Post by aptasi on Apr 5, 2009 19:59:16 GMT -5
Showing Off
Summary: ADMM. Minerva and Albus try to impress each other.
Disclaimer: I have no rights to Harry Potter. This story is written merely for recreational purposes and no copyright infringement is intended. In addition, parts of this are somewhat cliché. Ye be warned
Minerva walked onto the Quidditch pitch, feeling slightly giddy. Gryffindor won! She felt so exhilarated. Even in the dark of night, it seemed everything glowed. So, after dropping in on her lions, who were celebrating the win with a rowdy party, she returned.
Minerva felt much too excited to rest. She needed exercise or some way to release the excess energy. So, she had walked, all right skipped, across the grounds, back to the scene of their glorious victory.
Though a cooler head might have questioned the wisdom of being out so late, alone, in a dressing gown and pajamas, with dementors roaming the grounds, Minerva was too thoroughly immersed in her triumph for such sensible thoughts.
The Quidditch cup, finally theirs! Minerva brought her hands into the air and whirled around freely. She had not experienced such joy in a long time.
Albus Dumbledore felt slightly concerned as he followed Minerva McGonagall across the grounds. Though he did not want to worry her or interfere, an excursion through the shadowy stands with the cold wind and the fading moon seemed out of character and alarming to him.
Minerva was dear to him, and although Albus was mindful of the joy and nostalgia she was perhaps feeling, some protective instinct advised him not to leave her alone. He could not be seen and ruin her moment. Instead, he would just remain where he could be certain of her safety.
However, Albus’ plan was shortly lived, for at that moment Minerva spun around into a fighting stance, raising her wand and glaring though sharp eyes. “Who’s there?” She called into the night sternly; she shifted her position slightly, as agile and graceful as her other form.
Knowing he was caught, Albus stepped forward carefully, responding, “It’s me, Minerva. I’m Albus,” and holding up his hands.
“Albus,” she answered sweetly. Then, without warning, her voice grew forceful again. “What are you doing here?”
Albus searched his mind frantically for an answer. After all, he couldn’t say what he was thinking, that he had been watching her, that she looked beautiful with the wisps of hair that were slightly detached from her bun framing her face. He could not inform her that the exhilaration written so plainly on her features had lifted his own troubled heart. He certainly could not tell her about the excitement he himself had felt during the last seconds of the match, not due to anything happening on the pitch, but the way she had gripped his arm.
No, he certainly could not tell her any of those things, for she would hex him if she heard him. She would not take kindly to his romantic thoughts, surely not.
Even more certain to get him hexed would be the admission that he was worried about her safety, a woman alone on the grounds at night, where dementors had already proven they felt comfortable intruding. Minerva was an independent woman, and she would have found that answer infuriating.
As Albus stumbled for an answer, he saw Minerva grow impatient. Her arms crossed at her waist, and her eyes narrowed. Desperately, he turned the question back to her, “Well, what are you doing out here yourself?”
She smiled, showing shining white teeth that seemed unusually bright in the damp darkness. “Why, flying, of course.” She responded lightly. She raised her wand. “Accio broom.”
Minerva McGonagall vaguely registered confusion at her own actions. Am I flirting with him? She thought in wonder. It was not as if she had never been tempted to flirt with Albus, the thought had been occurring to her daily for at least a decade now, but she had always done a wonderful job of resisting.
There were dozens of reasons not to flirt with her employer. Up until this night, she had managed to keep their friendship as it was, comfortable, familiar, yet cool, for years. They had never crossed the professional barrier into that light banter with such heavy consequences before.
However, tonight Minerva felt the best she had felt in years. Moreover, although Minerva’s system was empty of anything untoward, free of alcohol and anything else that would make a proper excuse, she felt her inhibitions lower, and then fall away.
Minerva mounted her broom and sped into the sky of the pitch, doing a lap at breakneck speed just to get her bearings. She hadn’t flown in years, but it felt wonderful to be on a broom again. She glanced down at Albus, who looked like a tiny dot on the ground, and felt her heart beat even faster. What do you think you are doing? She asked herself as she pulled into a sharp, complicated corkscrew dive.
