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femgenficathonTitle: Old Friends
Author: Lissibith
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Miranda Goshawk
Rating: PG
Warnings: Talk of character death, else none, unless you count HBP spoilers
Prompt: 8) Deliver me from your cold phlegmatic preachers, politicians, friends, lovers and husbands.--Abigail Adams.
W/C: 1,154
Summary: Just two old friends – one a teacher, one a former teacher and current textbook author – hash out current events over tea. Post-HBP.
A/N: Thanks to my beta Dragonsong12 and pre-beta Sanalith, who still couldn’t save me from my fanfic newbieness.
“Miranda?”
“Minerva!”
The door to a small, somewhat unkempt house at the end of a quaint little street opened and a sturdy-looking white-haired woman came out and enfolded the more statuesque woman on her doorstep in a tight embrace. “Minerva, it’s really been too long.”
Minerva McGonagall returned the hug briefly, a friendly gesture. “I’d wondered when I might hear from my old teacher again.”
“Every school day, in the students’ books,” Miranda Goshawk said brightly, winking at the younger woman. “But that’s hardly a real visit. It is good of you to come. Come in, come in.”
She ushered her guest into the kitchen and offered her a chair, then stopped and scanned the room in confusion. The table in her kitchen had once had four chairs, but at the moment it had only one, making it quite difficult for her to join her guest. One of the unfortunate chairs had been broken in an accident while she was testing a new spell, another was upstairs supporting several blankets in a sort of cave her grandchildren had made when they came to visit a few days previous and the third was wedged under the knob of the back door. (Her brother liked to visit unannounced and if she just locked it by normal means he’d simply dash them away with his own spells and come in, but somehow, the chair under the knob, unseen but definitely holding the door closed, was beyond his ken. She felt fortunate he was still polite enough not to break and then fix the door to get in.)
“Excuse me a moment,” she said, deciding to dismantle the “cave” for the sake of having a visit. The children could rebuild it later, or perhaps she could work out some kind of levitation spell.
Once the matter of the furniture was set and tea was served, Miranda finally relaxed in her chair across from her former student – now a teacher in her own right and in a much higher position than Miranda had ever aspired or hoped to.
“How’ve you been, Minerva?” she asked, leaning forward a little over the table. “It’s been far too long.”
“It has,” Minerva replied, nodding ever-so-slightly. “But as you know, things have been busy.”
Miranda looked down into her cup, missing the relaxed feel these get-togethers used to have once upon a time. “I know. I was so sorry to hear. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it for the funeral.”
She wondered at how stiff the words sounded. Miranda had never been a particularly gifted witch. What she had been gifted at was talking. The gift of the gab, her aunt had called it. The spells were all other people’s, but the words, the way of explaining them to First Years who’d never done such a spell intentionally in their lives in ways that would allow them to get first the concept, then the practice – that was hers.
It was the same way when she’d been a teacher. It wasn’t that she had particular skill at casting charms. She just had skill at getting others to cast them. And so, she was usually good at conveying what she was thinking, but now it was so hard. Dumbledore dead. The unthinkable. And the rumors…
She forced the thoughts away with a brisk shake of her head and asked, “It’s true then? How it all happened?”
Minerva looked away, then down at her lap for a moment, and Miranda sighed. It was one of Minerva’s great gifts to be able to convey more in a glance or a gesture than many people could with lengthy speeches. She imagined that same ability kept the kids in her class in line with just a look, a glance. They would know they were in real trouble when she spoke.
“The rumors… I called because I’d heard… I was worried.”
“Worried about an old student?”
“Worried about an old friend who I used to teach, yes.” She paused, then shook her head. “I apologize. Forgive me. I’m sure we didn’t get together to talk about this.”
Both women looked away, the moment awkward. There was a moment of quiet. There didn’t seem to be good words today, and certainly no good words to follow that.
“So, what have you been doing lately?” Minerva asked, briskly changing the subject. Miranda chuckled.
“The ministry is becoming my new best friend,” she said. “They have a few suggestions they’d like to see in the next round of revisions for the books.”
Minerva arched one eyebrow and said noncommittally, “Revisions.”
“Propaganda’s more like it,” Miranda said. “They’ve visited me three times now with their… suggestions. Things they think the students should be aware of, they said. They wanted all new editions this year. I never thought they’d move in so fast after Dumbledore… after he wasn’t there to hold things even, you know?”
Minerva nodded. “They actually come here? That’s bold,” she said.
“They’re bold. They’re the law,” she said. “Or, they’re their own law. Those others… those are making a new law. I’m worried the ministry won’t be able to keep them from it if they continue worrying over silly things.”
“Like the boy.”
“The boy, the books, the little accused…” Miranda shook her head. “Little people being picked out as working for… for You-Know-Who.” She saw Minerva roll her eyes at that, but pushed doggedly on. SHE wasn’t about to say that name, no matter who she was with or what the context, especially with Dumbledore gone, Death Eaters in the ministry and then Hogwarts. What place would be safe? Where could a person hide from the darkness anymore?
“And that’s part of why I wanted to talk to you,” Miranda forced herself to say. There. It was out. Minerva set her cup down and looked evenly across the table. “I wanted to say, I know there’s a lot that you’ll be faced with in the coming months. Have you decided what to do with the school?” Minerva shook her head, but stayed quiet, for which Miranda was grateful. She wasn’t sure she was brave enough to say this ever again if she stopped now.
“If there’s anything an old book-writer can do for you, please let me know. It’s the least I can do.”
Minerva nodded, but somehow, Miranda didn’t think ‘the least’ was going to be good enough anymore.
The conversation, when it started again, lit on other things as two old friends tried to recapture the years.
