Professor McGonagall walked briskly down the second floor hallways, clearly in search of someone, or something. She was suddenly disturbed by the sound of sobbing coming from inside her office, but she ignored it and continued down the corridor to the female counterpart to the boys' lavatory. Upon entering, she slipped in the inch of water covering the floor and bruised her tailbone, or at least she presumed from the amount of pain it was sending to her addled mind.
"Oh, willikers!" She heard someone shout pathetically from a cubicle. Moaning Myrtle floated out of her favorite U-bend and hovered directly over McGonagall.
"What do YOU want, you old crone?" McGonagall asked the ghost, soaked to the gills in toilet water.
"Take that tree trunk out of our arse, wrinkle-cunt! I was just checking to see if you were alright!" said Myrtle. She looked offended as she turned around to dive back into her turd-filled ceramic cave.
"Well I'm fine, aside from the shattered Achille's Heel I now possess. Not to mention my pride." She brushed a small glob of feces casually off her robes and lifted herself off the scummy tile with her brawny man-arms.
"You shattered your achilles heel? Maybe you should go see Madame Pomfrey..." said Myrtle. "We could go together. My heel's beginning to hurt, too."
"An absolutely corking idea," said McGonagall, gathering her belongings and leaving the bathroom with Myrtle. On their way to Madame Pomfrey's office, Myrtle couldn't help but notice that the professor was mimicking her every move, even when she shoved her finger up her nose so far she couldn't remove it without blowing a wad of mucus out with it. But Myrtle stayed behind McGonagall so as to not be seen. They entered the infirmary.
"Minerva! Myrtle! How surprised I am to see the both of you!" Dumbledore slid his robe down over his thighs as he smiled to himself, reclining in one of the numerous white-sheeted beds in the nurses office. Madame Pomfrey lept from behind one of the screens, straightening her little triangle hat and sniffling.
"Oh! Hello, Albus. Hello, Madame Pomfrey." Minerva gazed outside and paused. There was a huge, red dog prancing about on the grounds outside. "Uhh.. We were just coming to have you check on our heels. We're both having problems with them."
Madame Pomfrey wiped stray white powder from her upper lip and nodded. Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle like expensive disco balls as he stood to speak.
"Ladies, I will now tell you what I should have told you many years ago," Dumbledore began, pausing to scratch his genitals. "The reason, ladies, that you are experiencing the exact same sensations--" He was cut off my Minverva, scoffing.
"Experiencing the same sensations? What is this codswallop!". Dumbledore smiled gently, eyes twinkling like oceans of greasy diamonds. He approached Myrtle and held up two of his fingers.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" he asked, waggling them suggestively. Minerva pulled a face, turned to Myrtle, and gasped. She had never noticed it before, but "Moaning Myrtle", the ghost who haunted the girls' bathrooms, looked exactly like she had at the age at which Myrtle had died! She fainted and fell backwards, but Dumbledore caught her, with twinkling eyes the intensity of a fire-rescue floodlight.
She came to as Madame Pomfrey kicked her in the gut with the spikiest black heels Myrtle had ever seen. "What are you talking about?" she asked groggily.
"We performed a Regenvag iNosis spell to bring you back after you tried- and failed- to have sex with Tom Riddle's basilisk. It was too important for you to be alive. Then we kept you in a cave for several years so you might not remember the horrible fetish with which you were burdened." Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye, which resembled a pit of broken glass.
"Wh... What does that mean?" She asked shakily. Myrtle tried to hold her hand in comfort, but she was a ghost, so Minerva just shuddered harder as Myrtle's weird ghost-hand passed through her flesh.
"It means," Madame Pomfrey began before Albus backhanded her across her wet-paper cheek. "I'll explain!" he interjected.
As Madame Pomfrey cowered under the bed, her eyes peering suspiciously around the room from the wrinkly labia of her eye sockets, Albus continued. "You two chicadees are the same person. You were born from my loins
and were christened Unîcørné. In 1687, I received a curse from an old ugly witch who wanted to mooch off my sexy body in marriage for a length of time. She was so pissed that she let me run free of my shackles one day, as in British pissed means drunk. Not sure you knew or not. Anyway, I escaped, pregnant glutes in tow, and gave birth to my beautiful Unîcørné twelve and a half minutes later. I knew I couldn't keep you, so I left you to die in a cave of rabid Albanian dolphin-macaws. I just couldn't deal with being a new mother, all on my own." Dumbledore paused and sighed. He raised, and ambled slowly towards the soft light of a glorious fourteenth-century rose window, gazing out.
"So I left you. I regretted it every day of my life. And I just wanted to let you know... I love you," he finished.
Minerva's fingers felt slightly warm and sticky, and she realized her.. self? was fingering Dumbledore's asshole, accounting for the corpulent pants emitting from his lubed wax paper mouth. She didn't know what to say, so she pulled the knife she had confiscated from the late Severus Snape's classroom and began idley grazing it over the back of her head until her sparse hair turned from its muddy brown to a glorious crimson fitting to her place as Gryffindor head of house. Madame Pomfrey rushed towards her.
Feigning concern, she clubbed Mineva in the skull. How SHE had been wishing all her life that she were Albus's anal baby. How SHE had wanted her name to be Unîcørné as a child. How SHE had yearned to urinate in the Regenvag iNosis potion to keep this Minerva McGonagall from being conjured into this world and taking the job SHE had so desperately desired. But no, SHE was simply "Madame" and not "Professor". A smile teased her stickymint shoelace lips as Minerva crumpled to the floor.
At just that moment, the sound of silence permeated the room and a gaggle of cops burst through the large, bronze doors of the infirmary.
A day later, McGonagall had been pronounced dead, and Myrtle and Dumbledore met in his office.
"We cannot bring you back again, Unîcørné. After they arrested your second dead body.. you just aren't worth the risk," Dumbledore explained glumly, his flogging-rod nose twitching. Dumbledore went on to explain how Professor McGonagall and Myrtle were inseperably bonded and how Minerva's ghost would inevitably come back. However, it would be incestuous for them to share a metal poo-pipe. Of course, her ghost might be sent to Azkaban for its crimes against human rights.
Myrtle shuddered, shaken. She shyly shimmied into a shaded corner and rocked to and fro as his story sunk in.
She was twice a ghost, yet never a true human. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to reconcile this supernatural matter. So instead she went down to the Halloween Feast, to eat food she couldn't taste with people she couldn't understand.
She walked towards the great hall, breathing deeply of the fresh, curry-flavored air. Her life would never be the same.
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