Heat

Xiomara Hooch sank into the icy water, willing herself perfectly still as her muscles clenched in defiance of the chill. Gritting her teeth, she stretched until she was almost fully submerged, just her head peaking over the surface of the water.

"It's too cold, Madame Hooch," the bath complained in a gurgling feminine voice. "Let me warm it for ye, per'aps some lovely peach foam to soothe ye nerves?"

"Sod off," Hooch groaned, dunking her head into the frigid bath. It was a shock of cold, painful yet exhilarating. She held herself down for a long moment, then burst up through the water, shaking herself like an overeager puppy just out of a cool spring.

The bath, obviously peeved at the young teacher's refusal to allow her more sensible bath choices, gave a watery hmmph and went silent.

This was all fine for Xiomara, who would have gladly gone skinny-dipping under a polar ice cap if she thought it would clear her head of Minerva McGonagall.

Minerva.

Hooch felt her muscles tense to an almost painful tightness at the thought of Hogwarts' new Deputy Headmistress. Although she was actually only a few years older than Hooch, Minerva carried herself with that ancient authority that seemed to cow lesser folk than Hooch. She was sure the old girl had been ready to sack her half a dozen times in her first six months, although things had gotten better as the year went on. They'd both stayed at Hogwarts over winter break, and had a lovely coffee and chat late one night in the staff lounge.

After that, McGonagall seemed to lighten up on her. She rarely wore that pinched expression, sometimes going as far as a demure smile or a "good job" in Hooch's direction. They'd gotten on rather well, until she decided to recruit Minerva for the faculty Quidditch team.

"Stupid," Hooch groaned, thumping her head rhythmically against the marble rim of the bath. "Stupid, stupid, stupid...."

How exactly had she let this happen? Hooch was hardly an innocent. After several years touring the continent with the Harpies, she figured she had a good grasp on people. She could spot the fans, the phonies, and the gimmes as easily as she could slam a bludger.

But apparently she'd never learned to recognize a crush in a prim schoolteacher. And she'd never managed to learn that it's not nice to take your clothes off in front of someone who secretly fancies you.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid...."

It was a bloody locker room, damn it. She didn't know Minerva had those feelings. They were sweaty and hot and it was time to change.

But the look in McGonagall's eyes....

She'd not imagined the old girl had it in her. A mixture of embarrassment, lust, and sad longing practically seethed behind those hooded eyes as she stared at Hooch in her bra and panties. Thick, brainless, clueless Hooch, Xiomara corrected in disgust.

She groaned again, sinking back into the water. This was a nightmare. Why had she panicked? Why had she run, instead of shooting her a flirty grin like she'd done with so many others before? They could have laughed it off as a moment, instead of turning it into war.

Because war is what she got when a mortified Minerva backed out of the Quidditch game, forcing the teachers to forfeit to the seventh years right before the annual match. War is what she got when the other teachers, certain the long-silent animosity between Hooch and McGonagall had somehow lost them not only a decent beater but all hope of suffering the seventh years' smug satisfaction, had turned her into persona non grata as well.

Worse than the nasty looks and smug comments from students who had never really feared her in the first place, Hooch had to deal with the renewed ice storm between her and Minerva. All the warmth of the past few months had frozen solid as the Deputy Headmistress limited their contact to only the briefest of professional necessity, avoiding her when she could and addressing her in harsh, distant monosyllabic words when it was absolutely unavoidable.

It hurt Xiomara more than she cared to admit. She wasn't used to being hated. Tomorrow the teachers were finished with term close-down, and most would be leaving by portkey to return to their homes, go on vacation, whatever they did for the summer holiday. She herself had plans to meet Amelia and Wills in Paris for a quick vacation before they caught the last few matches before the World Cup.

But how could she enjoy herself knowing that someone hated her? Not dislike, not disinterest, but hate?

She'd even tendered her resignation. It was inspired by a fit of depression and copious amounts of smuggled fire whiskey, but her decision to leave had been sincere. She'd get herself out of McGonagall's hair and back into pro Quidditch where she didn't ruin everything she touched. She had no business teaching, anyway.

Dumbledore, in his grand wisdom, had flat refused her resignation, thus blocking her only viable escape route.

Hooch closed her eyes. "Stupid," she breathed in a tiny voice. Here she was again, trying to run away from the messes she made. Trying to run away from the messy entanglements of life on the ground.

She preferred it in mid-air, astride her broom and fully sure where she was and what she was doing. Down here on the ground, there were people like Minerva, with her sad, longing eyes, and pained chilly rejections. Not completely avoidable, as she'd learned over the past few weeks, but as distant and unapproachable as Jupiter.

It wasn't like Old MG was her type. She was prim and serious and had "entanglement" practically tattooed across her forehead. Hooch preferred her lovers casual, a word she doubted crossed McGonagall's lips frequently.

Sad truth, though, was that she liked her. Despite being too brainy and uptight, once she'd removed the broomstick from her arse, McGonagall had been kind of nice. She spoke well, knew everything about almost everything, never met an opinion she didn't express, and seemed a good sort.

What else, old girl? A small voice in the lowest corner of her brain tickled at Hooch's subconscious. Surely it can't be only that? What's really got you playing polar bear in the teachers' bath?

The truth, Hooch answered silently. The truth she couldn't hide from, the truth Dumbledore wouldn't let her run from, the very truth that had sent her bolting from the lockers all those weeks ago.

When Minerva had locked gazes with her, she'd pierced right through Xiomara's fog with those honest, longing eyes. And Xiomara had felt something.

No, not fair. She'd felt everything. Lust, amusement, fear, nerves, everything, as she felt the full impact of what she saw in Minerva McGonagall's eyes.

At that moment, she wanted the older woman something fierce. The shock of it, the sheer, insane, unexpected truth of it seemed to overload her, sending her careening away from the locker room, and Minerva, in confusion.

Now, here in the icy water, with Dumbledore having blocked her last desperate escape attempt, Xiomara Hooch had no choice but to acknowledge she was attracted to Professor McGonagall.

And, of course, Professor McGonagall now wanted nothing to do with her.

"Stupid!"

"Yes, I know you're stupid," the bath complained. "Now are you going to wash, or am I freezing my marble off for your masochistic amusement?"

