Forbidden Child of Darkness
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Posts: 5
(9/16/05 3:15 am)
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Trying Times [Oct. 17]
Once upon a time, long, long ago, Minerva McGonagall had been a perfectly happy professor, excited with the prospect of being appointed positions as important as Gryffindor Head of House and Deputy Headmistress. Once upon a time had come and gone, and the newly instated Headmistress of Hogwarts was anything but excited at the prospect of her role in this school. Beaten, the weary headmistress had been wandering around on four legs, glad to escape to the world where she could live with the instincts of a cat. She stalked into the staff room, yellow eyes gleaming dully in the light of the fire. Without a sound, the tabby cat with square markings around her eyes morphed into an old woman with a strict presence and severe eyes. Her long, emerald green, tartan robes were soon smoothed out by her wrinkled hands. Hopelessly, she fell into a chair and conjured a small glass of amber liquid.
Some of the students might have found it humerous that their asteure Headmistress McGonagall used the staff room for such purposes. But really, she felt too alone in her old office, and too intimidated in her new office, so it wasn't as if she had much of a choice. Besides, it wasn't the students who might possibly walk in and join her in this nightly lament. She wasn't so much sad or angry over Albus's death as she was simply stressed over her new job. Long ago she had gotten used to the fact that Albus was dead (or so she told herself), and the only thing that mattered right now was the fact that she had hundreds of students, a corrupt Ministry of Magic, an Order falling apart by the seams, and thousands of Death Eaters and their Dark Lord gaining more power everyday, on her hands. Even seventy-four years of life she'd lived, through three wars, too, hadn't prepared her for this burden.
It was a long moment before she made a move to actually drink from her glass, in which she simply stared blankly at the fire and tried to think of something pleasant. She most certainly could not get drunk by allowing this one glass to turn into two, then three, then four, then...oh, no, she didn't even want to think about it. She quickly banished the glass, without taking any more than a single swallow, and summoned a copy of Transfiguration Weekly. It had been a long time ago, a life time ago, it felt, when she had worked as a researcher for this magazine. Since then, Minerva rather felt as if the quality of the research had diminished. They were trying too hard to come up with something useful for the war at hand that they didn't even attempt to search thoroughly. Back when Minerva had been working there, when war was but the distant memory of the Dark Wizard Grindewauld, and the threat of Voldemort was nothing more than a few thugs and empty words, they hadn't been so intent on finding anything useful to fighting. In the end, though, what they had found had proved to be far more useful than whatever rubbish they were looking through these days.
In fact, these days it wasn't "what new spells have we made up", rather, it was "what new researcher has lived another day." Nothing was new anymore. Minerva, after about three pages, tossed the magazine into the fire. She should be up in her office, answering letters, writing letters, or perhaps out and about talking to the students, or trying to contact members of the Order. Perhaps she should have been out doing something, instead of just sitting here, but really, she had no motivation to do any of that right now. A long, tiresome day had kicked the fight out of her. The thought of a warm bed, some Earl Grey tea, and a good book seemed like heaven right now. But even sitting here staring into the fire would be more productive. Or at least, it would feel more productive. Anything that felt pleasant these days was a waste of time.
Perhaps it was Dumbledore's voice that told her she was being unreasonable; she didn't want to think about it. She squashed the voice out with a firm thought. I'm not going to get anywhere if I can't think. How can I think if I'm comfortable? She wondered if maybe that one swallow of brandy hadn't done more to her head than she originally thought.
[ooc: Quantity over Quality! YAY! *kills post*]
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