Post by PiER on Jun 13, 2007 16:09:18 GMT -5
Challenge #78
Off With Your Bra
Disclaimer: I own nothing it all belongs to J.K. Rowling. Oh and I suppose the song belongs to Disney.
It was the first week of the summer holidays and Minerva McGonagall was walking along with her three colleagues, Poppy Pomfrey, Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch. They were making their merry way down through the gates of Hogwarts to the small village below, Hogsmeade. The weather was warm, with no hint of a chill in the evening air. They had all discarded their teaching robes and donned lightweight summer robes. Lips puckered, hair loose and their heels clip-clop-clacking along the cobbled street, they were ready for, perhaps not a night on the town but a pleasurable evening nonetheless.
Minerva knew all was not well when Rolanda and Pomona marched straight past the Three Broomsticks and headed in the direction of the Hog’s Head. Minerva raised an eyebrow and Poppy frowned, however they both followed in hopes of persuading the two to change their minds.
As they entered the pub their senses were immediately attacked by the smell of goats. Minerva managed to keep a straight face but Poppy had no such luck as a look of disgust graced her fair features. Rolanda, completely unperturbed, clapped her hands together and told them to get the drinks in whilst she and Pomona found a table.
With their noses wrinkled the two made their way through a thick cloud of purple smoke, around a suspicious group of hooded figures and sidestepped what appeared to be a squawking Chihuahua with red eyes, finally reaching the bar. Before sitting on the only two stools unoccupied, Poppy took out her wand and cast the strongest cleaning charms in existence.
“Well, well, well, look what the kitty-cat dragged in, Hoggy’s headmistress and hospital chum.”
“Good evening to you too Aberforth.” Minerva bristled as the warlock next to her got a little too close for comfort.
“What brings you wonderful witches to my fine establishment?”
“Aberforth,” Poppy began carefully. “How is it possible the Ministry hasn’t” she flicked her wand and their corner of the bar sparkled, “shut this place down?”
The Dumbledore brother ran a hand through his shaggy beard and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Minerva noticed how straight it was compared to his brother’s. She then recalled Albus mentioning an Irish jig getting slightly out of hand. Minerva was torn out of her musings as the warlock with the wandering hands bumped into her stumbling up from his chair. He grabbed her hip to steady himself.
“If I received a Sickle for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you,” Minerva could smell the alcohol upon his breath as he breathed into her ear, “I would have 29 Knuts.”
His hand wandered down and around her thigh, grabbing her bum. “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”
Before she could react he snapped his hand away and his face distorted in discomfort. He lurched forward and his arms wrapped around his stomach. Strange squelching sounds were heard before he tumbled backwards disrupting a game of exploding snap and disappearing in the direction of the gents.
“Remind me never to cross you Madam.” Aberforth looked thoroughly impressed as he dried dirty goblets with a greasy cloth. “But old Willie really is a harmless has-been.”
“Be that as it may perhaps he has learnt to keep his hands to himself. Perfectly painless, a little medi-witch secret.” Poppy finished with an uncharacteristic cackle leaving Minerva to wonder if she hadn’t cracked open a bottle before they had left the castle.
Minerva turned to Poppy but two familiar figures in the far corner behind her caught Minerva’s attention. Pomona and Rolanda were huddled together both trying, unsuccessfully, to cast notice-me-not charms. Minerva’s eyes narrowed as two wizards wearing big, blue cloaks sat themselves, seemingly randomly, on two stools to their side. Aberforth noticed her gaze and sighed in understanding.
“Ah, I see, that’s why you’re here! Dizzy and Den. Don’t worry loves, I won’t breathe a word of it to that fool of a brother of mine.”
“Dizzy and Den?” Poppy asked, turning on her stool to follow their looks.
“The Green-Fingered Men. My lips are sealed, I won’t say a word.” He winked conspiratorially and the two witches knew that they were missing a vital piece of the jigsaw puzzle.
Poppy turned back around but Minerva kept her eyes upon the seemingly innocuous foursome. Pomona was very twitchy, jumping at every breath, shooting worried glances here, there and everywhere and biting her dirt caked, split fingernails. Rolanda, on the other hand, was casually leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed behind her head but Minerva caught the mischievous glint in her yellow eyes. These were all telltale signs of trouble. As the dumpier of the two wizards reached inside his cloak a tall figure stepped in front of Minerva obscuring them from view.
“Excuse me.” Minerva said whilst leaning to her left to try and catch a glimpse of the, what she now suspected to be, illegal activity.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have Scandinavian hands?”
The question was so unexpected it made Minerva start and look up at the looming figure. He was around her age, with chocolate, wavy hair and hazel eyes. He took the empty seat the warlock had left and quirked a smile.
