Post by HappyReader on Sept 13, 2004 21:13:29 GMT -5
Well, another installment in the demi-god universe. I want to introduce Gil's personality and have tried to make him as realistic as possible. Please note I've no experience with children, so his characterization may suck.
The sturdy door to his study burst open before a slight, angry looking figure stormed through them, stopping just in front of the massive oak table. Albus Dumbledore abrupty stopped his conversation with a fellow Wizengamot associate.
“Virgilus! Please knock first before barging into any room! And I have told you countless times that when my study door is closed, I am not to be disturbed.”
“Mum’s crying. What did you do?”
“I beg your pardon?”
His confused question received no answer. His son just glared crossly at him, then to the fireplace. Albus sighed and gave a very abashed glance to the amused face looking at him from the magical fire in his study’s fireplace.
“Excuse me Mortlock, something has come up. May I call upon you tomorrow to discuss the Redford Shambles case? Thank you, I am much obliged.” Once the emerald green flames disappeared along with Mortlock’s head, Albus returned his attention to his boy. “Now, what is this all about?”
“I said she’s crying,” repeated his dark haired son, his jaw jutting out in a determined fashion. Gil folded his arms and glared at his father with a look that clearly said ‘Spill it!’.
Woe betide anyone who makes Minerva McGonagall cry. Apart from the poor person having to answer to the two most inportant men in Minerva’s life, her son and husband, they would also have to reckon with the woman herself after she regained her composure. But it was her son Gil that person ought to be aware of.
Albus will never forget the time during dinner a fortnight ago that Gil demonstrated just what he was capable of and how much he loved his mother. It was custom for Albus to return to his home from Hogwarts every fortnight to spend time with his family. Minerva readily gave up her brillant Auror career in order to become a full time mother as well as spending her days writing up columns in Transfiguration journals, attending national and sometimes international symposiums on her favourite field of magic. During this dinner conversation between husband and wife, Minerva updated Albus upon new techniques and spells revealed at the annual British Transfiguration Society meet in Kent that morning. Minerva also ranted about an elderly wizard named Moffet, a master in Transfiguration who disagreed on several topics with Minerva, and who had insinuated she knew nothing at all of Transfiguration and was best to remain at home, tending to her family.
Their son had been quiet during the dinner; they thought him wrapped up in his book about medieval knights he was reading as he ate. Usually books or any kind of distractions were banned from the dinner table as the person would be far too interested in that than eating, but both Albus and Minerva could not dissuade Gil. However they were surprised when during a pause in their conversation about Moffet, Gil looked up at them from his reading, closed his book with deliberate movements and address his mother with a solution to her predicament.
“You want him taken care of?” asked Gil in a low menancing voice that even made Minerva unsettled. “Because I’ll do it, I’ll teach him not to war with a a goddess and a god!”
“Demi-god,” corrected his mother with a slightly concerned smile. She tried to exchange a look with her husband, but Albus just ducked his head so they wouldn’t see his toothy grin.
“It’s the same thing Mum,” said their boy brashly. “Don’t you worry. I’ll straighten out this bloke. Leave it to me.”
After Gil left the table, Albus sidled up to his wife’s side and said quietly, “Congratulations Minerva. You now have your very own prodigy gangster, something the Mafiosa would enivous of.”
“Nonsense Albus! Our son is merely playing.” She bit her lip whiled she cleared the dishes. “I think.”
“Mmmn-hmmn,” he murmured skeptically.
Thankfully nothing serious came about, though Albus did find in the parlour room slips of parchment outlining plans for a dungbomb offensive on Moffet’s home written in a child’s handwriting. But Albus was amazed and pleased at his son’s fierce devotion to his mother, perhaps it was equal to his own devotion to Minerva.
“Oi! I’m talking to you!” A vicious poke to the stomach brought him back to the present. Albus glanced down to look at the three-and-half foot tall terror he had the pride/misfortune to call his son. “What did you do to make her cry?”
“Gil, I have been inside my study all afternoon and haven’t seen your mother since lunch, therefore I could not have caused her to cry.”
