Disclaimer and Authors note.
Ok, blah blah blah, didn't make any money from this, blah blah blah, am not JK Rowling (I know, hard, to believe), blah blah blah, oh, important bit, I was inspired by the Emmeline and Minerva friendship in Just A Random Tuesday by Twisted Biscuit...I hope you don't mind.

Also, I must apologise for how long it has taken me to update this story. And I am no way near to completing an update for Sanctimonious Slimeball or Morning Sunshine! I have just begun Yr. 10 and have discovered that taking 'intellectual' studies such as Religion with philosophy and history are about as fun as the 10 lessons of science I am doing a fortnight. Plus, my one 'easy' subject I was taking (drama) is not only impossibly hard (because I suck at it) but also includes insert bad word beginning with "s" ending in "t" with an "hi" in the middle load of written coursework and going in groups with people who I would love nothing more that to invite to go walking in traffic.
sigh I'm sorry, I'm obviously boring you, it is a very long boring disclaimer, which will come to an abrupt end...NOW.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Life and Death hangs in the balance (for every student who annoys Minerva McGonagall)

She would not kill her students. She would not kill her students. She would not kill-

"WAHOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed a tiny little first year, hurtling past Minerva out of the front gate, knocking over half a dozen other students in his mad-dash to the train, chanting "Summer! Summer! Summer!"

Oh, that little twerp was toast.

-x-

Of course, she knew it was going to be a bad day. It had been terrible right from the word 'go'. After heading down to the dungeons to find Peeves had been hanging various Slytherin first-years by their ankles from the chandeliers to throw golf clubs at. (She had wrestled the golf-clubs away from him, without asking how or why he had them, but left the students for a dishevelled Snape to rescue. They were Slytherins after all.) Minerva had then spent another hour searching for her bedroom quarters. She then had a total of 5 hours sleep before being rudely awoken by a drunk house-elf (if she were only making this up) attempting to clean her rug with a feather duster that had some variation of an animation charm placed upon it as it had eyes and (even more noticeably) a mouth that kept saying "Ooopsy, daisy, you missed a spot" in a sing-song sort of voice. Her life was exceedingly stranger than most people's, you know.

After assuring the house-elf that there was nothing else that needed to be cleaned, and recommending a quick trip to Madam Pomfrey's private cupboard for a 'de-alcholisation potion'-as Poppy referred to it as (or an 'Enabling-seventh-years-to-act-rationally-the-next-morning-potion' as Minerva called it, or indeed, as a lot of seventh-years called it 'the-potion-that-is-inevitably-followed-by-a-Crap! Where's a pregnancy-test-potion!' potion.) Minerva had then looked at her clock and discovered it was almost 6. She would've had to wake up in half an hour anyway. The sensible thing to do would be to get up and abandon the impossible idea of a reasonable hours sleep. The more appealing, but less advisable, solution would be to just fall back to bed and go to sleep anyway. So, naturally, that is what she did.

-x-

Minerva had always had the uncanny ability to wake up whenever she needed to. She hadn't needed an alarm clock since she was a small child.
Today she overslept.
Not by just a few measly hours either. Minerva had overslept by 3 whole hours.
Cursing and muttering to herself, Minerva had pretty much sprinted to her en suite to change, and was washed, teeth brushed, hair brushed and tied in the customary bun, donned in her boring but practical emerald robe and cloak, reaching for her hat as she marched out of the door precisely 16 minutes later. It was quite the achievement.

It was only after she had walked all the way from the seventh floor to the second floor that Minerva realised she had left her trunk upstairs.
It was a tradition between the teaching staff to bring their trunks down with them during breakfast and leaving them in the ante-chamber as after breakfast it was bordering on impossible to have enough time to fetch your belongings from your room. With all the madness that was inevitably collaborated with students and summer, almost every year a teacher left something behind. Now thankfully, it wasn't too big a deal for Minerva, who was confident in leaving belongings at Hogwarts as her employment at the school was certainly not in jeopardy and it was marginally safer leaving belongings at Hogwarts that at home (only marginally, though, as nobody who wasn't suicidal or missing from St. Mungo's psychiatric ward would try to break in to professor McGonagall's house) but she still wished to have some items with her during the holidays. But as it was, she had little over 15 minutes to reach the Great hall and eat whatever breakfast there was left at the table.

