Post by MinnieQuill on Jan 29, 2007 0:10:39 GMT -5
A Gust of Rain
Summary: - She who loved war had also to love death, to celebrate it with ecstasy and lamentation. Minerva is the Goddess of War - who is Minerva McGonagall? The story that leads to 'Lavender.' (ADMM) Warning: fairly graphic violence
Rating: - 15+ (for later chapters)
I heard somebody cry, mother,
In anger or in pain,
But now I ask you why, mother,
You say it was a gust of rain.
- Excerpt from ‘What Has Happened to Lulu’ by Charles Causley
The grounds were wet, and the bottoms of the girl’s jeans were soon soaked as she ran through the heather field. She could hear heavy footfalls behind her, and dived underneath an over-hanging rock as a flash of blue light sailed over her head. The green blouse she was wearing was covered in mud, as she leapt to her feet once more. The footfalls had stopped, and she pressed her back against the rock.
Her chest was heaving from exertion as she gripped her wand tightly, her knuckles glowing white in the dim light such was the strength of her hold. Blood dripped steadily from a small cut on her cheek, but she didn’t wipe the scarlet liquid away should the small action rouse the attention of her pursuers.
After a handful of minutes, that dragged on as if time were stretching itself out, she moved along the rock, her back still flush against the grey stone. Carefully she peered around the corner.
No one was there.
A sigh of relief escaped from her throat and she leant heavily against the rock and closed her eyes briefly. Her boots sank two inches into the muddy ground as she leant forward and rested her hands against her knees.
They were gone. For now.
She pushed herself away from the rock, listening carefully for any movement, before venturing out from her small area of safety. Her long legs carried her easily across the heather fields, and she allowed herself a moment to regain her breath once she reached the top of a high hill that led down to the modest cottage her family owned.
A scene of utter devastation greeted her, and it was with her heart pounding hard in her chest, that she walked slowly down the steep slope. The cottage’s roof was still burning, and her father and brothers were busy dousing the fire with water that was jetting from their wands. All of them bore evidence of a recent duel, and Michael looked to be nursing a broken arms.
Her father glanced upward as she neared them, and an expression of sheer relief crossed his face.
“You’re not hurt?” he said, crossing the ruined garden toward her.
She shook her head. “I ran toward the moors. Some of Grindelwald’s minions were chasing me.”
Her father’s eyes widened as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, wincing at the slight sting of pain.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently, placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes traveled up and down her body, searching for evidence of an injury.
“Yes,” she said irritably brushing away his hand which had traveled from her shoulder and was now tucking a loose strand of raven-black hair behind her ear.
Her father nodded curtly, and gestured toward the stables. “Your mother is tending to the horses,” he said heavily. “She…” his voice trailed off and she was surprised to see tears well in his eyes. “She needs someone with her,” he finished lamely.
The girl raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Daiden, what...?”
“Go, Minerva,” her father said curtly, in an abrupt return to his usual manner. He turned and refocused his attention to the smoldering root-top.
Her brow knitted at the obliqueness of her father’s sentence, but she walked obediently to the stables. A stallion was tethered to a post, and she stroked its nose gently. The horse brayed softly, and leant into her cupped hand.
“Minerva?”
She turned at the sound of her mother’s voice, and found the woman in question leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes were blood-shot and she clutched a small piece of parchment tightly in her fist. Tear tracks marred the ivory skin of her cheeks, and her blue eyes were shining beneath a thin sheen of tears.
“Màthair?” Minerva said, crossing toward her mother in three long strides. “What’s wrong?”
She enfolded her usually strong mother in her arms, and held her tightly as she began to sob into her chest.
“Louisa,” she whispered, “She’s…”
She didn’t finish her sentence as her body began to rack with sobs, each breath shuddering her slight frame. Minerva pulled back slightly, and took the piece of parchment from her mother’s hand.
We regret to inform you that your daughter, Louisa McGonagall, has sustained fatal injuries in the battle of France.
Your family has the Ministry’s full condolences.
Sincerely
Jean Poltz – Minister for Magic
Minerva reached out and steadied herself against the door frame. Her older sister was dead. Brave, fearless Louisa was dead. Her breath quickened as she tried desperately to quell the tears that threatened to stream down her cheeks.
“Oh, Merlin,” she breathed, “Oh, Lou.”
Her fist clenched and she punched the wall in front of her in fury. Blood poured from her knuckles, but she continued pounding the wall until her mother pulled her away. She fought against her grip, and struggled from her mother’s grasp.
