Post by The Anglophile on Jun 3, 2007 20:58:48 GMT -5
A/N: Going through rather a dry spell...fairly aggravating. Actually wrote this one a while ago and discovered it today when I was sorting through the mass of papers that somehow accumulated on my floor...
“Minerva McGonagall, do you know what day it is?”
“Fourth of October, Albus. I didn’t realise you were getting so senile,” she said wryly.
“Oh, really. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own birthday!” Albus darted in front of her, leaning against a bookshelf and blocking her path down the aisle.
“Of course not,” she sniffed. “I just don’t think it’s something to make a big deal about. I don’t like a fuss.”
“Well, if you’re going to be such a crab about it, I’ll have to give you a punch in the arm for every year you’ve lived,” he grinned. Minerva rolled her eyes and slipped around him, stalking down the aisle.
“To do that you’d have to know my age,” she told him, her sharp green eyes scanning the book titles.
“I’m not as senile as you think,” he argued. She peered over her square-rimmed spectacles at him. “I still remember the year you graduated, and I’m fairly good at doing sums in my head.”
“Then you’ll realise why I can’t allow you to punch me for each year,” she said coolly, sweeping around the corner into the next aisle of books.
“Minerva!” Albus trotted after her.
“Yes?” she spun on her heel, her brow knitted slightly in annoyance.
“I never intended to punch you.”
“I know,” she said, softening in bemusement.
“I didn’t forget your birthday.”
“Well, obviously,” she bit her lower lip.
“Happy birthday, Minerva,” he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pressed a package into her hands before hurrying out of the library.
Minerva pressed her palm against her cheek and watched him go, her mouth hanging open. Only when she heard the door click shut did she turn her attention the parcel. Carefully tearing away the sparkling blue paper, she found a leather-bound grade book, small emeralds studding the cover in the shape of a thistle. She smiled as she opened it, instantly hit with the scent of bergamot. Albus had tucked a note inside that read, “Lovely and practical.”
Minerva hugged it against her chest and returned to her perusal of the shelves, not realising he was referring to her and not the grade book.
Birthday
“Minerva McGonagall, do you know what day it is?”
“Fourth of October, Albus. I didn’t realise you were getting so senile,” she said wryly.
“Oh, really. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own birthday!” Albus darted in front of her, leaning against a bookshelf and blocking her path down the aisle.
“Of course not,” she sniffed. “I just don’t think it’s something to make a big deal about. I don’t like a fuss.”
“Well, if you’re going to be such a crab about it, I’ll have to give you a punch in the arm for every year you’ve lived,” he grinned. Minerva rolled her eyes and slipped around him, stalking down the aisle.
“To do that you’d have to know my age,” she told him, her sharp green eyes scanning the book titles.
“I’m not as senile as you think,” he argued. She peered over her square-rimmed spectacles at him. “I still remember the year you graduated, and I’m fairly good at doing sums in my head.”
“Then you’ll realise why I can’t allow you to punch me for each year,” she said coolly, sweeping around the corner into the next aisle of books.
“Minerva!” Albus trotted after her.
“Yes?” she spun on her heel, her brow knitted slightly in annoyance.
“I never intended to punch you.”
“I know,” she said, softening in bemusement.
“I didn’t forget your birthday.”
“Well, obviously,” she bit her lower lip.
“Happy birthday, Minerva,” he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and pressed a package into her hands before hurrying out of the library.
Minerva pressed her palm against her cheek and watched him go, her mouth hanging open. Only when she heard the door click shut did she turn her attention the parcel. Carefully tearing away the sparkling blue paper, she found a leather-bound grade book, small emeralds studding the cover in the shape of a thistle. She smiled as she opened it, instantly hit with the scent of bergamot. Albus had tucked a note inside that read, “Lovely and practical.”
Minerva hugged it against her chest and returned to her perusal of the shelves, not realising he was referring to her and not the grade book.
), but it is NOT going to be anywhere near this great! 
