FICATHON: "Ofnadwy" (Helga Hufflepuff/Minerva McGonagall)
Title: Ofnadwy
Pairing: Helga Hufflepuff/Minerva McGonagall
Rating: PG
Word Count: 650
Summary: At Hogwarts, the ghost of Helga Hufflepuff feels things just as deeply as she did when she was alive.
Author's Notes: Dear mods, thanks for running this enjoyable fest. The pairings were quite a challenge, which is what makes it fun.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ofnadwy
That is the word we Welsh would use: it means dreadful, terrible, abysmal.
And verily, Minerva McGonagall would have made a dreadful member of Hufflepuff House. Ofnadwy.
It is a question I ask about all those who have come after me as the caretakers and leaders of my beloved Hogwarts: how would they have fared in the House of Helga Hufflepuff -- my House? How would they have borne my name?
Though I would fain say otherwise of Minerva, I must be truthful and repeat: as a Hufflepuff, she would be ofnadwy.
Oh, 'twould not be her loyalty that would be in question -- nay, in that regard, Minerva is Hufflepuff to her core, for a more loyal, steadfast lass has rarely lived. The causes to which she commits herself, the people whom she loves, those Gryffindor plant (that is to say, children) to whom she has pledged her care -- to them, Minerva's loyalty is as certain as the rain and the sun and the stars.
Nor would the problem be her quick temper (though if I were to reveal my ghostly form to her and speak, I might counsel her to find a way, every now and then, to dampen her flares). Restraint is good, but Hufflepuffs are not opposed to necessary anger. I would not have you think that we are all placid or docile in temperament, even though Rowena Ravenclaw used to tease me thus. But she jested merely, for truly she knew that a badger well-roused has few equals in righteous rage.
So Minerva may spark like a strike from flint, but such heat would not unfit her for my House. No.
'Tis in the realm of patience that she would fail. She has not that serenity of soul, that forbearing tolerance that marks my namesakes. It is fair to say that sometimes Minerva is as impatient as the Devil himself, and sharp of tongue withal.
It is not the way of the Hufflepuff (though often it is entertaining to watch).
Thus fully do I understand why the Sorting Hat, as it sat on Minerva's childish head, bypassed my House. The Hat would certainly have seen the Hufflepuff virtues within her -- she is loyal, hardworking, dedicated -- but it considered only Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for her. And justly so, for my dear girl is brave as Godric and has as measureless a wit as Rowena could ever have dreamt of.
Yes, you heard me a-right. Minerva may not be a Hufflepuff, but she is my dear girl nonetheless.
She has never seen me outside a portrait, does not know -- indeed, no one at Hogwarts save the Fat Friar knows -- that my spirit remains fully in the Castle, ever watchful, ever protective.
Minerva does not know that I have come to love her as I loved Rowena: from afar, yet deeply, wanting her mind and her body with a wantonness that some would call "wicked" but that I know to be real and pure.
I never lay with Rowena in the pleasures of a marriage bed; I never felt the heat of her body against mine, never saw her face flush with desire for me. Yet she loved me, in her way.
I see my Rowena in my Minerva. Rowena was fair of face, beautiful as Minerva is not, but otherwise, they are near the same. Black hair, pale skin, movements like quicksilver. Like Rowena, Minerva's brilliance blazes from her eyes, and like Rowena, she be fierce.
She does not love me, of course, for she knows me not, but she loves Hogwarts, and teaching, and all those who hold magic within them, whatever their origins. It is enough.
So I watch her and look out for her, and feel myself to be blessed.
My Minerva. Wit without measure.
My greatest treasure.
Even if she'd be an ofnadwy Hufflepuff.
Pairing: Helga Hufflepuff/Minerva McGonagall
Rating: PG
Word Count: 650
Summary: At Hogwarts, the ghost of Helga Hufflepuff feels things just as deeply as she did when she was alive.
Author's Notes: Dear mods, thanks for running this enjoyable fest. The pairings were quite a challenge, which is what makes it fun.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ofnadwy
That is the word we Welsh would use: it means dreadful, terrible, abysmal.
And verily, Minerva McGonagall would have made a dreadful member of Hufflepuff House. Ofnadwy.
It is a question I ask about all those who have come after me as the caretakers and leaders of my beloved Hogwarts: how would they have fared in the House of Helga Hufflepuff -- my House? How would they have borne my name?
Though I would fain say otherwise of Minerva, I must be truthful and repeat: as a Hufflepuff, she would be ofnadwy.
Oh, 'twould not be her loyalty that would be in question -- nay, in that regard, Minerva is Hufflepuff to her core, for a more loyal, steadfast lass has rarely lived. The causes to which she commits herself, the people whom she loves, those Gryffindor plant (that is to say, children) to whom she has pledged her care -- to them, Minerva's loyalty is as certain as the rain and the sun and the stars.
Nor would the problem be her quick temper (though if I were to reveal my ghostly form to her and speak, I might counsel her to find a way, every now and then, to dampen her flares). Restraint is good, but Hufflepuffs are not opposed to necessary anger. I would not have you think that we are all placid or docile in temperament, even though Rowena Ravenclaw used to tease me thus. But she jested merely, for truly she knew that a badger well-roused has few equals in righteous rage.
So Minerva may spark like a strike from flint, but such heat would not unfit her for my House. No.
'Tis in the realm of patience that she would fail. She has not that serenity of soul, that forbearing tolerance that marks my namesakes. It is fair to say that sometimes Minerva is as impatient as the Devil himself, and sharp of tongue withal.
It is not the way of the Hufflepuff (though often it is entertaining to watch).
Thus fully do I understand why the Sorting Hat, as it sat on Minerva's childish head, bypassed my House. The Hat would certainly have seen the Hufflepuff virtues within her -- she is loyal, hardworking, dedicated -- but it considered only Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for her. And justly so, for my dear girl is brave as Godric and has as measureless a wit as Rowena could ever have dreamt of.
Yes, you heard me a-right. Minerva may not be a Hufflepuff, but she is my dear girl nonetheless.
She has never seen me outside a portrait, does not know -- indeed, no one at Hogwarts save the Fat Friar knows -- that my spirit remains fully in the Castle, ever watchful, ever protective.
Minerva does not know that I have come to love her as I loved Rowena: from afar, yet deeply, wanting her mind and her body with a wantonness that some would call "wicked" but that I know to be real and pure.
I never lay with Rowena in the pleasures of a marriage bed; I never felt the heat of her body against mine, never saw her face flush with desire for me. Yet she loved me, in her way.
I see my Rowena in my Minerva. Rowena was fair of face, beautiful as Minerva is not, but otherwise, they are near the same. Black hair, pale skin, movements like quicksilver. Like Rowena, Minerva's brilliance blazes from her eyes, and like Rowena, she be fierce.
She does not love me, of course, for she knows me not, but she loves Hogwarts, and teaching, and all those who hold magic within them, whatever their origins. It is enough.
So I watch her and look out for her, and feel myself to be blessed.
My Minerva. Wit without measure.
My greatest treasure.
Even if she'd be an ofnadwy Hufflepuff.