Remembrall

She had to be daft. That's the only reason Minerva McGonagall could fathom for Madame Hooch's behavior. As the fierce match-up between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor drew nearer, Hooch's training schedule for the Ravenclaws grew more intense.

Minerva drew in a deep breath as she watched them down on the commons, brooms in hand, hanging on every word Hooch had to say. While her reputation as a Seeker did not compare to that of a James Potter, or even a Minerva McGonagall, Madame Hooch was legendary amongst her house Ravenclaw for her vicious and cunning control over the brooms.

All too well she remembered that broomsmanship. In her day as Gryffindor Seeker, Minerva had faced those hard dark eyes, that almost maniacal zeal with a passion for competition rivaling her own. So many times, in fact, that their rivalry had become almost a joke amongst their schoolmates, back in their own Hogwarts days.

"Enough!"

Even from this height, through her office glass, Minerva could hear Hooch's bellows. The Ravenclaws were good, too good, in fact to ignore. Never mind the addition of the new Windsweeper 420, which had mysteriously appeared in the morning owl post for the Ravenclaw's already unstoppable Seeker.

Even now, hours later, McGonagall's blood raged at the thought. Deanna had pulled strings somewhere. Nobody could afford that model--she knew for a fact the Ravenclaw Seeker's parents were dirt-poor and the boy was here at Hogwarts on scholarship. Hooch herself couldn't have spared the three months' salary it would have taken to purchase the broom in Diagon Alley.

"How did she do it?" Minerva whispered to herself.

Without a proper Seeker, Gryffindor didn't stand much of a chance against a Windsweeper 420. She sighed, looking down at her lesson plan for inspiration, an act which, all too often of late, produced nothing but lesson plans.

***

"You can't give up. You can't lose focus. You can never take your thoughts from the Snitch." Deanna Hooch walked behind the others, arm draped gently over the shoulder of one Rafe O'Bannion, the best chance Ravenclaw had against Gryffindor. Her Seeker was good, but flighty. Young. Unimpassioned by the chase.

She had seen Minerva watching from her perch, eyes piercing over those tiny glasses she used to look older and more intimidating to the first years. She was planning, she was. Old MG always got the look about her when she was planning. She had a strategy.

"But the Gryffindors don't even have a healthy Keeper, Madame Hooch." O'Bannion was strutting confidently beside her. His feet most certainly hadn't touched the ground once since he'd received the new broom she'd acquired for him. "And their Seeker is terrified of her own shadow. We can't lose."

"You can always lose, Mr. O'Bannion." Her words came out with the proper amount of warning and mysterious intent to catch his usually scattered attention. He turned to her. "Professor McGonagall is a clever woman, and she doesn't like her House team to lose."

The boy began chuckling. "I wish I'd had a picture of you two at breakfast this morning when my new broom came. I thought you were going to come to blows if Professor Dumbledore hadn't stepped--"

"Are you finished?" Hooch could hear the seething in her own voice. She considered herself a friend to her students in Ravenclaw, but the sting of that morning's embarrassment was still fresh enough to render O'Bannion's cheek unwelcome.

"Sorry," he responded quickly. Star Seeker or not, he at least had the sense to know when he'd gone too far. "About that Wronski's Feint you were trying to teach me?"

Hooch was glad to change the subject away from that damned broom. She cast her eyes upward as she listened to O'Bannion prattle on and on about a maneuver he wouldn't be capable of in years, if ever. Minerva hadn't been so furious with her in years. Not since they were girls.

"Madame Hooch?"

She shook herself out of it. The match. Today. Now. That was all that mattered. Not lost opportunities and such. "You know, there are a few more days until Saturday's match. If you'd like, I can schedule a morning sessions to work with you on that maneuver."

"That would be brilliant, M. Hooch! You are beyond the greatest...."

She smiled encouragingly at him, her mind a thousand years and a million miles away, in some strange and wonderful place where Quidditch and broomsticks and lost loves were nothing at all but future memories.

***

The female faculty's bath was deserted when Minerva got there. Normally she avoided the spot like the plague, as it was a mecca for gossip and intrigue and all that letting down of hair that she couldn't abide. The one time she'd decided her need for a good steam was more pressing than her need for privacy, she'd spent the better part of 45 minutes listening to that twit Trelawney blather on about a mysterious love in McGonagall's future. Had she been any longer before "the voices" called her back to her tower, Madame Trelawney might have met with an untimely accident not even her so-called voices could have predicted.

Minerva put her hand in the pocket of the thick tartan robe she wore, feeling the tiny round object it contained as she scanned the bath for any stragglers or night owls that might have remained. No one was there.

She stepped over to the whirlpool. It was huge, a mighty vortex that could suck the tension out of even the tightest muscles. "Excuse me," she whispered into the vortex. "Do you mind bubbles?"

"I prefer foam," came a dark, sonorous female voice. "Bubbles make me hiccup."

Minerva nodded, knowing full well a hiccupping whirlpool was less than relaxing. She pulled her wand out of her other robe pocket, turned toward a small china container covered in painted lavender and whispered, "Accio." The container came to her. Lavender chamomile, her favorite. She breathed in the scent deeply, then poured a generous amount into the whirlpool, which sighed in relief.

"Thank you, Professor, for abstaining from the strawberry banana. It's been very popular lately, and it makes me nauseous."

"You're very welcome. Now I'm about to enter," she added, still holding her robe tightly together across her chest. "May I please have a bit of privacy?"

The whirlpool gurgled happily, bubbling and rollicking in the scented foam. "Of course, Professor," the deep female voice replied. "And any time you need my services, please...please feel free to drop by."

She waited a moment, then slipped the robe from her shoulders and stepped in to the bath. Between the late hour and the very thick, very concealing lavender foam, she felt no need for too much caution and allowed herself the pleasure of dropping her swimsuit to the floor along with the robe. The slight jostling of the fabric caused the round object to roll from her pocket--it was a Remembrall she'd received from an unknown sender, just after dinner. It was a deep crimson. She couldn't imagine anything she'd forgotten, though--McGonagall's memory was sharper than her temper.

The warm vortex of water felt heavenly around her skin as she plunged down the steps and seated herself at the edge. Minerva could feel the currents massaging her body fiercely, as if the spirit of the whirlpool had taken great, personal interest in the calming and relaxing of one Professor McGonagall. Closing her eyes, she let herself sink into the pleasure of it, wondering absently why again didn't she do this more often?

A noise at the doorway reminded her in one pronounced cough. "You!" It was Deanna Hooch, armed with a handful of papers, several quills, and balancing a Remembrall of her own atop the mess.

Minerva almost reflexively sat bolt upright, but caught herself just in time as she remembered her current state of undress. "Deanna," she responded coldly. The woman stood before her in an oversized Florence Flyers jersey, sweatpants, and no decent robe to speak of.

The momentary tension seemed to pull back into a guarded truce as Hooch came closer, sniffing. "Lavender, eh? Kind of girly for you, isn't it, Minerva? I thought you were more into ice scrubs in the woods, not hot yummy spa baths."

"Do you have a point?" McGonagall snapped.

"I usually do my thinking here," Hooch shot back defensively. "Though usually with much fewer bubbles."

"It's foam, thank you," came the voice from whirlpool. "And if you're coming in, come in for goodness sake. I can't do my work while she's so tense."

Minerva could have gladly found the source of that voice and strangled it with her bare hands at that moment. Because Madame Hooch took this as an invitation, dropping her stack into a pile just close enough to Minerva's to notice the swimsuit and glance pointedly in her direction. With a huge grin, Deanna Hooch had stripped off her jersey so quickly Minerva couldn't help but see her naked torso before turning away.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and reciting transfiguration charms in her head. Deanna had to be loving this. She'd always delighting in tormenting her, even back in school. The Remembrall buzzed slightly near her, but McGonagall ignored it as she heard the brooms teacher splash loudly into the whirlpool opposite her.

"Oy, this is lovely. Minerva, you surprise me. I had no idea I'd find you here."

That was her trick, then. Play nice. Play cool. Minerva felt a wave of anger rush through her body, so old and so deep that it could have nothing to do with the whirlpool or the Windsweeper 420 or the bloody Quidditch tournament. The Remembrall was now humming madly.

She felt Deanna's finger on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw the spike-haired teacher pointing at the Remembrall. "I think it's trying to tell you something."

McGonagall felt dizzy. The heavy scent of lavender and chamomile was overpowering, as was the sudden and unexpected nearness of Deanna Hooch.

Without a word, McGonagall grabbed her clothes and, using the robe as a shield, exited the whirlpool so quickly she never noticed that Hooch's Remembrall was just as scarlet, just as mad, and just as loud as her own.

***

"That was downright mean," said a voice from inside one of the drain pipes.

Hooch groaned, sinking back against the wall of the whirlpool. "For goodness sake, Myrtle, don't you have anything better to do with your time than spy on naked middle-aged women in their bath?" She scooped up a handful of foam and 'poofed' it in the general direction of the drainpipe.

"Only care about the win, do you? That's all you ever cared about, isn't it?" She could hear Myrtle clanking around the pipes, until a large bubble appeared in the whirlpool next to her. "Don't care that you practically made the poor lady cry, do you? Don't care about that at all, do you? You're just as mean as the girls who used to make fun of me. You know that? You are just plain mean."

"First of all, Myrtle, she wasn't crying. She was angry. Big difference."

"She was crying. I know these things." Myrtle's bubble seemed to pace frantically across the water top. "And for a stupid Quidditch game."

"Quidditch is not stupid," Hooch began, but the ghost was on a roll and didn't seem to hear her.

"There's more to being alive than a game, you know. Oh, maybe if you were...sniff...dead like me, you'd appreciate such things more, but no, you only care about winning."

"What do you know about what I care about?" Hooch asked huffily. Between Myrtle's accusations and the annoying hum of the Remembrall, and her own mixed feelings, she was not really relaxing.

"I've been haunting the girl's bathroom for forty-five years, Deanna Hooch. Just because you can't see me, doesn't mean I can't see you. Or Minerva McGonagall." There was a long silence as Myrtle let that sink in. "And I have a very long memory."

Deanna Hooch froze. The bath, which had seemed so lovely a moment ago, now felt clammy and stale. She got a sudden memory flash, so many years ago that it seemed like a dream. She and Minerva, fighting as usual, turning blazing eyes towards each other, a hushed pause, then a kiss so passionate and wrenching they both lost track of why they were fighting.

That kiss had taken place in the girl's bathroom. Myrtle's bathroom.

"You bitch. You knew about us?"

"I know lots of things. And I know that you are just being mean now."

"That's ancient history, Myrtle. And I'll thank you to just wipe that one incident from your oh-so-long memory."

The bubble shivered atop the foam, then in a flash disappeared. A clattering of pipes followed, and a voice came from the sink faucet. "Ancient history, my pipes. Mark my words, Deanna Hooch. That pride of yours will make you old and bitter one day, if you aren't careful."

A silence broken only by the humming Remembrall followed Myrtle's exit. "Too late," Hooch muttered to no one in particular.

***

Try as she might, McGonagall couldn't get the lingering scent of lavender off her. She and Hooch had called a frigid truce in the days following the incident in the bath. Hooch had sent a short, brusque, one-word note of apology to her the next morning, and the two had not spoken since. But the memory of that night seemed etched on her mind.

The match came and went, with Ravenclaw victorious. It didn't seem to matter now. Gryffindor's glory days seemed to be long past, and Minerva tried with all her might to focus on her teaching. She sat up late in the night, poring over lesson plans and historical references, hoping against hope that she might rid herself of the niggling doubts she was beginning to feel.

Her history with Deanna Hooch was closed. Deanna had closed it almost twenty-five years earlier. She'd made her choice to stay, and Minerva had made her choice to go. Five years in Italy with the British Embassy of Magic, two years in Singapore, then another three in New York. Five years home in Ireland, fifteen years in all gone before Dumbledore's invitation came to replace him as Transfigurations teacher at the time of his promotion to headmaster. She'd almost turned him down. Hooch was there, and the thought of opening up those old wounds seemed unbearable.

But a longing for something nearing home was too strong, and she checked her pocketful of pride and returned to Hogwarts. She and Hooch had acted like nothing had happened ever since, fifteen years of complete denial on both their parts.

Why now? Why was all this coming back now? She turned back to her lesson plans. As always, they produced nothing more revealing than lesson plans.

***

The wind was cooling. Deanna reveled in the coming spring, knowing that it would eventually bring end of term and she'd be able to get the hell away from Minerva's non-accusing non-stares. The lack of interaction between them was now pointed. McGonagall's icy demeanor seemed to appear everywhere. She was wracking on her nerves now, this paragon of learning and virtue with seemingly no care or no concern for anyone other than herself.

The slightest lag in concentration, and Hooch's broom swerved wildly off course. She made the adjustment immediately of course, but not before something caught her eyes below her.

A hidden clearing, teaming with wild lavender, just off to her right. Hooch felt her heart stop for the briefest of moments. She'd almost forgotten...

A quick turn of the broom brought her directly into the hidden opening. She landed easily, laying her broom to rest against a tree before walking off to take a look around.

It was just like she remembered. So wild, so overwhelming with the perfume of flowers. A magical place so unlike the mundane magic of her world. Raw and primal magic it was, of a kind she could barely fathom outside her dreams.

Turning her eyes around the perimeter of the clearing, she almost missed Minerva asleep under a tree. A longing so rare and perfect it hurt drove Hooch to her side. It had been so long.

She lowered herself to her knees, reaching with a finger to pull a strand of red-gray hair from the sleeping woman's eyes.

McGonagall's eyes fluttered open at her touch. Instead of the expected anger, Minerva merely smiled dreamily. "I had the most amazing dream," she whispered before dozing off again.

Hooch leaned hard against the tree. The years disappeared, and suddenly she was there, at the station, running through the pain to catch a train that took Minerva out of her life. She could feel the blinding pain searing through her as if it had been moments ago instead of decades.

Right now, however, with the scent of lavender so thick in the air, it just didn't seem so important. Deanna lay next to the sleeping woman, closing her eyes as the heaviness of the day just took over her body.

Neither seemed aware that the Remembralls had slipped from their robe pockets, rolling across the ground to link and complete the spell.

***

Flashback: Sixth Year

Thirty-one years earlier

The air bit her cheeks and ears raw, but Hooch paid it no mind. Her eyes were on the Snitch, and no amount of discomfort was going to distract her from this victory. Physical comfort, like a social life and her once waist-length tresses, had fallen victim to this obsession of hers.

She swerved, keeping time with the Snitch, knowing the Gryffindor Seeker was right behind her. No matter. Whatever McGonagall did, Hooch did better. She flew fast, Hooch flew faster. She swerved, Hooch swerved first and sharper.

"You're mad," the girl yelled, brushing her red bangs from her eyes as Deanna banked sharply to the left, her broomstick cutting directly into the other Seeker's path.

"Victory Ravenclaw!" she yelled in response, never taking her eyes from the prized golden object that fluttered wildly in the hard February winds.

"Not yet," came the steely reply, and McGonagall had pulled her broom into a steep angle, easily overtaking her from above as the Snitch zoomed out of Hooch's reach. "Damn!" A gust of wind threw the Gryffindor girl off-balance, and the ball whizzed through her grasp and down towards the fields.

"Such language for a noble Gryffindor," Hooch laughed, spiraling downwards in hot pursuit. She headed towards Earth as breakneck speed, reveling in the rush of adrenaline she always got playing Seeker. Deanna Hooch was an oddity among Quidditch players--she could play any position equally well. But she loved Seeker best, especially against House Gryffindor.

Her rivalry with Minerva McGonagall had taken on epic qualities. From the first day they arrived at Hogwarts, the two had been locked in mortal combat. From Herbology to Care of Magical Creatures, Deanna Hooch and Minerva McGonagall were usually neck in neck for top honors. And even though this match offered no chance at all for either house to catch Slytherin in points, second place was still available and hotly sought after by both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.

It was an honor Hooch had no intention of giving to old MG.

She shook her head. Too much thinking, not enough Seeking. Gotta get that Snitch.

A cry behind her caught her attention. McGonagall was flying crazy, her broom jerking wildly from left to right. Hooch saw the look of terror on the girl's face and knew it was not a ploy. Something was definitely wrong with her broom.

She was about to go investigate, when she saw a flash of gold just out of reach.

In the other direction.

Hooch drew a deep breath, then cursed loudly as the red-haired girl started veering recklessly towards a stand of trees. "DAMN," she muttered, ignoring the Snitch and chasing McGonagall.

She followed as quickly as she could, while scrounging in her robes for her wand. There was a huge gap between the girls, and she wasn't sure it would work anyway, but Hooch couldn't not try. She began murmuring a low incantation. She done it before, but never at this speed, and never when she was this nervous.

