Cool

One Day Before Start of Term

1971

She wondered how he'd talked her into accepting this post. Forest-green robes fluttered behind her as Minerva McGonagall fairly flew down the halls of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So many details, so many last minute problems to attend to before the Express arrived tonight. In the past, she'd spent this time reviewing the lesson plans she'd always prepared weeks in advance. Now, her desk lay neglected, almost forgotten as she tried to juggle her new duties as Deputy Headmistress with her familiar, safe teaching role.

"Professor, we have to talk!"

It was Professor Flitwick, his tiny legs working double-time as he hurried to catch up to her. She paused. This was the third interruption she'd had on her way to the Great Hall to review preparations for tonight's Sorting Ceremony and Welcoming Feast. Pasting a somewhat tired smile on her features, she turned to greet the diminutive Charms teacher. "Yes, Flitwick," she said abruptly. "What is it?"

"My classroom has been commandeered!" he said, his high-pitched voice reminding her unfortunately of a surly goose she'd declared war on as a child.

"What do you mean, 'commandeered,'" she asked with strained patience.

"That...woman...has taken over my Charms classroom!" He stared at her, as if that were enough.

And it was. It could only be one person--the new Brooms teacher. She'd only been here two days, and she seemed to be everywhere.

"You must deal with her, Minerva. She's a nuisance."

McGonagall sighed and nodded. "I'll take care of it," she promised. The Great Hall would, again, have to wait. She turned on her heels. It was time to deal with Madame Hooch.

***

An array of brooms floated willy-nilly through the air inside Flitwick's class. Minerva ducked as a stray Swiftwing nearly brained her.

"Be careful, will you?" came a harsh voice from the other side of the broom brigade.

"Madame Hooch!" Minerva pulled herself up to full height, difficult to do with so many bobbing broomsticks zooming about. "What in the name of Gryffindor's ghost are you doing?"

A silver-tufted head popped out from the brooms, and two honey-colored eyes glowered momentarily before Madame Xiomara Hooch recognized the Deputy Headmistress. "Oh, it's you. Sorry 'bout the snap. Thought it was that git with the tarot cards. She keeps predicting my death, you know." If Hooch had been intimidated by Minerva's "Mistress Headmistress" routine, it didn't show on her face. "Howsit going on the opening feast?" she asked conversationally as she grabbed a stray broom.

Minerva caught her breath and held it for several long seconds before answering in an overtly, purposefully calm voice. "Oh, fine, thank you very much for asking," she said, voice dripping in acid-laced honey. "Now would you mind kindly telling me what you are doing here?"

"Wouldn't mind at all," Hooch said with a grin. "I'm charming the first year brooms."

That explained absolutely...nothing.

"I see. You are aware, of course, that the brooms are already charmed." Minerva felt the headache start at the nape of her neck and creep slowly through the back of her head.

"Well, yeah, if you call that sputtering turtle pace 'charmed.' The charm I'm using will get almost 25% more speed out of these old sticks."

She sighed. First year teachers were almost as bad as first year students. "Madame Hooch, as much as I appreciate your initiative, one, you are using Professor Flitwick's class to do Flying business--"

"He's been done for days," Hooch countered with a scowl. "Besides, it's pouring down rain. You wouldn't want me to catch my death just before the little buggers get here, do you?"

"Secondly, increasing the speed of the broom charms is dangerous. These are first year students. They could get hurt."

Hooch winked and grinned. "I'm counting on it. I mean, at least one of them. Now, don't look at me that way, Professor. I'm telling you, nothing will teach a bunch of would-be hot-shots respect for the twigs better than seeing their mate carted off to hospital wing on the first day."

The headache reared like a griffin in her brain. McGonagall rubbed her temple hard. "That is the most irresponsible... You can't seriously mean you want a child to be injured?"

"Course I don't." She lifted herself to sit on one of the long tables, her lithe body barely seeming to notice the effort of motion. "And if the children mind my instructions, no one will get hurt. I just add the extra speed for those spoiled little monsters who think they have nothing to learn. When that burst of speed kicks in from nowhere, it knocks them down a notch and they're more amenable to learning." She shrugged. "A trick my coach from the Harpies used with new recruits. Kept 'em humble."

