Is there ever a good reason to get blinding drunk?
Minerva looked at Hagrid with a frown. There he was, three sheets to the winds as her grandad used to say, and *in front of the children*. The frown tightened as she watched Albus raise his goblet to Hagrid.
"Now, Minerva. I seem to remember an occasion many years ago when you sailed a little close to the wind yourself." Those blue eyes twinkled at her.
Minerva's lips twisted as she remembered the only time she had ever had so much to drink she hadn't been in full control of herself. Shame washed over her in a wave as strong as her embarrassment at the time.
She had been seventeen. About to leave school. Unsure yet of what she wanted in her life, but dreaming occasionally of hazel eyes and soft lips and loving words directed at her. And perhaps, if she were honest, thinking of a point far in the future where there might be a home and children and love.
It had really died unborn. That dream. She remembered the night the challenge had been made, the invitation given, and her stiff refusal to go outside the bounds. And the laughter. The laughter at her.
Tom had laughed at her, and extended the invitation to Corbus Malfoy. He'd given her a triumphant look as he left with Tom.
She'd lifted her chin, and the high colour she could feel burning in her cheeks soon became the burning of alcohol rather than embarrassment as she partook rather liberally of the punch that had been laced with firewhiskey.
Behag McDonald had had to assist her to the dormitory. In the morning she'd vowed never to over-induldge again.
Minerva lifted her chin and looked at the Headmaster. He'd been there that night, of course, one of the staff on duty.
"Headmaster, I hardly believe that one indiscretion outweighs habitual irresponsibility."
Professor Dumbledore sighed, and nodded at her.
Minerva stood, her mouth tight, and went to speak to Hagrid.
(OOC: My apologies to the moderators for the lateness of this entry. I am now busily writing to bring Minerva's journal up to date. Is there a penalty system or notification system I should be aware of? Thanks for your patience!)
"Now, Minerva. I seem to remember an occasion many years ago when you sailed a little close to the wind yourself." Those blue eyes twinkled at her.
Minerva's lips twisted as she remembered the only time she had ever had so much to drink she hadn't been in full control of herself. Shame washed over her in a wave as strong as her embarrassment at the time.
She had been seventeen. About to leave school. Unsure yet of what she wanted in her life, but dreaming occasionally of hazel eyes and soft lips and loving words directed at her. And perhaps, if she were honest, thinking of a point far in the future where there might be a home and children and love.
It had really died unborn. That dream. She remembered the night the challenge had been made, the invitation given, and her stiff refusal to go outside the bounds. And the laughter. The laughter at her.
Tom had laughed at her, and extended the invitation to Corbus Malfoy. He'd given her a triumphant look as he left with Tom.
She'd lifted her chin, and the high colour she could feel burning in her cheeks soon became the burning of alcohol rather than embarrassment as she partook rather liberally of the punch that had been laced with firewhiskey.
Behag McDonald had had to assist her to the dormitory. In the morning she'd vowed never to over-induldge again.
Minerva lifted her chin and looked at the Headmaster. He'd been there that night, of course, one of the staff on duty.
"Headmaster, I hardly believe that one indiscretion outweighs habitual irresponsibility."
Professor Dumbledore sighed, and nodded at her.
Minerva stood, her mouth tight, and went to speak to Hagrid.
(OOC: My apologies to the moderators for the lateness of this entry. I am now busily writing to bring Minerva's journal up to date. Is there a penalty system or notification system I should be aware of? Thanks for your patience!)