It was like Sophie's choice.

Sort of.

Fortunately, she was saved from having to make such a major decision by very nearly being run down by a certain crazy first year Dennis Creevey.
"Oh! Sorry, professor. I didn't see you there professor! Are you Ok, professor?"
"I'm fin-"
"I really didn't mean to bump in to you, professor. But i'm dead excited, you see professor. I..."
Minerva prepared herself for about an hour or so of nonsensical drivel. She honestly wished he would just go away and shut up. Honest to God, did he ever stop?
"Ok, Sorry, miss. See you next year!"
Minerva could've gasped. Had she said that out loud? She didn't think so as he didn't appear to be too affronted. He was grinning in fact. Although a grin was apparently mandatory with the Creeveys.
Just as Dennis rounded the corner, Minerva had an epiphany. Okay, maybe that was a small exaggeration, but just a small one.
"Wait! Mr Creevey!" she called out. He skipped (actually skipped) back round the corner.
"Yes, Professor! Can I help you professor? What do you need professor? Is it because of what the Weasley twins did professor? I can help you tidy it up, professor. I..."

Minerva held up her hand to stop him.
"No, it has nothing to do with the Weasley twins - wait, what did they d-, no. I don't want to know. I need you to do me a favour, if you please, Mr Creevey."
He nodded benignly. Minerva acquitted the notion to wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze until he turned blue, by the sheer gaiety he possessed at such an early time in the morning. A young boy had recently died for Pete's sake. Not that she particularly wanted her students to be depressed and mournful for the rest of the lives, but they could at least show a little morose pessimism. True, Minerva was only feeling this because she knew that right at that very moment Filius would be scoffing down the last croissant, meaning that she would be left with nothing more than a serving of dull, bland porridge or perhaps if she was lucky, a slice of toast.
Good heavens, there might not be any tea left!
If Minerva hadn't prided herself in having an acute sense of decorum and propriety, she may have left all traits of sanity fall away and freely run down the hall, screaming, and genuinely steal a mug of tea from the kitchens. But that would be discreditable to the point of being felonious, to say the least.

So, instead, she sent Mr. Creevey away with the strict instructions that he was to go to her room (she had given him the password) and get her trunk. Bring it to her at the Great Hall (craftily so none of the other staff members would realise what happened. Minerva would not deal with the shame of losing her punctual integrity) and make a note that he would be receiving five house points at the beginning of next September. It was a long way to walk, to get to her quarters after all, and she had become used to the tradition that Gryffindor was to win the house cup each year, and may hell freeze over and Snape wash his hair before that changed.

-x-x-x-x-

It was almost eleven o'clock. The students were about to board the train. Minerva was about to go insane. Had she been aware, she may have congratulated herself on such commendable rhyming skill, but she was not aware of anything but the burning fury pulsing through her veins at this utter imbecilic buffoon from the ministry.

In case you wanted to know, she had made it down to the great hall in time for breakfast-two slices of toast speared with raspberry jam (she would have preferred marmalade had it been possible, but it hadn't been, and Albus had insisted she eat raspberry. To be certain, it wasn't horrendous, but she couldn't quite understand why Albus liked it better than, say, strawberry which was the better type of jam, naturally) and, mercifully, a cup of tea. After shrugging off the various questions as to why she was late from Pomona and Albus, glaring irately at Dennis Creevey when he turned up with her trunk and making it irrefutably clear that she had overslept and softly whispering death threats to all of the sniggering staff members, she finished her cup of tea and stalked off (in a completely un-sulky manner) to see if she could find out just what havoc the Weasley twins had wreaked this time.

