Night Flight (A Beginning)

Tuesday, August 26th and an air of gloom filled the staff room. It didn't matter what colour they charmed the walls or carpet, Minerva McGonagall reflected. They could paint it psychotic circus yellow and it would still dull under the depressing shadow of a looming September.

"Filius, would you rather have an hour off after lunch on Wednesdays or first thing on Thursday morning?" she called.

Her tiny colleague strolled over to where she knelt by the coffee table and studied the time-tables over her shoulder.

"Better give me Wednesdays, Minerva. I'll need it if I have Tobias Maddock before lunch." The usually chipper charms teacher heaved a sigh as he flopped down onto a footstool.

"I heard a rumour the Maddocks were moving to France," said Pomona Sprout, as she emerged backwards from the storage cupboards, struggling with a pile of textbooks. Flitwick looked up hopefully, but Minerva shook her head.

"No such luck. I've already received the first of this term's dictats from Lady Sylvia," she said grimly. "It came this morning."

"Oh dear me," sighed Flitwick.

"What does she want this year?" asked Poppy Pomfrey, from the kitchen.

"I am instructed to make her son Gryffindor seeker. Oh, and Dumbledore is to get Fred Xavier back from India to referee his matches."

"What on earth for?"

McGonagall shrugged. "She doesn't approve of women refereeing. Perhaps she thinks Madame Hooch will be distracted from the snitch by a sudden urge to bake bread and have children."

"What's she like?" asked Sprout, looking up from her work.

"An insipid little woman with the wealth of Midas, and the wit and charisma of an earwig," replied McGonagall. "Oh, I do apologise, you meant Madame Hooch?"

"Yes! What's she like?" repeated Sprout eagerly. Pomona was the youngest member of the faculty and her round face made her look younger still as she pumped McGonagall for information about their new flying instructor. The older woman felt inexplicably uncomfortable at the question. She'd spent some time with the former international chaser over the last few weeks, settling her in and showing her the ropes. Her impression of the woman was not something she was about to share with Pomona Sprout. She chose her words carefully.

"She seems serious enough about being a teacher," she said. "And she's very passionate about flying."

"Yup," came a voice from the doorway. "And you should see my moves on a broom!"

Hooch slipped into the room, laughing a little nervously at the attention she received from the rest of the staff. She caught McGonagall's eye and the deputy headmistress took the hint. Quickly, she introduced Hooch to the rest of the faculty present.

It wasn't long before the newest teacher was at her ease in the staff room. An hour's conversation saw her sitting on the arm of one of the sofas, leaning nonchalantly against the headrest and exchanging stories from professional Quidditch for tales of pupils' misdemeanours.

Minerva took the time to simply watch, as she often did while others were talking. Hooch seemed relaxed as she chatted with Filius and Sprout, but there was still an edge of nervousness to her laugh. She covered it well though, and the deputy headmistress couldn't help but admire her spirit. She remembered Pomona's first day and how it had taken her a month before she could call any of them anything but 'Professor'. Hooch, she wagered, was the kind of person who could be on a first name basis with royalty in a matter of hours. She surveyed the woman from her cropped blonde hair to her ankles, loosely crossed beneath casual robes, and gave a little sigh of defeat. Minerva McGonagall was a woman who knew her own weaknesses, and Xiomara Hooch looked set to play merry hell with all of them.

Leaning back on her perch, Xiomara listened attentively to Filius Flitwick, straining slightly to understand his high-pitched voice. He seemed a charming man, with enough gallantry to furnish six men twice his height. Sprout sat beside him, and Hooch knew almost at once that she would be good friends with this woman. Something about her giggle was instantly infectious. Pomfrey too seemed a good sort, and Kettleburn Xiomara remembered from her own days as a student. He was a cheerful, if rather mentally absent, old card. The only unknown factor, in fact, was the thin, silent silhouette who knelt colour-coding timetables in the corner.

