Here's my entry for this year's
hoggywartyxmas fest, written for
squibstress, whose superb stories and gifts over the years have been an endless pleasure to me. Thank you, S! Thanks also to
therealsnape for hosting the season's best party and to all you lovely readers who kindly left comments.
It's a long one! Look for two separate posts. (Note -- You don't need to know a thing about Bridgerton for the story to make sense.)
Title: Bridgerwarts
Author:
kellychamblissRating: PG
Word Count: ~13,500
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, the Hogwarts staff, portrait!Albus, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Griselda Marchbanks, special guest stars
Summary: The war is over, the castle has been repaired, and life at Hogwarts is returning to normal -- until mysterious letters start to arrive from "Lady Wandsdown." Bridgerton meets HP.
Warnings: none
--//--//--
The letter was sitting in the center of Headmistress McGonagall's desk when she came into her office one morning, not long after the start of term.
The plain, square envelope was addressed in what looked like the headmistress's own emerald ink:
Professor Minerva McGonagall, O.M. (First Class)
Antique Mahogany Desk
Office of the Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Shire of Hogsmeade, Scotland
The ordinary daily owl post had not yet arrived, so Minerva looked around for the private owl that must have delivered this note. She'd give it a treat and send it on its way.
But no owl was to be seen. A quick check of the castle's magical logs indicated that no owls had passed through the wards during the night, either.
"Beldy?" she said to the house elf who had just appeared with her early-morning tea. "Did you see who left this letter?"
"No, your headship; Beldy not be a witness to the advent of this epistolary discourse," said the elf, who had recently taken a correspondence course on vocabulary-building.
Minerva had been unable to cure him of addressing her as "your headship," though she did manage to convince him to leave off his adjective of choice. Thus at least she was no longer "your divine headship."
"Albus? Or anyone?" she asked the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses who lined the walls. Most were asleep, but Dumbledore and a few others were watching her. Albus shook his head.
"It just. . .appeared," said Amrose Swott, stroking his long beard. "One moment not there, the next moment -- poof! There it was. Like magic." He chuckled at what he apparently thought was his own wit, while Dilys Derwent rolled her eyes.
The arrival of mail by unknown magic was not unprecedented, but nonetheless, Minerva was mildly worried. Voldemort had been defeated mere months ago, and repairs to the battle-scarred castle had been completed only recently, delaying the opening of school for six weeks. Students and staff alike were still understandably skittish, and even Hogwarts itself remained a bit difficult. In the last few weeks, the Castle had several times stopped the movement of all staircases, leaving people stranded in mid-air.
Clearly the wizarding world was going to take some time to recover from the damage inflicted by Voldemort and his supporters, if indeed it ever would.
Yet far too many people were determined to act as if all the horrors of the last few years were totally behind them.
Minerva knew better. "The Dark Lord" himself might be gone, but the wizards as a group had not all suddenly become totally progressive and enlightened. Voldemort's ideology had not disappeared. Many people still clung to old ideas, although at least those who believed in "blood purity" mostly kept those thoughts to themselves. For now.
Thus the headmistress continued to keep a weather eye out for any unusual occurrences -- constant vigilance, as Alastor would say -- and an unexplained letter definitely counted as one.
She tapped the envelope with her wand to open it and then unfolded the broadsheet inside.
LADY WANDSDOWN'S STAFF PAPERS
(it read, in a swirly, old-fashioned font)
20 October 1998
Extraordinary Magical People, Extraordinary Magical News
It has been said that, "Of all witches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine." If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth. My name is Lady Wandsdown. You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear readers: I certainly know you.
Minerva put the letter down slowly, her cup of tea forgotten. What on earth. . . ? She didn't like the sound of this.
At all.
We find ourselves, the letter continued, at the start of another Hogwarts school term. But this is not just any term, my friends -- Merlin's pockets, no. This is the first term in decades that students and staff will not suffer under the threat of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
Shall there be universal rejoicing? Perhaps. Then again, word has reached my ears that all may not be perfectly harmonious within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. There is unrest, readers -- unrest.