“I beg your pardon?”
“No, of course not that would be an incredibly stupid thing to say, wouldn’t it? Especially with such beautiful nails, are they yours?”
Minerva shook her head in disbelief. Who was this flobberworm?
“Are they mine?” She asked slowly. “Whose would they be? They are growing out of my hand, which is attached to my arm, which is – by Merlin – attached to my body!” Minerva turned her attention back to the Flowerpot Men but could only make out faint shadows between the puffs of green smoke a small, hook-nosed wizard in muggle cowboy boots was responsible for. “Life is full of mysteries.”
“Like just where those legs end?” The wizard cocked his head to the side and Minerva could feel his lusty gaze following the length of her.
She quickly looked at Poppy but noticed she was busy ordering the drinks.
“You have had one too many of Ogden’s finest.” She was preoccupied with the Green-Fingered Men’s endeavours but the thought of hexing him did cross her mind. However he had not laid a finger upon her so it would be rather uncalled for.
“I’m not drunk. I’m just intoxicated by you.”
Honestly, she wondered, had these pathetic lines ever worked? She decided not to answer and was mentally summing up the pros of big, billowing teaching robes when his smarmy voice permeated the air.
“If I said you had a great body, would you hold it against me?”
He was leaning in close, much closer than she had realised. She backed off of her stool and heard Poppy whisper in her ear, “Now who is this handsome devil?”
She hurriedly picked up two glasses of elderflower wine Poppy had paid for and darted for the dark corner Rolanda and Pomona occupied, never once turning back. Dizzy and Den were nowhere to be seen but Pomona still seemed uncomfortable. Rolanda’s smirk was cause for concern but Poppy wanted to discuss the brown-haired toad.
“Any attraction there might have been was lost the minute he opened his mouth.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Rolanda sneered. “With a head of hair like that, I’m sure the dishy darling could be forgiven.”
Minerva tried several times to smoothly steer the conversation towards what she now mentally referred to as the ‘Botanical Baboons’. She had quickly ascertained that Pomona had embarked upon a dodgy, herbology affair and had enlisted their mentally imbalanced flying instructor as an accomplice. She had yet to work out what roles Poppy and she played, if indeed they played any at all. Poppy had asked her to come along for drinks so she was more than likely not part of their plans.
“Min.”
“-Erva.”
“Min!”
“-Erva!”
“MIN!”
“What is it Rolanda Xiomara Hooch?!”
“Minerva dear, perhaps you should turn around.”
Minerva did as Poppy suggested but not before shooting a threatening glare in Rolanda’s direction. Behind her floated a tray with four, intricately carved, silver goblets and a piece of parchment. Minerva looked between her plain wineglass and the flashy goblets. Poppy had transfigured theirs not trusting Aberforth’s cleaning, obviously she was not the only one.
“Wonder what else he can do with his wand.”
At Rolanda’s comment Poppy burst out laughing, again Minerva wondered if she had been sniffing those potions of hers. The note read:
You must be thirsty because you have been running through my mind all night.
Avery Strong
“You have to hand it to him Minnie, he’s persistent.”
“Minnie?” Minerva questioned Rolanda.
“Yes, you are the magnificent, marvellous, mad Madam Min!”
And off Poppy was giggling like a five-year old. “Oh yes, yes, I remember that! It’s from that muggle film you dragged me off to see because you were convinced old Dumbledore was in it. Do you remember?” Poppy held a finger to her cheek and thought aloud. “How did it go? With…with…with only a touch…”
But Rolanda had no trouble remembering.
“With only a touch
I have the power.
Zim zaba rim bim,
To wither a flower.
I find delight in the gruesome and grim!”
Poppy found her voice and together they chimed, “'Cause I'm the magnificent, marvellous, mad Madam Min!”
Poppy tried to continue. “I…I can be…huge?”
Once again Rolanda found her voice.
“I can be huge
Fill the whole house.”
In a grating, squeaky voice she sang,
“I can be teeny
Small as a mouse.
Bl – transfiguration is my dish of tea
It comes easy to me!”
This time Pomona, who had been remarkably quiet all evening, joined them too.
“'Cause I'm the magnificent, marvellous, mad Madam Min!”
This time Rolanda didn’t even bother to wait for Poppy’s attempt.
”I can be beautiful, lovely and fair
Silvery voice, long pur - black hair.”
But through her intoxicated haze, as there was no doubt Poppy was drunk, she remembered the La’s.
“La la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la la, la la la la la!”
Then she faltered once again.
“But it's only skin deep,
For zim zaberim zim!
I'm an ugly old creep!”
