D/C: I don't own Harry Potter.
This is for my dear brother, who loves biscuits.
Just a little drabble I thought of while reading something. Isn't it odd how Minerva has an obsession with biscuits? Hehe, I thought it would fun to explore further into that idea. Have fun reading!
Biscuits
Minerva McGonagall's nostrils flared.
Sirius always thought the way her nostrils flared was highly amusing. The edges would turn out and they would expand, while the rest of her nose drew back in contrast. At the same time, her eyes would bulge out, as if put in a lot of effort in flaring her nostrils. It was funny. He didn't dare laugh, though, because the situation wasn't funny.
He crossed his legs and clasped his hands together on his knee. He smiled politely at the Head of Gryffindor. This was a test of will, and he wasn't going to be the one to crack. He wasn't going to succumb no matter what McGonagall did to him. From his point of view, it seemed like she was the one who was going to crack first, anyway; he could hear the distinct voice of a foot being tapped rapidly against the floor, her fists were clenched so tightly on the desk that her knuckles were becoming white...and of course, there was the nostril flaring.
The smile on his face widened. It was just a few seconds before she gave in.
The foot tapping increased and Sirius thought that it was only polite that McGonagall wasn't the only one who was actually doing something, so he studied his nails thoughtfully. After a moment's consideration, he decided to pick a little at his nose.
McGonagall let a soft hiss like that of a snake's. "Have a biscuit, Black," she hissed.
The culprit lay between the two of them on the polished wooden desk - a plate stacked high with what seemed at first glance like ordinary biscuits. Upon further inspection, however, you would notice there were green patches here and there, and that they gave off an odour of cinnamon, oatmeal and...Fungus. But McGonagall would only insist that the green patches were crushed pistachios and that there was something wrong with your sense of smell.
But Sirius didn't buy it. Granted, the Head of Gryffindor had managed to scare the unfortunate students who got sent to her office into eating the biscuits with the help of her scary demeanour, but Sirius wasn't one who got easily scared. Mind you, you only got to eat one. Any more and she was most likely to bite your head off and call you a greedy pig.
"I don't want a biscuit," he said flatly.
He couldn't even remember why he'd been called to her office. It seemed so inane now that they were testing each other's will power. He knew she couldn't give him detention because that would be just abusing her power, and he knew he couldn't just walk out of the room because then she'd accuse him of being disrespectable and he would surely end up with detention, and he couldn't get any more of those with the Quidditch season coming up.
McGonagall managed a sweet smile. A sweet smile was one where she lifted the corners of her mouth a couple of millimetres and let her eyes sink a little into the wrinkles at their corners. Scary thing, really. "Why don't you have a biscuit, Black?" she said...or did she croon? Sirius was too perturbed to decide.
"Thank you, Professor, but I do not wish to have one," he replied with equal sweetness.
There was something suspicious about those biscuits. Sirius seriously thought there was Veritaserum in them, or some other kind of potion which automatically turned you into some sort of Minerva-Wannabe. That thought was horrifying. Remus never admitted it, but Sirius was sure that he had eaten one of those dreaded biscuits - how else did he end up with the Prefect position?
Minerva's nostrils flared again. She took in a deep breath. "Well, then, take a biscuit back with you so you can eat it during dinner," she suggested.
"We're having treacle tart for dessert tonight," he replied in a tone which clearly suggested that he'd much rather have the treacle tart than one of her biscuits.
Minerva sniffed. "Well, then...off to class with you," she said, her voice dripping with venom. Sirius fought the urge to grin as he rose from his seat. "...unless you would rather stay and discuss further why you do not wish to have a biscuit?"
"No, I'd very much rather go to class," he responded.
"Oh." Her expression fell. She looked miserably at the plate of untouched biscuits. "Off you go, then."
"Thank you, Professor."
The grin on his face was so wide it nearly cracked his lips. Sirius marched down the corridor, hands clasped behind his head. Once again he had completely managed to avoid detention for something which he couldn't even remember, and he had half an hour to kill. He wasn't really planning on going back to class.
"Best go nick some biscuits from the kitchens, then!" he said cheerfully.
Back in her office, Minerva picked up a biscuit and nibbled at it thoughtfully. "Maybe the cinnamon?" she wondered.
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A/N: There we are. Such a silly little drabble, eh? But methinks that's the point of drabbles, anyway. Please review; I'd love to hear what you think!
- S. N. B.