Post by Apocalypticat on Apr 29, 2006 14:34:50 GMT -5
TITLE: Tattoos and Didgeridoos.
RATING: M
SUMMARY: A drunken night out gives Minerva an embarassing secret. Just a little something to get me out of writer's block on my other fic. Not really funny, but... meh.
PART 1
Saturday night predictably saw the Hog’s Head crowded. The air was pungent with the stink of smoke and sweating flesh, and raucous laughter echoed around the rafters. Aberforth Dumbledore, resident pessimist and barman rolled his eyes as a giggling Seventh-Year Hufflepuff ordered another drink, and groaned as one of the regulars threw up in a corner. Passing his eyes over the packed room, he was surprised to spot a group of Hogwarts Professors - whose usual haunt was the more respectable Three Broomsticks. He glared at them, but was unable to make any impact as someone decided to jovially order ‘three more barrels of mulled mead, my good man.’
His brief scowl went entirely noticed at the Professors’ table - which was populated by Rolanda Hooch, Pomona Sprout and, oddly enough, Serena Sinistra and Minerva McGonagall, both of whom looked thoroughly out of place.
Minerva stared stiffly around at the packed pub. She didn’t know what had possessed her to allow Rolanda to drag her there, and was already waiting for when the time came to return to the castle. She had never felt at home in pubs, let alone in ones like the Hog’s Head, and the smell was making her feel nauseous. Serena, she saw, was looking around with a very haughty, disapproving expression that Minerva knew her own face probably matched.
“Oh, lighten up, Min!” Rolanda said, beaming. “And drink your Firewhisky, it’s getting cold!”
Minerva rolled her eyes and took another reluctant sip of alcohol. Rolanda had somehow persuaded her to try it, “for a laugh.” She didn’t feel like laughing at all - which was mainly due to the current topic of conversation.
“So,” said Pomona, taking another swig of her mead. “How long have you liked him, again?”
“I have been friends with him for quite some time, as well you know, Pomona.”
“Pssh!” Rolanda waved a hand as though swatting a fly away. “’Friends! Friends indeed!”
Minerva suppressed her anger wearily. The teasing was familiar; she should be used to it by now.
“Well,” sniffed Serena, “most of the faculty are aware of some sort of… deeper connection-”
“Get him in bed now!”
“Rolanda!” Minerva snapped. “I don’t know how you got this ridiculous idea into your head, but - as I’ve told you repeatedly - there’s nothing between me and the Headmaster except-”
“-Your lingerie!” chuckled Pomona. Her face was rather red and her hat was falling off.
“Come on, Min,” crooned Rolanda. “You’ve had a thing for him since our school-days, haven’t you? Of course, you know he likes you too?”
“I’ve had nothing of the sort, Rolanda.” Minerva took a large of gulp of Firewhisky, in order to distract herself from what the Flying Instructor had just said. Of course, he likes you too. Of course not, she thought bitterly.
“He does, you know. He looks at you with that twinkle in his eye-”
“Albus twinkles at everyone. It’s a speciality of his,” she protested, taking another gulp. The drink was stoking the fire in her belly - the fire that had lit the moment her friends had begun their stupid teasing.
“-No, he’s looks at you speshal like-”
“You’re slurring, Hooch,” commented Serena coldly.
“You’re boring, Shinishtra.”
“Another, Min?” asked Pomona, pointing at her empty glass. Minerva nodded vaguely. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Aberforth, who happened to share the same snow-white hair and bright blue eyes as Albus. The sight sent a pang through her heart.
“You should shay something,” Rolanda advised, giggling slightly and waving a finger at her.
The alcohol tang scoured her throat once again before she answered. “What would I shay, Ro? I mean, shay. Shay,” she repeated, feeling woozy. She hadn’t meant to say that at all, she realised. She had meant to deny it again. Her friend was grinning lopsidedly at her.
“Minerva, Hooch, I think you’re drinking a bit too much,” said Serena primly. Both witches ignored her. The conversation had become very special; they were staring into each other’s eyes.
“You should declare it to the shtars,” slurred Rolanda, banging a hand down on the table. “You should shing it to ‘im outshide ‘is window.”