McGonagall's broom was bucking like a frightened palomino. It was doubtful the girl could stay abroom much longer, but Hooch had to try. She focused on the other broom, willing it to steady. She didn't know if it was working. But if she didn't do something quickly, McGonagall was going to slam into one of those trees at top speed.

She was shouting at the top of her lungs. She tried to pull up beside the girl, but her flight was too erratic. Suddenly, just as it looked as if McGonagall was going to plough into a large oak tree, the rogue broom steadied. Hooch could feel it as if she were flying the thing herself.

It worked. It had steadied. Oh, gods and goddesses, she thought as she lowered the broom carefully to the ground. It had worked.

***

How she managed to make it on the ground in one piece, Minerva didn't know. But the feel of rough spring grass beneath her feet was quite possibly the most wonderful thing she could ever have imagined. She dropped the offending broom, leaning against the oak tree, which could have killed her under less fortunate circumstances, and tried to catch her breath.

Deanna Hooch swooped in seconds behind her, a look of concern across her features. "You okay?" she asked breathlessly.

Minerva nodded, unable to gather the air for even a one-syllable response.

"Damn, I never saw a broom go bad like that. I thought you were a goner."

A huge puddle of jelly appeared where Minerva's knees had been only a moment before and she felt herself sink into a shivering mass at the base of the oak tree.

Hooch, rather than scamper off in search of the Snitch, moved closer to her, examining her face as if for signs of deeper damage. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I..I just need to catch my breath," she whispered. The world seemed very wobbly right now, as if speaking too loud might cause it to start spinning madly once more. "What did you do?" she managed to ask. She thought she'd seen Hooch muttering what looked like an incantation, but she couldn't be sure.

"Just a trick I learned from my Da." Hooch was staring at her curiously. "He could handle up to four brooms at once, he could. But I didn't know if I could help in time."

"You...you stopped it?" Minerva stared at her. "How did you...how could you stop my broom, when I could barely get it to stay upright?"

Hooch shrugged. "The important thing is that you're not a pile of McGonagoo, right?"

She had a point. McGonagall closed her eyes, nodding warily, uncertain as to how much movement was a good idea under the current circumstances. She felt unbelievably dizzy.

Deanna Hooch had picked up the rogue broom and was examining it with a critical eye. "Here's your problem." She poked the offending item in front of McGonagall's face. When Minerva didn't open her eyes, she explained, "Looks like a hairline crack, right down the stick. Lucky you weren't killed. You shouldn't be riding a piece of junk like this."

"Family heirloom," Minerva muttered, still resting against the tree trunk. "My sister Athena's. By way of my sister Demeter." She sighed. "I was supposed to give it to Sophia when she started in two years."

"Good gods, how many are there of you?" Hooch sat next to her under the tree. The match couldn't end till the Snitch was found, and they had both bloody well earned a time out.

"I'm number seven of eight." For the first time, Minerva smiled from under her death pale expression. "Aphrodite, Athena, Artemis, Persephone, Demeter, Hestia, Minerva, and baby Sophia."

"Oy. That's a mouthful."

"My father was quite fond of Classical Mythology." She opened her eyes to find Hooch staring at her, a roguish grin on her face. "Doesn't leave a lot of room for new brooms, with all those McGonagalls running about."

"I'll say." Hooch chuckled. "And I thought dorm life was rough."

"Walk in the proverbial park."

Hooch stretched, looking around slowly. "This is pretty."

"Hem?"

She waved her hands. "Pretty. Never knew it was here. And I've flown pretty much every inch of the Hogwarts campus."

Minerva scanned the glade, just beginning to bud with wild lavender. "You know, I've never been here either. I wonder how we missed it." She turned just in time to catch Hooch staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing." Hooch scowled, avoiding eye contact.

"What?" Minerva sat up straighter. "What?"

"It's just that, well..." She bit down on the inside of her cheek before continuing. "Your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" She immediately began patting the long red tresses. Her braids had come undone in the fracas, and surely look a riot, but that was no reason for her to--

"It's pretty," Hooch said softly.

Minerva caught her breath. That certainly wasn't what she'd expected from Hooch the Horror. She blushed furiously, suddenly very interested in the condition of her robe clasps, to the extent that she lowered her face to check them carefully. "Thank you," she managed.

"I've never seen you wear it down."

"Too much fuss," she responded, too gruffly, still enormously intent on her clasps and unable to look the Ravenclaw girl in the eye.

"It's just that...what is that?" Her eyes turned to something in the folds of Minerva's game robe. It was small, and struggling quite fiercely to escape the cloth that pinned it to the ground.

Their eyes met, and they both knew what it was. The Snitch.

A long moment passed as both girls suddenly remembered they were rivals, playing for House glory. Both knew that all Minerva had to do was reach down, and Ravenclaw was reduced to third place.

And both were equally surprised when Minerva reached for Deanna's hand and pressed it down around the Snitch, giving the victory to Ravenclaw.

Hooch's eyes went wide, and then she did something Minerva McGonagall felt sure she'd remember the rest of her life. She leaned over and kissed her, hard and deep, right on the lips. A rush of energy flamed through every cell of Minerva's body as she pushed hard against her sworn rival, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, and returning the kiss with everything in her heart and soul. It seemed forever, their bodies pressed hard against each other, tongues exploring. Minerva stroked her fingers through the soft, spiky tufts of Hooch's hair, whispering in a breathless voice, "I like your hair," before the passion flamed again between them.

It ended as quickly as it started. Deanna Hooch pulled away, looking pale and embarrassed and gloriously happy all in one shot. She mounted her broom, Snitch in hand, and shot straight upward, sending sparks with her wand to signal to the world that Ravenclaw was victorious.

Minerva McGonagall, once the surge of adrenaline abandoned her, slumped against the tree in a dead faint.

***

It was warm in the hospital wing. Hooch sat by the bedside, long after the others had gone out of the castle to enjoy the spring day. She had made sure no one saw her sneak up to the hospital wing, twisting through various corridors to avoid Peeves, who'd been more nasty than ever. But she wanted to check on Minerva, and was too embarrassed to admit it.

Madame LaFleur nodded once as she entered, assuring her in no uncertain that she would be given detention at the first hint of rowdy behavior, then disappeared in the back.

She'd heard the rumours about Minerva's fall, and did nothing to detract from them. Some said Hooch had driven her from the sky in a fit of manic competitiveness. Hooch grinned at that one. In some situations, she wouldn't have found it too difficult to believe either.

Other rumours hinted at some terrible mental dysfunction on McGonagall's part, that she'd cracked under the strain and lost control of her flying before she went down. Deanna figured anyone who thought Minerva McGonagall that mentally weak had never tried dueling with her magically. She still had a scar from that damned levitation spell.

Dumbledore knew the truth. She'd told him immediately when he'd arrived, with Coach Brumsley and Madame LaFleur. She'd shown him the defective broom, and casually mentioned that it was third hand and too old to be used in play.

Dumbledore, that fine old fellow, had nodded and sent her on her way to enjoy the celebration. He assured her Minerva would be well looked after, and even invited her to visit her in hospital.

So here she was. Visiting a sick friend, if that could be believed.

Minerva lay in the bed, well into the fulfillment of a rather powerful sleeping charm. Her hair had been combed and pulled into a long, pretty braid at her side. Her face, normally so intense and full of purpose, was soothed into a soft, relaxed expression.

She was beautiful.

Hooch leaned up to stroke her bangs, still uncertain what in heaven or hell had prompted that kiss. It wasn't gratitude. Minerva gave her that Snitch because they both knew, had it not been for Deanna's quick action, Minerva might not have survived to catch it.

But something in the way she'd sat there, all dazed and quiet and shaken, had touched a place in Deanna's stomach, a place far past competition and Quidditch and pure ambition. She'd seemed frail, somehow. All those sisters. She was from somewhere in Ireland, Hooch thought, even though the name was Scottish.

All these years, they'd fought so fiercely and challenged so thoroughly, and they knew almost nothing about each other.

Like how their kisses tasted. Or how her body was lean and soft. Or how her eyes sparkled just so when she joked, or the sound of her laughter.

"Stupid," Deanna whispered. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was falling for this girl. Stupid.

She left the hospital room without another word. Celebrate. Just focus on the victory.

She passed a Slytherin boy leaving Minerva's bedside. He was blond, and in another lifetime might have been someone she thought gorgeous. But with the scent and sight of McGonagall in her heart, she barely noticed him.

***

She'd only been in Dumbledore's office once before. It was that horrible day back in third year that she'd gotten the news her father had died. She'd sat next to Hestia, who stroked her hair and played the strong big sister as Minerva sobbed into her arms. Dumbledore, as head of Gryffindor, had broken the news to them.

Sitting in his office, watching the curious phoenix, Fawkes, as he watched her, she felt a similar, familiar lump in her stomach. It had been two weeks since the Quidditch match. Two long weeks of enduring the questions and concerns for her welfare, sympathetic comments on how she should be okay because, even though she'd lost the match, she was lucky to be alive.

Dumbledore entered the office. His beard seemed to grow another inch each term, but Minerva stared obediently forward as he eased into his chair behind the desk. "Well, Miss McGonagall."

"Professor Dumbledore," she managed to choke out.

"I've been hearing some interesting things about you, young lady." He looked at her sternly over his long, crooked nose. "Very interesting," he added. She wasn't sure she'd seen the twinkle in his eye, or imagined it.

"What sort of things, sir?"

"Oh, you know. Just the regular sort of things, actually." He offered her a chocolate frog from a box in his top drawer, which she respectfully declined. He opened the box, but was too slow. The frog hopped off to freedom before he could grab it and bring back under control. Dumbledore shrugged. "Ah, well. Too much chocolate, anyway, eh?" He pulled the card out. "Ma Chi Ling." He grinned. "Do you collect?"

"No, sir."

"No? Well, then," he tucked the card into the pocket of his robe after a quick look at the Chinese wizard. "Doubles aren't that bad, are they?" Without waiting her to puzzle out a reply, he continued, "Where were we then? Oh, yes. Potions."

"Potions?" Minerva's heart plummeted. She'd prayed that little incident would just sink into oblivion without further discussion, but apparently, that had been too much to ask.

"You'll be happy to know that Miss Longbottom's eyebrows are expected to make a full recovery."

"That's..." Her heart was beginning to pound in anxiety. "That's good news, sir."

"Oh, definitely." His congenial expression could not hide the fact that his eyes were quite serious and quite focused on studying her response. "Not really like you to make such a simple mistake, is it, Miss McGonagall?" Before she could say a word, though, he added, "But then we're all human, aren't we?"

"Yes. Yes, sir." If she could have, McGonagall would have shrunk down to the size of an ant and crawled right out of the room. Of course, Dumbledore would have just enlarged her again.

"Anything bothering you, Miss McGonagall? Any upsetting owls from home?"

"Oh, no sir. Everything is fine at home."

"Excellent. Good to hear. Be sure to send my regards to your mother in your next post, will you?"

"Yes, sir." Minerva could feel the blush beginning at the bottoms of her toes. Dumbledore had this way of looking through her, of making her feel that even the cells of her body were completely transparent to him.

Could he see the cause behind her red cheeks? Did he know that she'd been unable to speak or think or sleep in two weeks? How many meals she had choked through, trying not to stare over to the Ravenclaw table? Her best friends, Eleanor and Bets, teased her about being soft for Alexander Redmond, the Ravenclaw Keeper and a handsome seventh year.

What would her friends think if they knew her heart was skipping not for charming Alex, but for Hooch the Mad?

What would her house think if they knew she'd betrayed them for a hard kiss in a hidden grove?

"Minerva?"

Her eyes shot up.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?"

She had no idea what uncorked the bottle, but in a huge rush, she unleashed the whole story--the race for the Snitch, the rogue broom, the hidden grove, the rescue. More slowly, with a spattering of starts and stops, she related the moment where she gave up the Snitch. She stopped before The Kiss, somehow finding the strength to keep at least that secret.

A quick glance at Dumbledore's face let her know in no uncertain terms that any further explanation was unnecessary. He'd put two and two together, and apparently had arrived at a very troubled Seeker.

"I see. I see...." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Interesting. Quite a difficult situation, I would think." He lowered his gaze directly at her, as if challenging her to look away. She failed. "I daresay that about now, you're feeling rather--"

"Like a ruddy traitor," she muttered.

"Nonsense." He did something that startled her tremendously. He began to laugh. "If I had a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean for each time a student felt guilty for falling for a member of another house--" He raised his eyebrows at her look of protest. "Am I mistaken?" he asked. When she didn't comment, he continued. "If I had an Every Flavor Bean for every time that happened...." He sighed. "I might actually get one that was edible." His joke fell on deaf ears. "Miss McGonagall, you needn't tear yourself in pieces over this. We all want to win. But under the circumstances, I hardly think your actions constituted House treason."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, not really believing him.

He watched her, a look of compassionate humor on his face. "Well, I think the lecture is done. Shall we adjourn? I believe we can get down to the Great Hall in time to avoid the lunch rush, if we hurry."

"Um, I have to go to the library, sir."

"Very well, then. Take care, Miss McGonagall." He nodded, releasing her from the mortification she felt right down to her cells.

Moments later, she was safely in the hall, head back against the wall, eyes shut in complete agony. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was bad enough to fall for the maddest girl in school. But now she'd completely humiliated herself by confessing everything to Dumbledore himself.

She felt something brushing against her shoulder. It was a Slytherin boy, blond and handsome, passing her in the hall. She'd seen him before, but really didn't know who he was.

It didn't matter. Her life was over. She might as well go eat.

***

She didn't know why she'd come back here. She felt drawn to the place, somehow. Drawn to its hidden beauty, to the memory of that electric moment when time had paused to recognize something otherwise hidden from the world. All she knew was that the scent of lavender beckoned, and she had to follow.

Deanna tilted the tip of her broom down. The rest of the school, it seemed, was in Hogsmeade. But she had seen and done everything of even the remotest interest in Hogsmeade long before now, and welcomed instead the silence of a Saturday alone. Lowering her head, she flew beneath the drooping branches, landing with a soft thud on the ground just inside the grove. She stepped off, and let the broom drop in a shady patch.

She began to whistle softly, hands in the pockets of her robes as she walked through the lavender, now joyfully in blossom with the heat of late spring. Soon it would be summer, and things would get quiet again. The ghosts would start their private rituals, the teachers for the most part would return to their families elsewhere, or go on vacation. And Hooch would remain here. For yet another summer alone with the thousand years of history and not a bloody thing to do.

It didn't matter all that much, really, though. She liked spending time with Dumbledore, who didn't stand much on niceties once term was out. Her first summer here, he'd taught her all sorts of fun tricks. She grinned at the memory of the look on his face when caught her trying to teach Fawkes to swear her second summer here. Granted, phoenixes can't talk, but that didn't stop her from spending hours one afternoon repeating the same phrase over and over - "Professor Ambrosie is a bugger." She might have gotten in more heat with the old man if he'd been able to stop laughing long enough to punish her.

Hooch yawned, dropping in to a cross-legged position under the next shady oak, and leaned back to survey her domain. Yup, from June to September, Hogwarts was hers. She was halfway through an extremely satisfying stretch when she noticed a pair of boot bottoms from around the other side of the tree trunk. "Hey," she started, patting the boot bottoms with annoyance. "Find your own patch, then."

"If you don't mind," the boots' owner started, "I was here first." The voice was quickly followed by exasperated face of Minerva McGonagall. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah," Deanna answered back, kicking herself for not being able to think of something even slightly clever to say. She was all laughs when it didn't matter, but when Minerva McGonagall even said hello to her, she became the village idiot. "It's me."

"I heard you whistling," McGonagall murmured, not looking into her eyes. "But it was so soft I thought you were further away."

"What are you doing here?" Where the hell had her breath gone to? Why on earth were her ribs suddenly ten times their normal weight?

"Studying. For end of term exams."

"On a Saturday?" Hooch had to grin. Only Minerva McGonagall would take a book to a Saturday afternoon like this. "What are you studying?"

The lovely red head leaned behind the tree and pulled out an unruly and ridiculously thick book entitled, "Intermediate Animagic."

"Are you learning to turn yourself into an animal?" she asked, both impressed and skeptical.

Minerva blushed, putting the book down. "Well, I asked Professor Dumbledore for some extra assignments in Transfiguration." She halted when Hooch shot her an incredulous look, but continued with added determination, "I'm not progressing nearly as well as I had hoped. He thought I might find this interesting."

"You've got ruddy top marks in Transfiguration, MG. What do you want? Two hundred percent?" She grinned, and was pleased when the Gryffindor girl smiled back shyly. "You're wearing your hair down," she murmured.

"I am?" She seemed to have forgotten all about it, tumbled and soft as it was around her shoulders. The sunlight was glistening in the long wavy tresses, sending sparks of copper and gold into the air around her like a halo. "I...I just thought it..." She blushed again, this time even more deeply than before. "Sunlight is good for it. I mean, the color. And I thought..."