...

They had flooded half of the third floor.
How she could have missed this she didn't know. But they were in her house, there was a full half hour until the official end of school, so she had to go and sort it all out.
But she had just spent 10 minutes lecturing two students on exactly why they shouldn't let 100 fire-breathing snakes loose in the Slytherin common room to celebrate the end of a year (despite how funny it would be) and she had been forced to then devote 20 minutes to having a very boring conversation with one of the portraits. She had been a very important historical figure so Minerva couldn't very well tell the old hag (and a hag she was...literally) to shut up, so she was obliged to discuss (un)pleasant nothings until she could find a way of politely escaping.

She was so very shattered, surely somebody else could deal with this catastrophe. It didn't always have to be her, did it? Just because they were her responsibility, in her house, she was the deputy head and physically the nearest professor to the scene...
Auriga Sinistra rounded the corner, humming innocently, oblivious to the world. Grinning slyly, Minerva surreptitiously sneaked away through one of the secret passageways. Not quite going fast enough to miss the Auriga's shriek, presumably after she found herself waist high in cold water.
Really, Minerva placated herself (in a non-crazy, talking to herself kind of way) she was merely teaching her dear colleague Professor Sinistra that she should be more observant. That was all. Nothing else. No ulterior motives. Right?

-x-

If only she had stayed put, she wouldn't have to deal with this...this...inconceivably annoying idiot, this...incorrigible moron, this...this...number one contestant for Wizarding Big Brother. I mean really, as a teacher, Minerva had to work with ignorant persons on a daily basis, but not even Crabbe or Goyle could actually measure up in stupidity to this man.

He was here to make sure all the students got onto the train safely, to make sure another tragic accident like Cedric Diggory didn't occur. Apparently boarding a train and Triwizard tournament leading to Lord Voldemort returning were exactly the same thing. Huh.
But the ministry didn't want to tell people that he was back, did they. No. It was far better to bury their heads in the sand until Lord Voldemort had an army and was wreaking genocide across the nation. This Ministry official seemed to share this view.
Some people were just wrong for politics.

The man spun round to speak with someone, collided head first with a large tree and fell down to the ground in a heap.

Some people were just wrong for life.

"Hehuhhehuh" chuckled the man embarrassedly, as Minerva shot him a despairing look of disdain. "That was a bit humiliating."
'Yes, yes it was'
"No! I'm sure nobody noticed"
'Unless you mean all the laughing students.'

The Ministry-Man, whose name she couldn't remember nor care to ask, smiled slightly and opened his mouth to strike conversation. Terrified Minerva said hurriedly;
"Well...I must be on my way. Students need to get on buses. I'm meeting my friend here, actually, oh look, here she is now!"
Indeed, Emmeline was walking up the path, smiling brightly as she waved enthusiastically at Minerva.
"EMMELINE, how are you. We must chat." Minerva nearly screamed, nodding emphatically. She had her back turned to Mr. Ministry, so he couldn't see the look upon Minerva's face which clearly said 'Save me. Dear God. Save me.'

Emmeline bit back a laugh and said "oh yes. I must tell you about this truly hilarious little skirmish that happened at my work, yesterday. Laughable little episode, I must say."
They linked arms and began walking (very, very swiftly) in the opposite direction of Mr. Man from Ministry.

"Oh, no wait" he exclaimed loudly. "You can't leave yet. I have to speak with you. The other head of houses and Dumbledore are having a short meeting after the students depart."

Minerva closed her eyes, looking pained.
"Short" queried Emmeline, glancing worriedly at Minerva's murderous expression.
"Oh, yes. Shouldn't take much more than a few hours!"
Minerva inhaled sharply.
Emmeline began to say something, but Minerva cut across her sharply, and said quite plainly that she had been looking forward to her summer since about the 1st September last year, and no ministry official would be taking that away from her. Thank you very much.

