[FIC] Harry Potter: Autumn is a Time of Change
Title: Autumn is a Time of Change
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Characters: Minerva McGonagall
Word Count: 2090
Summary: Minerva's birthday is 4 October. Although autumn is thought to be a time of death, it has always been a time of beginnings for Minerva.
Minerva McGonagall hurried from the Great Hall, out the entranceway to the Quidditch pitch. She was late---the game must be starting already---and her robes tangled in her legs as she ran to the pitch. Her mother had bought the robes too long, so that she could `grow into them,' Isobel had said. Minerva thought that she was probably never going to grow, not that much.
The chill air rushed around her as she ran, making her fingers curl reflexively back into her sleeves, her hair cold where it pressed against her flaming cheeks. She made it into the stands just as the players were rising into the air. `Did you get lost?' asked a sixth-year Hufflepuff. Minerva didn't remember the girl's name; just noted that she had a streak of mud on her sleeve and some fertilizer stuck to her shoes, and thought that she would ask one of the Hufflepuff first years during Potions.
`I---letter from home,' she panted. `Birthday.' Father's letter had been somewhat formulaic, distant; but her mother had asked her all about school, and was accompanied by several apple handpies and a large package of `autumn' Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour beans. Minerva had tried a few, and had got cinnamon, butternut squash, and dead leaves so far.
`Really?' said the older girl. `Well, happy birthday, Minnie.'
Minerva inwardly grumbled over the nickname, but out loud just thanked the girl for her well wishes.
* * * *
Turning 17 at Hogwarts was, she realized, profoundly disappointing. Even just at their house, there was so much magic that the Trace was never properly detectable; at Hogwarts, it was futile. She could have set off the grandest magical fireworks, transfigured into dragons and manticores and Lord knew what, and no one at the Ministry would have batted an eye.
Instead, she snuck out to Hogsmeade to meet Pomona at the Three Broomsticks. It took some care, getting out of the castle that night; Dumbledore seemed to know that she was up to something. She had to transfigure her broomstick into a scroll of parchment, and pretend to be going to ask the potions teacher some questions, in order to past Dumbledore and his carefully plied questions about her Animagus project. She had a feeling that he knew exactly what she was doing, anyways.
The wind was biting as she flew low over the lake, nothing more than a dark blur to anyone watching from the castle. There were piles of leaves stuck at the water's edge, and both castle and town looked gloriously warm and inviting from the vantage point of a broom.
Pomona squealed and hugged her when she walked into the Three Brommsticks. Fortuna, the barmaid, rolled her eyes at the two, but served them their Firewhiskey just the same.
`Don't make it a habit, now,' said Fortuna.
`Never,' said Minerva. `It's just---you can't not celebrate your birthday!'
Fortuna nodded, and Pomona began to regale Minerva with stories about working in the apothecary's greenhouses. Devil's Snare, it seemed, got particularly tetchy before Halloween.
* * * *
The year after You-Know-Who was defeated, she woke up on her birthday shaking and nearly in tears. The Wizarding world was already beginning to rejoice at the anniversary of the defeat of You-Know-Who, but the sadness was starting to descend on her. She always held that all students should be treated equally, but all Heads of House were human, and James and Lily had been among her favourites. Even though James Potter had been an absolute terror at times. She had dreamt, again, of waiting outside No. 4 Privet Drive, had relived the worry that had run through her head all that day---she hadn't chased a single mouse, despite being in tabby form for over eighteen hours.
Remembering that it was her birthday somehow only made it worse. You-Know-Who was gone, yes; but Lucius Malfoy had just gotten off on some ridiculous defense. Less than two weeks ago, they had discovered that Rookwood and Barty Crouch's own son had betrayed them, and that, no, Alice and Frank would never be back, not really. And Sirius, oh Lord, Sirius. Every time she thought about James she thought about Sirius. Their friends had died, been betrayed, had done the betraying---it was time for mourning, she thought, in the season when all things die; it was not a time for celebration.
When she walked into her classroom that day, the look on her face made even her most rambunctious students fall silent.
Pomona, of course, knew what was best. She walked into Minerva's study after dinner, locked the hidden door that led into Minerva's room, and glared at her until she left the study and followed Pomona into Hogsmeade.