“It’s not fair,” she hissed, holding her injured hand to her chest.
Her mother shook her head, and placed a gently hand on her shoulder. “No, it’s not,” she said softly.
Minerva allowed herself to be steered inside the small kitchen which had survived Grindlewald’s attack, and she sat down heavily on one of the wooden, high-backed chairs. Her gaze was focused on the heather field before her, and a flurry of movement caught her attention.
She rose to her feet, and was running outside before her mother had a chance to protest. Her legs covered the ground easily, and a man reared up from where he laid, his wand held aloft. A sneer crossed his face as she halted six feet away from him, but his expression turned into one of sheer agony as she fired off her first curse.
“Bàn chun bàis!”
A jet of pure white light flew from her wand, and magical ropes wrapped themselves around the man’s body, pinning his arms to his torso. His eyes widened as she approached and brushed a lank lock of hair away from his face with her wand.
“You and your men killed my sister,” she said softly, underlying hostility evident in every syllable. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t avenge her death and kill you.”
The man’s lips set themselves in a thin, straight line as he jutted his chin forward. “A little girl like you won’t kill me,” he said callously. He spat at the ground near her feet. “Blood traitor,” he added as if in afterthought.
Minerva felt anger surging through her veins as she pressed her wand to his temple. “Then you’re foolish,” she said coldly. “Brùigh.”
There was a sickening crunch as the bone of the man’s skull began to fracture outward from where her wand was positioned. A shriek emerged from his mouth, but Minerva simply pressed harder. The screams soon abated, and the man fell forward onto the ground in a lifeless heap. Blood pooled around his head as Minerva leant down and placed two fingers to the side of his neck. There was no beating pulse and a grim smile crossed over her face.
“Minerva, what did you do?”
She looked over her shoulder to find her father staring at her in horror. “A man just like him killed Lou,” she said rising to her feet and wiping her wand on her already soiled jeans.
“You…you can’t have…you’re too young…”
Minerva looked down at the body of her feet and kicked it distastefully. “I don’t feel any remorse for my actions, Daiden,” she said clearly. “It was him or me.”
She stepped over the body and strode back to the house leaving her horrified father in her wake. Her gait was long as she walked the last few metres and her mother looked up as she entered the kitchen.
“Minerva, why did you rush out like…”
Her mother faltered as she looked up and saw the blood on Minerva’s wand and fingertips.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Minerva, what...?”
Minerva held up a hand. “I need to get ready to go back to school,” she said firmly.
Her mother opened her mouth, but closed it again immediately, her eyes focused on the blood on her daughter’s fingertips. Minerva nodded curtly as she walked across the kitchen and into the small hall.
The adrenalin that had been surging through her veins began to abate, and by the time she entered her bedroom, she was feeling exhausted and gratefully fell against her mattress. Her actions replayed in her mind, and in spite of the justification she felt, her stomach turned as she remembered the way that the anonymous man had fallen forward onto the wet ground.
She sat up, dispelling her thoughts which strayed dangerously close to regret. With a flick of her wand, she packed her meager belongings and her trunk snapped shut with a satisfying crack. Her hand reached out for the book on her bedside table, and her eyes widened as she read the passage.
She who loved war had also love death…
Minerva…Goddess of Wisdom and War
She snapped the book shut as her body began to shake and shock threatened to overcome her. The book shook in her trembling hands, and she replaced it on the small wooden table beside her. She drew her knees to her chest as she looked out the window.
Sleet had begun to lash down, and she could see the vague silhouettes of her brothers as they tried to steer the four horses into the stables. She turned her attention away and focused on a small photograph that hung on the wall.
Louisa looked back, a large smile plastered on her face as she hugged Minerva close, her graduation hat sitting at a jaunty angle on her head. The photo had been taken three years ago, and Louisa had entered Auror training straight away. She quickly rose through the ranks until she was fighting on the front line.
The attack on their cottage had coincided with a large battle that was held in France. That was where Louisa had been, and that was where she had perished.
We regret to inform you…
Minerva rolled onto her stomach and pounded her pillow.
Her sister was dead. The fact she had taken another life in revenge did nothing to assuage the sadness that plagued her.
Author’s note:- This is actually the story that will lead up to ‘Lavender.’ (I told you I'd do it eventually Rosanna!) I know it doesn’t read like it at the moment, but give it time or at least a few more chapters. Please review! Cheers. Minniequill
