![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
this n' that
Congratulations, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
speakerender and reclusivewaffle!
Yesterday we went with Helen and Earl to New Windsor to drop off seventy-some quilts at the national distribution center and stop by the Fair Trade store. I bought a pair of mother-of-pearl inlaid Vietnamese chopsticks, two pairs of hand-carved hairsticks from Africa, and a hand-painted Indian scarf for less than $10. With, supposedly, all profit going to the craftspeople. Mom bought a large number of fair-trade, shade-grown, 70% cocoa chocolate bars, but she has hidden them so I haven't devoured them all yet. It is an incredibly fun store, and if I had money and a permanent place, I would buy all my junk there. Beyond that, I've been vastly busy not getting ready to move back to school. Oh, and writing.
The Tale of the Giant's Daughter is up at Astronomytower.org, which probably helps to explain the lack of excitement. Also, I have written Minerva animagus fpreg fic.
I can't believe nobody's done this before, yet I can't find any earlier efforts.
Title: Having Kittens
Chapter: 1/?
Pairings: Minerva/Various
Rating: Hard PG-13, for now.
Warnings: You have indeed been warned.
"Ah, Minerva," said Albus. "Always a pleasure. Do sit down."
Minerva McGonagall took a seat, staring fixedly at the snoring headmistress several feet above and to the left of Albus' head. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you like this, Albus, so soon after the-- you-know-what-- is over-- I'm sure you must have a great deal of cleaning up to do." She laughed, humourlessly. "I'm still doing a lot of cleaning up. But it's finally calmed down enough that I got a chance to stop and evaluate, and, well, make connections, and it became, rather, obvious--"
She was twisting her wand nervously in her hands; a gesture said to connote sexual frustration, but Albus knew that certainly wasn't the case with Minerva. He smiled, remembering the victory feast; they'd both gotten rather tipsy, and, well, suffice to say they'd proved to each other that they had life in them yet--
Minerva seemed to take the smile as encouragement. "I've been to Poppy already, and she says as far as she can tell, I'm fine, no complications, but I should talk to you, as another Transfiguration specialist-- well, I'd have had to anyway, for other reasons, but--"
"Minerva," Albus asked, gently, "You're telling me you think you're suffering some sort of side effects from a spell used on you?"
"Side effects?" she laughed again. "I guess you could say that. You're aware, of course, that during the final months of the war I spent a great deal of time in Animagus form, working for the Order--"
"Yes," Albus nodded encouragingly.
"Well, it appears that at one point I spent too long transformed. I should have known better, of course, but it was a life-or-death situation, and I refuse to regret my decision. And afterwards, I suppose, there was so much going on, I just didn't think through the consequences."
"Minerva," said Albus, with a sinking feeling he knew the answer already, "What are you trying to say?"
She closed her eyes."I let myself go into heat in cat form, Albus. Even if it didn't take, then, it screwed my fertility all to hell." She met his eyes for the first time. "I'm pregnant."
"Ah," he said, then sat back, suddenly very tired. Just what he needed. "I don't suppose you have any time frame for the conception?"
She shook her head hopelessly. "The best Poppy could tell, it's been the equivalent of three months or so. But with the amount of time I've spent in cat form, that puts conception at somewhere between three months and two weeks. Which leaves open," she winced, "several possibilities, of various-- sorts-- for the father."
"I see. I assume you are aware that if the father was a tomcat, this falls under the ban on experimental breeding?"
She nodded. "Which makes it imperative that as soon as possible we determine the actual father. I'm aware of the spells; Poppy will need a small sample of sympathetic tissue from each candidate. I've made a list." She handed him a piece of parchment. "I'm afraid we might need Ministry permissions for a--"
Albus put the list down without looking at it. "Minerva," he said very carefully. "If the father was not a being, you will be legally required to abort. To prepare and perform the paternity spells; not to mention going through the legal procedures, will be time-consuming, difficult and fairly humiliating. Are you absolutely certain you don't think it wiser to simply abort now, while it's still early--"
"Yes!" She stood, shouting. Then she seemed to come to herself, and sat back down. "I'm sorry. Albus, I know I'm old to be having a child, even for a witch. And it won't be easy. But--" she bit her lip in the most endearing way. "You name is on that list. I don't know if you'd thought-- What if it's yours? Could you bear to--" she paused again. "This could be my last chance, Albus. And there's been so much death. To bring about a new life seems right, somehow."
