Tea for Two
Let Me Call You Sweetheart
More than a month later, it was a cold February morning, and it had taken some effort for Minerva to drag herself out of bed for breakfast. Walking into the Great Hall through the Professors' entrance, she didn't even notice it until she heard the laughter. She looked up, and, after a moment of shock, began scowling. Flashing over the main entrance to the hall, in neon pink letters, was written, "I love you, Minerva!"
This was why she hated Valentine's Day, thought Minerva crossly. Dumbledore was staring at her from the center of the table, smirking and twinkling away.
"It isn't funny!" Minerva snapped at Dumbledore. Dumbledore quickly sobered up, looking stern. "Do you know the identity of the culprit, Minerva?" he asked.
"I believe I do, Albus."
"And I trust you will deal with him…er, or her, appropriately?"
"Yes. This will most certainly be dealt with," she replied, glaring dangerously down the hall toward the Gryffindor table. There sat a certain handsome, black-haired youth, who was exchanging a high-five with his bespectacled friend.
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"Mr. Black, please stay after class if you would," Professor McGonagall instructed just as her NEWT Transfigurations class began to pack up.
Just as his friends had, Minerva had clearly taken his prank as a joke, and was about to punish him for it, Sirius thought. No matter what he did, he would never be anything more than a student to her.
"I have evidence from Argus (?) Filch, stating that he saw you putting that charm on the Great Hall late last night," Minerva said, getting straight to business.
"Which charm?" Sirius asked, playing dumb.
"You know the one," Minerva said with a glare. She was in no mood for Sirius' nonsense.
"If he saw me, then why didn't he stop me?" retorted Sirius insolently.
"He didn't explain, but the rest of the faculty and I are willing to take his word for it. It was decided that I, as the…er, victim, of the prank, should deal with you personally."
"And just what would you like to do with me, Professor?" asked Sirius innocently.
"I—" Suddenly Minerva paused, grasping the somewhat inappropriate implications of Sirius' sentence. She narrowed her eyes. "If you are referring to your punishment, and I sincerely hope for your sake that you are, I was just coming to that matter. Detention. Monday nights after dinner. My classroom. One month," she finished curtly.
"Well at least it doesn't interfere with Quidditch practice," said Sirius.
"Don't push your luck," said Minerva, eyes narrowing even further.
"May I leave you alone to do stuff by yourself now?"
She had no idea whether he was inserting the double entendres into the conversation deliberately, or if she just had a dirty mind. "First, one more thing. How did you learn my first name in order to put it up there in the great hall?" After so many years of teaching, she had learned not to let students know her first name. They seemed to take far to much amusement in calling her by it.
"I have my ways," he said through a grin. The reality was quite simple; he had seen her name on the Marauders' map. Minerva scowled. Sirius saw this, but, never one to lose heart, he left her abruptly with a "Bye, sweetheart," and a wink.
As Sirius left the room, Minerva was thrown into a mild shock. He had called her sweetheart. This seemed somehow more personal, more private than his prank earlier that day. Sirius Black had called her sweetheart. She repeated the idea in her mind a couple of times more. She was hardly a young girl whom one could easily call "sweetheart." Had he, then, meant it as an endearment? As though she was his sweetheart? And in conjunction with the "prank"...was he just tweaking her, or did it actually mean something? But then again, so what if it did mean something? He was a student, and nothing more. With that reminder to herself, she began preparing for her next class.
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Exhausted after a full day of teaching, Minerva walked into her private chambers that evening. She didn't see the figure sitting in her high-backed Victorian chair with his back to her. She did wonder, though, why the fire was going. She must have forgotten to put it out, she reasoned.
"Hello, Minerva," said the figure in the chair. Minerva nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Mr. Black!" she cried, her voice showing that she was startled more clearly than she would have liked. "How—where—you—"
In truth, he had used his magical silver (?) knife to undo the enchantments designed to keep students out of the professors' private spaces, but he replied calmly, "You'll never know how I got in, so I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, love."
"And thank goodness you're not me," replied Minerva, her usual dry wit returning to her as her heart rate retuned to something approaching normal.
Sirius stood up from the chair and turned to face her, smiling lopsidedly and holding a cup of tea. The flowered saucer was on her elegant claw-footed end table.
"I took the liberty of helping myself to some tea," Sirius continued, seeming much calmer than he felt. He was nearly shaking with a combination of fear and excitement. He was, after all, in Minerva's private chambers.
"So you've seen my kitchenette, then. I suppose you explored my bedroom, as well, then?" She couldn't help the sarcasm that crept into her voice.
Sirius chuckled. Still in his droll English gentleman mode, he said, "My dear, I would never dream of it."
