I am a big fan of Prof. McGonagall. She friggin rocks. So, I wrote a fanfiction. Funny how that works, isn't it?
One of the hardest things about writing this fic is the vocab. 1. I'm from the US. English slang isn't always second nature (Was I the only one who took a moment to realize "snog" was the term for "making out?") 2. I'm from modern day. 1940's slang isn't always second nature. So I kinda gave up.
Nobody stayed in her path as Minerva McGonagall marched down the halls. Her coal black hair was tied back in her usual bun, her green eyes framed by glasses. Even at the age of sixteen, she was known throughout the student body as the prefect to be feared. Her face had a commanding, persuasive look, and when she told them to get in line they usually obeyed without a second thought. One time, a young, naïve new professor actually mistook her for a young teacher. She avoided him for the rest of the year.
"Com'n, Minnie, its 1942, not 1842. You don't have to be so uptight," A giggly blonde named Emily said, walking up beside her, "I mean, I heard Vedor Newton thinks you're pretty. Maybe you two-"
"I don't have time for baboons like Newton. He was caught kissing Milly Capistrano last week, wasn't he? Besides, I doubt he truly fancies me. He most likely only wants a challenge. And if you call me Minnie again, you'll have more to worry about then my love life."
"You're implying he says he is looking at you because he knows you avoid relationships like a plague?"
"Exactly."
"I do think I can believe that." Emily glanced up, laughing. "Miss Prefect, I think there's a little rule breaker in our hall."
McGonagall looked up with a start, her face molding into a cold scowl. There, across the hall, were two boys selling 'love potions' to first years. From the look of them, they were nothing more than colored water. She would know. She never got below exceeds expectations in every class, including potions.
"What do you think you're doing?" She snapped, walking up to them so strikingly their eyes doubled in size.
"Why, McGonagall, you're certainly looking swell this morning…" One stammered as he attempted to pack up their materials, shoving the glasses in his robes. Before he could get the last one, she swiped it from his hand.
"If I ever hear about you selling this rubbish again, I'll report you a professor." She jabbed out her hand, and they reluctantly placed the vials into her palm. "Good. Now go."
She stuffed the vials in the trash bin right as she got back to the Gryffindor common room. Sitting on the couch, she opened a book so fiercely she heard the spin give a little crack.
"Damn." She whispered, studying the binding to make sure it wasn't damaged.
"Language, Minerva." Giggled some passing girls, one tugging annoyingly at her bun. She snapped her head back, just in time to see them disappear into the girl's dormitory. Rolling her eyes, she felt her bun to assess the damage done. She sighed as she felt the hair loose in her hand.
She dug through her bag to find the small mirror she kept in it for this exact purpose. She never felt comfortable with her hair down; she hated when it got in her face when she was reading or working. Plus, though she would never tell anyone, she was a bit self conscious about it. The bun made her feel in control, how odd that may be.
But as she looked into the mirror, she was a bit surprised at what she saw. Minerva McGonagall had never considered herself pretty before. But with her long, shiny black locks flowing down her face and complimenting her pale skin, the hardened expression off her face, and her glasses placed softly on her nose, she actually looked a bit…attractive. Or more.
"Hahaha! Theodore, what are you-whoa." She glanced up to see a few boys standing across the room.
"McGonagall, you look...great." One said.
"T-thank you."She said in surprise. Still looking back at her periodically, the boys moved on to their rooms.
She rose her arms to replace her bun, but paused. She was done working for now, and it did seem to make a big difference. Maybe she could keep it down. Just for tonight.
Prof. McGonagall smiled at the short memory. The Yule ball was only in a few minutes, a night that doesn't come every year. Looking up at her tall mirror, she undid her bun, letting her black hair tumble down her back. Just for tonight.