“But oh, Ro…” Minerva felt her eyes heat with tears. How terrible it was that she wasn’t snuggling her head in Albus’s beard. “I can’t shing. I never learned.”
“Sheduce ‘im then.”
“How?” Minerva asked, looking down distractedly at her drink. The Firewhisky had gone. How strange that was! How odd it was that the room seemed to be rocking from side to side like that…She should complain to the barman - and then she would go and seduce Albus. She would take off all her robes one by one - yes, perhaps that would be a good idea…
“Smooch ‘im in your chesh game. Chesh is borin’ anyway.”
“Tis not. I don’t think I should kish him though - what if he doesn’t like it?”
“Then he’sh a fool,” pronounced Rolanda solemnly. Both friends toasted the other - they weren’t quite sure why but somehow it seemed appropriate.
“Do what Ro did for Dave,” piped up Pomona vaguely.
The Flying Instructor grimaced. “Dunno what I ever shaw in ‘im…”
“What did you do?” Minerva asked.
Rolanda grinned and clumsily rolled up the sleeve of her robes. Minerva stared at the tattoo for a moment, and then embraced her friend.
“Oh Ro… That’sh bee-yutiful…”
Small hammers were thumping at the inside of her skull, setting her temples on fire. Groaning, Minerva McGonagall wrenched herself upwards, feeling as if she’d left part of her head behind on the pillow. What had possessed her? Why on earth had she drunk that much? And in a pub that students often went to! If they’d seen her like that then she’d never live it down…
Blearily, she stumbled across her chambers into the shower. Some cold water and a cup of coffee, that was what was needed. The water sluiced down her body, finally seeming to wake her. Sighing, she passed a soap down her arms - and met something soft and damp.
Confused, she looked down, to see a pad taped to her arm. Had she hurt herself the night before and not been sober enough to cast a simple healing charm? Irritably, she ripped the pad off.
And stared.
It was heart-shaped, and a garish pink. Emblazoned across the middle was the word ‘ALBUS.’
She gaped at it in dismay. What had possessed her?! How was she ever to live it down - and what if Albus saw, what if Albus noticed? She covered it up with a hand, feeling as though hidden eyes were laughing at her. How could she explain it away? What possible excuse could she give? Her stomach clenched - and then loosened again.
The tattoo was on her forearm, and so unlikely to ever be seen. She rarely wore sleeveless robes without some sort of over-robe on; how was Albus ever going to see it? Paranoia, she reasoned, is not the answer. The remaining question now was: exactly how much money had her drunken self decided to waste on it?
To her irritation, there was not one long-sleeved robe to wear on the day when she was feeling at her most self-conscious. Thoroughly annoyed, she donned a black sleeveless robe before covering it over with a green outer one - with thankfully long sleeves. Then she sat down and brushed her hair, with the fury of someone who was suppressing the urge to strangle one Rolanda Hooch.
The morning went normally and, in Minerva’s opinion, in a satisfactory way. Rolanda, whom she’d met creeping down to Snape to pick up a Sobering potion, had fled with far more than a hang over to deal with - having been subject to the Deputy Headmistress’s formidable Scottish temper. There had only been one tiny blip in the course of the day.
“ROLANDA HOOCH! HOW DARE YOU TRICK ME INTO GETTING AN ‘ALBUS’ TATTOO!” she’d shouted down what she’d thought to be an empty corridor.
“Goodness, what’s the commotion, my dear?” Albus’s voice had said suddenly in her ear.
She’d spun round, flushing, to see the Headmaster standing there with a vaguely puzzled expression. He was inserting one finger into an ear and twisting it, as though convinced he’d misheard something.
“I was rebuking Rolanda for tricking me into getting a didgeridoo,” she’d managed to say relatively smoothly, however, and the moment had passed.
Now she was looking forward to a normal lunch at Albus’s side. Mealtimes were the highlights of the day, as they gave her the excuse to speak to the Headmaster for extended periods of time. If she felt stressed then he was the one to relax her, or cheer her up. Who could resist the infamous Dumbledore twinkle?
“Good afternoon,” he said as she sat down. “Do you still have your didgeridoo?”
“Uh - no. No, I got rid of it.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “A shame. I hear they’re quite fascinating instruments. Oh - you might want to ask Pomona what’s wrong with her,” he added in an underdone, bringing his enchanting blue eyes disturbingly close to Minerva’s. “She seems a bit… frazzled by something.”
