therealsnape (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
therealsnape) wrote2012-01-22 09:39 am
therealsnape) wrote2012-01-22 09:39 am
Fic: Carpe Diem
Title: Carpe Diem
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Minerva McGonagall/Rolanda Hooch
Rating: NC-17
Summary Minerva dislikes fancy dress parties. But then Rolanda helps her find the right costume. And of course Minerva, perfectionist that she is, does nothing by halves.
Word Count: 7200
Warnings/Content: None.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by JKR. Except Mr Mainwright, who has his own company that has been in the family for generations. He has no intention whatsoever to sell to Warner Bros.
Author's/Artist's notes: Thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellychambliss, best of betas, for your invaluable help. As always, the story is much better because of your wise words. And thank you, shiv5468, for being so incredibly helpful with all sorts of britpicking questions.
This was originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
samhain_smut. But now that I repost it, I can put in what I wanted to put then:
Fortetleythesecond, whose enthusiasm for Berliner Bubis made me write this story. Thank you for the inspiration (and for much more), my dear.
.Carpe Diem
It was one of those days.
It had started with torrential rains during breakfast, which had resulted in a muddy flying field. The First Years had landed like falling meteorites and soaked Rolanda to the skin. Half the Second Years had whinged at being forced to fly in the rain; one or two dare-devils had tried to bully those who were genuinely scared, and she had had to hand out a few detentions.
In the afternoon the wind was expected to turn into a full-blown autumn gale; all the signs were already there. So Rolanda had cancelled all Quidditch practices and dismissed Oliver Wood’s wails. And after she had cleared up the broom cupboard, she had had to return to the field where, as expected, she had found the Weasley Twins. They had stayed behind because “flying on the wind is really wicked, Madam Hooch!” It was, when she did it. Not when it involved hexing down the Twins of Doom.
What Rolanda Hooch could use was a quiet afternoon in her rooms. Preferably in the company of Minerva McGonagall, although that was unlikely to happen. Minerva would be busy on Hogwarts business, and if she did have some hours to spare, she’d spend them worrying over the Dementors in the grounds, a possible attack by Sirius Black, and the litigation threatened by Lucius Malfoy after Draco’s injury during Care of Magical Creatures. The best Rolanda could hope for was reading by the fire while Minerva marked essays.
What she got, as she hurried through the castle ready for a change of clothes and a chair near the fireside, was the icy-cold sensation of Peeves flying through her. The little twerp hurtled down the corridor like a bat out of hell and yelled “McGonagall’s ma-a-a-d!” before he put himself out of wand-reach.
It was well and truly one of those days.
Muttering under her breath – there was nothing like a bit of Harpies vocabulary to ease the seething mind – she turned the corner to the staff quarters. The first things that struck her eyes were an upturned bucket and a puddle of water: the forensic evidence of Peeves’s exquisitely-elegant sense of humour. Then there was a loud Obliterate, a flash of bluish light, and the puddle was no more. Instead, there was a faint dent in the granite floor.
And Minerva McGonagall.
Who was, indeed, as mad as a wet hen.
And as wet as a wet hen.
Peeves had clearly had some success.
Rolanda took one good look at the situation and immediately grasped the salient facts. Minerva had Obliterated that puddle (and quite a bit of granite) without even drawing her wand. Mad, therefore, didn’t begin to describe it.
If one runs into one’s lover who has just suffered a Peeves Prank, it is clearly a moment that calls for social interaction. If said lover is Minerva McGonagall, it is also a moment that calls for great care. Minerva disliked clichés at the best of times. Lately, with all her worries, it had been – well, not the worst of times, but a difficult period.
Rolanda began to realize that the day didn’t want to go down as just ‘one of those days’. It was hell-bent on being a Day of Epic Proportions, a Day that would Live On In History. The important thing was to make sure it wouldn’t be The Day Rolanda Hooch Got Hexed. And there were a daunting number of wrong things to say.
Like, “Was that Peeves’s doing”? Best case scenario would be, “No, I couldn’t make it to the little witch’s room in time.” Worst case scenario didn’t bear thinking of.
Or “Are you upset?” Minerva wasn’t so much upset as likely to ignite from the light of a glow-worm, wet robes and all.
There was a possible explanation for this somewhat excessive reaction to what was, after all, a mere case of ‘Peeves again’. But only a man would say, “Is it that time of the month?” to a witch who had the word Obliterate still hovering on her lips.
Rolanda wasn’t a man. She chose “I think we could both do with a cuppa” instead.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Once they had closed the door of Rolanda’s rooms behind them, she took charge. While Minerva performed drying spells on her robes, Rolanda changed, put the kettle on, and lit a fire.
“Now, tell me all about it,” she said. “And I don’t mean Peeves. What’s happened? Did the Dementors give trouble again? How Albus could ever agree to having them in the grounds, I don’t know.”
“It isn’t the Dementors. But it’s Albus, all right,” Minerva snapped. Silently, Rolanda poured the tea.
“It’s that blasted party Cornelius Fudge is giving,” Minerva continued, clutching her mug in both hands.
Ah, yes. The party. During the past week, whenever the subjects of Dementors, Black, and You-Know-Who were exhausted, Minerva had grumbled about Fudge’s Halloween party. She was right in that the pompous old ass was doing the wizarding equivalent of Nero playing his fiddle. Sirius Black on the loose, Dementors at Hogwarts, and the man wanted to give ”a little Halloween jollification, because we could all do with cheering up.”
She had also cause to be annoyed at Albus, who insisted he and Minerva both go, to keep relations with the Minister on a friendly footing. But it would be nice if occasionally Minerva would forget about all those irritations and enjoy herself. Take her, Rolanda, out for dinner. Or for a drink at The Three Broomsticks. Or to bed. The way she used to do.
Hastily, Rolanda turned her attention back to their conversation. Minerva, it seemed, had gone to Gladrags to get a costume. A costume? What was wrong with her usual dress robes, then? Damn, but she should have paid attention.
Some careful listening made it clear that Albus had informed Minerva that morning that Cornelius’s impromptu little gathering would be fancy dress. Blast Albus – he knew how Min hated that sort of thing, so he had chosen the ‘I’d forgotten to mention it before’ approach.
“Cornelius Fudge gives a fancy dress ball?” Rolanda finally said incredulously. “I can’t believe it. He’s as pompous as they make them. Merlin, I wonder what he’ll go as.”
“You’ve said it. Merlin. Can you see him choose anything but the greatest Greatest Wizard of All Times? He’ll be as grand as he can, and he’ll enjoy it, too. All that talk of a little gathering and a small jollification – he’s focusing all his energy on organizing this ball because it makes him feel he’s working on some clever strategic idea for the good of the wizarding world. The bloody man should go as an ostrich!”
“What will you wear?”
“Nothing.”
Rolanda stared. First at Minerva, then at the mental image of a ball room full of wizards and witches, with a Merlinesque Cornelius Fudge at the top of a grand staircase (surely the man would have a grand staircase?) while a house-elf announced Professor Minerva McGonagall, and Min strode into the room stark naked. Up those stairs. With those endless legs. Hair in a bun or down?
“Stop drooling. I didn’t mean ‘nothing’ as in ‘nothing’. I meant I’m not going in fancy dress. Obviously.”
Rolanda refilled the mugs. “Why ‘obviously’?” she said. “Surely Gladrags sells costumes? They rent them out, even, I think.”
“They do. I went there this morning – during the one free hour I had. It’s ghastly. Feminism didn’t start over fancy dress, but it’s things like this that help to keep it going. Have you seen those outfits?” Without waiting for an answer, Minerva raged on. “Every single costume is made with one thought in mind: how do we facilitate the life of the lecherous groper?
“Sexy Vampire outfits, for instance. Little black numbers with an absurd décolleté. Any vampire bending over her victim would have her breasts falling out. Besides, have you ever seen a sexy vampire? They’re too thin, too pale, and they reek of rancid blood and stale coffin air.”
Rolanda couldn’t help herself; she laughed. Somewhat reluctantly, Minerva grinned back. “Well, it is insane,” she continued, but Rolanda was glad to see that she was beginning to see the humorous side.
“What else did they have on offer?” she asked. The sexy vampire outfit didn’t sound half bad to her, but clearly, what with loathing the party, Dementors in the grounds, a werewolf on the staff, and a Peeves-Prank to improve upon the shining hour, Minerva had had it up to here. It would do her good to get it out, and, as there were few things more entertaining than Min in full rant, Rolanda was eager to hear it.
“There’s also the Sexy Banshee – another black dress. With a so-called neck line that ends at your belly-button and side slits up to your armpits.
“And there are several versions of The Muggle Housewife. According to Gladrags, Muggle housewives do their daily chores in full skirts with petticoats that stop way above their knees. With little frilly aprons and, again, half-naked breasts. Mind, on the right sort of body it must be very fetching, and it does make me wonder why the Muggle men I’ve seen in London, whenever I was there at rush hour, don’t look much more cheerful when they go home. One would expect them to be skipping along the streets in eager anticipation, beaming like a Cheshire cat.
“Which brings me to the next option: cats. To dress up as a cat, one needs net stockings, a tight leotard, high heels and cutesy pointy ears.
“And when I told them I wasn’t going to traipse around in those things, the salesman said the costumes were for younger women anyhow, but they did have something for, as he called it, the more mature witch. A high-priestess costume.”
“Sounds like an improvement, then,” Rolanda suggested, wiping away the tears of laughter at Min’s tale. Minerva laughed back. She really was beginning to relax and to see what a fun story it all made. It proved that Rolanda had been right: there’s nothing like a cup of tea in times of crisis.