Author: Lissibith
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Miranda Goshawk
Rating: PG
Warnings: Talk of character death, else none, unless you count HBP spoilers
Prompt: 8) Deliver me from your cold phlegmatic preachers, politicians, friends, lovers and husbands.--Abigail Adams.
W/C: 1,154
Summary: Just two old friends – one a teacher, one a former teacher and current textbook author – hash out current events over tea. Post-HBP.
A/N: Thanks to my beta Dragonsong12 and pre-beta Sanalith, who still couldn’t save me from my fanfic newbieness.
“Miranda?”
“Minerva!”
The door to a small, somewhat unkempt house at the end of a quaint little street opened and a sturdy-looking white-haired woman came out and enfolded the more statuesque woman on her doorstep in a tight embrace. “Minerva, it’s really been too long.”
Minerva McGonagall returned the hug briefly, a friendly gesture. “I’d wondered when I might hear from my old teacher again.”
“Every school day, in the students’ books,” Miranda Goshawk said brightly, winking at the younger woman. “But that’s hardly a real visit. It is good of you to come. Come in, come in.”
She ushered her guest into the kitchen and offered her a chair, then stopped and scanned the room in confusion. The table in her kitchen had once had four chairs, but at the moment it had only one, making it quite difficult for her to join her guest. One of the unfortunate chairs had been broken in an accident while she was testing a new spell, another was upstairs supporting several blankets in a sort of cave her grandchildren had made when they came to visit a few days previous and the third was wedged under the knob of the back door. (Her brother liked to visit unannounced and if she just locked it by normal means he’d simply dash them away with his own spells and come in, but somehow, the chair under the knob, unseen but definitely holding the door closed, was beyond his ken. She felt fortunate he was still polite enough not to break and then fix the door to get in.)
“Excuse me a moment,” she said, deciding to dismantle the “cave” for the sake of having a visit. The children could rebuild it later, or perhaps she could work out some kind of levitation spell.
Once the matter of the furniture was set and tea was served, Miranda finally relaxed in her chair across from her former student – now a teacher in her own right and in a much higher position than Miranda had ever aspired or hoped to.
“How’ve you been, Minerva?” she asked, leaning forward a little over the table. “It’s been far too long.”
“It has,” Minerva replied, nodding ever-so-slightly. “But as you know, things have been busy.”
Miranda looked down into her cup, missing the relaxed feel these get-togethers used to have once upon a time. “I know. I was so sorry to hear. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it for the funeral.”
She wondered at how stiff the words sounded. Miranda had never been a particularly gifted witch. What she had been gifted at was talking. The gift of the gab, her aunt had called it. The spells were all other people’s, but the words, the way of explaining them to First Years who’d never done such a spell intentionally in their lives in ways that would allow them to get first the concept, then the practice – that was hers.
It was the same way when she’d been a teacher. It wasn’t that she had particular skill at casting charms. She just had skill at getting others to cast them. And so, she was usually good at conveying what she was thinking, but now it was so hard. Dumbledore dead. The unthinkable. And the rumors…
She forced the thoughts away with a brisk shake of her head and asked, “It’s true then? How it all happened?”
Minerva looked away, then down at her lap for a moment, and Miranda sighed. It was one of Minerva’s great gifts to be able to convey more in a glance or a gesture than many people could with lengthy speeches. She imagined that same ability kept the kids in her class in line with just a look, a glance. They would know they were in real trouble when she spoke.
“The rumors… I called because I’d heard… I was worried.”
“Worried about an old student?”
“Worried about an old friend who I used to teach, yes.” She paused, then shook her head. “I apologize. Forgive me. I’m sure we didn’t get together to talk about this.”
Both women looked away, the moment awkward. There was a moment of quiet. There didn’t seem to be good words today, and certainly no good words to follow that.
“So, what have you been doing lately?” Minerva asked, briskly changing the subject. Miranda chuckled.
“The ministry is becoming my new best friend,” she said. “They have a few suggestions they’d like to see in the next round of revisions for the books.”
Minerva arched one eyebrow and said noncommittally, “Revisions.”
“Propaganda’s more like it,” Miranda said. “They’ve visited me three times now with their… suggestions. Things they think the students should be aware of, they said. They wanted all new editions this year. I never thought they’d move in so fast after Dumbledore… after he wasn’t there to hold things even, you know?”
Minerva nodded. “They actually come here? That’s bold,” she said.
“They’re bold. They’re the law,” she said. “Or, they’re their own law. Those others… those are making a new law. I’m worried the ministry won’t be able to keep them from it if they continue worrying over silly things.”
“Like the boy.”
“The boy, the books, the little accused…” Miranda shook her head. “Little people being picked out as working for… for You-Know-Who.” She saw Minerva roll her eyes at that, but pushed doggedly on. SHE wasn’t about to say that name, no matter who she was with or what the context, especially with Dumbledore gone, Death Eaters in the ministry and then Hogwarts. What place would be safe? Where could a person hide from the darkness anymore?
“And that’s part of why I wanted to talk to you,” Miranda forced herself to say. There. It was out. Minerva set her cup down and looked evenly across the table. “I wanted to say, I know there’s a lot that you’ll be faced with in the coming months. Have you decided what to do with the school?” Minerva shook her head, but stayed quiet, for which Miranda was grateful. She wasn’t sure she was brave enough to say this ever again if she stopped now.
“If there’s anything an old book-writer can do for you, please let me know. It’s the least I can do.”
Minerva nodded, but somehow, Miranda didn’t think ‘the least’ was going to be good enough anymore.
The conversation, when it started again, lit on other things as two old friends tried to recapture the years.
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no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-30 02:13 pm (UTC)