Hi all! I'm back with Great Deeds! Yay! (And I'll be doing the regular post this week, too, no worries!)
This chapter is also being submitted to QLFC; I'm doing a last-minute substitution for the Catapults' Chaser 3! Prompts listed below for judging purposes.
For Round 3, I had to use the word 'catapult' in some capacity within the story.
Word count selection: 2751-3000 (To the judge, I'm very sorry, but I didn't know I'd be writing this until about six hours before the deadline, which is 11:00pm where I live - you can corroborate this on the reserve thread - and I just can't make the word count happen; it's almost 2:00 already. I understand if there's a dock in the prompt category. SORRY!)
7. destiny
9. surprise (emotion)
15. cosmos
15 November 1991
Minerva rubbed the fingertips of her left hand against her temple, trying to massage away the thudding headache that was growing ever sharper as the afternoon wore on. She brushed the end of her eagle feather quill against the tabletop and sighed to herself.
"What are you doing?" Pomona asked, frowning at the sheaf of parchment that lay before Minerva. "Your huffs are ruffling my begonia."
The strangeness of this sentence was enough to make Minerva stop scowling down at her work and notice the wilted little plant that sat in a ceramic pot in front of Pomona, who was seated on the opposite side of the table. Minerva stared at the flower, which was drooping sadly in its pot, its leaves still green, but slightly shriveled, and its petals spotted with brown. Pomona had resumed poking at it with her wand, apparently trying to coax it back to wellbeing.
"It's the orders from Flourish & Blotts for next term."
"I turned those in weeks ago," Pomona frowned, leaning forward so that her nose was inches from the begonia's petals. She shot Minerva a teasing look. "When was the last time you procrastinated something like an order of books?"
"Funny," Minerva replied. She lowered her voice, even though she and Pomona were the only two people in the staff room. "Sybill hasn't given me her booklist, and I know that the moment I submit this order, she'll come to me with a request for something madly expensive, just like she's done every term since—"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," sighed Pomona, putting down her wand and rolling her eyes. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you go up to the North Tower and talk to her?" She glanced at her watch. "It's nearly dinner time, I'm sure she'll be free."
Minerva stroked her quill with her thumb and forefinger, not saying anything.
"Don't pout," Pomona said, picking up her wand again. She used it to lift the drooping head of the begonia and sighed. "I should give up on my Muggle plants. I don't know why I bother anymore."
Minerva stood up. "What's wrong with this one?"
"I think a Chinese Chomping Cabbage got to it. It's almost certainly been poisoned," Pomona said, shaking her head sadly. "Oh—are you going upstairs?"
"Yes," Minerva replied irritably, picking up her order forms, "but not because you told me to."
"Never," Pomona called, and Minerva smirked as she left the staff room. She made her way through the castle quickly, considering that the bell had just rung and students were making their way in droves to the Great Hall for dinner.
"Walk, Mr. Weasley!" she called, as Ron Weasley hurtled through the crowd and catapulted past her left hip to catch up with Harry Potter who was, to Minerva's surprise, chatting animatedly with Hermione Granger. She wasn't entirely sure how recent their friendship was, but she was certainly pleased to see that Granger seemed to have finally made a friend or two.
Minerva climbed the last staircase to the North Tower and came to a stop, momentarily winded. "I'm getting too old for this," she muttered, flicking her wand at the round trapdoor in the ceiling that bore Sybill's name. The stairs lowered at once to meet her, and she climbed up.
"Sybill? Hello?" she called, tucking her papers under her arm as she emerged into the tower classroom. "It's—"
"Ah, Professor McGonagall," answered a misty voice from a darkened corner of the room. "How good to see you…I observed you making your way here in my crystal…I trust you are well?"
From the gloomy corner, Sybill stepped forward, her eyes magnified hugely behind her enormous spectacles and her numerous shawls glittering across her thin shoulders.
"I've come about the booklists," Minerva replied, deciding to pointedly ignore the aura of mystery that Sybill was so intent upon creating; the perfumed fire and heat of the room was making her head pound even more painfully.
"Booklists?" Sybill asked mistily, widening her eyes and looking very surprised.
"Yes," said Minerva, holding out the parchment. "I know you like to keep many of your texts here for student use, so I've been trying to get you to place an order—" she broke off, deciding to try for a bit of diplomacy. "I was wondering if I might help you make a selection."
"Ah, I see," said Sybill, with a strange note of disappointment in her voice. "Well, if you leave the list with me, I am really rather busy at the moment…"
"As I said," Minerva cut in quickly, "I'm glad to help you. They've got some lovely new copies for Divination…The Dream Oracle…a new edition of Secrets of the Cosmos: Your Destiny in the Stars," she said, trying to make it sound as though she found these titles appealing rather than idiotic. "What would you like, Sybill?"
Sibyll gave her a patronizing smile, and Minerva felt her blood pressure spike painfully in her temple. "Do leave the list, Minerva, and I'll be sure to look at it…"
"If you've no need for any new books—"
Sybill's smile seemed to become rather fixed. "I'm sure that twenty copies of The Dream Oracle will do nicely, then."
"Marvelous," Minerva said grouchily, turning her back and walking back towards the trapdoor. "Do let me know if there is anything else you'd like, Sybill."
"I wonder, Minerva, if you would like to return later this evening for a crystal-gazing session?" Sybill called, as Minerva began to descend the stairs. "Your aura is awfully grim, you know."
"I call that my personality," Minerva retorted waspishly.