A/N: Quidditch League Season Four – Seeker (Wasps) – Prompt: Each position has been given a sin and its countering virtue as a prompt. You are to write about only one for your story, pertaining to the following rules:
SIN prompts must be committed or portrayed by a canonically light character.
VIRTUE prompts must be demonstrated or portrayed by a canonically dark* character.
McGonagall, SLOTH
~oOo~
Minerva McGonagall sat down on the neat, tartan armchair in her office and sighed. Several minutes passed, marked by the soft ticking of the magical clock that had been a gift to her by George Weasley on the tenth anniversary of his "Flight From Hogwarts".
It was inscribed on the back in flashing letters – signed from your favourite pupil – Just in case she forgot the occasion. She allowed her lips to form the briefest of smiles; as if she could ever forget.
As another minute ticked passed, she shot a guilty glance at the door, before pulling her legs up underneath her and settling properly onto the couch.
"Comfortable at last," she said to herself, smiling properly this time.
"At times like these, I wish I had the luxury of a muggle camera," a familiar voice said from the wall behind her, full of amusement.
"Oh, shove a sock in it, Albus," she said with a laugh. "I've earned this."
"You most certainly have, my dear."
Minerva pursed her lips at the serious tone in his voice, her eyebrows drawing together of their own accord. "Best not think too deeply on that."
She heard a rustling of robes, and when she next glanced at the painting adorning the wall of the her office – the Headmistress' office – Albus was seated comfortably on the arm of his own chair, his eyes sombre, though his face still held a smile.
Minerva tapped her fingers against the side of the couch. Albus coughed gently.
"All they ever do is sleep," Minerva said abruptly, waving her hand at the other portraits.
Dippet jumped at the noise, giving a loud snort and rolling over until he was slumped over the side. Minerva wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"I figured it was my turn," she said, her eyes snapping to Albus and daring him to defy her logic.
"So you have said, and I agree wholeheartedly," Albus said with a nod. He held up one hand to inspect his nails, his face suspiciously neutral.
Minerva waited, her lips growing tighter by the second. "You don't think I can do it," she snapped.
Albus' eyes twinkled, though he did not look up from his important task. He held his other hand up and compared the two of them side by side. "My dear, I believe you can do whatever you set your mind to."
"I'll show you," she hissed. She waved her wand aggressively and the tin of biscuits on her desk flew across the room and crashed onto the coffee table with a loud clatter. "I'm too old for this. I've seen Weasleys graduate, and Potters and Blacks and Lupins and Finnegans and Longbottoms and- Don't you dare snicker at me, Albus Dumbledore."
"I would never dream of it." Albus held his hand over his heart, his blue eyes twinkling as he finally made eye contact with her.
"You do dare," she said, eyes narrowed. "Don't forget you're hanging right next to the lantern. I could slip in my old age. I'm getting old and doddery."
Albus burst into laughter. "You are many things, Minerva, but old and doddery is not within your capabilities."
"They are." Minerva pulled off the lid of the tin and grabbed a biscuit, chewing it viciously. "I'm getting old and doddery, and I've seen far too much at this school. I'm not going to move from this couch. I'll spend the day here. No- I'll spend the week here. Let Sybill work out the timetables."
"A fine idea."
"And Filius can organise the kitchen menus."
"Splendid."
Minerva waved her wand, calling the soft patchwork blanket over from its hidden place in the cupboard. "Block my owls, Albus. I'll move in a week."
"I have the utmost faith in your dedication to the task."
"Shove a sock in it," Minerva muttered, closing her eyes and resting back against the couch.
The clock ticked slowly. Images of soaring brooms, sudden swamps, and endless laughter swirled through her mind. She smiled; she could hold onto this. Small triumphs and larger triumphs all melded into one, and ticking mementos would keep her safe in memories of a past that would never die. Death held too strong a place in her bones to be allowed to invade her memories.
She would stay on this couch and rest, finally rest, because it was over. Against all odds, for better, it was over. Her breathing became heavier; she was warm and cozy beneath this blanket.
She had seen Weasleys and Potters and Blacks and Lupins and Finnegans and Longbottoms-
Her breathing hitched.
"I hate to interrupt," Albus' calm voice penetrated her thoughts.
Her eyes snapped open, instantly wide with horror.
"But I feel it is my duty, as your wise predecessor, to remind you-"
"What date is it?" she demanded, sitting bolt upright.
"Not that you would have forgotten, of course. Although in our old age, the mind does play tricks on us."
"What date is it?"
"Although in your case I do believe it would be a subconscious denial, perhaps more closely linked to emotional and mental exhaustion – forgivable in any case-"
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,tell me the date this very instant, or I swear I will set your portrait on fire."
"I'm not sure that the date is important, so much as the-"
"They've been sent haven't they?" She looked up at the portrait, taking in his entirely too innocent inspection of his robes for dust.
"If you are referring to the Hogwarts letters, then yes, I do believe they were sent this morning." Albus smiled genially. "I, for one, Minerva, am quite looking forward to seeing James Potter join us."
Minerva's face paled. "Potter," she murmured. "Weasley."
"I hear they named Mr. Longbottom godfather," Albus added conversationally. "He spends quite a lot of time with the boy. He and Mr. Finnegan spend time with him regularly."
"Finnegan, Longbottom." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"And did you ever discover what happened to that delightful map the students created all those years ago? I have my suspicions, but one can never be certain."
"Black, Lupin," she finished in a whimper.
Long seconds passed before Minerva leapt off the couch in a tangle of blankets and robes. "This is what happens when you rest, Albus," she snapped fiercely, waving her wand and sending the blanket and biscuits rattling back to their proper places. "How dare you let me engage in such foolish behaviour. As if Sybill could organise a timetable that kept James Potter away from the Forbidden Forest on a full stomach. Do you remember what Potters do when they're well-fed and rested and curious?"
"My dear, I'm afraid I'm far too old and doddery to remember that," Albus replied, inspecting his nails once more.
Minerva didn't hear him; she was too busy shoving aside her biscuit tin to pile sheets of parchment onto her desk, the clock ticking merrily beside her.