Minerva glanced over at the Herbology Professor and raised her eyebrows. Pomona was flushed and her face was fixed into a glare; a metaphorical storm cloud hung above her head. Curiosity peaked, and needing to get away from the dizzying effect of those blue eyes, Minerva shifted down into the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s empty seat and peered into Pomona’s troubled face.
“Bee in your bonnet, Pom?”
“Yes,” sighed her friend. Her brown eyes came up to meet Minerva’s, flashing in anger. “Do you know what that - idiot - Rolanda Hooch persuaded me to do last night?”
Minerva shook her head politely.
“A tattoo. She made me get a tattoo.”
“You as well?”
“And it’s the most awful - what? She made you get one? I don’t remember that at all!”
“Neither do I. What’s yours of?”
Pomona grimaced. “Well, you know I like this man called Guy Pern?”
“Wasn‘t he in our year? Yes.”
“Well. Let’s just say I think the tattoo guy has a totally unacceptable sense of humour.”
Angrily, the Herbology Professor wrenched her sleeve upwards. A garish heart just like Minerva’s was exposed to the air - only, instead of ALBUS, were the words GAY PORN.
“It is not funny,” Pomona sniffed as Minerva sucked in her cheeks and closed her eyes. “I find it deeply offensive.”
“Perhaps he misheard you,” suggested the Deputy Headmistress in a suspiciously quivering voice.
“Hmph. What’s yours say?”
Tentatively, Minerva rolled up one sleeve - and glared as Pomona smiled.
“What is so fascinating about Minerva’s arm?” Albus asked curiously, leaning forwards. Panicked, she pulled the sleeve back down.
“That was suspicious,” drawled Severus lazily.
“She’s got a Dark Mark,” said Pomona in a loud stage-whisper.
“Pomona!”
The faculty laughed, drawing the attention of the students - all except for two, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, who were having a heated argument at the other end of the Great Hall. Minerva spent the rest of the meal in deep conversation with Albus, who luckily didn’t demand to see her arm, but expressed regret about the didgeridoo.
Random stoppage.
RATING: M
SUMMARY: A drunken night out gives Minerva an embarassing secret. Just a little something to get me out of writer's block on my other fic. Not really funny, but... meh.
PART 1
Saturday night predictably saw the Hog’s Head crowded. The air was pungent with the stink of smoke and sweating flesh, and raucous laughter echoed around the rafters. Aberforth Dumbledore, resident pessimist and barman rolled his eyes as a giggling Seventh-Year Hufflepuff ordered another drink, and groaned as one of the regulars threw up in a corner. Passing his eyes over the packed room, he was surprised to spot a group of Hogwarts Professors - whose usual haunt was the more respectable Three Broomsticks. He glared at them, but was unable to make any impact as someone decided to jovially order ‘three more barrels of mulled mead, my good man.’
His brief scowl went entirely noticed at the Professors’ table - which was populated by Rolanda Hooch, Pomona Sprout and, oddly enough, Serena Sinistra and Minerva McGonagall, both of whom looked thoroughly out of place.
Minerva stared stiffly around at the packed pub. She didn’t know what had possessed her to allow Rolanda to drag her there, and was already waiting for when the time came to return to the castle. She had never felt at home in pubs, let alone in ones like the Hog’s Head, and the smell was making her feel nauseous. Serena, she saw, was looking around with a very haughty, disapproving expression that Minerva knew her own face probably matched.
“Oh, lighten up, Min!” Rolanda said, beaming. “And drink your Firewhisky, it’s getting cold!”
Minerva rolled her eyes and took another reluctant sip of alcohol. Rolanda had somehow persuaded her to try it, “for a laugh.” She didn’t feel like laughing at all - which was mainly due to the current topic of conversation.
“So,” said Pomona, taking another swig of her mead. “How long have you liked him, again?”
“I have been friends with him for quite some time, as well you know, Pomona.”
“Pssh!” Rolanda waved a hand as though swatting a fly away. “’Friends! Friends indeed!”
Minerva suppressed her anger wearily. The teasing was familiar; she should be used to it by now.
“Well,” sniffed Serena, “most of the faculty are aware of some sort of… deeper connection-”
“Get him in bed now!”
