My current entry is a little fan fiction I wrote and submitted to a fan site for publication. I just received the rejection. Unfortunately, it didn't make the length requirements, and I didn't want to revise it because I like it as it is. Oh, well: I'm probably too old to be writing fanfics anyway. Still, it was fun to write. And for someone who suffers writer's block as I do, that's saying a lot!
Warning: If you don't like Harry Potter, you won't like this. And if you do like Harry Potter, be warned that this story touches on the events of the 6th book.
Warning: If you don't like Harry Potter, you won't like this. And if you do like Harry Potter, be warned that this story touches on the events of the 6th book.
Minerva’s Story: A Sketch
(Disclaimer: I am NOT J.K. Rowling and I do NOT own Harry Potter or any related characters or products. I wrote this story for fun and to honor an awesome author!)
Minerva took off her glasses and set them down next to the stack of parchment on her desk. Leaning back in her chair, she pressed her palms to her aching, blood-shot eyes.
“I need a break,” she murmured to herself, “and maybe some music.”
As she walked across the room, she stopped to add a couple logs to her living room fire and paused to gaze at the flames. More and more often, she found herself like this, unable to concentrate on grading papers, and lost in useless reverie. Pulling herself back to the present, she continued to the phonograph by the large overstuffed couch she often slept on these days, sometimes fully clothed waiting for the awful news of disaster that she knew was sure to come anytime now.
She looked through her collection of records and pulled out an old Beatles album—Abbey Road. Her tastes these days varied, but this was generally as daring as they got. George Harrison had never been a part of the wizarding world, she thought, but one could not miss the magic in several of his songs. “Something” was one of Minerva’s particular favorites. She liked the rest of the group’s oeuvre almost as well.
Listening to John Lennon singing “Come Together” at one of the turntable’s lowest volume settings, Minerva paced. Three thick throw rugs broke up her journey back and forth over the cold hardwood floor, but her warm, fluffy slippers protected her feet even from the spaces between those modest islands of comfort. She wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her night coat close to her body.
“What is he doing out there, anyway?” she muttered. “Surely one of us could help him. Surely one of us would be a better confidant than that boy, prophesy of no.”
While she paced and worried, Albus’ face came to her. That sweet, elderly face that she’d grown to love over the years since she lost her husband, Marshall. She could see those tired blue eyes of his gazing at her with deep trust and affection over half-moon spectacles. Not love…no, he certainly didn’t share her feelings of love, but she felt no regret or embarrassment concerning her regard. Albus was a fine man, whose admiration and trust were reward enough for any woman.
“Because” played softly in the background. Minerva wiped a couple tears from her left cheekbone. Then she straightened her shoulders and shook the sorrow from her head. She knew what Albus wanted from her, and she had no intention of disappointing him. This school and its occupants meant more to him than anything else in the world; she would do everything in her power to protect them. She wanted to die when she thought of losing Albus, but she would do what she had to do…for him.
And for herself, too. She’d been at this school more years than she could remember. Although her first thoughts were of its headmaster and the dangers he faced for all of them, Minerva considered this school her home, its teachers her friends, and its students almost her own children (or, these days, grandchildren). No, she would let nothing evil happen to them if there was any way she could possibly stop it.
A knock sounded at the door, and her heart plummeted in her breast. She rushed to answer.
Relief coursed through her when she saw the familiar face before her.
“Albus?”
“Minerva, I have to be away from the castle for awhile tonight. Harry will be accompanying me. I would feel better knowing that you and some others were keeping an active eye on things—Remus, Bill, and Nymphadora will be joining you all.”
“Of course.” She paused. “Albus, I…you be careful out there.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it in his own. “I should be back in just a few hours. Take care of things for me.” Then he turned and walked away.
Later that night, Minerva sat in the hospital wing listening to those around her trying to make sense of what had happened this night. Shock held her in its cold, needling embrace, but occasionally she joined in. When the Weasleys arrived, she pushed aside her own grief and rushed to meet them. Then, slowly, as she watched them with their wounded son and as she saw Nymphadora and Remus reveal their affection for one another to the people around them, she forced down the remainder of the agonized, helpless feeling that had threatened to overwhelm her. Standing abruptly, she excused herself and left to attend to the duty that Albus had left her.
Minerva took off her glasses and set them down next to the stack of parchment on her desk. Leaning back in her chair, she pressed her palms to her aching, blood-shot eyes.
“I need a break,” she murmured to herself, “and maybe some music.”
As she walked across the room, she stopped to add a couple logs to her living room fire and paused to gaze at the flames. More and more often, she found herself like this, unable to concentrate on grading papers, and lost in useless reverie. Pulling herself back to the present, she continued to the phonograph by the large overstuffed couch she often slept on these days, sometimes fully clothed waiting for the awful news of disaster that she knew was sure to come anytime now.
She looked through her collection of records and pulled out an old Beatles album—Abbey Road. Her tastes these days varied, but this was generally as daring as they got. George Harrison had never been a part of the wizarding world, she thought, but one could not miss the magic in several of his songs. “Something” was one of Minerva’s particular favorites. She liked the rest of the group’s oeuvre almost as well.
Listening to John Lennon singing “Come Together” at one of the turntable’s lowest volume settings, Minerva paced. Three thick throw rugs broke up her journey back and forth over the cold hardwood floor, but her warm, fluffy slippers protected her feet even from the spaces between those modest islands of comfort. She wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her night coat close to her body.
“What is he doing out there, anyway?” she muttered. “Surely one of us could help him. Surely one of us would be a better confidant than that boy, prophesy of no.”
While she paced and worried, Albus’ face came to her. That sweet, elderly face that she’d grown to love over the years since she lost her husband, Marshall. She could see those tired blue eyes of his gazing at her with deep trust and affection over half-moon spectacles. Not love…no, he certainly didn’t share her feelings of love, but she felt no regret or embarrassment concerning her regard. Albus was a fine man, whose admiration and trust were reward enough for any woman.
“Because” played softly in the background. Minerva wiped a couple tears from her left cheekbone. Then she straightened her shoulders and shook the sorrow from her head. She knew what Albus wanted from her, and she had no intention of disappointing him. This school and its occupants meant more to him than anything else in the world; she would do everything in her power to protect them. She wanted to die when she thought of losing Albus, but she would do what she had to do…for him.
And for herself, too. She’d been at this school more years than she could remember. Although her first thoughts were of its headmaster and the dangers he faced for all of them, Minerva considered this school her home, its teachers her friends, and its students almost her own children (or, these days, grandchildren). No, she would let nothing evil happen to them if there was any way she could possibly stop it.
A knock sounded at the door, and her heart plummeted in her breast. She rushed to answer.
Relief coursed through her when she saw the familiar face before her.
“Albus?”
“Minerva, I have to be away from the castle for awhile tonight. Harry will be accompanying me. I would feel better knowing that you and some others were keeping an active eye on things—Remus, Bill, and Nymphadora will be joining you all.”
“Of course.” She paused. “Albus, I…you be careful out there.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it in his own. “I should be back in just a few hours. Take care of things for me.” Then he turned and walked away.
Later that night, Minerva sat in the hospital wing listening to those around her trying to make sense of what had happened this night. Shock held her in its cold, needling embrace, but occasionally she joined in. When the Weasleys arrived, she pushed aside her own grief and rushed to meet them. Then, slowly, as she watched them with their wounded son and as she saw Nymphadora and Remus reveal their affection for one another to the people around them, she forced down the remainder of the agonized, helpless feeling that had threatened to overwhelm her. Standing abruptly, she excused herself and left to attend to the duty that Albus had left her.
posted by Neta Hoff at 4:00 AM
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