Oh, dear Mother and Father, Minerva thought. Her headache was throbbing now. "Madame Hooch, I must insist that you restore the original charms to these brooms at once. I cannot have you risking the students' safety this way. If you cannot render them...amenable...by virtue of your teaching skills, perhaps you are in the wrong profession."

Hooch sighed, her eyes flashing at the insinuated threat from the newly-minted Deputy Headmistress. For a long moment, Minerva thought she would refuse. Fortunately, though, Madame Hooch acquiesced, and with a false smile, agreed to reverse the charms.

"Thank you," Minerva said, grateful she hadn't pushed it. With so much left to do before the students arrived, McGonagall couldn't bear the thought of having to elevate this matter to Dumbledore. Not so soon after being promoted, she added in her mind. "I will assure Professor Flitwick you shall be finished in a few minutes so he can return to his classroom. Now, I have matters to attend to. Please be prompt for dinner tonight. We want to set a good example for the students."

She nodded to the Brooms teacher, then turned to leave.

"See you there, Professor," Hooch called after her. "I'll get these charms fixed right away." But as she went through the door, Minerva could have sworn she heard the younger woman add, "Not that they'll stay that way."

She hesitated, then kept walking. Sometimes, it was best to not hear everything you hear.

***

"More cocoa, Minerva?"

She stretched, the view of Dumbledore's office slightly askew through her the slits of her eyes as she yawned. "No, thank you, Albus." She had not been so tired in ages, but they still had the staff review to go over before ending the meeting. "If I have any more sugar, I fear I'll be sleeping on the ceiling tonight."

He gave her a half-smile, with that twinkle that seemed ageless despite his advanced years. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" He sat behind the enormous desk opposite her, spreading the scrolls she'd prepared before him. "Shall we begin with the first year teachers?"

Minerva nodded as she waved her wand above the scroll, muttering a soft incantation as she did so. A tiny, three-dimensional image of Madame Sprout appeared. "Herbology," she said.

"Ah, Madame Sprout."

"She's doing quite well, the unfortunate incident with the mandrakes aside," Minerva said.

"That was rather messy," Dumbledore agreed with a wink. "But she has a great deal of potential."

Another swipe of Minerva's wand, and a series of gold numbers swirled above the scroll. "Her first written examinations showed the students' marks are consistent with our expectations. Her attitude is exceptional, and I think we may finally have a sponsor for the Future Apothecaries Club if we play our cards right."

"Any areas for improvement?"

"None at this time," Minerva admitted. "She's working out fine. Now...." She waved her wand and the image vanished, only to be replaced by a similar image of Xiomara Hooch. She sighed. "Madame Hooch."

Dumbledore brightened. "She's quite the character, eh?"

Minerva tried to keep the impatience from her voice. "Oh, quite," she said. "She's kept her third year Hufflepuff class late thrice since beginning of term, making all of them tardy for Transfigurations. She re-charmed the first year brooms, despite my explicit instructions not to do so. And she sneaks out to Hogsmeade after curfew during the week to do heaven knows what."

Albus leaned forward, a piercing gaze belying his gentle appearance. "But are the students learning, Minerva?"

She sighed. Sometimes she hated Albus Dumbledore's ability to cut through all extraneous matters and get straight to the heart of things. "Well, yes."

"I was observing her second years last Tuesday, and they seem weeks ahead of last year's class at this time." He was looking right through her, and Minerva wondered suddenly who was being reviewed here.

"Well, yes, the students seem to like her. But then again, why wouldn't they like her? She's not much more disciplined than a student herself...."

"She was disciplined enough to lead the Harpies to the finals three years straight," Albus interjected.

"It's not the same as being a good role model for the children, Professor." McGonagall could feel her temper rising. Sometimes Dumbledore just didn't seem to take anything seriously. "How are we to maintain discipline student when we can't even control ourselves?"

"Are you having trouble in that area, Minerva?" he asked sweetly.

She took a deep breath as a wave of heat surged through her. Why was he goading her? The image of Xiomara mocked her silently as it twirled above the scroll. The woman defied everything Minerva knew about teaching, everything she knew about what it meant to be a professional educator.

And still, her students responded to her. There was no denying that the marks for flying were the highest Hogwarts had seen in years. More students were signing up for specialty classes after school and on weekends, and even the Quidditch matches were faster and more thrilling than anything anyone could remember at Hogwarts in a long time.