"It's beautiful," Hooch whispered. She reached out to touch it, surprised at how warm it was from the sunlight. Minerva flinched, blushing madly, and Hooch pulled her hand back like something had bitten her. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to...I mean, I just--"

She never finished the apology. Before she could think of a suitable excuse for stroking Minerva McGonagall's hair, she was suddenly faced with an armful of the very same girl. Her heart stopped for a moment as McGonagall looked seriously into her eyes, then kissed her purposefully.

It seemed an eternity before they broke the kiss. Deanna tried to remember what they'd been discussing before the world turned completely topsy-turvy, but the only thought that seemed to stick in her befuddled brain was that McGonagall felt and smelled and tasted like an angel.

They passed an hour that afternoon, together in the lavender. They spoke little, touched often, and blushed even more. For the most part, they lay fully clothed in the grass under the oak tree, reveling in the beauty of the other, and forgetting that anything such as trouble ever existed.

***

Minerva cleared the hallway at a sprint, checking carefully at each corner to make sure no one was around. The train left in two hours and there were too many things to do, but she had one more call to make before returning to the Gryffindor dorm for final room check. She stopped at the statue of Bradley Lord Perdy, a 15th century wizard who had become a legend for always mixing up his directions. "Sorry Lord B," she muttered, pulled out her wand, and tapped thrice on the top of his boot. With a quick final check of the corridors, she whispered, "Griffin's blood," and Lord Bradley's boot began to twitch. In seconds, the doorway was revealed and she was on her way to pay her final respects of the term to Lady Madeline.

She hurried through the dusty hallways, careful not to run. Lady Madeline frowned upon running, and would scold her fiercely without regard to her tight schedule. A final turn, and she found herself at the door to Lady Madeline's private study. She opened the door quietly, entering the room without a sound and seating herself as usual on the cobwebby settee.

As always, it took only a few moments for Lady Madeline to appear. The medium size picture on the wall began to shimmer, and soon the school's first headmistress, daughter to Lord Gryffindor himself, eased into the painting and sat her large, sturdy frame into a velvet chair. She placed her cane next to the chair, then turned to address Minerva.

"Ah. So you have decided to remember your manners at this late moment, have you now, child?" Her voice was deep and booming, but there was more than a hint of good-natured ribbing in the tone. "Don't tell me you've been too busy. Remember, my dear, there are no secrets at Hogwarts. Not if you have eyes to see and ears to hear."

It was Lady Madeline's favorite saying. Minerva had heard it, oh, five hundred three thousand times since she first stumbled upon this hidden room in her first year. Lady Madeline frequented a huge painting just above the Grand Staircase, but according to her, Minerva was the only person in school who'd managed to find this private study. Through sheer dumb luck, she'd found it, but the grand lady assumed it was a sign and immediately claimed McGonagall as her own private ward. She'd insisted Minerva tell no one of this place, and in return, she'd become a fountain of good advice and information throughout the girl's schooling.

Today, however, she seemed in a bad sort. "Three hours till the Express leaves. You haven't come to see me in weeks."

"I've been...busy," Minerva started, not wanting to bend the truth, but not sure the venerable daughter of Gryffindor himself would approve of the real reason she'd been lax in her duties.

"Busy keeping company with that spiky-haired Ravenclaw girl, you mean." To her credit, Lady Madeline didn't laugh out loud at her young student's shocked expression. "Eyes to see, ears to hear, my child. I swear, my paint will fade and canvas turn to dust before that sinks through your thick head." But she paused when Minerva shrunk away as it struck, and continued in a much kinder tone. "Pull the cot closer, dear. I won't bite."

"Of course, you won't bite," Minerva smiled as she fell back to the safety of their old joke. "Paintings can't bite." But she moved the settee closer to the painting.

"Quite right, m'dear. Now, you and this Hooch child are an item, are you?" Before Minerva could protest, she added, "I keep my secrets, love. You've nothing to fear from me. You know that. Now, tell Auntie all about it."

With the formalities out of the way, Minerva and Madeline began discussing the situation in earnest, Minerva's worries about what her family would think, her fears that Hooch would break her heart or humiliate her in public, her concerns about what this would do to her chances at being Head Girl if the news got out. "I mean, it's not like we've got a Muggle mentality about the whole two girls situation," Minerva said as she stretched out on the settee. "Really, I'll not be put in an asylum for curing. But, well, Hooch and I have been rivals for so many years. People might not think it's correct for us now to be...well, you know..." She blushed madly as she struggled for a term to adequately describe what she and Deanna had together.

"Lovers?"

"Oh, NO, milady. Oh, absolutely not." She sat bolt upright, horrified. "We've never. I mean, we haven't done THAT yet." Her face crimson as she realized she'd said 'yet.' She could not even lift her eyes to the lady in the painting, who was chuckling softly.

"Calm yourself, sweetie girl. I just meant that you loved her." A long pause followed, ending in a gentle query. "You do love her, don't you, lass?"

Minerva caught her breath. Nobody had ever asked her to say it out loud. In the last few weeks, Deanna had become her every thought, her singular motivation. But to say it aloud? What magic would come from that single, unbearable syllable?

"It's rude to ignore a direct question, Minerva. Do you love the Ravenclaw girl?"

It was the softest whisper. "Yes."

This seemed to satisfy the old lady, who nodded approvingly. "Good, then. Ignore what the others say. Don't place your fears in their hands. Minerva McGonagall, in your chest beats the heart of a true Gryffindor. Place your trust in that, and all will be well." She pulled a watch from her pocket, an act of anachronistic normalcy that always stunned Minerva. Where had an 11th century headmistress acquired a pocket watch? But all questions remained unasked, for Madeline had decided the time had come to end their audience. "Quarter past three. Tempus fugit, my girl. No more dallying." She smiled indulgently as Minerva reached up to kiss the canvas where her hand lay. "Run along, now. And don't wait so long to visit me when next term starts."

As the girl ran off to more mundane pursuits, Lady Madeline sniffed. "I hope she fares well, Father," she whispered to someone who wasn't there. "Fare thee well, my daughter."

***

Hooch and McGonagall managed to drag behind the others as students stepped through the portal from Platform 9 3/4 into the Muggle section of the station. Hooch smiled as Minerva hugged her friends goodbye, then oh so casually slipped into the ladies bathroom. A moment later, Deanna followed her in. A quick privacy spell, and the third stall from the end was their private parting place.

Hooch didn't bother with niceties, pulling the girl into a hard kiss that left them both breathless. It was deliciously cramped in the tiny stall, which was perfectly fine with her. She pressed her hand into the small of Minerva's back, pulling her lithe body closer to her as possible as she began kissing her throat and jaw. "Gods, it's gonna be a bitch of a summer without you."

"Perhaps you can use a portkey to visit me in Ireland. I mean, your dad can't expect you to spend the entire summer in ruddy Figi, can he?" Minerva spoke through a tangle of short hair as she pressed her lips repeatedly into Deanna's mop.

"Can't do it, love. He's all alone. He'll need me." She took the top button of Minerva's blouse between her lips, threatening to destroy the carefully manicured look Minerva had attained with a single bite. Her eyes glanced upward, twinkling with the thought of poor Minerva too flustered to remember she could replace the button with a swish and flick of her wand.

"But it's so far away, and for so long." Her voice was soft and cajoling. After the first blush of embarrassment had faded, McGonagall had proved quite a study at projecting a sulty pout. "Won't you miss me even a little bit?"

"I'll miss you a little bit," she teased, laughing hard when MG tried to push her away, only to grasp her shoulders for balance when she almost lost her balance in the small space. "Now, kiss me, wench, hard, before you miss your portkey back to Merry Old Dundee."

"County Clare, for bleeder's sake," Minerva scolded, but kissed her anyway. They parted too soon, and too soon Minerva had to leave to run for the portkey before it closed. "Send dozens of owls," she begged as she ran through the station towards the third shoeshine stand passed Gate Six.

"Thousands," Deanna called back, watching long after the girl disappeared into the crowd. Finally, she walked slowly back to Platform 9 3/4. Dumbledore had agreed to meet her there, and apparate them both back for another quiet summer at Hogwarts.

***

Flashback: Seventh Year

"He's unbelievable!" Eleanor Ruffin practically fell over herself trying to get a look at the tall, blond Slytherin boy. "Head Boy. I'd never even heard of him before, and now..."

Elizabeth "Bets" O'Mallory finished the sentence for her friend through a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "To think, Mins, you get to work with him. Ashton Lockley. Even his name is dreamy."

Minerva grinned at her two best friends. It was the Saturday after the announcement of the new Head Boy had been made, and they could speak of nothing or no one else. Separate, they were wonderful. United in schoolgirl hormonal fervor, they were almost insufferable. "Dreamy? Have you been watching Muggle cinema again, Bets?"

Her words fell on deaf ears as Elle and Bets continued their assessment of the new Head Boy.

"He's been here all the while. How did we never notice him?"

"I heard he's the descendant of royalty."

"Don't get me wrong, I liked Everett Ramsey, but he was never Head Boy material, don't you think, Bets?"

"Oh, absolutely. Prince of a guy, but he's no Ashton Lockley."

Minerva was just about to take her remaining breakfast items to the dorm for a little peace when the object of their discussion stood up and crossed over to their table. His trajectory took him right in the path of her escape and she had no choice but to acknowledge his presence. "Mr. Lockley," she said.

He offered a firm, pleasant handshake. "Please, call me Ashton."

She could have sworn she heard Elle and Bets swooning behind her, but she ignored them with a reserved smile. "Hello, Ashton. I was just--"

"No need to educate me," he winked, still pressing her hand tightly. "Minerva McGonagall, Head Girl, former Gryffindor prefect (two years running), and the girl who grabbed the Snitch out of Slytherin's reach to win our third year Quidditch cup." He laughed lightly. "I have to admit, I'm glad our team didn't have to go against you last year. It was, um..." He turned to the Ravenclaw table, quickly singling out Deanna Hooch. "That girl who caught it in the second place match-up, wasn't it? What's her name? Hooch? Deanna Hooch."

Minerva struggled to control her reactions. As if she could tell her name was being bandied about, Deanna had looked up from her conversation, making eye contact with Minerva, hands over heart in a fluttering motion, pretending to swoon as she nodded to Ashton Lockley. It took everything she had not to laugh at the fool girl's antics, and even more not to ditch this boy and cross over to her side. "Yes, Deanna Hooch won the second place cup last year. She's really good. They say she could play professionally."

"Yeah, if she doesn't wind up in Bedlam first." Elle had finally found some use for her voice other than giggling and swooning, and she stepped boldly up to Ashton, offering her hand. "Eleanor Ruffin." She practically squealed when, instead of shaking it, he twisted gently and brought it, palm down, to his lift for a quick kiss.

"I never knew Gryffindor boasted such beauty," he said in a smooth, soft tone, beckoning to Bets to draw nearer. "And you are?"

"Bet--Elizabeth O'Malley," she pushed her hand forward, palm down, for a kiss equaling her friends.

Minerva used the momentary distraction to make her exit. "I'm sorry, but I do have pressing business in the library. Betsy, Elle, shall I see you this afternoon?"

Lockley looked up from the blushing girl's hand to wink and nod in her direction. "It was all my pleasure, Miss McGonagall."

Something in the way he looked at her gave her pause, but Minerva quickly pushed the thought aside as she caught Deanna easing away from Ravenclaw table towards the same door that would lead them both to the outdoors and their first chance to be alone together since start of term. In the face of that excitement, what was a little doubt?

***

They were about halfway to the grove when Minerva caught up with Deanna. Hooch slowed her broom, grinning broadly when the other girl came alongside her. "The grove?" she asked.

Minerva nodded and headed down to their hidden spot. The August heat was stifling, even as the wind rushed through her robes. Deanna couldn't wait for the shade of the trees, much less the chance to talk to MG for the first time this term. Just her luck, to be hot for the Head Girl. Maybe by Christmas time she might have a spare weekday hour to talk, but for now, Minerva McGonagall seemed to be the busiest girl in England.

She allowed Minerva to take the lead, content to watch her hair glistening in the sunlight as she flew towards the secluded stand of trees they generally accepted as their trysting place. It was only a moment later that they were together in the shade, a quick, hard hug passing for greeting. "Well, I was thinking you'd forgot all about me."

Minerva laughed. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, after that audience you had with Mr. Popular--"

"Ashton Lockley? That conceited snake?"

"Well, he is Slytherin," Deanna said with a grin. She stepped back to survey Minerva. "I was right. You did cut your hair."

McGonagall pulled a lock of hair shyly about her shoulders. "Not too much, though. Just a few inches."

"It looks good." She reached forward to touch the strand, pleased when Minerva blushed and smiled.

"Thanks."

"I'm sure Mr. Lockley liked it."

As Deanna laughed, Minerva pulled away with a huff. "Oh, him! He's insufferable. 'No need to educate me,' he says. Like he hasn't been working with me every day after school to get the new prefects primed."

"Bitsy and Botsy seemed to be impressed."

"Bets and Eleanor, you nutter," she laughed, turning to push gently against Hooch's shoulder. "He thinks he's so charming, and he seems to have everybody fooled."

"Even the Head Girl?" Deanna teased, moving closer to the tall, slender girl. Her breath caught in her throat as Minerva closed the gap between them, a look of sheer, well, there was no other way of describing it, the sheer lust in her eyes.

"Not even slightly," she whispered, kissing Hooch gently on the lips. "The Head Girl's not about to have her head turned, if you please."

"I please." It came out choked, and Deanna caught herself. She still wasn't sure Minerva hadn't come to her senses over the summer. She slipped out of the moment, covering by tugging at her robe collar. "Damn, it's scorching." She walked towards the trees, pulling her robes over her head to reveal a slightly wilted white shirt, khaki trousers, and a pair of coffee-colored suspenders. She wrapped the robes in her hands, turning to speak to Minerva, who seemed to have turned two shades paler. "What?"

"You," Minerva stuttered. "Um, you look..."

"Oh, bugger." She looked down at her outfit, realizing she must look completely foolish. "I was working out some maneuvers broom-wise this morning and I just didn't think it was a good idea to do them in a skirt."

There was a long pause as Minerva studied her, a curious expression on her Dresden doll face. Finally, she seemed to choke out, "You look wonderful."

Deanna couldn't help but laugh. "I look like a field worker, you twit." She tossed the robes onto the ground, leaning against a tree, hands in pockets. "You, on the other hand, are no doubt dressed like a proper English schoolgirl, with proper support garments, pressed pleats, and saddle Oxfords."

Minerva stepped closer, very close actually, until there was almost no space at all between them. In a low voice very unlike her own, she whispered, "Perhaps you should see for yourself."

And it became very, very warm all of a sudden. Deanna felt her breathing tense, her rib cage suddenly unbearably heavy. "Why, Miss McGonagall," she managed to gasp.

Minerva never took her eyes off Deanna. She reached to trace her finger just beneath one of the suspenders. "Don't you want to know?" she purred.

"Um...." Now Hooch knew she had to pull control of this situation back to herself. She twisted out of McGonagall's grasp, teasing her as she stepped behind and tapped the girl's shoulders. "Sure I want to know."

The look of uncertainty flashed across Minerva's face and she hesitated. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I thought maybe you...."

Deanna laughed. "Well, Jean Harlow, that was the quickest seduction that ever ended before it began." To her great relief, Minerva laughed as well.

"I've been practicing sultry all summer. How dare you ruin it?"

"Because you are too wholesome to be sultry, Miss Minerva." She pulled the pouting red head into her arms, kissing her cheek. "Work your strengths," she teased.

For the longest moment, they just stood there, holding each other. Deanna reveled in the scent of her, amazed at how perfumed powder and Minerva could combine to form quite possibly the most exciting fragrance in the universe. As they held each other, brushing lips against skin, Minerva ruffling Hooch's hair, Deanna felt as if she could face anything.

"I had an entire speech prepared," Minerva spoke softly into her cheek. "I was going to tell you that, if you had changed your mind, I would not make it hard for you and that I would understand." Her lips were hot and soft on Hooch's skin. "But I forgot the entire thing when I saw you in those ridiculous suspenders." Her fingers were hooked under said suspenders, tugging gently as their bodies began to sway rhythmically together.

"What are you wearing under those robes?"

Minerva grasped Hooch's hands and lifted them to the clasps of her robes. She couldn't help it. Her hands were shaking as she slowly opened the robes, dropping them to the ground. Minerva wore a soft peach cotton dress, her shoulders bare under the thin straps. A thin veneer of perspiration served as a magnet, tugging at the thin fabric and causing it to cling perfectly to Minerva's curves. Deanna's eyes grew wide. "Nice," she said.

