Post by Sensiblyquirky on Sept 21, 2005 17:40:45 GMT -5
Summary: Albus tries to show off.
Dedicated to every woman on earth for having to deal with a man's ego.
“Well that was mildly entertaining,” Poppy Pompfrey muttered as she followed Minerva McGonagall into the latter’s sitting room after witnessing the first of the Hogwarts Summer traditions. The staff claimed not until she witnessed or participated in all staff traditions would she be fully indoctrinated into the Hogwarts family.
“Did you have to witness such antics your first year, Minerva?”
Handing Poppy a cup of tea Minerva chuckled at the memory, “Oh it was much worse my year.”
“I find that hard to believe. Vector was almost carried off the field; but of course he made an amazing recovery and was able to hobble…”
“-on the wrong leg,” Minerva interrupted.
“Yes I noticed that too; anyway he was quite lucky to have recovered directly in front of Mara.”
Minerva allowed a look of amusement to pass between Poppy and herself before replying, “Once again I defer to my first summer: Albus’ performance, shall we say, still takes the prize.”
“The Headmaster, I find that hard to believe…”
Minerva quirked an eyebrow, “Well it’s a good thing you have me to set you straight. Just call me the Hogwarts Historian and settle in Poppy. The story’s worth it.”
Summer 1957
“So how does it feel to have your first year of teaching behind you,” a masculine voice asked from the direction of my door. Looking up I could only smile as Albus Dumbledore came into focus. He was leaning against the door jam looking very handsome in midnight blue robes.
I spoke while gesturing for him to take a seat, “I haven’t had time to think about it really. I’m trying to get all my work done by the end of the week.”
“Well I do hope you’ve cleared your schedule for tomorrow afternoon for the annual Great Men of Hogwarts Quidditch Game. I, for one, would be highly disappointed if you were not in the stands.”
His smile was charming, but it could not lead me away from a certain line of questioning: “Great men of Hogwarts…” Letting my voice drop and my eyebrow rise I awaited a response.
“Quidditch game, you forgot that part. It is highly entertaining, I daresay better than any student match.” I noticed how Albus stretched his legs and puffed out his chest.
“And why would that be?”
Albus blinked and looked as if I had just asked the stupidest question possible, “I do hate to be redundant, my dear, but need I repeat the title of the activity?”
“Let me re-phrase, what exactly makes all of you men so great, you middle aged men,” I added.
Here he produced a Cheshire grin that made me shift in my seat, “If you would consent to dinner after the game I’m sure I could show you.”
I could feel myself blushing as I shooed him out of the room, “Get out of here.”
“But you’ll come?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll come.” Kissing my hand in thanks Albus left me to my paper work.
The following afternoon I settled into the teacher’s box with the rest of the female staff, and watched as each man practically strutted onto the pitch.
“Let the hilarity begin,” someone muttered behind me.
During the warm-up I kept noticing Albus looking over at me before or after he had thrown the quaffle or practiced a dive I was sure would kill him. After multiple glances I waved, but Albus’ only response was to try another foolish stunt.
When the game started Albus immediately did a complicated dive that required him to spiral down just to catch the quaffle, mind you the Referee had only just tossed it. Naturally he missed, and almost crashed into the ground. He was able to pull out, but chose to stand on his broom as another Player threw him the ball. He lost balance, and just caught his broom. I wanted to bury my face in my hands, if he would only stop trying to show off he could lead his team to victory. Quickly I reminded myself he was male, and would therefore never choose the smartest course of action first.
For awhile I thought he was finally settling down, but I should have known better. Down 40-0 his team desperately needed a goal, and it looked like they might get a chance. Albus had broken away, but instead of simply tossing the ball through the hoop nice and simple he decides to twist five times and throw with his left hand. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“Looks as if he’s trying to impress you, Minerva,” Iris Huckle the mediwitch said.
“I’d be much more impressed if he’d show some common sense, and not try all these stunts.”
I kept waiting for his teammates to talk to him, but they were just as foolish. When it was apparent Albus’ team was going to loose I saw him start to grab his leg.
“Look at Dumbledore! Do you think he’s hurt?”
“Something’s hurt alright,” I mumbled, “but it isn’t his leg.” It wasn’t much longer before the game was over, and we all left the box to greet the men on the field. Albus hobbled over to me.
“Something wrong?” I asked sweetly.
“My leg. I hurt it early in the match. I tried to play through it but I think it cost the team.”
“You and I both know your leg is hurt as much as mine is, Albus Dumbledore,” I scolded.
“Why Minerva,” he replied all concerned, “did you hurt yours too? No doubt it was the gap between the seats; I’ll have them fixed next week. We can’t have those beautiful legs marred; it would be such a travesty. Now,” he continued not letting me speak, “what about that dinner? I’m going to need a lot of cheering up.”
Present 1960
“So did you go to dinner with him?” Poppy asked excitedly.
“I did, and for half of our evening he talked about the game. He replayed certain plays, telling me what he could have done, and ignoring my questions of why didn’t he do it then if he knew what to do.”
“And what about his leg?”
“Miraculously healed in time to carry me to…I mean, er, over a huge mud puddle. Albus can be terribly romantic when he wants to be.” Poppy took a sip of her tea to hide her smile, and when Minerva finally looked at her she lifted an eyebrow as high as it would go.
“There is one thing I don’t understand, Minerva,” Poppy started a few minutes later, “I’ve never heard it referred to as Great Men of Hogwarts. Someone told me to just call it the MENS afternoon.
“One of my more brilliant moments I admit: M is for middle-aged, E is for egos, N is for need, and S is for stroking. Middle-aged Egos Need Stroking.”