If it's mine? Albus had long ago given up thoughts of fatherhood; he'd learned to love his students as the children he'd never have. Mine. "No," he said softly, "I couldn't give it up, either." He looked down at the list on his desk. "All right. I'll talk to Poppy in the morning, and we can start preparations." He turned over the list with somewhat prurient curiosity; it was written in Minerva's spare, elegant hand, and, he noted with amusement, alphabetized, starting with A for Albus Dumbledore. Before he'd got much farther he couldn't help bursting into laughter. "Oh my. It appears I am in somewhat less than elevated company."
Minerva glared at him. "And who was it," she hissed, "Who kept repeating 'Do whatever is necessary for the misson?' It wasn't all fun and games, Albus."
"No," he agreed, reaching across the desk to touch her hand. "It wasn't." He read over the list again. "There are at least four names on here for which I'll have to write to the Ministry for permission. The others I can talk to--"
"No," she said firmly. "I will. Gryffindor courage, Albus."
"Very well," he said, resigned. "But for now, get some rest. Now that there is rest to be had." He stood, and walked her gallantly to the stair. "It will be all right, Minerva," he said as she stepped on.
"I know," she said, smiling, and as she smiled she positively glowed, folidng her arms protectively over her belly. "It already is all right."
He stared after her, bemused. And it could be mine.
"Mine-- or about fifteen other peoples'," he said ruefully as he returned to his piles of interminable Ministry reports.
***
Millicent Bulstrode sat in her dormitory room. Baphomet, her cat, curled up on the bed beside her. Beyond that, they were alone, the other seventh-year girls dispersed respectively to St. Mungo's, Azkaban, frightened family, and the grave. With both NEWTS and the war over, she was writing a letter to Pansy, who was hiding in Switzerland with her parents, but the silence was still oppressive.
Parkinson:
Yes; your sweet Mr. Potter, having finally fulfilled his only purpose for existing, is being every bit as annoying as you'd expect and Granger's even worse. You are quite lucky to be gone. Professor Snape is still in the infirmary but Madame Pomfrey says he'll be out within a week or two, so those of us who are still here are planning a celebration which knowing Theo will land even more of us in hospital. Draco and his mother both got off (of course) but the Ministry's impounded all their assets so he's just been moping around the dungeon, even more depressing than Potter, really. Most of the other trials are being delayed to "prevent miscarriage of justice," we all know what that means. Oddly they haven't delayed giving out the medals and Orders of Merlin. Potter won the House Cup all by himself again.
NEWTS are finally over. You didn't miss much. I think they're going to pass everyone all just for surviving. McGonagall's offered to continue my special advanced Transfiguration lessons over the summer. She says it's rare for a part-human to manage the Animagus transformation but I'm making good progress. Since I don't have anywhere else to go--
A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. "Who is it?" she asked grumpily.
Professor McGonagall pushed open the door, oddly nervous. Baphomet jumped off the bed, weaving around her legs and purring. She gave him a rueful look.
"Professor!" said Millicent, leaping up. "I wasn't expecting-- Come in! Sit down!"
The professor sat gingerly on the edge of Millicent's bed, followed by Baphomet, who curled up in her lap. In her severe green robes, framed by Slytherin bedcurtains, she looked somehow vulnerable. "Millicent," she said, raising a hand to rub the cat and then thinking better of it. "I need to ask a favor of you. I need a sample of hair or claws from Baphomet. I know it's a fairly big favor to ask; but I promise it will be put to good, and necessary, use, and destroyed afterward."
Millicent blinked, confused. Hair, nails, and other bodily castoffs could be used to cast all sorts of spells based on sympathetic magic, some of them extremely Dark and deadly. Professor McGonagall was right; it was a large favor she was asking. Millicent had been trained from birth never to leave such traces of herself where they could be stolen; but she'd never thought to worry about her cat's. "Professor? Why Baphomet?"
The professor sighed. "I suppose you do deserve an explanation. Let it be a lesson, then, if you keep studying Transfiguration, that changing into an animal is not to be taken for granted. During one of my missions in the later part of the war I remained in cat form through an entire oestrus cycle." She looked down into her hands and spoke very quickly. "I'm pregnant and I need your cat's hair for a paternity test."