Mortification coursed through Xiomara. "Sorry," she gulped as she quickly got out the bath and dried herself. This was ridiculous. Why was she sitting in a freezing bath beating herself up when she had a perfectly comfortable room in which to beat herself up? She pulled on her robe, secure in the knowledge that, with the children left on the afternoon Express, she'd have no interruptions as she made her way to Ravenclaw Tower and her room.

Tomorrow, she was apparating to Paris. She'd drink too much, maybe connect with someone for a meaningless shag, then spend the rest of her summer learning to build up her apathy.

Learning to pretend. And when fall came, she and the good professor would return to Hogwarts as if none of this had happened. As if there had been no attraction. As if there had been no connection.

She stopped at the door of her suite, murmuring the password in a soft, tired voice. Not bothering with lights, she made her way through the austere outer room to her bedroom, where she fell, face down, on the mattress.

Stupid.

Leaving this unresolved was stupid. Comfortable denial was stupid.

She wanted...what? Minerva? Possibly. But more than that, Xiomara wanted to stop running. To stop hiding from any connection that might tether her to the cold, real ground and keep her from flying away when it got too tough.

Hooch lay on her bed for a long time, breathing in the scent of her pillow, thinking of McGonagall, of teaching, of how much she wanted to run, and how much she hated to leave her kids and new friends behind.

It had been so easy with the Harpies. Her friends understood her, and her lovers...well, they went away when she tired of them.

A woman like Minerva wouldn't settle for superficial.

And Hooch realized, to her surprise, that that thought didn't terrify her nearly as much as she expected.

Rolling over onto her stomach, Xiomara Hooch knew with sudden clarity exactly what she had to do.

***

When the door opened, Hooch found herself staring into the cool, if distracted, eyes of Minerva McGonagall.

She was wearing a long skirt, deep tartan green, with a starched white blouse and hair in a soft braid to the side. Several whispy strands of hair had fallen out, framing her surprised face. "Madame Hooch," she stuttered.

Xiomara steadied herself. She'd spent most of the night planning this conversation, and she wasn't going to let the butterflies in her stomach ruin things now. "May I come in?" Hooch's voice was soft, undemanding.

Minerva said nothing, just that pained expression on her face. Still, she stepped back and allowed Hooch to enter.

The Deputy Headmistress apparently conducted her life as she did her classes. Everything was tidy, precise. One wall was lined with hundreds of books, of wildly varying ages and state of repair. Dozens of what appeared to be family photos lined the walls and shelves, not a speck of dust to be seen. In fact, the only sign of disorder at all was the overstuffed case on her bed.

It took a split second to realize the importance of that case. It meant she was packing. Which meant she was leaving. Soon. It hit Xiomara with deafening clarity that she only had one shot at this.

She turned to face McGonagall, her carefully prepared speech tumbling out of her in a jumbled mess. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened back then. You caught me by surprise, and I handled it badly."

There, It was done. Fair apology, now McGonagall could tell her she was forgiven and they could move on. Only nobody had informed Minerva of her part of the deal.

She stood there, staring silently at Hooch, her expression bland and non-committal.

Hooch waited, stomach twisting, for Minerva to give her some sign all was forgiven.

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?" Ouch. Her voice had all the warmth of an icicle dagger. "Yes, it does seem ridiculous in the cold, clear light of day, doesn't it?"

"Don't be mean." It slipped out, softer than she expected and twice as heart-felt. "I didn't...I just," All her plans seemed to be unraveling as she struggled for words. "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?" A slight catch in the voice, pain, even vulnerability. "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."

The words came out so softly, so unexpectedly, that Hooch wasn't sure she'd said them aloud.

The look on Minerva's face, glimpsed in that lightning quick moment before Hooch locked her gaze onto the rug, proved otherwise.

"I'm sorry?" the older woman said in a choked whisper. "What did you say?"

Hooch looked up. She couldn't run from this now. She'd gone too far to back down. She looked in Minerva's eyes, jarred by the sheer enormity of the emotion she saw there. Anger, fear, desire...hope? "I'm interested," Hooch ventured carefully. "I didn't realize it at the time, because I was so stunned. I thought you hated me, Minerva." She had to smile at Minerva's emphatic, though silent, denial. "I'm not so good at people not liking me," she admitted. "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 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."

Hooch joined her, taking a seat in the smaller, fancier chair just opposite McGonagall. The wind seemed to have dropped off, and she suddenly felt a little low in the sails.

"I'm terribly sorry about the Quidditch match," Minerva continued. "I...I just couldn't, you know?"

"I do," Hooch replied. Minerva had effectively changed the subjected. Xiomara had never dreamed she'd find herself in a place where she thought of Quidditch as irrelevant. But as she eyed the older woman's luggage, it didn't seem all that important. "You going home over summer break?" she ventured.

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

So there it was. Nothing left but a couple of measly hours. Xiomara wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, she leaned close to look into her companion'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."

Those three words, spoken in that soft brogue, seemed to lift a thousand boulders from Xiomara Hooch's chest. "How hard would it be for you to take a later port key?" She blurted out the question, overcome by a sudden burst of hope.

"Excuse me?"

She had to stand. This was too much for sitting. Taking McGonagall's hand, she pulled the other woman to her feet as well. "Would you be willing to stay a couple of days? Let me make it up to you, Minnie? After all, you owe me a night on the town. You stood me up for the Three Broomsticks, remember?"

Minerva looked slightly dazed, but still managed a touch of haughtiness. "I suppose I could get home a day or three later," she murmured. "And don't call me Minnie."

Hooch let out a laugh. "Got it." Somehow, the moment got the better of her and 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, unable to wipe the silly grin from her face. "Don't stand me up."

"I won't," she heard Minerva say as she floated out of the Deputy Headmistress's room. And those words stayed with her as she floated all the way back to Ravenclaw to plan for the evening.

***

It was hard to imagine, but Xiomara was actually nervous. She stood before the mirror, a pile of clothes growing steadily behind her as she tested and tossed each unacceptable outfit.

"Sodding ridiculous," she groaned ripped off the pantsuit she'd hope would give her that Dietrich look. "Too butch."

She was just about to chuck it and wear her teaching robes when she spotted it, peaking out from the back of her closet.

The Little Black Dress.

