New Story!
Hello! Just a quick post. I am finally happy with a little humor fic I've been working on for a couple of days now.
Minerva McGonagall is a normal woman. She has her weaknesses like any other. They are not overly annoying, until they show up in her life.
Every woman has a weakness. Perhaps some are just weaker than others, perhaps some have greater endurance, or perhaps some encounter their weakness less often. In any case, the greatest weakness is not knowing what will affect you that way. I do not fall into that category. I’ve known what makes me shiver and lose my head since my very school days. It’s a childish thing, I know, to find a part of the body that one is particularly fond of, but it seems to always last beyond the naivety of adolescent days. For some girls, their faces redden at marvelous hair, other swoon at a silky voice or sparkling eyes. A mischievous grin, voluptuous hands, a button nose, every girl has her weakness. I am no longer a girl. I haven’t been for quite some time. However, my weakness has not diminished. I know in my brain that I’m not alone, but my heart cries every time I see them. I don’t face it very often in people my own age. That is rarely a problem. The quirk lies in my profession: teenagers. Athletic, muscular teenagers. And their uniforms will never hide the gorgeous toned muscles of their lightly browned arms. Arms to hold their girls at night, to glisten in the afternoon sun, to entice their instructor, well, perhaps they don’t mean to, but I’m certain it is a rather irritating side effect. I can only hope that I hide my blushing cheeks and shaking knees behind long skirts and flowing robes. My glazed eyes hidden behind stern frames, I am content to watch them roll back their sleeves and work every muscle from a distance.
I am supposedly the strong one. I never visibly swoon or sweat in the presence of the other sex, a talent which was greatly envied in my younger days. That mask is firm, but not unbreakable, especially late at night. Fortunately, I don’t encounter men at night very often. As a matter of fact, it’s probably been ten years. That’s what happens as you get older, I suppose. They lose interest in you. Why, oh why can’t that work both ways. Must the female sex pine all their lives for the perfect man while males pine for the girl next door, no matter which house they happen to be visiting. I shouldn’t rant, especially in a diary like this. Something anyone could read. It’s not like I lock up my office at night. Who would want to break in? There’s nothing of value unless you count the wilting irises on the bookshelf.
Anyway, there actually is a point to my lecture. Perhaps the one and only lecture that I hope no one will ever pay the tiniest bit of attention to. The minister visited the other day. The Minister of all people, and it had to hit me. I’ve kept my bloody weakness under control for all these years, and of all the times to lose my head-- anyway, I’ll pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal. Back to the point, the minister had come to speak with us about the end of the war. I’ve known Rufus Scrimgeour for years, decades even. We’d worked together in the early sixties, back before I left the ministry on Dumbledore’s inane wish. I never believed myself to be “Teacher Material” as the young ones call it, but we’re getting off subject again. I suppose I’m avoiding it. I had never thought of Rufus as “handsome” or “hot” I suppose, but in demonstration, he raised his arms and his sleeves fell back. I regret that I had refused his earlier offer to have a seat. I nearly fell flat on my-- well, you understand. In any case, I felt my face flush as the room began to heat up. I felt sweat bead on my neck and drip down my nose, and felt a strong desire to let my robe fall and hike my skirts. Flirting was never my forte, but I was sure that I had been struck dumb on the spot! The longest skirt on the windiest day could not have hid the shaking of my knees. For a bit, I was unnoticed for the most part, being hidden in the corner of the room behind the sofa. Unfortunately, no embarrassing situation can escape the attention of one Rolanda Hooch.
“Having a hot flash, Min?” She asked. She did ask quietly I’ll admit, but still loud enough at least for Severus Snape to hear (he began to spew his coffee across the room.) While Rolanda’s unabashedly vulgar comment did not draw much attention, Severus spurting black coffee through his mouth and nose did. Having drawn the attention of all the room to himself and his now thoroughly drenched robes, Severus looked around at Rolanda, his red face bursting with more color than I had ever imagined possible, though whether it was from embarrassment, disgust or the heat of the coffee, I could not tell. The room stood frozen, Rufus holding his bared arms wildly in the air, as Severus hissed at Rolanda, “Keep your vulgar, offensive womanly business far away from my ears.” Then, the unbelievable turned to the unthinkable. Severus shed his soaking robes and rolled back his sleeves as well. Now, Severus Snape being a potions master has had both time and opportunity to tone his muscles, especially those in his now visible arms. While his skin was far from the beautiful, excuse me, tanned shade of Scrimgeour’s, the taut muscles and defined lines more than made up for what his complexion lacked.
