She Will Not Squee

tasty_pork

Rating: G
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 13/07/2005
Last Updated: 13/07/2005
Status: completed

Minerva McGonagall finds herself confronted with several situations where she has the urge to act very unlike herself. She must resist. She will not make that immature, childish and yet completely fitting sound...

Chapters

1. She Will Not Squee

1. She Will Not Squee

A/N: Another one-shot, but this time very fluffy. May we all ‘squee’ plenty in HBP!

She Will Not Squee

Professor Minerva McGonagall was about to enter the staff room on the third floor when she heard a very odd sound coming from behind it. Pausing, she considered it to be a kind of squeal of excitement mixed a sigh of satisfaction. Having never heard anything so strange, she immediately assumed that it must have come from some miscast spell produced by a student in the out of bounds area.

Raising her shoulders with authority, she strode fiercely into the room; a slight frown marked her aging face as she recognised the lone person curled on an armchair. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing?”

The muggle-studies professor looked up from his book, a giddy smile on his chubby face. “I’m reading a book, Minerva. Nothing more.”

“I can see that,” she said indignantly. “But that sound, Professor. What was that sound I heard? You appear to be the only one present in the room, so you must have made it-”

The male wizard chuckled, “Oh yes, that was me. I just came across a scene in this muggle fiction story where these two people who I happen to ship had the most adorable, awkward moment. I made that sound without even meaning to. It was rather…”

“It was rather what?” she said impatiently. Never mind that she had no idea what ‘ship’ in that context meant either – the muggle studies teacher always came up with odd terms she couldn’t be bothered getting her mind around. What he came up with next, however, completely surpassed those usual boundaries.

He replied with a bright, cheery grin. “Squee-worthy!”

McGonagall stared at him in utter confusion. She opened her mouth twice, with no words, before eventually managing to get her tongue around the strange phenomenon. “Squee?”

He nodded his head firmly. “Indeed, madam. I came across the word upon a trip to a cinema. It is quite addictive, actually. Now I squee on impulse when I see, read or hear something remotely cute or deep and meaningful.”

McGonagall blinked. She’d never heard something that ridiculous for a long time. ‘Squee’ probably wasn’t even a real word. Not wanting to tolerate any more pure and utter nonsense, she left the professor to his book and ventured back out into the hallway towards her quarters. She would pretend she never heard that sound for even coming across something so seemingly childish and immature was an insult to her classy, strict ways.

The next day, however, the sound came to haunt her.

She was prodding at the waffle on her breakfast plate when she heard a yelp come from the closest Gryffindor table. Looking up, she observed the Weasley’s infamous owl standing in a toppled cereal bowl, drenched in milk. Ron Weasley was bright as a beetroot and Harry Potter was covered in the remains of what was his wheat flakes. From what Minerva could see, he did not look at all pleased. Ron hastily pulled the owl towards him and removed the letter, shooing it away. Hermione Granger, who never failed to accompany the two boys, was grinning sideways at Harry. His keen eyes didn’t fail to see this and he stared back furiously at her.

Minerva watched the scene with a familiar sense of anticipation. Watching interaction between children and teenagers was a part of her job she liked best. She hadn’t ever been married so she never had the chance to have kids, so she took the opportunity at Hogwarts to watch others grow and accomplish things. Dumbledore often joked about her ‘match-making’ skills which she constantly denied possessing.

McGonagall knew how apt Hermione was in her ways of cheering Harry up, and she did it again with ease. Laughing bravely at Harry’s mad expression she picked up her spoon, dipped it into her untouched cereal and directed it like a plane straight towards Harry’s open mouth. He managed not to splutter and closed his mouth, his eyes open startlingly wide. Hermione pushed her bowl towards him and placed the spoon back into it. Harry took a moment to calculate this, his expression gradually lightening. He gulped down his mouthful and burst into laughter.

The Transfiguration professor gave twitch of a smile. The bond between those two students was one she enjoyed watching most, and she had an inkling of a feeling that one day it would blossom into more… A strange, intriguing temptation crept into her mind, but before she realised what it was, Professor Dumbledore accidentally elbowed her as he sat down in his magnificent chair. Minerva felt a blush creep up under her makeup, and she wasn’t quite sure what caused it.

“Morning, Minerva!” he said cheerfully.

Recovering quickly, she nodded curtly. “Sleep well, I hope?”

“There was a slight disturbance at around 1am, but other than that, yes.”

“Slight disturbance?”

“Indeed. Nature called.”

“Oh,” McGonagall shifted uncomfortably. Albus’ eyes twinkled in her direction.

“Does it not ever happen to you, Minerva?”

“What?” she stammered.

