Fic: Hunting the Unicorn

[therealsnape]

Title: Hunting the Unicorn, originally written for the fabulous minerva_fest.
Prompt: One of those stories in which we know where it's going -- toward sex and romance -- so the fun comes in seeing how it gets there. Premise: Minerva's a widow or a contented spinster who's never thought about being interested in women; Wilhelmina's a dyke, but, having been burned in her youth, she now has a strict "no straight women" policy. And yet, of course, they fall for each other anyway.
Rating: a very mild R
Word Count: 10K
Characters and/or Pairings: Minerva McGonagall/Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank
Summary: During her convalescense after the Stunner attack, Minerva enjoys a little light reading, i.e. a scholarly study on Unicorn lore. The tapestries of The Lady and the Unicorn lead to a most interesting hypothesis on love and the five senses. One that Minerva examines with her usual scholarly precision.
Warnings: None

Many thanks to my beta tetleythesecond for hand-holding, cheer-leading, and generally being beyond wonderful.

St Mungo’s Hospital, Dai Llewellyn Ward, June 1996

Augustus Pye was the man.

For months he had tried to live down the disaster of his Muggle Healing of Patient Weasley. His colleagues, who seemed to think that a day without punning was a day not fully lived, had been a sore trial. Pye had tried jokes against himself at first (“Great one, Pye, you have us in stitches”) and smiles of courageous resignation later (“Don’t needle the poor fellow, guys”). And now, finally, he had lived it down, with sheer, utter brilliance. No-one had as yet dared to pun about ‘stunning’ brilliance – not with Patient McGonagall still on the premises.

And it was by his handling of that same Patient McGonagall (or “impatient McGonagall”, as she was inevitably called) that Augustus Pye had achieved more in the course of one brief morning shift than senior Healers had managed in two days.

“And how exactly, my dear fellow, did you set about it?” Hyppocrates Smethwyck had asked in the Daily Meeting.

Augustus Pye had smiled. It was a pitch-perfect smile that spoke of greatness and modesty in equal amounts. “I don’t know exactly,” he had said. “We just seem to get on rather well – it’s a matter of attitude, I think. Having the right attitude.”

Half an hour later, with an adapted shift schedule in his hand (“Patient McGonagall will be your special assignment; we simply must make the most of your bedside skills, dear fellow”) and the text for his own input on his Yearly Appraisal already shaping up nicely in his head, Augustus Pye made his way to the Dai Llewellyn Ward.

And if the spring in his step was verging on the jaunty hop, who would blame him?

Patient McGonagall was resting. Not a complaint, not a single unreasonable demand had been heard since Trainee Healer Augustus Pye had taken charge early that morning.

Augustus grinned. It was a matter of the right attitude – and Slytherin House wasted no time in instructing its students. What was it Jeremy Higgs had said during Pye’s first week?

”We Prefects are supposed to tell you never to get into trouble. Nonsense, of course. The main thing is not to lose your House points. This can be achieved with the right attitude.

“You’ll find that quite often a solution to the problem presents itself – you were not Sorted into Slytherin for nothing. I’ll now give you a set of fall-back options.

“If you get into trouble with Sprout: when in doubt, smile. Sprout is a motherly woman; she’ll smile back. And you’ll find that people don’t deduct House Points from people they’ve just smiled at.

“In Flitwick’s case, when in doubt, reason. Flitwick is a sucker for philosophy. Well, he’s a Ravenclaw, isn’t he? Go for ‘doesn’t that depend on the definition of …’ or even ‘but take the hypothetical case that …’ Once you’ve got him interested, you’re home and dry.”

“And what do we do in the case of Professor McGonagall?” a young and eager Pye had asked. From what he’d seen of the Head of Gryffindor, a fall-back option would be useful.

“Ah. There you have a problem, Pye. Try to avoid the situation – trouble with McG will cost us points. The best you can hope for is damage limitation. When in doubt, say ‘Yes, Professor.’”

Wise words.

So when Professor McGonagall had greeted him with a sharp “Mister Pye, isn’t it? I need you to do something for me,” he had taken one good look at the thin line of her lips, and he had said, “Yes, Professor.”

“When Madam Pomfrey packed my bag for me, she put in a book. Fetch the book, will you? The bag is in the left cupboard.”

Pye had received explicit instructions that Patient McGonagall was to have no visitors, no books, no newspapers, above all no wand, and was to rest as much as possible. Pye was supposed to achieve all this by pointing out that if the patient’s progress was satisfactory, a visitor might be allowed in a day or two.

Pye was not a fool. He had made his way to the cupboard with a respectful “Yes, Professor.”

“If I am to make any progress at all, Mister Pye, it will not be achieved through staring at this well-maintained but otherwise uninteresting ceiling.”

You’re supposed to close your eyes and sleep as much as possible, Pye had thought, but he had said “Yes, Professor.”

That was when he had known he had the Right Attitude. Old McG had made a little joke – clearly the result of his respectful cooperation.

“If it had been less well-maintained, I might have had the pleasure of fantasising over the shape of the stains – see what they resemble. But even that entertainment, I presume, would pale quickly. That’s why I need a little light reading.”

It wouldn’t pale necessarily, Pye had thought. He had read quite a bit on Muggle psychology, and some Muggles seemed to see things in ink-spots that were … why, even McG might spend some happy hours on those fantasies. Would he point it out, in a respectful, professional manner? She might find it amusing. Then again …

“Yes, Professor. Is this the book, Professor?”

Hunting the Unicorn; Critical Perspectives on Wizarding and Muggle Unicorn Lore. A little light reading? Sweet Merlin. There was no way he could let her have such a book. Next thing you knew, she’d be asking for writing material. Healer Smethwyck would find out, and Pye couldn’t afford to blot his parchment. Not after Weasley.

“Yes, Mister Pye. Please put it on my bedside table. I expect a visitor tomorrow, or the day after at the very latest, and I want to read some of those essays. My visitor, Professor Grubbly-Plank, wrote one of them.”

Ye gods. When McG said at the very latest in that tone, there was no negotiation possible. Pye had to get her well in time. Which meant rest, rest, and more rest. No excitement at all. Pye had considered a few options. I can readily understand that you look forward to such an interesting visitor. But if we want to be well enough … No! Not ‘we’, not with McG. An appeal to reason, perhaps? You will readily understand that, given the seriousness of your injuries ….

And then a Slytherin Solution presented itself.

