Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling, and everything you don't belongs to me.
Pro tip: Imagine the amazing Maggie Smith in your head as you read this. It will make everything ten times funnier. I promise.
"Bag end is a queer place, and its folks are even queerer"
The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
"Twenty galleons — Thomas breaks first"
" A weak cup of tea, Poppy. I expected better. Thirty galleons, Zaid asks out Thomas first."
"Thomas is clearly more smitten. Anyone can see the outcome is going to be in my favour, just like it always is."
"Oh really? Remind me which one of us is leading in the betting pool right now?"
"Please William, do us all a favour and go shove your wand up your—"
I cleared my throat loudly and looked up, scowling at the seemingly endless bickering that was stopping me from getting on with mapping out my lesson plans for next week. I had spent a lot of leisurely hours terrorizing Mrs Norris the past few days and as such, had fallen behind on my work.
"Could you two take this tomfoolery elsewhere? Some of us have work to do" I stared pointedly at Poppy and William, both of whom looked unabashed.
"Classes don't start until the next week Minerva" Poppy rolled her eyes at me "And besides, no one here is doing any actual work apart from you".
I looked around and, indeed, all my colleagues were engrossed in chattering about the large blackboard in the middle of the Staff Room that had information on the running betting pool, which was starting to gain momentum again now that the end of Summer was nigh.
As professed by William, who had gone cross-eyed in the endeavour to observe the quill he had balanced on his upper lip, he was in the lead. Poppy, who was once again at odds with the Ancient Runes instructor, was clearly itching to hex his testicles off. Unknown to the two of them, the rest of the staff was betting on when they would finally exchange saliva and end this sensual stand-off.
In the most disapproving tone I could muster, and with my most reproving glare, I announced to the room at large "It is highly unethical to wager on our students' love lives."
"A hundred galleons on James and Lily going on a date before the Winter holidays!" shouted Albus as he slammed open the door like a madman, immediately dousing the effect of my proclamation moments ago.
"Albus!" I yelled indignantly "You are the headmaster!"
"Which is precisely why I am committed to ensuring the wellbeing of my students. Wouldn't it be wonderful if they were all in love and happy?" he replied with the countenance of a saint.
"And I suppose it doesn't hurt that you earn a bit of money on the side?" I asked snidely.
"Precisely," he said with twinkling blue eyes, which I immediately wanted to skewer on the devil's pitchfork and roast over the floo fires of hell.
"A hundred galleons is a lot," said Filius sceptically "What makes you so sure they will get together before the holidays?"
Having been ego-tripped into betting nearly a hundred and fifty galleons on James and Lily getting together at the end of their fifth year, Filius was currently at the bottom of the pool and still attempting to recover by making smaller, ten and twenty-galleon bets in other arenas where the odds were better.
"I never said they would get together," said Albus "Just that they would go on a date. I am not too sure of the outcome — Evans will either kiss Potter or hex him into next year. Could go either way, really."
Astoundingly, the latter option seemed exactly the sort of thing I could imagine happening if Lily did end up agreeing to James' increasingly exasperating attempts to ask her out.
"Ol' Sluggy has been hinting that Evans has softened her attitude with regards to Potter," said Septima.
"Horace says that every year," said Poppy, rolling her eyes at the Arithmancy professor "he needs Divination lessons. Even I am better at prediction than him, which is saying something because I never know when Evans is next going to hex Potter into a bed in the hospital wing, and she seems to do it at least five times a month".
"So," asked William, uncrossing his eyes momentarily to focus on Albus "What makes you so sure it will happen before the holidays?"
"I have appointed James and Lily as Head Boy and Head Girl" the fool grinned with the utmost confidence in his decision "I sent out the letters just this morning".
"Are you mad Albus?" I cried out, slamming my hands on the table out of frustration "I grant you that Miss Evans is well-suited to be the Head Girl, but Mister Potter is most definitely not up to the task of being the Head Boy!"
"I thought you liked him?" questioned Septima with a quizzical brow.
"While I have no doubts as to Potter's intelligence and capability, especially when it comes to my subject," I said, trying to take deep, calming breaths to stop myself from strangling Albus "I feel obligated to point out his troubling track record for mischief-making, as made evident by Filch's office files. He and his friends have managed to fill up almost an entire drawer with their misdeeds!".