Minerva's patience was running low. "Out!" she said suddenly. "Out, out, out!" She made a shooing motion, as though Sirius were a fly.
"May I finish my tea first?" asked Sirius, his smile broadening and evening out to both sides of his face.
"NO!" Minerva yelled. A vein was throbbing in her forehead, and her jaw was clenched.
"Very well, then. Good day," Sirius said, putting down his teacup and beginning to leave. He was feeling smug. He had broken into a teacher's rooms, and hadn't even gotten—
"DETENTION, Mr. Black!" roared Minerva.
"Oh, bollocks," muttered Sirius.
"And if I hear another foul word like that out of your mouth, double detention!" snapped Minerva, who seemed to be doing a lot of snapping lately. "You will arrive in my classroom every Saturday at nine o'clock in the morning, sharp, for the next month, starting tomorrow. You will leave when I permit you to, and no sooner. This will be in addition to your Monday night detentions."
"But—but—Quidditch—" babbled Sirius, no longer doing the incredibly annoying "gentleman" act.
"Your team has two other Chasers. I'm sure they will be able to continue without the blessing of your presence." It was Minerva's turn to feel smug now.
"I'm the Seeker!" said Sirius indignantly.
Minerva knew this, but had decided it would be far more amusing to "forget" it. "I'm sure your captain, Frank Longbottom (A/N Re: my take on Quidditch positions), will be able to schedule practice around this…er…minor inconvenience. Now, it you would please be a – gentleman – and leave me in peace, Mr. Black…" She cocked an eyebrow on "gentleman." She knew perfectly well that he had been messing with her earlier.
"Fine," muttered Sirius, and left. Once she was sure he was gone, Minerva went to her liquor cabinet and poured herself two finger widths of Madame Rosmerta's Finest Mead (dbl check). Black would be the death of her, she thought as she sat down in the chair he had vacated. She stared absently at the half-finished cup of tea he had left behind. What had he meant by sneaking into her rooms? Probably nothing, she decided with a derisive snort to herself. Just another prank, undoubtedly.
That young man certainly did know how to make her blood boil, she reflected, sipping her mead slowly. She had discussed the matter with other teachers, but they didn't seem nearly as annoyed by Black as she did. To the contrary; in fact, some of the secretly found Black's behavior amusing. Of course, he did seem to pick on her more than any other teacher. Why? Perhaps he saw her as an easy target? Or maybe she was just blowing this whole thing all out of proportion.
Her mead was nearly finished. And she didn't feel like having any more. So she tried to put the matter from her mind. But by the time the glass was empty, she had failed miserably. She was never going to be able to fall asleep, so she set about pacing in the confined space of her living room (?), such as it was. It was another hour before she was able to stop mulling over the boy. And try as she might, even as she went to bed, she fell asleep picturing his youthful face.
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"Where've you been?" James asked when Sirius arrived back at the Gryffindor common room. James and Peter had been playing Wizard's Chess. Remus was feeling ill, as the full moon was near, and had retired to his dorm. Lily, having recently become James' girlfriend, was kibitzing the game, and flinching whenever one of James' pieces got demolished.
Sirius grinned. "I've been in McGonagall's rooms."
James raised an eyebrow. "Why'd she ask you to go in there?"
"She didn't. I got in with my knife."
"Er, why?"
"For shits and giggles."
"Whatever tickles your pickle," said Peter with a shrug. "I think it's a stalemate (?), James."
"Aw, shit," said James.
"You boys and your expressions. 'Tickles your pickle?'" Lily said, trying not to laugh.
"Yes, Lily," James said, not really paying attention. He wasn't about to let Sirius get off that easily. "Really, Sirius, what possessed you to do that? I'm sure she gave you detention for it, and you knew she would. On top of the detention you're already serving for your little prank. You don't have – feelings – for her, do you?" he asked with a queer expression.
"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," replied Sirius playfully.
"New game?" asked Peter, who had been paying little attention to the exchange.
"Not now, Peter," said James dismissively.
"Would you like to hear a woman's perspective on the matter?" asked Lily, who had been paying significantly more attention than Peter. Like most women in the world, she usually did pay attention whenever the topic of feelings came up. Lily could be a bit of a stereotype at times.
"No," answered James and Sirius simultaneously with barely a glance in Lily's direction.
"Recomensio!" said Peter, resetting the Wizards' Chess with a simple spell. It was then ready for the next users [is it a community set?]. No one in the group really noticed.
"Fine!" said Lily, and flounced off to her dorm, her red curls bouncing with every step.
"What's with her?" asked Peter, finally returning to earth.
"Dunno," replied Sirius.
"It's her time," whispered James knowingly.