“Yes, Professor. It must be a fascinating book. But may I make one suggestion, Professor? If I were to put a Disillusionment Charm on the cover, it would be … considerably less noticeable. You would not risk being interrupted in your reading by Healers who …”

McG had agreed with a curt, “sound thinking.” Pye had executed the Charm (it had felt more like passing an exam than the actual exam at Hogwarts), and McG had dismissed him with the instruction not to disturb her. “I’m supposed to get rest, and with all of you checking on me this room is as quiet as Platform 9 ¾ on Hogwarts Day.”

Pye had taken one last look at the Disillusioned book. As long as it was lying on the bedspread, it was all right. But if she would start reading it … if he would be found out …

“Yes, Professor.”

The rest of the morning the Dai Llewellyn Ward had been blissfully quiet. Pye had made sure he was the one to check her temperature and blood pressure (not that there had been a queue of volunteers, given past experiences), and now, during the sacrosanct Resting Hour, McG was actually asleep. Or at least lying with her eyes closed. Only Pye, who knew what he was looking for, could see that she held a book in her hand, one of her fingers between the pages. There was a hint of a smile around her lips.

Looking forward to her visitor, Pye assumed. Some scholarly old biddy with whom McG could discuss Unicorn Lore. Rather suitable, really. Weren’t Unicorns supposed to prefer virgins? No – that was lore; they preferred a woman’s touch, but the whole virgin thing was mediaeval nonsense. Still – two spinsters and a Unicorn book. Fitting. And he hoped poor old McG would enjoy it. It was a rotten thing to have happened to her – she deserved a bit of fun. Depending on the definition of ‘fun’, of course, Professor. Jeremy Higgs voice echoed in his head. Wise man.

Thanks to Old Jeremy, Pye was a king. He was a god. He was officially the best thing since Merlin and tea in a bag.

Life was sweet – for a man with the right attitude.

*+*+*+*+*

Minerva McGonagall kept her eyes closed until the sound of young Pye’s footsteps died away. He was not the worst of the lot, but she could do without another interruption. The book was a treasure trove of interesting articles. She would keep Wilhelmina’s for later – after she had had a little nap, perhaps. Skimming through the table of contents and the illustrations had given her the most bearable and – yes – restful morning since the attack.

Ludicrous idea, to forbid books. So seldom did one have the time to just lie and read at Hogwarts. She would make the most of it during her stay here. And this collection really was most promising. A contribution by Charity, too. Muggle interpretations of the The Hunt of the Unicorn and the Dame à la Licorne tapestries. With full-colour illustrations, even.

They had one from each series at Hogwarts – replicas, of course. Given by a wealthy Muggle-born Old Pupil, one to be placed where they saw fit, and one for the Gryffindor Common Room “where I spent my happiest hours.”

She had disliked the tapestry from the Hunt intensely and perhaps a tad irrationally. Exquisite though the execution was, she found the image of that magnificent creature in captivity, fenced in, tied down, quite disturbing. “But it might escape, that’s the whole idea. Look, the fence is really low, and the collar isn’t tight at all,” Charity had assured her, and “It’s an allegory of love – of marriage.” In Charity’s mind those two were firmly connected.

“Quite,” Minerva had said, and she had relegated the tapestry to the wall next to the Room of Requirement. Students who found that room could do with a reminder of being caught and the consequences thereof.

The tapestry in the Common Room was lovely. “And it fits much better. Gryffindor colours,” Minerva had pointed out.

“As well as a Gryffindor lion and a Scottish Unicorn,” Albus had smiled. Trust Albus to know his heraldry.

It would be fun to learn the full Muggle backstory. Charity would have written it well; she was nothing if not meticulous. And there would be none of the annoying looks she’d get if Charity were to explain in person. Charity’s views on spinsterhood were both maudlin and misguided.

Take their discussion on holiday plans, for instance. “Alone?” Charity had asked, horrified.

“Alone,” Minerva had confirmed. She liked travelling alone, and often found that the places she loved and remembered best were the ones she had visited on her own. Free to do exactly what she wanted, to see what most interested her…

The Cotswolds had been lovely … and the cottage … even going to the supermarket had been fun …

She would have a little nap now … and then she’d read Charity’s thingy …


Chipping Campden, August 1995

A lonely spinster, bravely making the best of the bad hand life had dealt her.

That was how the people in this rather fascinating Muggle supermarket would describe Minerva McGonagall, based on what they saw. And what they saw was a person who was female, bespectacled, and with her hair in a tight bun. With a shopping basket containing two half-bottles of wine, two ready-cooked meals (one Indian, one Italian, so clearly not meant for a dinner-for-two), a package of ginger newts, two yoghurts (caramel fudge – now that was an original flavour; she looked forward to trying it), half a loaf of sliced bread, and a jar of marmalade.

Lonely spinster eating lonely meal. How lucky they were, not to be in her shoes.

Minerva looked at the other women in the check-out queue. They were not carrying the barely-filled shopping basket that so eloquently spoke of singledom, but lugging around huge carts, filled to overflowing with family-size packages of breakfast cereals, tins of spaghetti hoops, and what must surely be orphanage-sized packages of washing powder. “Poor woman”, they might say. “Such a pity she doesn’t have children.” And, if they were told that she was a teacher, “Well, isn’t that a wonderful compensation?”

“Quite,” Minerva would answer. “Surely, with the end of the holidays in sight, you’ll agree that being childless isn’t just a wonderful, but also a very necessary compensation for dealing with boarding school children all day long, seven days a week, teaching them not just how to behave, but one of the most difficult forms of science as well?”

And if she wanted to be really nasty (she didn’t, of course, clearly those tired-looking women had enough on their plates already) she’d ask, “Now, do you really love Choco Pops and spaghetti hoops, or would you like, just for once, to buy exactly what you fancy? Without thinking of the children, without remembering that you had better not buy the goat cheese quiche; your husband hates goat cheese? Just get all the things you love, and then have them at exactly the moment you want to eat? While sipping a glass of wine and reading a book, perhaps?”

Of course, there was more to family life than spaghetti hoops and laundry. Minerva had seen enough examples to know that to be in a truly happy marriage was a wonderful way to spend your life. Augusta and Frank had been a case in point. But they had shown her an important downside, too. The loss of Frank had been a devastating blow for Augusta.

On one occasion, several years after Frank’s death, Augusta had said that Frank had been like a leg of the chair she sat on. Minerva had raised her eyebrows at that comparison – surely, Frank had been more than a leg of a chair? But, “picture it,” Augusta had said, and Minerva had realised that you would fall on your face with a debilitating crash if one leg of your chair suddenly broke off. And that it would take a long time to learn to sit on that now three-legged chair – but never quite as comfortably as before, always with an effort.