Poppy, Rolanda and Pomona each sang at the top of their lungs,
“The Magnificent, marvellous mad, mad, mad, mad Madam Min!”
A group of goblins stood on their rickety stools and burst into applause. Minerva fled to the ladies room only to be intercepted by her admirer.
“Did it hurt?”
Against her better judgement Minerva inquired, “Did what hurt?”
Avery gave her what was obviously a charming smile but to Minerva it lacked a silver moustache and beard.
“Falling from the Heavens for you must be – ”
She held up her hands to stop his embarrassing attempt at chatting her up.
“I’m flattered, really I am, but I’m just not interested.”
“Ah, but I spoke to the bartender and he let it slip that you were single.”
“Did he now?” Minerva’s voice held a dangerous edge to it.
She turned in Aberforth’s direction and flicked her wand. In the blink of an eye he was missing all facial hair. His long, tangled beard, itchy moustache and bushy eyebrows were gone. Before any more mayhem could be caused Minerva pushed past the persistent amour and successfully found herself inside Britain’s boggiest toilet.
She felt her stomach churn and vowed never to set foot in the Hog’s Head again. Between Gaelic curses she scourgified, banished, vanquished and de-germed the grotty girls room. Running the tap she splashed cold water on her face as the door opened and in entered her three - dare she say? – friends.
“Wow Minnie Mog, all hail the Cleaner of the Bog!”
Minerva wondered what was tastier a field mouse or a hamster. Would she feel comfortable eating something with yellow eyes?
“Mr Muggle Muscle has nothing on you!” Poppy’s words were beginning to slur and becoming hard to make out. Who in the world was she talking about?
Pomona remained nervously silent, with her hands deep in her pockets but Minerva had not the energy to solve that mystery. Tomorrow she would visit the greenhouses.
“I don’t know what business you had with Dizzy and Den the Flowerpot Men –”
“The Green-Fingered Men.” Rolanda injected.
“- But you can rest assured you have one night of freedom. I will not interfere until tomorrow so you can break your vow of silence Pomona, I will not trick you into telling me.”
Pomona’s relief was visible as she slumped against a sparkling sink. She removed her sun-tanned, calloused fingers from her pockets and ran them through her untidy, frizzy hair.
“What in green blazes did you do to Aberforth? His face is balder than the backside of my mandrakes! And I noticed that charming chump stopped you on your way here. He is prettier than my puffapods, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider.” With the burden of her secret lifted off her shoulders, Pomona was yakking a mile a minute. “I mean, the way he ogled you in those robes I doubt he’s after your stimulating conversation.”
“Stimulating – yes. Conversation – no.” Rolanda leant against an empty and spotless cubicle with her arms folded across her chest. In place was her ever-annoying smirk.
“He’s probably still out there waiting for you!” Pomona continued, her voice full of mirth. “Avery Strong.”
Minerva let out an aggravated growl and leant heavily against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had foregone her usual tight, teaching bun and opted for a loose twist at the nape of her neck. A few dark tendrils had worked themselves free and framed her thin face.
“What will it take for him to understand I am not interested?” Minerva rounded on Pomona. “This is really all your fault. Your hair brain idea brought us here to – to that – that bundimun out there!” Her hands flailed in a gesture towards the door.
“But you are single!” Pomona defended half-heartedly. Everyone knew she fancied Albus Dumbledore but nothing had ever come of it.
“Tell him you’re pregnant!” Poppy blurted out of nowhere, taking a swig out of a hipflask that looked remarkably like Alastor Moody’s.
“And just how would I explain the glass of wine in my hand?”
“Oh, ooh, I know! Tell him you are suffering from that terrible muggle disease, AIDS. There is no cure either magical or muggle and it is sexually transmitted!” Poppy nodded matter-of-factly with a triumphant look upon her face.
“Sexually transmitted?” Minerva repeated dangerously slowly and her eyes flared, not that Poppy noticed off in her own world. “I will not be putting any such thoughts into his head!”
“Why don’t you just tell him you are not interested?” Pomona stated the obvious.
“I did.”
“And?”
“If I understood his reaction correctly, it only encouraged him.” Minerva frowned, “the thrill of the chase and all that nonsense.”
Rolanda, looking decidedly bored leaning to one side, asked, “Why don’t you just tell the son of a bludger your house is on fire, turn on your heel and leave?”
All three women huddled in front of the mirror stopped their actions and blinked perplexedly at the reflection of the yellow-eyed witch. After several seconds of deliberation Minerva decided that that proposal was not worthy a reply and made her way out of the door and back into the pub. The others followed shortly thereafter.
“Why don’t you tell him you are seeing someone?”