“The mature witch, according to Gladrags, has such an awful body it must be hidden from head to toe,” Minerva said, now intentionally in full lecture-mode. “The garment is a shapeless tent, in a heavy dark blue tissue with a few moons and stars in silver. Horribly warm and with a train that makes dancing impossible. When I complained, the salesman seemed quite surprised that someone who’s clearly tottering towards the grave would want to dance at all. So I’ve made up my mind: I’ll wear ordinary dress robes, and that’s it.” This time it was Minerva who poured some more tea, with the determined, precise gestures of a witch who has Made Up Her Mind.
“No, it isn’t,” Rolanda countered. “You can’t go in normal dress robes when the invitation says fancy dress. Especially not since your attendance is more or less a diplomatic mission.” She Accio’ed a package of shortbread. It was clear they were both going to miss lunch, and they’d feel even worse with a low sugar-level. Millionaire shortbread would help with that, if nothing else.
Min’s predicament reminded her of the time she’d had been invited to a Muggle party, and the difficulty she’d had finding out what Muggle evening wear was. Her fellow Harpies had shown her pictures of evening dresses with hoops that could house a small family, and other dresses – Regency, they were called – that were mercifully without hoops or corsets but that pushed up your breasts till they looked like a plate of eggs, sunny side up. In the end, Muggle-born Emmeline Vance had come to the rescue and …
“That’s it!” she cried. “I’ve found it. If you have some time this afternoon – do you have time?”
“Yes. Albus kindly offered to take over the preparations for Hogsmeade Saturday, to allow me time for ‘a lovely little shopping spree’, as he called it.”
“Brilliant. I happen to know a Muggle shop – I went there once when I needed to rent a Muggle evening gown. They have fancy dress costumes, too, and theatrical ones. You’ll certainly find something there. It could even be fun to go together,” she added, almost pleadingly.
Would it be a good idea to go on? On the one hand, Min clearly felt better for her little rant. And she had been working far too much these past weeks. Today’s outburst made it perfectly clear that she needed to adjust the balance, to make time for relaxation.
On the other hand, now that Min did look more relaxed, wouldn’t it be best not to mention the lack of attention, the fact that it had been weeks since they had last done something together?
Did complaining now mean that Rolanda was jealous of Minerva’s dedication to her work? Or was it the right time for concern and advice? Minerva had a lot on her plate at the moment. And her job was important to her – more than important, it defined her. In a few weeks the situation might be better. Surely they’d get Sirius Black at some point? The Dementors would leave?
Yes, and then the next problem would come and the next. Every now and then, Minerva – literally or metaphorically –needed to be reminded what it was like to fly. And each and every time it took all of Rolanda’s courage to say it out loud.
“You deserve to go out now and then, to forget about the school. And frankly, sometimes – Min, I understand about the stress of the last few weeks, but I think that by now I could do a bit of your undivided attention. It’s been weeks since we had fun together. Weeks since we went somewhere, since we had an evening together, even. A real one, not one with you working and me happening to be in the same room.”
Minerva stared at her while the still-lingering smile slowly made place for a shocked look. “I’m not …” she started.
Then she fell silent and looked at the mug she was still clutching. She didn’t speak for several minutes, and Rolanda, who knew her Min, realised that she was carefully going over the events of the last few weeks. She wanted to refute Ro’s statement, but she wanted to refute it with facts. Times, places, actions. So she was looking for things they did do together, time – real time – spent with Rolanda. Not finding any. Digesting that unpleasant truth. Gathering the famous Gryffindor courage.
Finally, she looked up, swallowed, and took a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she said. “Merlin, you’re right. I have been busy … and grumbling … and I made you miss lunch, too. I didn’t even ask after your day. Oh, Ro, I’m…”
“Never mind sorry,” RoIanda reassured her. Gryffindor courage, she thought. Dragon heartstring. There’s no-one like Min for stubbornly repeating faults, for not even seeing it’s happening again. But there’s no-one like her for admitting to it, either. “I know you’ve been busy, I know you’re sorry. And I also know it’ll do you a world of good to go on an outing with me. I really think you’ll find something in that shop, and if not, we can still have a great time. Forget about what might happen at Hogwarts. Carpe diem.”
Slowly, Minerva raised her mug. “Carpe diem,” she repeated.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“This is it?” Minerva asked as she stared at the unprepossessing shop front. It wasn’t even a real shop – just a house with a little copper sign saying Mainwright and Son – Costumiers.
Rolanda nodded and pulled the gleaming copper bell. The ring was clearly audible from the outside and was followed by footsteps. An elderly man, Mr Mainwright himself, they presumed, opened the door. He might have been a twin brother of Rufus Scrimgeour, except that his hair was silvery-white. But he exuded the same tremendous dignity. “Pray come in, ladies,” he bade them.
As they stepped inside, Rolanda heard Min gasp in surprise. There were mannequins all over the place, dressed in the most outrageous of Muggle costumes. A cowboy stood next to a nurse. A Roman soldier and a medieval lady formed a little half-circle with a male figure in a coarse, black robe with a cowl and a piece of rope tied around his body. Not very party-like, Rolanda thought, and as hot as the High Priestess costume Minerva had scorned. And why did they put three extra knots in the rope? Did they think it added a festive note?
“I’m looking for a costume – a fancy dress costume,” she heard Minerva say.
“Did you have anything in mind, Madam,” the shopkeeper – costumier, one could not possibly call this Scrimgeour lookalike a shopkeeper – asked.
“No … no, not really,” Minerva said with some hesitation. Rolanda realized that Min had no idea what to ask for. What did Muggles wear to a fancy dress ball?
“It’s for a Halloween party,” Rolanda offered. It was clearly the right thing to say. The man beamed at them in a benevolent way and assured them he had a large selection of very fetching Halloween costumes. Did the ladies prefer to look by themselves, perhaps? If they required assistance, he was always available.
They were led to a section at the back of the shop, with several large racks of costumes, and left there to browse the collection, with the assurance that there were many other costumes, too, if Mainwright’s little Halloween selection didn’t live up to their expectations.
Rolanda felt slightly disappointed that the predominant colour on the rack seemed to be black. But she took out the first costume and held it up. They both stared. “What on earth …” Rolanda started. A black, skin-tight costume, like very old-fashioned underwear with long sleeves and legs. And all over the front there was a drawing of a human skeleton.
“An anatomical lesson?” Minerva ventured. “Or – perhaps that’s it! Do you think Muggles know that the dead may return at Samhain?”
“Could be. But surely, then they would also know it’s their souls that return, not the bones? They can’t possibly expect that Samhain means we’ve skeletons traipsing around all over the place?”
“Anyhow, I think this isn’t what I’m looking for,” Minerva smiled. “It’s too tight, and besides, I may not be as young as I was, but I like to think of myself as slender, not as a bag of bones.”
Rolanda chuckled. She was glad to see Min really throwing herself into the spirit of the thing, all worries on Dementors and Sirius Black seemingly forgotten. Whenever Minerva realised she had been wrong, she didn’t waste time on endless apologies and self-reproach; she just took great care to do things differently. At least, until the next time professional concerns took over.
Rolanda took out a second costume, a bright orange … something. She held it up. It looked like a large mass of foam padding; a giant pillow. Minerva grasped the sides of the costume and examined it more closely.
“Look, it’s a pumpkin!” she exclaimed. And so it was. The costume consisted of a huge, orange ball with quilted lines to form the pumpkin’s sections. There were also bright green tights and a little hat shaped like a pumpkin stem. “Adorable,” Rolanda said as earnestly as possible. “It’s perfect. It’ll show your lovely legs, and at the same time it’s groper-proof.”
“Aye, it is that,” Minerva nodded. “They couldn’t come within half a yard of me. But, delightful as it is, I don’t feel it’s quite me. Let’s look further.” While Minerva took the next outfit from the rack, Rolanda eased the giant pumpkin back in its place and turned to see what Min had come up with. It was a simple black dress. With a high neckline and a rather shapeless cut. A black cape seemed to accompany the dress. For all the world it looked like ordinary working robes, and old-fashioned ones, too.
“Ah, witches!” Mr Mainwright, who had been hovering in the background, suddenly stood beside them. Rolanda felt her heart stop. How on earth could the man possibly know? They both wore Muggle dress. Correct Muggle dress; they had seen people in the street wearing the same sort of clothes. And they couldn’t have said anything that gave them away? Surely not? Next to her, she felt Minerva stiffen and heard her quick intake of breath.
“The witch costume is always very popular with the ladies,” Mr Mainwright continued. “There are accessories to go with it – allow me to fetch them.”
As the costumier retreated, they looked at each other in mute relief. “A witch costume?” Minerva whispered. “My, my. Even Augusta Longbottom would think this too old-fashioned. And what do you think the accessories will be?”
Silently, Rolanda pointed at the costume. There was a hat, which hung from the clothes hanger by a small cord. It was black and pointy; you had to give it that. Other than that, it looked as if a five-year-old had taken a pointy hat and used it as a boxing ball. The dents just went all over the place. Not that Rolanda herself was the kind of dedicated follower of fashion who studied the magazines to know exactly whether the dent should be to the left or the right, at which height it should start, whether there should be a feather or not … But this! No woman, surely not even a Muggle woman, would wear this voluntarily?
Her musings were interrupted by the return of Mr Mainwright, with two packages in his hands. With a flourish, he opened the first, small one. “A wand!” he exclaimed proudly. It was, indeed, a long-ish object. In black plastic. Even children’s toy wands looked better, but they both nodded earnestly.
“And a mask. Now this will turn you into a real witch,” said Mr Mainwright, as he unwrapped the larger package. “Warts and all.”