There, with Elphinstone and Albus and Filius and clumsy young Hagrid, they had Ogden's and butterbeer until the heat moved back into Minerva's cheeks and she started to laugh at Filius's clever jokes and Hagrid's complete inability to drink without knocking something over every thirty minutes. She walked back to the castle, blushing when she remembered the less-than-perfectly-platonic kiss Elphinstone had placed on her cheek before he left, and breathed in the deep damp of bonny Scotland until, somewhere, deep behind her breastbone, she felt something unlock that she hadn't known had been locked for the last year.
They dropped Hagrid off at his hut, where an old boarhound bitch surrounded by puppies whined for her very late dinner, and moved tipsily up to the castle. Minerva stopped on the lawn. She wasn't usually spontaneous---really, she hated spontaneity sometimes---but she was remembering James and Lily and a younger Sirius who was still on the side of good, and their bright eyes and laughter, and wanted to do something that she knew would make them smile.
`Minnie?' asked Pomona.
She didn't respond, just moved; a sweep of her wand brought fallen leaves from all around the greenhouses, orange and brown and yellow and the occasional rust red. Albus understood immediately, somehow, and they shaped the leaves into piles.
`It's a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, and surely the first and second years will need some cheering up,' Minerva said by way of explanation.
`Of course,' said Filius.
They placed charms on the piles, to keep the wind from moving them and to provide a bit of cushion at the bottom, and Pomona brought several ladders out from Greenhouse Four. Albus and Filius insisted on testing the piles `to make sure that they were safe', Filius bouncing fifteen feet in the air off a pile that Albus had apparently cast an modified cushioning charm on.
Pomona squeezed her hand tightly when they parted in the entrance hall, and Albus gave her a nod that, as usual, indicated that he knew more than he should. Minerva made herself a cup of tea up in her room, resplendent with milk and sugar, and for the first time in nearly a year finally took a full breath.
* * * *
The first birthday that she spent with Elphinstone in their little cottage was, she thought, the best birthday that she had ever had. She woke up that morning to a cold, deep blue sky and a cup of chai that Elphinstone handed her---they had fallen in love with the stuff at a Pakistani restaurant in London the year before. Even Bill Weasley setting his flapping, squalling umbrella-flamingo on his partner in class that day couldn't dampen her spirits.
* * * *
Hermione Granger transformed on the day that Minerva turned 73. The girl had come up to her the day after the battle and had said, calmly, that she needed a challenge that had nothing to do with war.
Unsurprisingly, Hermione excelled. A year spent living in a tent may not have taught her nuances of established magical theory, but it had strengthened and distilled her magical powers, leaving Hermione a very smart, very educated, very powerful witch, crackling with magic and with a deep need to do something completely frivolous and difficult.
Throughout that long summer, they spent the days repairing the castle. They moved rubble, wrestled with angry suits of armor, and tried to correct the list that Ravenclaw Tower had taken towards the Quidditch pitch. In the evenings, Minerva instructed her in the process that was becoming an Animagus. After days spent trying to control the ancient, unknown magics that had built Hogwarts, the Animagus Transformation seemed somehow simple. By the time the nights started to get clearer and colder and the students arrived at school, it was clear that Hermione would be successful, and sometime soon. If the girl---no, woman---were able to transform early enough, Minerva thought, she would have her come in to demonstrate to the second years. It would be more inspiring and meaningful if one of the NEWT students did it.
They wondered aloud sometimes what animal she might turn into. They had a strong guess that it would be a mustelid, given Hermione's Patronus and certain other characteristics (rather thick hair being one of them, not to mention her surprising penchant for sneakiness and stealth). Hermione hoped for an otter to match her Patronus, although the Weasley boy seemed to enjoy teasing her by wondering if she would turn into a ferret. Minerva remembered seeing Draco Malfoy bouncing up and down, and privately hoped that she would never see one of her students in ferret form ever again.
When Hermione transformed into a stoat in Minerva's office, her winter coat already coming in, Minerva knew that Hermione would not really be disappointed. Stoat, from the Belgic stout, meaning `bold'; fierce creatures, family creatures according to legend, a symbol of purity and royalty. A worthy creature for any Gryffindor, Minerva thought. When Hermione transformed back into her human self, face glowing, Minerva felt like her face would crack from her smile.