“Who?”
Rolanda’s hawk like eyes scanned the bar. Between the mists of thick purple smoke she could just make out three familiar figures entering the establishment. The witches missed the gleam in her eye.
“Get the drinks in hags, I’ve just found our saviours!”
“No, I really think we should try the Three Broomsticks. That – ”
“Nonsense.” Rolanda stood on her tiptoes and exaggeratedly squinted her eyes. “Is that a table I spot over there in the corner? Come on girlies. Your round Mog!”
The devious flying instructor helped the stumbling medi-witch through the haze and Pomona, not daring to be alone with Minerva, scurried after them and off they disappeared into the dark crevices of the rundown pub.
“A bottle of your strongest Aberforth and I do believe it’s on the house.” Minerva sat back down on the stool she had occupied earlier in the evening, as it was still relatively clean.
“Is my beard in your back pocket by any chance?”
“I will owl it to you if I survive the night.”
“Curse the sun!” Minerva closed her eyes as that all too familiar smarmy voice rang through the air.
“Forget to apply Sonny’s Sunny Suncream For Any Sorry Son?” Aberforth chuckled much to Minerva’s dismay.
“No I don’t need suncream. My skin has a natural bronze hue most witches find attractive. I cursed the great fireball because” Avery turned to Minerva, “without it this lovely lady would be the hottest thing created.”
Aberforth suddenly suffered a coughing attack and Minerva could feel a headache forming.
“That’s two bottles Aberforth!” She barked not opening her eyes and bringing her left hand up to massage her temples.
***
Meanwhile Rolanda was having trouble steering Poppy in the right direction. The medi-witch was determined to cling onto her hipflask for dear life and had already knocked the hats off of three wizards. Luckily she seemed to calm down some as the sweet notes of Celestina Warbeck floated through the smells of goat, booze, smoke and goblin.
“Oh, come and stir my cauldron,
And if you do it right,”
Poppy spun abruptly on her heel, flashing her knobbly knees to the happy punters.
“I’ll boil you in some hot, strong love
To keep you warm tonight.”
“Now there’s no need for that Pops, keep your knickers on!”
“Pomona!” Filius Flitwick’s chirpy voice sounded decidedly far too surprised. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Rolanda could feel her the corner of her lips tugging. Yes, far too surprised indeed. He was lucky Minerva was at the bar; she would have torn his suspicious soul to pieces. The thought of Minerva drew her attention to Albus Dumbledore but it seemed he was already one step ahead of her. She watched him closely as he scanned the room for the black-haired witch. Behind his half-moon spectacles his eyes landed in, what she knew to be, the direction of the bar, though it was hard to tell through the thick, colourful clouds of smoke.
Pomona took the only available seat at the table, which luckily for her was next to the tiny charms professor. The small seating dilemma didn’t stop Poppy, with a happy hiccup she landed in Alastor Moody’s lap who gave a grunt, though in protest or approval Rolanda could not tell.
“McGonagall not with you?”
“She’s by the bar Alastor.” Albus answered with a frown.
“Yes,” Poppy giggled. “She’s gone and got herself an admirer!”
“He’s quite charming actually. Seems ever so smitten.”
Albus gallantly offered Rolanda his transfigured, cushy, bright purple armchair and conjured another for himself, though his – in rage? Rolanda wondered –was the colour red. Looking towards the bar Rolanda could see Minerva’s admirer trying to wrap an arm around her shoulders, though the feisty witch was having none of it. She could see Minerva’s wand hand twitch. Out of the corner of her eye Rolanda could see Albus was following the scene intently too. They saw Minerva pick up both bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, one in either hand. Rolanda wondered if that was to curb her temptation. She saw the scowl in Minerva’s face and watched as she stormed in their direction closely followed by her persistent devotee, Mr Strong.
A rowdy game of Exploding Snap caused cards to go flying, making an angry hag knock over her chair, which lead to Minerva stepping backwards and bumping into the very wizard she was trying avoid. Avery slyly snaked his arm around her waist and Albus was up out of his seat so fast it prompted Poppy to ask,
“Are you alright Headmaster? Did you sit on a Blast-Ended Screwt? Nothing to be ashamed of, it happens more often than you would think! Hagrid probably dropped one the great…” and off she was rambling with only Alastor paying any attention.
Both Albus and Rolanda turned their focus back to Minerva who had managed to squirm free but had finally lost her temper. Her Scottish brogue was more accentuated in the height of her ire and her sharp tones were easily heard above the natter and chatter.
A/N: Continued in the next post if I manage to figure it out!
Off With Your Bra
Disclaimer: I own nothing it all belongs to J.K. Rowling. Oh and I suppose the song belongs to Disney.
