When the thought crept into her mind, she paused to look at it rationally. Her vision was blurred, but that might be simply because her glasses weren't on. Or were they? She reached up sloppily to touch the large square frames, and sure enough, there they were. Well, she allowed, perhaps she -was- a little buzzed. But drunk? She tried to remember the other symptoms of drunkenness. Wasn't dizziness one? She grinned triumphantly and reached for her glass. She certainly wasn't dizzy! She frowned as her hand overshot and nearly knocked the goblet over. Stupid hand. You never could trust hands. Carefully, she tried again, and this time managed to get the glass within her grasp. Sipping it gently, she tried to recall what she was thinking about. Oh, yes, being drunk. Well, she wasn't dizzy, and she wasn't -too- blurry-eyed. What else was there again? Speech! She hiccoughed softly and began to recite. "Romeo, Romeo, wh're f'rout thou Romeo? D'ny th' father'n r'fuse th' name, o' if thou wilt not..." She was dimly aware of a few stares, but she was concentrated too hard on her speech to care. Hmm...most definitely not as enunciated as usual. Perhaps she was drunk, after all.
She glanced up hazily as her goblet was re-filled by a familiar hand. Her eyes traveled up from the hand...she most definitely did NOT like hands...to the wrist...covered by a long, black sleeve...like most of the wrists here, she noted blurrily...long arm...shoulder...neck...face...Snape...Snape?! "My dear," he said graciously, and she heard with jealousy that his voice wasn't slurred at all.
"Thanks." She fumbled for the glass.
"You look lovely tonight, Minerva," the Potions professor continued.
"I've looked better..." she slurred, then laughed. "B'sides, Serverus, yer drunk." He sat down heavily beside her.
"You're quite right, my dear. I'm drunk." He laughed. "But you are, too. " He looked down at her emerald green robes, and found himself daydreaming of the incredible legs they must cover. "Why don't you change into something more attractive?" he suggested, and her grey eyes flashed.
"How dare y' suggest such a thin'...what were y'thinkin' of?"
He shrugged. "Whatever you came up with would be fine, I'm sure." He let his eyes travel from her waist up, lingering a bit on her chest, and finally reaching her face, which was scrunched up in thought.
"Well…"
She hadn't let her hair down in decades. Surely there couldn't be any harm in it, just this once…and she couldn't help but feel a strange, unnatural attraction to Snape. She looked him up and down - long black robes, with a large collar, and a strange, black necktie wrapped loosely around his neck. She scrambled to her feet and pulled him up with her, startling him, and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him closer.
"Why not…"
In one simple move, she Transfigured her robes into a dress. Not just any dress. A sleeveless, emerald green dress with a slit up to her hip and cut low enough that she would give Detention to any student daring enough to wear one similar. Her long hair dropped from the tight bun, flowing gracefully over her shoulders, breasts, stomach - down to her waist it tumbled, smelling fresh, clean, and of roses. He resisted the urge to bury his face into it and inhale deeply. God, she looked good. She had kept her glasses, but hey - McGonagall wouldn't be McGonagall without them. Her eyes were blurred with drink, and he could smell the wine on her breath as she leaned in close to speak, not letting go of his tie.
"Well, now - how's that?" Her Scottish accent was thicker than ever, and he worked hard not to show her how much he was attracted to her. Well - not that hard.
"Much better," he murmured in a low growl, directly into her ear. One arm found its way around her waist, and she looked remotely pleased with herself.
"Your room o' mine?" she asked sultrily,
Snape thought. She, although drunk and currently eager, probably wouldn't appreciate the number of kinky 'toys' he kept lying around in his personal quarters. Besides, the whip was still bloody.
"Yours."
