First story goes to -

[klena]

waxrose!

For: Waxrose – a lovely young lady who has agreed to be my wife and writes some AWESOME HP fiction. Hurrah for her!
Prompt: Slughorn/McGonagall ahoy!
Word Count: 2,087
Pairings: S/McG, hints of McG/Marauders (Minerva got herself some boy loving!)
Warnings: Hints of student/teacher relationship, angst, crazy old lady thoughts! Kissing too.
Comments: The title is stolen from Tennyson – thanks mate! I fell slightly in love with McG as I wrote this and thought about her a lot. Slughorn scares me as he was still obsession with ‘collecting’ as he was being romantic. Weirdo. XD
Feedback: Will be fawned over, even if it’s bad.




Minerva does not hold with dwelling on the past. She believes – or, she amends, believed – that the past was the past and that there is very little to be done about it, so therefore it is a pointless waste of good energy wishing and regretting. However, recently the past had been infringing and re-occurring in her life in an unpleasant and wholly unappreciated way.

Her beautiful students returning to Hogwarts like mind-addled, restless ghosts in dribs and drabs and whispers. First James and Lily came back in Harry along with Frank and Alice in Neville. Then Sirius – handsome, mad Sirius – (who had been on the edges of her thoughts since that fateful Halloween in 1981) slunk back physically to the school with clever, wounded Remus. One brilliant, one mad and occasionally, she didn’t know which was which. Little Peter came back too – and an idealised memory was destroyed by those still alive from the Fall. Then, even Sirius had fallen beneath the weight of it all. One by one, those alive left and those remaining knew not what to do with themselves.

Minerva felt herself getting old and full of regrets and wishes.


Then Horace came back to Hogwarts. And, despite how oddly Albus was talking – and his awful hand – and the oppressive, suffocating weight of a war beginning to break, it was almost like the past. She saw the four boys she had loved in what she affectionately thought of as “The Trio”, could see the Black influence of Regulus and his father’s aggressive ambition burning on in Draco Malfoy, the young madness and blinding belief of Sybill in Luna Lovegood and, for aching blissful breaths, Minerva could believe it was 17 years ago.

Perhaps that was the reason why she had accepted Horace’s invitation to the Christmas party. She had never been a ‘party animal’, as the term went, but she did enjoy the company. Seeking comfort whilst she still could.


The party began to break up before early morning – Severus had slunk away early as had Sybill after hearing a young student praise Firenze’s Divination skills over her own –and soon only she and Horace had been left, cleaning up and making idle conversation. She had been ready to bid her farewells and to retire for the night when Horace surprised her – as he had a tendency to do – by suggesting a nightcap. She surprised herself even more by saying yes.

Horace surprised her further by producing a fine, very rare vintage of Ogden’s Old and pouring them both extremely generous shots as she made herself comfortable on one of his extremely plush sofas. They fought their way through the awkward moments of small talk like skilled professionals and drank their way through most of the talk of the war and the previous one.

Many glasses of Firewhiskey later and Minerva found herself giggling merrily to one of Horace’s famous, well-known anecdotes that she knew off by heart but which never failed to make her laugh. It felt like years since she had last laughed properly.

“…left standing with only his wand to cover his modesty!”

Minerva gave a louder, joyous laugh that echoed through the room and remarked dryly through further giggles,

“His modesty? I’ve never heard it referred to as that before!”

They both laughed for entirely too long before quieting, only to burst into a fresh fit of childish laughter as they caught each other’s eye.

“Ah my dear, you always did know how to make me laugh! Although I must admit, it’s been a long whiles since I heard you laugh like that.”

“I haven’t had much cause for laughing recently,” she admitted and was amazed (in a hazy, distant way) at how much pain that caused her. “I…we’ve lost a lot of good people recently.”

“Ah, I wager you mean young Sirius? A tragedy.” Her lack of response said more than the sudden stiffening of her back or the hand that shot up to fix her slightly dishevelled hair.

