Reasons to Celebrate

London, Early Summer 1953

Amelia Bones was on a cloud. Oblivious to the puzzled looks of the Guardsmen, she darted through the Entrance Hall of the Ministry, past the welcome desk, past the fountain, and into the lift. The doors whizzed closed, and a soft voice of the annoyingly well-trained kind said: "The Ministry of Magic wish you a pleasant evening." That she would have! Giddy to the marrow of her bones, Amelia had a hard time stopping herself bouncing on the balls of her feet to work off the excess adrenaline that had accumulated in her veins and now desperately wanted to vent. The short ride up the shaft and into the phone box somewhere in the City of London seemed to last an eternity. Finally, there was a loud pling, followed by the voice of a few seconds ago saying: "Street Level. Please alight here." Amelia pushed open the glass door and dashed out into the London rush hour. Not one of the scores of people rushing through the streets in their three-piece suits paid any attention to the young woman who had just appeared out of nowhere in a red phone box.

Amelia had come to the Muggle part of London with a purpose. Without so much as a glance at the windows of the hosiery and corsetry shops designed to catch the eyes of women her age, without even checking on the display of Lawless's Political and Administrative Science Bookshop, she strode down the streets, effortlessly overtaking swarms of identical-looking men in grey suits and black bowler hats, and skipped up the stairs to Liverpool Street Station. Thank Merlin, he was there!

"Oys Creeeeam, get yer fave'rite oys cream!"

Amelia rummaged around in her briefcase to retrieve the purse with Muggle money from somewhere under the books, rolls of parchment, quills and Every Flavour Beans.

"One cone, please. Vanilla, strawberry, hazelnut, chocolate and cherry."

"That's jus' about ev'rything I've got," said the old man behind the rickety, brightly painted cart. "Here, Miss. Gee, don't yeh look quite the happy one." He gave her a broad, nearly toothless smile and handed over a dangerously loaded ice cream cone.

"Thanks." Amelia beamed and made her way back into the streets, a little more slowly this time because she had no intention of losing any of that precious reward she had just treated herself to.

What now? Where to go? She was bursting to tell her story, so going home to her small flat in Carlisle Street was not an option. Her mother would listen. But then she'd have to tolerate her little brother Edgar, insufferable as every thirteen-year-old to his elder sister. Aunt Susan, who was old and nearly blind, would certainly enjoy her company. Yet as much as she loved her aunt, spending an evening alone with the old woman out in her cottage in the middle of nowhere was not exactly the kind of fun Amelia was after at that moment. Sproutie was out, too, having recently fallen in love with the tiny Ravenclaw boy who had been a year ahead of them. Linda Prewett was something like twelve months pregnant, or at least that was what she looked like, and had no interest in anything that did not involve the concept of gestation.

Bugger.

Amelia sat down on the stairs and nibbled on her ice cream. All dressed up and nowhere to go, she thought, just as a big dollop of chocolate ice cream fell on the bulgier part of her brand new dark blue dress. Or maybe not even that.

Bugger.

She shared the last crumbs of her cone with a flock of pigeons and readied herself to go home. Perhaps she could pick up something nice for dinner on the way. Dinner for one, she thought, with all the tiny Ravenclaw boys and Mr Prewetts and Quidditch players and dance school partners occupying the minds and evenings of her old friends from school, leaving them little time for the loud-voiced and quick-mouthed Ministry apprentice to which no opportunity to dance, dine or dally with someone special had had the generosity of presenting itself so far. Amelia allowed herself the indulgence of a small sigh. How late could a flower bloom before it wilted for good?

She opened her briefcase again and began searching it for a handkerchief to remove the ice cream stain from her dress. Cleaning charms would not do in front of hundreds of Muggles. Under her breath, though, she muttered an array of assorted curses as the search for a handkerchief came to a sudden end when something sticky attached itself to her hand and tenaciously refused to let go. Was that the Every Flavour Bean she had spat out just as she was called into Courtroom Ten? The kidney-pie-and-strawberry one? Disgusting. And what was that piece of cardboard it was glued to?

Amelia pulled out the small card, squinting her left eye, which was beginning to give her trouble with tiny print.

I'll be damned!

Had she really forgotten about this card, with all the preparations for today, the dreaded dress that had to be bought, the parchments that had to be read and re-read, and the hours and hours of exercise, practice and study?

Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, it read. Magical Creatures Healer (A.B.L.), Chaucer Cottage, Ottery St. Catchpole. And, in handwriting: Enjoyed the company. Drop in any time you want to. Will.