`Try it again,' she said. And Hermione transformed back and forth several times, staying a stoat for longer periods each time. Minerva laughed as Hermione jumped from her desk to the window, and shook her head in sympathy when she found the hole in the masonry where a family of mice lived. It was too small, even for a stoat, and Minerva knew exactly how maddening it was to try to get into that hole and fail. Especially to someone first learning the joys of a capable nose and sharp claws and teeth.
`We will have to go hunt rabbits,' she said after Hermione transformed back into a slightly embarrassed human. Hermione blushed.
`Re--really, Professor?'
`It will be best if you are introduced to the outdoors accompanied by a more experienced Animagus. The outdoors is a heady experience for a new Animgaus, and can be quite dangerous if proper precautions are not taken. Besides, I've had no one to hunt rabbits with in ages. It's really quite enjoyable, especially now that the grass is dying. Very difficult for them to hide, although the smell of the earth can get rather distracting in the autumn---it's very strong, you know. Now, seeing as you've had quite the success here, I'd say that our work is done for the night. Go and show your friends. You will be here tomorrow morning to fill out the final paperwork for the Ministry, however.'
Hermione nodded and bounced off, nearly running into the door in her distraction. Minerva grabbed the Floo powder to make a call to Pomona.
`Pomona!' she yelled, looking around her study.
`Yes, Minnie?' Pomona said mildly, coming out from behind her desk. `Oh, just get in here, will you? People always look so ridiculous with their heads hanging out of the fire.'
Minerva let herself slip through the fire into Pomona's office. `Granger's done it.'
`She's done it? She's really done it?'
`She has.'
Pomona whooped. `How exciting! Oh, Minerva, how wonderful. What an accomplishment. And what a birthday present!'
Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting in the kitchens with the elves and Filius, their feet stretched before the fire. Minerva, in her distraction, ate nearly half an apple tart while telling the story of the transformation. A fortuitous start to a trying school year, she thought.
For the Saturday Special challenge at hh-sugarquill, `the start of fall'.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Characters: Minerva McGonagall
Word Count: 2090
Summary: Minerva's birthday is 4 October. Although autumn is thought to be a time of death, it has always been a time of beginnings for Minerva.
Minerva McGonagall hurried from the Great Hall, out the entranceway to the Quidditch pitch. She was late---the game must be starting already---and her robes tangled in her legs as she ran to the pitch. Her mother had bought the robes too long, so that she could `grow into them,' Isobel had said. Minerva thought that she was probably never going to grow, not that much.
The chill air rushed around her as she ran, making her fingers curl reflexively back into her sleeves, her hair cold where it pressed against her flaming cheeks. She made it into the stands just as the players were rising into the air. `Did you get lost?' asked a sixth-year Hufflepuff. Minerva didn't remember the girl's name; just noted that she had a streak of mud on her sleeve and some fertilizer stuck to her shoes, and thought that she would ask one of the Hufflepuff first years during Potions.
`I---letter from home,' she panted. `Birthday.' Father's letter had been somewhat formulaic, distant; but her mother had asked her all about school, and was accompanied by several apple handpies and a large package of `autumn' Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour beans. Minerva had tried a few, and had got cinnamon, butternut squash, and dead leaves so far.
`Really?' said the older girl. `Well, happy birthday, Minnie.'
Minerva inwardly grumbled over the nickname, but out loud just thanked the girl for her well wishes.
* * * *
Turning 17 at Hogwarts was, she realized, profoundly disappointing. Even just at their house, there was so much magic that the Trace was never properly detectable; at Hogwarts, it was futile. She could have set off the grandest magical fireworks, transfigured into dragons and manticores and Lord knew what, and no one at the Ministry would have batted an eye.
Instead, she snuck out to Hogsmeade to meet Pomona at the Three Broomsticks. It took some care, getting out of the castle that night; Dumbledore seemed to know that she was up to something. She had to transfigure her broomstick into a scroll of parchment, and pretend to be going to ask the potions teacher some questions, in order to past Dumbledore and his carefully plied questions about her Animagus project. She had a feeling that he knew exactly what she was doing, anyways.
