Not Lost
Minerva swore under her breath. That man was always losing his bloody glasses!
Going into her office she placed the box of third year Transfiguration disasters on the desk before removing her wand from her sleeve and turning to the man who had followed in behind her.
"Minerva my dear, did you hear me?" Albus asked.
She'd heard him all right and was fed up of the old goat's bumbling act.
"Accio Albus' glasses," she said briskly.
They flew into her hand quickly from the top of his head, pulling a few bits of hair with them. "You mean these?"
