She sighed and turned back to her homework. She’d like nothing more than to abandon her homework and go out and play in the snow. Silly, really. I haven’t played in the snow for years. But I have this strangest desire to.
She continued to take notes for Transfiguration theory. Their latest project was to pick an advanced spell and research it, starting with its history and examining specifically how it had changed through the ages and why. Elgrid Yefflet was the first to expand the idea of changing physical appearance. Early versions of the Polyjuice Potion were able to produce a different physical person, but Yefflet was more interested in changing physical appearances to a more animalistic nature. His colleagues’ experimentation with the Polyjuice Potion led to some rather disastrous results, which led him to believe that a completely different potion was needed. He started with the basic ingredients of the Polyjuice; however upon discovering that is was these very items that defined the change in human appearance, he scrapped that idea and decided that a spell-based transfiguration was needed...
She felt her concentration wander for the sixth or seventh time that afternoon. Quidditch season was officially over with the Hufflepuff’s loss over the weekend, and she no longer had her Saturdays day filled to the brim. I now I have time to worry about everything else. She sighed, and looked up to the ceiling in the Gryffindor common room. The stone arches looked the same as usual, graceful semi-circles twenty or so feet overhead.
She watched the common room. There was game of wizard’s chess going on over by the fireplace, a group of fourth years discussing divinitation methods and pretending to be scholarly, and a few other studious others, like herself, diligently writing and reading. Or in her case, attempting to.
What would happen if I suddenly just stopped? Just threw down my quill for the day and read a book for pleasure or grabbed my broom and went flying around the pitch or went outside and made snow angels and snowmen and threw snowballs? Jut because I can, she thought rebelliously. She carefully laid down her quill. ...there, I just did it like I always do. Quietly, correctly, properly. Proper Minerva McGonagall. A phrase suddenly ran unbidden in her mind: “Ice Bitch McGonagall of Gryffindor House...” She looked down at her parchment, as if it held the answers. Do they really think that of me? Am I really that cold and unapproachable? Am I really that mean? Uncaring?
She rubbed her forehead, wishing that she could concentrate.