TM: Describe the place where you grew up
Muse: Minerva McGonagall
Fandom: Harry Potter
Prompt: Describe the place where you grew up
Word Count: 593 words
Quin Village, County Clare, Ireland, had been built on the blood of the Macnamaras and the ruins of a Franciscan friary. On the road one passes the once celebrated mound of Magh Adhair where, under a great oak tree, the kings of Thomond were installed for centuries up to Elizabethan times.
It sounds good in the travel brochures. Muggles and Wizards share space in this tiny village, although that never makes it to Fodor's or Traveling Wizard Magazine. I grew up there, despite my Scottish name, because that's where we wound up. My father was a Scot, a Muggle, dirt poor but educated. My mother was a witch, and a fine one at that, originally from southern England.
It was a loving, but damned marriage, and only in Quin did my parents find a bit of peace from the ugliness their marriage caused. Only in Quin were they able to raise their daughters, six of us, in the carefully merged climate of Muggle and magic that Quin offered. No-one on the Muggle side talks of it openly, but there are always certain folk that are given a wide berth. Certain houses that have more than the usual folksy charm about them.
It's beautiful there, I know. None of my family remains now, and when I say I've gone home to visit, it is my Muggle relations in Scotland, and my sisters about the globe that I mean. Hestia and Persephone in England with their children and grandchildren. Aphrodite has passed on, but her children still maintained their home in Wales, and Athena and Artemis are sharing space in divorced happiness in Spain. Sophia, lords and lady, can be found anywhere from Iceland to Australia, and all points in between, as she works as a reporter for the World Wizarding News Network. I've even visited Demeter in America, in San Francisco, where her calling brought her. She's never pleased to see me, though; hates the questioning looks she gets when I arrive, as if no one ever saw a nun's sister before.
But once upon a time, we all lived together, back in that warm and wonderful home our parents built on love and not much else. Six daughters, all magical. Three animagi, well above the national average. Oh, and the things Father did! The charming, eclectic, brilliant man he was, with or without magic! Outside, on the village streets, we were not the richest or the most powerful. We didn't quite fit in with either Muggles or wizards, because of our half-breed status. Even among wizards without a cauldron to spit in, there's still that horrible blood arrogance.
But within those walls, oh, within those walls, we had miracles. Laughter, and music, and games. Love, so much love to fill the stomach when the stew was gone and there was no bread until payday. Daddy and Mum were thinner then; we knew they sacrificed to have us educated. But they never skimped on fun, even though it was of the home-made variety. I remember Daddy watching our Quidditch matches from the protection of the charmed yard. He loved to watch us girls zoom about, flying wild and a little bit recklessly as Mum called to us to be careful not to go out the charmed area.
Our father thought magic was brilliant. He thought Mum was brilliant. He thought we were the most charming little girls the gods had ever put on the face of the Earth. And because of that, I grew up in the most beautiful place in the world.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Prompt: Describe the place where you grew up
Word Count: 593 words
Quin Village, County Clare, Ireland, had been built on the blood of the Macnamaras and the ruins of a Franciscan friary. On the road one passes the once celebrated mound of Magh Adhair where, under a great oak tree, the kings of Thomond were installed for centuries up to Elizabethan times.
It sounds good in the travel brochures. Muggles and Wizards share space in this tiny village, although that never makes it to Fodor's or Traveling Wizard Magazine. I grew up there, despite my Scottish name, because that's where we wound up. My father was a Scot, a Muggle, dirt poor but educated. My mother was a witch, and a fine one at that, originally from southern England.
It was a loving, but damned marriage, and only in Quin did my parents find a bit of peace from the ugliness their marriage caused. Only in Quin were they able to raise their daughters, six of us, in the carefully merged climate of Muggle and magic that Quin offered. No-one on the Muggle side talks of it openly, but there are always certain folk that are given a wide berth. Certain houses that have more than the usual folksy charm about them.
It's beautiful there, I know. None of my family remains now, and when I say I've gone home to visit, it is my Muggle relations in Scotland, and my sisters about the globe that I mean. Hestia and Persephone in England with their children and grandchildren. Aphrodite has passed on, but her children still maintained their home in Wales, and Athena and Artemis are sharing space in divorced happiness in Spain. Sophia, lords and lady, can be found anywhere from Iceland to Australia, and all points in between, as she works as a reporter for the World Wizarding News Network. I've even visited Demeter in America, in San Francisco, where her calling brought her. She's never pleased to see me, though; hates the questioning looks she gets when I arrive, as if no one ever saw a nun's sister before.
But once upon a time, we all lived together, back in that warm and wonderful home our parents built on love and not much else. Six daughters, all magical. Three animagi, well above the national average. Oh, and the things Father did! The charming, eclectic, brilliant man he was, with or without magic! Outside, on the village streets, we were not the richest or the most powerful. We didn't quite fit in with either Muggles or wizards, because of our half-breed status. Even among wizards without a cauldron to spit in, there's still that horrible blood arrogance.
But within those walls, oh, within those walls, we had miracles. Laughter, and music, and games. Love, so much love to fill the stomach when the stew was gone and there was no bread until payday. Daddy and Mum were thinner then; we knew they sacrificed to have us educated. But they never skimped on fun, even though it was of the home-made variety. I remember Daddy watching our Quidditch matches from the protection of the charmed yard. He loved to watch us girls zoom about, flying wild and a little bit recklessly as Mum called to us to be careful not to go out the charmed area.
Our father thought magic was brilliant. He thought Mum was brilliant. He thought we were the most charming little girls the gods had ever put on the face of the Earth. And because of that, I grew up in the most beautiful place in the world.