"Eureka," was the word as she pulled it out of the closet. Sleek, sleeveless, and barely hitting mid-thigh, this sexy little thing had served her well in the past. "At least I've got my money's worth out of it," she said to the mirror as she slipped the dress over her head. It smoothed around her slight curves like an old friend, hugging her frame and showing her tight, athletic body off to its fullest advantage.

Hooch smiled at the picture she presented. Except, sigh, for hair. "Good goddess," she scolded the reflection. "You are not going to show up on Miss McGonagall's doorstep looking like a ruffian." She narrowed her golden eyes at the woman frowning back, leaned over, and shook her hair vigorously. When she stood back up, the silver-laced, dangerously short locks were perfectly mussed and sticking out at a variety of wild angles.

The hellcat in the tight black minidress grinned wickedly. "Much better," she purred.

***

Minerva was waiting when Hooch arrived in the Staff Lounge. The Transfigurations teacher was seated in one of the soft chairs in from of the windows, leafing through a thin volume she held in her lap.

Discretion had won out over couture at the last moment, and Hooch had thrown her robes on over the dress, just in case McGonagall decided to go all prim on her. When the older woman stood, she had to smile.

It was hardly Paris fashion, but it was definitely McGonagall. The tall woman wore a simple white blouse with three quarter sleeves, lace-trimmed but subtle, and oh-so-meticulously pressed. There was just enough snug there to be promising, Hooch thought as she glanced down the length of her. McGonagall's slim waist tapered down long legs, a narrow skirt of subtle green tartan framing what turned out to be a rather nice figure. Her hair had been freed of its normal bondage, hanging in soft waves down her shoulders and gathered loosely in a silver clasp at the nape of her neck.

She smiled when she saw Hooch, a true Highlands beauty, and then frowned. "You wore your gowns," she said with a touch of disappointment in her voice. "I'll go change."

"No!" Hooch laughed at her own frantic response. "Don't you dare," and with a wicked grin, she opened the fastening of her robe and allowed it to fall to the ground around her ankles. "Allow me," she finished with a dramatic touch.

Oh, when the moments come, she thought, they are sweet. For no amount of money, no fame or celebrity, would ever quite match the expression on McGonagall's face when she got a good look at her date for the evening. It was a priceless combination of lust and astonishment that would keep Xiomara going through the next decade.

Hooch made a point of checking her reflection in the window. "Damn," she added in a stage voice. "I've mussed my hair." Using both hands, she tousled it wildly then turned a fashion model pose to Minerva. "Am I now presentable?"

There was a long silence before Minerva burst into laughter. It was a beautiful, glorious, unexpected laugh, spontaneous and hearty, a sound she'd never before heard from McGonagall. "You are a nutter, Madame Hooch," she gasped between laughs.

"And you, Professor McGonagall," she countered, "Have been holding out on us." She circled the older woman, making a show of examining her slowly from head to toe. "You never told me you had curves."

McGonagall blushed a deep rose, tilting her head slightly to avoid Hooch's direct gaze. "Stop that this instant," she scolded in a shy, pleased voice. "Or I shall be forced to put on my robes."

"Not on your life, MG." Xiomara emphasized her point by placing two hands on the woman's slender waist and pulling her into the barest of kisses.

Even that slight contact was enough to send volts of electricity through her body. Hooch pulled back quickly, noting with relief that Minerva looked equally...affected. At least they were both suffering from an attack of the adolescent hormones.

"So where are we off to?" It was an attempt by McGonagall to get control of her voice and breathing. Not particularly successful on either count, but it got the ball rolling.

"Well, I had thought about Hogsmeade." Hooch shot her what she hoped came off as a killer smile. "But we just look too damn fabulous for these local yokels."

And then an idea hit her, an idea so scathingly delicious that she was almost afraid to voice it. She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the other woman intensely. "Minerva," she posed suggestively. "How do you feel about a little adventure?"

***

"I cannot believe you took me to Havana for dinner!" Minerva was still dazed as they apparated from the portkey to the street in front of Eduardo's, her favorite Cuban dive. It was still warm as the sun began to set, and Minerva had already loosened the top button of her blouse against the unexpected heat. "No wonder they call you Hooch the Mad."

But she was smiling broadly, and Xiomara knew she'd done the right thing. "We were overdressed for The Three Broomsticks," she reminded her. "But at Eduardo's?" She opened the door, allowing Minerva to step forward and get the full effect. "We're perfect."

"Oh, my gods and goddesses...."

Eduardo's in all its unvarnished glory was not a sight for the weak of spirit. A haven for artists, musicians, and other disreputable types, the diner had grown in its fifty or so years in business from a hole in the wall dance jive restaurant to a slightly better known hole in the wall dance jive restaurant. Tables scattered in mismatched numbers across the room, green, red, blue, yellow tablecloths arranged in no discernable pattern. A well-worn dance floor and stage dominated what was left of the room, which sported posters and autographed photos of tango singers and salsa bands that had graced the room in its half a century. It was dark and light, festive and lowdown, all at the same time.

Hooch couldn't think of a better place in the world to have dinner. "This is a Cuban legend, Minerva," she offered, whispering into the taller woman's ear from her vantage point behind her in the doorway. "It hasn't changed at all since the 1940s."

"Yes," Minerva shot back without missing a beat. "But has it changed its tablecloths since the 1940s?" She yelped as Hooch pinched her bottom and pushed her through the door. "You're trying to kill me. That's it, isn't it?"

Hooch just laughed as she breathed in the remarkable smell of Eduardo's. It smelled of cigars and cilantro, old music and passion. She'd come here dozens of times with the Harpies, but never with a date. "Don't be ridiculous," she growled playfully. "Too many witnesses."

"I feel like Sarah Brown from Guys and Dolls," Minerva said as they picked their way through the tables to Hooch's favorite near the dance floor. It was still early enough, local time, that the joint hadn't really started hopping yet.

"Loved that flick," as she held out Minerva's chair for her.

"Chica loca!!" A short mustachioed man barreled across the room, a tray in one hand with a steaming basket of Cuban bread, and a huge grin on his face. Still balancing the tray, he gathered Hooch into his free arm in an enormous bear hug. "You didn't tell me you were coming! Como estas?"

