The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

The Quaich Cup

The church on the Isle of Fare Dhu stood alone in a wide span of grasses, which shook in the sea air as it whipped across the island. The stones weathered and old, the sunlight pouring through the colorful stained glass window in the spire, and the smell of brine filled the air, mingling with the faintest bit of incense , burning from the corner, where candles burned quietly. The Minister of the church stood, lighting one of the candles with a long match stick, and when the wick caught he blew out the stick - then disappeared it with a pinch of his fingers.

Malcom McGonagall adjusted his minister's collar and walked quietly through the church, looking at the colorful pools of light on the floor, passing by flowers - purple thistles and sprigs of heather, fastened to the ends of the pews, and woven together around an arch prepared at the front of the sanctuary, beautiful purple and the softest off-white. The Minister paused and sat in the front pew, staring up at the largest stained glass window of all - a circular window, high above the pulpit, the symbol of a heart in the center of a white rose, wrapped in a crown of thorns shining bright with the morning sunrising behind it. The church had been carefully built so that when the people faced the window, they looked toward the holy land.

The Minister began to pray, closing his eyes and letting his lips move over words he spoke in silence. 

He'd been praying some time when the creak of the church door opening caught his attention and he turned 'round to find his sister, Minerva McGonagall, walking toward him, dressed in a white slip and a tartan robe pulled tight' round her, barefoot, her hair half-up, tendrils hanging to frame her face, an aging auburn, once vibrant red but now steaked with grey. She walked quickly down the aisle and slipped into the pew beside her brother, staring up at the window high above, too.

This church as as familiar to her as the house she grew up in, as the barn, still overrun with cats, and the creek in the woods at the far edge of the McGonagall property. She'd gone and sat on the rock beside the creek for hours the day before, watching the water rush by, and thought about cats and frogs and clubhouses and days of carefree laughter. She'd walked across the field and thought about days of sunsets and the warm smell of thistles in summer sunlight, heartbreaking choices and loss. These were all things that made Minerva who she was, all things that shaped her, formed her, the way the colorful panes of the stained glass windows made up abstract pictures portraying stories of complex unending love.

She waited in perfect silence until she heard Malcom whisper, "Amen." 

"If it isn't the bride herself," Malcom said quietly, smiling at his sister. "I was only just prayin' for your marriage this very moment," he explained, and I look up and there yeh be." He paused. "Yeh been up as long as the sun, haven't yeh?" he asked.

"I'm so nervous, Malcom," she whispered. "Been up since long before the sun."

"What have ye to be nervous for, Min?" he asked. "Yeh got yerself a good'un when you picked Elphinstone. 

"Aye, I know," she said, her accent rolling thick with the familiarity of being home, "That's exactly what I'm nervous for, that perhaps he'll realize what a big mistake he's making in choosing me back."

Malcom stared at her for several long moments, smirking and shook his head, "Yeh've been confident all yer life - don't be choosing now to become self-conscious, Minnie," Malcom chuckled. "Yeh needn't bother at this point with that sort of thing. Yeh got yerself a good man and yeh needn't be worried about anythin'."

Minerva flushed and tugged her tartan closer 'round her, biting her lips and continuing to stare up at the stained glass high above.

"He's as good as married to yeh already, Minnie love," Malcom said, smiling, "I've seen him, the way he looks at yeh. He hasn't eyes for anyone else."