Post by CrankyCauldron on Aug 5, 2008 22:09:54 GMT -5
Hello! Just popped by and fancied having a scribble. Hope you enjoy!
The first day of every summer holiday, Professor Minerva McGonagall took herself shopping in Hogsmeade, blissfully free of pupils and responsibilities. It wasn’t so much the shopping experience that she went for, but the leisurely meander through Gladrags and Zonkos, with no time constraints and a Gillywater and pastry waiting for her at the Three Broomsticks, and all entirely alone. In a school with eight hundred pupils and a full complement of staff it was rare to find moments to oneself, and she treasured this little ritual of hers.
The afternoon was beautiful, perhaps a little hot for her liking, but the sun was unobscured and bright, floating in a liquid blue sky with the occasional fat, bursting cloud drifting high above. She exited the Three Broomsticks late in the afternoon with her shopping bags bewitched feather-light and began the long walk up to the castle, she felt unusually cheerful, her mind uncluttered with homework tasks and detentions.
She had just passed through the great iron gates of Hogwarts when an unmistakeable voice said quite cheerfully:
‘And what spoils of war have you returned with this year?’
Minerva stopped and turned to face the owner of the voice with resignation. ‘You came shopping with me just once – once!’
‘It was a memorable experience,’ chuckled Albus Dumbledore, striding forward from the great Elm where he had been leaning – deliberately lying in wait for his deputy.
‘It was a one-off lapse of temperament,’ Minerva protested acerbically. ‘As I have told you before!’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Albus acquiesced, sceptically. Minerva glared. ‘How many years do you have left on the ban?’
‘Merely Five,’ she said lifting her chin and daring the Headmaster to comment further. Luckily Albus Dumbledore decided to return the subject to safer terrain.
‘So, what did this year’s ritual excursion involve purchasing?’ He fell in step with her as she resumed walking towards their home.
‘How do you know about my summer ritual?’
‘My dear Minerva McGonagall, how can I fail to notice something repeated every summer, every year for fifteen years?’
She grudgingly inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘Some clothes, a dress hat, an eagle feather quill, an assortment of humbugs and bon bons, and a classic umbrella I came across, oddly, in Zonkos.’
‘What kind of clothes?’
‘The type you’ll never get to see,’ retorted Minerva, and then blushed at herself. Albus grinned.
‘What, nothing for your delightfully barmy boss?’
‘I may have bought you something – you shall have to wait and see.’
‘You know how I love surprises!’
‘I know how you peek at your Christmas presents before the twenty-fifth!’
‘I can’t control myself, I get too excited.’
Minerva McGonagall pursed her lips in dignified disapproval, but they both knew she was amused.
A sudden drop in temperature alerted her to the change in atmosphere; she had been so caught up bantering with Albus she hadn’t noticed the cloud draw in across the sun, a great wall of shadow unrolling across the distant mountains.
‘Oh dear,’ murmured Albus, sounding only mildly concerned. Minerva sent him an impatient glance as fat drops of lazy water began to splash against the hot ground. Steam rose in small currents as the rain coloured a wet patchwork dark across the wide gravel drive.
‘We’re too far from the castle to make a run for it,’ realised an exasperated Minerva, as the rain fell faster and made her glasses blotchy, her vision distorted.
‘It would appear so,’ agreed Dumbledore genially, his hands clasped loosely behind his back still strolling slowly forward.
‘Well what would you suggest? Are you not a world-renowned genius? Have you no input, no suggestion, no incredible feat of wizardry?’
Albus smiled at her, ‘No,’ he said, matter-of-factly.
Minerva ground her teeth together and lengthened her stride, Albus matched her, pace for pace, the rain was now falling so thickly that it had become quite dark for a typical July afternoon, and twice Minerva nearly turned her ankle.
‘I may be speaking out of turn,’ murmured Albus from her side, his beard and hair sticking to his face and cloak in long tangled tails, ‘but did you not mention purchasing an umbrella just this afternoon?’
Minerva jerked to a halt. ‘Damn!’ she hissed, wrenching open the slippery wet Zonkos bag. ‘How could I be so stupid?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Dumbledore happily, belatedly realising that no comment was required from him.
Minerva pulled the elegant black umbrella with its unusual carved wooden dogs head handle out of the bag and imperiously beckoned Albus closer. Magical umbrellas were fabulous, the size of your hand they opened out into sizes rarely less than a beach shelter, yet weighed as little as a sugar quill.
