A/N Thanks Maria for beta checking this for me.

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"Pixie sticks!"

The gargoyle stepped aside, but the staircase was already moving, downward instead of up. Filius waited alongside Severus to see who was coming. When a seething Minerva McGonagall stormed by without so much as a word, Severus had the very good sense to step aside.

"What do you think that was about?"

Severus made a face as if he were smelling a particularly foul potion. "Lover's quarrel?"

Filius wasn't entirely sure if Severus was joking or not. He had to admit, he had always been a bit curious about the pair, particularly ever since the time Filius had volunteered his company to Minerva for one of the upperclassmen's Hogsmeade outings. They had spent a strictly platonic afternoon together, but Albus had given him the cold shoulder for weeks afterwards.

The gargoyle was growing impatient, but Filius wasn't sure if he still wanted to go up.

"Do you think we should come back later?"

Severus ignored him and moved onto the stairs. Not to be outdone, Filius followed. At the top of the stairs they took turns knocking with no response. Filius tried the knob; it turned. Trepidation growing, he pushed open the door.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

There was no answer.

Moving forward into the room, Filius didn't see anything out of the ordinary other than that the chair behind Dumbledore's desk had been turned to face away from the desk. He called out again, a bit louder incase it was the Headmaster's private rooms upstairs that Minerva had stormed out of.

Still there was no answer.

Suspecting Dumbledore had been called away on Ministry business, Filius looked to the desk for a letter or some other evidence of his being summoned. All that was on the desk was an open book.

Knowing how dangerous some books could be, Severus took out his wand in order to examine it. After casting a few spells, he announced his conclusion. "It's just a muggle book. Poetry." Picking up the book, he leafed through a few pages. "Very bad poetry." Turning to the front of the book, Severus raised an eyebrow. "Written by one William Topaz McGonagall."

The chair behind the Headmaster's desk made a creaking noise as it slowly turned to reveal Albus Dumbledore in it. Filius let out a yelp of horror as he realized why it was that the Headmaster hadn't responded to them earlier; the man no longer had a mouth!

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Five minutes earlier

Chuckling, Albus looked up from his newly acquired book to see who was entering his office.

"Hello my dear. Do you know, I was just thinking of you?"

"Were you now?" Minerva's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why might that be?"

"In your family's long and illustrious history, there wouldn't happen to have been a gentleman by the name of William Topaz McGonagall, would there?"

Albus believed he saw his Deputy tense before she answered. "Yes, there was."

"I had suspected as much. A poet, if I am not mistaken."

Her curt response left him no doubt this time. "Yes, he was."

"My dear, have you by chance ever had the misfortune to read any of his poetry?"

Minerva held her head high. "William Topaz McGonagall was my great grand uncle. He was a great poet and a fine tragedian! Naturally, I have read his complete works."

"I'm not sure if I would use the word tragedian, perpetuator of travesties perhaps. May I read an excerpt for you?"

"Albus, that will not be necessary. I told you, I have already read them all."

He smiled. "Yes, and I can see why once would be more than enough."

Minerva looked highly affronted. "I did not say that!"

Looking down at the page before him, Albus began to recite. "This is from The Tay Bridge Disaster.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,

It's a disaster all right, I'll give him that!" He tried, but he simply couldn't go on, his laughter overtook him again.

"Albus, didn't your mother ever tell you that if you cannot say something nice, it is best to say nothing at all?"

Minerva was looking so very cross, but he couldn't help himself. "You know I believe she might have started to say something to that effect once. However, in trying to chase my brother Aberforth away from the family goats, she became too distracted to finish."

"Albus, your family never owned any goats. Well, at least not until Alberforth decided to..." Demurely, Minerva trailed off without finishing the thought.

"No," Albus admitted, "but I think you will agree, that that story makes a rather fitting segue into this particular gem,

A chicken is a noble beast,
The cow is much forlorner,
Standing in the pouring rain,
With a leg at every corner.

My, but it certainly does seem to rain a great deal in his poems."

"Albus, I am warning you. If you cannot keep your mouth closed, I will close it for you."

"And 'forlorner' that sounds very painful, and I don't just mean to hear. I wonder if there might be some sort of an ointment to treat it. Well, anyways, perhaps you might prefer this one."

He was just starting another verse when the curse hit him. Clearly, some people have no sense of humor.

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A/N For those that don't know, William Topaz McGongall really did exist. His collections of poems are widely regarded as being the worst poetry ever written in the English lanugage.