Challenge: Fresh Air Refreshes Totally (F.A.R.T.)
Word Count: 100
Minerva was considerably calmer after a second glass of whisky and a few minutes to stare into the fire. “You know, it could have been worse.”
Severus paused, glass raised to his lips. The firelight flickered as the salamander in Minerva's chimney scuttled across the logs. “Worse? The Potioneers drove you to drink. It's hard to imagine worse.”
“You haven't met Archie Aymslowe.” Minerva tucked her feet up under her. “He founded a group dedicated to wearing robes at all times and was taken for a monk when he went to Trafalgar Square to feed the pigeons.”
“Good God.”