They stared in mute horror at the atrocity. It was a mask, and arguably of a woman. A long, crooked nose almost reached an even longer, pointy, upturned chin. The … thing … had more wrinkles than an ancient house-elf. There were large warts on the nose and the cheek. Rolanda heard Minerva take a deep breath and put a steadying hand on her arm. They were in Muggle presence; even Min would have to control her temper. “Amazing,” Rolanda said.
“Quite.” That was Minerva, in the tone that had frozen the blood of generations of students.
Rolanda began to enjoy herself. “It’s so very realistic,” she enthused.
“Isn’t it just?” Minerva smiled, but Rolanda could feel the point of a very sharp, rather high Muggle heel just touching her left foot. And she wasn’t wearing her dragon hide boots. As messages went, it was a clear one.
“And of course, you’ll need … heavens, I forgot the most important thing!” Mr Mainwright rushed out, in search of Merlin-knew-what. Rolanda looked at Minerva and chuckled. She held up the mask and looked at it again.
“Realistic?” Minerva hissed. “We don’t have a single wart on our bodies! It’s an outrage! I could …”
““You could wear it to the ball,” Rolanda grinned. “It’ll stop gropers just as efficiently as the pumpkin suit, and in this you could dance! Oh, come on, Min. Keep your hair in a bun and act as a Muggle. Just look at me – my reactions were spot-on.”
Before Minerva could answer Mr Mainwright returned, carrying a large plastic bag. “You wouldn’t be a proper witch without one,” he smiled as he unwrapped the unwieldy object. “How could you go to the party if it weren’t on your broom?”
This time it was Minerva who proffered the calming hand, as Rolanda stared at the ugliest, most twisted, useless collection of misbegotten branches she had ever seen. “My goodness, that is a fine broom,” said Minerva. “Just what every witch would want, isn’t it?” Rolanda glared, and Minerva’s grip on her wrist tightened. Once again, the high Muggle heel made its presence felt. “Isn’t it, Rolanda, dear?” Minerva insisted.
It took them a few minutes to convince Mr Mainwright that Minerva wouldn’t try the witch costume. Finally their assorted arguments – bound to be too many witches already at the party; the mask might be a bit hot; my friend is a teacher, her students shouldn’t see her as a wicked witch – convinced him. Once again he left them to peruse the costume racks at ease.
“Right,” Minerva said, checking that the costumier was well out of hearing. “That’s it. You’re fired as a fashion advisor. ’Her students shouldn’t see her as a wicked witch’. Is that what you call loyalty?”
“No, I think the proper word is revenge,” Rolanda chuckled. “A fine broom! What every witch would want! I wouldn’t use the thing to sweep a pig sty! And they think that could get airborne?”
Minerva shook her head in a fine display of ‘more sorrow than anger’. “You Quidditch stars can be such snobs,” she sighed. “Looking down on anything that isn’t a Nimbus 2000. Now I, I haven’t got a snobbish bone in my body. That’s why I could save you from a breach of the Secrecy Act. Now, keep yourself amused and out of harm’s way while I go and find myself a costume.”
While Minerva drifted off in search of the perfect outfit, Rolanda took a last, shuddering look at the pathetic object. Even Argus wouldn’t want it near his precious mops. Would all Muggle costumes be so awful, or was it just Halloween that brought out the worst in them? There were racks with more colourful clothes. That burgundy dress over there looked exactly like something Rosmerta would wear. With a lace-up bodice, and, true, a fairly low neckline. What would this costume represent to Muggles? Clearly not a Rosmerta-dress. It was one of those things one couldn’t ask that helpful Mr Mainwright, for it was probably exactly the sort of thing a Muggle would know. Like the coarse, black robe near the entrance. Rolanda was as familiar with Muggle lore as the next witch; she had even been to a Muggle movie or two and knew her cowboys from her Roman soldiers. But she had never seen anyone wear that black robe. Could it be a Muggle priest? It was not unlike Minerva’s description of the High Priestess robe. Perhaps the three knots in the rope had some deeply symbolic meaning.
“That’s it! I’ve found it!” Minerva returned, with a costume draped over her arm. A black one, drat it. Rolanda was about to complain when Minerva held up the outfit. Then she just stared. Slowly, a large grin spread over her face. It was mirrored in Minerva’s laughing eyes.
“That’s it, all right. Merlin, I wish I could come to that party. Is that the right size?” Rolanda asked.
“Near enough. Nothing that a minor spell or two can’t cure. You were brilliant, to take me to this shop. Wait till they see this!” Minerva beamed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was not dignified for teachers to run through the corridors. Skipping and hopping were even less recommended. Rolanda would not skip, no, she would not. She would walk to Minerva’s rooms in the calm, sedate fashion befitting a Hogwarts teacher of long standing. It would lengthen the journey, true. But it would also lengthen the delicious anticipation. Minerva had insisted on trying the costume on in private. “You want to see the elegance of the ensemble,” she had said, “not the struggle of getting in.” And the ensemble was certainly something to look forward to. But the reason Rolanda nearly – but not quite – hopped, was the way Min had looked, and the timbre of her voice when she said, “I want to dazzle you.”
Finally Min’s rooms, the password, the doorknob, which was suddenly uncooperative. Or was it her hands that were trembling? At last, the door gave way. She rushed in – and stopped dead in her tracks.
Against the chimney piece leaned the most delectable Muggle gentleman Rolanda had ever seen. The black tailcoat hugged the slender shoulders. The long legs were made for trousers, especially for trousers with such a very fetching satin band along the sides to emphasize the tall figure. The little line of black buttons on the shirt swelled over the chest, hinting at treasures that no ordinary gentleman, wizard or Muggle, could possibly offer.
Rolanda swallowed several times. “Brilliant. Just brilliant,” she finally managed. “It’s perfect from head to toes, Min.”
“Actually, it isn’t. Not to toes,” said Minerva, pulling up one trouser pipe. “Socks. What do I do about socks? They didn’t come with the costume, and I’ve no idea about the colour. I Transfigured a pair of stockings and they were black, but I’m not sure any more. Look, all the accents – the waistcoat, the shirt, the tie – are white. Does that mean the socks should be white, too?”
Rolanda paused to consider. “I’ve no idea,” she said at last. “What do Muggles wear for socks with a costume like this? What do Muggles wear for socks normally, Min, would you know that?”
“Not really – all sorts of colours, I think. And the problem is, we can’t go to a Muggle street and look, because the point isn’t what they normally wear, but what they wear with this. I mean, normally they don’t wear white ties and white waistcoats either – that I do know.”
“You’re right,” Rolanda said, pondering the problem. “Muggle habits won’t help. On the other hand, most wizards wouldn’t know which is the correct colour, either, so it won’t be vitally important. What do wizards wear on formal occasions? Have you ever noticed Fudge’s socks? He dresses formally.”
“And I’ve most certainly never watched his socks.”
“Severus wears black socks,” Rolanda offered.
“True, but then Severus wears black everything. It’s hardly decisive.”
“What’ll Albus wear? That might give you ideas,” Rolanda chuckled.
“Albus will go as Neptune. He waxed lyrical on turquoise, cerulean, and viridian. When he mentioned eau-de-nil, I mentally tuned out. I think he planned to combine all colours and add bits of rhinestone for sparkly water drops. Actually, that suggestion of yours wasn’t half bad. Now that I recall Albus’s plans, my mind is made up. Black. The quieter, the better.” With a quick flick of her wand, Minerva Transfigured the socks into black. “There, that’s it.”
She walked toward one of the chairs and sat down. Rolanda smiled. Min, ever the perfectionist, had clearly practiced walking in trousers, and she sat down with perfect elegance, her legs slightly, but not too much apart. A very proper little gentleman. Only her gleeful looks gave her away – they made Rolanda want to take her dashing boy straight off to bed. “Quite the gent, you are,” she said. “Movements and all. You may be safe form the traditional groper, but all the ladies will ogle you instead.”
“There’s only one lady I have designs on.” Minerva tried to arrange her face into something resembling a leer. “It’s why I wanted this suit – not just for the fun of wearing it to the ball and seeing Cornelius’s reaction, but for the fun of tonight.”
Looking more serious, she continued, “You were right – we did need time together. And some fun, too. I wasn’t exactly good company, these last few weeks. No, don’t deny it, I wasn’t. And you know how they always say, in magazines and such, that you have to surprise your partner from time to time?”
“This costume certainly is a surprise,” Rolanda said. “It’ll be a pity to take it off – but off it’ll come before the night is much older.”
“Not so hasty, my dear lady.” A strict teacher face, but with laughing, inviting eyes. “You’ve clearly a lot to learn about surprises.” Minerva got up, crossed the room to Rolanda’s chair, and straddled her lap. “The very essence of a surprise is that it’s something new and unexpected,” Min said in the voice of one who’s dictating notes to a particularly dim-witted student.
To Rolanda’s delight, she interrupted the lesson with a long kiss.
“A costume that you have already seen is therefore, clearly, not a surprise. It lacks both the ‘new’ and the ‘unexpected’. “
“Yes, Miss,” whispered Rolanda.
“Excuse me?!? Yes Miss?”
“I mean, yes, Sir, sorry, Sir.”
“You weren’t paying proper attention,” said Minerva, while she unbuttoned Rolanda’s shirt and slid one hand into her bra. “I expect my students to sit up straight and look lively,” she continued, underlining every syllable with a teasing little caress of Rolanda’s nipple. Rolanda arched her back and sat straighter than she had ever done.
“That’s what I mean by ‘looking lively,” Min said approvingly. “Now listen. Are you listening?”