"Huh?" asked Peter.
"She's a woman," said James, tapping the side of his nose (?).
"We're aware of that, James, said Sirius with a roll of his eyes. "Spit it out."
"Her time of the month is the same time as Remus'," James tried again.
Peter leaned in over the chess table, causing several chess pieces to move grudgingly aside to avoid being smushed, and whispered, "You mean she's a werewolf?"
"No, she – oh, I give up!" exclaimed James. "Lily's PMSing!" he said loudly enough for the whole common room to hear. A few giggles confirmed that he had spoken too loudly.
"Nice going, nice going," said Sirius jovially.
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It was Saturday. Sirius had allotted himself fifteen minutes to shower, get dressed, and get halfway across the castle to Minerva's classroom, and to detention. This, of course, was not enough time.
He hesitated a moment just outside the door to the classroom, out of Minerva's line of sight. He knew he was late, and he also knew that this wasn't going to be pretty.
"Enter, Mr. Black," came Minerva's stern voice. Sometimes Sirius could swear that woman could see everything. He did as ordered.
"So," began Minerva, hardly looking up from the stack of papers she was correcting.
"Oh boy," muttered Sirius under his breath. He started to run a hand through his glossy black hair, but stopped himself as he realised that hair-mussing was strictly James Potter territory.
"I note that you are seventeen minutes late, Mr. Black," she said in an unnervingly calm voice.
"Well, er..."
"This will result in another week of detention. That's another Monday and another Saturday, Mr. Black. If you keep this up, we may be seeing far more of each other than either of us can stand."
"You'd be surprised," Sirius blurted, and immediately gave himself a mental slap on the head.
"Oh?"
"That is, er, what man in his right mind wouldn't want to spend all his time with you?" Sirius tried, flashing her his most charming grin. He hoped she wouldn't figure out just how much he felt his statement was true.
"Flattery will get you nowhere with me," she said with a stern glare over her spectacles. "Now, moving on, you are to return these first years' attempts to transfigure snuff boxes back to their original state," she said, indicating a few mice, and many more snuff boxes with mouse-like features.
The task took Sirius barely twenty minutes.
"Done already? You can look these papers over for spelling and grammar mistakes. You are not to grade them; merely to scrutinize and circle any mechanical errors in order to make them easier for me to find. Here," she said, handing him a stack of papers, a spare quill, and a bottle of ink.
"You expect me to find spelling errors?"
"You're seventeen years old. If finding the mistakes of eleven and twelve year olds is too much for you, you may serve your detention with Argus/(title?) Filch instead."
"I'll do it," Sirius said meekly. Still standing and clutching the pile, he took a glance at the first paper. "Why do all girls always have to dot their i's with hearts?" he asked rhetorically.
"I would hardly say all girls. I'll have you know that I, even as a young girl, never indulged in such frivolity."
"Because you never indulge in anything," Sirius finished for her.
Minerva met his eyes for a moment. Sirius thought he saw the corner of her left eyelid twitching. "I do believe our [Filch's title] will be very pleased to have you help him as your detention," she said brusquely. "Follow me, though I'm sure you know where to go after serving so many detentions with him."
"What are you; a member of the tight-bunned mean ladies' club?" Sirius whined. (see A/N at end - ??).
Minerva glared. "I hope that you are referring to my hair when you say that, and not...certain--" she cleared her throat "--other parts of the anatomy."
"Why, Professor!" said Sirius in mock disbelief. "I assure you, the thought of thinking about your firm, well-sculpted, yet feminine derrière has never entered my mind! Why on earth would you think I was trying to imply something when I was merely referring to your hair?"
Minerva looked as though she were ready to explode. However, she would not dignify Black's nonsense with a response. Wordlessly, she stood, and strode out the door. Sirius quickly set the papers down and set off after her. His usual suave saunter was no match for her brisk pace, and he found himself taking full advantage of the long legs that came with his height in order to keep up with the shorter woman.
"Geez, do you ever slow down?"
"Rarely," she said without slowing down. (?)
"Erm, so what's your favourite colour?"
"Red."
"Well, that's appropriate for the Head of Gryffindor."
"I would appreciate it if you would cease trying to make conversation, Mr. Black. I assure you, I can do without it."
"Okay." They walked in silence down hallways and down many flights of stairs, until finally reaching the dingy, cramped part of the dungeons where Filch lived. (canon?) Minerva knocked on the door.
"Come in," came a gruff voice. Minerva opened the door and indicated that Sirius should enter the pitiful mockery of a foyer with her, and he did.
"Argus, I have here a certain Mr. Black, who has been sorely trying my patience whilst serving his detention."