“Rolanda!” Minerva snapped. “I don’t know how you got this ridiculous idea into your head, but - as I’ve told you repeatedly - there’s nothing between me and the Headmaster except-”
“-Your lingerie!” chuckled Pomona. Her face was rather red and her hat was falling off.
“Come on, Min,” crooned Rolanda. “You’ve had a thing for him since our school-days, haven’t you? Of course, you know he likes you too?”
“I’ve had nothing of the sort, Rolanda.” Minerva took a large of gulp of Firewhisky, in order to distract herself from what the Flying Instructor had just said. Of course, he likes you too. Of course not, she thought bitterly.
“He does, you know. He looks at you with that twinkle in his eye-”
“Albus twinkles at everyone. It’s a speciality of his,” she protested, taking another gulp. The drink was stoking the fire in her belly - the fire that had lit the moment her friends had begun their stupid teasing.
“-No, he’s looks at you speshal like-”
“You’re slurring, Hooch,” commented Serena coldly.
“You’re boring, Shinishtra.”
“Another, Min?” asked Pomona, pointing at her empty glass. Minerva nodded vaguely. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Aberforth, who happened to share the same snow-white hair and bright blue eyes as Albus. The sight sent a pang through her heart.
“You should shay something,” Rolanda advised, giggling slightly and waving a finger at her.
The alcohol tang scoured her throat once again before she answered. “What would I shay, Ro? I mean, shay. Shay,” she repeated, feeling woozy. She hadn’t meant to say that at all, she realised. She had meant to deny it again. Her friend was grinning lopsidedly at her.
“Minerva, Hooch, I think you’re drinking a bit too much,” said Serena primly. Both witches ignored her. The conversation had become very special; they were staring into each other’s eyes.
“You should declare it to the shtars,” slurred Rolanda, banging a hand down on the table. “You should shing it to ‘im outshide ‘is window.”
“But oh, Ro…” Minerva felt her eyes heat with tears. How terrible it was that she wasn’t snuggling her head in Albus’s beard. “I can’t shing. I never learned.”
“Sheduce ‘im then.”
“How?” Minerva asked, looking down distractedly at her drink. The Firewhisky had gone. How strange that was! How odd it was that the room seemed to be rocking from side to side like that…She should complain to the barman - and then she would go and seduce Albus. She would take off all her robes one by one - yes, perhaps that would be a good idea…
“Smooch ‘im in your chesh game. Chesh is borin’ anyway.”
“Tis not. I don’t think I should kish him though - what if he doesn’t like it?”
“Then he’sh a fool,” pronounced Rolanda solemnly. Both friends toasted the other - they weren’t quite sure why but somehow it seemed appropriate.
“Do what Ro did for Dave,” piped up Pomona vaguely.
The Flying Instructor grimaced. “Dunno what I ever shaw in ‘im…”
“What did you do?” Minerva asked.
Rolanda grinned and clumsily rolled up the sleeve of her robes. Minerva stared at the tattoo for a moment, and then embraced her friend.
“Oh Ro… That’sh bee-yutiful…”
Small hammers were thumping at the inside of her skull, setting her temples on fire. Groaning, Minerva McGonagall wrenched herself upwards, feeling as if she’d left part of her head behind on the pillow. What had possessed her? Why on earth had she drunk that much? And in a pub that students often went to! If they’d seen her like that then she’d never live it down…
Blearily, she stumbled across her chambers into the shower. Some cold water and a cup of coffee, that was what was needed. The water sluiced down her body, finally seeming to wake her. Sighing, she passed a soap down her arms - and met something soft and damp.
Confused, she looked down, to see a pad taped to her arm. Had she hurt herself the night before and not been sober enough to cast a simple healing charm? Irritably, she ripped the pad off.
And stared.
It was heart-shaped, and a garish pink. Emblazoned across the middle was the word ‘ALBUS.’
She gaped at it in dismay. What had possessed her?! How was she ever to live it down - and what if Albus saw, what if Albus noticed? She covered it up with a hand, feeling as though hidden eyes were laughing at her. How could she explain it away? What possible excuse could she give? Her stomach clenched - and then loosened again.