"A PATERNITY-- You think you might be pregnant by my cat?"
"It might be by your cat. There are other possibilities. That's why we need to do the tests."
Millicent considered. "Other possibilities? Like who--"
"Millicent, that really isn't any of your business."
"Tell you what. I'll let you have some fur if you'll tell me who all the others are. My only offer."
"What? Millicent, what use could you possibly -- your only offer," she said weakly. "Slytherins."
"I'm really letting you off easy," said Millicent complacently, although she knew that all McGonagall had to do was walk out of the room. Baphomet had shed all over her robe already. But Gryffindor honor would keep her from taking it without permission. Maybe. If Millicent didn't push too hard.
"Oh, very well," said Professor McGonagall in bad grace, fishing a parchment out of her robe and handing it to Millicent. "You do understand that everything I've said here is confidential? If you spread rumours it won't be only me you've made an enemy." She gestured at the list.
"Yes, yes," said Millicent. "Professor Dumbledore? You slept with the Headmaster?"
"He's quite an amazing man once you get to know him," she smiled.
Millicent was beginning to wonder if she wanted to read this. Baphomet. Cornelius-- Cornelius Fudge? "The Minister of Magic?" she shrieked.
McGonagall cocked her head to the side but didn't answer.
The Granger girl's cat . . that would be an interesting conversation . . George Weasley? Mad-eye Moody?? Someone called 'Mittens Malfoy'? "Draco's Mother? You had sex with Draco's-- wait. How could she be your baby's father?"
"Er," said McGonagall. "She had some very, er, unusual, er, toys. Normally there wouldn't be much chance but with the situation and the Animagus complications there's a slight possibility. So--"
Millicent skimmed a few unfamiliar names, then came up short again. "Peter Pettigrew??"
"Yes. Millicent . . . sometimes one has to do things one would rather not for the sake of the greater good. You had a comparatively easy war. Several of the names on that list were people I seduced for the war effort. Fudge, for one."
Easy war? Being despised by the Slytherins for not joining the Death Eaters, despised by everyone else for being Slytherin, and spending all her copius free time trying to convince her mother's people to ally with Dumbledore? She didn't say it, though. "Mr. Lestrange, too, I hope," she said instead.
McGonagall winced. "That one wasn't-- entirely-- by choice."
"Oh!" said Millicent, eyes wide. "Oh, sorry."
"The one below it was, though," she added thoughtfully. Millicent got the impression she was trying to change the subject, so she looked down at the list again. "Professor Snape?"
"Mmm." she said.
"You and Professor Snape?" Then Millicent smiled a smile of pure malice. "Well, of course. You didn't think you'd managed to keep it hidden, did you? We all knew you two had been sleeping together since second year. Quidditch rivalry, my foot."
"What? You knew?"
"Wait. You mean you actually have been?" Millicent considered for a second. "That's so-- cute."
The Professor shuddered. "Don't say that to him."
"Why not?" Millicent grinned. "It's true." She handed the list back to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, good luck. A baby's just what we need around here."
"Well, maybe," Professor McGonagall smiled, standing and shoving Baphomet gently off her lap. "Thank you, Millicent."
"No problem," she said. "It was worth the trade."
She saw the professor to the door, then sat back down and licked the end of her quill. I think it's going to be a pleasantly interesting summer. Professor McGonagall has hidden depths . . .
***
Healer Alcestis Smethwyck
Boris Baruffio Ward
Spell Damage Department
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Dear Alky:
I've finally had a chance to sit down and take inventory of myself and my old friends. There are so few of us left. It's wonderful to hear that you made it through, not in the least because you still owe me a favor! And I'm afraid I need to redeem that favor, too. It's nothing very illegal, I promise you that you're getting off easy. I rather urgently need a tissue sample from former Minister Fudge. It's for a perfectly legitimate purpose, I promise, but as poor Cornelius is still out of it, and circumstances dictate that it would be profoundly awkward to get his wife's permission for the test, I'd be very grateful if you could acquire a small sample for me outside of official channels. If you want to know why I need it (and if I know you, Alky, you're positively hopping with curiosity at the moment,) meet at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow with the sample, and I'll buy you lunch. It's better if I don't explain through the mail. And if that didn't get you hooked, I'll eat my hat.
Give Hippo my best.
