mug and slammed it harshly down on the butcher block, interrupting Isobel's reverie.

"Enough, Minerva," her mother responded with annoyance. "I get it. You aren't happy to see me," she said, gently waving her wand to levitate the mug and accompanying teapot before her towards the sitting room. "Too bad. I'm here and it's far too nasty out now to leave." She made her way out of the kitchen and Minerva had to bite back a snarky retort.

She took a moment to compose herself before she, too, proceeded back into the living area. By the time she entered, Isobel had situated herself on the small sofa facing the fireplace, having pulled her stocking feet up beneath her skirts and burrowing down into the cushions, her mug in hand. She crossed the room and assumed her previous position, even going so far as to take up her book again.

"This is nice," her mother murmured.

"It was."

"It still is," Isobel smiled, sadly. She seemed to straighten in her seat before she continued. "You are letting yourself down, and that cannot go on without me speaking up, loathe as you are to hear it. It is my duty, as your mother."

'Dougal. Would it forever be about Dougal? And father? And lies? And magic? And Muggles. And love.' Minerva rarely stopped to take stock of how complicated it had all become. How influenced she had been by her parents' marriage woes.

Minerva peaked over the top edge of her book at Isobel, but the older woman was staring off into the distance. "I have put so much on your shoulders when I didn't realize," she said, quietly. "I'm afraid it has made you hard."

Minerva placed her book in her lap. "I don't understand."

"Yes, of course not. And I'm sorry for that, too." She shook her head. "You remind me so much of myself; I talk to you as if I were talking to myself." Isobel closed her eyes. "Take your time, but don't be independent for the sake of proving a point," she said. "Don't hide in your books and your studies because of fear."

"I—"

"I know," Isobel said, looking directly at Minerva. "Just take it from me," she winked, "love is worth it. And it always finds a way."

The older woman stood up and straightened her robes, walking the few steps it took to approach the picture window. "Ah, looks like it will be a beautiful sunset," she said.

Minerva rose as well, astonished to see that the storm had already cleared. "Odd..."

"Sometimes the most beautiful skies are the ones we see after the storm." Isobel reached out and took her daughter's hand, squeezing it gently. "But we have to look up to see them," she said, turning her face to look at her daughter. "Don't let heartache keep you from the beauty of life, Minerva."

"I'll try."

"That's all I would ask."