It was the first week of the summer holidays and Minerva McGonagall was walking along with her three colleagues, Poppy Pomfrey, Pomona Sprout and Rolanda Hooch. They were making their merry way down through the gates of Hogwarts to the small village below, Hogsmeade. The weather was warm, with no hint of a chill in the evening air. They had all discarded their teaching robes and donned lightweight summer robes. Lips puckered, hair loose and their heels clip-clop-clacking along the cobbled street, they were ready for, perhaps not a night on the town but a pleasurable evening nonetheless.
Minerva knew all was not well when Rolanda and Pomona marched straight past the Three Broomsticks and headed in the direction of the Hog’s Head. Minerva raised an eyebrow and Poppy frowned, however they both followed in hopes of persuading the two to change their minds.
As they entered the pub their senses were immediately attacked by the smell of goats. Minerva managed to keep a straight face but Poppy had no such luck as a look of disgust graced her fair features. Rolanda, completely unperturbed, clapped her hands together and told them to get the drinks in whilst she and Pomona found a table.
With their noses wrinkled the two made their way through a thick cloud of purple smoke, around a suspicious group of hooded figures and sidestepped what appeared to be a squawking Chihuahua with red eyes, finally reaching the bar. Before sitting on the only two stools unoccupied, Poppy took out her wand and cast the strongest cleaning charms in existence.
“Well, well, well, look what the kitty-cat dragged in, Hoggy’s headmistress and hospital chum.”
“Good evening to you too Aberforth.” Minerva bristled as the warlock next to her got a little too close for comfort.
“What brings you wonderful witches to my fine establishment?”
“Aberforth,” Poppy began carefully. “How is it possible the Ministry hasn’t” she flicked her wand and their corner of the bar sparkled, “shut this place down?”
The Dumbledore brother ran a hand through his shaggy beard and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Minerva noticed how straight it was compared to his brother’s. She then recalled Albus mentioning an Irish jig getting slightly out of hand. Minerva was torn out of her musings as the warlock with the wandering hands bumped into her stumbling up from his chair. He grabbed her hip to steady himself.
“If I received a Sickle for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you,” Minerva could smell the alcohol upon his breath as he breathed into her ear, “I would have 29 Knuts.”
His hand wandered down and around her thigh, grabbing her bum. “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”
Before she could react he snapped his hand away and his face distorted in discomfort. He lurched forward and his arms wrapped around his stomach. Strange squelching sounds were heard before he tumbled backwards disrupting a game of exploding snap and disappearing in the direction of the gents.
“Remind me never to cross you Madam.” Aberforth looked thoroughly impressed as he dried dirty goblets with a greasy cloth. “But old Willie really is a harmless has-been.”
“Be that as it may perhaps he has learnt to keep his hands to himself. Perfectly painless, a little medi-witch secret.” Poppy finished with an uncharacteristic cackle leaving Minerva to wonder if she hadn’t cracked open a bottle before they had left the castle.
Minerva turned to Poppy but two familiar figures in the far corner behind her caught Minerva’s attention. Pomona and Rolanda were huddled together both trying, unsuccessfully, to cast notice-me-not charms. Minerva’s eyes narrowed as two wizards wearing big, blue cloaks sat themselves, seemingly randomly, on two stools to their side. Aberforth noticed her gaze and sighed in understanding.
“Ah, I see, that’s why you’re here! Dizzy and Den. Don’t worry loves, I won’t breathe a word of it to that fool of a brother of mine.”
“Dizzy and Den?” Poppy asked, turning on her stool to follow their looks.
“The Green-Fingered Men. My lips are sealed, I won’t say a word.” He winked conspiratorially and the two witches knew that they were missing a vital piece of the jigsaw puzzle.
Poppy turned back around but Minerva kept her eyes upon the seemingly innocuous foursome. Pomona was very twitchy, jumping at every breath, shooting worried glances here, there and everywhere and biting her dirt caked, split fingernails. Rolanda, on the other hand, was casually leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed behind her head but Minerva caught the mischievous glint in her yellow eyes. These were all telltale signs of trouble. As the dumpier of the two wizards reached inside his cloak a tall figure stepped in front of Minerva obscuring them from view.
“Excuse me.” Minerva said whilst leaning to her left to try and catch a glimpse of the, what she now suspected to be, illegal activity.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have Scandinavian hands?”
The question was so unexpected it made Minerva start and look up at the looming figure. He was around her age, with chocolate, wavy hair and hazel eyes. He took the empty seat the warlock had left and quirked a smile.
“I beg your pardon?”