No, all in all, Minerva felt that, with a career she loved, with good friends, with ample opportunities to please herself and do just as she liked, she was very fortunate indeed. A lasting and happy relationship certainly would have added pleasures to her life – but it would have taken pleasures, too. And she could truly say that she’d never met a man for whom she was willing to give up the joys of being single.

The queue in front of the cashier had finally disappeared. Minerva paid for her purchases, bagged them, and made her way to the quiet alley at the back of the shop so suitable for Apparition. She meant to make the most of the last two days of her holiday. The new term would be strenuous enough. Albus’s absences on Order business made for much additional work, and then there was this new Ministry-appointed DADA teacher. If half of what Amelia had said was true, they were in for a bumpy ride. “Make that a saccharine, slippery slide,” Amelia had said when they had had lunch together in London, and, “you’ll have to see it to believe it.”

“It?” Minerva had queried, arching an eyebrow.

“It,” Amelia had nodded. “Wait and see.”

But there were things to look forward, too. Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank would return! Minerva had liked her at first sight. Practical, down-to-earth, very handsome. Handsome, rather than beautiful, Minerva mused, with that strong jaw line and those piercing blue eyes. A somewhat – nay, a very – mannish way of dressing, but she had been pleased to find that Wilhelmina had a good handshake. Firm and sincere. Not like some, though. Take Rolanda – in dress style and type she was not unlike Wilhelmina, but Rolanda gripped your hand as if it was the stick of a particularly unwilling broom. Downright painful.

Wilhelmina had been a most pleasant addition to the staff, and Minerva had really looked forward to spending some time with her. But Hagrid had returned after just two weeks, Wilhelmina had left, and Minerva, rushing between teaching, being Head of House, and organising the Triwizard Tournament, had barely had time to have more than a brief chat.

This year, at least, there was no Tournament. And Wilhelmina would stay longer. Minerva firmly intended to seek her out. She had thought at once that Wilhelmina might be someone she’d like to count among her friends, and she wasn’t going to miss this second opportunity.

Not that she would be pushy, of course, or expect great friendship to happen. Colleagues were colleagues, and the main thing was to get on well enough. But if Wilhelmina were to become a friend, that would be rather nice.


St Mungo’s Hospital, Dai Llewellyn Ward, June 1996

That had been a most refreshing little nap. And it was quite pleasant to lie back and think. But only because she now had a book to hand and could choose to read at any moment. When staring at the ceiling was the only option left, forced upon you by someone who took away the possibility of choice, simply because he could, it was a different matter altogether.

Perhaps she could read a few pages of Charity’s contribution? The description of the Dame à la Licorne tapestry – Minerva wasn’t in the mood for the hunting scenes. But the five senses … yes. She’d enjoy reading that. Or perhaps she’d just look at the illustrations.

There was Sight. Symbolised by a mirror. Well, one had to make clear that it was sight. But surely, the unicorn would have preferred looking at that enchanting garden – or better still, at his beloved Lady? And would he see that lion as a fellow-suitor? Then, from the unicorn’s point of view, that lion would definitely want watching. But that was rather fanciful, of course. Charity would be shocked by such a profane explanation.

But the sight of your beloved was a joy, indeed.

Could that be an interpretation? That it took all five senses before the other became Mon Seul Désir? It was a thought worth pondering. What had it been like for her? Not that one specific case formed sufficient scholarly proof. But then, she didn’t have to write an article. She could just enjoy herself. See whether she could make the allegory fit.

Sight, Hearing, Smell, Taste, and Touch.

Oh, yes, touch.

But one didn’t start research at the end. One had to be methodical. No cutting corners. She’d examine the senses one by one.


Hogwarts, August 1995

The first time Minerva had seen Wilhelmina she had liked what she saw.

The second time she loved it.

As Minerva made her way towards Wilhelmina, who was grooming a Thestral near Hagrid’s cabin, she looked with approval verging on the delight at the closely-cropped grey hair, the moss-green chequered shirt, the sturdy brown trousers and lace-up boots. And the defiantly-red cheeks of a woman who spends her life outdoors and to hell with her complexion.

After the vicious attack of pinkness Minerva had just been subjected too, Wilhelmina was a sight for sore eyes.

During her holiday in a Muggle village, Minerva had noticed the popularity of pink with little girls. Clothes, shoes, hair clips, Alice bands, bags, bicycles, even. She had also noticed that girls grew out of it: in their teenage years, pink was an occasional, quirky accent, not a life-style.

Well, here was one who hadn’t grown out of it. Hadn’t grown out of the Alice bands, either. Amelia had been right, as usual, when she described Dolores Umbridge as a saccharine, slippery slope. And as ‘it’. Howbeit I believed not the words, until I came, and mine eyes had seen it: and, behold, the half was not told me, thought Minerva, who had spent her childhood Sundays listening to her Muggle father reading the Gospel and who had an excellent retentive memory.

Wilhelmina looked up from her work as Minerva approached and waved in greeting. She gave the Thestral a few final brushes, patted his neck and told him he was a grand-looking fellow and mustn’t mess himself all up again before the students arrived. “Some will see you, laddie, and those who do deserve to see something good.”

Not that the students who saw Thestrals would agree, Minerva thought. But it gave her a warm feeling that Wilhelmina did see ‘something good’ in the creature.

Minerva felt even more comforted at Wilhelmina’s ready willingness to take the First Years across the lake. She apologised profusely for not asking earlier. “But, you see, Hagrid always just does it, and it’s only today that I suddenly realised …”

“Never mind that,” Wilhelmina replied cheerfully. “I’ll enjoy it. Such fun, to watch them see Hogwarts for the first time. Remember? I thought it was the best thing ever.”

“So did I,” smiled Minerva. “And the most impressive thing. I remember wondering whether I’d really be good enough to study there – I’m half-Muggle, you know. And the children on the train – the First Years, too – they all seemed to know so much more than I. Seeing Hogwarts was a bit scary – but in a wonderful way.”

“Fancy that,” said Wilhelmina. “I’m half-Muggle, too. And I know how you felt on the train. I was convinced I wouldn’t fit in – never quite fitted in in my Muggle school, because of the magic, I guessed. Was afraid I wouldn’t fit in at Hogwarts because of the Muggle thing. But I did love that first sight. And I really look forward to picking up the ickle ones.”

“That’s settled then,” said Minerva. Now, what was the next item on her to-do list? Suddenly, she found herself reluctant to end the conversation. She had to, of course; there was a meeting with the Heads of House, one with the senior House-Elves, one with Irma. Not all unpleasant, but not all joy either.