“Ahh … yes, please …” Rolanda groaned, arching further into those tantalizing fingers.
“Yes, please, who?”
“Yes, please, Sir. I’m listening, Sir.”
“Now, show me that you understand the meaning of ‘surprise’. What’s new and unexpected tonight?”
You taking the initiative for the first time in weeks, Rolanda thought, but “you straddling me? Sir?” she suggested.
“True. Five points for Ravenclaw. Ten more if you can find the real surprise.” Minerva looked like the cat that got the cream. Rolanda checked her carefully – tie, shirt, vest, all as in the shop. No room for surprises. And the coat was tight-fitting round the shoulders, not a crease on the back, no room to put anything either, unless … no. No pockets. And Min smiled in the most infuriating manner. The honour of Ravenclaw was at stake, and Rolanda would not fail her house.
Pockets were a good notion, though, and she’d look for them. Trouser pockets, perhaps? Did a suit like this have trouser pockets? And if it did, how did you reach into the trouser pockets of someone who’s straddling your legs and facing you? Not, that’s how. Not without twisting your wrists or risking the seams of the costume. An outward examination, however …
Carefully she patted Min’s back, her arse, and her hips. Nothing. Just to make sure – or so she told herself – she decided to pat the front as well. Even though it probably wasn’t to the manner born to grab a gentleman in the crotch.
“Merlin’s bollocks, Min!” she gasped. So that was the real surprise? Unexpected, for sure. And it explained sitting with legs apart.
“Merlin’s bollocks, Sir!” Minerva corrected, twitching Rolanda’s nipple and grinning like a naughty girl – a naughty boy – a naughty Minerva. The most irresistible sight Rolanda knew.
“And besides, it’s not Merlin’s bollocks,” Minerva continued. “It’s Circe’s Delight, the best Witch’s Playground had to offer. Guaranteed pleasure for both, they said. Still, you found the new and unexpected. Ten points for Ravenclaw. You may now unwrap your gift, Miss Hooch.”
With a groan, Rolanda reached for the little white bow tie.
“Don’t pull – it’s ready made. There are hooks at the back,” Minerva whispered, leaning towards her to give her access. Rolanda found the hooks, undid them, and started on the pleasure of removing the coat, the vest, and then, one by one, she undid the tiny black buttons.
“Now there’s what every gentleman should wear,” she said, as she took off Minerva’s bra and let her fingers and mouth explore her breasts till Min moaned and got up from Rolanda’s lap. “Bedroom,” she suggested.
“Tie!” Rolanda countered sternly, re-adjusting the white tie around Min’s neck. “I want to enjoy my lovely boy to the full. And I can be stern, too, mind!”
“Can you now,” purred Minerva, pulling Rolanda in a close embrace. “Can you, indeed?” she whispered between kisses, and put a long, trouser-clad leg between Rolanda’s thighs. Softly, she moved her leg against Rolanda’s crotch. “Tell me, sternly, what you want, then.”
“I – I want you to – “ If you want to sound in control, measured tones worked best, Rolanda thought, and they lend dignity to your voice. Stern, stern, stern! Minerva withdrew her leg and instead rubbed her hips against Rolanda, giving her the full promise of Circe’s Delight.
“Yes – oh, please, yes –” Rolanda moaned. So much for stern dignity. To her dismay, Minerva stopped rubbing. And arched her eyebrows. Of course! That was it.
“Yes, please, Sir,” she chuckled, and led Minerva to the bedroom. “You didn’t continue the Muggle accessories all the way through, then?” she asked as Minerva took of her trousers, carefully, so as not to spoil their pristine looks. True, they had to serve for Fudge’s party yet. Hurriedly, Rolanda undressed herself.
“Good heavens, no,” Minerva answered. “First of all, I wouldn’t know where to find a Muggle shop that has sex toys. It isn’t exactly the kind of thing you can ask a passer-by, is it? Besides, I very much doubt they would offer the same level of mutual enjoyment. And Muggles can’t affix them magically, either. How would they put them on, you think? With glue?”
Rolanda, who had sat down to take of her boots, instinctively crossed her legs as the idea and its consequences sunk in. Removing it would be the worst wax ever. “Ties?” she suggested. “Straps? Something like pants? Crotchless pants, I should hope, then. Poor Muggles.”
“And lucky me,” she whispered as Minerva turned towards her. What would it be like to wear a magical dildo for hours? In the past, they had sometimes played with them. But Rolanda had been the one to wear it. She knew the sensation of smoothness against her clit, the sudden rush of blood when all spells were in place – both for fixing and for feeling. But it had never occurred to her to wear it hours beforehand. Trust Minerva the Perfectionist to go all the way – she could have kept that toy in the bedroom, and put it on now, but no. If Minerva was going to play at cross-dressing, she did it properly. With all the accessories just so.
Rolanda smiled as she stretched herself out on the bed, fully naked. “Merlin, I want you.”
Minerva stretched out beside her and trailed her fingers along Rolanda’s breasts, hips, thighs. Circling, but not quite touching her clit, until Rolanda moaned both her pleasure and desire for more. Only then did the fingers probe further, did Minerva’s hungry mouth reach Ro’s nipples. Rolanda spread her legs; she wanted to, needed to. She heard herself whisper incoherently, “now, yes, want … please … need … more …”
And then there was Minerva’s body between her legs, Minerva’s hand that opened her further and guided the tip of the dildo, an “aaahhh” that lasted as long as the slow, exquisite stretch, and for the life of her Rolanda couldn’t have said who had made the sound – she, Minerva, or both.
Minerva began to move, unsmiling, as always when she was completely concentrated on the task at hand – be that reading, magic, or making love. She thrusted slowly at first, waiting for Rolanda to guide her, following her rhythm. Rolanda grabbed Min’s arse, to increase her speed, to allow her deeper entrance, to be able to push back, and finally to have something to hold on to as she drowned in waves of pleasure.
*~*~*~*~*~*
“You know, at first I had my doubts about that whole fancy dress business,” said Minerva hours later, after Rolanda’s nimble fingers had replaced the Delight of Circe. “I only went with you because you wanted it, and you were right: we hadn’t done anything together in weeks. But I enjoyed it! I really did. The role-play, I mean. Being someone else for an evening. Not Deputy-Headmistress McGonagall, with papers to mark, a school to run, and a list of worries as long as my arm, but a dashing Muggle gentleman seducing a beautiful lady.”
Minerva leaned over and gave butterfly kisses on Rolanda’s cheek, jaw, and neck. With a contented sigh she rested her head on Ro’s shoulder and snuggled against her. “A very beautiful lady. I need you to remind me of what matters most to me,” she said. “And I know you hate telling me.”
“I don’t hate reminding you – I just never know whether I’m right, or merely possessive and jealous of your career. Of the time you spend on your work, I mean; I wouldn’t want your job for all the tea in China. But then, you have to rein me in, occasionally, when I want to do something outrageous. And you’re always right, but I know you’re afraid I’ll see you as a spoil-sport. I don’t. You’re my anchor – and I don’t care if it sometimes takes a little work to pull that anchor up.”
She pulled Minerva a bit closer and felt a ripple go through her – a ripple that spoke of suppressed laughter. “What’s funny?” she asked.
“Nothing. That is, I was thinking it’s a pity I have to return the suit so quickly after the party. Instead of telling me when I get obsessive again, you could show me, I thought. Put out the suit for me to wear, I mean. That would be a pretty clear comment.”
“And a very delicious way of telling you,” Rolanda smiled. “But that way, you’d have the fun of the dressing up every time. I’ve been wondering, you know. About what it’s like to wear that suit, and then the way you did, with the dildo. I can see how it would make you feel more completely different. And I’d like to know what it feels like physically.
“I could wear a Quidditch outfit, of course, but that wouldn’t be the same. I’ve worn that often enough; it’s normal for me. And besides, Quidditch clothes are too tight. Now that I think of it, boys might need a cushioning charm much more than girls. After all…”
Minerva smiled. “After all, girls can have fun on a broom. We’ve both experienced the – erm – other way of flying, on occasions. But you’re right; I’d hate to try this in Quidditch trousers. However, if you have a spare uniform somewhere?”
“Yes, of course. Lots of them. Why?”
“Because I happen to be quite good at Transfiguration, that’s why. And now that I have the perfect example to work from … Transfiguring one of those uniforms into this Muggle outfit would be easy. And then it can be your turn to be the Muggle gentleman. Do you think you could possibly bring me an old Quidditch outfit tomorrow morning? I want to get the details just right, and that would give me enough time before I have to go to Cornelius’s party – I can’t wait to see his face!”
“Oh, Merlin, yes. Yes for Cornelius’s face – all of their faces. You must give me full reports. And beware of Albus; you’re such a gorgeous boy. And yes for making the costume. I had actually thought of asking you, but you’re so busy right now. Are you sure you’ll have time for it?”
“I’ll make time,” Minerva said, settling herself into a position in which she could sleep without waking up with stiff muscles. “I’ll just make time. As a very wise woman once told me, “Carpe Diem.”
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Minerva McGonagall/Rolanda Hooch
Rating: NC-17
Summary Minerva dislikes fancy dress parties. But then Rolanda helps her find the right costume. And of course Minerva, perfectionist that she is, does nothing by halves.
Word Count: 7200
Warnings/Content: None.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by JKR. Except Mr Mainwright, who has his own company that has been in the family for generations. He has no intention whatsoever to sell to Warner Bros.
