Before she was Professor McGonagall, she was Minerva Macnair. After an arranged marriage forces her into an impossible situation, Minerva does what she must to survive. When she makes a new life for herself, her secrets follow and threaten everythin...
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"Magic does not come easily to you, it's true. But you are improving."
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2 July 1954
Minerva stifled a yawn as she watched her young student screw her face into a portrait of wrinkled concentration. Minerva had been up with Malcolm half the night as the poor child suffered with an earache. The watered-down pain-relieving potion had only provided partial relief, and her attempts at basic diagnostic spells hadn't revealed anything other than inflammation of his eardrum.
They'd need to see a Healer if he didn't improve in the next few hours. That would cost money, and it would make Gerald cross. Not that he begrudged his son the services of a Healer when the boy was sick, but the added strain of an unforeseen expense made him tense, and a tense Gerald was a testy Gerald.
She could always withhold the money from her earnings for the week, she supposed, but that would leave the household account short. She made a quick mental inventory of what was in the larder and decided that another week of Welsh rarebit might be in order. Gerald would grouse, of course, but he'd quiet down when she explained that the alternative was to take the difference from the pocket money she gave him every week.
If Malcolm's earache didn't go away today, that was.
Turning her attention back to her pupil, she said, "Mam'selle Bonaccord, try to relax your face. The energy you expend in tensing your muscles should be focussed on sending your intention through your wand. Try it again."
The girl took a deep breath, pointed her wand at the matchstick, and spoke the incantation. As Minerva could have predicted, nothing happened.
"I think you're still too tense. Tell me, Mam'selle Bonaccord, is there something especially troubling you?"
Minerva was dismayed when the child burst into tears.
She conjured a handkerchief and sat the girl down in one of the chairs flanking the room, Summoning another beside it for herself.
"Marguerite, can you tell me what's troubling you? I'd like to help if I can."
Marguerite took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose. "Je m'excuse, madame—I am sorry. I want very much to susee ... succeed in my studies. It is so important that I be permitted to continue at Beauxbatons. My parents will be so unhappy if I am ... comment dit-on 'expulsée' en Anglais?"