“There were rumours and hearsay during his day –”

“–There are always rumours Horace,” she sniffed haughtily and shooting him a chiding look but a sinking feeling was beginning in her chest.

“Truer words Minerva!” He declared appreciatively, leaning forward to refill their glasses. Handing her the glass back, he confided, “I myself was the source of several rumours back in the day!” with an expansive sweep of his hand. “Yet I fancy there was some truth in the rumours about you and those young lads.”

“I am a professional Horace!” She cried, standing in a fit of righteous anger and collapsed back to the sofa, which accepted her back tenderly. “I may not be able to stand on my own two feet but I still know my own wits!” She found, with rising embarrassment, that her vision was blurring and a lump was forming in her throat. “I have had to watch so many people – so many students I cared about die or tortured or left mad! And those four boys I did love – along with many others! Merlin help me, I was so hard on them at the time and now they’re dead! I can see their ghosts everywhere and I can see the things I should have done and now I can see myself losing a whole group of children to a war once again! They shouldn’t have died Horace! I shouldn’t have been so rough on them – and so help me, I regret so many things. But I do not regret one single thing I did during those days. Let the rumours be damned – only I know the truth – dead men tell no tales!”

She was aware of tears on her cheeks and her hands twisting and fisting in her dress robes and the lull after her hysterical outburst. Preparing to blame the speech on the Firewhiskey, Horace surprised her once more by offering a lace tissue and resting one hand on hers. She appreciated his silent acceptance of her moment of weakness and was grateful for him being there now. Dabbing at her eyes and folding the handkerchief in a neat triangle, she unpinned her hair and said

“Another shot of Ogden’s please – I fear I’m beginning to sober up.”


“I see you invited the Weird Sisters.”

“Ah yes! Those two young chaps – remarkable talent between the two! Then again, I expected nothing more of two strapping young lads from my House. Proud items of mine.”

“I also see they didn’t take my advice about getting a proper haircut.” She smirked and Horace laughed, offering a chocolate. She fingered a coconut cream before settling on a strawberry. He wrinkled his nose

“Those are my favourites,” he muttered, like a sullen child who suddenly was bereft of his new favourite toy. She chuckled; glad to see he still hadn’t changed, and Transfigured several of the more undesired chocolates into strawberry. He clapped his stubby hands in unreserved joy and set straight to testing one of the new strawberries.


“Do you have a Slug Club this year Horace?”

“Dear Minerva, you know me too well!”

“Well? Any promising candidates to add to your trophy wall and list of successes?” She asked, swirling the remnants of the Firewhiskey around the bottom of her Phoenix-Tear glass, focusing her attention of the glimmers of the opalesque tears, dyed deep amber by the alcohol.

“As always – I did chose them.”

“Of course, how could I insult your student-sniffing potential?”

“I have never sniffed one of my students!”

“But have they sniffed you, I wonder?” She asked, focusing very hard on his blueberry eyes and being suddenly paralysed by a fit of giggles.

“You have gone crazy! Cooped up in this old tower has driven you mad!” He laughed with her, patting her hand affectionately.

“And I suppose you are the one to save me from my madness and imprisonment?”

“Stranger things have happened!”

“Usually in your Potions class.”

“I’ll beg your pardon; I didn’t have students who wound up with flowers growing out of every orifice or students who were chased around the castle by vengeful teacups!”

“Those were accidents! Unskilled children trying to master magic’s too complex too fast. And I never had any students who turned into Flobberworms because they drank an ill-prepared potion!”

There was silence in the room until they both collapsed in laughter at the assault of these old memories.

“Ah dear me, yes! What was that boy’s name?”

“Gideon Prewett. You remember – him and his brother Fabian? Every girl in school adored them – and expert pranksters!”

“Ah yes. I had been planning to add him to my collection until that little incident. Foolish! But very amusing.”

“Very true.”

“However, I have not always acquired those I wanted! Many young wizard’s and witches potential – wasted! Especially both young Blacks. And…”

“Hm…?”

