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crack_van2011-08-12 12:15 am
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-08-12 12:15 am
Entry tags:
Air Heart by magnetic_pole (PG-13)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: Minerva McGonagall/Rolanda Hooch (background Minerva McGonagall/Walburga Black)
Length: 7,800
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
magnetic_pole
Author Website: maggie's fics on AO3
Why this must be read:
Maggie does subtle, marvelous things within the fairly short span of a fic that looks, at first glance, like a coming-of-age story. She gives us third-year Minerva's first-person voice, although it soon becomes clear it's a retrospective narrative, a smart, perceptive student's outlook leavened by the clarity of the backward glance.
Young Minerva's put in charge of two late-enrolled Squibs sent by their worried parents to Hogwarts in the hope they'll be safe from the terrible war shaking the Muggle world. One is a tall girl whose whole soul is expressed through flight, and who tapes photos of world-famous aviatrices to her dorm wall. She is magickless but indomitable, and she's a major reason why you should check out this fic: because Rolanda Hooch is a walking rebuttal to all the stereotypes of Muggle inferiority, a brusque and forthright girl with the heart of a lion. Maggie's Hooch is the portrait of the hero as a young dyke, finely tuned to the period and full of flair. She's an original, and so is the writer capable of imagining her this way.
Minerva in her conscientious, passionately academic, impatient and naïve youth is excellent company, frank and modest, shortsighted but capable of seeing the truth. On the one hand, we get the adolescent rites of passage: infatuations, friendship pecking orders, study as an avenue to self-worth. On the other, we see rising anti-Muggle sentiment exacerbated by the war, made chilling and real by conceding what JKR could not: that Slytherins aren't the only ones who harbor kneejerk prejudices. Gryffindors, too, will take a ringside seat to watch Muggles burn. Political intelligence permeates this fic, illuminating canon issues (and canon blind spots) in ways that are both delicate and dramatic. We as readers can see and deplore how maddeningly ineffectual the adults are. Minerva sees, too, sees the cruelty and arrogance of her world as she never has before, a loss of innocence that will contribute to making her the scrupulous professor we know and love.
Between these appealing portraits and our startled glimpse of the soil in which Tom Riddle's poison takes root, this fic covers a lot of ground in words that are spare, sure, precise, and memorable.
~~#~~
Rolanda showed no such signs of missing home, but she was obviously out of place, towering over her classmates. The boys eyed her breasts openly and sniggered at her wild hair and her goggles, which, much to my chagrin, she'd taken to wearing along with her robes. She was the target of cruel tricks in the hallways, particularly when I wasn't nearby to reverse a casual hex. She fell asleep in history of magic--which, to be fair, was a fairly common affliction among students of all magical abilities--and struggled with even the most basic arithmancy. I had to work through every problem with her in the evening, after dinner, our scrolls and charts spread out across my bed. My dear reader, those assignments tried my patience as few other events in my life have; I hadn't made a mistake on an Arithmancy assignment since October of my first year, and I simply couldn't understand why Rolanda was so thick.
"It's just maths!" I said, throwing down my quill one grim winter night when I discovered that she hadn't solved a single problem correctly. "Didn't you learn anything before you came here?"
"Right," she said, tight-lipped. "No, I suppose I didn't. And you're not a Ravenclaw, so you're not smart enough to explain it to me."
I pulled back, stung. "What's so hard about the idea that the number seven has magical properties? It's not like six or eleven! You're the one who's refusing to learn!"
The only thing that made the year tolerable for her was flying. Apparently no magic at all was needed to mount a broom, and Rolanda was as nimble and quick in the air as anyone I'd ever seen. She commandeered an ancient Silver Arrow from the broom sheds that no one else cared about, and she flew it as gracefully on it as if were the latest Cleansweep or Comet. She had the endearing habit of shouting as she flew, letting out a long, loud whoop as she rounded the Astronomy Tower or flew over the empty Quidditch pitch.
We heard the same lecture over and over that year--in Transfiguration, with Professor Dumbledore, in Charms, with Professor Flitwick, in Wand Crafting, with Headmaster Dippet: we have guests here at Hogwarts this year, and they are to be welcomed; nothing negative is to be said about Muggles or Squibs or people without wands. Simply because one is not a wizard or a witch does not mean that one is stupid or unworthy.
And that's true. I can tell you that now: it's a truth so fundamental I would risk my life to defend it, and I have, more than once. But it's not what we're taught by our parents or our friends, or even our well-intentioned professors, and it's not an easy lesson to learn.