“Let’s compare notes one of these days – have a drink in my room,” Minerva heard herself say suddenly. Was that pushy? She had intended not to be. Start as you mean to go on, her father would have said. Then again, she meant to see whether there were grounds for friendship.

“I’d like to, if you can make time for it,” Wilhelmina answered. “Just let me know what would be a good moment.”

“How about Tuesday?” Minerva asked. “Tonight I’ll be busy with the Sorting Ceremony, and there’s an informal drink with all the colleagues – you knew about that?” Wilhelmina nodded and Minerva went on, “But Tuesday would be lovely. I’d look forward to it.” She hesitated briefly – would Wilhelmina think it too quick? Too insistent? “And if we don’t settle a time now, it’ll be like it was in January – one thing after another, and never a time to have a proper chat. I’ve been negligent then. I should have done more to welcome you.”

There. That gave Wilhelmina the option to see it as a semi-professional thing. The welcoming of a new colleague. If they wanted, they could leave it at that.

“Not negligent at all,” said Wilhelmina. “You were rushed off your feet. It was a madhouse. I’ll look forward to dropping by on Tuesday. And I had better go and check on the boats now.”

Hogwarts, September 1995

All in all, the essay was Acceptable. Minerva considered the mark one more time before she wrote a bold ‘A’ in the upper right corner. Colin had made an effort with his bibliography – but part of tomorrow’s lesson would have to be spent on explaining, again, the difference between quoting authors and committing plagiarism. Creevey clearly meant well, though. He deserved his A.

Minerva looked ruefully at the as yet unmarked pile on her left. Another dozen to go.

Damn the Pink Menace.

Filius’s report of his inspection that afternoon had been both entertaining and worrying. The woman had had the guts to hint at his Goblin ancestry. Oh, in the most veiled of terms, and full of her trademark saccharine sweetness. (How right Amelia had been!) Wasn’t it difficult for Professor Flitwick to perform all his teaching duties? And all the Head of House obligations? What if the dear children in his care were ill and needed – hem, hem – physical assistance? She didn’t doubt Professor Flitwick’s willingness, but surely, supporting a student to the sick ward … well …

“I use magic,” Filius had told her, “I’m quite good at it, you know. But I fully understand your concern – let me demonstrate how I handle such situations.” And he had reached for his wand.

“Our High Inquisitor, however, seemed more than willing to take my word for it,” he had grinned.

Together they had discussed some strategies to deal with Umbridge’s prejudices. And Filius had noticed the pile of essays on her desk; he had been as brief as possible.

Unlike Sybill. A long diatribe on the insult of being inspected. An even longer one on the lack of appreciation for the Higher Art that was Divination, so completely misunderstood by the more Earth-bound of her colleagues. Ways in which this ‘outrageous intrusion’ would stop her from doing her work. No hint of constructive thinking, or (heaven forbid!) a solution.

It had put Minerva in the utterly uncomfortable position of agreeing with Dolores Umbridge.

Worse, listening to Sybill had taken the rest of her marking-time. And now Wilhelmina was about to arrive. She had looked forward to it. It was odd just how much she had looked forward to it. Was it because one made fewer new friends at her age that she felt such a rush of excitement at the mere sight of Wilhelmina?

She had been pleased when Wilhelmina accepted her first invitation so enthusiastically, and she anticipated a pleasant evening. And then Wilhelmina had arrived and …

Minerva smiled. She did not give ‘Outstanding’ lightly (behind her back, her students often complained about her Scottish parsimony in marking), but that evening definitely merited the mark. They had talked for hours, on Hogwarts at first, then on all sorts of topics. When they had finally called it a day, for the excellent reason that it was, in fact, already the next day, Minerva had suggested to have another evening the following week.

For once, she had not been worried about being too pushy; it was clear that Wilhelmina had enjoyed herself as much as she had. There was definitely a friendship in the making. Minerva had looked forward to tonight’s meeting all week.

But what she really ought to have right now was alone-time to mark her essays and to think of all the ominous implications of Filius’s inspection. Those Pureblood tendencies were downright vicious. And there was Minerva’s own inspection. Some mental preparation was in order.

One of the major advantages of living alone was that one could finish a train of thought without interruptions. Would Wilhelmina understand if she asked to re-schedule their evening? Or perhaps she could propose tea rather than wine, so that she could at least finish those essays afterwards?

A brisk knock on the door signalled Wilhelmina’s arrival. Wine? Tea? Rescheduling? Tea. A small break might do her good, and she’d hate for Wilhelmina to think she was unwanted.

Damn Umbridge, she thought once again, as she opened the door and looked at Wilhelmina’s beaming face – clearly, she had looked forward to their evening as much as Minerva. Quickly, she explained the difficulties that had arisen.

“Yes, I can see that you had some ruffled feathers to smooth. Wilhelmina grinned cheerfully. “Hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you do look tired. Listen, tell me to put a sock in it if I’m speaking out of order, but here’s a plan.”

She looked at Minerva, who nodded encouragingly.

“You mark those essays – you won’t be able to relax until your work is done,” Wilhelmina continued. “Meanwhile, I’ll make tea, I’ll hand you a cup, and I do what I wanted to do last week: have a proper browse among those bookshelves of yours. And then, when you’ve finished the marking, we’ll celebrate with a glass of wine, and you can talk about the inspections or just about anything you fancy.

“That is to say … I understand that you may not want to discuss staff, what with you being Deputy. Understand if you’ll tell me your books are private, too. It’s just an idea.”

There was a sudden note of insecurity under the gruffness of Wilhelmina’s words. Minerva, used to putting both students and colleagues at ease, responded at once. “No, feel free to browse – I love browsing bookshelves myself.”

That was implied acceptance of Wilhelmina’s plan; Minerva immediately berated herself for the lapse. For it was unthinkable that she could truly concentrate on marking with the clattering of someone looking for the tea things, saying things like, “sorry to bother you but where do I find … where do you keep …”

But she couldn’t back out now. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked.

Wilhelmina simply waved her to her desk. “Mark away – won’t bother you.”

And surprisingly, miraculously, it turned out to be true. There was no rattling of teacups, no sudden sounds or movements that distracted Minerva’s attention. A mug simply materialised. Good, strong tea, exactly the way she liked it.

Even the inevitable half-drunk, cold mug didn’t lead to a little lecture on ‘drinking your tea while it’s hot – you need to think of yourself, too’ as Poppy would have delivered. Wonderful friend though Poppy was, she definitely wasn’t someone Minerva could bear to have in the room while she was working. Poppy was a bustler. Wilhelmina’s quiet presence was more soothing than anything Minerva had ever known.