Her first impression of McGonagall had been that she was an intelligent, but basically humourless woman with a tendency toward sensible shoes. Hours spent in her company had pulled the rug from under that theory, but left her at sea as to what to think of the woman. Well, no point in worrying about it. It was bound to fall into place in time.

She refocused her attention as Kettleburn voiced the question she'd been asked again and again by friends and colleagues over the past few months. She shrugged expansively and tossed her head.

"I just got to a point where I had to make a decision," she recited automatically. "You know, when you reach a crossroads in life - it's either move on down that new road or stay still."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Professor McGonagall frown and lift her quill from the page.

"That's not a crossroads," she interjected.

"Sorry?" Hooch looked at her in confusion, genuinely bemused by the unexpected nature of the interruption. Beside her Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

"Go on or stand still. That's not a crossroads. That's... well, just about any road really."

Hooch considered this a moment. "You're right," she agreed. "I just reached a point exactly like any other in my life and decided to move ahead by accepting a job at Hogwarts." From there she carried on as though there had been no interruption, but she flashed McGonagall a smile and a wink as Pomona Sprout continued her interrogation.

There were only three of them left in the room as the clock ticked toward eleven. Madame Pomfrey reached again for the door handle.

"This time I really am going. Goodnight, girls."

"'Night!"

"Good night, Poppy."

The door swung closed behind her, shutting out the light from the hall, which had been illuminating the room throughout her protracted goodbye. Now the dimness of the summer evening settled over the staff lounge with the thickness of syrup. McGonagall found herself uncertain what to say. Squaring her shoulders, she took her seat once more and picked up a quill from the table. Toying with it gave her fingers something to do.

"Are your staff always such night birds?" asked Xiomara with that half-laugh.

McGonagall jerked her head up and saw that the other woman was plucking idly at a thread on the frayed arm of the couch. Was she feeling the sudden tension too, Minerva wondered. Or was she herself making Hooch uncomfortable? She had never been terribly good at putting people at their ease.

"Oh, you'll understand the value of a good night's sleep too once the little wretches start back," she replied.

Hooch laughed in earnest this time and McGonagall found herself liking the sound.

"Wretches? I signed on for curly-haired cherubs with eager, scrubbed faces."

Minerva gave her a piercing look through her severe square spectacles. "You've been had," she said solemnly.

They sat in silence for a moment until McGonagall's sense of duty got the better of her.

"I'm sorry about how I spoke to you before. About ah... the crossroads. "

"'s alright." Hooch waved her arms in dismissal "It was a clumsy metaphor. Lacked coherence."

Minerva smiled. "Still, it was rude of me. It's just that..." She trailed off as she realised she had no way to finish the sentence. "It was rude of me."

The next gambit was Xiomara's. "Would you like some tea?"

"That would be nice. No, stay there. I'll make it."

Minerva rose and made her way to the low counter where the tea things were kept. This positioned her directly behind Hooch's seat and gave her a few seconds to compose herself, unseen, as she boiled the water with her wand and threw some tealeaves into two cups. She heard movement behind her and looked over her shoulder to see that Xiomara had turned to watch across the back of the couch. Feeling slightly self-conscious, she poured the water and reached for the milk jug. Suddenly Hooch shot out an arm and caught her thigh.

"No milk for me!" she explained, stopping Minerva just as she tilted the jug to pour.

Without breaking eye contact, Hooch trailed her fingers higher up to Minerva's hip before smiling her thanks and withdrawing to face the table once more.

Minerva did not speak again as she picked up the two mugs and came back to her chair. What she had just seen in Hooch's eyes had set her blood tingling. Had she imagined it? One had to be sure. One had to be so very careful.

As they drank tea which neither really wanted their sparse conversation petered out entirely. Time to cut your losses and get out before you say something you regret, thought Minerva and rose to bid her colleague good night.

"Not you too!" exclaimed Hooch. "It's my first night as a 'Teacher of Hogwarts'." she intoned the title with mock-solemnity. "I'm not going to look back on this in years to come and think 'I had a cup of tea and went to bed!'"

"Well, what would you like to do?"

"How about going out there?" She jerked her head at the yawning black windows.