"I como bloody fantastic, you old dog." Hooch laughed, dropping her arm casually over his shoulder as she took the basket from the tray and put it on the table in front of Minerva. "Minerva, meet The Man himself, Eduardo of Song and Legend." To Eduardo, she added, "This lovely lady is Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and before you even think about it, yes she's out of your league." Over his head, as he bent to kiss Minerva's hand, she warned, "Don't turn your back on him. He thinks he's Desi Arnaz."

Lifting up from the kiss, the stocky man frowned and rattled off a string of choice comments to Hooch in his native tongue before addressing Minerva. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss McGonagall." He nodded towards Hooch, who was pulling up a chair next to Minerva. "Any friend of hers?" He winked. "Should have her head examined. But you look okay to me."

McGonagall was trying hard to breath through her attempts to not laugh. "Pleasure..." she said breathlessly. "To meet you."

Without producing a menu, their host began to list in quick succession exactly what they were going to be ordering. "First, I will start you off with my good maduros."

"As opposed to the rotten maduros he pushes off on the tourist."

A light tap to the back of Hooch's head, and he continued as if uninterrupted. "Some nice congri to go with your ropa vieja." He winked at Minerva's confused expression. "It tastes good. Don't worry." He pointed at Hooch. "She's not dead. She ate my food."

And without another word, he hurried back to the kitchen, leaving the two women in a bubble of stunned silence.

"What was that?" Minerva finally managed through the laughter that spontaneously erupted between them.

"That was Desi Arnaz forgetting to take our drink order," Hooch laughed, motioning to an underfed post-adolescent boy manning the bar. He looked bored, but perked up at her gesture, a questioning look on his face.

"Dulce de leche," she called across the room. "Dos."

"Si, senorita," he answered and set about making the drinks.

Minerva narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. "Hey, Sky Masterson, you aren't winning a bet, are you?"

"No, Sister Sarah." Taking a hunk of hot bread from the basket, she tore off a small corner to cool. She offered it to Minerva, who blushed and nibbled it right out of her fingers. "That doesn't mean we can't have fun, does it?"

She could practically see the shivers rushing through the older woman as she brushed her lips across Hooch's fingertips.

"No," McGonagall whispered. "It most definitely does not." She leaned back in her chair, locking eyes with Hooch in a mixture of challenge and concession.

The game was on.

When last we left our charming heroines, they were about to have dinner Senor Eduardo's Salsa Bar and Juke Joint in Havana. Now, after much sweat and angst, I give you more sweat and angst.

***

"You are completely out of your mind." Minerva practically had to yell to be heard over the combined noise of laughter, rapid-fire conversation, and a hot cha-cha from Señor Lugardo and his Bossa Nova Boys. "Gardino was the most overrated beater Florence ever had!"

Hooch was just about to make a snide comment about how Bacardi and commentaries on Quidditch players did not mix when the waiter interrupted them. "Senoritas, these are from the man at the bar." He handed a glass to each of them, then pointed at a pot-bellied gentleman, sweating from under a tan Panama hat at the bar. Hooch nodded, then turned to the waiter. "Please be sure to thank him for us," she said, before turning back to Minerva.

"hat is this?" Minerva grinned, lifting the glass to her nostrils. "Sherry." With a pained look, she added, "Oh, dear gods, are we really that British?"

Hooch had to laugh. "Absolutely." She offered her glass to Minerva in toast. "Here's to the Brits."

McGonagall eyed the glass suspiciously. "Is he coming over?" she asked. "I'm not sure exactly what the rules are in accepting drinks from strange Cuban men."

"Same as they are everywhere--smile, say thank you, then drink it. Everything else is negotiable."

With a laugh, she lifted the glass and sipped carefully. "I knew he would send over a drink," she said.

"Did you?" Hooch swallowed a bit of the sherry. Not nearly as tasty as the dulce de leches, but still pretty good. "However did you know that?"

"He's been staring at your legs for the last ten minutes."

"No, he has not."

"Yes, he has. I know," Minerva finished the last of her sherry with a tilt of her head. "Because I was staring at your legs, and I happened to notice him doing the same thing." A sparkle of decided playfulness danced in McGonagall's eyes. "So there."

"Maybe he was staring at you."

"Not a chance, with those legs on display." She stole a shrimp from Hooch's plate and popped it into her mouth.

"Hey!" Hooch chuckled, ridiculously pleased that Minerva had been staring at her legs. Reaching across the table, she caught the older woman's hand, lifting it to her lips to lick the spicy sauce from her fingers. "That was mine," she added, licking her lips slightly.

"Sorry," was the only thing she heard as her eyes locked with Minerva's and her stomach did a swan dive in time with the cha-cha. Fingers played against her lips, and she brushed them gently with the tip of her tongue, sending flames throughout her mind and body. She was deep in a whirlwind of sensual possibilities when a low, masculine voice jerked her back into the here and now.

"My apologies."

It was the guy in the hat.

Damn.

"I hope you are not insulted by my forward behavior, senoritas," he continued, his dark eyes flicking from Minerva to Xiomara and back again.

Minerva smiled indulgently. "Not at all. It was very generous of you," she said in a gracious tone.

"You like the drinks, yes?"

"Absolutely," she continued.

Hooch jolted slightly as she felt Minerva's bare foot caressing her calf. "Wonderful," she blurted.

"I think you two are maybe sisters, yes?"

She began to say, "No," when Minerva cut her off with a quick "yes."

"So nice to see ladies traveling together. You are enjoying Cuba, yes?" His eyes were traveling down the front of Minerva's blouse, where two more buttons had been sacrificed to the tropical heat. Xiomara tried to muster a bit of righteous indignation, but the slender foot gently nudging her knees apart distracted her.

"Oh, it's lovely, thank you. My sister and I do so enjoy doing things together. We're fairly inseparable." Toes were tickling her inner thigh.

"Then how do I know which of you lovely ladies to ask for a dance?"

Neither, Hooch thought uncharitably as she struggled not to squirm. When and how exactly did this repressed schoolteacher get the upper hand on her? Minerva smiled evenly. If she was aroused, if she was distracted, not a trace of it showed on her perfectly composed face.

"I'm sorry. We really are happy you sent the drinks, but my sister and I are very close." Tiny nudge at the inner thigh, and Hooch yelped. Fortunately, the noise of the bar covered it up. "But we really couldn't bear to be apart for even the length of one song."