And whenever she looked up, between one essay and the next, there was the sight of Wilhelmina sitting by the fire with a book. From time to time Wilhelmina looked up as well; when their eyes met they smiled, and Minerva felt a little jolt of pleasure.


Hogwarts, September 1995

Strong overtones of spices, the earthy smell of a peat fire, and a mere hint of vanilla.

Wilhelmina’s pipe, no doubt about it. Minerva was greeted by the comforting smell as soon as she opened the staff room door. Odd, that she should find it comforting. She disliked the smell of smoke in general, and the smell of pipes in particular. She only had to smell a whiff of whatever it was Mundungus Fletcher smoked … But then, that stench announced the presence of a man whose opinions, profession, personal grooming, and feeble attempts at humour she found revolting.

The smell of Wilhelmina’s pipe was the harbinger of a good time. But where was Wilhelmina herself?

She looked around. No-one at the large table; no-one in the tea corner. No-one in the chairs by the fire. No, wait. A small crinkle of smoke rose from behind the back of the wing chair. And a familiar, gruff voice said, “Blast you! Tha’s nowt but a pain in the arse.”

Wilhelmina was a Yorkshire lass, then? Minerva had never noticed the accent before. And who was the pain in the arse? Umbridge? Probably. Who else?

“I dare say I agree,” Minerva smiled. She could feel the stress caused by that morning’s Daily Prophet seep away already.

“Is it Umbridge?”

But for once, it wasn’t. Wilhelmina’s anger had been caused by the very article Minerva had found disturbing. Pius Thicknesse, who took up half of page four with a picture in which he pinned the Order of Merlin, Second Class, on the robes of a retiring St Mungo’s Healer.

In the accompanying article, Thicknesse went from fulsome praise for the lifelong dedication of the parting Healer to the Ministry’s involvement with noble institutions like St Mungo’s and Hogwarts. And from there to the importance of wizarding education and Dumbledore’s unfortunate appointments “of teachers who, either because of their lack of qualifications or because of, shall we say, more personal problems, constitute a level of risk this Ministry – and every well-thinking parent – must consider inappropriate.”

It was another small step towards enforced resignation. Minerva knew that Albus considered it a matter of time before the Ministry would strike, and she had to agree with him. But the more time, the better, as far as she was concerned. Both for the sake of the school and for the safety of Potter.

It took Minerva several minutes of raging on the possible harm the article could do (and on her doubts as to the legitimacy of Thicknesse’s birth) before she realised that she was preaching to the converted. Make that boring the pants off the converted.

“… but you know all that already,” she added hastily. “Merlin, I’m sorry to whinge like this; it’s not as if you or I could do anything. You can tell me to stop, you know.” She smiled apologetically.

“Needed to get it off your chest. Besides, I enjoyed your description. Fat-arsed, Flobberworm-faced fool? Brilliant.”

“At least, let me make you a coffee,” Minerva said, but before she could put the kettle on there was a loud knock on the door. A student – teachers didn’t have to knock. Interrupting her precious time with Wilhelmina. How was the old saying again?

Students. There’s always one.

She opened the door. Unruly black hair, round glasses, Gryffindor cravat.

And it’s usually the same.

And, true to form, Potter brought more worries. Although she had to admit that this time it wasn’t his fault. He had not attacked that owl himself. And while Wilhelmina was perfectly right that Thestrals might have caused the injury, they both knew it was unlikely in this particular case.

At least Potter had the nous to say merely that Hedwig had come from London – and his meaningful look wasn’t too badly executed. Moreover, he gave her the opportunity to go out into the corridor.

To warn him, once again, against Umbridge.

More importantly, to get a firm grip on herself.

What had she been thinking?

Little jolts of pleasure at the sight of Wilhelmina – that was pleasure in a new friendship.

A feeling of utter comfort in Wilhelmina’s blissful, quiet presence? The joy of a growing, deepening friendship.

A sudden fondness for the smell of pipes – of one pipe in particular? That was because Wilhelmina had advantages Mundungus Fletcher hadn’t.

But watching Wilhelmina’s strong, capable, yet so very gentle hands examine that owl, and suddenly wondering how those hands would feel on one’s own body? Doing things that fell emphatically outside the scope of friendship?

That was … That was something she needed to give a lot of thought.


London, Christmas Holidays 1995

“… so I have to admit you were right again. Right about that ghastly Pink Menace. And right about this restaurant, by the way. They really do a great curry – this paneer is fantastic.”

Minerva smiled as she acknowledged Amelia’s overall rightness by raising her glass of wine to her.

Amelia smiled back. “Well, as my Junior Aurors would tell you, it’s the First Law of Bones. Bones is always right.”

“Is there a Second Law of Bones, perhaps?” queried Minerva. “A Law that deals with those cases where Bones is, in fact, wrong?”

“Oh yes. They’re nothing if not thorough in my department. Second Law of Bones: If you think Bones is wrong, the First Law still applies. For you‘ll find out that she was right after all.”

“That’s as may be,” grinned Minerva, “but I’d still like to add a Third Law of Bones: ‘Except in those cases where McGonagall is right’. I think my former students would agree.

“But I’ve told you all about Hogwarts, tell me what you’re up to. Surely, what with the current situation at the Ministry, you’ve been waiting with bated breath to start on your own misery? Feel free. Whinge away. A trouble shared is a trouble halved, as they say …”

“Or rather, a gossip shared is a pleasure doubled. But to tell you the truth, I’m currently working on quite an interesting little project. And unfortunately it’s all frightfully hush-hush.”

Minerva looked up in genuine concern. “Does it involve Hogwarts – or Albus? Just a yes or a no will do, but … well, I need to have some idea of where we stand.”

“Oh, no. Absolutely nothing to do with Albus. Or with Hogwarts, for that matter. No, one might call it a project to make the world a better place. And before you ask, it’s not about You-Know-Who, either. As you know, the official Ministerial point of view is that there is currently no such person active in the Wizarding World.”

Amelia took another sip of her wine and continued, “But hush-hush it is, so I’m afraid you’ll have to provide much of the entertainment today. Tell me, did anything fun happen as well at that school of yours, or are you all miserable on a full-time basis?”

Minerva smiled. “Making the world a better place? And you call that an interesting little project? Really, Amelia, it’s time someone proved you wrong. It would do you all the good in the world. As to Hogwarts fun – I think your niece Susan would be a better source for that. The students still manage to have good times occasionally.”