The wind was biting as she flew low over the lake, nothing more than a dark blur to anyone watching from the castle. There were piles of leaves stuck at the water's edge, and both castle and town looked gloriously warm and inviting from the vantage point of a broom.
Pomona squealed and hugged her when she walked into the Three Brommsticks. Fortuna, the barmaid, rolled her eyes at the two, but served them their Firewhiskey just the same.
`Don't make it a habit, now,' said Fortuna.
`Never,' said Minerva. `It's just---you can't not celebrate your birthday!'
Fortuna nodded, and Pomona began to regale Minerva with stories about working in the apothecary's greenhouses. Devil's Snare, it seemed, got particularly tetchy before Halloween.
* * * *
The year after You-Know-Who was defeated, she woke up on her birthday shaking and nearly in tears. The Wizarding world was already beginning to rejoice at the anniversary of the defeat of You-Know-Who, but the sadness was starting to descend on her. She always held that all students should be treated equally, but all Heads of House were human, and James and Lily had been among her favourites. Even though James Potter had been an absolute terror at times. She had dreamt, again, of waiting outside No. 4 Privet Drive, had relived the worry that had run through her head all that day---she hadn't chased a single mouse, despite being in tabby form for over eighteen hours.
Remembering that it was her birthday somehow only made it worse. You-Know-Who was gone, yes; but Lucius Malfoy had just gotten off on some ridiculous defense. Less than two weeks ago, they had discovered that Rookwood and Barty Crouch's own son had betrayed them, and that, no, Alice and Frank would never be back, not really. And Sirius, oh Lord, Sirius. Every time she thought about James she thought about Sirius. Their friends had died, been betrayed, had done the betraying---it was time for mourning, she thought, in the season when all things die; it was not a time for celebration.
When she walked into her classroom that day, the look on her face made even her most rambunctious students fall silent.
Pomona, of course, knew what was best. She walked into Minerva's study after dinner, locked the hidden door that led into Minerva's room, and glared at her until she left the study and followed Pomona into Hogsmeade.
There, with Elphinstone and Albus and Filius and clumsy young Hagrid, they had Ogden's and butterbeer until the heat moved back into Minerva's cheeks and she started to laugh at Filius's clever jokes and Hagrid's complete inability to drink without knocking something over every thirty minutes. She walked back to the castle, blushing when she remembered the less-than-perfectly-platonic kiss Elphinstone had placed on her cheek before he left, and breathed in the deep damp of bonny Scotland until, somewhere, deep behind her breastbone, she felt something unlock that she hadn't known had been locked for the last year.
They dropped Hagrid off at his hut, where an old boarhound bitch surrounded by puppies whined for her very late dinner, and moved tipsily up to the castle. Minerva stopped on the lawn. She wasn't usually spontaneous---really, she hated spontaneity sometimes---but she was remembering James and Lily and a younger Sirius who was still on the side of good, and their bright eyes and laughter, and wanted to do something that she knew would make them smile.
`Minnie?' asked Pomona.
She didn't respond, just moved; a sweep of her wand brought fallen leaves from all around the greenhouses, orange and brown and yellow and the occasional rust red. Albus understood immediately, somehow, and they shaped the leaves into piles.
`It's a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, and surely the first and second years will need some cheering up,' Minerva said by way of explanation.
`Of course,' said Filius.
They placed charms on the piles, to keep the wind from moving them and to provide a bit of cushion at the bottom, and Pomona brought several ladders out from Greenhouse Four. Albus and Filius insisted on testing the piles `to make sure that they were safe', Filius bouncing fifteen feet in the air off a pile that Albus had apparently cast an modified cushioning charm on.
Pomona squeezed her hand tightly when they parted in the entrance hall, and Albus gave her a nod that, as usual, indicated that he knew more than he should. Minerva made herself a cup of tea up in her room, resplendent with milk and sugar, and for the first time in nearly a year finally took a full breath.
* * * *
The first birthday that she spent with Elphinstone in their little cottage was, she thought, the best birthday that she had ever had. She woke up that morning to a cold, deep blue sky and a cup of chai that Elphinstone handed her---they had fallen in love with the stuff at a Pakistani restaurant in London the year before. Even Bill Weasley setting his flapping, squalling umbrella-flamingo on his partner in class that day couldn't dampen her spirits.