"Ah, yes. I have heard from the Fat Lady that they are aiming to fill up that drawer before they graduate" said Albus, twiddling his thumbs.
"A worthy dream" commented William, before cowering under my heated glare.
Albus took this opportunity to pluck a ginger newt from the biscuit tin foolishly left open beside my notes. He popped it in his mouth before I could slap his hand away, and grinned at me.
"Really, you lot are so immature" I rolled her eyes "I'm going to visit Pomona. Hopefully, she can talk some sense into you."
"Good luck with that" snickered William "She has got seventy galleons riding on Potter and Evans getting together by the end of the year".
The next second a sharp 'thud' was heard, followed by a painful howl.
As I closed the door of the staff room behind me, Poppy's muffled voice could be heard saying that William most definitely deserved to be hit in the face with a copy of Advanced Transfiguration. After all, he should have known better than to incense Minerva.
My sharp, feline-like hearing also caught Albus whispering that I used to be a troublemaker in my years at Hogwarts.
I would definitely get back at Albus for spreading that around.
True as it was, it would not do for that bit of information to reach the ears of my students — I had a reputation to maintain.
Pomona was cheerfully watering a Niffler's fancy, its copper leaves glowing in the sun filtering through the window panes. It was sweltering inside the greenhouse, and yet, Pomona's round face was pleasantly flushed as she tended to her beloved plants, while I irately wiped my forehead with a handkerchief for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.
I wondered, once again, how Pomona was capable of being so happy all the time. Sometimes, her happiness was pleasant and soothing, and at other times, such as now, it was annoying.
I decided I had had enough when Pomona started whistling the tune of a song by that god-awful singer that had recently become popular (her name was Celeste Warbling, or something equally nauseating).
"I heard you bet seventy galleons on Potter and Evans" I commented, cutting off the high-pitched whistling that was giving me a headache.
"That's not true" replied Pomona, and I felt my hope rise, only to be shot down a second later when she continued "It was sixty-nine galleons, seven sickles and fifteen knuts".
I rolled my eyes once again.
"If you continue rolling your eyes like that, they are going to roll to the back of your head one day," said Pomona cheerfully.
"Pity, since I wouldn't be able to warn you that Horace is on his way over to charm some rare plant extract out of you" I replied, squinting out of the window to see a blurry blob ambling towards the greenhouse.
No, I did not need glasses, thank you very much.
Even the ever-cheerful Pomona was not able to stop her smile from drooping like a wilted flower as she saw Horace huffing and puffing his way over to her sanctuary.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent herself from grinning. Horace had been a personality to induce groans of exasperation since the time he had been mine and Pomona's senior at Hogwarts. Thankfully, he had been in his seventh year and much too pompous to pay attention to the measly first years, and so had not noticed 'Minnie the Mischief-maker'. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the third years — Pomona had been harassed by the seventh year for her skills in Herbology, which he was convinced she had inherited from her father, a renown Magibotanist.
Ever since, Horace had considered himself Pomona's 'good friend', while it was obvious that Pomona thought of him as nothing more than a nuisance—though of course, her sweet disposition prevented her from ever saying so.
Horace opened the door just as Pomona cast a disillusionment charm and melted into the soil behind her.
"Hello Minerva," said Horace with aplomb, his protruding belly, full of crystallized pineapple, threatening to pop the buttons on his smoked velvet waistcoat. He looked around the greenhouse "I thought I just saw Pomona here and dropped by to pay her a visit".
"Sorry Horace," I replied cheerfully "Pomona just left to go to the Owlery. She needed to send out an order for some of that new Dragon-dung fertilizer from Diagon Alley".
"Ah" said Horace, trying not to sound disappointed and failing miserably.
"I should be going," I said, "Silvanus needed some additional help with a pack of Demiguise".
"Yes, yes," replied Horace distractedly "I heard that they got loose and vanished. Poor Kettleburn. I'll see you later Minerva".
I slipped out of the greenhouse with a courteous wave, feeling Pomona brush past me as well in a hurry to escape Horace who was still in the greenhouse, probably waiting for her to come back from the Owlery.