"It's almost dark!"

"I'd like a tour of the grounds," shrugged Hooch.

"You've already seen the grounds. I can show them to you again tomorrow when there's some light to see by, if you like."

"Look," Xiomara explained. "The last time I lived at Hogwarts I had a nine o'clock curfew."

"Ah, I see!" McGonagall sized her up with an amused gaze. "All right then, Madame Hooch. Let's show you all the stumbling in the shadows and walking into things you missed out on as a student."

"Excellent! Lead the way, Professor McGonagall."

McGonagall was further bemused when, on leaving the castle, Hooch immediately headed purposefully toward the Quidditch Pitch. Lengthening her stride to keep up, she cast a questioning look at her companion.

"Broom shed," explained Hooch, with what Minerva had come to think of as her customary attack upon syntax. "Saves you from stumbling and walking into things. Come on." She caught Minerva's hand and tugged. McGonagall did not protest, but matched her pace.

"Are you always this... uninhibited," she asked. "Or has the power just gone to your head tonight?"

Xiomara flashed her a wicked grin which Minerva felt somewhere in the region of her stomach.

"Oh, I like to keep my inhibitions around. Losing them once in a while wouldn't be so much fun otherwise."

Minerva had to admit it felt good to be in the air. It was a long time since she'd flown, and she had forgotten the exhilaration of it. They made their way to the Forbidden Forest and hovered their, bobbing just above the treetops.

"Ever been inside?" asked Hooch.

"Yes," Minerva replied. "But not right to the centre."

"Why not?"

"The centaurs live there, they hold it to be their land and they don't take kindly to trespassers."

"That's what I love about the sky," said Hooch. "No boundaries. Come on." With the barest of nudges she turned her broom due west, and flew forward over the treetops which stretched to the horizon."

Alarm shot through McGonagall as she watched Xiomara fly away. She'd always been cursed with good sense and knew they were in dangerous territory. Why had she agreed to this in the first place? She already knew why, and she also knew that she had to call a halt to this before there were any injuries. Cursing herself, she headed resolutely after Hooch.

Hooch leaned forward and picked up the pace, feeling more and more at ease as she gathered speed. This was where she belonged. A small voice at the back of her head wondered if McGonagall was watching. Had she kept up? She turned her head to see when suddenly her broom slammed to a jarring halt, almost throwing her off.

"What the...? Shit!"

Her broom had become entangled in a sticky translucent mesh between the trees. The slight turn she had made just before she'd crashed had kept the handle free, but the bristles were deeply tangled in the clinging threads. Only just having taken this in, she became aware of movement beneath her. Something was crawling its way towards the base of the tree where she was caught. Something large and unnervingly dark among the shadows. Something with far too many eyes and legs to be a centaur. With an ease that belied her sudden fear, Hooch hopped into standing position on the handle of her broom. Once sure of her balance she looked around desperately for a way out. She was horrible aware of the thing now climbing the trunk of the tree with sickening speed. Certainly, she could make the jump to that branch, but what if there was a web there too?

"Jump!"

McGonagall's voice held such authority that without even thinking she obeyed. She sprang from her own broom and managed to pull herself onto the Transfiguration mistress's as she flew by. McGonagall slowed slightly to make sure her new companion had her balance, and then shot away, back towards the eaves of the wood.

"He's new!" exclaimed Xiomara, once her heart had descended from her vocal chords.

"Yes. An acromantula. Hagrid told Dumbledore he must have 'migrated,'" McGonagall snorted. "I never thought... are you alright?"

"Fine, thanks to you. It'll teach me not to fly around like I own the place here."

McGonagall turned around and smiled a soft smile without any of her usual acerbity. Hooch thought for a moment that her heart might stop, and this time it had nothing to do with giant spiders.

It just fell into place, she realised.