Albus watched Minerva in wonder from the ground. He hadn’t known she could fly like that. True, he knew she had been a wonderful Gryffindor seeker once, but her flying today would put even the newly crowned Hogwarts champions to shame.
And such stunt flying! The spins, turns, and sharp dives, so amazing so crazy, so… Albus held his breath as Minerva pulled out of the dive and flew a mere inch above the ground, hanging off the side of the broom to drag her hand along the grass… so dangerous.
Minerva’s hair had come loose and was streaming behind her, along with the tartan-dressing robe that waved like a flag. She flew close enough to him that he could feel the breeze she created tug at his robes, a strange sensation that threatened to turn his mind to imprudent thoughts.
Carefully, he brought his mind back to Minerva’s flying. Now, she was turning, most rapidly, towards the goal hoops, with her body flattened low against her broomstick. Albus felt a chill grip his chest. Minerva had no quaffle with which to score, and it looked like she would fly straight into the hoops.
At that second, Minerva reached the hoops, transformed into a cat, and then jumped. Her broomstick sailed through the center hoop without her while she, in Animagus form, jumped over the hoop. Albus felt his mouth drop open as she regained her original form in midair, and reached out a hand to regain her broom. He had never even heard of anyone transforming on a broom like that, and with an obstacle involved, her timing had to be exquisite.
She looks amazing, Albus thought, as Minerva punched the air and let out a yell of triumph.
It worked. Minerva thought in amazement. She had never tried transforming from a broom before, though she often daydreamed about it. Some aspect of Albus’ presence made her eager to try the stunt, even knowing the possible repercussions.
As she sank toward the ground, grinning, Minerva savored the look of astonishment on Albus’ face. He looked so funny standing there with his mouth open.
In a moment of usual daring, Minerva moved her broom so close to Albus that she was practically on top of him. She locked eyes with him, and swung a leg off the broom, feeling him watch her.
However, as her feet hit the ground, her ankle slipped sideways. Albus reached under her arms to catch her, and Minerva heard a sickening crack. Stars exploded in front of her eyes as her ankle erupted in pain. She leaned her head against Albus’ chest, and he stumbled, nearly knocking them both off balance.
“Albus.” Minerva whispered. “I think my ankle’s broken.”
Summary: ADMM. Minerva and Albus try to impress each other.
Disclaimer: I have no rights to Harry Potter. This story is written merely for recreational purposes and no copyright infringement is intended. In addition, parts of this are somewhat cliché. Ye be warned
Minerva walked onto the Quidditch pitch, feeling slightly giddy. Gryffindor won! She felt so exhilarated. Even in the dark of night, it seemed everything glowed. So, after dropping in on her lions, who were celebrating the win with a rowdy party, she returned.
Minerva felt much too excited to rest. She needed exercise or some way to release the excess energy. So, she had walked, all right skipped, across the grounds, back to the scene of their glorious victory.
Though a cooler head might have questioned the wisdom of being out so late, alone, in a dressing gown and pajamas, with dementors roaming the grounds, Minerva was too thoroughly immersed in her triumph for such sensible thoughts.
The Quidditch cup, finally theirs! Minerva brought her hands into the air and whirled around freely. She had not experienced such joy in a long time.
Albus Dumbledore felt slightly concerned as he followed Minerva McGonagall across the grounds. Though he did not want to worry her or interfere, an excursion through the shadowy stands with the cold wind and the fading moon seemed out of character and alarming to him.
Minerva was dear to him, and although Albus was mindful of the joy and nostalgia she was perhaps feeling, some protective instinct advised him not to leave her alone. He could not be seen and ruin her moment. Instead, he would just remain where he could be certain of her safety.
However, Albus’ plan was shortly lived, for at that moment Minerva spun around into a fighting stance, raising her wand and glaring though sharp eyes. “Who’s there?” She called into the night sternly; she shifted her position slightly, as agile and graceful as her other form.
Knowing he was caught, Albus stepped forward carefully, responding, “It’s me, Minerva. I’m Albus,” and holding up his hands.
“Albus,” she answered sweetly. Then, without warning, her voice grew forceful again. “What are you doing here?”