"Thank you." Without another word, Minerva began slowly unbuttoning the man's shirt Deanna wore. There was a moment's hesitation when she looked up into Hooch's eyes, a silent question as to whether or not the other girl was ready to go this far. Deanna nodded, leaning hard against the tree, eyes closed, as she felt each button fall prey to Minerva's purposeful hands. Before too long, she was bare chested and wondering whether it had not been such a wise idea to forego a brassiere this morning.

A fiery touch burned her skin as Minerva lowered her lips to the center of her chest. Kiss after kiss downward between her breasts left Deanna dizzy. This couldn't be happening. The Golden Girl of Gryffindor could not possibly be taking her nipple between those perfect lips. Minerva McGonagall couldn't possibly be teasing them with a languid flicker of her tongue.

"Oh dear gods and goddesses," she choked out.

Minerva immediately pulled away, looking up at her with a look of utter excitement. "Did it work? Did you like it?" she blurted out.

Deanna laughed hard. Even after that, McGonagall still couldn't shake the air of fresh-faced schoolgirl. "Yeah, I liked it, you silly git." She pushed hard against the other girl, claiming her lips as they fell into the soft grass. She buried her face in the bare shoulders, thrilled when she heard the unmistakable moans of pleasure coming from her lover's throat. She took a single strap in her teeth, easing it over the pale skin of Minerva's shoulder. The moans became decidedly more pronounced, and Hooch pressed her advantage. Tracing her tongue across Minerva's collarbone, she reached down to pull the hem of the skirt up to reveal her thighs.

"Gods," Minerva gasped, but when Deanna tried to pull away, she quickly captured the retreating hand and put it right back on the soft flesh.

Time lost a lot of its meaning as their clothes hit the grass, piece by piece until neither girl could function properly without contact with the skin of the other. Hands in hair, lips on flesh, fingers and tongues and hands probing and exploring. It was lucky they were so far from school, because Deanna was certain they couldn't stop the loud moans and even screams of pleasure as they groped their way through a summer day's primer on lovemaking.

It was Minerva's robes that finally covered them, clinging and naked in the grass afterwards. Deanna could hardly keep her eyes open as she rested her cheek against Minerva's shoulder, twisting a single copper strand of her hair between her fingertips. She forced herself to look up, almost frightened of what she'd find on the other girl's face now that their breathing had calmed. Minerva was watching her, her face pensive.

"What's wrong?" Deanna asked.

"Nothing," she whispered. "I just..." Minerva blinked hard. "Are you okay? Not regretting this?"

"Regretting it?" Deanna raised up on a single elbow, a look of utter disbelief on her face. "It was ruddy incredible. Why on earth would I be regretting it?"

Minerva's gaze wavered, and she couldn't meet Deanna's eyes. An icy wave of horror swept through Deanna's heart. "Are you regretting it?" she managed to ask.

"No." It was barely a whisper, spoken in a heartbeat as Minerva wrapped her arms tightly about Deanna's shoulders. She was shaking.

"Min?" She began to worry as Minerva's shaking grew harder. "Minerva? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she said. She was crying. The Great MG was actually crying.

"Don't be sorry," she said a little too harshly. "Tell me what's wrong and what I can do to make it better."

"I just didn't expect it to, well, affect me like this." Her body pressed flat against Deanna's, she held tightly until the tears subsided, until even the shivers went away. "I'm sorry," she said again. It was a sad, soft voice.

"Why are you sorry?" Deanna had been stroking her hair, trying to calm the girl, confused and scared and bewildered.

"Because I finally get it."

"Get what?"

Minerva looked up at her, eyes large and heavy from the tears, hair just too tousled to be fair. "You know how they always say not to 'give it away' too soon? I always thought that meant your body. But it doesn't." She looked down, drawing a deep breath. "You don't give away your body. You don't give away your heart. You give away your safety."

"I don't understand." She didn't. Right now, Minerva McGonagall was a complete mystery to her. They had just experienced the most wonderful thing in the world, and she was talking about what?

"This should be the happiest moment of my life," Minerva continued. "But it's not. I've never been so terrified in my life. You could destroy me with a single word. You could mangle my heart and cripple me forever, with just a look. I feel like I've jumped off a tower, and my whole life depends on your being there to catch me."

Deanna held her close. "I won't let you fall," she said fervently. It was true. She knew in her heart that nothing short of hell itself would ever pull her away from this woman.

"I've already fallen. Please just don't let me crash."

***

The sun was blinding as Ravenclaw and Slytherin took to the field. Minerva sat with a group of Gryffindor seventh years, carrying as they all did, a little Ravenclaw banner to wave on the team. Not that they were all big Ravenclaw fans. When she was in her gear, Minerva was Gryffindor all the way. But here, as a mere spectator, she was the self-appointed President and Sole Member of the Deanna Hooch fan club. And since there were very few Gryffindors around who didn't love the sight of Slytherin losing a match, the Ravenclaw support was very strong in this section of the crowd.

Ravenclaw had used their not-so-secret weapon in a clever and extraordinarily successful way. Deanna Hooch could play any and every position on that team, and since her first year as Beater they'd developed a brutal strategy. Deanna was the official alternate player for every member of the team. Each game, they rotated her into a different position. The other teams never knew where she would be, so it was difficult to prepare for a game against Ravenclaw's almost unstoppable line-up.

While this had frustrated the Gryffindor team for years, Minerva had to admit it was brilliant strategy. Most teams practiced to personality. Deanna Hooch was Quidditch's answer to athletic schizophrenia. And it had won them four cups in six years.

She tried to calm her nerves. This early in the season, it was silly to be so worked up over a game, but Minerva knew who was sitting in the crowd. She'd been writing to him since middle summer, trying to get him to come to a game. He simply had to see Deanna play. He was the best of the best, and Deanna deserved the only gift she could afford to give her--a shot to play professional Quidditch. Minerva scanned the crowds, knowing this was one of the most important games of Deanna's life.

Her eyes connected with a tall, fair-skinned wizard in fashionable robes. He sat next to the head master, chatting politely as the teams took their positions for the toss. Georg Vickner caught her watching him, and before Minerva could look away, tipped his head toward her with a smile. She grinned back, gesturing towards the field.

Hooch was playing Beater. Good, she thought. Beater was easier to get than, say Seeker or Keeper. And although Deanna had once again changed her mind and insisted she preferred Keeper to all other spots, her skills as Beater were sufficiently impressive to turn Mr. Vickner's head. And that's all that mattered, that she impressed him enough to get a real try-out.

As the teams gathered for the toss, it became apparent that there was a problem on the field. Even before the toss, it looked as if one of the Ravenclaw players was being taken off the field.

"We've just gotten this from down on the field of play. Maretta Stone has been taken to hospital wing and will not be playing in today's game."

Gasps of horror mixed with Slytherin cheers as the Ravenclaw Seeker was led into the castle, her arms held tightly across her waist as she moaned in pain. Minerva's heart sank.

"Those bastards. How'd they do it?"

"Without a Seeker, Ravenclaw's doomed."

She heard the angry shouts from the Ravenclaw and was just looking for Mr. Vickner's reaction when she caught a glimpse of Ashton Lockley in the Slytherin stands. The other students were shouting wildly, slapping backs and jumping about. But Lockley sat perfectly still, his eyes never leaving the playing field. Minerva looked into her omnioculars, scanning for a better look.

His expression was one of cold satisfaction. He had a half smile, which curved slightly upwards into just shy of a sneer. She tried to set for a replay, but he turned towards her, the smile fading. Suddenly, her omnioculars failed. When she looked through, all she could see was a pair of snowy white blotches.

"We have just been informed by the Ravenclaw captain that they will not be forfeiting the game," came the announcement. "Alternate Seeker Deanna Hooch will be filling in for Stone in today's match."

"They're mad."

"She can't play Seeker and Beater."

"Slytherin's won for sure."

Minerva steeled herself, convinced that Lockley had been up to something, and furious with herself not for thinking to put a protection spell on the omnioculars the minute she suspected something.

She saw Deanna take her place against the Slytherin Seeker, a look of determination on her face that Minerva had never seen before and hoped to never see again. Hooch swung her bat purposefully and said something to the Seeker that only he could hear.

With a final call of the whistle, the first ball went into the air. Minerva spared a glance to Vickner, who was watching with great interest.

"Dear gods and goddesses," she whispered and sat back to watch the play.

***

She couldn't think about anything but the game. Deanna struggled to shut out the rage, the concern for Maretta, the unbearable desire to beat everything Slytherin into a tiny green puddle of ooze. Right now she only had two realities. The Snitch and the Bludgers. Nothing else existed in her world. Nothing else mattered. Her mind had already worked out the details, based on Michael's quick instructions before the toss. "Do what you can to help Basil, but your main goal is that Snitch."

So she did what she could, beating off as many Bludger attacks as she could while still maintaining close proximity to the Slytherin scum of a Seeker.

She wanted him dead. She wanted him worse than dead. She wanted him humiliated.

"Focus, damn it," she cursed herself.

"What's the matter, Hoochie? The little voices in your head got confused?" Reg Boylen slammed his broom into hers, eliciting angry yells from the stands that Deanna all but ignored.

"Can't win a game without cheating, can ya, Reg? Well, just keep your eye on that little gold beauty. It'll be resting on my desk top before this game is over, you slime."

"Yeah, if you don't get killed first." He swooped suddenly downward, narrowly avoiding the Bludger that hit her hard in the right shoulder.

Deanna winced, but managed to stay abroom. Pulling herself back into the game, she was able to just nick a Bludger headed towards a Ravenclaw chaser. Alison pulled ahead of the Slytherin Chasers trying to close in on her and managed to get the Quaffle through the hoop.

"Ten points for Ravenclaw!" came the excited announcement.

There was no time to celebrate as two Slytherin Beaters swooped in on her, chasing at her tail to try to knock her off her broom. She managed to shake them by pulling straight upwards at a speed she barely hoped her broom could handle. A quick turn and she was back at Alison Hewitt's side, eyes still scanning furiously for that little sparkle of gold.

She saw it just beyond the Slytherin banners that hung from the goal posts. A quick nod to Basil, and she left to pursue. Of course, Reg was right behind her. She saw him pull a wand from his robe and ducked as a swift burst of sparks aimed in her direction.

"Illegal use of magic," yelled the announcer. "Foul for Slytherin."

But it didn't matter. Nothing short of a Snitch in her hand was going to stop Hooch now. She focused on it, nothing else in the world interrupting her field of vision. She picked up speed, narrowing in on it. It was just out of her reach. She leaned forward, her hands just centimeters short of the goal.

And felt a horrible scorching pain in her right shoulder. By the time she managed to pull herself upright, both Reg and the Snitch were gone. From the sound of the angry yells from the crowd, and the disappointed moans from Slytherin, Reg had missed his chance.

The game was still in play. She shrugged off Elliott Van Loo, the Chaser who'd pulled alongside to make sure she was all right.

Damn right she was all right. And she'd have that Snitch if it killed her.

**

Minerva ignored Bets and Eleanor's outraged calls that the Slytherin Seeker be removed from the game. They didn't understand the game. They were irrelevant. She found herself whispering, of all things, a tiny prayer her Muggle grandmother had taught her years ago. It wouldn't help with the pain, and it certainly wouldn't make her play any better than she was playing, if such a thing were possible. But at this point, she was willing to try anything short of a spell, which she knew would infuriate Deanna should she ever find out.

She didn't know whether to be scared or furious or amazed as she watched Deanna continue despite her injuries. Never in her life had she seen such playing, not even in the Quidditch World Cup matches.

Deanna was magnificent, a flaming arrow with no fear and no doubt. She was after the Snitch again, this time with a somewhat less confident Slytherin Seeker at her back. A Chaser and Beater from the Ravenclaw team had managed to narrow the boy into a bad situation, leaving him bouncing momentarily from a goal post. He'd managed to pull himself out of the tailspin, but he seemed dazed.

The Snitch had whistled past the review stand, with Hooch and Boylen dead on its heels. A quick turn, and the Snitch headed straight for the reviewers.

Minerva gasped with the rest of the crowd as Deanna Hooch steamrolled, kamikaze-style, straight for the announcer's booth. People scattered, but the announcer stood her ground, maintaining a steady if nervous commentary as Hooch leaned forward, nabbed the Snitch, then narrowly averted catastrophe in a magnificent barrel roll.

"She's got the Snitch. Deanna Hooch has got the Snitch!" The announcer had to scream to be heard over the crowd. "Victory Ravenclaw."

The crowd was mad. Minerva could barely hear from the pounding and yelling and whistling for the Ravenclaw Seeker.

A furtive glance to Mr. Vickner showed him pale but obviously impressed.

Minerva could have cried with joy. It was perfect. Just bloody perfect, she thought, as Eleanor and Bets threw their arms around her.

***

She could barely stay on her broom. Deanna allowed Alison and Michael to lead her downward, common sense for once defeating her pride. Once she was aground, a throng of people had stormed the field, teachers and students alike struggling for a chance to congratulate her on a brilliant game. She barely noticed the pale, tall man who pressed a card in her hand as she passed by. She shoved it in her pocket and gratefully allowed herself to be led to the hospital wing.

***

She wouldn't let Deanna's arm go as they walked to the grove. Even though she had suggested they fly, Minerva wouldn't hear of it. Two hours in the hospital wing might have healed her shoulder, but it didn't make her steady enough for flying.

"You're as mad as they say," she whispered into Hooch's ear as they made it to the secluded spot they called their own. "Brilliant, magnificent, amazing, and terrifying," she amended. "But no doubt completely mad."

"I still don't know how they did it," Deanna muttered more to herself than her girlfriend. "There was no way for them to slip Maretta anything. We've been eating together as a team for an entire week. None of us went anywhere alone either."

"I remember," Minerva teased. She placed her hands firmly on Deanna's shoulders, forcing her to sit, thank you. She sat next to the girl, rubbing her sore shoulder even though she'd insisted it felt much better.

Deanna leaned against the tree, still wearing her Quidditch robes. She'd suggested going back to the dorm and changing after the hospital wing, but Minerva talked her out of it. If she'd stepped foot in the Ravenclaw dorm, it would have been days before they set her free. Besides, the sight of Hooch all scruffy and mussed in those robes sent a thrill of something warm and liquid through Minerva's entire body.

She leaned over, wrapping her arms about Deanna's neck, and began kissing her throat hotly.

"Stop," she fidgeted. "I'm disgusting."

"You're amazing," Minerva panted in her ear. "I've never been so thrilled in my life." She tugged at the girl's robes, pressing her tongue into Deanna's ear with a single, forceful thrust. "My god, you were unbelievable."

Deanna squiggled away with a laugh. "I can't believe you want to do this when I'm filthy." She didn't stop Minerva however as the girl pushed her onto her back and straddled atop her.

"Spoils of victory, milady," she crooned, reveling in her own sudden and overpowering lack of inhibition. She and Deanna had been together dozens of times since that first Saturday in the grove. But this was the first time Minerva felt overwhelmed by her own desire to rip off Deanna's clothes and dissolve straight into her body. "I've never," she paused, stunned that the words were even coming out of her mouth, stunned by the steam from her skin as she pressed her fingers into the folds of Deanna's robes. "I've never wanted anything or anybody more than I want you right now, Deanna Hooch. Gods, I love you." This was said muffled into Deanna's skin as Minerva curved her body downward to kiss her hard. "I want you so much it hurts."

She pulled hard on Deanna's robes, slamming her lips against the stunned girl's, enjoying the slow and steadily relaxing passion that seemed to grow like magic in her lover. Deanna was staring up at her, a slightly dazed expression in her dark eyes as she allowed her to remove the robes slowly, then pull the suspenders forcefully over her shoulders.

The drum of her blood pounding in her veins had taken on a surreal tone, a hypnotic force that Minerva could neither understand nor deny. It was as if her body had removed itself from time and space, existing in a place that was made of fire and nothing else. The coolness of the air only stoked the embers and fueled the flame. Minerva went towards that coolness, knowing that each inch of skin she revealed, either on her lover or herself, would fan the flames and take her deeper into this mysterious nether world of passion.

She pressed her mouth hard against Deanna's breasts, digging her fingers into the small of the other girl's back, ignoring the sharp gasp of discomfort as she began to graze her teeth on the soft underside of her breasts. Opening her mouth wider, she caught a nipple with her upper teeth, closing down gently on the flesh until her tongue could flicker hard against the rough skin. She allowed herself the languorous pleasure of lapping first one, then the other nipple as her hands pushed downward towards the fastenings of Hooch's trousers. She always wore them now, Minerva had noticed, now that she'd figured out the mere sight got Minerva completely hot and flustered.

She slowly unfastened Hooch's trousers, lowering herself downwards to watch as the material slid over the pale, slender hips, revealing soft white panties and the smoothest skin she'd ever imagined. She followed the path of the material with soft, tantalizing kisses, until her tongue was flickering against the girl's slender ankles. She bit down a little harder, taking almost the entire ankle in her mouth, then laughing as Deanna pushed against her shoulder with her free foot.