Will Grubbly-Plank. Amelia's thoughts wandered back to that memorable Quidditch match in May. Holyhead Harpies vs. Wimpbourne Wasps. The weather had been beautiful, but from a Harpy's point of view that was about the only positive thing that could be said about that day. Zero to one hundred and fifty had been the final score. For the Wasps. The game had lasted all of eight minutes. And there had been Wasps' supporters all around her. Well, almost.

***

"Ruddy bloody buggery bleeding hell," Amelia muttered.

"Amen to that."

Amelia had noticed her neighbour before, but as he was not wearing Harpies' insignia, she had thought him a Wasp fan. Men weren't usually very fond of the Harpies.

"You're a Harpy?"

"'Course I am."

Amelia blinked twice as her neighbour took off his straw hat to reveal a head of very close-cropped, blond hair around a tanned face, and handsome, prominent features. Yet the eyes, the smile and the smooth complexion betrayed that this neighbour was not at all what Amelia had taken him to be.

"Oh."

Judging from the twitch in the corner of her mouth, the neighbour was obviously used to reactions like that. "Surprised?"

"What? Erm...yes, I mean, no...erm...surprised that you're a Harpies' fan?"

The young woman laughed a brisk, throaty laugh, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth, and a single dimple on the left cheek.

"I'm going to drown my frustration in a glass or three of firewhisky," she said, lighting a cigarette with the tip of the wand. "Care to join me?"

"Oh, erm, I don't usually...but today, I mean...why not?"

Goodness, Bones, you do have a talent for turning a simple affirmative into an eleven-word answer.

"Well, good. Come along. Wilhelmina. Will for short."

"Amelia."

***

Still sitting on the stairs in front of Liverpool Street Station, Amelia smiled to herself. Luckily there had been Portkeys until late that night, since broomstick flying or Apparating would have been quite out of the question in the state in which they had left the Merry Mandrake. She had liked the woman a lot. Not one to make a lot of words, but as it was Amelia's nature to compensate for that, they had had quite an animated conversation. And a most curious appearance she had been, the woman, with her straw hat and pointed chin, and those long, sinewy hands and broad shoulders, yet a gentleness in her eyes to outshine any forest fairy's this side of the Channel. That, together with a healthy tan and deep contralto voice, gave her a most unique kind of beauty, or handsomeness, if that was a better word. It still amazed Amelia how oddly struck she had been by it.

Amelia twirled the card in her hands. She had not been in touch. She knew that Will had a busy practice and a pregnant Unicorn, and she herself had been up to her neck in preparations for her Auror finals, second attempt. Still, Amelia scolded herself, she should have sent a note, an owl, just to send word that it would be nice to have another drink or three again.

Wonder if she'd find it odd if I just showed up like that. After more than a month.

Bugger.

I'll take the chance. Won't find out if I keep sitting here.

Amelia picked herself up from the stone steps, walked a few hundred yards to the left, then turned right into a narrow alley, and vanished with a loud Crack.

***

Crack.

Countryside! Amelia drew in the air as deeply as she could. It was soft and smelled of grass, flowers and the nearby forest. Quite a change from the smell of the City during rush hour.

She slowly followed the dirt road that meandered up Ottery Hill. The hill, dipped in the buttery colours of the light of the sinking sun, was dotted with small cottages. Some of them were Wizard-owned, as she could tell by the plants growing in more or less well-tended gardens, the oddly-shaped tail of what otherwise looked like a particularly bouncy Jack Russell Terrier, and the colour of the smoke rising from chimneys in various degrees of crookedness.

When the last cottage before the forest appeared in front of her, she stopped. This must be it. It was a tiny building with a thatched roof, a dog kennel, and black-eyed Susans climbing up a rack by the front door. A small brass sign next to the gate that led to the front garden read: Chaucer Cottage.

Shooing off a rogue butterfly that had appeared in her stomach to remind her that she was paying an unannounced visit to a woman she had only met once before, Amelia opened the gate and walked up to the door. A large dog of indeterminable colour peered out of its kennel with one lazy eye, let out a loud sigh, which Amelia took as an approval of her presence, and resumed its snoring.

She lifted the knocker and tapped it against the wooden door.

Twice.

No one answered.

What did you expect, Bones, that she'd be waiting for you?

Amelia turned around and walked back to the garden gate. So it would be dinner at home in Carlisle Street, or perhaps with Aunt Susan after all. She was just about to make sure the gate was closed properly behind her when she heard a loud noise from the other side of the cottage. It sounded like neighing, only much more painful.

Amelia jogged around the building to see what had caused the noise. Right between the cottage and the edge of the forest, there was a wooden stable, almost as large as the cottage itself, but slightly lower. The door stood open, so she ventured in.

Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, as the windows had been blinded with old blankets. Out of the darkness came a brisk voice.

