Post by mugglemin on Aug 17, 2005 20:12:34 GMT -5
Disclaimer: Albus, Minerva, Hogwarts etc. all belong to JK Rowling.
Rating: Anyone really...maybe 13 for a bit of inuendo.
No idea where this one came from.
She used to enjoy it, but she won’t let him do it anymore. One grows out of these things, I suppose…
Bun Fight
Bun Fight: A British expression meaning: 1. noisy argument. 2. any crowd or gathering of noisy people 3. A grand, formal party on an important occasion.
_____________________________________________________________________
The bread rolls appeared on the table, magicked in huge baskets by the house elves from the kitchens below. All around the Great Hall, small hands and larger ones reached for the rolls and the butter. Albus Dumbledore reached for one covered with poppy seeds and then passed the basket to Minerva. He smiled as she reached for a perfectly round one of the whole-wheat variety and placed it on her side plate, her hand accidentally brushing against his as she did so. Discreetly, he squeezed one of her fingers.
“Minerva, do you think we could…?”
“No!”
“Just this once, it would be fun!”
He gently nudged her leg under the table, sure to keep his knee in contact with hers. She kicked him brutally in the shin.
“Absolutely not, Albus. It would be unseemly.”
Her look seemed to brook no argument, but he tried anyway.
“Oh go on! You might enjoy it.”
His leg had recovered from her blow, and he gently moved his knee to rest once more against hers.
“I can tell you now, Albus Dumbledore, that I most certainly will not enjoy it. It is…uncivilised.”
“Uncivilised!” He placed his hand on his heart as if wounded to his core. “Uncivilised indeed! There was a time, Minerva, not so very long ago if I remember rightly, that you would start it all off!” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and then settled back in his chair, a wistful smile upon his face as he recalled the days to which he had alluded.
She stiffened in her chair and wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“Yes, well times have changed, and so have I. It is no longer appropriate.”
She replaced her napkin on her lap and regally reached for her pumpkin juice. He looked totally crestfallen. His smile was replaced with a petulant frown and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“You used to love it.” He said sadly.
“When I was much younger, yes. Now, however, I see how very immature and silly it was. Really, Albus, it would set a bad example for the students. If we started doing it, how long do you think it would be before they decided that they could do it too? And then where would we be?”
He eyed her warily for a moment.
“I could pull rank, you know, Minerva.”
Her voice descended to a whisper, her teeth were gritted as she glared at him through her spectacles.
“Don’t you dare.” She said warningly. Their eyes locked, their faces perilously close together.
“Tell me you still love it then.” He said in as threatening a manner as she had just that moment employed towards him.
She swallowed but did not look away. He reached, sightlessly, for another bread roll.
“Tell me, Minerva, how much you love it.”
Their noses were almost touching now. Still she held his gaze, her eyes glued to his, but her countenance softened into a smile as she reached for the whole-wheat bread roll on her side plate. The students at the top of the table had turned to watch them, wondering what on earth was going on between their Headmaster and his deputy.
“Albus, you’re causing a scene.”
“Say it, Minerva. Say you love it and you want to do it now.”
She smiled again, and broke eye contact with him, turning back towards the students in the hall.
“Albus, dear,” She said sweetly, her right arm reaching languidly high above her head “I was only pulling your leg. Of course I love it. But I have to be the one who starts!”
Her arm came down and her roll shot across the room and hit a first year Hufflepuff on the side of the head. There was a roar from the students, and suddenly the staff table was bombarded with bread rolls.
Albus rose to his feet and fired back at the students, laughing delightedly, catching the rolls flung at him and casting them back into the foray.
“I knew it!” He cried to Minerva above the din, who was firing several rolls at once at the Slytherin table “I knew that you would never be able to resist a bun fight!”
I’d be interested to know if anyone thought they were talking about something else. The term "Bun Fight" is not (usually) meant to be taken literally...unless youre an Oxbridge student perhaps. Not my best work, I know. But I’m a long way from home and I miss English bun fights…
Rating: Anyone really...maybe 13 for a bit of inuendo.