* * * *
Hermione Granger transformed on the day that Minerva turned 73. The girl had come up to her the day after the battle and had said, calmly, that she needed a challenge that had nothing to do with war.
Unsurprisingly, Hermione excelled. A year spent living in a tent may not have taught her nuances of established magical theory, but it had strengthened and distilled her magical powers, leaving Hermione a very smart, very educated, very powerful witch, crackling with magic and with a deep need to do something completely frivolous and difficult.
Throughout that long summer, they spent the days repairing the castle. They moved rubble, wrestled with angry suits of armor, and tried to correct the list that Ravenclaw Tower had taken towards the Quidditch pitch. In the evenings, Minerva instructed her in the process that was becoming an Animagus. After days spent trying to control the ancient, unknown magics that had built Hogwarts, the Animagus Transformation seemed somehow simple. By the time the nights started to get clearer and colder and the students arrived at school, it was clear that Hermione would be successful, and sometime soon. If the girl---no, woman---were able to transform early enough, Minerva thought, she would have her come in to demonstrate to the second years. It would be more inspiring and meaningful if one of the NEWT students did it.
They wondered aloud sometimes what animal she might turn into. They had a strong guess that it would be a mustelid, given Hermione's Patronus and certain other characteristics (rather thick hair being one of them, not to mention her surprising penchant for sneakiness and stealth). Hermione hoped for an otter to match her Patronus, although the Weasley boy seemed to enjoy teasing her by wondering if she would turn into a ferret. Minerva remembered seeing Draco Malfoy bouncing up and down, and privately hoped that she would never see one of her students in ferret form ever again.
When Hermione transformed into a stoat in Minerva's office, her winter coat already coming in, Minerva knew that Hermione would not really be disappointed. Stoat, from the Belgic stout, meaning `bold'; fierce creatures, family creatures according to legend, a symbol of purity and royalty. A worthy creature for any Gryffindor, Minerva thought. When Hermione transformed back into her human self, face glowing, Minerva felt like her face would crack from her smile.
`Try it again,' she said. And Hermione transformed back and forth several times, staying a stoat for longer periods each time. Minerva laughed as Hermione jumped from her desk to the window, and shook her head in sympathy when she found the hole in the masonry where a family of mice lived. It was too small, even for a stoat, and Minerva knew exactly how maddening it was to try to get into that hole and fail. Especially to someone first learning the joys of a capable nose and sharp claws and teeth.
`We will have to go hunt rabbits,' she said after Hermione transformed back into a slightly embarrassed human. Hermione blushed.
`Re--really, Professor?'
`It will be best if you are introduced to the outdoors accompanied by a more experienced Animagus. The outdoors is a heady experience for a new Animgaus, and can be quite dangerous if proper precautions are not taken. Besides, I've had no one to hunt rabbits with in ages. It's really quite enjoyable, especially now that the grass is dying. Very difficult for them to hide, although the smell of the earth can get rather distracting in the autumn---it's very strong, you know. Now, seeing as you've had quite the success here, I'd say that our work is done for the night. Go and show your friends. You will be here tomorrow morning to fill out the final paperwork for the Ministry, however.'
Hermione nodded and bounced off, nearly running into the door in her distraction. Minerva grabbed the Floo powder to make a call to Pomona.
`Pomona!' she yelled, looking around her study.
`Yes, Minnie?' Pomona said mildly, coming out from behind her desk. `Oh, just get in here, will you? People always look so ridiculous with their heads hanging out of the fire.'
Minerva let herself slip through the fire into Pomona's office. `Granger's done it.'
`She's done it? She's really done it?'
`She has.'
Pomona whooped. `How exciting! Oh, Minerva, how wonderful. What an accomplishment. And what a birthday present!'
Forty-five minutes later, they were sitting in the kitchens with the elves and Filius, their feet stretched before the fire. Minerva, in her distraction, ate nearly half an apple tart while telling the story of the transformation. A fortuitous start to a trying school year, she thought.
For the Saturday Special challenge at hh-sugarquill, `the start of fall'.