I couldn’t help it. I collapsed on the floor behind the sofa.
“Minerva!” Several people screamed. I could hear footsteps as they ran to my side, “Are you all right, dear?” “Look at her face, she’s all red!” “She must have been sweating, she’s drenched!” “Minerva can you hear me?” “She’s boiling, get her some ice!” “Minerva!” “Can you hear me?” “Minerva!”
“YES!” I was still breathing heavily and my face burned from the agony of embarrassment that I faced, but I could hear them all loud and clear, as they were screaming in my face. I had not fainted, despite the best efforts of my unbridled hormones. Still shaking a bit, I reached my hands upward to hoist myself from the dirty and disgusting staff room floor and felt my palms slide on the chair. Good Lord I had been sweating! Of all people, Rufus came around behind me to help me lift myself. I was quite tempted to simply fall back and lean into those arms, but thank heavens I was able to finally constrain myself. I wistfully waved off all mention of going down to the hospital wing, even when Severus offered, albeit sarcastically, to carry me down the stairs. I nearly took him up on that.
Through the remainder of the meeting, the staff kept throwing furtive looks in my direction as though they were waiting for me collapse again. I, however, was not going to let that happen, I resolved to simply look up into faces and avoid all other body parts on the whole. Arms, legs, chests, other areas, I refused to let my eyes wander. Faces only. Just watch their eyes. Fortunately, there wasn’t much time left in the meeting and I only had to keep control of my raging thoughts for a small time until I could get back to my rooms and drench myself in a cold shower. Maybe I could try a cold tea after that, I’ve heard that they’re highly popular further south and across the Atlantic. Food, drink and relaxation were working well to keep my mind away from strong arms that my body seemed far too close to.
As Albus would write in here, “Alas.” The embarrassing incident was not yet quite over. Even as we filed out of the staff room, Rufus called me back.
“Are you certain you’re alright?” he asked me, reaching out to hold my arms firmly in his hands. Oh, there I went again, melting like the wicked witch of the west in water. “Do you think you can make it back up to your rooms all right?”
“Yes, I think so.” My voice had somehow lost its strength and become airy. Even as I spoke I felt my knees began to give and my face grow hot again. One of the strange things about a woman’s body is that, no matter how fiercely you command it not to react to the male gender through sweat; it never seems to follow orders. I broke out into a full sweat in a matter of seconds. Rufus looked at me, worried; I could only manage what must have been a hideously inane grin back at him.
“I’m taking you back to your rooms, Professor.” Oh, that was not good.
In actuality, it could have been much worse. Rufus supported me from behind, with one of those fabulous arms wrapped firmly around my waist, and the other clasping my hand. I tripped several times and nearly wet myself at one point when he all but carried me up a flight of particularly steep stairs that my feet seemed to simply dislike. In any case, he guided me back to my rooms without any great incident and only left me alone as I shut the door in his worried face. It might have been a tad harsh, but I sincerely did not wish to spend the night in the care of Poppy Pompfrey, who would recognize the symptoms of “Male Attraction” versus those of a true complication. She is such a gossip monger. Once I was safely hidden from prying eyes and ears, I shed my robe, hiked my skirt up to my knees and promptly gave in to a burning desire to collapse once again in a heap on the floor. Lord that felt good! I took a cold shower and tried some of that chilled tea (which was not nearly as good as they claim) and condemned myself to utter relaxation. Then I began to write here. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps Albus is right, and these things actually do relieve some stress. Rolanda may talk tonight, but she has no proof. Regardless, I’ll let them make of my responses what they will and let them watch me for a few days, make sure I’m “recovering” properly. Past that, my secret is safe.