Love and kittens,
Minnie.
tbc
speakerender and reclusivewaffle!Yesterday we went with Helen and Earl to New Windsor to drop off seventy-some quilts at the national distribution center and stop by the Fair Trade store. I bought a pair of mother-of-pearl inlaid Vietnamese chopsticks, two pairs of hand-carved hairsticks from Africa, and a hand-painted Indian scarf for less than $10. With, supposedly, all profit going to the craftspeople. Mom bought a large number of fair-trade, shade-grown, 70% cocoa chocolate bars, but she has hidden them so I haven't devoured them all yet. It is an incredibly fun store, and if I had money and a permanent place, I would buy all my junk there. Beyond that, I've been vastly busy not getting ready to move back to school. Oh, and writing.
The Tale of the Giant's Daughter is up at Astronomytower.org, which probably helps to explain the lack of excitement. Also, I have written Minerva animagus fpreg fic.
I can't believe nobody's done this before, yet I can't find any earlier efforts.
Title: Having Kittens
Chapter: 1/?
Pairings: Minerva/Various
Rating: Hard PG-13, for now.
Warnings: You have indeed been warned.
"Ah, Minerva," said Albus. "Always a pleasure. Do sit down."
Minerva McGonagall took a seat, staring fixedly at the snoring headmistress several feet above and to the left of Albus' head. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you like this, Albus, so soon after the-- you-know-what-- is over-- I'm sure you must have a great deal of cleaning up to do." She laughed, humourlessly. "I'm still doing a lot of cleaning up. But it's finally calmed down enough that I got a chance to stop and evaluate, and, well, make connections, and it became, rather, obvious--"
She was twisting her wand nervously in her hands; a gesture said to connote sexual frustration, but Albus knew that certainly wasn't the case with Minerva. He smiled, remembering the victory feast; they'd both gotten rather tipsy, and, well, suffice to say they'd proved to each other that they had life in them yet--
Minerva seemed to take the smile as encouragement. "I've been to Poppy already, and she says as far as she can tell, I'm fine, no complications, but I should talk to you, as another Transfiguration specialist-- well, I'd have had to anyway, for other reasons, but--"
"Minerva," Albus asked, gently, "You're telling me you think you're suffering some sort of side effects from a spell used on you?"
"Side effects?" she laughed again. "I guess you could say that. You're aware, of course, that during the final months of the war I spent a great deal of time in Animagus form, working for the Order--"
"Yes," Albus nodded encouragingly.
"Well, it appears that at one point I spent too long transformed. I should have known better, of course, but it was a life-or-death situation, and I refuse to regret my decision. And afterwards, I suppose, there was so much going on, I just didn't think through the consequences."
"Minerva," said Albus, with a sinking feeling he knew the answer already, "What are you trying to say?"
She closed her eyes."I let myself go into heat in cat form, Albus. Even if it didn't take, then, it screwed my fertility all to hell." She met his eyes for the first time. "I'm pregnant."
"Ah," he said, then sat back, suddenly very tired. Just what he needed. "I don't suppose you have any time frame for the conception?"
She shook her head hopelessly. "The best Poppy could tell, it's been the equivalent of three months or so. But with the amount of time I've spent in cat form, that puts conception at somewhere between three months and two weeks. Which leaves open," she winced, "several possibilities, of various-- sorts-- for the father."
"I see. I assume you are aware that if the father was a tomcat, this falls under the ban on experimental breeding?"
She nodded. "Which makes it imperative that as soon as possible we determine the actual father. I'm aware of the spells; Poppy will need a small sample of sympathetic tissue from each candidate. I've made a list." She handed him a piece of parchment. "I'm afraid we might need Ministry permissions for a--"
Albus put the list down without looking at it. "Minerva," he said very carefully. "If the father was not a being, you will be legally required to abort. To prepare and perform the paternity spells; not to mention going through the legal procedures, will be time-consuming, difficult and fairly humiliating. Are you absolutely certain you don't think it wiser to simply abort now, while it's still early--"
"Yes!" She stood, shouting. Then she seemed to come to herself, and sat back down. "I'm sorry. Albus, I know I'm old to be having a child, even for a witch. And it won't be easy. But--" she bit her lip in the most endearing way. "You name is on that list. I don't know if you'd thought-- What if it's yours? Could you bear to--" she paused again. "This could be my last chance, Albus. And there's been so much death. To bring about a new life seems right, somehow."