“No, of course not that would be an incredibly stupid thing to say, wouldn’t it? Especially with such beautiful nails, are they yours?”
Minerva shook her head in disbelief. Who was this flobberworm?
“Are they mine?” She asked slowly. “Whose would they be? They are growing out of my hand, which is attached to my arm, which is – by Merlin – attached to my body!” Minerva turned her attention back to the Flowerpot Men but could only make out faint shadows between the puffs of green smoke a small, hook-nosed wizard in muggle cowboy boots was responsible for. “Life is full of mysteries.”
“Like just where those legs end?” The wizard cocked his head to the side and Minerva could feel his lusty gaze following the length of her.
She quickly looked at Poppy but noticed she was busy ordering the drinks.
“You have had one too many of Ogden’s finest.” She was preoccupied with the Green-Fingered Men’s endeavours but the thought of hexing him did cross her mind. However he had not laid a finger upon her so it would be rather uncalled for.
“I’m not drunk. I’m just intoxicated by you.”
Honestly, she wondered, had these pathetic lines ever worked? She decided not to answer and was mentally summing up the pros of big, billowing teaching robes when his smarmy voice permeated the air.
“If I said you had a great body, would you hold it against me?”
He was leaning in close, much closer than she had realised. She backed off of her stool and heard Poppy whisper in her ear, “Now who is this handsome devil?”
She hurriedly picked up two glasses of elderflower wine Poppy had paid for and darted for the dark corner Rolanda and Pomona occupied, never once turning back. Dizzy and Den were nowhere to be seen but Pomona still seemed uncomfortable. Rolanda’s smirk was cause for concern but Poppy wanted to discuss the brown-haired toad.
“Any attraction there might have been was lost the minute he opened his mouth.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Rolanda sneered. “With a head of hair like that, I’m sure the dishy darling could be forgiven.”
Minerva tried several times to smoothly steer the conversation towards what she now mentally referred to as the ‘Botanical Baboons’. She had quickly ascertained that Pomona had embarked upon a dodgy, herbology affair and had enlisted their mentally imbalanced flying instructor as an accomplice. She had yet to work out what roles Poppy and she played, if indeed they played any at all. Poppy had asked her to come along for drinks so she was more than likely not part of their plans.
“Min.”
“-Erva.”
“Min!”
“-Erva!”
“MIN!”
“What is it Rolanda Xiomara Hooch?!”
“Minerva dear, perhaps you should turn around.”
Minerva did as Poppy suggested but not before shooting a threatening glare in Rolanda’s direction. Behind her floated a tray with four, intricately carved, silver goblets and a piece of parchment. Minerva looked between her plain wineglass and the flashy goblets. Poppy had transfigured theirs not trusting Aberforth’s cleaning, obviously she was not the only one.
“Wonder what else he can do with his wand.”
At Rolanda’s comment Poppy burst out laughing, again Minerva wondered if she had been sniffing those potions of hers. The note read:
You must be thirsty because you have been running through my mind all night.
Avery Strong
“You have to hand it to him Minnie, he’s persistent.”
“Minnie?” Minerva questioned Rolanda.
“Yes, you are the magnificent, marvellous, mad Madam Min!”
And off Poppy was giggling like a five-year old. “Oh yes, yes, I remember that! It’s from that muggle film you dragged me off to see because you were convinced old Dumbledore was in it. Do you remember?” Poppy held a finger to her cheek and thought aloud. “How did it go? With…with…with only a touch…”
But Rolanda had no trouble remembering.
“With only a touch
I have the power.
Zim zaba rim bim,
To wither a flower.
I find delight in the gruesome and grim!”
Poppy found her voice and together they chimed, “'Cause I'm the magnificent, marvellous, mad Madam Min!”
Poppy tried to continue. “I…I can be…huge?”
Once again Rolanda found her voice.
“I can be huge
Fill the whole house.”
In a grating, squeaky voice she sang,
“I can be teeny
Small as a mouse.
Bl – transfiguration is my dish of tea
It comes easy to me!”
This time Pomona, who had been remarkably quiet all evening, joined them too.
“'Cause I'm the magnificent, marvellous, mad Madam Min!”
This time Rolanda didn’t even bother to wait for Poppy’s attempt.
”I can be beautiful, lovely and fair
Silvery voice, long pur - black hair.”
But through her intoxicated haze, as there was no doubt Poppy was drunk, she remembered the La’s.
“La la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la la, la la la la la!”
Then she faltered once again.
“But it's only skin deep,
For zim zaberim zim!
I'm an ugly old creep!”
Poppy, Rolanda and Pomona each sang at the top of their lungs,
“The Magnificent, marvellous mad, mad, mad, mad Madam Min!”
