Harry Potter, Novel Idea

Title: Novel Idea [McGonagall, Harry/Neville]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for some groping, I suppose.
Summary: McGonagall receives a disgruntling report from an AV elf.
A/N: This didn’t really happen when I was a TA or anything.

Novel Idea

Professor Minerva McGonagall was just about to send someone to inquire where the blazes her slide projector was when the AV Elf finally arrived clutching it.

“About time,” she said to the creature, motioning for it to set the projector on her desk. The Elf did so, but then remained standing beside her desk, wringing its hands nervously. McGonagall tried to ignore it, but it stayed right where it was and cleared its throat loudly.

“Can I help you?” she finally asked. What even was the thing’s name? Slinky? Swanky?

“I is seeing students,” it reported. Minerva gritted her teeth.

“I see them as well,” she snapped, “all the time. Now if you don’t mind…”

“Please,” the elf pleaded with huge eyes, “I is seeing them in the wall niche beside this room! They is DOING things!”

“Things?” Minerva developed a sinking feeling. The Elf bobbed its head fervently, shuddering. “Fine, I’ll take care of it.” The Elf disappeared with a thankful pop.

Getting up reluctantly, Minerva waded through the stream of students hurrying in the door, ignoring the whispers hissing in her wake. She strode out into the hallway and around the corner to the niche of reported debauchery.

She had to admit, whatever fools were in there had chosen an excellent spot. A chance suit of armor and the way the torch shadows fell made it so that even standing ten feet away, McGonagall would have never noticed anything amiss unless she already knew people were there.

Or happened to be standing ten feet away when someone moaned.

A week’s worth of catnip says it’s one of mine seducing some idiot girl, Minerva grumbled to herself. Sure enough, when she took the last few steps, she came face to face with the back of Harry Potter’s head. He hands were nowhere to be seen, no doubt buried deep within the roves of his seducee. Well, this certainly brings back memories.


Potter jerked back when she began shouting to reveal his victim, and Minerva’s voice died out as she realized what she was seeing.

A very rumpled, very flushed Neville Longbottom.

In the intervening silence, Longbottom looked like he might expire from fright, while Potter only looked put out about the inconvenience.

“Twenty points then,” Minerva said finally, “and Longbottom, aren’t you expected in Herbology?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Longbottom’s whisper was barely audible as he slipped past Potter and went down the corridor as fast as he could without having points taken for running, adjusting his robes hurriedly.

Potter was still slouched against the wall, hair sticking up, glasses askew, tie loose, staring up at her without a hint of remorse. This was getting more and more like the past by the second.

“Potter, if you aren’t presentable and in my classroom in one minute, it’ll be fifty points! Now MARCH!”

Minerva turned on her heel and stormed back into the classroom without waiting for Potter’s response.

“And just when I was beginning to get worried,” Sprout gushed in the staff room several hours later, “in comes Neville, all out of breath, claiming he’d just lost track of the time! He was with Harry, you say, Minerva? Oh, isn’t that just darling!”

“Isn’t it just,” Snape sneered over his teacup, and Minerva narrowed her eyes at him, mostly because she’d been just about to say the same thing.

“Sorry I can’t chat,” she said instead, standing up, “essays to grade.”

Back in her own office, Minerva sat down in her chair and picked up her favorite quill, hoping to relax by spending a few hours on her novel.

Coming around the corner, she wrote, Professor Athena McCladaugh paused as lustful moan drifted out of a well-hidden wall niche. Tucking her auburn curls behind an ear with a slender hand, she stepped forward to investigate, heels clicking smartly on the stone. Stepping around a suit of armor, she found herself face to face with the back of Perry Gardner’s head, one of her students of course. Gardner’s hair was a fright, and he was pressing another student against the wall, some vapid girl from another house, no doubt.

“What is the meaning of this?” Athena demanded, eyes flashing. Gardner jerked away at the sound of her commanding voice…

…to reveal the equally touseled and raven-haired Alvin Newcastle, lips flushed and swollen, tie and half his shirt buttons undone.

“When I am published,” Minerva announced to the room, “and adoring schoolgirls ask me where I get all my ideas from, I am going to smile and say that it’s simply a gift.”

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