"If you take a hunk out, wench, I'm going to beat you."

"Are you? Promise?" was Minerva's sweet reply. She began kissing her way back up Deanna's leg, only on the inside now of her calves, knees, and thighs. When she reached the place where her heat was fiercest, Deanna didn't protest.

Without preamble or permission, she pulled the panties hard off Deanna, practically snapping them over the girl's ankles in her hurry to bare her lover and get back to her fun.

Minerva paused to catch her breath, intimately aware of how close her lips were to Deanna's sex. She knew that Deanna would never have let her do this if she hadn't been half exhausted from the game. She'd tried before, and Deanna had refused.

In their lovemaking, Deanna had always been more than willing to take the role of aggressor, and Minerva had been all too willing to lie there and luxuriate in the pleasure of being made love to. But today was different. Today, Deanna was the spoiled one, the petted one, the pleasured one. Today, Minerva was the lover, not the loved, and she'd be damned if today she'd be kept from this.

With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she traced her tongue softly against the upper part of Deanna's inner thigh. When the girl made no protest beyond a deep and satisfied moan, Minerva pushed her advantage. She placed a soft kiss against the curls of hair covering Deanna's sex, stopping her sudden protests with both arms carefully positioned over her hips.

"No, I'm..." Deanna tried to protest, but Minerva worked fast, kissing hard and steady against that spot that always gave her the most pleasure. Before long, Hooch's pleas to stop faded, and the struggles she'd started to escape became struggles to continue. Minerva savored her victory, caressing her way over Deanna's hips to press her hands flat against her sex, gently spreading the lips to reveal the flesh hidden within.

She hadn't known what to expect, except that she'd spent tortured nights dreaming of this very moment, wanting it, planning for it. Now, she hesitated, not knowing if she'd have the first inkling of what to do to pleasure Deanna. But no Gryffindor worth her colors would back away from a challenge, and Minerva was Gryffindor through to the bone.

She smiled slightly. This was hardly an appropriate time for House pride. Still grinning, she brushed her lips lightly over the pink skin, delighted when a loud moan came from the general direction of one Deanna Hooch. A little bolder, she flicked the tip of her tongue over the general area where her pleasure center should be. This brought an even louder moan, accompanied by a hard thrust upwards of Deanna's hips.

All control lost, she buried deep into that sweet, warm, musky place, a thrill of possessiveness and conquest rushing through her veins. She was eager and clumsy and hungry for more, and continued long after common sense would have told her to come up for air. In the end, it was only Deanna's pleas for a cease-fire that allowed her tumble onto her side, gasping for air, heart ricocheting off every rib in her chest.

She lay there for a long while, struggling for composure, already feeling the mortification creeping into her euphoria. She felt rather than saw Deanna inching her body downwards until she reached a point where she could lie face to face with her.

Minerva tried to roll over, face away and hide her embarrassment, but Hooch had her in her arms before she could complete the move. There was a look of amazement and stunned adoration in her eyes. "What came over you, Golden Girl?"

She blushed, wishing she could rinse her face and mouth before Deanna leaned over to kiss her hard, but Hooch didn't seem to mind. She relaxed as much as she could, then collapsed gratefully into the hidden safety of a close embrace. "I just--"

"You were bloody unbelievable," Hooch countered.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her words overlapping Hooch's unabashed praise and admiration. "I know you didn't want to--"

"I changed my mind," she joked, stroking Minerva's hair as the girl just shook against her. "Damn, MG, what got into you?"

"You did," she murmured into Deanna's warm skin.

"Me?"

"You were so brilliant, so brave and determined. Deanna, I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. I mean, I couldn't watch, but I couldn't look away. I've never been so scared in all my life, and I play the damned game."

To her astonishment, Hooch began to laugh. "You got all hot and bothered because of the game?" She continued to laugh. "Oh, this is rich. I've got a groupie."

"You ruddy well do not," Minerva countered, pulling away slightly. "I will be your number one fan when I'm in the stands, but don't think any fancy flying will get you that Snitch when I'm on the other side of the broom."

She giggled as Deanna grabbed her sides, tickling just below the base of her rib cage. "Think so, eh, Head Girl. It's gonna take more than books and blushes if you want to take on Hooch the Mad." She began to laugh again. "Oy, now that Head Girl thing is more accurate than they ever thought."

"You PIG!" Minerva laughed, rolling over to engage in a full-scale war. "That's it, Hooch, this is the year. You're going down."

Her heart nearly stopped as Deanna pulled away with a suddenly serious and absolutely carnivorous grin on her face. "You want me to?" she purred, snaking her hands between Minerva's thighs.

The breath got very hot in her chest, and Minerva quite suddenly and completely lost her grasp of the English language. "Huh?" she managed.

"Do. You. Want. Me..." Hooch pointed to herself. "To. Go. Down." She gestured, palm up, towards Minerva's pelvic region in general. "On." She pulled her closer, closing the gap between them and forestalling any last minute attempt at a panicked escape on Minerva's part. "You," she whispered, kissing her gently on the lips.

"Uh..."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Minerva felt herself beginning to hyperventilate as the shoe found itself unexpectedly on the other foot. She lay back, eyes closed, not knowing whether to run or hide or just die of a heart attack right there in the grove as Deanna kissed her way down her body. She tried to breathe deeply, to focus on relaxing her body, but the utter panic was too strong. She knew she was stiff as a plank as Deanna spread her legs. The first moment she felt a tongue across her skin, she nearly decapitated the poor girl with her leg as she jumped a full three inches off the ground.

"Calm down," Deanna whispered, to very little avail, as the mere warmth of the words tickling against her sex was enough to send Minerva into another fit of mild hyperventilation. Deanna placed her hand flat, palm down, over Minerva's sex, holding it there. For some reason, that helped quiet her nerves.

"For gods' sake, girl, I'm not going to bite," she muttered, resting her chin on Minerva's hip bone as she waited for the girl to stop shaking.

"I don't believe you," Minerva managed to choke out. For some reason, that struck them both as funny, and soon Minerva was laughing so hard she barely noticed Deanna spreading her lips. The touch of her mouth was a shock, but it rode out on a laugh and coasted easily into a moan of delight.

After the first wave, it was smooth sailing.

***

Try as they might, Hooch and McGonagall found it harder and harder to find time for each other as the realities of seventh year began to hit home. An early snow and midterm tests brought an end to their outdoor trysts, and trying to find places inside the castle free from prying eyes both living and deceased proved harder than expected.

The onset of Christmas holidays found Deanna depressed and in a foul temper. Minerva had informed her just before tests that she'd be taking an extra week from school, as her sister Demeter was to be married at the new year. So that was an extra week alone, without even the comfort of Quidditch practice to keep her amused.

She sat in the nearly deserted Ravenclaw common room, twirling her wand absently, a bored yawn escaping her as easily as the sparks escaped the tip of the wand. Kit Everson struggled with a large trunk, glaring at Hooch as she lay partially sprawled across the large common room couch.

"You could give a girl a hand, eh?" she said in her clipped Newcastle tones.

Hooch rolled onto her back, knees draped over the side of the couch, and gave a polite polo clap. "Here, here," she murmured, a grin brightening her face. "Good show, girl."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Everson grunted as she pulled the trunk into its upright position, then leaned for a quick rest. "Staying in again this holiday, Hooch?"

"Yup." Hooch tossed her wand absently, spinning it one way then another as she contemplated another boring holiday at school.

"Where's the old man this time?"

"Peking."

Kit groaned. "What's he doing in ruddy Peking?"

Hooch tightened her stomach. She hated lying, but she just couldn't stand the alternative. "Same thing he did in ruddy Portugal this summer, and ruddy New Zealand the Easter before that. Working." A safe lie, but a lie nonetheless.

"Rotten luck, then. You could always come home with me," Kit offered. "Evan and his girlfriend have reached that charming stage. You know, the one where they break up, then make up, then break up again--always in public and always at the top of their lungs. Mum is getting mental with the whole thing. I think she's going to need a sanitarium by the time those two finally get hitched."

"As fun as that sounds, no." Hooch allowed herself a quick chuckle as her roommate shrugged then left with a quick goodbye and promise to send an owl with updates. When the girl and her luggage were gone, Deanna turned back to the fire with a sigh. It was going to be horrible without Minerva there. She rolled over, lazily grabbing a dark cloth sack she'd tossed onto the table earlier, fully intending to go through it before boredom overtook her. It was months of pocket contents, all shoved in a drawer without sorting. One of her holiday traditions was almost ritually going through the stack and cleaning it out.

Dull, pathetic, but better than staring at the walls.

She dumped the contents on the table, easing down to sit on the floor where she could better examine them. It was the usual lot--dried potion contents that had never quite reached their destinations, scraps of paper with illegible scribbling on them, partially-wrapped bits of hard candy covered in furry bits of robe-innards. But this time, a small gold card got her attention. She brushed it off, trying to read the name, no clue where the damn thing had come from. "Herr Georg Vickner," she muttered and the card sprung to life.

A harsh looking woman in her mid-thirties appeared, ghostlike, neck and head only, just above the card Deanna had dropped on the table. "Fröhliches Weihnachten," she said in a fierce, guttural tone.

"Excuse me?"

The woman paused, then seemed to change gears. "Merry Christmas. I am Frau Glickman. Please state your name."

It didn't seem to be a request. "Um, Deanna Hooch?"

The woman nodded curtly, looking through what appeared to be a stack of papers on her desk. "Fraulein Hooch. You vere scheduled for der November try-outs. Vhy did you not contact Herr Vickner before now?"

"Herr Who?" Confused as she was, Deanna was really getting annoyed with this lady's attitude. The war was over, and her side had lost. "Try-outs for what?" she asked with a bit more edge to her tone.

The woman didn't seem all that impressed. "You vere given Herr Vickner's card in early fall. If you had taken der time to read it, you vould haf known der try-outs were for der Austrian Quidditch League. Now, Herr Vickner is in Innsbruck for der holidays mit his family. You vill be rescheduled for Salzburg try-outs over Easter break."

"What?"

"A permission slip vill be sent to your parents..."

"No!" Deanna felt her stomach drop. "No, my dad works out of country," she lied. "He'll never get it in time."

"Your mutter?"

"Dead." Another lie, but this one didn't hurt at all.

"You must haf der permission of a legal guardian to travel."

"Send it to Professor Albus Dumbledore," Deanna said. The Austrian Quidditch League? How on earth had the Austrian Quidditch League gotten her name? Send it to Dumbledore, the little voice in her head urged. He'll know what to do. If anybody would know what to do, it would be Dumbledore.

"Undt who is zis Doombledarr?"

"He's my, um, guidance counselor." Technically, he wasn't, but Dumbledore was always the one who kept an eye out for her. Even though she wasn't Gryffindor, she thought of him as her protector. He'd know what to do.

"I vill send an owl to him with der details. If you are not of age to apparate, ve vill provide for a portkey to bring you to Salzburg undt back." She nodded as if the conversation were completely over.

Deanna nodded, still in shock, watched as the woman disappeared with a gruff "guten tag" and nothing more. She leaned back against the couch, still in shock.

"The bleeding Austrian Quidditch League," she muttered. Well, at least it wasn't going to be dull, she thought, then picked herself up to go search for Dumbledore.

***

Quin Village, County Clare, Ireland, had been built on the blood of the Macnamaras and the ruins of a Franciscan friary. On the road one passes the once celebrated mound of Magh Adhair where, under a great oak tree, the kings of Thomond were installed for centuries up to Elizabethan times.

While this seemed to hold great fascination for the occasional American tourists, to Minerva it was just home. And a ruddy cold home it was, as she rode with Hestia and Demeter to the Abbey. She bundled herself in the folds of her gown, wishing for the hundredth time that her sister had chosen a spring or summer wedding. But Demeter didn't seem to bother much with the cold. She chattered nervously in the carriage, another tradition Minerva would have gladly done without.

"And Andrew's mother is beside herself that we're going to stay in Quin. Drew had an offer in Ennis, but we decided home is where we need to be. Besides, with the new community centre getting more popular, I'm going to have more work than I know how to handle."

Minerva felt Hestia's nail dig into her fingers for about the fourth time during their ride. Demeter's recent conversion to Catholicism had been a sore subject in their house, despite the fact that both their paternal grandparents had been staunchly Catholic. While some had trouble reconciling Roman Catholic doctrine with the realities of a wizarding family, neither Demeter or the girls' mother had seemed to have any qualms at all.

For her part, Minerva didn't care one whit whether Demeter was a Catholic or a Ubangi bush warrier. As long as she did it in the ruddy heat. "Will we be going directly into the Abbey?" she asked, hoping to guide the subject towards less controversial matters and, therefore, save her hand from further brutality.

"We're to wait just inside the Cloisters and wait for the choir to start."

She chattered on again about Drew and the family and what they would do for dishes as Mum had none to spare and whether they should have thought to bring the store from his parents' place. Minerva tuned her out, watching the icy countryside move slowly on towards the hulking old building. Built almost a thousand years earlier, Quin Abbey reminded her a little of Hogwarts, if Hogwarts had been a musty old Muggle church. She wondered why Demeter didn't just get married at St. Mary's, like every other Muggle girl in town, but she kept her mouth shut.

Muggles and wizards had co-existed peacefully for centuries in Quin. In a village this small, it was too much trouble to keep secrets, and the Muggles spoke often and in hushed tones of the "magical folk" who kept their quiet and paid good money in the shops. Too little choice and too much togetherness had mixed the lines almost beyond recognition, and there wasn't a wizard in town who couldn't trace a bit of Muggle in his blood, nor a Muggle who didn't perk up when the winds got just the right pitch to hear the faeries laugh.

Minerva's own father had been a Muggle born in Scotland, but brought home to Quin by his homesick mother who'd left to escape the famine. Her mother, a fiery red-haired wizard of mainly English descent, had loved him almost from the day they met. And while they were of different faiths and abilities, Ned and Siobhan McGonagall had managed to plant the seeds for eight daughters before time took him away.

Minerva sighed at the thought of her father. He would have been pleased that Demeter had chosen such a grand and historical site to consecrate her union to young Andrew. She bit her lip, wondering what he would have made of her own behavior this year, a twinge of guilt as she watched an owl swoop purposefully towards the Finnegan house. Owls were common in Quin Village, more common than one would expect.

But no owls had come for Minerva, and with each day that passed silently, she felt her confidence falter. What would her father say, to know that his second youngest daughter dreamed not of a young boy, but of a wild girl Quidditch zealot who filled her every thought, day and night? Would her mother be so pleased with her good grades and achievement if she knew her golden daughter spent much of her free time either rolling about in wanton abandon with another of her gender, or wanting to roll about in wanton abandon with another of her gender?

Minerva felt the knot of anxiety clench into a ball in her stomach as they reached the Abbey. If only Deanna would write. If only she could have a thought, a note, a line of encouragement to remind her that this was good and right and sane.

She searched the skies, but no owls were in view. With another sigh, she stepped out of the carriage and followed her sisters into the church.

***

"Bugger!" Deanna struggled to get the broom solid. She'd taken to practicing in the hallways, keeping an eye out for Peeves and the less understanding teachers. She was at the point where she didn't care if she got detention. She would welcome the relief from the boredom.

She swung down the corridor, narrowly avoiding a cluster of ghosts who'd decided, yet again, to rehearse "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." The Christmastime ghosts were the worst. They kept silent for months, then at the first sign of Yule cheer, they just wouldn't shut the hell up.

"Sorry," Hooch murmured as she nicked passed a Victorian lady who glared at her whizzing by. "Didn't see you," she added, trying not to add that she'd been hearing her for a week now and wished the old girl would stop.

She took the corridor at about seventy-five percent, barely stopping before she barreled into a definitely alive, definitely non-ghost person. A quick turn-about brought her face to face with a rather pale Ashton Lockley.

"Watch where you're going with that thing," he said sharply, then pulled a look of calm over his face like a slippery glove. "You might get hurt," he added with a smile.

Deanna struggled not to roll her eyes. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I have as much right to be in this corridor as you do," he stated. With what she supposed was his attempt at a charming wink--unlike Bitsy and Bopsy, Lockley did absolutely nothing for Hooch--he added, "More, as I'm not riding willy-nilly on a contraband broomstick."

"It's not contraband. It's mine."

"Well, I wouldn't go flying down the corridors if I were you. You might get in trouble."

"If you tried to fly in this sort of confined space, yeah, you would get in trouble. You'd plough right into a wall or something." Sensing the fellow was not going to leave her alone, Deanna dismounted and began to walk past him.

"You don't like me, do you?"

She didn't bother turning around. "Took you all term to figure that out?"

"I don't understand why not." He rushed to keep up with her, matching her strides as they walked the deserted corridors. "We have something in common."

Deanna snorted. "Really? What on earth would I have in common with you?"

