So this random deviation from the norm isn't entirely my idea - Harry Potter is copyright to J.K. Rowling and the book's distributors and publishers, while this story is not really my style at all and is the result of an active collaboration with TheBreezeRider here on fanfiction. We'll both be writing, but all of the story will go here. Besides, I haven't written in forever and there's no better way to break back into your writing shoes than to do something 1,000 miles from what you're used to.
ANOTHER DAY AT HOGWARTS
The Adventures of An Uptight Woman Who Seemingly Has Her Priorities Straight
Ch 1, Part I
The Secret Stash of Pleasure
In McGonagall's view, it took far too long for the final Transfiguration class of the evening to come to an end. Throughout the lesson on transforming mangoes into mice, something that she considered to be a simple task, she kept glancing periodically at the hourglass sitting quietly on her desk as she swept around the room trying desperately to keep the mangoes from exploding and gushing their contents all over the ceiling or catching on fire or god knows how many things these second-years could do when they weren't even trying.
After an hour and a half of near madness - in her opinion, at far too late an hour to boot - the final grain of sand drifted to the bottom of the hourglass, and the sound of a loud foghorn erupted throughout the room, startling more than a few of the students as it was want to do.
"Now remember to think about how the form changes from plant to animal, as the process is important. We'll talk more about the subject next class. In the meantime in your transfiguration books - "
She felt her voice give as the growing noise of the students talking and packing up their things overcame her, mingling with a second foghorn-like blast from the hourglass. McGonagall hesitated for a moment, her fatigue begging her to allow the students to ignore her and carry on just this once. But that was no option. She settled for a poker face, her composure only half-way recovered.
"Pay attention!" she near shrieked, feeling a grating sensation on her vocal chords as she strained to be heard. As she snapped her book shut, the students became quiet once again and turned their eyes toward their professor. "As I was saying, please read over chapter four in you transfiguration books by next class-"
A third and final foghorn-like blast erupted from the hourglass on the corner of her desk, so loud that she could feel the vibrations beneath her feet.
"Oh, be quiet, would you," she spat at the thing, the pitch of her voice almost two octaves higher than normal.
And finally all of the younger students had left the room.
All in all, it had not been the best of days in McGonagall's recent memory. Not only were her classes of younger years becoming progressively more 'enthusiastic' over time, but her brain had decided to keep on lingering on how occurrences at the castle over the past several years had gotten progressively more grave. She feared for the worst, yes, but she also feared that her preoccupation with instilling any sort of respect for the art she excelled in would end up causing her to end up with her missing her chance to aid her colleagues or her students. Her mind whirred as it tried to settle down from the bustle of the evening, and as it did, McGonagall began to well up in frustration. Once she felt a tear escape she realized she could very well be too exhausted to try to make her way to the Great Hall for food.
She went, somewhat guiltily, for Plan B instead.
With some tears still in her eyes and ears ringing, she stood and strode over to the oaken cabinets in the back of her classroom, where the older students kept their oversized textbooks. With a glance behind her towards the open door, she pulled out her wand and aimed it squarely at the fourth cabinet from the left.
"Foraminem acclaro."
The cabinet floated upward, dislodging itself from those nearby and sending some dust raining onto the floor. Behind it was a cavernous nook in the wall with a small, tightly-bound pouch, which floated into the room and into McGonagall's waiting hand.
Then the cabinet crashed back down as the smell of the bag's contents began to reach her nose. With a gleam in her eye, wizened grin beaming perhaps too wide, she strode with a slight bounce back to her desk, one hand busily trying to open the bag as she went. Perhaps too busily.
The bag burst open as her long fingers fumbled with the worn drawstrings and dried, greenish leaves fell out in a short waterfall, flakes of the organic material littering the open floor before her desk.
The sight corrupted her, the coaxing odor overcame her, the sound of her foot taking one last step upon the stone floor of her classroom was a distant boom in her ears.
She fell to her knees in ecstasy, grasping at the stuff greedily, over and over, as if it could quench the very fire in her veins that it was causing. All she could hear from the world outside of her body was the soft crunch of the leaves as she clawed at them impatiently, but the sound of the blood blasting in her ears as she felt incomparable happiness was so much louder, so much sweeter. She hadn't felt this in so long. So, so long. She couldn't help herself any more. As she rolled over on to her back, her body began to distort and change. The room seemed to grow as she shrunk, and it was like she was melting into her own happiness. She could feel her spine extend in one fluid motion, a swishing tail now thumping haphazardly against the ground.
She had almost forgotten how amazing it felt to revel like this. Her brain was urging her to delve deeper into herself as she lay on the ground, rolling and purring in euphoric spasms. Soft waves of color began to unfold themselves before her slowly diluting eyes, transforming her classroom into a hazy kaleidoscope. She didn't care if the stuff stuck to the fur of her face, legs, or tail; the longer she squirmed and wriggled and flipped around under the spell, the more entranced and enthralled she became.
It was as if she had lost all conscious notion of her human self.
When Severus Snape knocked on the door to Minerva McGonagall's office fifteen minutes before, he was quite bothered by the fact that he had gotten no response. She was a punctual, timely woman in his experience, for all manners of things, and seeing as how tomorrow's early potions class would be reliant on the stock of mango and other fruit he had lent to her on behalf of Professor Sprout, it was quite important that he find her.
Therefore, he had glided up to her classroom instead, somewhat of a walk from his own in the castle dungeons, expecting to simply knock on the door and find her there berating some Slytherin of his for doing something 'inappropriate'; that was to say, praiseworthy and unique.
What he came across was certainly quite unique.
Before he even reached the classroom he could hear a low-pitched maniacal rumbling, causing one eyebrow to shoot up. As he stepped closer he could also make out the noise of fluttering leaves or bits of paper, causing his confusion to become even more apparent. By the time he reached her office door and looked inside, his face blanched in a mixture of bemusement and shock.
On the floor near McGonagall's desk, a silver tabby was rolling around in a rather well-used pile of catnip, purring in the sheer enjoyment of whatever it is that cats feel. He cleared his throat.
As there was no response but simply louder purring as the tabby rolled over again, he managed to say, quite loudly, "Minerva."
And suddenly a frightened and duly embarrassed McGonagall was on the floor looking up at him, particles of catnip clinging to her hair and digging under her fingernails, mouth opening and closing as if trying to come up with some sort of excuse.
"I'll need those remaining mangoes, Minerva."
She swallowed, hard, and stared at him as she stood up. McGonagall pointed to a crate beside her desk as she turned away.
"In there, Severus."
He didn't move. Instead, he cocked his head.
"If this is something you do often... there are easier ways to release stress, Minerva."
Minerva's mouth was a hard line as she stared back at Snape, but she was obviously still too flustered to do anything other than mumble something incomprehensible and continue pointing at the box.
"If you accompany me back down to the dungeons," Snape said, still looking at her without the slightest hint of emotion, "perhaps I could show you."
Her face went white as what he said registered in her mind, but then she gulped again and nodded. He better not have meant what her brain told her he could have.
"There... there were... some figs I happened to have from last week as well, you wouldn't perhaps need...?"
But Snape had already cast the charm to cause the box to levitate out from under the table, and he strode out of her office in the direction of the nearest staircase, causing McGonagall to quickly force herself to appear as if nothing had just transpired and follow in turn.
If you get the fig reference, good.