Hooch covered a laugh as their benefactor looked bereft. His eyes had never strayed more than an inch from McGonagall's cleavage, pretty much justifying Minerva's suspicions that the lecherous old bugger had been checking out her legs earlier.

"Then perhaps you would both like to dance with me?" His eyes had a rapacious gleam to them. "At the same time?"

"Oh, sod off--"

"No, we wouldn't dream of it," Minerva covered quickly. "That wouldn't be fair to you. But thank you again for the lovely sherry. Buenos noches, senor," she added firmly.

There was a long moment when she thought he wouldn't take no for an answer, but finally Senor Fancypants tipped his hat and said, "Buenos noches, senoritas."

The minute he was out of sight, Hooch grabbed Minerva's foot and began tickling it under the table. The older woman laughed hysterically.

"Priceless. That's what your expression was. Absolutely priceless!"

Hooch freed the struggling foot, a mock glare hiding her amazement. "You are evil, Minerva McGonagall." The older woman's face was alive with laughter, her smile erasing the years as she struggled to get her shoe back on.

"I thought I was going to die when he asked us to 'dance with me? At the same time?'" She lowered her voice in an eerily accurate impersonation of their benefactor.

Her breath finally slowing to a manageable pace, Hooch took another sip of her sherry, emptying the glass as Minerva had done moments before. "I never knew you were a flirt, Minerva." She smiled as she said it. This was definitely a new and unexpected side to the prim deputy headmistress. "I like it."

Suddenly, it was just too damn hot in there as Minerva flashed a seductive smile. "I'm on holiday," she said. "Letting my hair down." Her lips pursed slightly. "You weren't too upset with me, were you?"

"Not at all." She hesitated, then added, "Look, if you wanted to dance with him..."

"I would have danced with him." McGonagall leaned across the table, taking Hooch's hand into hers. "I didn't want to do anything but what I'm doing right now."

Again, the temperature spiked suddenly. It had been too long, definitely too damned long since she'd had a date. Because right now, she was not thinking clearly, what with the music and the rum and the view she had straight down the front of Minerva's shirt. "It's hot in here," she gasped.

Clever. Really smooth, Xiomara.

Minerva pulled back slightly, as if realizing where she was and what was visible. An odd look crossed her face, and she said, "Sorry. I'm coming on too strong."

"No," Hooch assured her. "It's just...well, I haven't been out in a while, and I'm a little rusty."

Minerva frowned. "You were going to Hogsmeade pretty much every weekend this term," she said. There was almost a hint of jealousy in her voice.

"Yeah, to watch the Harpies at the Broomsticks," she said. "I haven't been out on an actual date since a week before term started."

"Oh," Minerva said. A deep blush touched her cheeks. "I suppose I jumped to certain conclusions. Forgive me?"

"No harm done." Hooch felt herself relaxing. This was better. Finally, somebody beside her was flustered.

"Well, I have you beat," Minerva said. "Three years, next month."

"You're kidding."

The older woman shook her head. "Nope. Willard Elsmore, undoubtedly the dullest bookseller in all of Hogsmeade. He took me out three times, gave me four sloppy kisses, and destroyed an inestimable number of brain cells with his endless dissertations on the business he was losing to those sell-outs at Flourish & Botts."

She tried to hide it, but Minerva managed to see Hooch's frown before it disappeared.

"Does it bother you," Minerva asked gently. "That I've dated men?"

"Not at all," Hooch said gruffly. "Live and let live, I say."

"That's very enlightened of you, Xiomara. A lot of people are uncomfortable with bisexuals," she added, with a wink and nod in the general direction of Senor Fancypants. "Of course, some folks find it a turn-on."

"Why three years?" Hooch changed the subject. She'd lost a lover or two before because they'd discovered 'bisexuality' actually meant 'straight and experimenting.' She didn't want to consider that with Minerva. She was having too much fun to get paranoid. "Don't tell me Willard Elsmore completely ruined the concept of romance for you."

"Well, I knew Headmaster Dippet was planning his retirement, and the position of deputy would be open once Dumbledore was promoted." She shrugged, playing her fork over the leftover rice and beans on her plate. "I wanted the position, and romance just seemed too much a distraction." She smiled gently, a wry expression on her face. "And, of course, I hadn't met anyone I'd fancied enough to be worth the distraction."

Hooch grinned fiercely. "And now?"

"And now, The Year from Hades is over, I've got a sexy dinner companion, and I'm on holiday in Havana." Minerva flagged down a passing waiter. "Dulce de leches," she said. "Dos!"

"Olé!" Hooch agreed enthusiastically. "Let the holiday begin."

***

"You know," Minerva said from her place on the stone bench looking out over the water. "It seems like everyone in the place, up to and including Senor Fancypants, has asked me to dance tonight except you."

She didn't turn to face Xiomara. She just stared out out at the moonlight, through the gnarled branches of a dead tree. Under the full moon, she seemed softer here, somehow, more relaxed than before. Hooch watched her through a haze of rum and salsa music, enjoying the view as she stepped out of the shadows to join her on the bench.

"I'd think after Senor Fancypants' offer, you'd not want to encourage them."

"Them?"

"Dirty old men wanting to see two women together." Hooch brushed a strand of hair from Minerva's shoulders. "Bane of dykes everywhere, dirty old men."

"Oh, they're not all bad. Flitwick is a darling," Minerva added with a grin.

"Flitwick? Our little Flitwick?" She shook her head defiantly. "I refuse to believe it."

"I've caught him checking out my arse a few times."

"Well, it is a spectacular arse...."

She chuckled as McGonagall lazily swatted her. "But it's harmless. He's amused, I'm amused, no one's hurt."

"I'd slug the little bugger if I caught him checking out my arse."

Minerva laughed softly. "Your legs, love. He checks out your legs." She giggled at Xiomara's horrified expression. "Well, dear, they are spectacular legs."

"Damn right they are," Hooch said. "Flitwick?"

"You know, you changed the subject earlier. About my dating men. Does it really not bother you?"

"Look, I'm open-minded, Min. You date whoever you fancy." Hooch shrugged and admitted, "I've dated men, too. Even slept with a few." Her smile was fragmented. "Not too bad, if you get over the fact that most of them are idiots. But right now, I'm completely interested in a certain deputy headmistress who keeps wanting to talk about other people and not about us."

