Post by Nerweniel on Dec 29, 2004 16:51:37 GMT -5
Sixth Senses
“Albus. Dumbledore.”
The Only One He Ever Feared looked up from the book he was reading. A fearful look crept into his bright blue eyes as he found himself gazing straight into the emerald green orbs of the Only One He Ever Loved- and feared, he added as a playful afterthought. But it was true. Minerva McGonagall was not only the love of his life and one of the most fascinating and powerful witches to ever walk God’s earth- she could also be damn scared if she wished to be.
Tentatively, he stretched out his arms toward her- a weak attempt to pretend he had not noticed the proverbial steam coming from her ears.
When she stretched out an emerald-clad arm as well, he hoped he was mistaken for a split second- but the way her nails almost dug in his skin, urging him to get to his feet, shattered every tiny bit of hope, and he sheepishly grinned.
“Minerva, my dear. Anything wrong?”
No words were spoken by the black-haired witch, though, as she, in silence, dragged her oblivious husband back to that part of their shared rooms which was her eternal vexation.
The bathroom.
As soon as her almost trembling hand turned the big, copper doorknob, he knew what was wrong. He knew her way too well- and, unfortunately, he knew himself too well as well.
One, sharp, pointing finger was enough to make him lower his eyes in shame.
“What, pray tell me, Headmaster, is that?”
Her tone was soft, but he was not deceived. As he always used to say; a meowing tabby does not scratch. A silent tabby, on the other hand…
The increasing pressure on his upper arm, though, caused him to answer her question honestly.
“A- a towel, my dear.”
Her grin was triumphant and more feline than he had ever thought possible, and, her face very close to his now, she mouthed
“A towel. A towel, on the floor. Your dressing gown, on the floor. Your robes, for Merlin’s sake, on the floor! Have you any idea what the purpose of a closet is?”
Their lips were almost touching as she hissed those last words- but for once he did not feel like kissing her. She’d most probably bite him or something- and in fact, the Great Albus Dumbledore just felt like running and cowering.
“Um- to… um- for example- um- put-“
“TO PUT TOWELS, DRESSING GOWNS, ROBES AND BAD HUSBANDS IN! CORRECT!”
The Headmaster of Hogwarts was now positively shivering, and yet, with a weak smile he tucked a loose tendril behind his angry wife’s right ear. His blue eyes were even slightly twinkling as he, always the gentleman, raised her hand to his mouth and slightly bowed.
“Well what if your bad, bad husband promised he’d never put any clothes on the floor and cleaned up this mess?”
This time, though, his charms were utterly unsuccessful- and as soon as he lowered his head to look straight into the piercing, yet narrowed eyes of his beloved spouse, he realized his mistake. A firm tug at his sleeve, though, made him once more submissively follow his wife- to their bedroom. Now this thought was not entirely unattractive to him, of course- but some mysterious sixth sense told him that no, whatever she was trying to say him was not going to have a pleasant sequel.
Because, as soon as the couple entered the room, the wizard could not but notice various- purple, yellow, orange- robes spread out on the bed and chairs, and they had but one thing in common.
They were all his.
He stared at his wife in surprise and obvious wonder, but Minerva nearly sat down and crossed her arms.
“Fold. Now.”
One weak attempt of him, though, was enough to irritate the teacher she was born as, and with quite a snap, she pulled the robes from his hands, teaching him for once and for always- clearly- how to decently fold a robe. Once more, though, his attempt was mocked as she rolled her eyes.
“You are one hundred and fifty-two years of age and you cannot fold your own robes? Oh Merlin, what shall I do with you?”
Finally moving on the instinct he only knew too well, though, Minerva’s husband stepped closer, taking- but that she’d never admit- her breath away.
“I have a few ideas, if you’ll permit me?”
Her voice sounded breathless and rather unconvincing, though, as his arms encircled her still slim waist.
“Albus Dumbledore, don’t you dare!”
He did very well dare, though- for a short movement of his wand resulted in him holding her outer robe in his hands, and a rather boyish smile enfolded his lips- and froze her on the spot.
“Shall I fold this one as well, my lady?”
His answer was lost along with his teasing grin as her lips crushed his.
