One-shot. Minerva's gotten into the catnip after reflecting on Harry's ability to get into trouble. Slight innuendo.
What's Got Into That Cat?
Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk in her personal chambers and groaned. First year it had been the Sorcerers Stone. Second year had been the Basilisk going around petrifying people and the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Third year was the uproar over Sirius Black and the damn Dementors. Fourth year had been the ill-fated Tri-Wizard Tournament and Voldemort's rebirth. Fifth year had been that hag Umbridge and the Department of Mysteries. And now Harry Potter would be entering his sixth year at Hogwarts in a few hours and she didn't know what to bloody expect from the-boy-who-lived.
Deciding to fortify herself she reached out a hand and grabbed a bottle from the bottom desk drawer, in her preoccupation not noticing that it was the wrong bottle. A few sips of the aromatic liquid-/she would really have to find out who gave her foreign wine/-from a transfigured goblet and primal instinct kicked in. It didn't occur to her that drinking a few sips of wine wouldn't leave her purring and drinking straight from the bottle.
It wasn't until much later that her muddled yet frantically hyper mind latched onto the thought of the Welcoming Feast and the First years she was supposed to lead to the Sorting. Hurriedly she scampered in a drunken weave to the hall through part way there she forgot why she was going anywhere and merely followed the tantalizing scents wafting to her delicate nose.
So it was that Minerva McGonagall that staggered into the Great Hall, head and tail-/oh yes, that was supposed to be there, wasn't it/-held high. Amidst an unusual amount of whispering and pointing she made it to her seat only to discover that the hard wood held no warmth at all. Looking around she spotted a more appealing place and leapt drunkenly for it, the only thing keeping her from falling was a gentle pair of wrinkly hands. Lovingly the hands stroked her fur and she purred contentedly before beginning to kneed at the lap, poking an uncomfortable protrusion out of the way before curling up for a cat nap.
Albus Dumbledore looked down at the cat now sleeping in his lap knowing that if not for years of practice he would be blushing over the cats recent actions, his eyes began to twinkle merrily though as he shook his head slightly.
"Ah Minerva, I dare say that you have gotten into the cat nip again" he whispered softly and went on with his meal.
At the end of the feast he stood carefully and cradled the still sleeping cat-Minerva in his arms and dismissed the students to their dorms before making his way to Minerva's chambers. It would do best if she woke up in her own bed the next morning and would help to avoid any embarrassing encounters, he didn't know how much she would remember of her actions but knew she would be mortified and wish for a chance to compose herself if she did.
On his way out he picked up the spilled bottle of cat nip and with a wave of his wand had cleaned the liquid off the desk where Minerva had obviously been lapping at it while in cat form.
He took a sniff at the bottle and again shook his head "how this can drive you to such a state Minerva, I will never know."
He left then, extinguishing the lights on a heavily slumbering cat that occasionally let out a purr of pleasure from some dream or another.