“Waking up in the middle of a freezing night and having to use the toilet. Once a friend suggested to me to use a bewitched bedpan, and I did for a short period, but then one night it all went horribly wrong…”

The usual line etched across her face was parted in disbelief. She really didn’t need to know about Albus’ mishaps with bedpans and was rather uncomfortable around such silly topics, and he knew her well to know that. However, he was doing it again; teasing her and she was falling straight for it.

“I should go prepare for my first class,” she said briskly, scrambling to her feet and trying to not make eye contact with those greatly-amused eyes.

“Until lunch, then,” Dumbledore called brightly after her.

She closed the door off the hall and leant against it. Sighing, she straightened her figure and vowed not to let her guard down like that again but knowing deep inside that the task was impossible.

Her sixth and seventh year class was already waiting inside the classroom when she arrived, her hands stacked with their marked papers which she had misplaced and consequently spent too long looking for.

“Some of you did rather miserably,” she said as she started handing them out, sending particular students disappointed looks as she gave them theirs. “Some of you made good improvements. Others, Miss Granger, completely outclassed themselves in ways that I would have thought impossible considering their previous standard.”

Minerva caught ear of Ron’s grunt as he saw Hermione’s full marks. Too busily engulfed in her delight and embarrassment, she didn’t hear it. Harry completely ignored his improved mark which she put on his desk and beamed at Hermione, giving her a thumbs-up. She gave a feeble, embarrassed smile in return.

Suddenly, the Professor felt that urge again. This time, she had a hunch at what it was. Horrified, she yelled at Cho Chang for brushing her hair in class to distract her thoughts.

She described to the students what they would be doing in class and divided them into pairs. She instinctively put Harry with Hermione because she knew how well they worked together. She didn’t realise how big of a mistake that was.

She was routinely scanning the room to check on everyone’s progress when she saw a hysterically laughing Hermione. Moving closer, she saw that Harry’s guinea pig, which he had successfully transfigured into a male puppy, had jumped onto the back of Hermione’s female Labrador and was making rather jerky, rude movements.

Harry looked utterly horrified. He glanced wildly from the dogs, to Hermione, to the dogs, and yelped: “Make it stop!”

Hermione merely collapsed to the floor near Harry’s feet, giggling into his lower leg. “Oh Harry, it’s so adorable!” she gasped, looking up at him. “They like each other!”

“Hermione, my dog is – well, it shouldn’t be doing that! Stop giggling already! It’s so wrong! If we don’t do something then they could – you know -”

Harry saw that she wasn’t going anywhere, so he begrudgingly took things into his own hands and awkwardly pulled his puppy off the other one. It started whining immediately and struggled to get free of his arms. Hermione’s dog wasn’t impressed either. She started leaping at Harry’s leg, trying to scramble up to her companion. Harry shook his leg to get it away, and in his failed efforts, he fell onto his rear, the two puppies jumping all over his chest.

At this point Hermione intervened and grasped the female puppy away, saying soothing things in its ear as she sat down with Harry. Harry took the hint and started petting his, to try and calm it down. It worked for about ten seconds, before his jumped from his lap and excited the other one into chasing it around Harry and Hermione in slippery circles.

Minerva had unknowingly drawn herself into a frozen position and failed to hear a student behind her repeatedly yelling her name. Never had she seen two transfigured guinea pigs act like that. She should have stopped it immediately, but the fact that it was those two students who had subconsciously created the puppies like that had too much of an impact on her mind. Recognising this and witnessing the whole situation made her vocal chords want to…

No. She wouldn’t do it. It went against everything she stood for.

Thankfully the bell went at the present moment, and she could again distract herself by summoning everyone’s guinea pigs. She ushered the two puppies into separate cages where they would soon return to their normal selves, muttering a quick “Good work,” to the clearly exhausted Gryffindors.

Dumbledore wasn’t at the staff table at lunch, much to Minerva’s secret relief. She wiled away the afternoon by immersing herself in writing an exam for her third years and teaching her first years how to transfigure a goblet with all the determination and knowledge she could give them. By dinner time, she had completely forgotten her earlier close shaves and happily munched away at her crumbed chicken breast in the privacy of her office.

A knock at the door came at around 8pm. Without waiting for her permission, the Muggle Studies professor swung open the door and stood in front of her parchment-ridden desk. He didn’t say anything.

She stared at him expectantly, but rather than talk like a normal being, he seemed to be finding something terribly amusing according to the slight smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Her patience snapped. “Did you have something to tell me?”

“No,” he said, “did you?”

“No, I did not. Was I meant to? Did I miss a staff meeting?”

“No.”

“Then why are you in here?”

He frowned at her, as though trying to calculate something. Finally, he said, “Rather infectious, isn’t it? You won’t last longer, Minerva. You’re a gullible one.”