The tattoo was on her forearm, and so unlikely to ever be seen. She rarely wore sleeveless robes without some sort of over-robe on; how was Albus ever going to see it? Paranoia, she reasoned, is not the answer. The remaining question now was: exactly how much money had her drunken self decided to waste on it?
To her irritation, there was not one long-sleeved robe to wear on the day when she was feeling at her most self-conscious. Thoroughly annoyed, she donned a black sleeveless robe before covering it over with a green outer one - with thankfully long sleeves. Then she sat down and brushed her hair, with the fury of someone who was suppressing the urge to strangle one Rolanda Hooch.
The morning went normally and, in Minerva’s opinion, in a satisfactory way. Rolanda, whom she’d met creeping down to Snape to pick up a Sobering potion, had fled with far more than a hang over to deal with - having been subject to the Deputy Headmistress’s formidable Scottish temper. There had only been one tiny blip in the course of the day.
“ROLANDA HOOCH! HOW DARE YOU TRICK ME INTO GETTING AN ‘ALBUS’ TATTOO!” she’d shouted down what she’d thought to be an empty corridor.
“Goodness, what’s the commotion, my dear?” Albus’s voice had said suddenly in her ear.
She’d spun round, flushing, to see the Headmaster standing there with a vaguely puzzled expression. He was inserting one finger into an ear and twisting it, as though convinced he’d misheard something.
“I was rebuking Rolanda for tricking me into getting a didgeridoo,” she’d managed to say relatively smoothly, however, and the moment had passed.
Now she was looking forward to a normal lunch at Albus’s side. Mealtimes were the highlights of the day, as they gave her the excuse to speak to the Headmaster for extended periods of time. If she felt stressed then he was the one to relax her, or cheer her up. Who could resist the infamous Dumbledore twinkle?
“Good afternoon,” he said as she sat down. “Do you still have your didgeridoo?”
“Uh - no. No, I got rid of it.”
“Ah,” he sighed. “A shame. I hear they’re quite fascinating instruments. Oh - you might want to ask Pomona what’s wrong with her,” he added in an underdone, bringing his enchanting blue eyes disturbingly close to Minerva’s. “She seems a bit… frazzled by something.”
Minerva glanced over at the Herbology Professor and raised her eyebrows. Pomona was flushed and her face was fixed into a glare; a metaphorical storm cloud hung above her head. Curiosity peaked, and needing to get away from the dizzying effect of those blue eyes, Minerva shifted down into the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s empty seat and peered into Pomona’s troubled face.
“Bee in your bonnet, Pom?”
“Yes,” sighed her friend. Her brown eyes came up to meet Minerva’s, flashing in anger. “Do you know what that - idiot - Rolanda Hooch persuaded me to do last night?”
Minerva shook her head politely.
“A tattoo. She made me get a tattoo.”
“You as well?”
“And it’s the most awful - what? She made you get one? I don’t remember that at all!”
“Neither do I. What’s yours of?”
Pomona grimaced. “Well, you know I like this man called Guy Pern?”
“Wasn‘t he in our year? Yes.”
“Well. Let’s just say I think the tattoo guy has a totally unacceptable sense of humour.”
Angrily, the Herbology Professor wrenched her sleeve upwards. A garish heart just like Minerva’s was exposed to the air - only, instead of ALBUS, were the words GAY PORN.
“It is not funny,” Pomona sniffed as Minerva sucked in her cheeks and closed her eyes. “I find it deeply offensive.”
“Perhaps he misheard you,” suggested the Deputy Headmistress in a suspiciously quivering voice.
“Hmph. What’s yours say?”
Tentatively, Minerva rolled up one sleeve - and glared as Pomona smiled.
“What is so fascinating about Minerva’s arm?” Albus asked curiously, leaning forwards. Panicked, she pulled the sleeve back down.
“That was suspicious,” drawled Severus lazily.
“She’s got a Dark Mark,” said Pomona in a loud stage-whisper.
“Pomona!”
The faculty laughed, drawing the attention of the students - all except for two, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, who were having a heated argument at the other end of the Great Hall. Minerva spent the rest of the meal in deep conversation with Albus, who luckily didn’t demand to see her arm, but expressed regret about the didgeridoo.
Random stoppage.
... Not funny, though! 
Great fic. 
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