Work Text:
In many ways, the school year after the Battle of Hogwarts was very different from all of the other years before it, and for none more so than for the designated ‘8th years.’ While there were many, many negative repercussions, positive consequences were not unheard of. A favorite of many returning students were the House Unity Sessions on Wednesday nights, though membership had dwindled as the year had gone on. The beginning of the year had been about working through old prejudices and pains, followed by a month or two of competitions. Now, as February turned to March, it was more of a social hour than anything and since Christmas, the remaining students had been exploring the many hours of fun that could be had while playing the muggle game, “Truth or Dare.”
“I’m not telling you that,” Blaise Zabini said calmly from his spot draped over an armchair, pumpkin juice carelessly clasped in his loose fingers.
“That’s cheating, Zabini,” retorted Ron Weasley, current asker of secrets. He, himself, was also seated in an armchair, albeit with much less grace and entitlement.
“I realize it’s a concept that’s lost on you, Weasley,” Blaise answered with a slow smile, “but a gentleman does not kiss and tell.”
“Excuse you, that’s NOT-”
“Alright, Alright,” Harry Potter interrupted. “No name calling, Zabini clearly wimped out on his turn and therefore forfeits his rights to be the person coming up with things for two weeks. That’s the rules.”
Blaise scoffed, but nodded after a moment. Ron did not look appeased, but seemed to decide to let the matter rest.
“Nott, it’s your turn,” Harry said, leaning back from his spot on the floor against the couch Hermione was seated on and resting his back by her legs.
Theodore smiled. “Granger,” he began with an innocent expression that was fooling no one. “Truth or dare?”
Hermione looked at him with her lips pressed into a flat line, remembering last week when she had been asked for all of the sordid details of her relationship with Viktor Krum, or worse, the week before when she’d been forced to recount her time as a cat hybrid.
“Dare,” she said sternly.
Theodore’s eyes lit up with delight. “Excellent,” he said with a smile. “I dare you... to ask McGonagall if she’d fancy a spot of catnip.”
“PROFESSOR McGonagall,” she corrected automatically before his words really caught up with her. “Wait, WHAT?!?!”
“You heard me, Granger,” Theodore said, licking his lips as he sat back on the couch across from her looking rather pleased with himself.
“Absolutely not!” Hermione squeaked, pressing a hand to her chest. “Are you mad?!? I would never be so disrespectful to a teacher, let alone one I admire as greatly as Professor McGonagall and furthermore-”
Ron interrupted her with a chuckle while he shot Harry a knowing smirk. “Typical Hermione, innit? She wouldn’t ruffle a teacher’s feathers on purpose for all the gold in Gringotts. Come on, Nott, be serious. She’d never...”
Ron trailed off as he caught sight of Harry motioning frantically for him to stop talking and shooting nervous glances over his shoulder.
Hermione narrowed her eyes.
---
“Come in,” came Professor McGonagall’s voice from behind the headmistress's door.
Hermione visibly paled, but squared her shoulders and pushed the door open, leaving it mostly ajar so that the many disillusioned students trailing behind her could bear witness to her completing her dare. She walked in and stood in front of her former transfiguration teacher’s desk, fiddling nervously with her hands until McGonagall looked up and smiled at her.
“Ms. Granger,” the woman greeted her, granting her favorite student a small smile before she set aside her quill and parchment and gave Hermione her full attention. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Hermione flushed and yanked at the hem of her blouse, eyes roaming the office as she struggled to work her suddenly dry throat.
“Are you quite alright, Ms. Granger?” the former teacher asked. The girl in front of her was getting redder by the minute and beginning to twitch.
Hermione nodded frantically, shifted from one foot to the other, and opened her mouth to speak. She promptly closed it again and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker was heard from the empty space in front of the door. Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes.
“I suggest you tell me why you’re in my office at half past eight, Hermione,” the headmistress stated sternly. “I've never in your entire academic career at Hogwarts seen you so tongue tied.”
“I’ve come to ask you-” Hermione began before cutting herself off.
“That is to say-” She tried once more, but to no avail.
“Oh for Godric’s sake,” Professor McGonagall exclaimed, standing up and crossing her arms across her chest. “Say what you have to say, young lady. My time is precious and I have a distinct number of tasks to complete that do not involve you simply standing in front of me and erupting into flames of embarrassment.”
A definite chuckle from the space by the door sounded, and McGonagall’s lips thinned.
“-I’veComeToAskIfYouFancyASpotOfCatnip-” Hermione rushed out, immediately clapping her hands over her mouth as her eyes widened dramatically.
Professor McGonagall’s mouth twitched and she raised one eyebrow as she heard a series of guffaws from the doorframe. She quickly cast a “Finite Incantatem,” causing the bodies of four additional students to appear.
She sighed and shook her head. “Do you HAVE any catnip, Ms. Granger?”
The student’s laughs abruptly died and Hermione gaped at her. “Pardon?”
“I asked, young lady, if either you or your friends have any catnip?”
A murmur of dissent rang through the room as Hermione sheepishly confirmed she in fact, did not, have any catnip.
“Very well,” Professor McGonagall said with a severe sigh. “I suppose, then, that you, along with Messers Zabini, Potter, Weasley, and Nott, can spend the upcoming evenings organizing and sorting the potion stores in detention until you can find some to offer me, or until you can convince Professor Snape to order some. Whichever comes first.”
Groans sounded across the room as McGonagall directed them out of her office under her stern glare, Hermione trailing behind the boys and apologizing profusely.
The door closed and Professor McGonagall turned back to her desk, seating herself quietly and pulling her parchment and quill back towards her.
“Minerva, that was unkind,” Albus Dumbledore’s portrait said with a chuckle, twinkling down at her from the wall. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, you DO have a jar of catnip that you keep in your desk at all times.”
Professor McGonagall’s eyes glanced briefly at her left, upper most drawer before she returned to her work with a smile.
“Cats enjoy catnip, Albus,” she told him cheekily. “I did not assign detention because they asked if I would like some catnip. They will serve detention because they offered it when they didn’t have any. It’s poor manners.”
Dumbledore laughed. “Indeed, it is,” he acceded.