A/N: It's been many years since I've written anything. This is really an exercise in "just write the fist thing that comes to mind, so long as you write". I apologise for my tone and rhythm, these will vary throughout the story as I try to find my "voice" again.
November 1945: Cottage of Ginevra Prewett
Ginevra poured a finger of firewhiskey into a tumbler and pushed it towards the woman sitting across the beaten and scarred table. She made a shooing motion at fifteen year-old Fabian, the eldest of her children, to take one year-old Molly upstairs. The children had been so excited to see their "cousin" Minerva for the first time in four years, but playing games was not what the tall, grim-looking witch was here for. She was here to grieve.
Grindlewald's war had left much of the wizarding world in ruins, including both the families McGonnagall and Borthwick. The former had been victims of a muggle air strike. The latter had been destroyed in the final hours of Grindelwald's defence - having been amongst his staunchest supporters. The only family Minerva McGonagall had left were her young brother Malcolm - the same age as Fabian - and the woman sitting in front of her.
Minerva herself had been claimed a hero. Fighting on the frontlines with no compunction, only steely determination and awe-inspiring power. No-one had been more valuable to the Allies, with exception of Albus Dumbledore. Already viewed with cautious admiration following her stellar academic career and immediate acceptance into leading universities and the Ministry, she was doing exactly as Ginevra and Isobel had hoped so many years ago. She was trailblazing for witches.
But the young woman here today, despite her ramrod-straight back and dry emerald green eyes, was showing every one of her emotional scars. The long, elegant hand that held the glass was trembling slightly, and the twist of her mouth told her mother's closest friend that she was moments from breaking down.
Ginevra shook her head sadly. She desperately missed Isobel. Even Robert and Robert Junior - although the son had been following in the footsteps of his father and turning out to be a right stick in the mud, as far as she was concerned. And here was Minerva, carrying not only the weight of her loss, the responsibility for her young brother, the expectations of the wizarding world, but had suddenly come into the inheritance of an entire pureblood estate - even though the poor girl had never so much laid eyes on a single member of the Borthwick family, other than her mother. Not even the maternal great-grandmother she'd been named for.
She held out her arms and the tall young woman stumbled up and around the table. Minerva fell to her knees and buried her head in the older woman's lap, sobbing like a small child as fingers carded soothingly through her ebony hair.
##
June 1970: The Burrow
Molly Weasley choked on her tea. "Uh, pardon?"
"Married, Molly." Minerva smiled indulgently. "It's about time I settled down, don't you think?"
"But, er…" Molly thought furiously. Minerva had never been told about the pale blue thread in her aura. Isobel, her mother had said, had wanted to wait until Minerva was eighteen, but had died before she'd had the chance to tell her, and Ginevra had never found the right opportunity either. Molly had always been intimidated by the tall, stern witch that her mother thought of as a niece. A war hero, the leading world authority on transfiguration, a political powerhouse that had campaigned successfully for the rights of women - and she'd been Minerva's student at Hogwarts, for Merlin's sake - how was she supposed to tell her that her impending nuptials were an exercise in futility?
"Congratulations are generally offered at this point," Minerva observed wryly. "Are you shocked because Amelia is a woman? It is the seventies, you know."
"N-no, of course not!" Molly defended, slightly outraged. "They got rid of that stupid law denying marriage to same-sex couples five years ago. Not that any such law should have existed in the first place!" She took a deep breath. "It's nothing like that at all. Amelia's a lovely woman."
"But?" Minerva put her teacup down and leaned forward a little, raising an eyebrow. "What is it, then? Is it about your mother's cottage? Because we're not going to live there - we're going to buy a house in Hogsmeade."
"My mother gave you that cottage, Minerva, and you may do with it as you please! It's not as though I or the boys will ever use it; for one, there's not nearly enough rooms for Arthur and I!" She patted her belly.
Minerva choked slightly. "Another one?"
"Number three!" Announced Molly proudly.
"Hopefully a girl this time! Ginevra will roll in her grave if after marrying Arthur AND taking his name, you have a gaggle of all boys!"
Molly laughed. "Wouldn't she? But we'll just be happy if it's healthy."
"And that was a lovely distraction, by the way. Why are you hesitant about my marrying Amelia Bones?" Minerva wielded the conversation with skilful precision right back to the topic at hand.
Molly sighed. Why had this all been left at her feet? "Do you love her?" She asked in a rush.
"What kind of question is that? Of course I do! I'm marrying the woman!" Minerva was rightfully indignant.
Molly gulped and bit the bullet. "Youhaveasoulmatethread."
Minerva eyes widened impossibly. "What?" Then she began to laugh. "Oh, Molly," she managed at last. "I can assure you, I do not have a soulmate. A lot of people have seen a lot of things in my aura, but never a soulmate thread!"
So Molly told her what their mothers had done. "It's still pale," she finished. "Whoever he is, he still hasn't been born yet."
Minerva looked at her in sheer disbelief for long moments before anger began to glint in her gaze.
"I… I'm forty-five years old!" She spluttered indignantly. "I'm getting married! How could… when were… why…" she stood. "You know what?" And she apparated with a crack; a whirl of black robes and furious green eyes.