Please read, review and enjoy!
Minerva McGonagall is a normal woman. She has her weaknesses like any other. They are not overly annoying, until they show up in her life.
Every woman has a weakness. Perhaps some are just weaker than others, perhaps some have greater endurance, or perhaps some encounter their weakness less often. In any case, the greatest weakness is not knowing what will affect you that way. I do not fall into that category. I’ve known what makes me shiver and lose my head since my very school days. It’s a childish thing, I know, to find a part of the body that one is particularly fond of, but it seems to always last beyond the naivety of adolescent days. For some girls, their faces redden at marvelous hair, other swoon at a silky voice or sparkling eyes. A mischievous grin, voluptuous hands, a button nose, every girl has her weakness. I am no longer a girl. I haven’t been for quite some time. However, my weakness has not diminished. I know in my brain that I’m not alone, but my heart cries every time I see them. I don’t face it very often in people my own age. That is rarely a problem. The quirk lies in my profession: teenagers. Athletic, muscular teenagers. And their uniforms will never hide the gorgeous toned muscles of their lightly browned arms. Arms to hold their girls at night, to glisten in the afternoon sun, to entice their instructor, well, perhaps they don’t mean to, but I’m certain it is a rather irritating side effect. I can only hope that I hide my blushing cheeks and shaking knees behind long skirts and flowing robes. My glazed eyes hidden behind stern frames, I am content to watch them roll back their sleeves and work every muscle from a distance.
I am supposedly the strong one. I never visibly swoon or sweat in the presence of the other sex, a talent which was greatly envied in my younger days. That mask is firm, but not unbreakable, especially late at night. Fortunately, I don’t encounter men at night very often. As a matter of fact, it’s probably been ten years. That’s what happens as you get older, I suppose. They lose interest in you. Why, oh why can’t that work both ways. Must the female sex pine all their lives for the perfect man while males pine for the girl next door, no matter which house they happen to be visiting. I shouldn’t rant, especially in a diary like this. Something anyone could read. It’s not like I lock up my office at night. Who would want to break in? There’s nothing of value unless you count the wilting irises on the bookshelf.
Anyway, there actually is a point to my lecture. Perhaps the one and only lecture that I hope no one will ever pay the tiniest bit of attention to. The minister visited the other day. The Minister of all people, and it had to hit me. I’ve kept my bloody weakness under control for all these years, and of all the times to lose my head-- anyway, I’ll pretend it wasn’t that big of a deal. Back to the point, the minister had come to speak with us about the end of the war. I’ve known Rufus Scrimgeour for years, decades even. We’d worked together in the early sixties, back before I left the ministry on Dumbledore’s inane wish. I never believed myself to be “Teacher Material” as the young ones call it, but we’re getting off subject again. I suppose I’m avoiding it. I had never thought of Rufus as “handsome” or “hot” I suppose, but in demonstration, he raised his arms and his sleeves fell back. I regret that I had refused his earlier offer to have a seat. I nearly fell flat on my-- well, you understand. In any case, I felt my face flush as the room began to heat up. I felt sweat bead on my neck and drip down my nose, and felt a strong desire to let my robe fall and hike my skirts. Flirting was never my forte, but I was sure that I had been struck dumb on the spot! The longest skirt on the windiest day could not have hid the shaking of my knees. For a bit, I was unnoticed for the most part, being hidden in the corner of the room behind the sofa. Unfortunately, no embarrassing situation can escape the attention of one Rolanda Hooch.
“Having a hot flash, Min?” She asked. She did ask quietly I’ll admit, but still loud enough at least for Severus Snape to hear (he began to spew his coffee across the room.) While Rolanda’s unabashedly vulgar comment did not draw much attention, Severus spurting black coffee through his mouth and nose did. Having drawn the attention of all the room to himself and his now thoroughly drenched robes, Severus looked around at Rolanda, his red face bursting with more color than I had ever imagined possible, though whether it was from embarrassment, disgust or the heat of the coffee, I could not tell. The room stood frozen, Rufus holding his bared arms wildly in the air, as Severus hissed at Rolanda, “Keep your vulgar, offensive womanly business far away from my ears.” Then, the unbelievable turned to the unthinkable. Severus shed his soaking robes and rolled back his sleeves as well. Now, Severus Snape being a potions master has had both time and opportunity to tone his muscles, especially those in his now visible arms. While his skin was far from the beautiful, excuse me, tanned shade of Scrimgeour’s, the taut muscles and defined lines more than made up for what his complexion lacked.