“I’m gullible? Gullible to what?” she said in protest. He chuckled, turned on his heel and strode out of the doorway, magically closing it behind him.

McGonagall was not one to stand down from such a thing and live in wonder. She immediately jumped from her seat and rushed into the hallway, scanning for sight of which way he went. She couldn’t see any sign, so chose a random direction and hurried down the hallway, keeping keen ears for any sound of footsteps.

She heard someone cough a few seconds later and rounded the corner, saying triumphantly, “I’m not gullible!”

Draco Malfoy looked at her, startled, for a moment. “Er – If you say so.” He smirked as he walked past her, and as she watched him go in silence, her mature reasoning kicked in and she suddenly felt embarrassed.

What on earth was she doing? She wasn’t the type of person to run randomly in the hallways like a first year – let alone run at all – and nor did she usually care so much about someone calling her something which was obviously not true…

Minerva was snapped rudely out of her reverie by the sound of two yelling voices.

“Come on! We’ve got to go help him!”

“But Harry – it’s Grawp! I’m sure Hagrid can handle him on his own!”

Professor McGonagall groaned. These two seemed to be willing her on a path she didn’t want to take.

They burst into the corridor. Harry was holding Hermione’s hand, leading her along behind him. “I saw him down at the edge of the forest, Hermione! He’s hurt and if we don’t help him Grawp could run amuck on the grounds and even get to the castle – we can’t let that happen! People would find out about him!”

He skidded to a sudden halt; Hermione careered straight into him. His face drained of colour as he stared at the Transfiguration professor. Hermione reacted similarly as she realised they’d been heard.

McGonagall cleared her throat. She felt somehow bad for interrupting them, even though they shouldn’t have been running in the hallway and were yelling about something called ‘Grawp’ which didn’t sound at all friendly. The teacher side of her evaporated in an instant, but she realised with comfort that had Albus been the one standing there, he would have let them go too.

“Don’t mind me, Mr Potter and Miss Granger. You may continue. Wherever you are headed, it sounds important.”

They glanced incredulously at each other before nodding numbly in thanks. Hermione jerked at his arm and this time, she led him away to go on whatever little adventure they had planned next on the agenda.

Minerva breathed in slowly. She was by now completely aware of the temptation, and absolutely and totally refused to do it even though it was getting harder to resist each time.

She was getting ready for bed a few hours later when a yellow memo flew into her bedroom and hit her squarely in the forehead. It clearly wanted her attention.

Picking it up, she read, I have reason to believe Peeves is attacking a Gryffindor boys dormitory. Filch.

She begrudgingly swooped on her nightgown again, cursing him for not sorting it out himself. It wasn’t as though she was better at handling the ghost than anyone else.

With her wand out, she rushed to the Portrait hole, through the Common Room and up the spiral stairs where she heard thumps of objects hitting floors and people yelling. She hammered her fist on the door to the fourth year boys’ dorm, “Is everyone okay?”

“Peeves, we’ve got you covered from all angles – get the hell out or we’ll splatter you with the Ghost Gum,” came a voice from within the room.

There was a brief silence. “Boys?” said Professor McGonagall as she pushed the door open slightly.

A tired face stepped into her view. He was grinning. “It’s alright, Professor. The Weasley’s stuff works really well. Peeves ran off.”

“Finally, those two use their talents for something good,” she said, swallowing with relief. “Goodnight boys.”

“Night Professor.”

She closed the door and quietly made her way back down the stairs, expecting to be uninterrupted on her way back to her quarters.

However, at her immediate stepping into the dim firelight of the silent common room, she was greeted with a sight she had missed on her rush through beforehand.

Minerva was aware that Hermione often spent hours into the night doing homework, but this time, she was not alone. Perched on the couch beside her was Harry, his quill hanging loosely in his hand.

His head had fallen sideways and was lying comfortably on Hermione’s shoulder. There was a fresh cut on his cheek, which the Professor guessed had something to do with the mysterious Grawp. Every now and again, Harry would sniffle slightly due to a few strands of Hermione’s hair brushing across the tip of his nose, where his glasses sat slightly askew. Hermione was curled up on the couch, her head immersed in Harry’s messy hair.

Minerva jumped as Hermione muttered something in her sleep. She held her breath as Hermione shifted and snuggled closer to Harry, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

She wouldn’t. There was no way she would. She wouldn’t make that sound. Just because the moment was there and every part of her being was urging her to, didn’t mean she would.

McGonagall stamped the image in her mind and crept out of the room into a shadowy corner of the corridor, away from the disgruntled Fat Lady.

The moment she had just seen was perfect; beautiful. But, no, she couldn’t stray that far from her pride. No one would see or hear her, but still, she would not.

Oh, blast it.

SQUEE!