“Well then, apologise to her!” demanded Gil.
“But I haven’t done anything!” prostested his father.
“I don’t care! Apologise anyway!”
Albus rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose in vexation. From the fierce way he was acting, Gil would probably force his father to go with him at wand point had he a wand. Merlin help me, between Minerva and Gil both will see me soon to an early grave, he thought self-deprecatingly.
“Before I do anything, may I first ask if you noticed anything unusual when you saw her? Did you observe anything out of the ordinary?”
“I just saw her crying so I ran to find you. That’s unsusual, right? Mum crying?”
“Did she seem injured?”
Gil shook his head.
“Alright, tell me where did you see your mother last?”
“She was in the kitchen.”
“Ah,” said Albus, a suspicion forming in his mind. He stood and adjusted his robes. Trusting his son would follow him, Albus made his way to the kitchen to find his wife and to determine what was causing her to weep.
Inside the kitchen at the counter beside the muggle fashioned stove, Minerva turned when she heard the familiar footfalls of her husband. She had indeed been crying, her face damp and spotchy from tears; her eyes meanwhile were red rimmed.
“Hello darling,” she sniffled. “Have you finished your work yet? Dinner will be ready soon, so don’t spoil your appetite with your candies beforehand.”
Albus walked over and swept her in his arms in a gallant and protective manner, swinging her body away from the counter. He kept her behind him, as if keeping her out of harms way by using his body as a shield.
“Albus, what--?”
He took no notice of her confusion, his narrowed blue eyes searching the counter for something in particular. They twinkled playfully when he spotted it.
“So we meet again. I see my earlier warnings to cease harassing my wife have fallen upon deaf ears.” He withdrew his wand. “Have at you vile onion!”
A wide red blast issued forth from his wand and the onions Minerva had been slicing a few moments earlier were reduced to a fine ash. She gave a startled shriek.
“Merlin’s sakes Albus! What on earth has gotten into you?! Have you eaten too much candy again?!”
Turning to face her, he puffed his chest out with pride and held her against it.
“I am proving that I can keep safe me and mine from dastardly things intent upon harming them.” He indicated to the powdered remains of the onions with a pompous gesture. “And there you have it, a testament of my manliness.”
She looked at him as if he’d gone mad, a look he was familiar with. “Oh how manly of you Albus, assaulting inanimate vegetables and giving your poor wife a fright! Now what is this all about?”
Judging by the displeased tone in her voice and the look in her eyes, his darling wife was not impressed with his manly feat so Albus quickly explained what their son informed him a few minutes prior.
“And where exactly is your adoring son?” Minerva asked, her cautionary attitude replaced with an amused one.
“Gil?”
He looked around. The boy was no where to be seen and probably did not follow him into the kitchen
“Oh blast it. He’s probably still in my study trying to find a way to play with the weapons .” He turned to his wife. “Are you feeling better?”
Minerva rolled her eyes and nodded. She Conjured a handkerchief and dabbed her tearful red eyes with it. “Go on, check up on our wayward offspring. He’s most likely jimmied open the weapons display cabinet by now. I’ll call you both for dinner soon.”
Swiftly striding back to his study, Albus was just in time to see his son, precariously positioned on top of a stack of books, grasp the hilt of the regimental sword that was mounted within the cabinet. It belonged to Minerva’s muggle grandfather which he wore during the Crimean War.
“Just what do you think you are doing young man?”
“Uh, I was getting you a weapon to fight off the onion?”offered Gil hopefully. Albus gave him a skeptical look, but fought the urge to grin. At the frim beckoning from his father Gil sighed, let go of the sword and adroitly jumped off the stack of books he set up beside the weapons display cabinet. He walked cautiously over to the displeased Albus.
“I have have saved your mother from the dreaded onion and have done away with it without the need of any weapons.”
“Good-o! Did you blast ‘em nasty buggers to bits with a curse?”