“There was one…I had desired to add to my collection but…it didn’t work – she was…”

“She was…?”

“Oh, supremely talented. But unfortunately there was a…complication shall we call it?”

“Really? Whatever was it? I never knew anything to stop you from collecting new members.” He braced himself by breathing in deeply and downing that end of his drink.

“She was a teacher.” Minerva felt her heart stop for a beat or two. He blushed – something he had never done – and his voice, usually so confident and bold, was hushed and nervous, almost bordering on shy.

“A teacher…?”

“You needn’t act so shocked Minerva – I know your mind. As sharp as talons and as quick as a Hippogriff. Of course it was you….”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave a sigh, “it was always you I wanted for my collections…”

She barely knew what to think. Romance was not a prominent feature in her life but she could feel things coming back – old memories of moments snatched when they could- a warm body against her own – and they had a special bond back in the day and knew she might not have much longer – she wasn’t getting any younger and for once, just once, she didn’t want to regret not taking this chance and finding some comfort with someone else – just a moment, one moment and –

She leaned forward and kissed him, hard and forcefully on the lips.


It had been years since her last proper kiss – the kiss on the cheek from Hagrid years ago doesn’t count – but she finds that everything she thought she had forgotten, she hadn’t – and the knowledge, the remembrance courses through her blood like a potent potion.

He tastes of strawberry and Firewhiskey and crystallised pineapple and his lips burn hers. She does not stop kissing him, instead holding his face in her hands and kissing deeper. She rubs her tongue against his – feeling more snake than cat – as his hands caress any part of her they can touch – wrists, neck, waist, breasts. She feels young again as his lips slide over hers, a slightly unsavourily sound echoing but it feels good and right so she doesn’t care. Her glasses bump distractingly against his cheek and he removes them without even a hitch in the kiss. She twists her hands in what remains of his hair, pulling him closer as she sucks on her tongue and then her lips. She smiles slightly – he was the only man ever to do that.

He breaks away and there is a slight gasping, protesting cry at the loss of his lips. She finds his cheeks flushed and eyes hazy and his features slightly blurred until she replaces her glasses. She doesn’t know what to say – only that she felt so young again and wants to continue to do so.

His voice is husky and suggestive, hands sliding over her body like she were a fascination to him, he asks,

“Shall we…retire for the night, my dear Minerva?”

She pauses for a moment, which gives him time to nibble on her earlobe in the most obscenely arousing way – was this the right thing to do? She is Vice-Principle, a respected woman – But as his tongue distracts her, Minerva doesn’t give a Blast-Ended Skrewt what anyone else thinks. She is hot and full of desire and wants this moment of happiness and pleasure before the heat of the Firewhiskey fades and the harsh light of day chills her again – before the war and the safety of the students are once again her prime concerns.

She smiles beatifically, takes his pro-offered hand and stands with him,

“By all means Horace, lead on.”

Comments

[waxrose.livejournal.com]

OMG.

*dies*

YOU ARE MAD GENIUS AND I LOVE YOU.

*settles down enough to give a coherent and proper review*

Her beautiful students returning to Hogwarts like mind-addled, restless ghosts in dribs and drabs and whispers.

I can see clearly how you fell in love with Minerva when you wrote this - you really seem to understand who she is - how she's lived through a war that broke nearly everyone else and is now about to watch it all happen again.

Slughorn was very in-character and charming and I loved the banter and interaction between the two. And crystallized pineapple!!! :D

*squishes you OMG*

Your Blackcest is coming right up - I sent it off for beta a couple of hours ago, so it's just a matter of waiting and revising now.

[marlinkhylacat]

Wow. Fecking WOW. =O_o=

[urbanelf.livejournal.com]

Wheee!
I shall amuse myself until tomorrow with reading and re-reading these things. Gods. You are a beautiful writer.

[urbanelf.livejournal.com]

Your writing her is really great.
It switches tense for the kissing scene, goes from past to present.