“Well, Susan enjoyed her Care of Magical Creatures lessons a lot, or so she wrote me. I understood Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank returned? Sound woman.”

“Certainly. You know her, then?” Minerva asked, with some surprise. Amelia’s ideas of outdoorsy activities were limited to undercover operations. She was strictly a city girl.

“Well …” Amelia grinned. “There is such a thing as the Lesbian Grapevine, you know. That’s how I know Wilhelmina. You look surprised! Surely you have realised …”

“One doesn’t need much of a brain to realise Wilhelmina’s preferences,” said Minerva. “I was a bit surprised at the Lesbian Grapevine idea. Never thought of such a thing. I see the point – even most wizards and witches know each other, or have heard of each other, and you’re an even smaller group. Makes sense. But it sounds so organised.”

“Oh, we don’t have monthly lunches or – Circe forbid –moonlit dances at Stonehenge,” said Amelia.

“No dear, however you wish to celebrate womanhood, that type of ritual just isn’t you,” grinned Minerva. “But, as you’ve heard from your inner circle, Wilhelmina is, indeed, a very sound woman. A pleasure to have had her on the staff.”

“I’d have thought you’d call her a friend by now,” Amelia mused. “When we met this summer, you told me how much you looked forward to her return, remember? At the time, I already thought that the two of you would get along just fine. Would do you good, I thought. It’s all very well to spend so much time at Hogwarts – and I know you love your career – but it’s good to have some outside interests, too.”

“I do have outside interests. As I told you on the previous occasions we had this discussion. (If you have memory problems in other areas as well, Amelia, dear, you might want to address them sooner rather than later.) I have plenty of other interests. Reading. Keeping up with recent developments in Transfiguration. Muggle plays. Food. Also, I have all sorts of friends to share those interests with.”

Minerva pointed at the various dishes of succulent Indian food that covered the table.

“True,” Amelia nodded. “Nothing like a good curry and a chinwag with you, Min. But I must admit that I had an ulterior motive for inviting you. You see, I really think a new friend like Wilhelmina …”

For one moment Minerva just stared, fork poised in mid-air. Then the food fell back on her plate, and she took a deep breath.

“So that’s why you suddenly invited me to this lunch,” she snapped. “Because you thought I need the advice of Amelia Always-Right. Well, I don’t.”

It sounded more peevish than she had intended. After all, Amelia was a good friend, if somewhat too inclined to meddle. She didn’t want to risk a second friendship.

“I don’t need your advice, because you already gave it. Years ago,” she added in a softer tone.

“I already …” Amelia was speechless. For about half a second. “That’s impossible – what can I have said then? Now, you simply can’t say mysterious things like that and not explain.”

“I will. If I get the chance to wedge in a word? Good. Yes, you stopped me from making a fool of myself, and no, technically it was not an actual piece of advice. But you did tell me once how annoying you found the reaction of one of your friends – a female friend – when you came out to her. That she thought you were about to confess that you were in love with her, and then you said you weren’t, and she was almost insulted.

“You said that she would have been shocked at the suggestion that she might want to sleep with every man she met, and yet she thought that because she was a woman you’d be in love with her. Well, that’s it.”

Minerva tore off a small piece of naan bread with the concentration she usually reserved for the most advanced forms of Transfiguration. Amelia smiled. “But – I may be dense, but if Wilhelmina came out to you and you reacted exactly the right way, all was well. Why aren’t you happily tucking into your paneer, then?” she asked.

Minerva sighed. Amelia was as tenacious as a terrier. Minerva could tell her to mind her own business, of course. On the other hand, Amelia would be a sympathetic listener. And Minerva could do with one. So if Amelia was pressing her to talk about what had happened, then she was … yes, dammit, once again, she was right.

“Because I fell in love with her. There. Happy, now that I’ve said it?”

“Merlin! Min! Are you … did it shock you? That your taste runs to women, I mean?”

“In a way. Not the idea itself; it’s just – I’d never thought of myself as a woman-loving woman. I’ve had a few crushes, of course. But so has every girl. It’s a schoolgirl thing, everyone said, and sure enough, after Hogwarts I fell in love with a man. It didn’t work out, and I decided I’d rather be single. And before you ask, the physical part worked out perfectly fine. It was just that after, oh, about six months or so, I was getting – bored, would be the right word.

“Half the time, when we had agreed to meet, I’d rather have stayed at home. But usually, when I saw him, we had a good time after all. And then there was the time when I saw him, and I was still bored to tears and wishing I was at home with a book. It was ghastly.”

She took a sip of her wine and continued, “I had to tell him, you see. That was the ghastly bit. And I was gathering my courage, and hoping he’d feel the same – surely I wasn’t the only one who felt it wasn’t working? And then he put down his glass – we were in a restaurant – and he said, ‘Minerva,’ in a very serious voice. The relief! You see, I thought, this is it, he feels exactly the way I feel, and he wants to end things, too.”

“And?” said Amelia.

“And then he proposed.”

“Yikes!”

“Yikes sums it up. It was quite a nasty scene, and I’ve been happily single ever after. It wasn’t worth the trouble, I felt.”

“And now? Is that why you broke things off? Because you’d rather be single?” Amelia asked gently.

“No. I do realise it will mean compromises. And changes. And less alone-time. And it might not work at all, even. But I do think Wilhelmina would be worth it. If she were interested, that is. Which she isn’t.”

“Did she tell you? Poor Min.” Amelia stretched out a hand and patted Minerva’s hand and the crumbly remains of the piece of bread.

“She didn’t. I never said anything. It’s obvious. I don’t know how well you know Wilhelmina, but she’s as open and honest as the day is long. If she’d been interested at all, she’d have let me know. She would have made a move.”

“Ah. Well, you see, that’s where I may be of some help, after all. Because I really think the two of you would be great together. I know why Wilhelmina said nothing, and you’ll agree that I must be right. You see, on the Lesbian Grapevine…”

“Screw the Lesbian Grapevine,” snapped Minerva. “I’m still capable of assessing my own ability to pull. I didn’t. End of story.”

“As I’ve pointed out before,” Amelia lectured, “being a lesbian doesn’t mean one falls for every woman one meets. Therefore I’ve no intention to screw the grapevine. Not all of them. But some of us have screwed outside the grapevine occasionally. That’s what Wilhelmina did. Fell in love with a straight woman years ago. And that didn’t work out. Not at all. I don’t know all the details …”

“Oh, really? How frightfully remiss of that Sapphic Intelligence Squad of yours. Didn’t hand in a full report? Tut, tut. There’s no service to be had, these days.”