McGonagall pulled in a deep calming breath. What mattered was that the students were learning. Albus was watching her intently, waiting for her response. "No," she breathed. "No, sir, I'm doing just fine in that area." She smiled tightly. Sometimes being an administrator meant you had to face the ugly fact that just because something, or someone, drove you crazy doesn't mean it wasn't working. "Shall we move on to Divinations?" she asked, suddenly desperate to have Hooch's grinning face out of her sight. It was going to be a long year.

***

She stared at the three empty chairs.

Three. Empty. Gryffindor chairs.

If Minerva McGonagall had ever doubted her self-control, she knew today with utter conviction that she was a saint in the making.

Three Gryffindors! How COULD that childish, thoughtless, utterly reprehensible woman...?

The clattering of shoes on the floor interrupted her silent tirade as the three Fifth years hastened to their spots, cheeks still flushed with excitement and barely-contained glee. When they saw her face, however, they quickly assumed looks of complete docility.

She slowly crossed the distance between her desk and Mr. Fitzhugh's. A good boy, he was one of the better Chasers Gryffindor had had in years.

And, until this morning, he'd never once been tardy for her class. She stopped at his desk, towering over him in silence for a long moment before speaking.

"Class begins promptly at 10:15, Mr. Fitzhugh," she said darkly, trying to remember why she was not going to lose control and scream at these children.

"Sorry, Professor," he said with a rush. "Clarice and Ben and I were practicing backward drop swings with Madame H., and we just lost track of the time."

She counted slowly to ten, then back down to one. This was the last straw. Hooch had disrupted her very last class. She glared at Fitzhugh. "Thirty points from Gryffindor," she said amidst a roar of groans. "Next time, you may wish to consult a pocket watch."

Turning swiftly on her heals, she returned to her desk, saying, "And if you intend to pass your O.W.L.s, students, I think it would be best to pay more attention to your studies and less to..." She paused, a hard look out the window to where Hooch's first years were zooming about on wobbly wings. "Fun."

***

She was in a complete furor as she headed the field. Supper had come and gone, with no Hooch in attendance. No matter how many times she'd reminded her that Dumbledore expected the staff to be at the High Table for nightly meals. No matter how many times she'd been warned about punctuality. It was inexcusable.

Minerva stomped through the damp grass, then thought better of it and transfigured into her cat form. Yes, better, she thought as her paws sprang swiftly towards place where a stammering Hufflepuff had said he thought he'd seen Hooch. She relaxed into the feline joy of sprinting, lithe and easy, and it took a bit of the heat from her spirit.

She'd try to be patient, she thought as she ran. She'd give the woman a chance to defend herself, she insisted, while a dark, feral part of her knew that if Xiomara Hooch so much as looked at her the wrong way, she'd have her on professional probation in a heartbeat.

The sound of a broom crashing in the twilight caught her attention. She paused, hidden in a patch of overgrown wildflowers, and watched as Madame Hooch rushed to the side of the downed flyer.

It was Barnaby Tuttle, a Slytherin second year. Minerva watched silently, grateful her cat hearing was better than her human hearing.

"No panic, Barney," Hooch was saying jovially as she brushed the fellow's robes and helped steady him on his feet. "You're doing fine."

"I'm awful," he argued in a dejected tone. The Slytherin boy seemed on the verge of tears. "It's useless."

"I'll hear no talk of useless, young man." She picked up the broom, rather worse for the wear, and handed it to him pointedly. "You are going to be a competent flyer if it kills you."

"Don't you mean if it kills you?" he asked, taking the broom dubiously.

"Now why on earth would I say that," she winked and the young man laughed, cautiously getting back on the broom, it seemed against his better judgement.

Minerva watched in stunned silence. From the looks of things, they'd been at it for quite a while, probably through dinner. Barney Tuttle was a bully in the worst sense of the word, yet with Hooch, he seemed almost timid, respectful, grateful even.

The silver-haired witch guided him, carefully, as he attempted to control the broom. He was terrible. A hazard to himself and others, Minerva thought. But Hooch was patient, almost maternal with him.

Somewhere, the part of her that was a teacher down to the cells connected with a similar energy in Hooch, and understanding replaced a great part of the frustration she'd felt since her first encounter with the unorthodox woman. A large part of the fight dissolved in her.

There was genuine affection in Hooch's face as she cheered the boy upwards, hooting wildly as he managed to stay a-flight for several moments. He smiled and even waved.