"Sorry." Minerva's eyes lowered, then she leaned back and stared out at the moon again. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I'm nervous." Minerva's tone was straight-forward and, despite the voluminous quantities of Muggle alcohol they'd both consumed, rather sober. "I babble when I'm nervous."

"I fidget." Hooch leaned back next to her, easing them both onto their backs to stare at the stars. "When I get nervous, I fidget."

"You were fidgeting all night." She could hear the smile in McGonagall's words.

"I told you, it's been months."

"Years for me," Minerva reminded.

"Yes, Professor, you win. Your sex life is more pathetic than mine." She chuckled as McGonagall smacked her arm limply.

"And don't you forget it, Madam Hooch." They lay there for a long time, staring at the moon, content to be silent in each other's presense. "We could fix that," Minerva said softly.

Hooch stiffened. Maybe she'd heard that wrong. "Yes?"

"It's late. Almost three here. That would be...oh, tomorrow back home."

"Yeah. Never could get the times straight. Spent my entire career never knowing what bleeding time it was." Hooch held herself still. Was Professor McGonagall suggesting what she thought she was suggesting? "We can still make the last portkey to New York."

"Two portkeys and a floo trip between here and Hogwarts," Minerva said glumly. "Too much work for me."

"What do you suggest?"

Minerva rolled over onto her side, facing Hooch. Her hair pooled around her face, a warm pillow upon which her cheek rested as her eyes gazed seriously out at the younger woman. She was beautiful, bloody fucking beautiful in that moment. Hooch didn't even realize she was holding her breath. "Surely we could find an inn, even at this time of night? Senor Eduardo must know of a place...."

"We should get home," Hooch said gruffly, shaking herself out of it. They'd both had too much to drink. This was stupid. She sat up, trying to clear the fog from her brain. "We can just make the portkey--"

"I don't want to go back to Hogwarts tonight," Minerva said sharply, sitting up next to her. "We've come all this way, Xiomara. Why not stay a little longer? I'll pay for the bloody room, if that's what you're worried about."

Was she really that naive? Did she really think they could go to an inn together, share a bed, and think that nothing would happen? Hooch's expression must have said too much, because Minerva leaned in, pressing her lips hard against her mouth, tongue pushing between her teeth as her hands reached for Xiomara's body, frantic, clumsy.

The tide turned, and Xiomara rushed with it, her body craving too many things she'd been denied for too long. She wrapped Minerva in her arms, reaching back with her own tongue to play against the other woman's explorations. Hands in hair, clutching, Minerva was gripping her hair hard as she kissed her way down Hooch's neck. "Please," she begged. "Please..."

Something in Minerva's tone shook her. Hogwarts. Changing. Remember, Mara, changing? No more frantic, stupid decisions. No more living by chance, following the tide where it went? No more.

She pulled away, too hard, and Minerva fell slightly against her. The older woman looked up at her, eyes hazy and dark. Aroused. No. Freaking horny.

A repressed schoolteacher on a lark. Too much rum. Hot Cuban night. Spicy foods. Flirting and sexy music.

And tomorrow, when her heart was connected, Minerva would wake up. Tomorrow, when she was hooked, Minerva McGonagall would come to her senses.

No, it wasn't going to happen like this. "We need to get to the portkey," she whispered hoarsely.

Minerva looked as if she'd been struck. Her lips parted slightly, a questioning look in her eyes. "I don't understand." It was a young woman's voice. Not the voice of a deputy headmistress, or a repressed schoolteacher. A hurt, confused young woman's voice.

"You're drunk," Xiomara said too harshly. "And so am I. We'd hate ourselves in the morning." She stood quickly. She needed to put some distance between herself and that hurt expression, that lonely, needy, sad woman. "You'll thank me for this later."

"I'm quite sure I won't," Minerva replied. She was doing up her shirt, fumbling with the buttons, hands trembling. "I'm bloody well certain I won't," she added. "Fucking buttons!" She through her hands onto her lap, turning away from where Xiomara stood, arms folded. "You bloody bitch," she added.

"It's the smart thing to do. You know you'd feel the same way, if you weren't tanked."

"I'm not bloody tanked. I'm perfectly in control of myself." She rocked slightly, hands hard against her thighs. "Is this your idea of a joke, Sky Masterson? Bring Old MG to Havana, get her to throw herself at you, then dump her after she makes a fool of herself? Is it funny? Did you win a bloody bet?"

"It's not like that..." Hooch let her head hang back slightly, eyes closed. Her head hurt. This was not how this night was supposed to turn out. "I'm just...I need to be responsible." She shrugged, her expression resigned. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Too late," Minerva spat.

They stayed that way, not looking at each other, not speaking to each other, for a long time. Finally, Minerva whispered, "Is it all just a game to you, Xiomara?"

She heaved a sigh, then moved to sit next to Minerva. The older woman pulled away slightly, arms wrapped around her torso. "It used to be. I'm trying not to anymore."

"Your reputation is fairly well-known. You're no prude." Minerva rolled her head slightly to ease the tension in her neck. "Maybe it's just me."

"Minerva, if you were as in control of yourself as you claim, you'd know this is not about you. We work together. You're my boss, for Merlin's sake. We're both pissed and horny and into each other. A year ago, there'd have been no question at all. We probably wouldn't even have made it to the inn."

"But now?"

"Now it's different. I like my job. I like Hogwarts." She shrugged, smoothing the hem of her dress absently. "Let's say we go for it, chuck common sense and mate like bunnies. What happens when you sober up and figure out it was a mistake? How long till it gets too bad to hang around? How long till I have to figure out a new plan?"

"What if I sober up and it isn't a mistake?"

"Is that a risk you're willing to take? Because I don't know if I am." She shook her head firmly. "I'm tired of the road, Minerva. I'm tired of waking up in a different town every bloody morning, with a different head on the pillow next to me. I like Hogwarts. I think I like you, too, but I'm not going to throw away what I've worked so hard to get for piece of arse." She grinned. "Even if it is a spectacular arse."

McGonagall, to her surprise, chuckled. "But what about your spectacular legs? Do you think I'm going to miss the opportunity to get to know them up close and personal, just because you're a coward?"

"I'm no coward."