"Thank Merlin's worn-out woollen candy cane socks" breathed Pomona once they were out of hearing range, before hurrying off.
I just shook my head, half-bewildered and half-amused. Pomona was a strange and rare creature indeed.
She had undoubtedly crept away to some hidden crevice in the castle in the hopes of remaining undiscovered this last week before the new term began, after which point she would likely have lesser places to take refuge in.
I, on the other hand, turned away from the castle and started walking towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, bitterly regretting engaging in social niceties and casually offering to help Silvanus with the Demiguise.
It was rather inconvenient that he had actually taken me up on that offer.
Silvanus and his student-helper, Rubeus Hagrid, were out in the pumpkin patches with Martha Price, the Quidditch Coach.
The two professors were eagerly discussing the most horrifyingly reckless and, quite frankly, suicidal incidents they had gotten into as of late, while poor Hagrid continued searching for the pack of mischievous Demiguise.
Silvanus was gesturing about grandly with his prosthetic arm (he had lost the flesh version of the same to a Basilisk and Occamy hybrid) while Martha listened on, enraptured by the adventure.
While I am all for daring and courage by virtue of being a Gryffindor, I am also quite fond of the idea of having all my undamaged limbs attached to me, thank you very much. I do not care much for stupid acts of recklessness.
Shaking my head at the two who were now intensely absorbed in the discussion of the delicate art of falling off brooms to catch fast-flying Snidgets, I turned my attention to the pumpkin patch, determined to catch all the Demiguise.
I still remember the one time in my third year when I had been forced to keep watch over the annoying orangutan-like creatures during a detention for sassing the Divination professor.
I had told the professor, who was waxing poetic about a handsome man with thick facial hair that she had seen in the crystal ball, that it was simply her reflection.
I maintain that the detention had been worth the flabbergasted expression on her face.
With re-kindled determination to finally beat the frustrating critters at their own game, I went about the job with the same enthusiasm that my animagus form put into terrorizing Mrs Norris.
Exhausted and annoyed, I slipped into my room and breathed a sigh of relief. I was about as sociable as a tortoise, and long periods of company, especially tiresome company, left me wanting to recede into a shell and snap at intruders.
Once the new, and annoyingly chirpy, Defence professor, Alice Taylor, had joined the group in the pumpkin patch and attempted to make small talk with me by chattering endlessly about her favourite dishes, I had been quick to give up on the Demiguise and had beat a hasty retreat back to my quarters.
While I enjoyed good food as much as the next person, I actively refrained from calling myself a "foodie" — it was my firm belief that having tastebuds, though definitely appreciable, wasn't much of a personal achievement.
I somehow mustered up the energy to grudgingly trudge towards the Great Hall for supper, side-stepping a booby trap that I knew Peeves had set up for Filch.
On entering the Great Hall, I was greeted with the sight of the Divination professor, who called herself Diamonique (although I was pretty sure that her given name was much simpler and less pretentious), attempting to engage a disinterested Aurora in Horoscopy.
I smirked slightly when Aurora crisply told Diamonique: "I teach Astronomy, not Astrology".
My eyes met Aurora's and we nodded at each other in silent camaraderie as I took a seat beside Caleb Jones, the engaging, if slightly eccentric Muggle Studies Professor.
Of course, I immediately regretted this decision because Albus plopped himself down on the empty seat next to me — effectively sandwiching me between the two most ridiculous people in the castle, excluding the ghosts and portraits who were always in my thoughts (and on my nerves).
Caleb tried to make conversation "I hear that you are convinced James and Lily will get together by Winter, Albus."
Albus corrected him genially "No, only that they will go out on a date before we break for Winter."
"Really?" said Caleb interestedly "But you have been at it for donkey's years. What makes you think it will happen now?"
Stuck between the two who continued conversing overhead, I scowled as I tried to fathom what a donkey and its ears had to do with the situation at hand.
Having just begun to cheer up at the sight of peach cobbler on my plate, I was brought out of my reverie when Caleb nudged me and said "So, what is this I hear about you being a troublemaker in school?"
In reply, I glowered at Albus who looked back at me with a mask of happy incomprehension.
If Albus' secret stash of candy disappeared the next morning, I had no idea who did it or why.
A/N: Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!