If she could do that, show that much care for a boy who was, on most occasions, an odious monster, perhaps there was a teacher in there after all.

Minerva waited a moment longer, watching as Hooch mounted her own broom and joined the student in flight, then she turned and returned to the castle without a word.

***

She'd never been so happy to stay at Hogwarts over holiday. Four of her five siblings were going to be at her mother's home this Christmas, kids and spouses and all, and for the first time in ten years, Minerva had decided to hang it all and send her regrets. It was hard. She saw so little of her family these days, except the niece and nephew who attended Hogwarts. Still, there was such a strong urge in her for peace, the solitude she could never find in the bosom of her family--all twenty-odd of them.

Now, as she wafted through the deserted halls of Hogwarts School, feeling as light as any House ghost, she was sure she'd made the right decision. The stress of the previous months had worn thin on her, and the beautiful silence was more nurturing and peaceful than anything. She pulled her cloak around her, reveling in the sound of her shoes on the floor, no children running or laughing. How often had she actually heard her own footsteps when school was in session?

Dumbledore was in London, about time, too, since the Ministry was up to some nonsense about changing the curriculum again. Most of the teachers and students were off to parts unknown, visiting friends and family. Going home for the holidays.

She thought wistfully about that, then smiled. This was home for the holidays. A whisper-quiet, ancient and serene Hogwarts was her holiday.

She turned into the staff room, fancying a cup of hot mulled cider before bed. When she entered the room, though, she encountered a pair of bare legs, eye-level, right in front of her. She practically choked at the unexpected sight.

"Hey, now!" Hooch, attached to the legs, stepped down from the chair. "Oh, Professor," she added hastily when she recognized McGonagall. "I didn't know anyone was here." She wore a long-sleeved baseball jersey with the words "Dodgers" emblazoned across the chest and very little else. She grinned, nodding to the coffeepot in her hands. "Bloody snobs, nothing but tea. Doesn't anybody know the value of a good cup of coffee around here? Found a half dozen kettles, but the only percolator was up on the top shelf."

"You shouldn't be crawling about like that," Minerva said, still trying to catch her breath. "You could have fallen."

Hooch laughed, setting the pot on the cabinet with a firm thud. "Please. Can't use magic for everything, Minerva. You never get to climb things if you do. Join me for a cup of joe?"

McGonagall was ready to decline, ready to turn and go back to privacy of her room, but the image of Madame Hooch's bare legs were just etched onto her conscious mind and left no room for any other coherent thought. "Er...thank you," she uttered tentatively.

"Great. Just be a moment." Xiomara pointed to one of the soft chairs in the main section of the staff room. "Have a seat"

Her pulse still racing, Minerva curled into the oversized chair in front of the roaring fire. As she watched Hooch prepare the coffee, she was suddenly uncomfortably aware of her appearance. Hair long in a loose braid to the side, her darkest, softest green cloak wrapped around for warmth, and underneath all Minerva wore was her comfy nightgown and a pair of slippers.

Hardly a sexpot, but she felt terribly exposed.

Hooch didn't show any indication that she was aware the stiff-starched Professor McGonagall looked like a four-year-old on Christmas morning, as she chattered constantly over the percolator.

"I was going to Greece with a few mates from the Harpies, but I decided to cancel at the last minute." She glanced over her shoulder. "Sugar and cream?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Minerva said. As the flying instructor leaned into the cabinets for the sugar, the hem of her jersey rose precariously, revealing long, slender, well-muscled thighs. Minerva struggled not to stare, but she couldn't help noticing how perfectly formed they were, how taut the skin was, how shapely the calves and thighs. Mortified at her own fascination with Madame Hooch's legs, she urged herself to pay attention to what the girl was saying, rather than how the curves of her body seemed to be accentuated rather than hidden by the silly outfit she wore.

"And I would have thought you would be back with all those McGonaguppies of yours?"

Minerva snapped out of it. "Wherever did you hear that silly phrase?" she asked. It was an old joke, between only her closest friends.

"Oh, you know how it is. Can't keep a good phrase down, right?" Hooch, finally finishing with the coffee, brought two mugs over to the older woman, handing her one then sitting easily on one bent leg across from her. She took a long slug of coffee before giving a contented sigh. "Bliss!" She relaxed into the cushions, noticing for the first time Minerva's frown. "Sorry about that. Just heard it from Poppy over backgammon the other night."