If it's mine? Albus had long ago given up thoughts of fatherhood; he'd learned to love his students as the children he'd never have. Mine. "No," he said softly, "I couldn't give it up, either." He looked down at the list on his desk. "All right. I'll talk to Poppy in the morning, and we can start preparations." He turned over the list with somewhat prurient curiosity; it was written in Minerva's spare, elegant hand, and, he noted with amusement, alphabetized, starting with A for Albus Dumbledore. Before he'd got much farther he couldn't help bursting into laughter. "Oh my. It appears I am in somewhat less than elevated company."
Minerva glared at him. "And who was it," she hissed, "Who kept repeating 'Do whatever is necessary for the misson?' It wasn't all fun and games, Albus."
"No," he agreed, reaching across the desk to touch her hand. "It wasn't." He read over the list again. "There are at least four names on here for which I'll have to write to the Ministry for permission. The others I can talk to--"
"No," she said firmly. "I will. Gryffindor courage, Albus."
"Very well," he said, resigned. "But for now, get some rest. Now that there is rest to be had." He stood, and walked her gallantly to the stair. "It will be all right, Minerva," he said as she stepped on.
"I know," she said, smiling, and as she smiled she positively glowed, folidng her arms protectively over her belly. "It already is all right."
He stared after her, bemused. And it could be mine.
"Mine-- or about fifteen other peoples'," he said ruefully as he returned to his piles of interminable Ministry reports.
***
Millicent Bulstrode sat in her dormitory room. Baphomet, her cat, curled up on the bed beside her. Beyond that, they were alone, the other seventh-year girls dispersed respectively to St. Mungo's, Azkaban, frightened family, and the grave. With both NEWTS and the war over, she was writing a letter to Pansy, who was hiding in Switzerland with her parents, but the silence was still oppressive.
Parkinson:
Yes; your sweet Mr. Potter, having finally fulfilled his only purpose for existing, is being every bit as annoying as you'd expect and Granger's even worse. You are quite lucky to be gone. Professor Snape is still in the infirmary but Madame Pomfrey says he'll be out within a week or two, so those of us who are still here are planning a celebration which knowing Theo will land even more of us in hospital. Draco and his mother both got off (of course) but the Ministry's impounded all their assets so he's just been moping around the dungeon, even more depressing than Potter, really. Most of the other trials are being delayed to "prevent miscarriage of justice," we all know what that means. Oddly they haven't delayed giving out the medals and Orders of Merlin. Potter won the House Cup all by himself again.
NEWTS are finally over. You didn't miss much. I think they're going to pass everyone all just for surviving. McGonagall's offered to continue my special advanced Transfiguration lessons over the summer. She says it's rare for a part-human to manage the Animagus transformation but I'm making good progress. Since I don't have anywhere else to go--
A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. "Who is it?" she asked grumpily.
Professor McGonagall pushed open the door, oddly nervous. Baphomet jumped off the bed, weaving around her legs and purring. She gave him a rueful look.
"Professor!" said Millicent, leaping up. "I wasn't expecting-- Come in! Sit down!"
The professor sat gingerly on the edge of Millicent's bed, followed by Baphomet, who curled up in her lap. In her severe green robes, framed by Slytherin bedcurtains, she looked somehow vulnerable. "Millicent," she said, raising a hand to rub the cat and then thinking better of it. "I need to ask a favor of you. I need a sample of hair or claws from Baphomet. I know it's a fairly big favor to ask; but I promise it will be put to good, and necessary, use, and destroyed afterward."
Millicent blinked, confused. Hair, nails, and other bodily castoffs could be used to cast all sorts of spells based on sympathetic magic, some of them extremely Dark and deadly. Professor McGonagall was right; it was a large favor she was asking. Millicent had been trained from birth never to leave such traces of herself where they could be stolen; but she'd never thought to worry about her cat's. "Professor? Why Baphomet?"
The professor sighed. "I suppose you do deserve an explanation. Let it be a lesson, then, if you keep studying Transfiguration, that changing into an animal is not to be taken for granted. During one of my missions in the later part of the war I remained in cat form through an entire oestrus cycle." She looked down into her hands and spoke very quickly. "I'm pregnant and I need your cat's hair for a paternity test."