Sometimes, you know- just sometimes sixth senses can be wrong.
“Albus. Dumbledore.”
The Only One He Ever Feared looked up from the book he was reading. A fearful look crept into his bright blue eyes as he found himself gazing straight into the emerald green orbs of the Only One He Ever Loved- and feared, he added as a playful afterthought. But it was true. Minerva McGonagall was not only the love of his life and one of the most fascinating and powerful witches to ever walk God’s earth- she could also be damn scared if she wished to be.
Tentatively, he stretched out his arms toward her- a weak attempt to pretend he had not noticed the proverbial steam coming from her ears.
When she stretched out an emerald-clad arm as well, he hoped he was mistaken for a split second- but the way her nails almost dug in his skin, urging him to get to his feet, shattered every tiny bit of hope, and he sheepishly grinned.
“Minerva, my dear. Anything wrong?”
No words were spoken by the black-haired witch, though, as she, in silence, dragged her oblivious husband back to that part of their shared rooms which was her eternal vexation.
The bathroom.
As soon as her almost trembling hand turned the big, copper doorknob, he knew what was wrong. He knew her way too well- and, unfortunately, he knew himself too well as well.
One, sharp, pointing finger was enough to make him lower his eyes in shame.
“What, pray tell me, Headmaster, is that?”
Her tone was soft, but he was not deceived. As he always used to say; a meowing tabby does not scratch. A silent tabby, on the other hand…
The increasing pressure on his upper arm, though, caused him to answer her question honestly.
“A- a towel, my dear.”
Her grin was triumphant and more feline than he had ever thought possible, and, her face very close to his now, she mouthed
“A towel. A towel, on the floor. Your dressing gown, on the floor. Your robes, for Merlin’s sake, on the floor! Have you any idea what the purpose of a closet is?”
Their lips were almost touching as she hissed those last words- but for once he did not feel like kissing her. She’d most probably bite him or something- and in fact, the Great Albus Dumbledore just felt like running and cowering.
“Um- to… um- for example- um- put-“
“TO PUT TOWELS, DRESSING GOWNS, ROBES AND BAD HUSBANDS IN! CORRECT!”
The Headmaster of Hogwarts was now positively shivering, and yet, with a weak smile he tucked a loose tendril behind his angry wife’s right ear. His blue eyes were even slightly twinkling as he, always the gentleman, raised her hand to his mouth and slightly bowed.
“Well what if your bad, bad husband promised he’d never put any clothes on the floor and cleaned up this mess?”
This time, though, his charms were utterly unsuccessful- and as soon as he lowered his head to look straight into the piercing, yet narrowed eyes of his beloved spouse, he realized his mistake. A firm tug at his sleeve, though, made him once more submissively follow his wife- to their bedroom. Now this thought was not entirely unattractive to him, of course- but some mysterious sixth sense told him that no, whatever she was trying to say him was not going to have a pleasant sequel.
Because, as soon as the couple entered the room, the wizard could not but notice various- purple, yellow, orange- robes spread out on the bed and chairs, and they had but one thing in common.
They were all his.
He stared at his wife in surprise and obvious wonder, but Minerva nearly sat down and crossed her arms.
“Fold. Now.”
One weak attempt of him, though, was enough to irritate the teacher she was born as, and with quite a snap, she pulled the robes from his hands, teaching him for once and for always- clearly- how to decently fold a robe. Once more, though, his attempt was mocked as she rolled her eyes.
“You are one hundred and fifty-two years of age and you cannot fold your own robes? Oh Merlin, what shall I do with you?”
Finally moving on the instinct he only knew too well, though, Minerva’s husband stepped closer, taking- but that she’d never admit- her breath away.
“I have a few ideas, if you’ll permit me?”
Her voice sounded breathless and rather unconvincing, though, as his arms encircled her still slim waist.
“Albus Dumbledore, don’t you dare!”
He did very well dare, though- for a short movement of his wand resulted in him holding her outer robe in his hands, and a rather boyish smile enfolded his lips- and froze her on the spot.
“Shall I fold this one as well, my lady?”
His answer was lost along with his teasing grin as her lips crushed his.
Sometimes, you know- just sometimes sixth senses can be wrong.
That was so funny! Go you! 