‘How gallant of you, to offer an old man shelter beneath your one and only umbrella,’ said Albus with only the slightest smile, stepping up to her side and taking hold of her bags as she shook the brolly out and clicked it up and open. Minerva muttered something about mad dogs and Englishmen in response and lifted the huge umbrella up over their heads.
There was a split second of sheer relief, of shelter and safety, and then the umbrella gave a wet burp and deluged them both in a massive torrential waterfall.
‘Well,’ said Albus admirably calm as water poured over his long nose and down the front of his cloak, ‘I think I know why you found this in Zonkos.’
He turned his head to the side to see her visage and was rewarded by an instant cascade into his ear. Minerva was still holding the umbrella up over them, a slight twitch in her cheek as jewels of water glittered in her eyelashes and a puddle accumulated in her sleeve, stretching it down toward the drenched ground.
Desperately trying not to laugh, Albus reached for her hand and loosened her white grip, swinging the umbrella to the side, where it promptly stopped its deluge with a hiccup and looked respectable again.
Minerva was taking great steadying breaths, I’m never going to live this down she thought, Albus will tell the world!
‘I won’t tell a soul,’ said Albus firmly. She swivelled slowly on her heel (her sock squelching) to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at him, the rain was still heavy but she was now so absurdly drenched it felt like a pleasantly warm pitter-patter on her increasingly chilly shoulders.
‘I want this one just for myself,’ Albus added, and his smile warmed her still further, unwillingly her lips curved and she found herself grinning back ruefully.
‘You can have it!’ she chuckled, and dropped her arm to release a gallon of water in a noisy surge all over his pointed toes – accidentally.
‘Onwards and upwards, my dear Minerva,’ Albus said, sparing a woeful look for his ruined suede boots before tucking her cold hand into the crook of his dripping wet arm and starting for the castle again, the useless umbrella swinging from his other hand.
There was silence for a while, as wet clothes chafed goose bumped skin and the rain fell still furiously, occasionally obscuring the approaching castle. Minerva tucked her arm more comfortably into Albus’s and felt him tighten his hold in reassuring response.
‘Albus,’ she finally spoke, ‘do you suppose Sybil would like an umbrella?’
Dog-wet!
[/u]][/center]The first day of every summer holiday, Professor Minerva McGonagall took herself shopping in Hogsmeade, blissfully free of pupils and responsibilities. It wasn’t so much the shopping experience that she went for, but the leisurely meander through Gladrags and Zonkos, with no time constraints and a Gillywater and pastry waiting for her at the Three Broomsticks, and all entirely alone. In a school with eight hundred pupils and a full complement of staff it was rare to find moments to oneself, and she treasured this little ritual of hers.
The afternoon was beautiful, perhaps a little hot for her liking, but the sun was unobscured and bright, floating in a liquid blue sky with the occasional fat, bursting cloud drifting high above. She exited the Three Broomsticks late in the afternoon with her shopping bags bewitched feather-light and began the long walk up to the castle, she felt unusually cheerful, her mind uncluttered with homework tasks and detentions.
She had just passed through the great iron gates of Hogwarts when an unmistakeable voice said quite cheerfully:
‘And what spoils of war have you returned with this year?’
Minerva stopped and turned to face the owner of the voice with resignation. ‘You came shopping with me just once – once!’
‘It was a memorable experience,’ chuckled Albus Dumbledore, striding forward from the great Elm where he had been leaning – deliberately lying in wait for his deputy.
‘It was a one-off lapse of temperament,’ Minerva protested acerbically. ‘As I have told you before!’
‘Mm-hmm,’ Albus acquiesced, sceptically. Minerva glared. ‘How many years do you have left on the ban?’
‘Merely Five,’ she said lifting her chin and daring the Headmaster to comment further. Luckily Albus Dumbledore decided to return the subject to safer terrain.
‘So, what did this year’s ritual excursion involve purchasing?’ He fell in step with her as she resumed walking towards their home.
‘How do you know about my summer ritual?’
‘My dear Minerva McGonagall, how can I fail to notice something repeated every summer, every year for fifteen years?’
She grudgingly inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘Some clothes, a dress hat, an eagle feather quill, an assortment of humbugs and bon bons, and a classic umbrella I came across, oddly, in Zonkos.’
‘What kind of clothes?’
‘The type you’ll never get to see,’ retorted Minerva, and then blushed at herself. Albus grinned.
‘What, nothing for your delightfully barmy boss?’
