He was new and unfamiliar, and by the way he walked across the room to her, she did not like him. He did not possess the slightest bit of courtesy, nor did he appear to want to touch her, but the headstrong loyalty to his family's tradition kept him moving forward.







"Ah, Mr. Dessly," her father came out from behind her armchair and rushed forward to greet him. "It is such a pleasure to finally meet you. We shall begin the arrangements." Her father was another such fool to tradition, the pressure nearly suffocating him in his suit and tie.







They shook hands. Mr. Dessly did not send one glance towards her. It would have been wise to do so; she would have forgiven his entrance and unappealing goatee. His outfit wasn't too modest either. Minerva could sense the imaginary royalty melting off his sides. His face was thin and solid. He was not handsome nor ugly, but she pitied any women who had previously been in his path.







"This is my daughter, Minerva," my father chuckled. Only then did the arrogant Mr. Dessly consider looking at her. He was short, but did not forget to examine her every angle and piece of character. His shrewd eyes fly back to Mr. McGonagall.







"She is but twenty?"







"Yes, and has just graduated from Hogwarts. Top of her class."







Minerva made a point to flash her black quill and the ink dripping off its point. If this Mr. Dessly was to see her, he might as well see she was not willing to be tricked or used.







"She will not do much studying if she is to be my wife," Mr. Dessly snorted. "A woman's place is in the household–"







"–Oh, I agree," her father quickly replied. "I would just-–"







"Times are changing, sir," Minerva said. "I was not the first woman to graduate Hogwarts, nor will I be the last. Try to shun me, if you will, but do not drag down every brilliant and worthy woman in this world along with me."







She had hoped her words would have sent him packing. It would have put his annoying interruption to an end and would have left her in peace. But the man only laughed, and Minerva became even more unforgiving.







"She had a sharp tongue," he observed, "So sharp, as if to get her into some trouble one day. Fortunately, it is not today."







Minerva did not need a threat, nor a lecture. She knew what trouble was; she had caused enough at Hogwarts. Ink spills and uncontrollable flying books were her worst, but she had thought of bigger, better plans.







One sharp tongue deserves another. Minerva had discovered that rule. If any words resulted in a smart smack, the punishment was uncalled for. Minerva did, in fact, receive some uncalled for punishments occasionally, but she had forgotten them. Small things were not meant to linger over. This man was no exception.







"Forgive my daughter, sir. She has been out in the sun a bit too long." Mr. McGonagall patted his daughter's shoulder hard with his hand.







What did this pompous fool know? Absolutely everything he wasn't saying. He saw his child grow up, and he shared an equal joy of raising her with her mother. And to marry Minerva off, his character changed dramatically and Minerva did not love him any more than the bachelor next to him.







"Do you enjoy chariot racing, Mr. Dessly?" Mr. McGonagall piped cheerfully. "The roads are quite empty on Sundays and my horses have just been cleaned."







"I would love to accept your invitation. I haven't had much excitement sine I've left London."







"Splendid! Minerva will take your hat–"







Before she could object, Mr. Dessly's hat was in her hands and her father had guided him halfway through the hallway.







Thrusting the hat down on her parchment, Minerva followed the two men to the back door. She grabbed her father's coat and hissed into his ear, "Father, I know you have great plans for me, but they shall not include a marriage, especially to his man. I simply will not accept an engagement of any kind." She let him go. "Enjoy your race. Then, tell Mr. Dessly he must leave. I doubt he will object."







She took a small step back. "He may fetch his hat on his own."







Back in the den, Minerva twirled the hat on her finger. She was in control of the hat's motion. There was no wind to affect it, only her breath.







"Oh, tell me, hat," Minerva laughed, "How does it feel to be hit by the rain? I so dearly wish to know, for I have never allowed myself to feel that way before."







The hat did not reply, but its owner took it away within the hour, and Minerva smirked at the parting carriage from her bedroom window.







She pressed her head against the windowpane and whispered, "If there are any more bold men, let them know that I am here. One sharp tongue deserves another."







Small things were not meant to linger over, like falling rain and silly men.