Poppy? What had Hooch and Poppy been doing talking about her? "Oh," she said noncommittally, sipping at the coffee. Hooch had made it strong and sweet, melted coffee ice cream, her father used to call it. She reveled in the heady scent, agreeing at least to herself that this was a vast improvement on cider.

"If it bothers you, Minerva, I won't say it again."

She looked up sharply, seeing the lack of artifice on Hooch's face. Forcing a smile, she shook her head. "Of course not. It's just not the sort of thing one hears very often, and I wondered where you'd heard it."

Hooch chuckled. "They call me 'Hooch the Mad,' if you can believe that." She winked, knowing full well that if anyone would agree with the moniker it would be McGonagall.

"Heaven forbid," came the mock surprise. McGonagall took another sip of her coffee. It was hot. Hot was good. Hot kept her from staring at Hooch's legs. "Aren't you cold?" she ventured, nodding towards Hooch's less than adequate nightclothes.

Xiomara looked down at herself, as if noticing for the first time her outfit. She shrugged. "Nah. Hot-blooded, I guess. And you never answered my question."

She shot Hooch a quizzical look. "What question?"

"Why didn't you go home for Christmas?"

Minerva shrugged. "Dumbledore had to go to London for Ministry business. I volunteered to stay. One of us had to be here to oversee the school."

"Uh-huh," was Hooch's cynical reply.

"What do you mean, 'Uh-huh'?"

"It's okay with me. I've played hooky from enough family obligations to know the symptoms, and I won't spill the beans at all."

Minerva started to protest, but stopped short. "Is it that obvious?" she asked in a sheepish tone.

Hooch laughed. "As they say in the States, you've been busted, McGonagall." She lifted her mug in toast. "To once in awhile not doing what they all expect us to do," she offered.

"Here, here," McGonagall smiled and lifted her own mug. It felt nice, curled up in front of the fire, sharing a jovial cup of coffee with a coworker.

Who had amazing legs.

Minerva stopped short of physically shaking her head, dog-style, to clear out the unwanted images. Instead, she answered Hooch's question. "I just wanted some time to myself."

"It's been a rough patch, hasn't it?" Hooch's eagle eyes seemed to bore through her, and Minerva felt a shiver of excitement jet through her veins. "First year as Number Two, all the extra B-S to deal with."

"It's not so hard," she said shyly, looking into the coffee clouds. Dear Gods and Goddesses, please let her not be blushing! "I was...." She could have boiled her coffee to ashes with the intensity of the stare she gave that cup. "I was rather rough on you when you first started," she blurted. "I'm sorry. You're doing a very good job."

"Well, thank you, Minerva," Hooch said. And with gentleness usually reserved for her students, she added, "So are you."

McGonagall nearly burned her throat as she swallowed half the mug in one gulp. "Thank you," she whispered, more to the fire than her companion.

The fire, like Hooch, thought it best to enjoy the silence. And so they sat, until long after both mugs were cold and empty.

***

It was bloody cold. Minerva piled more blankets atop her. It didn't matter. The minute she fell asleep, she'd kick them off, bare legs in the frigid night, until the cold woke her again.

Or the dreams.

Minerva McGonagall was a mature woman. She'd had her share of experiences. She'd never been overt, but she was no blushing rose either.

There had been several men, and women, in her life more than ready to despoil that Unspoiled Schoolmarm image she wore with such authority.

So when and why had the gods decided upon this curse, this obsession with Xiomara Hooch's legs? Was she being punished for neglecting her family obligations? Was she being humbled for not giving the woman the benefit of the doubt during her first few months of school?

Or was it just that, in the last year, Minerva had been too busy to so much as acknowledge her physical needs, much less do anything about them?

And in the chill of the December midnight, all those months of self-discipline crashed around her. She gave up fighting it, allowed her mind to caress the woman's image, head to toe, slowly following each athletic line to their natural conclusion. She stared at the snow in the window, twinkling in the moonlight. She didn't want to feel this. Minerva pushed her hand beneath the blanket, stroking her upper thigh for warmth, she told herself.

For warmth. Energy. Friction. Kinetics. It was sensible, she rationalized as she moved her hand into the position where it could create the most heat.

