Disclaimer: I didn't create Harry Potter, and I don't pretend I did. Don't sue me. Don't steal my original characters. That's it.\

Craaash! bwoinnnng bwoinng bwoing.

A tall, lean, and almost beautiful middle-aged woman picked herself up off the ground and adjusted her glasses. Her blonde bouffant of hair shone in the crimson hanging torches above.

"Dear Merlin! Did I do that?!"

A pile of various gold, bronze, silver, and even tin trophies lay strewn upon the ground. One particular engraved discus was still in the process of rolling away, far from the reaches of Filch and his angry rubbing cloth.

McGonagall stood by, viewing the spectacle with a pained look upon her countenance.

"Never mind those; Argus has so little to do that he may as well--"

"--Oh! But I must straighten these up, my dear Minerva!"

McGonagall flinched at the informality of this woman whom she had met but five minutes before. Already, though, Greta Muhlenkamp was back on her knees, assembling the assortment of awards in her arms.

"It is not necessary, really, Miss Muhlenkamp…"

"It IS necessary!"

Clatter-clatter CRUNCH.

"My…my glasses!"

Minerva McGonagall had the hardest time not rolling her eyes at the clumsiness of the newcomer to Hogwarts.

"I'm blind as a bat without them!" Greta was squinting and passing her hands over the floor in a most melodramatic manner. But then, what was not melodramatic with her?

McGonagall stooped gracefully and rose again almost in the blink of any-person-not-named-Greta-Muhlenkamp's-eye.

"Unfortunately, I must report that the lens is cracked," McGonagall murmured wistfully.

"Oh, hand them to me, I'll--"

"--Erm, no. I shall fix them…" McGonagall regretted that she could not, for that unfathomable yet so necessary thing called politeness, add:

"…Or you'll manage to blow the school to bits when you try."