Albus searched his mind frantically for an answer. After all, he couldn’t say what he was thinking, that he had been watching her, that she looked beautiful with the wisps of hair that were slightly detached from her bun framing her face. He could not inform her that the exhilaration written so plainly on her features had lifted his own troubled heart. He certainly could not tell her about the excitement he himself had felt during the last seconds of the match, not due to anything happening on the pitch, but the way she had gripped his arm.
No, he certainly could not tell her any of those things, for she would hex him if she heard him. She would not take kindly to his romantic thoughts, surely not.
Even more certain to get him hexed would be the admission that he was worried about her safety, a woman alone on the grounds at night, where dementors had already proven they felt comfortable intruding. Minerva was an independent woman, and she would have found that answer infuriating.
As Albus stumbled for an answer, he saw Minerva grow impatient. Her arms crossed at her waist, and her eyes narrowed. Desperately, he turned the question back to her, “Well, what are you doing out here yourself?”
She smiled, showing shining white teeth that seemed unusually bright in the damp darkness. “Why, flying, of course.” She responded lightly. She raised her wand. “Accio broom.”
Minerva McGonagall vaguely registered confusion at her own actions. Am I flirting with him? She thought in wonder. It was not as if she had never been tempted to flirt with Albus, the thought had been occurring to her daily for at least a decade now, but she had always done a wonderful job of resisting.
There were dozens of reasons not to flirt with her employer. Up until this night, she had managed to keep their friendship as it was, comfortable, familiar, yet cool, for years. They had never crossed the professional barrier into that light banter with such heavy consequences before.
However, tonight Minerva felt the best she had felt in years. Moreover, although Minerva’s system was empty of anything untoward, free of alcohol and anything else that would make a proper excuse, she felt her inhibitions lower, and then fall away.
Minerva mounted her broom and sped into the sky of the pitch, doing a lap at breakneck speed just to get her bearings. She hadn’t flown in years, but it felt wonderful to be on a broom again. She glanced down at Albus, who looked like a tiny dot on the ground, and felt her heart beat even faster. What do you think you are doing? She asked herself as she pulled into a sharp, complicated corkscrew dive.
Albus watched Minerva in wonder from the ground. He hadn’t known she could fly like that. True, he knew she had been a wonderful Gryffindor seeker once, but her flying today would put even the newly crowned Hogwarts champions to shame.
And such stunt flying! The spins, turns, and sharp dives, so amazing so crazy, so… Albus held his breath as Minerva pulled out of the dive and flew a mere inch above the ground, hanging off the side of the broom to drag her hand along the grass… so dangerous.
Minerva’s hair had come loose and was streaming behind her, along with the tartan-dressing robe that waved like a flag. She flew close enough to him that he could feel the breeze she created tug at his robes, a strange sensation that threatened to turn his mind to imprudent thoughts.
Carefully, he brought his mind back to Minerva’s flying. Now, she was turning, most rapidly, towards the goal hoops, with her body flattened low against her broomstick. Albus felt a chill grip his chest. Minerva had no quaffle with which to score, and it looked like she would fly straight into the hoops.
At that second, Minerva reached the hoops, transformed into a cat, and then jumped. Her broomstick sailed through the center hoop without her while she, in Animagus form, jumped over the hoop. Albus felt his mouth drop open as she regained her original form in midair, and reached out a hand to regain her broom. He had never even heard of anyone transforming on a broom like that, and with an obstacle involved, her timing had to be exquisite.
She looks amazing, Albus thought, as Minerva punched the air and let out a yell of triumph.
It worked. Minerva thought in amazement. She had never tried transforming from a broom before, though she often daydreamed about it. Some aspect of Albus’ presence made her eager to try the stunt, even knowing the possible repercussions.
As she sank toward the ground, grinning, Minerva savored the look of astonishment on Albus’ face. He looked so funny standing there with his mouth open.
In a moment of usual daring, Minerva moved her broom so close to Albus that she was practically on top of him. She locked eyes with him, and swung a leg off the broom, feeling him watch her.
However, as her feet hit the ground, her ankle slipped sideways. Albus reached under her arms to catch her, and Minerva heard a sickening crack. Stars exploded in front of her eyes as her ankle erupted in pain. She leaned her head against Albus’ chest, and he stumbled, nearly knocking them both off balance.
“Albus.” Minerva whispered. “I think my ankle’s broken.”
;D 