"A PATERNITY-- You think you might be pregnant by my cat?"
"It might be by your cat. There are other possibilities. That's why we need to do the tests."
Millicent considered. "Other possibilities? Like who--"
"Millicent, that really isn't any of your business."
"Tell you what. I'll let you have some fur if you'll tell me who all the others are. My only offer."
"What? Millicent, what use could you possibly -- your only offer," she said weakly. "Slytherins."
"I'm really letting you off easy," said Millicent complacently, although she knew that all McGonagall had to do was walk out of the room. Baphomet had shed all over her robe already. But Gryffindor honor would keep her from taking it without permission. Maybe. If Millicent didn't push too hard.
"Oh, very well," said Professor McGonagall in bad grace, fishing a parchment out of her robe and handing it to Millicent. "You do understand that everything I've said here is confidential? If you spread rumours it won't be only me you've made an enemy." She gestured at the list.
"Yes, yes," said Millicent. "Professor Dumbledore? You slept with the Headmaster?"
"He's quite an amazing man once you get to know him," she smiled.
Millicent was beginning to wonder if she wanted to read this. Baphomet. Cornelius-- Cornelius Fudge? "The Minister of Magic?" she shrieked.
McGonagall cocked her head to the side but didn't answer.
The Granger girl's cat . . that would be an interesting conversation . . George Weasley? Mad-eye Moody?? Someone called 'Mittens Malfoy'? "Draco's Mother? You had sex with Draco's-- wait. How could she be your baby's father?"
"Er," said McGonagall. "She had some very, er, unusual, er, toys. Normally there wouldn't be much chance but with the situation and the Animagus complications there's a slight possibility. So--"
Millicent skimmed a few unfamiliar names, then came up short again. "Peter Pettigrew??"
"Yes. Millicent . . . sometimes one has to do things one would rather not for the sake of the greater good. You had a comparatively easy war. Several of the names on that list were people I seduced for the war effort. Fudge, for one."
Easy war? Being despised by the Slytherins for not joining the Death Eaters, despised by everyone else for being Slytherin, and spending all her copius free time trying to convince her mother's people to ally with Dumbledore? She didn't say it, though. "Mr. Lestrange, too, I hope," she said instead.
McGonagall winced. "That one wasn't-- entirely-- by choice."
"Oh!" said Millicent, eyes wide. "Oh, sorry."
"The one below it was, though," she added thoughtfully. Millicent got the impression she was trying to change the subject, so she looked down at the list again. "Professor Snape?"
"Mmm." she said.
"You and Professor Snape?" Then Millicent smiled a smile of pure malice. "Well, of course. You didn't think you'd managed to keep it hidden, did you? We all knew you two had been sleeping together since second year. Quidditch rivalry, my foot."
"What? You knew?"
"Wait. You mean you actually have been?" Millicent considered for a second. "That's so-- cute."
The Professor shuddered. "Don't say that to him."
"Why not?" Millicent grinned. "It's true." She handed the list back to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, good luck. A baby's just what we need around here."
"Well, maybe," Professor McGonagall smiled, standing and shoving Baphomet gently off her lap. "Thank you, Millicent."
"No problem," she said. "It was worth the trade."
She saw the professor to the door, then sat back down and licked the end of her quill. I think it's going to be a pleasantly interesting summer. Professor McGonagall has hidden depths . . .
***
Healer Alcestis Smethwyck
Boris Baruffio Ward
Spell Damage Department
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Gryffindor Tower
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dear Alky:
I've finally had a chance to sit down and take inventory of myself and my old friends. There are so few of us left. It's wonderful to hear that you made it through, not in the least because you still owe me a favor! And I'm afraid I need to redeem that favor, too. It's nothing very illegal, I promise you that you're getting off easy. I rather urgently need a tissue sample from former Minister Fudge. It's for a perfectly legitimate purpose, I promise, but as poor Cornelius is still out of it, and circumstances dictate that it would be profoundly awkward to get his wife's permission for the test, I'd be very grateful if you could acquire a small sample for me outside of official channels. If you want to know why I need it (and if I know you, Alky, you're positively hopping with curiosity at the moment,) meet at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow with the sample, and I'll buy you lunch. It's better if I don't explain through the mail. And if that didn't get you hooked, I'll eat my hat.
Give Hippo my best.
Love and kittens,
Minnie.
tbc