The man stood looking very affronted.
"Now see here, the minister himself shall be attending this meeting. It is at his request that all heads of houses be present."
"Oh!" replied Minerva sarcastically "well, if the minister is coming, that just changes EVERYTHING!"
Sadly, sarcasm was lost upon this comically-incompetent socially-retarded moron, and he seemed genuinely convinced that she was nothing short of being delighted at the prospect of listening to Cornelius Fudge (a useless twerp if ever she saw one) drone on about some absurd legislation until she actually considered sawing off her own ears, just so she wouldn't have to hear him any longer...

"Listen" Minerva said dangerously, she was trying to remain serene, but it was impossible. "I have a very hard job, and I haven't had any time to myself in almost 11 months. I am shockingly stressed, I need to go home."

The expression on the man's face clearly read that he was highly dubious of how much stress one could be under when looking after a few hundred kids for a year. This told Minerva two things. One, the man was an idiot. Two, he didn't have children. Of course, the first one she already knew and the second one she ought to have guessed, and no woman in her right frame of mind, or indeed an insane woman, would willingly spend time with such a person. Unless they were being paid large amounts of money to kill him. Or no money to kill him...
She wondered if people would give her a reward instead of a life-sentence if she killed him. They probably wouldn't... but it might just be worth Azkaban.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't permit that." Smiled the man, obnoxiously.

Minerva breathed deeply and muttered to her friend in a very unhinged, high pitched voice a murderous maniac might use.
"I'm...so...very...angry...Emmeline. All...I...can see," (it was about here that she chuckled in a deranged sort of manner) "Is...white...hot...fury."
Emmeline cleared her throat nervously.

"Professor McGonagall!" called a second (but in no way shape or form any less bothersome) voice. It was one that belonged to the beloved Minister Fudge, who in his infinite wisdom decided the best cause of action in response to the hateful death glare Minerva swiftly sent him would be to forcibly shake her hand (despite her refusing to hold out her hand to him when he offered) and to inform her that he had extended the meeting because there was simply so much to discuss.

It was perhaps fortunate that he turned around to walk back to the castle the second he did, because the Ministry-buffoon who had been loitering behind was not so lucky, and not only did he receive a glower that clearly stated 'i'm planning your death in the most grotesque and painful way possible' but he also gained a rather nasty bruise on his shin where Minerva had deftly kicked him 'accidently' (on purpose.)

Emmeline did the only rational thing one can do when ones highly-confident-in-their-magical-capability friend looks like they are about to murder the leader of their country. She delicately put her hand in her friend's cloak pocket and hastilyretrieved their wand.
"Just a precaution" she muttered to Minerva.

"Come on, hurry up!" Fudge called behind him, in a tone that left the unspoken words 'god, you're laze' hanging in the air.

"A necessary one" Emmeline half shrieked, half groaned (carrying on from her previous statement) as she tried to restrain Minerva who had physically lunged forwards, arms in front of her, hands making odd strangling motions as she mumbled death threats and curses in the general direction of Fudge.

I could describe the look of burning abhorrence and hate that was displayed across Minerva's face, but words could not do it justice. Let's just say that the Ministry-Man, who Minerva had finally dubbed Kyle (his actual name was Winfred, which I suppose sheds some light onto his repellent behaviour) happened to glance up from his overly dramatic writhing in pain on the ground clutching his ankle, and caught sight of the full power of the McGonagall's odious scowl. He was shortly admitted to the hospital wing, where poor Madam Pomfrey was forced to stay and treat him, due to his concussion after passing out and hitting his head on a tree root.

She may have said it before, possibly, but he was a moron.

ok. i know, this was terrible. but i was sent home from school ill today so it was never going to be my best work. even so, I hope to get reviews, because it makes me all giddy and cheerful inside. Um...right.

Au revoir.