Author's/Artist's notes: Thank you,
kellychambliss, best of betas, for your invaluable help. As always, the story is much better because of your wise words. And thank you, shiv5468, for being so incredibly helpful with all sorts of britpicking questions.This was originally written for
samhain_smut. But now that I repost it, I can put in what I wanted to put then: For
tetleythesecond, whose enthusiasm for Berliner Bubis made me write this story. Thank you for the inspiration (and for much more), my dear..Carpe Diem
It was one of those days.
It had started with torrential rains during breakfast, which had resulted in a muddy flying field. The First Years had landed like falling meteorites and soaked Rolanda to the skin. Half the Second Years had whinged at being forced to fly in the rain; one or two dare-devils had tried to bully those who were genuinely scared, and she had had to hand out a few detentions.
In the afternoon the wind was expected to turn into a full-blown autumn gale; all the signs were already there. So Rolanda had cancelled all Quidditch practices and dismissed Oliver Wood’s wails. And after she had cleared up the broom cupboard, she had had to return to the field where, as expected, she had found the Weasley Twins. They had stayed behind because “flying on the wind is really wicked, Madam Hooch!” It was, when she did it. Not when it involved hexing down the Twins of Doom.
What Rolanda Hooch could use was a quiet afternoon in her rooms. Preferably in the company of Minerva McGonagall, although that was unlikely to happen. Minerva would be busy on Hogwarts business, and if she did have some hours to spare, she’d spend them worrying over the Dementors in the grounds, a possible attack by Sirius Black, and the litigation threatened by Lucius Malfoy after Draco’s injury during Care of Magical Creatures. The best Rolanda could hope for was reading by the fire while Minerva marked essays.
What she got, as she hurried through the castle ready for a change of clothes and a chair near the fireside, was the icy-cold sensation of Peeves flying through her. The little twerp hurtled down the corridor like a bat out of hell and yelled “McGonagall’s ma-a-a-d!” before he put himself out of wand-reach.
It was well and truly one of those days.
Muttering under her breath – there was nothing like a bit of Harpies vocabulary to ease the seething mind – she turned the corner to the staff quarters. The first things that struck her eyes were an upturned bucket and a puddle of water: the forensic evidence of Peeves’s exquisitely-elegant sense of humour. Then there was a loud Obliterate, a flash of bluish light, and the puddle was no more. Instead, there was a faint dent in the granite floor.
And Minerva McGonagall.
Who was, indeed, as mad as a wet hen.
And as wet as a wet hen.
Peeves had clearly had some success.
Rolanda took one good look at the situation and immediately grasped the salient facts. Minerva had Obliterated that puddle (and quite a bit of granite) without even drawing her wand. Mad, therefore, didn’t begin to describe it.
If one runs into one’s lover who has just suffered a Peeves Prank, it is clearly a moment that calls for social interaction. If said lover is Minerva McGonagall, it is also a moment that calls for great care. Minerva disliked clichés at the best of times. Lately, with all her worries, it had been – well, not the worst of times, but a difficult period.
Rolanda began to realize that the day didn’t want to go down as just ‘one of those days’. It was hell-bent on being a Day of Epic Proportions, a Day that would Live On In History. The important thing was to make sure it wouldn’t be The Day Rolanda Hooch Got Hexed. And there were a daunting number of wrong things to say.
Like, “Was that Peeves’s doing”? Best case scenario would be, “No, I couldn’t make it to the little witch’s room in time.” Worst case scenario didn’t bear thinking of.
Or “Are you upset?” Minerva wasn’t so much upset as likely to ignite from the light of a glow-worm, wet robes and all.
There was a possible explanation for this somewhat excessive reaction to what was, after all, a mere case of ‘Peeves again’. But only a man would say, “Is it that time of the month?” to a witch who had the word Obliterate still hovering on her lips.
Rolanda wasn’t a man. She chose “I think we could both do with a cuppa” instead.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Once they had closed the door of Rolanda’s rooms behind them, she took charge. While Minerva performed drying spells on her robes, Rolanda changed, put the kettle on, and lit a fire.
“Now, tell me all about it,” she said. “And I don’t mean Peeves. What’s happened? Did the Dementors give trouble again? How Albus could ever agree to having them in the grounds, I don’t know.”
“It isn’t the Dementors. But it’s Albus, all right,” Minerva snapped. Silently, Rolanda poured the tea.
“It’s that blasted party Cornelius Fudge is giving,” Minerva continued, clutching her mug in both hands.
Ah, yes. The party. During the past week, whenever the subjects of Dementors, Black, and You-Know-Who were exhausted, Minerva had grumbled about Fudge’s Halloween party. She was right in that the pompous old ass was doing the wizarding equivalent of Nero playing his fiddle. Sirius Black on the loose, Dementors at Hogwarts, and the man wanted to give ”a little Halloween jollification, because we could all do with cheering up.”
She had also cause to be annoyed at Albus, who insisted he and Minerva both go, to keep relations with the Minister on a friendly footing. But it would be nice if occasionally Minerva would forget about all those irritations and enjoy herself. Take her, Rolanda, out for dinner. Or for a drink at The Three Broomsticks. Or to bed. The way she used to do.
Hastily, Rolanda turned her attention back to their conversation. Minerva, it seemed, had gone to Gladrags to get a costume. A costume? What was wrong with her usual dress robes, then? Damn, but she should have paid attention.
Some careful listening made it clear that Albus had informed Minerva that morning that Cornelius’s impromptu little gathering would be fancy dress. Blast Albus – he knew how Min hated that sort of thing, so he had chosen the ‘I’d forgotten to mention it before’ approach.
“Cornelius Fudge gives a fancy dress ball?” Rolanda finally said incredulously. “I can’t believe it. He’s as pompous as they make them. Merlin, I wonder what he’ll go as.”
“You’ve said it. Merlin. Can you see him choose anything but the greatest Greatest Wizard of All Times? He’ll be as grand as he can, and he’ll enjoy it, too. All that talk of a little gathering and a small jollification – he’s focusing all his energy on organizing this ball because it makes him feel he’s working on some clever strategic idea for the good of the wizarding world. The bloody man should go as an ostrich!”
“What will you wear?”
“Nothing.”
Rolanda stared. First at Minerva, then at the mental image of a ball room full of wizards and witches, with a Merlinesque Cornelius Fudge at the top of a grand staircase (surely the man would have a grand staircase?) while a house-elf announced Professor Minerva McGonagall, and Min strode into the room stark naked. Up those stairs. With those endless legs. Hair in a bun or down?
“Stop drooling. I didn’t mean ‘nothing’ as in ‘nothing’. I meant I’m not going in fancy dress. Obviously.”
Rolanda refilled the mugs. “Why ‘obviously’?” she said. “Surely Gladrags sells costumes? They rent them out, even, I think.”
“They do. I went there this morning – during the one free hour I had. It’s ghastly. Feminism didn’t start over fancy dress, but it’s things like this that help to keep it going. Have you seen those outfits?” Without waiting for an answer, Minerva raged on. “Every single costume is made with one thought in mind: how do we facilitate the life of the lecherous groper?
“Sexy Vampire outfits, for instance. Little black numbers with an absurd décolleté. Any vampire bending over her victim would have her breasts falling out. Besides, have you ever seen a sexy vampire? They’re too thin, too pale, and they reek of rancid blood and stale coffin air.”
Rolanda couldn’t help herself; she laughed. Somewhat reluctantly, Minerva grinned back. “Well, it is insane,” she continued, but Rolanda was glad to see that she was beginning to see the humorous side.
“What else did they have on offer?” she asked. The sexy vampire outfit didn’t sound half bad to her, but clearly, what with loathing the party, Dementors in the grounds, a werewolf on the staff, and a Peeves-Prank to improve upon the shining hour, Minerva had had it up to here. It would do her good to get it out, and, as there were few things more entertaining than Min in full rant, Rolanda was eager to hear it.
“There’s also the Sexy Banshee – another black dress. With a so-called neck line that ends at your belly-button and side slits up to your armpits.
“And there are several versions of The Muggle Housewife. According to Gladrags, Muggle housewives do their daily chores in full skirts with petticoats that stop way above their knees. With little frilly aprons and, again, half-naked breasts. Mind, on the right sort of body it must be very fetching, and it does make me wonder why the Muggle men I’ve seen in London, whenever I was there at rush hour, don’t look much more cheerful when they go home. One would expect them to be skipping along the streets in eager anticipation, beaming like a Cheshire cat.
“Which brings me to the next option: cats. To dress up as a cat, one needs net stockings, a tight leotard, high heels and cutesy pointy ears.
“And when I told them I wasn’t going to traipse around in those things, the salesman said the costumes were for younger women anyhow, but they did have something for, as he called it, the more mature witch. A high-priestess costume.”
“Sounds like an improvement, then,” Rolanda suggested, wiping away the tears of laughter at Min’s tale. Minerva laughed back. She really was beginning to relax and to see what a fun story it all made. It proved that Rolanda had been right: there’s nothing like a cup of tea in times of crisis.
“The mature witch, according to Gladrags, has such an awful body it must be hidden from head to toe,” Minerva said, now intentionally in full lecture-mode. “The garment is a shapeless tent, in a heavy dark blue tissue with a few moons and stars in silver. Horribly warm and with a train that makes dancing impossible. When I complained, the salesman seemed quite surprised that someone who’s clearly tottering towards the grave would want to dance at all. So I’ve made up my mind: I’ll wear ordinary dress robes, and that’s it.” This time it was Minerva who poured some more tea, with the determined, precise gestures of a witch who has Made Up Her Mind.
“No, it isn’t,” Rolanda countered. “You can’t go in normal dress robes when the invitation says fancy dress. Especially not since your attendance is more or less a diplomatic mission.” She Accio’ed a package of shortbread. It was clear they were both going to miss lunch, and they’d feel even worse with a low sugar-level. Millionaire shortbread would help with that, if nothing else.