A group of goblins stood on their rickety stools and burst into applause. Minerva fled to the ladies room only to be intercepted by her admirer.
“Did it hurt?”
Against her better judgement Minerva inquired, “Did what hurt?”
Avery gave her what was obviously a charming smile but to Minerva it lacked a silver moustache and beard.
“Falling from the Heavens for you must be – ”
She held up her hands to stop his embarrassing attempt at chatting her up.
“I’m flattered, really I am, but I’m just not interested.”
“Ah, but I spoke to the bartender and he let it slip that you were single.”
“Did he now?” Minerva’s voice held a dangerous edge to it.
She turned in Aberforth’s direction and flicked her wand. In the blink of an eye he was missing all facial hair. His long, tangled beard, itchy moustache and bushy eyebrows were gone. Before any more mayhem could be caused Minerva pushed past the persistent amour and successfully found herself inside Britain’s boggiest toilet.
She felt her stomach churn and vowed never to set foot in the Hog’s Head again. Between Gaelic curses she scourgified, banished, vanquished and de-germed the grotty girls room. Running the tap she splashed cold water on her face as the door opened and in entered her three - dare she say? – friends.
“Wow Minnie Mog, all hail the Cleaner of the Bog!”
Minerva wondered what was tastier a field mouse or a hamster. Would she feel comfortable eating something with yellow eyes?
“Mr Muggle Muscle has nothing on you!” Poppy’s words were beginning to slur and becoming hard to make out. Who in the world was she talking about?
Pomona remained nervously silent, with her hands deep in her pockets but Minerva had not the energy to solve that mystery. Tomorrow she would visit the greenhouses.
“I don’t know what business you had with Dizzy and Den the Flowerpot Men –”
“The Green-Fingered Men.” Rolanda injected.
“- But you can rest assured you have one night of freedom. I will not interfere until tomorrow so you can break your vow of silence Pomona, I will not trick you into telling me.”
Pomona’s relief was visible as she slumped against a sparkling sink. She removed her sun-tanned, calloused fingers from her pockets and ran them through her untidy, frizzy hair.
“What in green blazes did you do to Aberforth? His face is balder than the backside of my mandrakes! And I noticed that charming chump stopped you on your way here. He is prettier than my puffapods, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider.” With the burden of her secret lifted off her shoulders, Pomona was yakking a mile a minute. “I mean, the way he ogled you in those robes I doubt he’s after your stimulating conversation.”
“Stimulating – yes. Conversation – no.” Rolanda leant against an empty and spotless cubicle with her arms folded across her chest. In place was her ever-annoying smirk.
“He’s probably still out there waiting for you!” Pomona continued, her voice full of mirth. “Avery Strong.”
Minerva let out an aggravated growl and leant heavily against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She had foregone her usual tight, teaching bun and opted for a loose twist at the nape of her neck. A few dark tendrils had worked themselves free and framed her thin face.
“What will it take for him to understand I am not interested?” Minerva rounded on Pomona. “This is really all your fault. Your hair brain idea brought us here to – to that – that bundimun out there!” Her hands flailed in a gesture towards the door.
“But you are single!” Pomona defended half-heartedly. Everyone knew she fancied Albus Dumbledore but nothing had ever come of it.
“Tell him you’re pregnant!” Poppy blurted out of nowhere, taking a swig out of a hipflask that looked remarkably like Alastor Moody’s.
“And just how would I explain the glass of wine in my hand?”
“Oh, ooh, I know! Tell him you are suffering from that terrible muggle disease, AIDS. There is no cure either magical or muggle and it is sexually transmitted!” Poppy nodded matter-of-factly with a triumphant look upon her face.
“Sexually transmitted?” Minerva repeated dangerously slowly and her eyes flared, not that Poppy noticed off in her own world. “I will not be putting any such thoughts into his head!”
“Why don’t you just tell him you are not interested?” Pomona stated the obvious.
“I did.”
“And?”
“If I understood his reaction correctly, it only encouraged him.” Minerva frowned, “the thrill of the chase and all that nonsense.”
Rolanda, looking decidedly bored leaning to one side, asked, “Why don’t you just tell the son of a bludger your house is on fire, turn on your heel and leave?”
All three women huddled in front of the mirror stopped their actions and blinked perplexedly at the reflection of the yellow-eyed witch. After several seconds of deliberation Minerva decided that that proposal was not worthy a reply and made her way out of the door and back into the pub. The others followed shortly thereafter.
“Why don’t you tell him you are seeing someone?”
“Who?”
Rolanda’s hawk like eyes scanned the bar. Between the mists of thick purple smoke she could just make out three familiar figures entering the establishment. The witches missed the gleam in her eye.