“Sarcasm is all very well, but I know I’m right. Because of her past experiences, Wilhelmina would have taken things very slowly. But you’re right that she would have made a move eventually. She just wasn’t ready for it yet – and then you went all ‘ooohh, I mustn’t think she fancies me,’ and I dare say you kept out of her way a bit.

“Obviously, Wilhelmina thought you weren’t interested. So if you want my advice, which you don’t, but that has never stopped me before, you go and make the first move. And if you hate that thought, just think what you’d hate more: the chance of one totally embarrassing moment or the chance of missing out on Wilhelmina forever.

“And eat your paneer. You always complain that Hogwarts never serves a decent curry; make the most of it now that you have one. Here – have a taste of my vindaloo as well.”


Stoatshead Hill, January 1st, 1996

“Minerva! What an unexpected pleasure. What brings you here?”

Wilhelmina’s smile was most welcoming. And the question could be seen as an opening line. But Minerva’s brand of Gryffindor courage was not of the rush-in-mindlessly variety that would make ‘I want you to make love to me’ an acceptable reaction, and for once she was at a loss for words. She merely stepped in at Wilhelmina’s invitation.

Wilhelmina seemed to be at a loss for words, too. Just before the silence became uncomfortable, she said, “Actually, you’re the first one to set foot into the house, today. Isn’t there some sort of Scottish folk lore attached to that?”

“Oh dear,” said Minerva. “There is, and I’m the wrong person entirely. The first footer should be a tall, dark-haired male. Females or fair-haired males are considered unlucky.”

“They are? How odd. The prejudice against blond boys, I mean. That’s not something you see often.”

“True. It’s possibly because Scotland has been invaded by Nordic tribes – the Danes, notably – several times. Blond hunks on one’s doorstep usually meant rape and plunder.”

Wilhelmina smiled. Then the smile turned into a chuckle. “Wonderfully put, Min, as always. I’ll think of that, next time.”

“Next time you open the door on New Year’s Day, you mean?” asked Minerva.

“No, next time I’m summoned to Malfoy Manor to look after the peacocks. Always nice to know something of the history of a place, I think. How the House of Malfoy made its fortune.”

“You’re not fond of Lucius, then?”

“He’s a snob. He’s too proud of his pure ancestry. Worse, he sees those magnificent peacocks of his merely as a decorative element. They’re well-cared for; they’re an expensive asset. But that doesn’t change the principle of the thing. With that mentality of his he has no business keeping animals.

“But let’s not dwell on the Blasted Blonde. I wouldn’t invite him in on any day of the year. I only go there because the peacocks can’t help who their owner is. Do come further, Min. Have a seat. There, by the fire. Would you like tea?”

At some point Minerva would have to speak up. And she couldn’t possibly let Wilhelmina make tea first. What if the situation would end in a rejection? There they would be, with the ‘I don’t want you’ elephant in the room, and the tea things on the table. It would be like the restaurant scene all over again. Not that. Never that. Minerva would have to speak now.

“Min?”

See – she had been silent for too long already. Hastily, before her courage would fail her, she said, “No, thanks. I had lunch with Amelia Bones.”

“Oh?” Wilhelmina looked at the clock, which stood at one-thirty. “That was a quick lunch, then.”

Minerva looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry or anything. Not my business.”

“No, not at all. And I didn’t lunch with Amelia today, but four days ago. We often have lunch during the school holidays. It’s the one time I’m really available, after all.”

That was babbling. She’d have to come to the point sooner or later. Sooner.

“Clever woman, Amelia. Know her vaguely, you know. Did she have anything interesting to tell?”

Clearly, Wilhelmina had noticed her embarrassment and tried to make things easier – to keep up a normal conversation. And trust her to say the one thing that actually did help.

“Yes, she did. Very much so. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for the past four days, and that’s why I came here today.”

“Yes?” said Wilhelmina encouragingly, while she sat down in the other chair by the fire, listening attentively, all notions of tea forgotten.

Merlin, this was difficult.

“You see – we had lunch this summer, and I told her I was looking forward to having you on the staff again. That’s how we came to speak about you at this lunch. She asked whether we had become friends. Amelia seems convinced that the life of a teacher is a restricted one, and that I should have more friends and interests.”

“Yes,” grinned Wilhelmina. “She can be a bit of a meddler, our Amelia. You’ve heard about the First Law of Bones?”

Minerva nodded.

“Well, what does Amelia think she’s right about this time?”

Minerva heaved a deep sigh of relief. When she was with Wilhelmina, everything suddenly became so much easier, so much less stressful. Like now. She could say what Amelia thought, and then, if Wilhelmina didn’t feel the same, she would say that Amelia had been wrong for once. They might even smile about it, for it would be a rejection of the First Law of Bones, not of Minerva.

Please, Merlin, let the First Law of Bones be true. Please.

She focused on the hearth rug, a sturdy sisal affair, practical for one who had animals all over the place. Easier to clean than a high-piled one. Funny how one noticed details like that.

Then she took a deep breath and said, “Amelia thinks you’re in love with me.”

Now Wilhelmina would laugh at Bones’s ideas, or she would – say I love you? Kiss her? Say it all with a smile? Quickly Minerva looked up.

Wilhelmina had turned bright red and stared at the hearth screen as if she wanted to Floo away.

For one moment Minerva’s mind went blank and then she realised her mistake. Wilhelmina thought she was the one who was rejected – thought that straight Minerva was shocked at the idea. That was …

“I had already told her I was in love with you. Of my own free will. More or less. So she can’t claim she was right there. But … but was she …”

Wilhelmina’s jaw dropped. Minerva suddenly realised how seldom that actually happened. One read it all the time, but one rarely saw it. Her own jaw might have dropped at that ghastly proposal, once. And now it was Wilhelmina who stared open-mouthed. Please, let it not be for the same reason.

And then Wilhelmina’s whole face lit up with the most marvellous smile Minerva had ever seen.

In the end they both moved towards each other. They must have done, for they had both been sitting, and now they were holding each other, clinging to each other, and kissing and kissing. And saying ‘you too?’ and ‘oh god’ and ‘thank Merlin’ and ‘I wanted you so much’ and ‘so did I’ and then there was more kissing.

They ended up sitting on the hearth rug. When the knees of two people go weak with relief and desire they’re not much use as support to each other, as Minerva pointed out when she lost her balance and Wilhelmina, trying to catch her, simply sagged down, too.

They laughed out loud at that.

“Amelia Bones was right again,” said Wilhelmina.