He stepped forward, blocking her path so she couldn't help face him. "It's no secret that you've got your eye on that assistant brooms instructor position." He smiled, shrugging. "It looks as if we may be colleagues after graduation."

"Excuse me, I have places to go."

He didn't yield, a rather ugly gleam about the eyes marred his otherwise handsome face. "My family was shocked, of course, that I wouldn't choose to go into diplomacy like Father. But I've never been much for politics and ambition. Nice comfy post at Hogwarts as Assistant Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. That's my idea of a good way to transition into the real world, don't you think?"

"You? Teaching DADA?" Hooch couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Ironic, at least."

Lockley smiled, a disgusting transfiguration of the act that made her skin crawl. "I know, considering my position at school. But I'm just not all that ambitious. Not like Minerva McGonagall, that's for sure. You heard she got an interview with the Foreign Service, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Deanna tried get around him, but he was pretty much planted there. "Why on earth would I know anything about Old MG?"

"Oh, I thought you two were friends. I've seen you walking together around the grounds. I figured you were close."

Hooch controlled her breathing, assuming a casual air of indifference. "She's been helping me with History of Magic. We have it together. But she never mentioned anything about a post with the Foreign Service."

"Well, she's modest, isn't she?" Ashton's expression showed nothing but icy politeness. "Of course, she's got so many strikes against her already. I mean, we all know how conservative the Service is, don't we?"

"What do you mean?" Despite her best intentions, Deanna couldn't help taking the bait. "What do you mean by strikes?" She tried to maintain a casual tone, but her stomach was clenched in knots.

"Well, that sister of hers, for one thing. I mean, marrying a Muggle is one thing. That village she came from is just awful for mixing Muggle and wizard blood. My father has been looking into it for years, trying to figure out a way to discourage such a thing. But to convert to a Muggle religion, especially one notorious for trying to eradicate witches, well that is something entirely different. Of course, you'd expect that from the daughter of a Muggle. You did know Minverva was a half-breed, didn't you? Father was a dirt poor Muggle professor of some sort, I heard."

"Um, no, actually, I didn't know."

"But then, Minerva is an exceptional girl. I'm sure, as long as she has no skeletons in her closet, her natural intellect and charm should carry her through." It seemed as though he was looking straight through her, reading her own insecurities and speaking them back to her. "I mean, just a hint at scandal, and she can just kiss any real career in diplomacy goodbye."

Hooch bit down on her inner cheek. With a hard smile, she said, "Well, it's a good thing that no skeleton worth its bones would be caught dead near her closet, isn't it?"

Lockley grinned, a knowing splitting of the face. "Good thing."

***

Another storm was brewing in the west. Minerva pulled her cloak tighter around her and concentrated. If ever there was a day she could get off ground, it was today. A gust of wind played with her auburn locks. Perfect. She stretched her arms before her, using the magic in the wind to inspire her incantation.

She whispered fiercely, pouring her thoughts and energy into the obscure words, willing her arms to change, willing her body to transform.

Nothing.

"What on earth are you up to, Mins?"

She jumped, quickly lowering her arms and trying to assume a non-idiotic stance. "Sephie." She smiled weakly. "Didn't hear you."

Persephone leaned against a tree, coal-colored locks fluttering in the increasingly cold gusts. "Apparently. What are you doing?"

"Um, practicing."

"Interpretive dance?"

Minerva couldn't help but laugh. "I didn't want anyone to know..."

"Sounds like another McGonagall has caught Dumbledore Syndrome." She wrapped her arm around Minerva's shoulder. "He's given you the Animagus bug, hasn't he?"

She nodded as they began walking slowly towards the house. "Too bad, though. Haven't had any luck at all."

"What have you been trying?"

"Eagle." She blushed. "Hawk, buzzard. Pigeon? Gnat? Anything that flies, basically."

"Don't try too hard." Persephone began to grin. "I mean, only two of us made it, and frankly, neither were birds."

"Well, I don't want to be a horse...no offense."

"None taken."

"And poor Thena...."

"Yeah, if all I could turn into was a snail, I wouldn't be all that keen on registering either."

The sky was getting darker as they walked along the ridge for a while in companionable silence. Minerva watched their feet walking, unable to look at the sky without annoyance. She had tried every imaginable animal. Well, bird, anyway. She just knew she was a bird inside, knew that she was meant to soar.

"Mins?"

"Hum?"

Her older sister had stopped, a serious expression on her face. She pressed her hand against Minerva's shoulder, grasping firmly for a moment before lifting a lock of hair. "You've been so far away since you came home."

"What do you mean?"

Persephone laughed. "I mean, how long have you been in love, baby sister of mine?"

Minerva's breath caught in her chest and for a long moment she couldn't find any words. "In...huh?"

"You've got all the classic symptoms, Mins. Moody, distant, obsessive about owl posts..."

"I'm waiting for some, er, books I purchased."

"Right." Sephie chuckled as she turned back to the walk with a slight swing of her hips. "It's good of you to be discreet, babbie. I mean, I can only imagine the fit Demmie would have had if you tried to rain on her parade. But still," she paused as a sudden burst of wind sent dust and leaves flying in a tiny whirligig around them.

"We should be getting back to the house." Minerva hoped the blush wasn't too severe, that she wasn't too readable. She wasn't ready yet, not even with her darling Sephie, to cross this particular bridge.

"Definitely." Sephie stepped up the pace, but didn't drop the subject. "Mum and I both figured it out this summer. You don't have to worry, Mins. I won't blab."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, obviously you don't want to talk about it, and I'm not going to push. When you're ready to tell us, we'll be here."

She blushed even harder, grateful for the increasing gusts blowing her hair around her face. "There's nothing to talk about, Seph. I just...I'm just really concerned about the interview this spring."

"You'll be fine. Your marks are splendid, and you have a fine head on your shoulders." She tagged her sister, and ran ahead playfully. "When you're not mooning over some boy. Race you to the house!"

Seph winked, and despite her discomfort, Minerva broke into a full run. They beat the rain by mere moments as they collapsed laughing on the steps to the house. For a moment, they sat there, watching the storm roll in silence. Then Persephone leaned over and brushed the hair from her eyes before kissing her forehead.

"I just want you to be happy, babbie," she whispered before heading into the house.

Minerva sat on the step for a little longer, answering more to herself than her sister. "I am happy," she said, trying to believe it as she stared at the owl-less sky.

***

She hated herself. Hated herself for being so cold, hated herself for buying into Ashton Lockley's slimy gossip. But everything he'd said turned out to be true. Minerva's sister had been married in a godawful Catholic abbey, her father had been a dirt-poor Muggle professor, and after a conversation that started testy and ended in an all-out argument, Minerva had revealed that not only did she have an interview at spring session with the Foreign Ministry, but she had instigated the whole Herr Vickner thing.

In her heart, in her mind, and in every cell of her body, Deanna knew Minerva had meant well. She couldn't have possibly known what kind of wounds she was opening, what carrots she was dangling before a caged rabbit.

Minerva had no more idea that Hooch was a prisoner of Hogwarts than Hooch had that her lover was the seventh offspring of a brilliant but poor Muggle and the disinherited daughter of one of the finest wizarding families in Great Britain. No more than she'd known how poor they'd been, how often they went without, and how desperate Minerva had been to hide her family's poor state of affairs from her fellow Hogwart's students.

At least, she hadn't known before the fight. Before the skeletons started dancing, before the accusations, and before the blistering silence between them that was now nearing its third month.

Minerva had accused her of ignoring her. Said she'd waited and cried over the owls that never came. Deanna had accused her of slumming, of keeping secrets and meddling into areas that were no more her business than they were Peeves.

They hadn't spoken, or even made eye contact since. In fact, Deanna had made a point of avoiding the girl, even turning to walk the other way when she saw her in the hallway. She ignored the look of hurt in Minerva's eyes. Better Minerva hate her than find out.

It was Easter break. She should be in Austria, making her name, finding her fortune. Minerva was off in London, dazzling the Foreign Ministry.

Deanna threw a pillow at the wall of her dorm room. It was better this way. Minerva had something that Deanna, thanks to her father, would never have...a future. Let her enjoy it. Let her make her fortune.

Hot tears burned their way down Deanna's cheeks as she fumbled for the one picture she'd managed to keep of her father, before the burning, before the struggle, before the Inquisitors had fired their weapons and destroyed everything and everyone she'd ever loved. He smiled back at her, so big and sweet and strong and dead. In this moment, she would have permanently grounded herself for ten minutes with him, ten minutes to talk, to get his advice.

But she was alone, and she was trapped here in this safest place in the world, with only Dumbledore knowing the truth about why her father had been killed. With most of the kids not even knowing she had a father dead, and a mother who lived but who never came. Not knowing that if the truth about her heritage were revealed, Deanna herself might too be dead soon enough.

With the Inquisitors hunting down True Descendents, using their secret ways and deadly tactics, Deanna Hooch, one of the final true descendants of Rowena Ravenclaw, would not last a year on the outside. So Hooch she was and Hooch she'd stay, and Hogwarts would be the only home she'd ever know.

With a sigh and frustrated grunt at her own morbid depression, she pulled out the business card for Herr Vickner and tore it into shreds.

***

Minerva could feel her heart growing icier the longer the silence continued. She wanted to hate. She wanted to rage against Deanna's stubborn behavior, against her ingratitude and hateful accusations. But she couldn't stoke the fire hot enough to break through the frozen coffin that seemed to be surrounding her vital organs. Each breath seemed harder, until it felt like she was perpetually struggling for oxygen.

She had come to the Lady Madeline's study more for peace and quiet than for company. With term's end and seventh year graduation looming so near, the Gryffindor common room was a war zone of study groups, makeshift potions labs, and desperate lower classmen grabbing anyone they could find for help.

Her own room was no better-Bets and Eleanor seemed to have no fear of finals, but they chattered incessantly about the plans for Eleanor's upcoming wedding to Ewen McQuade. She'd managed to stave off the obligatory term as bridesmaid, thanks largely in part to her selection to the diplomatic corps and in part to the fact that Eleanor was polite enough not to ask her to expend money she didn't have on a bridesmaid dress.

So Lady Madeline's seemed like the safest place to study for her Transfigurations final. She sat at the foot of the picture while the grand old lady puttered around, reading over her shoulder and offering occasional words of explanation.

"Do not forget to seal the initial spell, my girl, or the whole transfiguration will begin to unravel before you have the second stage completed."

Normally, she didn't mind the elder Gryffindor's remarks. Rather, she owed a large part of her good marks to Lady Madeline's keen mind and excellent teaching skills. But when she corrected Minerva on a simple sealing spell any second year should know, the strings snapped.

"I know that. Everybody knows that. Why on earth do you feel it's necessary to tell me something a second year knows?" She was stunned by the venom in her own voice, but something hard and dark and icy kept her from immediately begging forgiveness for her rudeness. Instead, she stared coldly at the picture, who seemed both shocked and amused.

"Well, my darling, perhaps you should ask a second year to check your work, as you have forgotten to write in a sealing spell in your current lesson." She pointed to the papers Minerva had been inscribing. In a moment, Minerva saw the mistake.

All the ice began to crackle and disintegrate. With the thaw, a fire of rage and pain and fear overwhelmed her. She ripped the paper from the book, tearing it to shreds before tossing the whole book into the small flames of Lady Madeline's fire. The book screamed with outrage before managing to transfigure itself into a salamander and snake out of the flames. It hissed at Minerva before crawling to the far side of the room to transfigure back into its natural form.

"That will be enough of that, young lady. You will not torment books in my presence, or you shall kindly remove yourself from my presence."

But Minerva was not listening. Her emotions were wreaking havoc with her now, first ice, then fire, now all she could do was sob, her lungs and ribs and stomach aching from the ferocity of it. She curled into a ball, ignoring Lady Madeline's attempts to comfort her. When asked what was the matter, all she could say, over and over, was, "It's all ruined. It's all ruined."

"What, my dear, what?" Lady Madeline eased into the tiny silver frame on the coffee table, closing the difference between herself and the crying girl. "What is ruined?"

"My life," Minerva managed. "My entire stupid, worthless, pointless life."

"Ahhhhh, you had a spat with the young Ravenclaw, did you?"

At that, Minerva looked up with wild-eyed anger. "She has nothing to do with it. She can rot in the pit of her own bile for all I care. This is about my life, my world, my career, my everything."

"Oh." Madeline tried to hide her smile. "Your everything. And none of those tears is for young Ravenclaw?"

"Absolutely not." Minerva ignored the lady's knowing yet silent look of amusement. "It's not! It's just...."

"Yes?"

Minerva could feel the energy deserting her, like a deflating balloon. She stared at the tiny woman in the tiny silver frame with all the sadness her young body could hold. "It's just that, nothing seems important. I thought getting this post with the Foreign Ministry would make me feel...I don't know, better. But all I feel like is the poor relation at the ball. I need a gown, Auntie. Not a formal robe, but a gown. And travel expenses! I get reimbursed, but how do I start? Why am I doing this, Lady Madeline? I'm in over my head. I'm mad. I should have listened to Demeter, gotten into university near home, gotten my teaching certificate, something to fall back on when I am inevitably revealed for the fraud I am."

"Hold on, now, child. Let an old woman catch her breath." She sat down in the tiny chair. "Now, to address your concerns one by one. Firstly, no one feels ready to embark on the world just out of school. It's perfectly normal to have fears and doubts. But mark my words, child, you are the true embodiment of Gryffindor, the noblest of your generation, in my humble opinion, and you shall not fail nor be revealed as any sort of fraud. Secondly, money is a most foolish thing to worry about, m'dear. If your mother cannot afford the basics you need for this job, then I shall contact my friends in the Gryffindor Fund to help-"

"No, please!" Her mother would die of embarrassment if she knew Lady Madeline had even suggested it. "I'll find a way, m'lady. Please, don't involve the Gryffindors. I can handle this. I'm just being silly." She forced a smile on her tear-streaked face. "It's fine, really."

Lady Madeline sniffed. "Your mother would be well-served to let go of some of that pride and return to the fold. Gryffindor needs your family, and this feud between your mother and her family is foolish and strong-willed."

"Mother has her reasons, I'm sure," Minerva whispered.

Apparently, the elder Gryffindor seemed satisfied with that for the moment. Her face and voice softened into that of a kindly maiden aunt. "And as for your broken heart, young girl."

"My heart isn't broken," she lied.

"That young hooligan sparked life into you for the better part of two years, my girl. It would be a poor start to your new life to leave with such a gaping hole in your heart." She sighed as Minerva pulled even more deeply into herself. "Heal it now, my love. Talk to the girl. Make your peace, or it will devour you."

"I can't," Minerva whispered. I can't face her coldness, remained unspoken. I can't face the fact that, perhaps, she just got what she wanted from me and lost interest. I can't face knowing that she never cared, that I made a fool of myself. I can't bear to be the scorned woman. "We're not speaking."

"Then perhaps a note?" Madeline reached out her tiny hand, and Minerva pressed her fingertip to the canvas. "Just a note, a few short words to build a bridge. You don't have to love her again, my sweet. But don't let hating her destroy you."

Minerva said nothing, but took the old woman's words to heart.

A note.

***

Deanna Hooch managed to find the grove. It had been months since her last visit, horrible months of anger and confusion and just plain rotten luck. And the grove reflected it--weeds seemed to be choking out the lavender, the tree seemed droopy, and there was no entrance that didn't require stubbing ones toes on tangles and roots.

But she was not about to stay away. Minerva had stunned her with the crumpled note and sullen look of indifference. She'd suffered so much emotional cruelty at Deanna's hand, and still she had the decency to send up an olive branch. There was no way she was going to let several months of fighting get in the way of salvaging what she could of their friendship.

It was funny. With graduation only days away, all the fighting seemed pointless. Deanna hated to admit it even to herself, but she missed Minerva. Even her prissiness, her overachieving nature, her perfect hair that always seemed to fall just so around her shoulders, even when she wasn't trying. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. The small of her back. Her fingernails, clean and perfectly trimmed.

"No, you're not a bleeding romantic, are you, Dee?" she muttered to herself as she fought through the makeshift Amazonian rainforest that had once been her favorite hiding nook.

"Oh, I don't know, I always thought you were kind of sweet." The male voice startled her so much she dropped the note. A draft caught the note. Before she regained her wits, Ashton had pulled it to him magically and began to read in a snide voice. "I can't bear to leave it this way. We must find a way to at least not hate each other. Meet me in our grove, at three this afternoon, so we can at least say goodbye in a place that once knew love. Always, Minerva." His eyes widened in a look of mock surprise. "Well, now, isn't this poignant?" His eyes narrowed, raking up and down Deanna's furiously shaking form. "I always suspected that you and my dear associate were more than just happy rivals." He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, his body grossly invasive of her space. "But now, this is all so much more intriguing. Tell me," he grinned, maneuvering her back against a tree as he laughed a slow, unfriendly chuckle. "Who was the girl? Oh, that's silly. You had to be the boy, with those trousers and that Coolie laborer hair." He reached out to ruffle her hair, laughing harder when she punched his hand away.