Min’s predicament reminded her of the time she’d had been invited to a Muggle party, and the difficulty she’d had finding out what Muggle evening wear was. Her fellow Harpies had shown her pictures of evening dresses with hoops that could house a small family, and other dresses – Regency, they were called – that were mercifully without hoops or corsets but that pushed up your breasts till they looked like a plate of eggs, sunny side up. In the end, Muggle-born Emmeline Vance had come to the rescue and …
“That’s it!” she cried. “I’ve found it. If you have some time this afternoon – do you have time?”
“Yes. Albus kindly offered to take over the preparations for Hogsmeade Saturday, to allow me time for ‘a lovely little shopping spree’, as he called it.”
“Brilliant. I happen to know a Muggle shop – I went there once when I needed to rent a Muggle evening gown. They have fancy dress costumes, too, and theatrical ones. You’ll certainly find something there. It could even be fun to go together,” she added, almost pleadingly.
Would it be a good idea to go on? On the one hand, Min clearly felt better for her little rant. And she had been working far too much these past weeks. Today’s outburst made it perfectly clear that she needed to adjust the balance, to make time for relaxation.
On the other hand, now that Min did look more relaxed, wouldn’t it be best not to mention the lack of attention, the fact that it had been weeks since they had last done something together?
Did complaining now mean that Rolanda was jealous of Minerva’s dedication to her work? Or was it the right time for concern and advice? Minerva had a lot on her plate at the moment. And her job was important to her – more than important, it defined her. In a few weeks the situation might be better. Surely they’d get Sirius Black at some point? The Dementors would leave?
Yes, and then the next problem would come and the next. Every now and then, Minerva – literally or metaphorically –needed to be reminded what it was like to fly. And each and every time it took all of Rolanda’s courage to say it out loud.
“You deserve to go out now and then, to forget about the school. And frankly, sometimes – Min, I understand about the stress of the last few weeks, but I think that by now I could do a bit of your undivided attention. It’s been weeks since we had fun together. Weeks since we went somewhere, since we had an evening together, even. A real one, not one with you working and me happening to be in the same room.”
Minerva stared at her while the still-lingering smile slowly made place for a shocked look. “I’m not …” she started.
Then she fell silent and looked at the mug she was still clutching. She didn’t speak for several minutes, and Rolanda, who knew her Min, realised that she was carefully going over the events of the last few weeks. She wanted to refute Ro’s statement, but she wanted to refute it with facts. Times, places, actions. So she was looking for things they did do together, time – real time – spent with Rolanda. Not finding any. Digesting that unpleasant truth. Gathering the famous Gryffindor courage.
Finally, she looked up, swallowed, and took a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she said. “Merlin, you’re right. I have been busy … and grumbling … and I made you miss lunch, too. I didn’t even ask after your day. Oh, Ro, I’m…”
“Never mind sorry,” RoIanda reassured her. Gryffindor courage, she thought. Dragon heartstring. There’s no-one like Min for stubbornly repeating faults, for not even seeing it’s happening again. But there’s no-one like her for admitting to it, either. “I know you’ve been busy, I know you’re sorry. And I also know it’ll do you a world of good to go on an outing with me. I really think you’ll find something in that shop, and if not, we can still have a great time. Forget about what might happen at Hogwarts. Carpe diem.”
Slowly, Minerva raised her mug. “Carpe diem,” she repeated.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“This is it?” Minerva asked as she stared at the unprepossessing shop front. It wasn’t even a real shop – just a house with a little copper sign saying Mainwright and Son – Costumiers.
Rolanda nodded and pulled the gleaming copper bell. The ring was clearly audible from the outside and was followed by footsteps. An elderly man, Mr Mainwright himself, they presumed, opened the door. He might have been a twin brother of Rufus Scrimgeour, except that his hair was silvery-white. But he exuded the same tremendous dignity. “Pray come in, ladies,” he bade them.
As they stepped inside, Rolanda heard Min gasp in surprise. There were mannequins all over the place, dressed in the most outrageous of Muggle costumes. A cowboy stood next to a nurse. A Roman soldier and a medieval lady formed a little half-circle with a male figure in a coarse, black robe with a cowl and a piece of rope tied around his body. Not very party-like, Rolanda thought, and as hot as the High Priestess costume Minerva had scorned. And why did they put three extra knots in the rope? Did they think it added a festive note?
“I’m looking for a costume – a fancy dress costume,” she heard Minerva say.
“Did you have anything in mind, Madam,” the shopkeeper – costumier, one could not possibly call this Scrimgeour lookalike a shopkeeper – asked.
“No … no, not really,” Minerva said with some hesitation. Rolanda realized that Min had no idea what to ask for. What did Muggles wear to a fancy dress ball?
“It’s for a Halloween party,” Rolanda offered. It was clearly the right thing to say. The man beamed at them in a benevolent way and assured them he had a large selection of very fetching Halloween costumes. Did the ladies prefer to look by themselves, perhaps? If they required assistance, he was always available.
They were led to a section at the back of the shop, with several large racks of costumes, and left there to browse the collection, with the assurance that there were many other costumes, too, if Mainwright’s little Halloween selection didn’t live up to their expectations.
Rolanda felt slightly disappointed that the predominant colour on the rack seemed to be black. But she took out the first costume and held it up. They both stared. “What on earth …” Rolanda started. A black, skin-tight costume, like very old-fashioned underwear with long sleeves and legs. And all over the front there was a drawing of a human skeleton.
“An anatomical lesson?” Minerva ventured. “Or – perhaps that’s it! Do you think Muggles know that the dead may return at Samhain?”
“Could be. But surely, then they would also know it’s their souls that return, not the bones? They can’t possibly expect that Samhain means we’ve skeletons traipsing around all over the place?”
“Anyhow, I think this isn’t what I’m looking for,” Minerva smiled. “It’s too tight, and besides, I may not be as young as I was, but I like to think of myself as slender, not as a bag of bones.”
Rolanda chuckled. She was glad to see Min really throwing herself into the spirit of the thing, all worries on Dementors and Sirius Black seemingly forgotten. Whenever Minerva realised she had been wrong, she didn’t waste time on endless apologies and self-reproach; she just took great care to do things differently. At least, until the next time professional concerns took over.
Rolanda took out a second costume, a bright orange … something. She held it up. It looked like a large mass of foam padding; a giant pillow. Minerva grasped the sides of the costume and examined it more closely.
“Look, it’s a pumpkin!” she exclaimed. And so it was. The costume consisted of a huge, orange ball with quilted lines to form the pumpkin’s sections. There were also bright green tights and a little hat shaped like a pumpkin stem. “Adorable,” Rolanda said as earnestly as possible. “It’s perfect. It’ll show your lovely legs, and at the same time it’s groper-proof.”
“Aye, it is that,” Minerva nodded. “They couldn’t come within half a yard of me. But, delightful as it is, I don’t feel it’s quite me. Let’s look further.” While Minerva took the next outfit from the rack, Rolanda eased the giant pumpkin back in its place and turned to see what Min had come up with. It was a simple black dress. With a high neckline and a rather shapeless cut. A black cape seemed to accompany the dress. For all the world it looked like ordinary working robes, and old-fashioned ones, too.
“Ah, witches!” Mr Mainwright, who had been hovering in the background, suddenly stood beside them. Rolanda felt her heart stop. How on earth could the man possibly know? They both wore Muggle dress. Correct Muggle dress; they had seen people in the street wearing the same sort of clothes. And they couldn’t have said anything that gave them away? Surely not? Next to her, she felt Minerva stiffen and heard her quick intake of breath.
“The witch costume is always very popular with the ladies,” Mr Mainwright continued. “There are accessories to go with it – allow me to fetch them.”
As the costumier retreated, they looked at each other in mute relief. “A witch costume?” Minerva whispered. “My, my. Even Augusta Longbottom would think this too old-fashioned. And what do you think the accessories will be?”
Silently, Rolanda pointed at the costume. There was a hat, which hung from the clothes hanger by a small cord. It was black and pointy; you had to give it that. Other than that, it looked as if a five-year-old had taken a pointy hat and used it as a boxing ball. The dents just went all over the place. Not that Rolanda herself was the kind of dedicated follower of fashion who studied the magazines to know exactly whether the dent should be to the left or the right, at which height it should start, whether there should be a feather or not … But this! No woman, surely not even a Muggle woman, would wear this voluntarily?
Her musings were interrupted by the return of Mr Mainwright, with two packages in his hands. With a flourish, he opened the first, small one. “A wand!” he exclaimed proudly. It was, indeed, a long-ish object. In black plastic. Even children’s toy wands looked better, but they both nodded earnestly.
“And a mask. Now this will turn you into a real witch,” said Mr Mainwright, as he unwrapped the larger package. “Warts and all.”
They stared in mute horror at the atrocity. It was a mask, and arguably of a woman. A long, crooked nose almost reached an even longer, pointy, upturned chin. The … thing … had more wrinkles than an ancient house-elf. There were large warts on the nose and the cheek. Rolanda heard Minerva take a deep breath and put a steadying hand on her arm. They were in Muggle presence; even Min would have to control her temper. “Amazing,” Rolanda said.
“Quite.” That was Minerva, in the tone that had frozen the blood of generations of students.
Rolanda began to enjoy herself. “It’s so very realistic,” she enthused.
“Isn’t it just?” Minerva smiled, but Rolanda could feel the point of a very sharp, rather high Muggle heel just touching her left foot. And she wasn’t wearing her dragon hide boots. As messages went, it was a clear one.
