Post by Rachael on Nov 27, 2011 17:34:04 GMT -8
Title: Minerva McGonagall and the Curse of the Obsessive Prefect Part 3
Rating: G
Word Count: 295
Warnings: None
Summary: Well...you know. Lol
Minerva came to a stop in front of me, a hard glint in her eyes, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her broom tightly. She spoke to me, her tone sharp, her pretty lips shaping every syllable as her Scottish brogue drifted towards my eardrums like the finest composition of music. My brain took its time discerning her words as my gaze found hers and held it captive. I arched an eyebrow. She was questioning my right to be on the Quidditch pitch, while she, herself, flouted school protocol. Typical Gryffindor.
“I’m merely enjoying the sight of an artist at work,” I replied candidly, referring to her skill on a broom. My abdomen gave a little jolt as Minerva’s lips thinned, while a trace of colour flooded her cheek bones. “Besides, Ms McGonagall,” I continued, standing to my full height, clasping my hands behind my back, “the school protocol clearly states that neither you nor I have permission to be wondering the grounds at this time. It’s remiss of you to lay the blame solely on my shoulders.”
Minerva’s lips thinned some more while her cheeks, now, veritably flooded with colour. I was the cause of that flood of colour in her cheeks and the knowledge of that sent a thrill down my spine and caused another little jolt in my abdomen. I wanted to be responsible for that colour again in the future and I would be. “As we seem to be at an impasse, why don’t we agree to remain silent on the matter in future? Enjoy the rest of your day, Ms McGonagall.” I turned and strode away. I am the Seeker. You are the Golden Snitch. The Seeker always wins. Minerva McGonagall, I mentally vowed, you will be mine.
Rating: G
Word Count: 295
Warnings: None
Summary: Well...you know. Lol
Minerva came to a stop in front of me, a hard glint in her eyes, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her broom tightly. She spoke to me, her tone sharp, her pretty lips shaping every syllable as her Scottish brogue drifted towards my eardrums like the finest composition of music. My brain took its time discerning her words as my gaze found hers and held it captive. I arched an eyebrow. She was questioning my right to be on the Quidditch pitch, while she, herself, flouted school protocol. Typical Gryffindor.
“I’m merely enjoying the sight of an artist at work,” I replied candidly, referring to her skill on a broom. My abdomen gave a little jolt as Minerva’s lips thinned, while a trace of colour flooded her cheek bones. “Besides, Ms McGonagall,” I continued, standing to my full height, clasping my hands behind my back, “the school protocol clearly states that neither you nor I have permission to be wondering the grounds at this time. It’s remiss of you to lay the blame solely on my shoulders.”
Minerva’s lips thinned some more while her cheeks, now, veritably flooded with colour. I was the cause of that flood of colour in her cheeks and the knowledge of that sent a thrill down my spine and caused another little jolt in my abdomen. I wanted to be responsible for that colour again in the future and I would be. “As we seem to be at an impasse, why don’t we agree to remain silent on the matter in future? Enjoy the rest of your day, Ms McGonagall.” I turned and strode away. I am the Seeker. You are the Golden Snitch. The Seeker always wins. Minerva McGonagall, I mentally vowed, you will be mine.
