It was the first day of the Christmas holiday at Hogwarts, and Rolanda Hooch was bored. No students were staying at the castle -- since the war, families wanted their children at home as much as possible -- and the empty echoing corridors seemed dark and depressing.
True, the sitting room she shared with her lover was bright and cosy, but still, Rolanda was bored. She hadn't minded a year or two of peace and quiet once Voldemort was defeated, but enough was enough. Why had they bothered to save the wizarding world, if they were just going to sit around at home every night? It probably wouldn't be long before they started knitting.
"Let's do something, Minerva," she proposed. "And I don't mean a game of chess. Something different. Something wild."
The Headmistress looked up from her book. "Peeves wasn't wild enough for you?" Their resident poltergeist had livened up the students' departure by unleashing scores of Stinking Skydivers-- a new Weasley Wheeze consisting of dung bombs dropped on firework-spouting parachutes.
"Peeves." Rolanda's snort was eloquent in its disdain. "I'm talking about having fun, Minerva. Remember that -- fun? You know, laughing and relaxing and not being the headmistress for a while? I'm sure you can search the dim recesses of your memory and recall what that was like."
She was rewarded with a raised eyebrow. "We've reached the sarcasm stage already, have we?" Minerva asked, her smile wry. "All right, Ro. What sort of fun did you have in mind?"
"Well, I. . ." Not having been prepared to gain her point so easily, Rolanda was momentarily stumped.
But not for long.
"I know!" she said. "Let's dress up as Muggles and go to London."
"London? But. . ."
"And let's switch places!" Ro interrupted, carried away by the possibilities. "I'll get tarted up all femmy, and you can wear some dykey drag. A tux, maybe! Satin! What do you say?"
Since she'd got out of her chair during this speech to wind her arms around Minerva and trail soft kisses down her neck, the headmistress, after a gasp and a moan, could do nothing but acquiesce.
A few magical transformations later, they were ready. Minerva availed herself of one of the perks of her position to create a Portkey, and in no time, they found themselves outside Wicked! -- Britain's premiere witches-only bar.
Rolanda marveled at the change in her lover -- Minerva looked more rested already, smiling and comfortable with boyish Muggle hair and a black satin jacket and trousers; no one would guess that a mere hour previously, that tux had been a tartan dressing gown. So happy did she look that Rolanda decided to sneak ( a surreptitious photograph )
so that the next time she wanted to whisk Minerva off on an adventure, she could remind her of the good it did her.
If the headmistress had hoped they could keep a low profile, she was doomed to disappointment. No sooner did they step into the crowded bar than a gruff voice hailed them. "Rolanda Hooch! Minerva McGonagall!" it boomed. "As I live and breathe."
Ro turned to see ( Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank )
bearing down on them from the direction of the cloak-room. She, too, was in Muggle garb, for such was the fashion at Wicked! Rolanda took in the short grey hair and the crisp white shirt and the leather gloves and thought, not for the first time, how glad she was that Minerva was not the jealous sort; she never minded if Rolanda looked her fill at another hot woman (as long as looking was all it was, and in truth, it was never more, for Ro was never even tempted to stray. Minerva was all the woman she wanted).
"Willa, it's good to see you," said Minerva, offering her hand (Wilhelmina not being the hugging sort).
"Likewise," said Willa, giving the hand a hearty shake. "I was just leaving, but I could stay for a dram if you like. Unless. . ." she broke off, giving them and their attire a sharp glance. "This is a case of three being a crowd."
"We do have plans for later," Minerva said, snaking an arm around Rolanda's waist and setting Ro's heart to pounding. "But a dram sounds lovely."
"There's a price, though, Willa," said Ro, with an impish glance toward the normally camera-shy Minerva. "We want you to take our picture."
"Glad to," Wilhelmina replied. She conjured a quick flame to light her pipe. "If I can have a copy for myself. You're both a sight to remember. You make quite the fetching femme, Ro. Who'd have guessed? As for you. . ." she turned towards Minerva. "Didn't I always say you were a butch at heart?"
"No," Minerva replied, arching a brow.
"Oh. Well. Thought it, though. Many a time. Here, give me the camera."
She stuck her pipe behind her ear and squinted through the viewer.
"Smile!" she ordered.( And smile they did. )