“And of course, you’ll need … heavens, I forgot the most important thing!” Mr Mainwright rushed out, in search of Merlin-knew-what. Rolanda looked at Minerva and chuckled. She held up the mask and looked at it again.
“Realistic?” Minerva hissed. “We don’t have a single wart on our bodies! It’s an outrage! I could …”
““You could wear it to the ball,” Rolanda grinned. “It’ll stop gropers just as efficiently as the pumpkin suit, and in this you could dance! Oh, come on, Min. Keep your hair in a bun and act as a Muggle. Just look at me – my reactions were spot-on.”
Before Minerva could answer Mr Mainwright returned, carrying a large plastic bag. “You wouldn’t be a proper witch without one,” he smiled as he unwrapped the unwieldy object. “How could you go to the party if it weren’t on your broom?”
This time it was Minerva who proffered the calming hand, as Rolanda stared at the ugliest, most twisted, useless collection of misbegotten branches she had ever seen. “My goodness, that is a fine broom,” said Minerva. “Just what every witch would want, isn’t it?” Rolanda glared, and Minerva’s grip on her wrist tightened. Once again, the high Muggle heel made its presence felt. “Isn’t it, Rolanda, dear?” Minerva insisted.
It took them a few minutes to convince Mr Mainwright that Minerva wouldn’t try the witch costume. Finally their assorted arguments – bound to be too many witches already at the party; the mask might be a bit hot; my friend is a teacher, her students shouldn’t see her as a wicked witch – convinced him. Once again he left them to peruse the costume racks at ease.
“Right,” Minerva said, checking that the costumier was well out of hearing. “That’s it. You’re fired as a fashion advisor. ’Her students shouldn’t see her as a wicked witch’. Is that what you call loyalty?”
“No, I think the proper word is revenge,” Rolanda chuckled. “A fine broom! What every witch would want! I wouldn’t use the thing to sweep a pig sty! And they think that could get airborne?”
Minerva shook her head in a fine display of ‘more sorrow than anger’. “You Quidditch stars can be such snobs,” she sighed. “Looking down on anything that isn’t a Nimbus 2000. Now I, I haven’t got a snobbish bone in my body. That’s why I could save you from a breach of the Secrecy Act. Now, keep yourself amused and out of harm’s way while I go and find myself a costume.”
While Minerva drifted off in search of the perfect outfit, Rolanda took a last, shuddering look at the pathetic object. Even Argus wouldn’t want it near his precious mops. Would all Muggle costumes be so awful, or was it just Halloween that brought out the worst in them? There were racks with more colourful clothes. That burgundy dress over there looked exactly like something Rosmerta would wear. With a lace-up bodice, and, true, a fairly low neckline. What would this costume represent to Muggles? Clearly not a Rosmerta-dress. It was one of those things one couldn’t ask that helpful Mr Mainwright, for it was probably exactly the sort of thing a Muggle would know. Like the coarse, black robe near the entrance. Rolanda was as familiar with Muggle lore as the next witch; she had even been to a Muggle movie or two and knew her cowboys from her Roman soldiers. But she had never seen anyone wear that black robe. Could it be a Muggle priest? It was not unlike Minerva’s description of the High Priestess robe. Perhaps the three knots in the rope had some deeply symbolic meaning.
“That’s it! I’ve found it!” Minerva returned, with a costume draped over her arm. A black one, drat it. Rolanda was about to complain when Minerva held up the outfit. Then she just stared. Slowly, a large grin spread over her face. It was mirrored in Minerva’s laughing eyes.
“That’s it, all right. Merlin, I wish I could come to that party. Is that the right size?” Rolanda asked.
“Near enough. Nothing that a minor spell or two can’t cure. You were brilliant, to take me to this shop. Wait till they see this!” Minerva beamed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was not dignified for teachers to run through the corridors. Skipping and hopping were even less recommended. Rolanda would not skip, no, she would not. She would walk to Minerva’s rooms in the calm, sedate fashion befitting a Hogwarts teacher of long standing. It would lengthen the journey, true. But it would also lengthen the delicious anticipation. Minerva had insisted on trying the costume on in private. “You want to see the elegance of the ensemble,” she had said, “not the struggle of getting in.” And the ensemble was certainly something to look forward to. But the reason Rolanda nearly – but not quite – hopped, was the way Min had looked, and the timbre of her voice when she said, “I want to dazzle you.”
Finally Min’s rooms, the password, the doorknob, which was suddenly uncooperative. Or was it her hands that were trembling? At last, the door gave way. She rushed in – and stopped dead in her tracks.
Against the chimney piece leaned the most delectable Muggle gentleman Rolanda had ever seen. The black tailcoat hugged the slender shoulders. The long legs were made for trousers, especially for trousers with such a very fetching satin band along the sides to emphasize the tall figure. The little line of black buttons on the shirt swelled over the chest, hinting at treasures that no ordinary gentleman, wizard or Muggle, could possibly offer.
Rolanda swallowed several times. “Brilliant. Just brilliant,” she finally managed. “It’s perfect from head to toes, Min.”
“Actually, it isn’t. Not to toes,” said Minerva, pulling up one trouser pipe. “Socks. What do I do about socks? They didn’t come with the costume, and I’ve no idea about the colour. I Transfigured a pair of stockings and they were black, but I’m not sure any more. Look, all the accents – the waistcoat, the shirt, the tie – are white. Does that mean the socks should be white, too?”
Rolanda paused to consider. “I’ve no idea,” she said at last. “What do Muggles wear for socks with a costume like this? What do Muggles wear for socks normally, Min, would you know that?”
“Not really – all sorts of colours, I think. And the problem is, we can’t go to a Muggle street and look, because the point isn’t what they normally wear, but what they wear with this. I mean, normally they don’t wear white ties and white waistcoats either – that I do know.”
“You’re right,” Rolanda said, pondering the problem. “Muggle habits won’t help. On the other hand, most wizards wouldn’t know which is the correct colour, either, so it won’t be vitally important. What do wizards wear on formal occasions? Have you ever noticed Fudge’s socks? He dresses formally.”
“And I’ve most certainly never watched his socks.”
“Severus wears black socks,” Rolanda offered.
“True, but then Severus wears black everything. It’s hardly decisive.”
“What’ll Albus wear? That might give you ideas,” Rolanda chuckled.
“Albus will go as Neptune. He waxed lyrical on turquoise, cerulean, and viridian. When he mentioned eau-de-nil, I mentally tuned out. I think he planned to combine all colours and add bits of rhinestone for sparkly water drops. Actually, that suggestion of yours wasn’t half bad. Now that I recall Albus’s plans, my mind is made up. Black. The quieter, the better.” With a quick flick of her wand, Minerva Transfigured the socks into black. “There, that’s it.”
She walked toward one of the chairs and sat down. Rolanda smiled. Min, ever the perfectionist, had clearly practiced walking in trousers, and she sat down with perfect elegance, her legs slightly, but not too much apart. A very proper little gentleman. Only her gleeful looks gave her away – they made Rolanda want to take her dashing boy straight off to bed. “Quite the gent, you are,” she said. “Movements and all. You may be safe form the traditional groper, but all the ladies will ogle you instead.”
“There’s only one lady I have designs on.” Minerva tried to arrange her face into something resembling a leer. “It’s why I wanted this suit – not just for the fun of wearing it to the ball and seeing Cornelius’s reaction, but for the fun of tonight.”
Looking more serious, she continued, “You were right – we did need time together. And some fun, too. I wasn’t exactly good company, these last few weeks. No, don’t deny it, I wasn’t. And you know how they always say, in magazines and such, that you have to surprise your partner from time to time?”
“This costume certainly is a surprise,” Rolanda said. “It’ll be a pity to take it off – but off it’ll come before the night is much older.”
“Not so hasty, my dear lady.” A strict teacher face, but with laughing, inviting eyes. “You’ve clearly a lot to learn about surprises.” Minerva got up, crossed the room to Rolanda’s chair, and straddled her lap. “The very essence of a surprise is that it’s something new and unexpected,” Min said in the voice of one who’s dictating notes to a particularly dim-witted student.
To Rolanda’s delight, she interrupted the lesson with a long kiss.
“A costume that you have already seen is therefore, clearly, not a surprise. It lacks both the ‘new’ and the ‘unexpected’. “
“Yes, Miss,” whispered Rolanda.
“Excuse me?!? Yes Miss?”
“I mean, yes, Sir, sorry, Sir.”
“You weren’t paying proper attention,” said Minerva, while she unbuttoned Rolanda’s shirt and slid one hand into her bra. “I expect my students to sit up straight and look lively,” she continued, underlining every syllable with a teasing little caress of Rolanda’s nipple. Rolanda arched her back and sat straighter than she had ever done.
“That’s what I mean by ‘looking lively,” Min said approvingly. “Now listen. Are you listening?”
“Ahh … yes, please …” Rolanda groaned, arching further into those tantalizing fingers.
“Yes, please, who?”
“Yes, please, Sir. I’m listening, Sir.”
“Now, show me that you understand the meaning of ‘surprise’. What’s new and unexpected tonight?”
You taking the initiative for the first time in weeks, Rolanda thought, but “you straddling me? Sir?” she suggested.
“True. Five points for Ravenclaw. Ten more if you can find the real surprise.” Minerva looked like the cat that got the cream. Rolanda checked her carefully – tie, shirt, vest, all as in the shop. No room for surprises. And the coat was tight-fitting round the shoulders, not a crease on the back, no room to put anything either, unless … no. No pockets. And Min smiled in the most infuriating manner. The honour of Ravenclaw was at stake, and Rolanda would not fail her house.