"My wand, quick, and the potion with the yellow label from the cabinet! Hurry up!"

Why, hello to you, too, Amelia thought.

Then she saw.

Merlin!

A silver Unicorn mare, her stomach swollen and tight, her flanks darkened from sweat, her beautiful, long-lashed eyes bulging in an anguish that made Amelia's heart clench, was lying on the ground, whinnying in pain. Behind the mare, nearly hidden from view, was Will, in a flannel shirt covered with straw and dotted with bits of undefined dirt, sleeves rolled up, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. Her eyes were fixed on the mare, and every line on her face spelled tension and anxiety.

"Quick!"

Amelia ran to the small medicine cabinet on the wall and scanned the labels of the potion flasks. Yellow...there. She spotted the wand on a shelf next to the medicine cabinet, took it and darted over to the corner where Will had risen from the straw and was trying to get the reluctant mare to stand up.

"Ta." Not taking her eyes off the mare, she extended her hand to take wand and potion. "Take the reins while I apply this. Gently, mate, she's not used to--!"

It was only then that she looked at Amelia.

"Oh." She blinked. "I'm sorry...I thought it was the neighbour. Do you think...erm..."

"Sure," said Amelia and took the reins that Will held out to her, trying not to let on that she was everything but sure what to do with them.

"Thank you," Will muttered. She took a clean cloth out of a box and drenched it with the potion. "Relax, my girl. Just relax." She then murmured a very long incantation as she rubbed the cloth gently against the mare's skin. "There, baby. Easy does it..."

"Just hold her in place, please," she said to Amelia. "Damn, this shouldn't be happening. She'll die if I cut her open; she's a Unicorn, not a bloody brewery horse."

Amelia wanted to ask what was the matter but thought better of it. There was a time for lessons, and a time for shutting up. This had the distinguished feel of being the latter.

"There, that should do it," Will said after a while. "Now where's that head?" She went to the medicine cabinet and took out a pair of black spectacles the like of which Amelia had never seen before.

"Oh my. Amelia, can you try and walk her very, very slowly? The foal's head got stuck, and I have to reposition it, but she mustn't make any jerky movement at all when I do that or we're in big trouble. And it's best if she stays on her legs."

Amelia swallowed and nodded. She had never walked a horse before and was not sure how it was done properly, but she'd do her best. "There, sweetie, uh, you heard what your mistress said," she muttered, not in the habit of conversing with animals. One round, two rounds. It was to Amelia as if one could the healing magic pulsating in the prominent veins of Will's right arm as the other woman moved her wand with gestures so controlled they were nearly imperceptible, never once loosening her focus on the bulgy abdomen as the mare circled the stable. Three rounds. "Damn." Four rounds. "Now, now we're doing it, yes, one more bit, an inch, just an inch will do. There. Give her one more round, and then let her lie down."

Amelia did as she was told. Will took off the black spectacles and sat down on a bale of straw, her nose buried between her steepled hands.

Amelia led the mare over to her stall, then poured a glass of water from a jug on the shelf and held it out to Will. "Here," she said.

"Thanks." Will wiped the corner of her eye. "You must think me hysterical, but this is..."

Amelia shook her head and placed a hand on Will's shoulder.

Like that, they waited.

"Sorry I was a bit gruff when you came in."

"You'll have the chance to say hello to me some other time."

"Hope so."

Will edged toward the right, making room for Amelia to sit down on the bale with her. Together, they watched the mare lie down.

"Is she pushing?"

Will nodded. "In a few minutes we'll know if it worked."

She got up. Amelia followed her at a respectful distance. It was a sort of intimate moment after all.

Will exhaled deeply and wiped the sweat from her forehead. A hoof appeared. Then another. "The head. Give us the head," Will whispered. Kneeling in the straw, her hands supporting the two shiny legs, not blinking, not breathing, she looked.

Then the mare gave another push. First appeared the nose, the rosy, wet muzzle, then the forehead with the stub where the horn would begin to grow in a few months, the ears, and in a matter of seconds, the whole body followed, and a bright gold Unicorn foal, still covered in the silvery membrane that had sheltered it in its mother's womb, sank into the straw.

"YES!"

Amelia knelt down next to Will, who was examining the newborn. "Looks like it's a boy!"

Will looked at her, her face radiant with joy, all traces of sorrow having vanished like nothing. There was that dimple on her left cheek. "S'pose nobody is perfect." She turned back to the animals. With movements that had probably been performed countless times, firm and experienced but nonetheless tender and caring, she broke the umbilical cord, disinfected its stub, cleaned the foal and his mother, scrubbed her own arms and hands, and when she finally saw the mare stand up, turn to her foal and begin to lick him dry, she picked herself up from the floor, backed up a few steps, and glowed.