Albus nodded, suddenly suspicious. “Yes I did but wait a minute, I did not tell you that it was the onions causing her to cry. Virgilus, you haven’t been truthful with me.”
'Onions': 1
The sturdy door to his study burst open before a slight, angry looking figure stormed through them, stopping just in front of the massive oak table. Albus Dumbledore abrupty stopped his conversation with a fellow Wizengamot associate.
“Virgilus! Please knock first before barging into any room! And I have told you countless times that when my study door is closed, I am not to be disturbed.”
“Mum’s crying. What did you do?”
“I beg your pardon?”
His confused question received no answer. His son just glared crossly at him, then to the fireplace. Albus sighed and gave a very abashed glance to the amused face looking at him from the magical fire in his study’s fireplace.
“Excuse me Mortlock, something has come up. May I call upon you tomorrow to discuss the Redford Shambles case? Thank you, I am much obliged.” Once the emerald green flames disappeared along with Mortlock’s head, Albus returned his attention to his boy. “Now, what is this all about?”
“I said she’s crying,” repeated his dark haired son, his jaw jutting out in a determined fashion. Gil folded his arms and glared at his father with a look that clearly said ‘Spill it!’.
Woe betide anyone who makes Minerva McGonagall cry. Apart from the poor person having to answer to the two most inportant men in Minerva’s life, her son and husband, they would also have to reckon with the woman herself after she regained her composure. But it was her son Gil that person ought to be aware of.
Albus will never forget the time during dinner a fortnight ago that Gil demonstrated just what he was capable of and how much he loved his mother. It was custom for Albus to return to his home from Hogwarts every fortnight to spend time with his family. Minerva readily gave up her brillant Auror career in order to become a full time mother as well as spending her days writing up columns in Transfiguration journals, attending national and sometimes international symposiums on her favourite field of magic. During this dinner conversation between husband and wife, Minerva updated Albus upon new techniques and spells revealed at the annual British Transfiguration Society meet in Kent that morning. Minerva also ranted about an elderly wizard named Moffet, a master in Transfiguration who disagreed on several topics with Minerva, and who had insinuated she knew nothing at all of Transfiguration and was best to remain at home, tending to her family.
Their son had been quiet during the dinner; they thought him wrapped up in his book about medieval knights he was reading as he ate. Usually books or any kind of distractions were banned from the dinner table as the person would be far too interested in that than eating, but both Albus and Minerva could not dissuade Gil. However they were surprised when during a pause in their conversation about Moffet, Gil looked up at them from his reading, closed his book with deliberate movements and address his mother with a solution to her predicament.
“You want him taken care of?” asked Gil in a low menancing voice that even made Minerva unsettled. “Because I’ll do it, I’ll teach him not to war with a a goddess and a god!”
“Demi-god,” corrected his mother with a slightly concerned smile. She tried to exchange a look with her husband, but Albus just ducked his head so they wouldn’t see his toothy grin.
“It’s the same thing Mum,” said their boy brashly. “Don’t you worry. I’ll straighten out this bloke. Leave it to me.”
After Gil left the table, Albus sidled up to his wife’s side and said quietly, “Congratulations Minerva. You now have your very own prodigy gangster, something the Mafiosa would enivous of.”
“Nonsense Albus! Our son is merely playing.” She bit her lip whiled she cleared the dishes. “I think.”
“Mmmn-hmmn,” he murmured skeptically.
Thankfully nothing serious came about, though Albus did find in the parlour room slips of parchment outlining plans for a dungbomb offensive on Moffet’s home written in a child’s handwriting. But Albus was amazed and pleased at his son’s fierce devotion to his mother, perhaps it was equal to his own devotion to Minerva.
“Oi! I’m talking to you!” A vicious poke to the stomach brought him back to the present. Albus glanced down to look at the three-and-half foot tall terror he had the pride/misfortune to call his son. “What did you do to make her cry?”
“Gil, I have been inside my study all afternoon and haven’t seen your mother since lunch, therefore I could not have caused her to cry.”
“Well then, apologise to her!” demanded Gil.