"Then prove it." Minerva stood up suddenly. "I'll be right back. Don't move an inch," she warned as she hurried into Eduardo's.

Hooch stared after her in stunned silence. This had to be, without a doubt, the strangest date she'd ever had. Minerva was maddening. She didn't know what the hell she was--was she this sad, repressed spinster? Was she the subtle flirt? Or was she really Professor McGonagall, all starch and sarcasm? And would she kindly figure out which one she was and ruddy well stick with it? Because all this personality shifting was giving Hooch a massive headache.

Minerva was gone a long time. Hooch's headache had gotten worse, and as she sat there cursing Muggle liquor and wondering if she'd been abandoned, the clicking of heels on cobblestone jarred her out of her self-pity.

Minerva stood before her, two small vials in her hands. "Apparently, Senor Eduardo sells more Sobriety Potions than he does dulce de leches," she said, handing one of the vials to Xiomara. "Drink this. And I'll drink mine. If we still want to mate like bunnies once we've sobered up, we get a room."

"And if we don't?"

"We take the portkey back to New York, no harm done. And we never speak of it again." She gave Hooch a reassuring look. "I promise."

Hooch looked at her doubtfully, then looked at the potion. It looked horrible. It also tasted horrible, as she knew from personal experience. "Okay," she muttered.

Minerva uncorked her vial and downed its contents in one gulp, wincing at the taste and turning away to lean against the tree. "Go ahead," she choked.

"Bottoms up," and the contents of Hooch's vial were gulped down just as quickly. Gawds, it was disgusting. As if the potionsmaster who'd originally thought up the brew had been a particularly vindictive teatotaller. She felt the liquid fire down her throat, shook her head hard against it. Sobriety crashed down like an anvil in one of those Muggle cartoons, hitting her square on the skull. "Argh," she moaned. "Nasty stuff."

She rubbed her eyes, looking up finally to check on McGonagall, who still stood with her back to her. "Minerva?" she asked.

The older woman hugged herself, still staring silently off into the distance. Slowly, smoothly, the fabric of her blouse began to slip off her shoulders. Hooch watched in stunned amazement as the shirt slid down to reveal Minerva's shoulders, her slender, straight back, shimmering camisole with the delicate straps over pale white skin.

The older woman turned, casually handing the shirt to Xiomara. "I believe I've made my vote quite clear." There was no hesitation, no fear in her eyes. She stood there, her body lit by the full moon, hair sparkling in its reflection, as sober as if she'd been giving a Transfigurations lesson. "Do I have to strip down to my garters to prove I'm serious?"

Hooch began to chuckle. "And they call me Hooch the Mad."

"Tell me you're not interested, and we'll catch the first portkey out of here."

"I'm interested," Hooch admitted, stepping closer to examine a cluster of freckles on McGonagall's shoulder. "I'm just curious as to how far you're going to go."

McGonagall leaned over to whisper in her ear. "If you don't object, I'd like to be fully naked in your arms tonight, Madam Hooch. Here or at an inn, it doesn't really matter to me."

Hooch laughed, a full hearty laugh, as she wrapped the shirt around Minerva's shoulders. "Well I guess we'd better find an inn, before you get us arrested."

"Good." Minerva pulled her shirt on and, still wearing that calm expression, began fastening the buttons up. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses."

***

Esmerelda's Hacienda Cubana did not exactly live up to its exotic name. Situated far from the beach, in a neighborhood that perhaps didn't have the best reputation, it was one of the only inns that would accept guests this late at night. Eduardo had warned them it was sort of a dive, but at that point, they were not really worried about aesthetics.

"Lumos," Hooch said, then gave a low whistle as she checked out the room. "Eduardo wasn't kidding."

"Oh, my." Minerva looked around at the dilapidated furniture, threadworn comforter on the bed, and broken blinds on the window. "I hope someone told Princess Anne we got her room."

"I'll bet there are cockroaches in this place from before Castro's time."

"Don't start me on Muggle politics," Minerva said with a laugh.

Hooch stamped hard at the ratty carpet, only to realize she'd just killed a stain. "It was moving, I swear."

"It's fine, really. We can fix it up a bit, if we need to." She laughed nervously and sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked. "We may want to fix that."

"Yeah." Hooch moved over to the other side of the bed.

Minerva had opened the drawer to the nightstand. She pulled out a tattered book. "Look, the Gideon Bible. En Espanol."

"Nervous?" Hooch asked, sliding her feet onto the bed.

"Petrified," the older woman admitted. "Three years, remember?"

"You slept with Willard Elsmore?" she coughed.

Minerva nodded sheepishly. "Oh, all right then. Five years." She grinned. "Five years, three months, two days and..." With a nod to the clock on the nightstand. "Give or take twelve hours."

"Lady, you need to get laid."

"I thought you'd never ask," she said, rolling over to her side. And in moments, the décor was completely, utterly, blissfully forgotten.

***

***

The sun was sreaming through the broken blinds when Minerva finally begged her to stop. Xiomara rolled off her with a gasp, laughing breathlessly. "You sure, wench?"

"Pity an old woman, will you?" Minerva McGonagall was a mess, hair all tangled, face flushed from laughing. Well, laughing and screaming, anyway. And moaning. And scratching.

Hooch rubbed her shoulder hard. "You sure you didn't do that animagus thing somewhere in there? I've got claw marks."

"Don't be a priss."

"Priss?" Xiomara howled. "This from Miss Please, Oh Please, More, Please....Please....PLEASE...."

"I was raised to have manners, you clod." She lifted her head halfway. "Where are the covers? I know there was a blanket or something on this bed at one point."

Xiomara pointed at the tangled mess of sheets, blankets, and clothes at the foot of the bed. "They're down there somewhere."

Minerva looked lazily over the side of the bed. She pointed her finger. "Accio, blanket." With a grin, she added, "Don't tell Dumbledore I didn't use a wand. He'll never respect me again." She wrapped the blanket around them, pulling Xiomara close.

"Four hours of non-stop shagging, and she worries about the impropriety of doing magic without a wand," Hooch said in disbelief, nuzzling down into the older woman's embrace. "You have seriously got to reconsider your priorities."

"I heard no complaints from you about my priorities when you were screaming out my name. Repeatedly."

"Shut it, cow." Xiomara bit her shoulder.