And lost herself in glorious, athletic, perfect legs, silver hair, and eagle eyes.

***

"You can't be serious, Min." Poppy Pomfrey's face was as red as she'd ever seen it, a curious mixture of fury and disbelief. "You've not missed a Seventh Year/Faculty Game ever."

She burrowed into the couch in the staff lounge, wishing the eyes on her would look elsewhere. Pomfrey and Madame Hooch sat to either side of her, a veritable blockade of insistence. "I just thought it would be inappropriate," she coughed.

Hooch shook her head. "Cuz of the headmistress thing? Now really, Minnie. You're an institution. It wouldn't be a game without you."

Minerva cringed, although she wasn't sure if it was the "institution" comment or Hooch's use of the name "Minnie" in reference to anything remotely connected to her. And it didn't help that the woman smelled deliciously of spring, her skin tanned and vibrant and distractingly appealing as the brooms mistress leaned into the conversation.

"I simply think that I should remove myself from play. It might seem..." Hooch's eyes were the most unusual color, her mind ventured. "Unfair."

"Ruddy well unfair," Pomfrey groaned. "You're one of the only decent beaters we've got, Minerva, and you know how badly classes go when the Seventh years win."

"But..."

"Nonsense," Hooch interrupted. "I've already spoken to Albus, and he insists you continue the Minerva McGonagall Beater Brigade with his full support."

She wanted to throttle the two women. Instead, Minerva smiled weakly. "Well, if it means that much to you."

"Brava!" Hooch said, slapping McGonagall on the shoulders as she and Pomfrey rose to head toward another recruiting session.

McGonagall held her breath until the two women were gone, then banged the back of her head against the couch. This was unreal.

The four months since Christmas has been agonizing. No matter how she tried to avoid Madame Hooch, Minerva always seemed to find herself in the woman's presence. There was no more cold war between them--Hooch had taken their conversation over winter holiday as a sign of peace and was now just as friendly to Minerva as she was to all her other adoring fans.

And she smelled sweet. And her eyes were riveting. And her body...

McGonagall groaned again, still thumping her head against the cushions. "Ruddy hell," she groaned. "Ruddy, bleeding hell."

Two weeks of intense training preceded these teacher-student matches. The teachers' team ate, slept and breathed Quidditch, spending all of their free hours together, practicing and socializing.

"I shall break my neck," she whispered in horror, thinking of the distraction their star Seeker would provide. "I'll die, right there on the field, victim of my own unrelenting hormones."

This was ridiculous. She'd not been this obsessed with anyone since the fall of 1953, when she'd been so infatuated by the owner of a small bookstore in Hogsmeade that she'd bought three copies of Hogwarts, A History from him before he politely refused to sell her another copy. She'd been so mortified she'd never returned.

And now, Quidditch would be the next victim of her brutal social ineptitude.

"What am I going to do?" she moaned.

"Perhaps you should just ask her out and be done with it?"

Minerva practically jumped out of her skin. She'd not seen Dumbledore enter the lounge. She thought she'd been absolutely alone. "Albus," she choked. Her face was hot, and her skin, she was sure, beet red.

"It's not like you to be so timid, Minerva. If you like the girl, why don't you simply ask her out?" He sat down next to her, offering her a lemon drop, his eyes twinkling.

Minerva seriously considered transfiguring herself into a puddle of water and sinking into the carpet. How long had he been there?

He sat next to her, quietly waiting for an answer to his question, which apparently had not been rhetorical.

She coughed, her skin burning with mortification. "It's..." She choked on the words, clearing her throat before continuing. "It would be inappropriate."

"Poffle!" Dumbledore's amusement was a living thing, and Minerva would have gladly disappeared rather than face his gentle, knowing humor. "Bryce and Lenora Cunningham were both teachers here when they met, and they've been married sixty years. Tomasa and Eleanor have been a couple for nearly fourteen years, and they met when they were both junior staff members. There is no taboo against faculty dating, Minerva, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work."

She bristled. There was no denying that teachers sometimes fraternized. But Minerva held herself to higher standards. What if a student found out? What if someone suggested Minerva was giving unfair advantage to Hooch's players because of her feelings for their coach?

"What if she says no?" It was the tiniest whisper, so low Minerva barely realized she'd said it aloud.