Pockets were a good notion, though, and she’d look for them. Trouser pockets, perhaps? Did a suit like this have trouser pockets? And if it did, how did you reach into the trouser pockets of someone who’s straddling your legs and facing you? Not, that’s how. Not without twisting your wrists or risking the seams of the costume. An outward examination, however …
Carefully she patted Min’s back, her arse, and her hips. Nothing. Just to make sure – or so she told herself – she decided to pat the front as well. Even though it probably wasn’t to the manner born to grab a gentleman in the crotch.
“Merlin’s bollocks, Min!” she gasped. So that was the real surprise? Unexpected, for sure. And it explained sitting with legs apart.
“Merlin’s bollocks, Sir!” Minerva corrected, twitching Rolanda’s nipple and grinning like a naughty girl – a naughty boy – a naughty Minerva. The most irresistible sight Rolanda knew.
“And besides, it’s not Merlin’s bollocks,” Minerva continued. “It’s Circe’s Delight, the best Witch’s Playground had to offer. Guaranteed pleasure for both, they said. Still, you found the new and unexpected. Ten points for Ravenclaw. You may now unwrap your gift, Miss Hooch.”
With a groan, Rolanda reached for the little white bow tie.
“Don’t pull – it’s ready made. There are hooks at the back,” Minerva whispered, leaning towards her to give her access. Rolanda found the hooks, undid them, and started on the pleasure of removing the coat, the vest, and then, one by one, she undid the tiny black buttons.
“Now there’s what every gentleman should wear,” she said, as she took off Minerva’s bra and let her fingers and mouth explore her breasts till Min moaned and got up from Rolanda’s lap. “Bedroom,” she suggested.
“Tie!” Rolanda countered sternly, re-adjusting the white tie around Min’s neck. “I want to enjoy my lovely boy to the full. And I can be stern, too, mind!”
“Can you now,” purred Minerva, pulling Rolanda in a close embrace. “Can you, indeed?” she whispered between kisses, and put a long, trouser-clad leg between Rolanda’s thighs. Softly, she moved her leg against Rolanda’s crotch. “Tell me, sternly, what you want, then.”
“I – I want you to – “ If you want to sound in control, measured tones worked best, Rolanda thought, and they lend dignity to your voice. Stern, stern, stern! Minerva withdrew her leg and instead rubbed her hips against Rolanda, giving her the full promise of Circe’s Delight.
“Yes – oh, please, yes –” Rolanda moaned. So much for stern dignity. To her dismay, Minerva stopped rubbing. And arched her eyebrows. Of course! That was it.
“Yes, please, Sir,” she chuckled, and led Minerva to the bedroom. “You didn’t continue the Muggle accessories all the way through, then?” she asked as Minerva took of her trousers, carefully, so as not to spoil their pristine looks. True, they had to serve for Fudge’s party yet. Hurriedly, Rolanda undressed herself.
“Good heavens, no,” Minerva answered. “First of all, I wouldn’t know where to find a Muggle shop that has sex toys. It isn’t exactly the kind of thing you can ask a passer-by, is it? Besides, I very much doubt they would offer the same level of mutual enjoyment. And Muggles can’t affix them magically, either. How would they put them on, you think? With glue?”
Rolanda, who had sat down to take of her boots, instinctively crossed her legs as the idea and its consequences sunk in. Removing it would be the worst wax ever. “Ties?” she suggested. “Straps? Something like pants? Crotchless pants, I should hope, then. Poor Muggles.”
“And lucky me,” she whispered as Minerva turned towards her. What would it be like to wear a magical dildo for hours? In the past, they had sometimes played with them. But Rolanda had been the one to wear it. She knew the sensation of smoothness against her clit, the sudden rush of blood when all spells were in place – both for fixing and for feeling. But it had never occurred to her to wear it hours beforehand. Trust Minerva the Perfectionist to go all the way – she could have kept that toy in the bedroom, and put it on now, but no. If Minerva was going to play at cross-dressing, she did it properly. With all the accessories just so.
Rolanda smiled as she stretched herself out on the bed, fully naked. “Merlin, I want you.”
Minerva stretched out beside her and trailed her fingers along Rolanda’s breasts, hips, thighs. Circling, but not quite touching her clit, until Rolanda moaned both her pleasure and desire for more. Only then did the fingers probe further, did Minerva’s hungry mouth reach Ro’s nipples. Rolanda spread her legs; she wanted to, needed to. She heard herself whisper incoherently, “now, yes, want … please … need … more …”
And then there was Minerva’s body between her legs, Minerva’s hand that opened her further and guided the tip of the dildo, an “aaahhh” that lasted as long as the slow, exquisite stretch, and for the life of her Rolanda couldn’t have said who had made the sound – she, Minerva, or both.
Minerva began to move, unsmiling, as always when she was completely concentrated on the task at hand – be that reading, magic, or making love. She thrusted slowly at first, waiting for Rolanda to guide her, following her rhythm. Rolanda grabbed Min’s arse, to increase her speed, to allow her deeper entrance, to be able to push back, and finally to have something to hold on to as she drowned in waves of pleasure.
*~*~*~*~*~*
“You know, at first I had my doubts about that whole fancy dress business,” said Minerva hours later, after Rolanda’s nimble fingers had replaced the Delight of Circe. “I only went with you because you wanted it, and you were right: we hadn’t done anything together in weeks. But I enjoyed it! I really did. The role-play, I mean. Being someone else for an evening. Not Deputy-Headmistress McGonagall, with papers to mark, a school to run, and a list of worries as long as my arm, but a dashing Muggle gentleman seducing a beautiful lady.”
Minerva leaned over and gave butterfly kisses on Rolanda’s cheek, jaw, and neck. With a contented sigh she rested her head on Ro’s shoulder and snuggled against her. “A very beautiful lady. I need you to remind me of what matters most to me,” she said. “And I know you hate telling me.”
“I don’t hate reminding you – I just never know whether I’m right, or merely possessive and jealous of your career. Of the time you spend on your work, I mean; I wouldn’t want your job for all the tea in China. But then, you have to rein me in, occasionally, when I want to do something outrageous. And you’re always right, but I know you’re afraid I’ll see you as a spoil-sport. I don’t. You’re my anchor – and I don’t care if it sometimes takes a little work to pull that anchor up.”
She pulled Minerva a bit closer and felt a ripple go through her – a ripple that spoke of suppressed laughter. “What’s funny?” she asked.
“Nothing. That is, I was thinking it’s a pity I have to return the suit so quickly after the party. Instead of telling me when I get obsessive again, you could show me, I thought. Put out the suit for me to wear, I mean. That would be a pretty clear comment.”
“And a very delicious way of telling you,” Rolanda smiled. “But that way, you’d have the fun of the dressing up every time. I’ve been wondering, you know. About what it’s like to wear that suit, and then the way you did, with the dildo. I can see how it would make you feel more completely different. And I’d like to know what it feels like physically.
“I could wear a Quidditch outfit, of course, but that wouldn’t be the same. I’ve worn that often enough; it’s normal for me. And besides, Quidditch clothes are too tight. Now that I think of it, boys might need a cushioning charm much more than girls. After all…”
Minerva smiled. “After all, girls can have fun on a broom. We’ve both experienced the – erm – other way of flying, on occasions. But you’re right; I’d hate to try this in Quidditch trousers. However, if you have a spare uniform somewhere?”
“Yes, of course. Lots of them. Why?”
“Because I happen to be quite good at Transfiguration, that’s why. And now that I have the perfect example to work from … Transfiguring one of those uniforms into this Muggle outfit would be easy. And then it can be your turn to be the Muggle gentleman. Do you think you could possibly bring me an old Quidditch outfit tomorrow morning? I want to get the details just right, and that would give me enough time before I have to go to Cornelius’s party – I can’t wait to see his face!”
“Oh, Merlin, yes. Yes for Cornelius’s face – all of their faces. You must give me full reports. And beware of Albus; you’re such a gorgeous boy. And yes for making the costume. I had actually thought of asking you, but you’re so busy right now. Are you sure you’ll have time for it?”
“I’ll make time,” Minerva said, settling herself into a position in which she could sleep without waking up with stiff muscles. “I’ll just make time. As a very wise woman once told me, “Carpe Diem.”
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Rolanda wasn’t a man. She chose “I think we could both do with a cuppa” instead. I love your Rolanda.
“Stop drooling. I didn’t mean ‘nothing’ as in ‘nothing’. I meant I’m not going in fancy dress. Obviously.” And your Minerva. :-D
I had never previously thought that the analogy to a witch costume would be a Muggle Housewife, but I love it!
This time it was Minerva who proffered the calming hand, as Rolanda stared at the ugliest, most twisted, useless collection of misbegotten branches she had ever seen. “My goodness, that is a fine broom,” said Minerva. “Just what every witch would want, isn’t it?” Rolanda glared, and Minerva’s grip on her wrist tightened. Once again, the high Muggle heel made its presence felt. “Isn’t it, Rolanda, dear?” Minerva insisted. *laughs* Oh, those two deserve each other.
Against the chimney piece leaned the most delectable Muggle gentleman Rolanda had ever seen. The black tailcoat hugged the slender shoulders. The long legs were made for trousers, especially for trousers with such a very fetching satin band along the sides to emphasize the tall figure. The little line of black buttons on the shirt swelled over the chest, hinting at treasures that no ordinary gentleman, wizard or Muggle, could possibly offer. *gulps* If ever any story called for illustration...
What a steamy Hallowe'en. I'm so glad you reposted this, as I might have missed this otherwise.
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