"Bugger off, you slime," she hissed, trying to push past him. But something weakened her, something dizzying. "Let go of me," she choked, but couldn't push him away as he covered her body with his, kissing her with more fury than passion. "Let go," she whispered into his mouth, trying to punch or poke or bite her way away from him. But the more she struggled, the weaker she got.

She felt rather than heard the cry from the entrance she'd forged. Her head spun as she saw Minerva's death-white face, saw her drop whatever she'd carried in her hands, and watched helplessly as her last chance at redemption ran back towards the vast and impenetrable shield that was Hogwarts.

Ashton eased his grip on her, a calm, satisfied look in his eyes. He was almost delicate as he helped her regain her balance, brushing the dirt and leaves from her robes.

Even if she'd thought it would help, Hooch was in no condition to run. Her legs felt like gelatin. Her head was pounding and acid tears raged down her face. She turned that anger directly toward Lockley, who simply gazed at her with quiet resignation. "You did that on purpose. Why?" she gasped, a ragged accusation forcing its way through her tormented lungs.

"On purpose? Deanna, I don't understand. You're quite lovely, and I apologize for my terrible timing. But I certainly didn't know Minerva was there. You've seemed so sad lately--my heart was moved."

His eyes were the darkest things Deanna had seen since childhood, since the day she huddled beneath a desk while horrible, awful, terrible men did unspeakable things to her father. She was drawn to that darkness, terrified and trapped. "Why," she repeated. "Why did you do it?"

His face softened into something that might have been kindness, had she not seen his eyes. "Because you are not going to leave this place. You are not going to follow her back to Ireland and meet all those sisters. Why be cruel to her, and yourself? Let her have some semblance of a life, even if you can't." He traced his finger along her jaw. "We must find our happiness where we find it, Deanna. What's the point of chasing dreams? Nothing is so sad than trying to rise above our station in life, don't you agree?"

She said nothing. Her heart was smashing to bits around her ankles, and he was talking about dreams. "There are no dreams, only wishes," she quoted a long-forgotten saying. "There is no destiny, only life and death."

Ashton did something totally unexpected. He kissed her gently on the cheek, then on the forehead. "Let her go, Deanna. Let her go." His voice was soft, almost comforting.

She nodded, not knowing what else to do as he took her in his arms and held her.

***

It wasn't anger that brought her safely back to the Gryffindor dormitory. It wasn't pride. It was pure, unbridled...calm.

After the initial shock, a wave of calm descended on Minerva, an almost relief that now, at least, she knew the truth. She'd let her imagination and her hormones get the better of her, and now it was over and she could return at last to sanity. Back to business. Back to focus.

She wasn't even angry with Deanna, to her great surprise. It was sad, really, seeing her with Ashton Lockley. It brought back a conversation she'd had months earlier with, ironically enough, Ashton himself. He'd been going on about certain students who'd made a game of "collecting" prefects. He'd warned her at the time, with a snarky smile and lascivious wink, to be careful; as a head girl, she'd be a prime target for one of these heartbreakers. He'd always been like that; from the moment he came out of nowhere to be head boy, he'd wavered just on the edge of inappropriate, just skirting away from the line he danced so effortlessly between polite conversation and innuendo.

Some found it charming. Until this afternoon, Minerva had found it slightly annoying. Now, it was just plain sad.

"Congratulations to them, and may their happiness be forever," she murmured to herself as she sat at her desk in the empty dorm room. She pulled a bundle of parchment paper from the drawer and, with an eye toward the time, began a last minute owl to her mother.

Mother,

Please forgive the timing of this owl. I know you are planning your trip to Hogwart's for my graduation, so I thought it best to write you now.

Let me start by saying that my love and respect for you could not be higher. You have supported, encouraged, and nurtured us girls our entire lives, often under great personal and financial duress. Your strength, wisdom, and love are an inspiration to me. What I am about to say is in no way intended to hurt or upset you, as my respect for you will be no less at the last sentence than it was at the first.

That said, I wish to inform you that Lady Madeline has offered to intervene on my behalf with House Gryffindor to help finance my trip to Italy. I realize that you and Grandmother have not been on speaking terms since your disinheritance, and I know this must hurt you, but I have no choice but to accept m'Lady's kind offer. The harsh truth is if I am to have any chance of beginning a career in diplomacy, I must have financial backing. I cannot and will not infringe upon you for this money. I know how you have struggled to keep us clothed and fed and educated. You simply cannot continue to bear the burden for me as I embark upon adulthood.

To be an adult, I must be willing to make difficult decisions. I know what will happen when I re-establish contact with Grandmother. I know I will be treated as the poor Muggle relation, the one no one talks about, the financial burden. I know this, and I will accept m'Lady's offer anyway. Because I know that I will never do anything of worth in this life if I do not have the strength to do sometimes things I may find distasteful. If I cannot swallow this fierce and often foolish pride I come by so naturally from you and father.

I assure you mother that my servitude to Grandmother and her house will be short. I fully intend to pay back every knut and sickle with interest. I do not intend to be a burden on the family, nor do I intend to make a mockery of yours and father's ability to provide.

Finally, I wish to inform you that I shall be going directly to Italy upon leaving school. I've thought it through, and I fear it would be a poor start to a new job to delay my initial training for two weeks for a vacation back home. I have secured lodging in the Embassy for the first month, or until I can find a place of my own.

What this means, mother, is that the only chance I may have to see you for a very long time will be graduation. I know this letter will anger and embarrass you, but I pray you will find it in your heart to be at my graduation. If you cannot, I will understand. You are my mother, but you are also an adult who has the right to form her own opinions and make her own choices. As an adult, I must respect and honor the choices you make, as I hope you will do mine.

I do not expect a return post on this, as no discussion will turn me from my course at this point. The time for childhood is past for me, and I will accept full responsibility for my actions from here on.

Mother, I love you always, and hope to see you at my graduation. Until then, I remain,

Your loving and faithful daughter,

Minerva

She paused, tempted to re-read the letter just for punctuation and grammar, but her new found sense of purpose took over. Never second-guess, she thought, folding the letter and placing it into an envelope she quickly addressed to Adela McGonagall, County Clare, Ireland. Without another doubt, she ran to the owlery and set it off.

Her future was set.

***

Dumbledore's face was her only respite at graduation. Deanna ignored the guests, ignored the pomp and ceremony, even ignored her house-mates, who proudly sported the House Cup which was the crowning glory of their seventh year. To Deanna it was all rubbish, all foolish children playing foolish games before they went off and discovered the harsh, ugly realities of life. One last hurrah.

She kept her eyes glued on Dumbledore. The head of Gryffindor sat quietly next to the headmistress, a look of pride on his face as she listed the achievements of his House. Deanna focused on his eyes, hoping against hope that he would turn and smile at her, let her know that, in all this foolishness he still saw her as his ward. But he was too caught up in the proceedings to sense her need.

She rocked in her chair, wishing the ceremony would end so she could find a nice hole to crawl into while the graduates played and partied and exchanged addresses.

"And now, we will hear from the head boy and head girl," the headmistress said in her most solemn festive tones.

It was the moment she'd dreaded. Boy or girl, either speaker would be agony to her. Ashton took the stand first, his easy smile and look of clean confidence sending dueling sensations through her body. Intellectually, she hated him. He was conceited, arrogant, deceitful and quite possibly mad. But ever since that afternoon in the grove, she'd felt unable to resist thinking of him. And she couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline through her body when she saw his face. He had been nothing but tender to her since that afternoon, moreso than she'd been to herself. He confused her. Part of Deanna swore he'd planned the whole thing, steadily and craftily orchestrating the afternoon to cause the most damage possible. But another part refused to believe that. Another part of her, a part growing larger by the moment, almost saw him as her savior, someone who understood on a soul level the sort of captivity she faced. Someone who was be close, who was content to stay here and be part of her life instead of reminding her so bluntly of what she could never have.

Ashton's address was brief and eloquent, garnering him much applause from students and adults alike. Deanna found herself smiling at his reception, clapping along with the rest of the googly adoring fools.

"And now we shall hear from our head girl, who also serves as our class valedictorian, Miss Minerva McGonagall." The name thrust Deanna headfirst back into reality. She clutched a picture in her robe pocket as Minerva ascended the podium, polished and composed as any diplomat. The picture was a small one captured during a fierce Quidditch match. Deanna and Minerva, both playing seeker, shoulder to shoulder on their brooms, both grabbing for the Snitch. It was marvelous. Minerva had dropped it in the grass that afternoon in the grove. Deanna held tightly to that picture, knowing in her heart it was the last moment Minerva would ever give her.

Her voice was clear and strong as she addressed the crowd. "In the past year, I have thought quite a bit, as I know many of you have, about the situation the Muggles are bringing about in Europe and the Far East. I read, as you do, the Muggle papers, listen to their radio broadcasts, and I worry about the future. Graduation should be a time of hopefulness, of bright beginnings and new ventures. But I fear our beginnings may not be so bright, and our ventures those of grim reality, rather than idealistic hopefulness.

Tomorrow morning, I leave Hogwarts and Britain to travel to my new post as assistant attaché to our junior ambassador to Italy. While most of us would agree that it is best to leave Muggle politics to the Muggles, I say here that we cannot remain blind to the reality of the situation. War has begun in many parts of Europe; sooner rather than later I fear, it shall come to the British Empire. Many would say leave the Muggles to destroy themselves. I disagree. I believe that the darkness that has touched so many of our Muggle brethren will eventually bleed into the wizarding world.

We must be diligent. A new world is being born around us, a world of danger and deceit, as well as courage and honor. It is only by taking our part in the human struggle against the darkness, both Muggle and Wizard alike, that we shall continue to enjoy the freedoms we now hold so dear.

For many of us, students and teachers alike, Hogwarts is our safest haven. While we have families, lives, and friends out in the "real world," it is Hogwarts that has been our home for these many years. Hogwarts is our family. But a family is only as effective as the choices it makes. And I ask you, students, faculty, staff and supporters of Hogwarts, what are each of you, individually and as a group, doing to stop the darkness that currently spreads across the continents? When the darkness comes, which side will claim you as its own?

The time for isolation, for sticking our heads in the sand, is long past. I urge Hogwarts to make a stand, officially, against the current activities of Hitler and against the Fascist regimes in Italy and Japan and in so many other smaller nations. I urge each person who hears my voice to search your soul, to ask yourself if you can stay silent and motionless, while Muggles are suffering and dying under the hand of tyranny.

We are the future, you and I. We make the choices our grandchildren will regret, or honor. As in the Muggle realm, eventually so it shall be in the Wizard realm. France is near fallen; can England be far behind?

The time is now. The place is here. I urge you, my friends and fellow students, do not allow yourselves to be passive supporters of tyranny.

I will take my place in Italy tomorrow; I will go where the danger is, not for glory or adventure. I shall go because I cannot stay, not when my presence might make a difference. I ask you, each of you, where shall you be tomorrow?"

She stepped off the platform, the passion of her speech easing into that maddeningly cool expression she now wore at all times.

Deanna sat in stunned silence with the rest of the crowd, eventually joining in with the half-hearted applause that rippled through the audience. In all the time she'd known her, Deanna had never taken Minerva for the notorious type, but with the current indifference or outright contempt most wizards and witches held for the mess the Muggles were creating for themselves, this speech was outright reckless. What on earth was Minerva thinking?

For the first time, Deanna noticed that not a single McGonagall was in the audience. Not her mother, nor any of those sisters, had attended Minerva's graduation. A quick glance at Dumbledore showed an expression of dark concern, more than her fiery political speech had warranted. Before she could venture a guess at what he was thinking, Deanna's thoughts were interrupted by the headmistress who quickly pulled the proceedings out of the tempest Minerva had created by announcing the House Cup winners (Ravenclaw), the Quidditch finals winners (also Ravenclaw, thanks to Deanna), and generally ignoring the controversial address delivered by the Hogwarts Golden Girl.

For her part, Minerva sat at her chair on the podium, apparently oblivious to the stir she'd created. She applauded politely as the lower classmen award winners tromped up on stage to receive their little trophies. If she were hurt by her family's noticeable absence, it didn't show in those cool eyes or that perfect, diplomatic smile.

Deanna's heart stopped when Minerva's head turned slightly and, for a moment, their eyes made contact. It was unnerving, the complete lack of any emotion in those eyes. The complete indifference. For all her passionate posturing, for all her kind words and gracious smiles, Minerva McGonagall was completely emotionless.

It was gut wrenching. At that moment, Deanna swore she would be at that train station in the morning, no matter what. She would make this right, and correct the damage they had caused to each other. She couldn't let it go like this. Minerva might be out of her life, but she was damned if she'd be a party to soul murder.

"Deanna," a soft voice was at her ear. She turned find Ashton grinning at her dazed expression. "Are you planning on sitting here forever, or were you going to join us in the main hall for refreshments?"

Deanna looked around. The headmistress had ended the ceremony and people were beginning to mill about. How long she'd been oblivious, she did not know. A quick glance to the stage showed her that Minerva was gone. She wanted to try to find her, but Ashton's hand on her shoulder muddied the waters. She would wait until morning. Let them both calm down and have a good night's sleep before she braved that storm.

"Of course," she said, allowing him to lead her into the chaos.

***

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Minerva popped her head into Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore looked up from the letter he was writing, glancing over his spectacles with a small smile to motion her to the free chair opposite him. "Sorry about the late hour. I wanted to speak to you before your train left in the morning."

She took the chair offered. "Is something wrong, sir?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all." He offered her a bit of chocolate, which she politely declined. "Well, off to London in the morning, eh?"

"Yes, sir. Then to Italy." She tried not to squirm under Dumbledore's steady gaze.

"Ah, yes. Italy." He put down his quill. "That's quite an adventure, wouldn't you say?"

Minerva shrugged, uncertain how to judge his comments. It was obvious he had something to say about her speech, but he was tripping around the subject like a first year brooms student. "It is a job. An important job, yes, but still a job."

"Oh, most definitely." Dumbledore seemed perfectly content to agree with her, not broaching the subject he obviously meant to discuss.

"Was there a reason you called me in, Professor?" Minerva fought her impatience. It seemed to her that Dumbledore was purposefully wasting her time, and she had a great deal of packing left to do before her train.

"Your speech."

She nodded, relieved that they finally were getting down to business. "Yes?"

"Quite interesting subject matter, wouldn't you say?"

"Is this a political question, Professor, or a lesson in public speaking?"

His gazed narrowed. "You upset a great deal of people."

Minerva almost smiled. She'd somehow expected this; not from Dumbledore, specifically, but she suspected people would not be happy with her words. "I am aware that I upset people, sir. But not nearly as upset as Hitler and his ilk are making those poor Muggles in Germany and Italy."

"I did not call you in for a political debate, Miss McGonagall." Dumbledore waved off her protests, a kindly expression softening his aged face. "For what it's worth, I thought it was quite a good speech. I'm simply concerned that you may have just made things more difficult for yourself."

"By that, I take it you mean Assistant Ambassador Pince-Hamilton?"

"Your new boss."

"I doubt the Assistant Ambassador has time to follow the commencement exercises at Hogwarts, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands across his desk with a resigned look. "I cannot decide whether you are simply naïve, Miss McGonagall, or if you truly wish to start off on the wrong foot with one of the most conservative members of the Foreign Ministry."

"I earned this position on my qualifications, Professor, not on my politics." She leveled a steely gaze at him. "I am completely aware of the assistant ambassador's positions on the Muggle war, and I also know that this may certainly get back to him. But that speech marked my entrance into adult life. As an adult, I am compelled to express my views on the issues of importance to our people. I do not doubt this will cause some initial trouble with Sir Andrew, but I cannot start out my career with a lie. Can I, Professor?"

"Oh, absolutely not, Miss McGonagall."

She softened her tone. Dumbledore had always been kind to her; she had no reason to be tart to him. "Professor, I've studied the life of Lord Gryffindor in earnest. If his life taught me nothing else, it's taught me that one must stand up for their beliefs, else through their inaction give unspoken support to the opposition. Is not the art of diplomacy the art of peace? And we cannot have true peace while we allow acts of aggression to go unchecked, can we?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "You have a true warrior's spirit, my girl. Yes, I agree-we cannot continue to hide our heads in the sand on the Muggle war issue. However, that's no need to make things harder for you than they have to be." He removed his glasses, cleaning them on the fabric of his robe before resting them lopsidedly on his nose. "I just wanted you to know that I admired your spirit, regardless of the trouble this may present in your new venture."

She stiffened. It was true. Andrew Pince-Hamilton was one of the least Muggle-friendly members of the Ministry in years. News would get back to him. Perhaps she was subconsciously trying to sabotage her own career. But it had felt good to speak up today, after so many years of doing what was right and acceptable. "Is that all, then, sir?"