"Sow," Minerva yawned. "Dear gods and goddesses, I'm tired. I don't think I've been this exhausted in years."

"Five years," Hooch yawned as well, ignoring the playful pinch Minerva gave her. "Three months, two days and..."

"Go to sleep, baby," Minerva whispered as they drifted off in each other's arms.

***

"Is that from your mum?" Xiomara lifted her sunglasses, opening one eye to see what Minerva was doing. The sun was just beginning to get hot, and she was seriously considering returning to their room for a midday siesta.

McGonagall nodded, engrossed in the letter. "She says she's sorry I won't be able to make it, but she'll see me some time next week."

"Did you tell her why you're not coming home?" Hooch took a sip of her daiquiri, ignoring the tiny pink paper straw that stuck out the top of the glass.

"Oh, yes, I can hear it now." She held the letter out as if reading it aloud. "'Dear Mum. So sorry I am to miss the family picnic on the seventh. I've been kidnapped by a mad Harpy who has whisked me off to Cuba to be her sexual slave.'"

"Sounds good to me. Although I resent the sexual slave part." Hooch rolled over onto her stomach. "I only tied you up once, and only because you asked so nicely."

Minerva gave her a gentle slap on the thigh, then stretched out on her towel beside her. "You are a crude woman, Madam Hooch."

"Priss."

"Bitch." She leaned on her arms, stretching lazily. "I have never been so relaxed in my life," she murmured.

"Well, three days of regular sex will do that to a person."

Minerva lifted her head. "Has it been three days?"

"Uh-huh." Xiomara pushed her legs out behind her, flexing them at the ankles. "Trollop."

"Dear me." She turned onto her side, facing Hooch and resting her head on her hand. "We probably should get back, shouldn't we?"

Hooch rolled her eyes up to glare at her, then eased onto her side as well. "Bored with me already?" she teased.

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"Liar." Hooch shook her head slightly, as if to remove the cobwebs. "You don't really want to go back and deal with family, do you?"

"No, not really."

"Then stay with me. Send your regrets back to Dundee or wherever all those McGonagalls are holed up and come to Paris with me."

"Paris?" Minerva laughed softly. "First Cuba, now Paris. Madam Hooch, you'll make a libertine out of me yet."

"What the hell is a libertine?"

McGonagall chuckled. "I dunno. It sounded good. But really, Mara, Paris? I have obligations."

"Blah, blah, blah."

"Yeah, well blah to you, too. I can't just go traipsing off to Paris. I shouldn't even be in Cuba."

"You got a nice tan," Hooch commented. "And Senor Eduardo likes you better than he likes me now."

"I'm serious, darling."

"Look," she took another sip of her drink. "You spend the entire year doing exactly what you're supposed to do, right? Then you go home on holiday and do exactly what your family wants you to do."

"And now you want me to go to Paris and do exactly what you want me to do?" She lifted an eyebrow.

"Touché."

"It is tempting, though. I've never been to Paris."

Hooch reached out and stroked a single finger across McGonagall's shoulder. She felt warm and relaxed and not particularly compelled to convince her to change her mind. It was nice just to be here. "It's up to you, Min."

But Minerva had latched onto something nd a frown was beginning to crease her face. "And what about next term?"

"What about next term?"

She shrugged. "This is all nice and good, Cuba and the beach and Paris and all sorts of fun and romance." She sighed. "What happens when I have to be Professor McGonagall again?"

"I'll probably have to be Madam Hooch again."

"Please," she said softly. "How are we going to handle this? I'm assuming..." She hesitated. "I'm hoping you want to continue this past the summer."

Hooch lifted herself onto a single elbow, a deadly serious expression on her face. "Just you try to stop me."

"Then how?" Minerva was about to launch into a litany of problems, and roadblocks, and pitfalls, when Xiomara stopped her with a long, soft kiss.

"As long as you can tell me where the secret passages leading to your chambers are, Professor McGonagall, we can work everything else out. I promise." She kissed her again. "Paris?"

Minerva smiled shyly. "Are you sure?"

"Paris," Hooch said firmly.

"Paris, then."

"Then off to the World Cup." Xiomara began kissing her neck, hands reaching down to wipe some sand that had just happened to find its way onto McGonagall's breast.

"I hate sleeping in tents," Minerva groused into her parted lips.

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

***

Two Months Later...

The Sorting Hat droned on, calling name after name and sorting each fresh-faced child into his or her respective House. Xiomara Hooch blinked, wondering lazily just how many more there were before Dumbledore could make his customary remarks, not to mention the jokes which, in her second term teaching, were already beginning to get a little stale, and they could have their supper.

Minerva McGonagall's voice rang clearly over the hall of students. It was amazing the way her voice could carry that way without ever sounding harsh or gruff. Like a church bell or....

"C'm off it, old girl," she muttered to herself under her breath with a mocking grin. You sound like you're in love. She ignored the Potions Master's rude glare. She wondered how long she could hide this, how long either of them could hide it.

Hogwarts wasn't exactly Privacy Central; even the paintings gossiped. Sooner or later, it would become a commonly known secret, preciously guarded yet split open for speculation by the curious throngs. How would Minerva stand up under the magnifying glass? For that matter, how would she?

It was one thing to have an anonymous blurb about your sex life in the scandal rags. It was another thing to live with scandal on a day to day basis. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Dumbledore smiling down at her as he stood to make his speech. Xiomara Hooch wondered at the Dumbledore Effect, at how he could make everything seem okay with a well-placed, knowing grin.

Of course he knew. Minerva herself had suggested he was involved with her decision to pursue this relationship. There wasn't much of anything that went on at Hogwarts that Albus Dumbledore didn't know about.

She basked in the warm residual effect of his smile, his reassuring hand on her shoulder. He knew, and he accepted her. She felt it in her gut.

They would make it. Hooch heard the words in the back of her head, echoing through her entire body. They would make it. She repeated it in her mind, like a fervent prayer, as she watched Minerva take her place at Dumbledore's side. There was a flicker of a glance her way, and the sparkle in the Deputy Headmistress's eyes said it all.

They would make it.

Madam Xiomara Hooch, former Mad Harpy turned Flying Instructor, settled into her place at the High Table, listening to the comforting familiarity of the Headmaster's words, knowing that Hogwarts was at last, truly her home.