They laughed even more.

“It would do her all the good in the world to be wrong, but thank Merlin she’s right now,” said Minerva.

That was the funniest thing ever, and then they were kissing again – kissing and laughing at the same time which felt like champagne kisses. Not that Minerva had ever had champagne kisses, but surely this was how they felt?

And then she suddenly found herself no longer sitting, but lying on the hearth rug, with Wilhelmina beside her, supporting herself on an elbow and caressing Minerva’s body with the other hand.

And a sense of reality came back. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Wilhelmina; she wanted her passionately. But she didn’t want to disappoint her. “I haven’t ever … not with a woman, I mean. In fact, it’s been years since I …” she whispered.

Wilhelmina smiled. “I’ll show you,” she said. “And it’s not a feeling that changes with the years, you know.”

Minerva smiled back. If Wilhelmina would show her, all would be well. Except …

“One thing has changed, you know. My ability to lie comfortably on a hard surface. May I?” And she reached for her wand. Wilhelmina grinned and nodded, and Minerva Transfigured the sisal rug into a plump mattress.

“In that case…” said Wilhelmina and took out her own wand. “Fumbling with buttons can be fun, but right now I want …” and she Vanished Minerva’s clothes.

“That’s unfair! You’re still fully dressed! I’ll get cold.”

Wilhelmina trailed her fingertips along Minerva’s body, circling her stomach, caressing her thigh, almost touching … but then she trailed away again, over her hip, finally touching her breast, teasing her nipple.

“Ooohh, yes, you’re shivering already,” Wilhelmina whispered. And started to show her in earnest. Minerva felt herself relax completely. That was so like Wilhelmina, generosity personified, making everything easy for her … Now she only had to memorise what it was Wil did …


St Mungo’s Hospital, Dai Llewellyn Ward, June 1996

Minerva smiled as she remembered the moment. Within seconds, she had forgotten all about paying attention and noticing what Wil did.

But, as they finally had had tea, much later that day, Wil had told her she was a grand little student. And Minerva knew it wasn’t an idle compliment; she had learned a lot of new things, that day. The wonderful sensation of feeling your lover’s breasts on your own. The things one could do with a thumb. The unbelievable moment when she had felt Wil’s muscles clamp down on her fingers - she had practically come again at the thought that she’d made Wil feel like that.

She had smiled at Wil and had told her it was all due to her own excellence as a teacher. And that she, Minerva, had always known Wil was an excellent teacher – she had hired her, hadn’t she?

And tomorrow Wilhelmina would come to see her. None of that ‘or the day after’ nonsense. She’d speak to Pye on the subject – he seemed more open to reason than the rest of the Healers.

She was perfectly all right. Well, right enough for a visit. Not seeing Wilhelmina, now, that would make her blood pressure hit the ceiling.

On the other hand, thinking of Wilhelmina the way she just had … If Pye were to measure her blood pressure right now …

Clearly, reading Charity’s contribution and, more specifically, examining her own hypothesis that the path to Mon Seul Désir led through all five senses, was not the best way to prepare for a discussion with one’s Healer. Fun though the research had been. She had better do something about that blood pressure. Read something else. How about Wil’s piece?

Minerva looked up the right page. The Care of Unicorns – taming with a Woman’s Touch. A woman’s touch again. But she would read it in scholarly spirit in which it had been written, yes, she would. And Wil’s words would be a constant reminder of why it was important to remain very quiet and calm. She started to read.

The first step in the taming of a unicorn is to establish oneself as a non-threatening part of the creature’s environment. The unicorn must get used to seeing the carer. Do not startle it with sudden sounds or movements. Instead, think of what the unicorn would want or need, and provide that in a calm and quiet way. Thus, the animal will start to enjoy the carer’s presence, and will look forward to seeing them.

Sensible Wil. Such a totally different approach from the Hunting the Unicorn tapestries that those might well be described as ‘how not to hunt your unicorn’. Just reading about Wil’s ways with animals was soothing. When young Pye arrived, he would find a model patient.

And she’d see Wilhelmina tomorrow.


London, January 1996

Amelia Bones opened her desk drawer and took out a file. She picked up the Owl that had been delivered that morning, and read it again.

Dear Amelia,

Just a quick note – term has started again, and I’m quite busy. But I have not thanked you properly for the delightful lunch we had. It’s a treat to be away from Hogwarts occasionally, and that Indian restaurant is a real find.

And then there’s the matter we discussed.

I regret to inform you that my recent experiments did not yield the kind of results that would allow me to change or even question the First or Second Law of Bones.

I still think, however, that it would do you a world of good if those Laws were to be modified. I will not cease my endeavours to make this happen. It will please you to hear that Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank has decided to join me in my efforts.

True, it may take us years or even decades to achieve the desired results. But neither Wilhelmina nor I think that’s a problem.

Yours, fondly,
Minerva

Amelia grinned and opened the file on her desk. It contained various parchments, all neatly clipped together, except for the top one. She picked it up and reached for a clip.

Dear Amelia, it read,

Thanks again for taking me to Puddlemere United against the Tutshill Tornados. It was great! The Tornados definitely deserve to lead the league, the way they’re playing now. Best birthday gift ever.

By the way, remember I told you how Minerva and Wilhelmina were getting along so well I thought Minerva might become a member of the club?

Turns out I was wrong after all. They’re friends, I guess, but the last few weeks they’ve seen much less of each other than they used to. And now Hagrid has returned, so that’s it, I guess.

Too bad. Minerva could have done with some fun. Especially with Umbridge prowling around. Heard the latest? She has banned Potter and the Weasley Twins from playing Quidditch – a life ban, she claims. Now that’s an exaggeration, of course. No club will honour a mere Hogwarts detention. Mind, she had some cause. The stupid boys had a fight with young Malfoy right after the match. A real fight, I mean – Muggle fisticuffs.

Minerva has been as comfy to live with as an irritated dragon ever since.

That’s all the news from here. Thanks again for the match!
Rolanda

PS Come to think of it, if I were a romantic, I could say Min is pining for Wilhelmina, who left at about the same time as the fight. How’s that for coincidences?

Slowly, Amelia clipped both parchments together.

I’m currently working on an interesting little project to make the world a better place.

Funny that a woman as intelligent as Minerva could miss the meaning of the word currently so completely.

Amelia put the parchments in the file and closed it.

Project: Making the world a better place.

She returned the file to the drawer.

Sub-project: The Case McGonagall/Grubbly-Plank.

Slowly, she closed the drawer.

All was well with the world.

As well as Amelia Bones could make it.