“But I haven’t done anything!” prostested his father.
“I don’t care! Apologise anyway!”
Albus rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose in vexation. From the fierce way he was acting, Gil would probably force his father to go with him at wand point had he a wand. Merlin help me, between Minerva and Gil both will see me soon to an early grave, he thought self-deprecatingly.
“Before I do anything, may I first ask if you noticed anything unusual when you saw her? Did you observe anything out of the ordinary?”
“I just saw her crying so I ran to find you. That’s unsusual, right? Mum crying?”
“Did she seem injured?”
Gil shook his head.
“Alright, tell me where did you see your mother last?”
“She was in the kitchen.”
“Ah,” said Albus, a suspicion forming in his mind. He stood and adjusted his robes. Trusting his son would follow him, Albus made his way to the kitchen to find his wife and to determine what was causing her to weep.
Inside the kitchen at the counter beside the muggle fashioned stove, Minerva turned when she heard the familiar footfalls of her husband. She had indeed been crying, her face damp and spotchy from tears; her eyes meanwhile were red rimmed.
“Hello darling,” she sniffled. “Have you finished your work yet? Dinner will be ready soon, so don’t spoil your appetite with your candies beforehand.”
Albus walked over and swept her in his arms in a gallant and protective manner, swinging her body away from the counter. He kept her behind him, as if keeping her out of harms way by using his body as a shield.
“Albus, what--?”
He took no notice of her confusion, his narrowed blue eyes searching the counter for something in particular. They twinkled playfully when he spotted it.
“So we meet again. I see my earlier warnings to cease harassing my wife have fallen upon deaf ears.” He withdrew his wand. “Have at you vile onion!”
A wide red blast issued forth from his wand and the onions Minerva had been slicing a few moments earlier were reduced to a fine ash. She gave a startled shriek.
“Merlin’s sakes Albus! What on earth has gotten into you?! Have you eaten too much candy again?!”
Turning to face her, he puffed his chest out with pride and held her against it.
“I am proving that I can keep safe me and mine from dastardly things intent upon harming them.” He indicated to the powdered remains of the onions with a pompous gesture. “And there you have it, a testament of my manliness.”
She looked at him as if he’d gone mad, a look he was familiar with. “Oh how manly of you Albus, assaulting inanimate vegetables and giving your poor wife a fright! Now what is this all about?”
Judging by the displeased tone in her voice and the look in her eyes, his darling wife was not impressed with his manly feat so Albus quickly explained what their son informed him a few minutes prior.
“And where exactly is your adoring son?” Minerva asked, her cautionary attitude replaced with an amused one.
“Gil?”
He looked around. The boy was no where to be seen and probably did not follow him into the kitchen
“Oh blast it. He’s probably still in my study trying to find a way to play with the weapons .” He turned to his wife. “Are you feeling better?”
Minerva rolled her eyes and nodded. She Conjured a handkerchief and dabbed her tearful red eyes with it. “Go on, check up on our wayward offspring. He’s most likely jimmied open the weapons display cabinet by now. I’ll call you both for dinner soon.”
Swiftly striding back to his study, Albus was just in time to see his son, precariously positioned on top of a stack of books, grasp the hilt of the regimental sword that was mounted within the cabinet. It belonged to Minerva’s muggle grandfather which he wore during the Crimean War.
“Just what do you think you are doing young man?”
“Uh, I was getting you a weapon to fight off the onion?”offered Gil hopefully. Albus gave him a skeptical look, but fought the urge to grin. At the frim beckoning from his father Gil sighed, let go of the sword and adroitly jumped off the stack of books he set up beside the weapons display cabinet. He walked cautiously over to the displeased Albus.
“I have have saved your mother from the dreaded onion and have done away with it without the need of any weapons.”
“Good-o! Did you blast ‘em nasty buggers to bits with a curse?”
Albus nodded, suddenly suspicious. “Yes I did but wait a minute, I did not tell you that it was the onions causing her to cry. Virgilus, you haven’t been truthful with me.”