No idea where this one came from.
She used to enjoy it, but she won’t let him do it anymore. One grows out of these things, I suppose…
Bun Fight
Bun Fight: A British expression meaning: 1. noisy argument. 2. any crowd or gathering of noisy people 3. A grand, formal party on an important occasion.
_____________________________________________________________________
The bread rolls appeared on the table, magicked in huge baskets by the house elves from the kitchens below. All around the Great Hall, small hands and larger ones reached for the rolls and the butter. Albus Dumbledore reached for one covered with poppy seeds and then passed the basket to Minerva. He smiled as she reached for a perfectly round one of the whole-wheat variety and placed it on her side plate, her hand accidentally brushing against his as she did so. Discreetly, he squeezed one of her fingers.
“Minerva, do you think we could…?”
“No!”
“Just this once, it would be fun!”
He gently nudged her leg under the table, sure to keep his knee in contact with hers. She kicked him brutally in the shin.
“Absolutely not, Albus. It would be unseemly.”
Her look seemed to brook no argument, but he tried anyway.
“Oh go on! You might enjoy it.”
His leg had recovered from her blow, and he gently moved his knee to rest once more against hers.
“I can tell you now, Albus Dumbledore, that I most certainly will not enjoy it. It is…uncivilised.”
“Uncivilised!” He placed his hand on his heart as if wounded to his core. “Uncivilised indeed! There was a time, Minerva, not so very long ago if I remember rightly, that you would start it all off!” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and then settled back in his chair, a wistful smile upon his face as he recalled the days to which he had alluded.
She stiffened in her chair and wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“Yes, well times have changed, and so have I. It is no longer appropriate.”
She replaced her napkin on her lap and regally reached for her pumpkin juice. He looked totally crestfallen. His smile was replaced with a petulant frown and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“You used to love it.” He said sadly.
“When I was much younger, yes. Now, however, I see how very immature and silly it was. Really, Albus, it would set a bad example for the students. If we started doing it, how long do you think it would be before they decided that they could do it too? And then where would we be?”
He eyed her warily for a moment.
“I could pull rank, you know, Minerva.”
Her voice descended to a whisper, her teeth were gritted as she glared at him through her spectacles.
“Don’t you dare.” She said warningly. Their eyes locked, their faces perilously close together.
“Tell me you still love it then.” He said in as threatening a manner as she had just that moment employed towards him.
She swallowed but did not look away. He reached, sightlessly, for another bread roll.
“Tell me, Minerva, how much you love it.”
Their noses were almost touching now. Still she held his gaze, her eyes glued to his, but her countenance softened into a smile as she reached for the whole-wheat bread roll on her side plate. The students at the top of the table had turned to watch them, wondering what on earth was going on between their Headmaster and his deputy.
“Albus, you’re causing a scene.”
“Say it, Minerva. Say you love it and you want to do it now.”
She smiled again, and broke eye contact with him, turning back towards the students in the hall.
“Albus, dear,” She said sweetly, her right arm reaching languidly high above her head “I was only pulling your leg. Of course I love it. But I have to be the one who starts!”
Her arm came down and her roll shot across the room and hit a first year Hufflepuff on the side of the head. There was a roar from the students, and suddenly the staff table was bombarded with bread rolls.
Albus rose to his feet and fired back at the students, laughing delightedly, catching the rolls flung at him and casting them back into the foray.
“I knew it!” He cried to Minerva above the din, who was firing several rolls at once at the Slytherin table “I knew that you would never be able to resist a bun fight!”
I’d be interested to know if anyone thought they were talking about something else. The term "Bun Fight" is not (usually) meant to be taken literally...unless youre an Oxbridge student perhaps. Not my best work, I know. But I’m a long way from home and I miss English bun fights…
lol Great fic 
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