"Yes," said Filch with an evil grin. "I am well acquainted with this particular little beast. He's the one I caught putting up that repulsive love note. I take it you would like me to find some suitable punishment for him?"
"I'm right here, you know!" Sirius said.
"If you would please," Minerva replied to Filch, pretending to take no notice of Sirius. Filch began to cackle. "But Argus, please do remember that thumbscrews and other torture devices are no longer allowed at Hogwarts."
"Just suck the fun out of everything, why don't you, Minerva," Filch commented.
Minerva stiffened. "Please, Argus. You know how I don't like the students knowing my first name."
"Always been funny about that, haven't you, Professor?"
"It's okay," contributed Sirius. "I already knew Minnie's first name anyway."
Minverva, once again, looked ready to explode. "'Minnie' is not my name. It never has been and it never will be. Please try to keep your facts straight when attempting to provoke me, Mr. Black."
"Yes, Professor," said Sirius, eerily echoing Filch.
"Precisely, boy," said Filch with a devious smile. "Now then, Professor, why don't you just leave me to take care of this hooligan's punishment?" Neither Sirius nor Minerva could tell whose side the begrimed [title] was on. Apparently, he would side with whoever had made the most recent and wittiest remark.
"Remember which side your bread's buttered on," said Minerva to Filch sternly, and left. (see a/n at end – [about this may be an Americanism; define])
"So, what's your favourite colour?" Sirius tried on Filch the instant the Transfigurations professor had left, despite how badly that question had worked with Minerva.
Filch appeared to consider this seriously as he stroked his chin. "Grey, perhaps, like the cold stone walls in here. Or the green of the mildew that grows on them." Sirius looked around, and, to his disgust, found that Filch wasn't making up the latter. Filch continued; "Or red, like the blood of students back when I was allowed to --"
"Okay, okay!" interrupted Sirius. "Geez, sorry I asked," he muttered.
"What's yours?" asked Filch.
"Aren't you going to punish me?" Sirius asked quizically.
"I knew I was forgetting something!" exclaimed Filch. "Alright then, boy, you have to clean the blah. And no magic!"
"But didn't name do that last week? I heard you had him at it for five hours! Aren't the blah clean enough?"
"No," replied Filch. Sirius found it ironic that such a grimy man cared so much about how clean the blah were.
"Okay," said Sirius through a resigned sigh. "Lead the way." Filch did so, and Sirius spent the rest of his Saturday morning cleaning. Even when lunchtime came around, Filch wouldn't let him grab any food. Filch instead got some food for himself, and proceeded to eat it openly and messily with Sirius hungrily watching. It was nearly one thirty by the time Filch let Sirius go.
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Later that afternoon, Minerva found herself alone in her rooms (/living room?) and pondering why she had been so hard on the boy. She had given him more detention at one time than she could ever remember giving a previous student. That was saying a lot coming from the extremely strict Professor McGonagall.
She was suddenly reminded of Dumbledore's smirk on the day of Sirius' Valentine's prank. Just what did that man know that she didn't know? She was certain that, whatever Dumbledore thought about her interactions with Sirius, he was entirely wrong. Yet she couldn't deny that her thoughts seemed to dwell on Sirius more so than they ever had on anyone since...
"No," said Minerva firmly to herself. "I'm not going to think of him." She sighed, and got out a stack of papers to grade. "Argh!" she exclaimed as her eyes fell on the first paper. She had randomly grabbed the seventh year NEWT class' papers, and, as luck would have it, Sirius' was on top. "Calm down," she told herself. "You will grade his paper, and you will do so calmly, and totally ignoring the fact that you were just thinking about him in an inappropriate manner."
She pulled out a quill and some red ink (it was her favourite colour, and besides, corrections always looked harsher in red), and began to mark his paper. Sirius' paper was soon covered in red marks, both commenting on the innaccuracy of the information given, and lamenting his atrocious spelling. She was one of the few teachers who graded students down for grammar and spelling. After all, in her opinion, if a person didn't have anything grammatically correct to say, then they shouldn't say anything at all. True; there were spellchecking charms, but those often did more harm than good.
She reached the end of the essay, then noticed a small note farther down the parchment. It read:
P.S. Dearest Minerva, please be advised to prepare for a visit from yours truly. I was quite taken with your tastefully decorated rooms, and with the way your presence graced them with a certain regal air. I would recommend that you stay on your guard when in said rooms, as you never know when a roguishly handsome, irresistibly charming gentleman with deliciously devious intentions might drop by to sweep you off your feet.
She shook her head at his overly verbose paragraph. It just went to show that a little help from Lily went a long way when it came to writing. However, she was smiling at the same time. "Why am I smiling?" she wondered aloud.