Amelia gave her a hug.

"Happy birthday."

They stood there for quite a while, arms wrapped around each other, two specimens of their sex equally uncommon and yet altogether unalike, and two pairs of eyes gleaming at the scene in front of them.

***

"Will?"

"Yes?"

"Did you just give me a kiss?" Amelia rubbed her cheek.

"Did I?"

"I think you did."

"Oh. Was it nice then?"

Amelia cocked her head. "Hm. Sort of like this." She raised her head and gave Will a peck on the cheek.

"Nice."

"Yes."

Before Amelia had a chance to continue the conversation, Will cupped her hands around Amelia's neck and pulled her closer to put a kiss on her lips that would definitely not warrant the question if it had been one.

Amelia was surprised, even a little shocked at the boldness, but for once she decided not to voice her bewilderment because she had no mind of changing the way her mouth was occupied. Fancy this woman not only half looking like a man but also kissing her like no man ever had! Just to make sure that Will would not suddenly stop what she was doing, she reached up to sling her arms around Will's neck.

"Careful, I'm getting you all filthy," Will warned. "Your dress..."

"Bugger the dress."

"Just thought I'd mention it."

Will sat down on the bale of straw, pulling Amelia down with her. She wiped an auburn curl out of Amelia's face and tucked it behind her ear.

The dimple. "You're beautiful even when quiet."

Amelia giggled. It was not often that she received compliments on her looks. Her brain, yes, and her good nature, too, but her square face and a shape that was a little too stocky to be called curvaceous seldom invited comments other than snide ones from hourglass-shaped dress robe makers with hair as high as any Hogwarts tower and Hippogriff claws for fingernails.

She leaned forward. Kisses led to more kisses, and even more, until Amelia felt as if her insides were full of pixies wreaking havoc with all her bodily functions. She was sure she wanted more, but what exactly that could be, she did not know.

"Will?"

"Yes?"

"How is it possible that this is happening?"

"I don't know," Will answered, her serious face breaking into a smile as she continued: "But I'm damn happy about it." She took Amelia by the hand and led her over to a pile of hay. A flick of the wand she had in the side pocket of her breeches summoned a blanket from a shelf.

"Will the foal be all right?"

Will nodded. They sat down on the blanket, hands in hands, eyes in eyes. One, two ginger touches of the lips helped pick up the thread they had dropped a minute ago, and soon they were applying liberal amounts of kisses to every unclothed spot of the other's skin. Little by little, more skin was revealed as a sleeve was pushed up here and a collar pulled aside there. Little by little, Amelia got an idea of what it could be she wanted more of.

Will's shirt was the first item to land on the straw that covered the wooden floor. Amelia's shoes, dreadful, medium-high pumps of the Ministry-approved officewear variety, followed suit, and as the pile on the floor grew, so did the desire to plunge into an ever deeper embrace as if they could merge if only they wanted it badly enough.

Will broke the kiss and let her lips wander down Amelia's neck, across the collarbone and on towards her breasts. A small, plain bra joined the white T-shirt that lay crumpled on top of the blue dress.

Then she moved on, towards the navel and past it.

"Oh dear!" Amelia gasped.

Will chuckled almost silently. "That's one way of putting it."

Amelia stiffened. This sensation went far beyond anything she could have imagined.

"What...what...oh my, Will, what are you doing?"

Will raised her head. "Well, this is generally referred to as..."

"Don't stop!"

"Sorry." Amelia could have sworn that the cheek brushing against her thigh was sporting a lone dimple. Her breath grew quicker as Will became bolder and faster, and she forgot everything around her, forgot the bits of hay that were tickling her feet, forgot the Ministry and the Unicorns, the nervousness and the anxiety. There were only she and Will, the rising excitement, and then the waves, swelling and ebbing away gently at first, then taking her with more force, until the one to end them came rolling along from afar, sweeping her up high and taking her on a staggering ride on its crest before it broke at last.

Then there was calmness.

"Let me hold you," she whispered.

Will edged up on the blanket and wrapped her arms around Amelia.

Amelia closed her eyes, relishing the moment between waking and sleeping, sensing nothing but Will's soothing touch, two slender arms around her, and the sweet and salty scent of warm skin in her nose. And no urge to talk. Feeling beautiful even when quiet.

***

"Will?"

"Yes?"

"I passed my finals."

"You did?" Will propped herself up on one elbow, raising a playful eyebrow. "Well, congratulations, my tough, lesbian Dark Wizard Catcher."

Laughing, Amelia pushed Will back into the hay. "I'll give you tough, lesbian Dark Wizard Catcher, wench!"

And she did.