Dedicated to every woman on earth for having to deal with a man's ego.
“Well that was mildly entertaining,” Poppy Pompfrey muttered as she followed Minerva McGonagall into the latter’s sitting room after witnessing the first of the Hogwarts Summer traditions. The staff claimed not until she witnessed or participated in all staff traditions would she be fully indoctrinated into the Hogwarts family.
“Did you have to witness such antics your first year, Minerva?”
Handing Poppy a cup of tea Minerva chuckled at the memory, “Oh it was much worse my year.”
“I find that hard to believe. Vector was almost carried off the field; but of course he made an amazing recovery and was able to hobble…”
“-on the wrong leg,” Minerva interrupted.
“Yes I noticed that too; anyway he was quite lucky to have recovered directly in front of Mara.”
Minerva allowed a look of amusement to pass between Poppy and herself before replying, “Once again I defer to my first summer: Albus’ performance, shall we say, still takes the prize.”
“The Headmaster, I find that hard to believe…”
Minerva quirked an eyebrow, “Well it’s a good thing you have me to set you straight. Just call me the Hogwarts Historian and settle in Poppy. The story’s worth it.”
Summer 1957
“So how does it feel to have your first year of teaching behind you,” a masculine voice asked from the direction of my door. Looking up I could only smile as Albus Dumbledore came into focus. He was leaning against the door jam looking very handsome in midnight blue robes.
I spoke while gesturing for him to take a seat, “I haven’t had time to think about it really. I’m trying to get all my work done by the end of the week.”
“Well I do hope you’ve cleared your schedule for tomorrow afternoon for the annual Great Men of Hogwarts Quidditch Game. I, for one, would be highly disappointed if you were not in the stands.”
His smile was charming, but it could not lead me away from a certain line of questioning: “Great men of Hogwarts…” Letting my voice drop and my eyebrow rise I awaited a response.
“Quidditch game, you forgot that part. It is highly entertaining, I daresay better than any student match.” I noticed how Albus stretched his legs and puffed out his chest.
“And why would that be?”
Albus blinked and looked as if I had just asked the stupidest question possible, “I do hate to be redundant, my dear, but need I repeat the title of the activity?”
“Let me re-phrase, what exactly makes all of you men so great, you middle aged men,” I added.
Here he produced a Cheshire grin that made me shift in my seat, “If you would consent to dinner after the game I’m sure I could show you.”
I could feel myself blushing as I shooed him out of the room, “Get out of here.”
“But you’ll come?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll come.” Kissing my hand in thanks Albus left me to my paper work.
The following afternoon I settled into the teacher’s box with the rest of the female staff, and watched as each man practically strutted onto the pitch.
“Let the hilarity begin,” someone muttered behind me.
During the warm-up I kept noticing Albus looking over at me before or after he had thrown the quaffle or practiced a dive I was sure would kill him. After multiple glances I waved, but Albus’ only response was to try another foolish stunt.
When the game started Albus immediately did a complicated dive that required him to spiral down just to catch the quaffle, mind you the Referee had only just tossed it. Naturally he missed, and almost crashed into the ground. He was able to pull out, but chose to stand on his broom as another Player threw him the ball. He lost balance, and just caught his broom. I wanted to bury my face in my hands, if he would only stop trying to show off he could lead his team to victory. Quickly I reminded myself he was male, and would therefore never choose the smartest course of action first.
For awhile I thought he was finally settling down, but I should have known better. Down 40-0 his team desperately needed a goal, and it looked like they might get a chance. Albus had broken away, but instead of simply tossing the ball through the hoop nice and simple he decides to twist five times and throw with his left hand. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“Looks as if he’s trying to impress you, Minerva,” Iris Huckle the mediwitch said.
“I’d be much more impressed if he’d show some common sense, and not try all these stunts.”
I kept waiting for his teammates to talk to him, but they were just as foolish. When it was apparent Albus’ team was going to loose I saw him start to grab his leg.
“Look at Dumbledore! Do you think he’s hurt?”
“Something’s hurt alright,” I mumbled, “but it isn’t his leg.” It wasn’t much longer before the game was over, and we all left the box to greet the men on the field. Albus hobbled over to me.
“Something wrong?” I asked sweetly.
“My leg. I hurt it early in the match. I tried to play through it but I think it cost the team.”
“You and I both know your leg is hurt as much as mine is, Albus Dumbledore,” I scolded.
“Why Minerva,” he replied all concerned, “did you hurt yours too? No doubt it was the gap between the seats; I’ll have them fixed next week. We can’t have those beautiful legs marred; it would be such a travesty. Now,” he continued not letting me speak, “what about that dinner? I’m going to need a lot of cheering up.”
Present 1960
“So did you go to dinner with him?” Poppy asked excitedly.
“I did, and for half of our evening he talked about the game. He replayed certain plays, telling me what he could have done, and ignoring my questions of why didn’t he do it then if he knew what to do.”
“And what about his leg?”
“Miraculously healed in time to carry me to…I mean, er, over a huge mud puddle. Albus can be terribly romantic when he wants to be.” Poppy took a sip of her tea to hide her smile, and when Minerva finally looked at her she lifted an eyebrow as high as it would go.
“There is one thing I don’t understand, Minerva,” Poppy started a few minutes later, “I’ve never heard it referred to as Great Men of Hogwarts. Someone told me to just call it the MENS afternoon.
“One of my more brilliant moments I admit: M is for middle-aged, E is for egos, N is for need, and S is for stroking. Middle-aged Egos Need Stroking.”