That was the crux of it. Hooch was young, and popular, and attractive. Minerva felt her stomach grow weak as she pictured the kind letdown, the mortifying realization that Xiomara Hooch found the thought of an intimate relationship with Minerva McGonagall unrealistic at best, laughable at worst.

It was with some surprise that she realized the hand Dumbledore reached for was trembling. She shut her eyes hard, furious and ashamed and frightened at just how quickly and deeply the young woman had gotten under her skin.

"You'll never know unless you try, Minerva."

***

"What a difference a year makes," Minerva muttered as she put away her equipment. Every muscle in her body hurt.

"Just takes a bit to get back up to speed, Minnie." Hooch grinned at her as she removed her robes. Minerva tried to avert her eyes, wondering where everyone else had gone all of a sudden.

She sat in silence, pondering the tip of her boots as she stared at her feet. She should be changing back into her dress boots. She should be making use of those higher motor skills that normal adults usually had. Instead, she sat stock still on the bench as Hooch pulled off her shirt, revealing perfectly toned skin. Her breasts were even, small but firm under the pink satin bra. Her belly was flat and tight.

Minerva calmed her breathing. This was wrong, this was totally wrong.

"Aren't you going to change, Min?" Hooch was tossing the robes into the bin, grabbing a clean shirt from her bag as she stretched her shoulders.

"Erm, I was..." Speak, you idiot. Say something intelligent. "Er, no."

Hooch shrugged. "Coming to Hogsmeade this weekend? The faculty team's going to have a pre-game party at the Three Broomsticks."

Minerva's boots were even more interesting. "No, can't," she said gruffly. Too gruffly. This was tragic. She was a grown woman. Why was this so difficult for her?

Hooch eyed her for a long moment, then sat next to her on the bench. Her voice was low and soft when she finally spoke. "Professor, have I done something to offend you?"

This elicited a wide-eyed stare from McGonagall. "No, of course not," she said too quickly.

"Oy, thanks." Hooch relaxed visibly, a smile spreading across her face. "You've been, well, I thought we had cleared things up over winter break," she began. "But you seem so..." Hooch struggled for the words. "Uncomfortable around me. I know I tend to talk first and remove my foot from my mouth later, but if I've done anything to upset you--"

"No!" Minerva shook her head fiercely. No, she'd done nothing wrong, except be too brilliant and exciting for a foolish old woman.

There was a long silence and then, to McGonagall's utter horror, a look of dawning realization crossed Hooch's face. It was all there, if you saw it correctly. The averted eyes, the quick breathing, the blush of embarrassment. It was written all over McGonagall's face, and Hooch had just gotten the translation key.

"Oh," she said quietly. Now Hooch couldn't make eye contact. "I...erm..."

"I have to go." Her voice was hard, too brittle for anything more than a croak as Minerva grabbed her things and practically ran back to the solitary comfort of her room in Gryffindor Tower.

***

The Seventh years were insufferable. Minerva had backed down from the damned Quidditch match too late for another beater to be trained, and the teachers had had to forfeit. Half the staff was not speaking to her.

Hooch was assiduously avoiding her.

Had she been another kind of person, McGonagall would have taken to her bed, hiding under the covers until she could cry no more.

But she wasn't that sort of person, and she forced herself to finish the year under a bristling coat of armor fashioned of cold, aloof superiority.

She was a fool, but she was a fool who did her duty.

She sat like a stone goddess through the N.E.W.T. reviews, watching as her less-ambitious students spoke in whispered excitement about their plans for after school.

Normally, she would have corrected them. Normally, she would have reminded them that they weren't out yet, and if they failed their N.E.W.T.s, it would hardly matter whether they went to London or Paris for their eighteenth birthday.

Instead, she droned through her reviews, hoping through the haze of utter depression that at least some of the students were getting something out of all this.

She herself planned to escape back to her family home the moment the Hogwarts Express left the station. She would hole herself up in books and horseback riding and all the things that had made her happy as a child. She would play with her nieces and nephews and spoil them shamelessly.

Their old maid aunt.

She pressed down hard on the emotions that seem to overwhelm her these days. Outwardly, her despair expressed itself as impatience as Beverly Stanton missed his answer again.

She caught a glimpse of a broom flying by her window in the corner of her eye.

Her reprimand of Mr. Stanton was overly harsh.