‘I may have bought you something – you shall have to wait and see.’
‘You know how I love surprises!’
‘I know how you peek at your Christmas presents before the twenty-fifth!’
‘I can’t control myself, I get too excited.’
Minerva McGonagall pursed her lips in dignified disapproval, but they both knew she was amused.
A sudden drop in temperature alerted her to the change in atmosphere; she had been so caught up bantering with Albus she hadn’t noticed the cloud draw in across the sun, a great wall of shadow unrolling across the distant mountains.
‘Oh dear,’ murmured Albus, sounding only mildly concerned. Minerva sent him an impatient glance as fat drops of lazy water began to splash against the hot ground. Steam rose in small currents as the rain coloured a wet patchwork dark across the wide gravel drive.
‘We’re too far from the castle to make a run for it,’ realised an exasperated Minerva, as the rain fell faster and made her glasses blotchy, her vision distorted.
‘It would appear so,’ agreed Dumbledore genially, his hands clasped loosely behind his back still strolling slowly forward.
‘Well what would you suggest? Are you not a world-renowned genius? Have you no input, no suggestion, no incredible feat of wizardry?’
Albus smiled at her, ‘No,’ he said, matter-of-factly.
Minerva ground her teeth together and lengthened her stride, Albus matched her, pace for pace, the rain was now falling so thickly that it had become quite dark for a typical July afternoon, and twice Minerva nearly turned her ankle.
‘I may be speaking out of turn,’ murmured Albus from her side, his beard and hair sticking to his face and cloak in long tangled tails, ‘but did you not mention purchasing an umbrella just this afternoon?’
Minerva jerked to a halt. ‘Damn!’ she hissed, wrenching open the slippery wet Zonkos bag. ‘How could I be so stupid?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Dumbledore happily, belatedly realising that no comment was required from him.
Minerva pulled the elegant black umbrella with its unusual carved wooden dogs head handle out of the bag and imperiously beckoned Albus closer. Magical umbrellas were fabulous, the size of your hand they opened out into sizes rarely less than a beach shelter, yet weighed as little as a sugar quill.
‘How gallant of you, to offer an old man shelter beneath your one and only umbrella,’ said Albus with only the slightest smile, stepping up to her side and taking hold of her bags as she shook the brolly out and clicked it up and open. Minerva muttered something about mad dogs and Englishmen in response and lifted the huge umbrella up over their heads.
There was a split second of sheer relief, of shelter and safety, and then the umbrella gave a wet burp and deluged them both in a massive torrential waterfall.
‘Well,’ said Albus admirably calm as water poured over his long nose and down the front of his cloak, ‘I think I know why you found this in Zonkos.’
He turned his head to the side to see her visage and was rewarded by an instant cascade into his ear. Minerva was still holding the umbrella up over them, a slight twitch in her cheek as jewels of water glittered in her eyelashes and a puddle accumulated in her sleeve, stretching it down toward the drenched ground.
Desperately trying not to laugh, Albus reached for her hand and loosened her white grip, swinging the umbrella to the side, where it promptly stopped its deluge with a hiccup and looked respectable again.
Minerva was taking great steadying breaths, I’m never going to live this down she thought, Albus will tell the world!
‘I won’t tell a soul,’ said Albus firmly. She swivelled slowly on her heel (her sock squelching) to raise a disbelieving eyebrow at him, the rain was still heavy but she was now so absurdly drenched it felt like a pleasantly warm pitter-patter on her increasingly chilly shoulders.
‘I want this one just for myself,’ Albus added, and his smile warmed her still further, unwillingly her lips curved and she found herself grinning back ruefully.
‘You can have it!’ she chuckled, and dropped her arm to release a gallon of water in a noisy surge all over his pointed toes – accidentally.
‘Onwards and upwards, my dear Minerva,’ Albus said, sparing a woeful look for his ruined suede boots before tucking her cold hand into the crook of his dripping wet arm and starting for the castle again, the useless umbrella swinging from his other hand.
There was silence for a while, as wet clothes chafed goose bumped skin and the rain fell still furiously, occasionally obscuring the approaching castle. Minerva tucked her arm more comfortably into Albus’s and felt him tighten his hold in reassuring response.
‘Albus,’ she finally spoke, ‘do you suppose Sybil would like an umbrella?’
I'm horrified people still remember it, it's ruddy hard work getting back in the mindset... Ahhh, the pressure, th pressure! lol
