This is quite an amusing idea, or so I think. Everything you recognise
here is not mine, and so therefore I may not be sued.
*
Minerva McGonnagal's day started out very normally. She woke up, got out of bed, and went to get dressed. Up until then nothing had seemed wrong. Then she looked in the mirror. Staring back at her was her ten year old self.
She gasped, looked down, and relized that her slippers (and for that matter, the rest of her clothes) were too big, and that the floor was a lot closer that she remembered.
She immediately ran to her fireplace, grabbed a handful of floo powder in a shaking fist, and jumped into the grate, shouting "Professor Dumbledore's office!" as she went.
She tumbled out of the grate at the same time a short(er), poofy- haired, ten year old Professor Flitwick did. They landed in a heap, right in front of Dumbledore's now overly large slippers.
"Albus, do you have any idea what is going on?!" McGonnagal asked frantically.
"I'm afraid I don't. Until I know something, you must teach your classes as best you can in your younger forms," he replied, and used a finger to shove his too large spectacles back up to the brim of his nose.
By this time McGonnagal and Filius Flitwick were standing. Other professors were standing there also, and all were in their ten year old bodies. Pomona Sprout's hair tumbled down her back in bright golden ringlets. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she was staring quite unabashedly at Remus Lupin, who had returned to teach Defense against the Dark Arts in Harry's sixth year. Lupin was looking about confusedly. A smaller unbearded version of Hagrid was standing apart from everyone else, rubbing his chin, and muttering.
Lupin looked at Dumbledore.
"How," he asked slowly, "are we supposed to instruct the students who not only look older than us but who will probably take advantage of that fact?"
The headmaster shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose once more. "I suggest you go back to your rooms and we can figure something out later." He turned and walked back into his office.
Immediately after he left, Poppy Pomfry, a gangley child with ears that stuck out, burst through the fireplace.
"What is going on?" she asked her colleagues.
None had an answer.
After a few moments of staring in confusion at eachother, they hurried to the fireplace and flooed back to their separate rooms.
*
Minerva McGonnagal's day started out very normally. She woke up, got out of bed, and went to get dressed. Up until then nothing had seemed wrong. Then she looked in the mirror. Staring back at her was her ten year old self.
She gasped, looked down, and relized that her slippers (and for that matter, the rest of her clothes) were too big, and that the floor was a lot closer that she remembered.
She immediately ran to her fireplace, grabbed a handful of floo powder in a shaking fist, and jumped into the grate, shouting "Professor Dumbledore's office!" as she went.
She tumbled out of the grate at the same time a short(er), poofy- haired, ten year old Professor Flitwick did. They landed in a heap, right in front of Dumbledore's now overly large slippers.
"Albus, do you have any idea what is going on?!" McGonnagal asked frantically.
"I'm afraid I don't. Until I know something, you must teach your classes as best you can in your younger forms," he replied, and used a finger to shove his too large spectacles back up to the brim of his nose.
By this time McGonnagal and Filius Flitwick were standing. Other professors were standing there also, and all were in their ten year old bodies. Pomona Sprout's hair tumbled down her back in bright golden ringlets. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she was staring quite unabashedly at Remus Lupin, who had returned to teach Defense against the Dark Arts in Harry's sixth year. Lupin was looking about confusedly. A smaller unbearded version of Hagrid was standing apart from everyone else, rubbing his chin, and muttering.
Lupin looked at Dumbledore.
"How," he asked slowly, "are we supposed to instruct the students who not only look older than us but who will probably take advantage of that fact?"
The headmaster shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose once more. "I suggest you go back to your rooms and we can figure something out later." He turned and walked back into his office.
Immediately after he left, Poppy Pomfry, a gangley child with ears that stuck out, burst through the fireplace.
"What is going on?" she asked her colleagues.
None had an answer.
After a few moments of staring in confusion at eachother, they hurried to the fireplace and flooed back to their separate rooms.