An Old Itch to Scratch, for ariestessdemonqueen666July 26 2009, 04:55:11 UTC
Recipient: ariestess Prompt: McGonagall/Hooch. Brooms are for more than Quidditch and transportation. Word count: 155 Rating: G, plain ol' vanilla; sorry
“Come now, you. Leave that alone.”
Hooch grumbles, giving the cat a faint push away from the broomstick it was clawing with her toe.
“Here then. I know what you’re really after.” She marches to the cupboard and pulls forth a saucer, waving her wand to fill it up with cream. The cat leaps onto the table and eagerly laps it up, and the silver-haired witch smiles crookedly as she strokes the feline on the back.
“There’s a good kitty, then.”
It wouldn’t be hard, for her to notice the glasses-shaped markings around the cat’s eyes. Nor would it be hard, for that matter, for McGonagall to come to the other woman in human guise instead, and for them to be friends like that.
But they’re both stubborn old things. And loneliness is a weakness neither is willing to admit.
A strange manner of friendship, filled with denials and willful ignorance. But better than none.
Re: An Old Itch to Scratch, for ariestessla_dissonanceJuly 26 2009, 05:19:24 UTC
Ooooo, I actually really like this. It took a minute to sink in. But I can kind of see it now. Especially And loneliness is a weakness neither is willing to admit. Just, yes. This.
Re: An Old Itch to Scratch, for ariestesskellychamblissJuly 26 2009, 17:31:18 UTC
Here I was, wanting hot McHooch action, and I find myself loving the "plain ol' vanilla" of this poignant and believable little fic. And you can't even pity them, really. As you show, it's the way they want it. Nice job.
Prompt: McGonagall/Hooch. Brooms are for more than Quidditch and transportation.
Word count: 155
Rating: G, plain ol' vanilla; sorry
“Come now, you. Leave that alone.”
Hooch grumbles, giving the cat a faint push away from the broomstick it was clawing with her toe.
“Here then. I know what you’re really after.” She marches to the cupboard and pulls forth a saucer, waving her wand to fill it up with cream. The cat leaps onto the table and eagerly laps it up, and the silver-haired witch smiles crookedly as she strokes the feline on the back.
“There’s a good kitty, then.”
It wouldn’t be hard, for her to notice the glasses-shaped markings around the cat’s eyes. Nor would it be hard, for that matter, for McGonagall to come to the other woman in human guise instead, and for them to be friends like that.
But they’re both stubborn old things. And loneliness is a weakness neither is willing to admit.
A strange manner of friendship, filled with denials and willful ignorance. But better than none.
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