A/N: Written during class today. No judgment. Enjoy!
The woman was tall, her hair dark and graying. It was a terrible shade of brown, the color of dead wood, and presumably dyed that color by veined hands that shook when they held the bottle of potion, hands desperate to avoid the ravages of time. She is tall, easily standing shoulder to shoulder with the men, and her head is level with all but the tallest. Her frame may have been elegant once but it is hard to say now that she has gone to seed, unflattering rolls and wads lie heavy on her aged muscles. She is devoid of tone and the fat is obvious, forming creases and protrusions visible through her unflattering ensemble. Everything she wears is unflattering, from the garish green blouse to the tangerine cardigan. Even the ill-fitting sandals, a pathetic attempt to be stylish, is unflattering. She wears glasses, ugly heavy things with thick lenses. They are low on her nose, exactly in the middle, appearing to elongate her face.
Her manner is far worse than her appearance -she didn't know that was possible. It's not that she's unreasonable -she isn't. It's not that she's unfair -she isn't. It's the pathetic demeanor she has, so lethargic, oblivious, and desperate to please. She is not cut out to be a teacher, she lacks the blunt authority, raw energy, and intelligence to adequately fill that profession.
Her class consists of an assignment on the board in writing that well befits a fifth grader. The letter stray and meander, the baseline a strong downward slant. She has nothing to contribute, no useful insight to offer. She is bland, so very bland. Her remarks are empty words, obviously formed by those thin, dry, lifeless lips to fill the dead air she fears and to give her some semblance of wit. The realization that merely being chatty is no substitute has not dawned on her yet. Perhaps it never will. All in all, she is unfit to teach.
She will never be like that woman.
She shifts almost insolently in her seat, one knee up and braced against the desk, the other leg stretched out and relaxed. Her blouse is untucked and the position of her legs has caused her pleated skirt to fall back, making her gangly legs appear longer than they are. Her hair is loose and her glasses are tucked away in her purse. She never wears them in this class. Never. her hair covers half her face in an onyx curtain, obscuring her supercilious smirk as she imagines what must go on in the poor sad creature's home after a night of substandard existence. She must be single, she decides... although, the woman likely found a man as boring and unappealing as herself -people such as her often do- but she prefers her to be single, as it adds to the dismal life she has fancied. The house would be dull and decorated in a sad attempt to be quaint. Her smirk broadens and becomes obvious as she pictures a vase of dying daisies on a doily, a dingy white tablecloth, white walls, unoriginal mailbox art.
She's careful to not reveal it though, she knows better. She already is known for her stern and bossy demeanor, usually unwilling to waste time on the slow. So she rests her chin on her hand and smiles sweetly, careful to not betray the condescension in her eyes, especially when the woman comes to speak with her and asks repeatedly for book recommendations. She plays her part. She can be charming when she wants to be.
She doesn't try to get attention. she isn't that type. But something about her long pale legs, irreverently resting on the desk, her loose hair only half-hiding her cold smile, her quill noisily scratching away at her parchment writing something unrelated to divination, all of this has drawn the eyes of another.
He knows she's the wrong sort to be "friendly" with, but that doesn't put a damper on his interest. It may be hormones, or he may just be bored, but his eyes follow the insolently smiling Minerva McGonagall all through class, now that she reveals a side separate from the prissy prefect he knows her to be. And when class ends and she heaves a sigh of "Finally!" slipping out of the room before the others, he follows her.
A/N: Heyyy y'all. So the lady described in the beginning is a cruel yet accurate portrayal of our sub today. :P I know, I'm awful. I think it's pretty obvious who dear Minerva was based off of now, isn't it? -_- Anyway I'm going to make this a drabble series. Review please!