"Yes. It's going to be an early day for you. I hope you don't mind, but I thought I might see you off to the station?"

It was as if a year's worth of anxiety were lifted from her shoulders with that one question. "No, sir. I wouldn't mind at all. Thank you, Professor."

"Good then. Seven in the morning, yes?"

"Yes." She stood, shaking his offered hand. She may have committed career abortion with one well-crafted speech, but at least Dumbledore still liked her. Somehow, she felt that no matter what went wrong in her life, if Dumbledore was on her side, things would be okay. She paused at the door, turning a questioning gaze at him. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think Lord Gryffindor's stance would have been on Wizard involvement in the Muggle war?"

The old man's eyes twinkled. "Well, you know what they say about old Gryffindor. He was never one to back down from the good fight. It's tradition."

She smiled. "I thought so. Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Miss McGonagall."

She closed the door behind her, walking away from the closest thing she'd had to a father in many years. If Dumbledore believed in her, things would be okay.

***

It was slightly after five in the morning when Deanna sat bolt upright in bed. She'd been dreaming about Dumbledore, and the Inquisitors. She was drenched in perspiration.

The train. She had to get to the station. She pulled on a mostly-clean pair of trousers and her second nicest shirt. Damn them if they couldn't handle her as she was. She wasn't tromping around the train station in saddle shoes and a gingham dress. Besides, if this was the last time she would see Minerva, she might as well go as she was, not as she thought she was supposed to be.

The halls were silent except for the occasional whisper of a house elf collecting laundry from the different dormitories. Deanna grabbed her broom from the Ravenclaw storage locker. One quick flight, and she would beat the crowd to the first train. Perhaps she'd have a moment or two alone with Minerva. She made her way to the common ground, seeking a quiet place to lift off unseen. But when she placed her hand outward to collect the broom, it fell flat to the ground. No amount of commands would force it to comply. It lay there like a Muggle house broom.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn." It was the worst possible time for her broom to be acting up. She didn't dare take the boats or coaches set up to bring students to the station. Minerva would see her, and probably do everything she could to avoid her.

She sat down hard in the grass, hardly noticing the damp, green mess that would undoubtedly stain her tan trousers. She had to figure out a way to get to the station unseen in time to speak to Minerva.

Finally, the obvious caught up with her. "Well, girl, you know what you have to do," she muttered, lifting herself to her feet. Technically, she was not supposed to apparate. Her license test was scheduled in two weeks, but this was an emergency. "As they say in the pictures, 'Feets don't fail me now.'" With that, she set off at a sprint towards the nearest secret passage out of Hogwarts. She barely noticed the blond hair boy lurking beneath the arches, watching her.

***

Minerva had not expected such a bon voyage. Bets and Eleanor had dragged themselves out of bed, as did the current and new Gryffindor prefects. All of them carried small gifts, which they shoved sleepily into her hands, before hugging her and wishing her the best. Dumbledore loomed above the students, a happily paternal tower of comfort in these her last moments at Hogwarts. Only Dumbledore would accompany her and the few other early travelers to the station, but it was still nice of her friends to send her off.

As the old man began to break up the party and hustle the younger students towards their luggage, Minerva found herself suddenly face to face with Ashton Lockley. She pulled her calm around her like an invisibility cloak. "Ashton," she said with her best and brightest voice. "You're up early."

"I wouldn't miss your departure, Minerva," he said, taking her hand to guide her off to the side. "Look, I'd hoped to speak to you, to clear things up about...well, you know."

She smiled coldly. "No, actually, I don't know."

"Deanna Hooch."

"I really have nothing to say about Miss Hooch." She cast him the most indifferent look she could muster. "Was there anything else?"

Ashton's gaze grew darker and more serious. "Listen, she told me all about you two. I just don't want you to leave thinking that I did anything to--"

"You did nothing. And anything Deanna may have told you is obviously as inaccurate and fictitious as her last History of Magic oral report." She pushed his hand away. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a life to catch."

To her great relief, Ashton did not follow. By the time she had rejoined Dumbledore and the group, he was gone.

***

"Stupid rotten bugger ass monster road," Hooch muttered to herself as she limped the last several yards to the station. Something had gone haywire with her apparation, landing her almost a half-mile from her intended destination. Add to that she'd landed all cockeyed, turning her left ankle so badly that it was blue and black and swollen under her trousers. She stopped at the main platform for the Hogwarts Express, pausing to catch her breath and check the time.

"BUGGER!" It was five minutes to seven. She didn't dare try using magic to help her ankle. Every spell she'd used this morning had backfired and she was cutting it too close as it was. Hobbling up the stairs to the platform, she saw the last of the travelers boarding. Damn the pain. She set off at a full run, wincing with each step.

She made it half-way before falling. Just as she pulled herself up from the ground, the whistle blew and the train began its slow exit from the station.

"NO!" she cried, tears and dirt forming muddy tracks on her cheeks. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. Minerva didn't even know she'd come. She collapsed into a painful cross-legged position. It wasn't fair.

A shadow formed around her, growing larger as someone walked up behind her. She didn't bother to look. It was Dumbledore.

"I'm too late," she murmured sadly.

"Yes. This time," he added. A quick spell and her ankle was tightly bandaged. "Shall we take the less scenic route back to Hogwarts, my dear?"

Deanna nodded dejectedly. It was too late. She might as well go back to Hogwarts.

***

Flash forward: the Grove

Minerva yawned deeply, wondering where the time had gone. A quick stretch brought her gaze to the slowly wakening woman next to her, choking the yawn hard in her throat. She barely remembered falling asleep, and certainly didn't remember Deanna joining her.

What she did remember, however, was everything else. All her memories of those years, Deanna's memories, even a glimpse or two of Dumbledore's memories of that time. She was starting to gain her bearings when Deanna jerked upright, awake in the same moment of movement. Sharp eyes, darting to and fro, assessed the situation like a soldier on alert.

"The Remembralls," Minerva supplied, pointing at the twin memory balls. They had fused together at one point, and the glass was cloudy and black at the contact point. "Someone wanted us to take a walk down memory lane."

Deanna rubbed her hair fiercely. "That was no walk, Min. That was a Death March."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Dumbledore?"

"Can't be sure," Hooch shrugged.

"I can. I gave him an ultimatum just before I got this Remembrall."

Hooch pulled herself up, sitting on her haunches in a way that was actually just a distant memory to Minerva. "What kind of ultimatum, I'm afraid to ask?"

A smile slipped past McGonagall's guard. "Either you go or I go."

This got Hooch laughing hard. "Great gods and goddesses, MG. I would have expected something a little more creative out of you than 'it's her or me.'"

"Her or I," McGonagall corrected, and Hooch burst out in fresh peals of laughter. McGonagall started laughing too.

"Well, her, I or me, it's one stupid ultimatum, princess," Hooch said, wiping her eyes. "The old boy has no intention of letting either of us go."

"Really." Minerva, to her great surprise, found herself immensely enjoying the verbal sparring. "Why not?"

"Well, he can't let me go because I've been here since Flamel was a boy and I know too much. As for you, he's been grooming you to replace him as Headmaster since the moment you arrived all those years ago. He's certainly not going to let you storm off in a huff and destroy all his hard work, now is he?"

McGonagall tilted her head slightly to the left. "Headmistress? Me? Oh, really. He practically had to drag me in to teaching by my hair. I can't imagine him seriously...." Her voice dropped off. "No, really?" she asked incredulously. "You don't really think--"

Hooch's howls of laughter cut off her ramblings. "Good gods, MG, I'd forgotten how funny you were. To think, your sense of humor survived, after all those years of you walking around with a broomstick up your ass."

She grabbed a handful of lavender and grass, wadding it into a little ball to throw at her offensive coworker. She scored a direct hit to Hooch's shoulder, delighting as it exploded on contact into a muddy badge of honor on the woman's shirt.

Hooch pretended to be horrified. "Well, now, Madame Headmistress, what would your adoring students think of this sort of behavior?"

"They'd think Hooch the Bloody Mad had finally driven me over the edge," she responded, unable to wipe the stupid grin from her face. It felt so wonderful, so amazingly light and wonderful, just to sit here and banter back and forth with Deana.

Hooch's face grew slightly sober. "Dear gods, do you know what we're doing, MG?"

A knot appeared in the pit of her stomach. "What?"

Hooch caught her eyes, a look of incredulity in them. "We're talking. For the first time in thirty years, we're talking." Her smile seemed almost shy. "Not fighting. Not bickering. Not even trying to one-up each other. Just talking."

"Talking was always a challenge for us, wasn't it?" Minerva admitted.

"Yeah." Hooch stretched, an almost self-conscious motion. "Fucking, fighting, competing, breaking up. We were brilliant at those. But talking? That was difficult."

Minerva felt the hot blush sweep over her face at Hooch's stark brutal honesty. "Well," she said in a slightly breathy tone. "It's getting late, isn't it?"

"So that's it, isn't it? We can be civil, but we're just going to pretend that all the Remembralls just showed us was melodramatic fiction?" She reached out to catch Minerva's chin, forcing her to look into her eyes. "It happened, cookie. It's not some book or play, and we're not a lesbian Romeo and Juliet. If the Remembralls showed us this, then we were meant to deal with it."

"We can deal with it, and we will. But do we have to do it right now?"

"If not now, then, when?" Hooch looked at her with a look that had been tempered by decades of hard knocks. "Come on, princess. Don't be a coward at this point of the game."

"I am most definitely not a coward," Minerva sniffed. "All right. You wish to deal with this, let's deal with it." She stopped, suddenly at a loss for words. "Exactly how do you suggest we deal with this?"

"Well, I guess the first thing we should do is get the cards on the table."

"I love when you talk like a gambler," Minerva quipped, still a little self-conscious about the drastic and unexpected change in her relationship with Deanna. At Hooch's scowl, she apologized. "Sorry. Cards on the table."

"What are our givens? Things we know to be true without doubt or debate?"

"I loved you with my heart and soul." It was out before Minerva even saw it coming. Once said, however, she felt compelled to continue. "I was more alive with you in those years than I have been in the three decades since. Losing you was like losing my soul. I hated you and loved you and wished you dead simultaneously. I was dead inside; at least, I thought I was dead until I learned you had married Ashton Lockley."

"That was a bad move," Deanna admitted.

"I died again. I thought I had killed off the last of my feelings for you, but when I heard you'd married him, something came alive just long enough to die again."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them as both pondered what could possibly follow that statement. Minerva finally said, "Well, I've jerked out the tattered remnants of my heart for you to wipe your feet on, the least you could do is tell me your deep, dark secret."

"I couldn't leave Hogwarts," was all Deanna said. "The Inquisition."

Minerva's eyes widened in slow realization as that part of the memory came back to her. "The Inquisition. I remember, your father was...I mean, they..."

"He was murdered by the Inquisitors because he was a True Descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw. Had they known about me, had they been able to break through the charm he placed around me just before they found him, I would have died there and House Ravenclaw would be no more. When he died, Dumbledore came immediately, as he'd promised my father years before, and spirited me off to Hogwarts. All those summers, all those breaks, I never went anywhere. I haven't been further than Hogsmeade in the last forty years.""

"Your mother?"

"No danger to her. She was from a good family, but nothing of importance to anyone."

Minerva narrowed her eyes. There was something Deanna was not saying. "And?"

"If she couldn't claim the Ravenclaw name, she wanted nothing to do with me." Deanna scowled, her hands digging deeply in her pockets. "She was a social climbing Squib who wasn't about to give up her freedom to be Mrs. Hooch, if you know what I mean."

Minerva sighed, unsure quite how to respond to that particular bit of information. Given her family history, she didn't have a lot of room to talk on the subject. "But the Inquisitor movement died out years ago. I know they were hunting down True Descendents, but there hasn't been a case in years of anyone being murdered."

"Because the remaining True Descendents are all in hiding." She scowled at Minerva's incredulous expression. "Dumbledore seems to believe the danger is still there. He's spoken to me about prophecies involving a new darkness that's supposed to arrive some time in this century, something involving a True Descendant of one of the Big Four."

"For goodness sake, Deanna, these are the Seventies. The century's almost over. Besides Hitler and Stalin in the Muggle world, and Barthelby's lot, there's nothing left so evil to keep a grown woman prisoner in a boarding school."

"Yes, the century's almost out. They're running out of time. And just because you don't see the evil, doesn't mean it's not out there."

"'They're?' For goodness sake, Deanna, conspiracy theories? " She scowled. "All those years of your life, lost to paranoia.

"I watched them murder my father in front of me, Minerva. I lived through years of marriage to Ashton fucking Lockley. If there is one thing I know, it's evil." She paused, calming herself. "Sorry. But it's not paranoia if the danger is really there. And Albus thinks the there's danger, then I believe him. And if he is determined to keep you here, then my guess is he thinks you're going to be safer here too."

Minerva shook away the cold chill that chased its way down her entire body. "Well, whatever it is, I guess it's a given that Dumbledore wants us here, and doesn't want us feuding."

"It's a given that somebody wants us here, and doesn't want us feuding."

"And Albus is the most logical choice."

"Yeah."

And that's where the givens seemed to wear out. Minerva stared through the silence at Deanna, who stared back without a word, twisting a lock of graying spiked hair around her fingers.

"Well."

"Well," Minerva responded.

"We're not going to be able to avoid it, you know," Deanna said finally.

"I know."

"Well, maybe we just ought to jump into it."

"All right then," Minerva said, ignoring Deanna's annoyed glare. "Jump away."

"All right then," Deanna mimicked. "Where does all this leave us?"

"What do you mean, leave us?"

"Oh, for the gods sake, please don't try playing coy at your age, Minerva." Deanna rolled her eyes. "Where does all of this leave us? You and me. Do we try to rebuild a relationship? Do we try to be friends? Do we become fuck buddies?"

Minerva choked back a cough. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, please don't tell me you've never heard the expression," Hooch retorted.

"Actually, no, I haven't." Minerva did her best not to blush, something she hadn't done much of since the last time Deanna Hooch was seriously in her life. "But I get your point. Do we try to go back to where we were, or do we just cut our losses and not tempt fate?"

"What do you want, Minerva?" Hooch asked earnestly. "Really, what do you want?"

And it was with great shock that Minerva answered honestly, "I have no idea."

Deanna grinned. "Neither have I."

A slow smile spread across Minerva's face, quickly equaling the grin on Deanna's. "Perhaps we should just take it one step at a time, and let things happen as they happen."

"I can live with that."

"So can I." Minerva held her hand out to her former lover/enemy/friend. "Bygones?"

"Bygones." To her great surprise, Deanna caught her hand and kissed it. They sat for a long moment like that before Minerva leaned over and kissed Hooch tenderly on the lips. The True Descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw at least had the decency to look flustered. "Why Minerva McGonagall, you always were the aggressive one, weren't you?"

But Minerva had already pulled back into her safety zone, and just smiled and didn't take the bait. "Bygones, Deanna. We'll see what happens."

And that, apparently, was as good a start as they could possibly wish.

***

Dumbledore sat solemnly in Lady Madeline's private study, a pot of tea steaming mid-air before him. His scrying bowl had begun to cloud, and he knew that he'd seen enough. "Well, m'Lady. Your comments?"

"It looks as if your spell worked, Albus. If they don't kill each other, that is."

"I'm afraid that sooner or later, Minerva will begin to put things together, now that she and Deanna are on speaking terms."

The Gryffindor House's oldest ghost sipped a cup of tea from her own pot in the picture. "Oh, absolutely. They will inevitably compare notes, and discover that Minerva is descended from Gryffindor himself. Although, I regret seriously that I will never have the chance to inform that grandmother of hers that the line is descended through the father, not the maternal side of Minerva's family."

"Were she not already dead, that would most certainly push her over," Albus agreed. His thoughtful look, however, denied the merriment of his tone.

"Concerns, grandson?"

"Worries, m'Lady. Regrets."

Lady Madeline drew in a deep breath. "It had to be done. It was destined that Minerva go, just as much as Deanna had to suffer her marriage to that odious man. Both had challenges to meet, lessons to learn. Had they stayed together in reasonable happiness, neither would be able to face the challenge that awaits."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We do not even know if an effort of True Descendents will be able to stop the Dark One until the prophecy is realized."

"But we must try, Albus. The One who comes will be possessed of a strength that no one wizard or witch could withstand. Only through the True Blood of the Ancestors shall we hold him off."

"At what cost, though? We destroyed two lives, m'Lady."

She shook her head. "Not destroyed, Grandson. Only diverted. There are still a few years before the prophecy shall be forced. Let them find peace in that respite, together if they will."

"And what of the outcome, Lady Madeline," Albus asked, fixing a dark gaze at the woman in the picture. "What happens when all prophecy is said and done?"

She sighed and shook her head. "That I do not know, Albus. That I do not know."

The End