“Get the drinks in hags, I’ve just found our saviours!”
“No, I really think we should try the Three Broomsticks. That – ”
“Nonsense.” Rolanda stood on her tiptoes and exaggeratedly squinted her eyes. “Is that a table I spot over there in the corner? Come on girlies. Your round Mog!”
The devious flying instructor helped the stumbling medi-witch through the haze and Pomona, not daring to be alone with Minerva, scurried after them and off they disappeared into the dark crevices of the rundown pub.
“A bottle of your strongest Aberforth and I do believe it’s on the house.” Minerva sat back down on the stool she had occupied earlier in the evening, as it was still relatively clean.
“Is my beard in your back pocket by any chance?”
“I will owl it to you if I survive the night.”
“Curse the sun!” Minerva closed her eyes as that all too familiar smarmy voice rang through the air.
“Forget to apply Sonny’s Sunny Suncream For Any Sorry Son?” Aberforth chuckled much to Minerva’s dismay.
“No I don’t need suncream. My skin has a natural bronze hue most witches find attractive. I cursed the great fireball because” Avery turned to Minerva, “without it this lovely lady would be the hottest thing created.”
Aberforth suddenly suffered a coughing attack and Minerva could feel a headache forming.
“That’s two bottles Aberforth!” She barked not opening her eyes and bringing her left hand up to massage her temples.
***
Meanwhile Rolanda was having trouble steering Poppy in the right direction. The medi-witch was determined to cling onto her hipflask for dear life and had already knocked the hats off of three wizards. Luckily she seemed to calm down some as the sweet notes of Celestina Warbeck floated through the smells of goat, booze, smoke and goblin.
“Oh, come and stir my cauldron,
And if you do it right,”
Poppy spun abruptly on her heel, flashing her knobbly knees to the happy punters.
“I’ll boil you in some hot, strong love
To keep you warm tonight.”
“Now there’s no need for that Pops, keep your knickers on!”
“Pomona!” Filius Flitwick’s chirpy voice sounded decidedly far too surprised. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Rolanda could feel her the corner of her lips tugging. Yes, far too surprised indeed. He was lucky Minerva was at the bar; she would have torn his suspicious soul to pieces. The thought of Minerva drew her attention to Albus Dumbledore but it seemed he was already one step ahead of her. She watched him closely as he scanned the room for the black-haired witch. Behind his half-moon spectacles his eyes landed in, what she knew to be, the direction of the bar, though it was hard to tell through the thick, colourful clouds of smoke.
Pomona took the only available seat at the table, which luckily for her was next to the tiny charms professor. The small seating dilemma didn’t stop Poppy, with a happy hiccup she landed in Alastor Moody’s lap who gave a grunt, though in protest or approval Rolanda could not tell.
“McGonagall not with you?”
“She’s by the bar Alastor.” Albus answered with a frown.
“Yes,” Poppy giggled. “She’s gone and got herself an admirer!”
“He’s quite charming actually. Seems ever so smitten.”
Albus gallantly offered Rolanda his transfigured, cushy, bright purple armchair and conjured another for himself, though his – in rage? Rolanda wondered –was the colour red. Looking towards the bar Rolanda could see Minerva’s admirer trying to wrap an arm around her shoulders, though the feisty witch was having none of it. She could see Minerva’s wand hand twitch. Out of the corner of her eye Rolanda could see Albus was following the scene intently too. They saw Minerva pick up both bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, one in either hand. Rolanda wondered if that was to curb her temptation. She saw the scowl in Minerva’s face and watched as she stormed in their direction closely followed by her persistent devotee, Mr Strong.
A rowdy game of Exploding Snap caused cards to go flying, making an angry hag knock over her chair, which lead to Minerva stepping backwards and bumping into the very wizard she was trying avoid. Avery slyly snaked his arm around her waist and Albus was up out of his seat so fast it prompted Poppy to ask,
“Are you alright Headmaster? Did you sit on a Blast-Ended Screwt? Nothing to be ashamed of, it happens more often than you would think! Hagrid probably dropped one the great…” and off she was rambling with only Alastor paying any attention.
Both Albus and Rolanda turned their focus back to Minerva who had managed to squirm free but had finally lost her temper. Her Scottish brogue was more accentuated in the height of her ire and her sharp tones were easily heard above the natter and chatter.
A/N: Continued in the next post if I manage to figure it out!
I’m not even sure if I’ve posted it on time. Oh well! Thanks!
Especially Mad Madam Min. LOL! I can so see Rolonda singing that. And offering her a ginger newt when she's in prison. . . lol. That was priceless. Wonderful job!