The wind around them dropped as they got further away from the clearing and McGonagall directed the broom down lower into the canopy. From this close to, Hooch could better appreciate the other woman's figure, despite the unforgiving robes. Like her face, McGonagall's body seemed to be a study in planes and angles. Yet the same unexpected softness that had caught Xiomara's attention in the curl of her lips was also there in the curve of her hips. There was nothing languid in her movements, yet there was grace.

For years, Hooch had gotten by by doing whatever seemed a good idea at the time. It hadn't let her down yet. She slipped one arm around McGonagall's waist and pulled closer, pressing against her back. Bringing her lips to her ear, she dropped her voice to a low whisper.

"Will I lose house points for writing off a school broom?"

The broom slowed and drifted between the trees. For a long time Minerva was silent, and Xiomara began to think she wouldn't respond at all when suddenly she felt a warm hand on her thigh and looked down to see McGonagall clutching the folds of her robes.

"I won't tell if you don't," she whispered back.

Hooch smiled a smile that Minerva could not see. So she'd been right about this prim and proper schoolmistress. Thank god, she had been right. Slowly, softly, not wishing to break the mood, she let the very tips of the fingers of her free hand drift along Minerva's ear and down her neck. Her fingers brushed the collar of the woman's robes, fastened sensibly against the evening chill. As her hand sought the catch, she felt McGonagall tug at her own skirt, inching the hem higher up her leg. The collar of the green robes came undone as the hem of the red slipped over the knee. The broom jerked as two hands made contact with bare skin at the same time.

The witches froze for a moment, struggling to steady their breathing and their flight. The passage between the trees had grown narrower and leaves, still damp with rain, brushed against their flushed faces. Leaning forward, Xiomara gripped the broom handle just below Minerva's hand, and guided their descent into the warm dusk below the branches.

Minerva was content to relinquish control of their flight. Leaning right back, she raised one arm and curled it round Hooch's head. Then she tilted back her face and pressed her lips against the underside of the other woman's jaw. Her skin was soft and her short hair smelt faintly of coconut, an enticingly exotic smell to be carried on the cool breeze of a Scottish summer. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled her lips against Xiomara's jaw and neck, loving the feminine smoothness of it. The usual rushing tide of her thoughts had calmed and stilled. This was pure instinct.

Looking down, Xiomara saw that McGonagall's collar now gaped open at the base of her neck. She could see the shadow of the woman's pronounced collarbones against her pale skin - paler than Xiomara's own. She pulled back a little for a clearer view. As she did, McGonagall's exploring lips brushed against the side of her mouth. The effect was as sudden as a charm or curse. Twisting about she caught the brunette's mouth with her own. Suddenly she needed the contact of Minerva's lips against hers, needed to feel her respond, needed to lose herself in the intensity of the woman's kiss, needed - needed to regain control of the broom before they crashed into that bloody tree! Pulling loose she threw her weight hard to the right just in time. As the broom straightened its course she turned to meet Minerva's burning gaze for the first time and managed to gasp out,

"I think we need to land!"

It was perhaps for the best that the centaurs had no business near the eaves of the forest that night, for it was several hours before the damp chill encouraged the two witches to relocate indoors.

Tuesday, September 3rd and Minerva McGonagall was impervious to familiar trials of a new school year. She was impervious to the stress caused by the stack of unfinished paperwork still piled haphazardly on Dumbledore's desk. And she was blissfully impervious to the shrill demands of the woman seated opposite her in her office.

"I assure you, Lady Maddock; Tobias will be given every chance to try out for the Gryffindor team. If he's as good as you say then of course he'll be selected, provided of course he can refrain from attacking his team-mates this year."

"And what about Professor Xavier? You'll be getting him back I trust."

"Professor Xavier resigned of his own volition. He has no intention of returning for you or anybody else ma'am," said McGonagall.

"Well I never!"

Minerva schooled her face in the perfect mask of sobriety while inside she giggled with glee over the woman's outrage at her condescension. "I assure you, Mrs. Maddock, Madame Hooch is a most capable and dedicated Quidditch coach."

"Really?" sniffed Lady Sylvia.

"Oh yes," Minerva smiled. "And you should see her moves on a broom."

FIN