Air Heart
Pairing: Minerva McGonagall/Rolanda Hooch (background Minerva McGonagall/Walburga Black)
Length: 7,800
Author on LJ:
magnetic_poleAuthor Website: maggie's fics on AO3
Why this must be read:
Maggie does subtle, marvelous things within the fairly short span of a fic that looks, at first glance, like a coming-of-age story. She gives us third-year Minerva's first-person voice, although it soon becomes clear it's a retrospective narrative, a smart, perceptive student's outlook leavened by the clarity of the backward glance.
Young Minerva's put in charge of two late-enrolled Squibs sent by their worried parents to Hogwarts in the hope they'll be safe from the terrible war shaking the Muggle world. One is a tall girl whose whole soul is expressed through flight, and who tapes photos of world-famous aviatrices to her dorm wall. She is magickless but indomitable, and she's a major reason why you should check out this fic: because Rolanda Hooch is a walking rebuttal to all the stereotypes of Muggle inferiority, a brusque and forthright girl with the heart of a lion. Maggie's Hooch is the portrait of the hero as a young dyke, finely tuned to the period and full of flair. She's an original, and so is the writer capable of imagining her this way.
Minerva in her conscientious, passionately academic, impatient and naïve youth is excellent company, frank and modest, shortsighted but capable of seeing the truth. On the one hand, we get the adolescent rites of passage: infatuations, friendship pecking orders, study as an avenue to self-worth. On the other, we see rising anti-Muggle sentiment exacerbated by the war, made chilling and real by conceding what JKR could not: that Slytherins aren't the only ones who harbor kneejerk prejudices. Gryffindors, too, will take a ringside seat to watch Muggles burn. Political intelligence permeates this fic, illuminating canon issues (and canon blind spots) in ways that are both delicate and dramatic. We as readers can see and deplore how maddeningly ineffectual the adults are. Minerva sees, too, sees the cruelty and arrogance of her world as she never has before, a loss of innocence that will contribute to making her the scrupulous professor we know and love.
Between these appealing portraits and our startled glimpse of the soil in which Tom Riddle's poison takes root, this fic covers a lot of ground in words that are spare, sure, precise, and memorable.
Rolanda showed no such signs of missing home, but she was obviously out of place, towering over her classmates. The boys eyed her breasts openly and sniggered at her wild hair and her goggles, which, much to my chagrin, she'd taken to wearing along with her robes. She was the target of cruel tricks in the hallways, particularly when I wasn't nearby to reverse a casual hex. She fell asleep in history of magic--which, to be fair, was a fairly common affliction among students of all magical abilities--and struggled with even the most basic arithmancy. I had to work through every problem with her in the evening, after dinner, our scrolls and charts spread out across my bed. My dear reader, those assignments tried my patience as few other events in my life have; I hadn't made a mistake on an Arithmancy assignment since October of my first year, and I simply couldn't understand why Rolanda was so thick.
"It's just maths!" I said, throwing down my quill one grim winter night when I discovered that she hadn't solved a single problem correctly. "Didn't you learn anything before you came here?"
"Right," she said, tight-lipped. "No, I suppose I didn't. And you're not a Ravenclaw, so you're not smart enough to explain it to me."
I pulled back, stung. "What's so hard about the idea that the number seven has magical properties? It's not like six or eleven! You're the one who's refusing to learn!"
The only thing that made the year tolerable for her was flying. Apparently no magic at all was needed to mount a broom, and Rolanda was as nimble and quick in the air as anyone I'd ever seen. She commandeered an ancient Silver Arrow from the broom sheds that no one else cared about, and she flew it as gracefully on it as if were the latest Cleansweep or Comet. She had the endearing habit of shouting as she flew, letting out a long, loud whoop as she rounded the Astronomy Tower or flew over the empty Quidditch pitch.
We heard the same lecture over and over that year--in Transfiguration, with Professor Dumbledore, in Charms, with Professor Flitwick, in Wand Crafting, with Headmaster Dippet: we have guests here at Hogwarts this year, and they are to be welcomed; nothing negative is to be said about Muggles or Squibs or people without wands. Simply because one is not a wizard or a witch does not mean that one is stupid or unworthy.
And that's true. I can tell you that now: it's a truth so fundamental I would risk my life to defend it, and I have, more than once. But it's not what we're taught by our parents or our friends, or even our well-intentioned professors, and it's not an easy lesson to learn.
Air Heart
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