"Alastor is not mad." Wilhelmina comforted Minerva. "Yes, I know he isn't, thank you very much! He is far from mad, he's just- paranoid. Too paranoid to be safe, now." She knew Alastor wasn't mentally ill, yet, she deemed it a possibility. She was not one quick to judge, she was patient, she was dedicated, she wanted to be a good mother and teacher, but there was a mountain of work on her shoulders that felt like the torture that Prometheus suffered. "You shouldn't give up hope so easily, Minnie." Minerva snapped. "I am not giving up hope! I have faith in Alastor and myself, it's just so hard. It's not like I was supposed to have twins, we were supposed to be childless and- and we would have more free time to work this out, but now that we do, it's my job to make sure that they don't grow up afraid, and that they're safe.."
Alastor was not a bad father. He adored the little infants that liked walking around the house and peeking around in nooks and small spaces. He and Agatha got along well, since she was like his own mini Minerva, and Cecelia fought fiercely with her father over the tiniest things, but in all seriousness, never meant it. He even gave them a pair name; the cat and the dog, due to Agatha's reserved nature, and Cecelia's extroverted antics. But was he frightening to his children sometimes? Yes.
And Minerva could only bear so much weight.