***

The last of her things were pushed into the case. McGonagall put the finishing touches on the owl to her mother, informing her of her arrival time home, then sent it off with Lallywhistle. There were only a few more items, then she could go down to the portkey the teachers were to use. She grabbed several volumes from her bookshelf and tossed them into her travel bag. She probably wouldn't read much, but just in case.

There was a knock on her door. Probably Albus, with a handful of scrolls for her to work on over break.

She opened her door, staring unexpectedly into a pair of brilliant hawk eyes.

Her stomach hit the floor. "Madame Hooch," she stuttered.

"May I come in?" Hooch's voice was soft, undemanding.

Minerva held her breath, but allowed the younger woman entrance without another word. She was afraid of what would come out if she tried to speak.

Hooch swept in, still a force of nature in that compact body. She turned to face McGonagall, spilling her words out as if she'd been rehearsing them for quite a while. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened back then. You caught me by surprise, and I handled it badly." She paused for breath, an expectant look on her face as she watched McGonagall for a reaction.

Minerva gave her none.

After a long silence, Hooch continued. "I didn't see it coming. I mean, it never occurred to me that--"

"Someone like me would be attracted to someone like you?" Minerva finished the sentence for her in a hard, cold voice. "Yes, it does seem ridiculous in the cold, clear light of day, doesn't it?"

"Don't be mean," Hooch said softly. She shook her head, staring down at her feet. "I didn't...I just, never thought you were the type."

"What type, Miss Hooch?" McGonagall demanded. "The type to make a fool of herself by mooning over a younger woman? Or the type to humiliate herself by thinking there was a chance that that same young woman might be even remotely interested in exploring a relationship?"

"She is."

It was said so quietly, so gently that Minerva almost thought she'd imagined it. Hooch stood stock still before her, eyes hopelessly devoted to the pattern on McGonagall's rug. "I'm sorry?" the older woman said in a choked whisper. "What did you say?"

Hooch looked up, making eye contact with McGonagall for the first time. "I'm interested. I didn't realize it at the time, because I was so stunned. I thought you hated me, Minerva." She shook her head, a rueful grin widening her strikingly lovely face. "I'm not so good at people not liking me, and I couldn't figure out what I'd done to piss you off. I was ruddy well obsessed with figuring it out for a while there."

Minerva sighed, moving over to sit on her large overstuffed chair. She motioned for Hooch to take a seat in the other chair that made up her small guest area. "I understand that feeling completely." She waited for Hooch to sit before continuing. "I'm terribly sorry about the Quidditch match. I...I just couldn't, you know?"

"I do," Hooch replied. She seemed to notice the trunks for the first time. "You going home over summer break?" she asked.

"Yes." Minerva nodded. "Leaving by portkey for London this afternoon, then apparating home."

Hooch paused for a long moment, then leaned in to look into Minerva's eyes. "I never meant to hurt you," she whispered earnestly as she took the other woman's hand in hers. "Truly, Minnie, I never meant to cause you a moment of grief."

"I believe you." And it was true. McGonagall felt the first bit of peace she'd known in weeks. Xiomara Hooch did not think her a fool. She had not completely humiliated herself.

It just...wasn't in the cards, she guessed. At least she could get on with her life, get back into her happy rut, and forget this entire embarrassing affair ever happened.

Hooch, apparently, had other ideas. "How hard would it be for you to take a later portkey?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

Xiomara Hooch stood and, reaching out a single hand, helped McGonagall to her feet. She stood only inches from the tall, older woman, a look of intense sincerity on her face. "Would you be willing to stay a couple of days? Let me make it up to you, Minnie?" She smiled and Minerva felt it in the base of her toes. "After all, you owe me a night on the town. You stood me up for the Three Broomsticks, remember?"

It was as if all the blood had rushed away from her brain down to other, more interesting areas of Minerva's body. She swayed slightly on her feet, but managed to maintain a small degree of cool. "I suppose I could get home a day or three later," she murmured. "And don't call me Minnie."

"Got it," Hooch laughed. She leaned in, stretching slightly on her toes to brush her lips against Minerva's before heading toward the door. "Pick you up at seven," she said, turning a dazzling smile on the Deputy Headmistress. "Don't stand me up."

McGonagall watched as the force of nature left her room then fell back into her chair.

"I won't," she said as a new wave of excitement shot through her veins, and trouble suddenly seemed very far away.

The End