I couldn’t help it. I collapsed on the floor behind the sofa.
“Minerva!” Several people screamed. I could hear footsteps as they ran to my side, “Are you all right, dear?” “Look at her face, she’s all red!” “She must have been sweating, she’s drenched!” “Minerva can you hear me?” “She’s boiling, get her some ice!” “Minerva!” “Can you hear me?” “Minerva!”
“YES!” I was still breathing heavily and my face burned from the agony of embarrassment that I faced, but I could hear them all loud and clear, as they were screaming in my face. I had not fainted, despite the best efforts of my unbridled hormones. Still shaking a bit, I reached my hands upward to hoist myself from the dirty and disgusting staff room floor and felt my palms slide on the chair. Good Lord I had been sweating! Of all people, Rufus came around behind me to help me lift myself. I was quite tempted to simply fall back and lean into those arms, but thank heavens I was able to finally constrain myself. I wistfully waved off all mention of going down to the hospital wing, even when Severus offered, albeit sarcastically, to carry me down the stairs. I nearly took him up on that.
Through the remainder of the meeting, the staff kept throwing furtive looks in my direction as though they were waiting for me collapse again. I, however, was not going to let that happen, I resolved to simply look up into faces and avoid all other body parts on the whole. Arms, legs, chests, other areas, I refused to let my eyes wander. Faces only. Just watch their eyes. Fortunately, there wasn’t much time left in the meeting and I only had to keep control of my raging thoughts for a small time until I could get back to my rooms and drench myself in a cold shower. Maybe I could try a cold tea after that, I’ve heard that they’re highly popular further south and across the Atlantic. Food, drink and relaxation were working well to keep my mind away from strong arms that my body seemed far too close to.
As Albus would write in here, “Alas.” The embarrassing incident was not yet quite over. Even as we filed out of the staff room, Rufus called me back.
“Are you certain you’re alright?” he asked me, reaching out to hold my arms firmly in his hands. Oh, there I went again, melting like the wicked witch of the west in water. “Do you think you can make it back up to your rooms all right?”
“Yes, I think so.” My voice had somehow lost its strength and become airy. Even as I spoke I felt my knees began to give and my face grow hot again. One of the strange things about a woman’s body is that, no matter how fiercely you command it not to react to the male gender through sweat; it never seems to follow orders. I broke out into a full sweat in a matter of seconds. Rufus looked at me, worried; I could only manage what must have been a hideously inane grin back at him.
“I’m taking you back to your rooms, Professor.” Oh, that was not good.
In actuality, it could have been much worse. Rufus supported me from behind, with one of those fabulous arms wrapped firmly around my waist, and the other clasping my hand. I tripped several times and nearly wet myself at one point when he all but carried me up a flight of particularly steep stairs that my feet seemed to simply dislike. In any case, he guided me back to my rooms without any great incident and only left me alone as I shut the door in his worried face. It might have been a tad harsh, but I sincerely did not wish to spend the night in the care of Poppy Pompfrey, who would recognize the symptoms of “Male Attraction” versus those of a true complication. She is such a gossip monger. Once I was safely hidden from prying eyes and ears, I shed my robe, hiked my skirt up to my knees and promptly gave in to a burning desire to collapse once again in a heap on the floor. Lord that felt good! I took a cold shower and tried some of that chilled tea (which was not nearly as good as they claim) and condemned myself to utter relaxation. Then I began to write here. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps Albus is right, and these things actually do relieve some stress. Rolanda may talk tonight, but she has no proof. Regardless, I’ll let them make of my responses what they will and let them watch me for a few days, make sure I’m “recovering” properly. Past that, my secret is safe.
Please read, review and enjoy!