Oh, nothing overt. No, not overt.
But that is the problem, you see. Too much remains unspoken at the school, too many feelings remain unaddressed, too many dreams remain unfulfilled.
Yes, much is now hidden at Hogwarts -- but not for long.
For you see, Lady Wandsdown knows all the secrets. All of them.
And I am about to tell.
Until next time, my dears, I remain,
yours in fealty to magic,
Lady Wandsdown
"Merlin's pockets, indeed," said Minerva sharply, rising to pace the office. Was this some fresh new hell, or just someone's misguided idea of a joke?
"Trouble?" asked Albus's portrait. Virtually all of the portraits were watching with interest now.
"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "But possibly. Listen to this." She read the letter aloud.
"Outrageous," blustered Mordicus Egg, but as this was his response to virtually anything, no one paid him any attention.
Eupraxia Mole and Quentin Trimble were whispering excitedly across their frames; they loved anything do to with intrigue.
"How enthralling!" Eupraxia breathed, and Quentin rubbed his hands. "Oooh, nothing like a good scandal, is there, Eupie?" he said.
Dilys eyed them with disapproval. "Do grow up," she snapped, and then said, more calmly, "It's probably nothing, Minerva. My advice is simply to wait and see what, if anything, happens."
"I agree," said Albus. "Very likely you'll hear nothing more about it."
--//--//--
As Minerva entered the Great Hall for breakfast half an hour later, she was greeted by the sight of every staff member's head bent interestedly over copies of Lady Wandsdown's letter.
"We all received one," Filius Flitwick said, handing Minerva his envelope. It read,
Professor Filius Flitwick
Deputy Headmaster and Head of Ravenclaw House
Third Seat from the Left, High Table
Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle
"They just appeared on our plates as we sat down," he continued.
Minerva sighed. "So much for hearing nothing more about it, Albus," she muttered. "Filius, you'd better call a staff meeting for this afternoon. I have no idea what this is about, but I'm fairly certain we're not going to like it."
When she entered the staff room later that day, she saw that for the first time in her memory, every member of the Hogwarts staff showed up early for a meeting.
"This has Rita Skeeter written all over it," said Madam Hooch, tossing her letter onto the table. "Nasty, scandal-grubbing bitch. She has some nerve, calling herself a journalist. And she was pants on a broom when she was a student here."
"I wish I knew what you really thought of her, Ro," laughed Pomona Sprout. "But I agree, this sounds exactly like something Rita would do."
"Fishing," nodded Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. She'd come in from giving a Magical Creatures lesson in the forest, and her ruddy face looked concerned. "Woman spends more time looking for shit than a dung beetle. Speaking of which, Pommie, I've a bumper crop of them if you need some to aerate your fertiliser."
"The text is a little more literary than I'd expect from Rita Skeeter," said Filius, examining the letter thoughtfully.
"What?" screeched Hooch. "I'm just a flying instructor, so what do I know about literature, but are you suggesting this nonsense is a piece of art or something?"
"No, of course not," replied Filius. "But look at the opening line: it's a quotation from one of the letters of Lord Byron, a Muggle poet. Or rather, it's a mis-quotation. I'm afraid his lordship, like Rolanda here" -- he grinned at Hooch -- "was less polite than our letter writer; he actually said 'bitches,' not 'witches.' Which gives more bite to the word 'canine,' you see."
"Fascinating bit of literary explication, old chap," said Horace Slughorn, who had agreed to stay on as head of Slytherin. He joined them from the tea counter, a cinnamon pastry floating next to his cup. "But I don't quite understand. . ."
"My point," said Filius, "is that this bit of Byronic arcanum would seem to be beyond the knowledge of La Skeeter. I can't see her knowing much about the letters a Muggle poet wrote two centuries ago."
"Frankly, I can't see many wizarding folk at all knowing that sort of thing," said Poppy Pomfrey.
"Yes, be careful, Filius," Wilhelmina said with a chuckle. "Wouldn't want us to think that the writer must be the head of Ravenclaw House."
There was a pause. Minerva watched unhappily as everyone glanced sideways at one another. Wilhelmina had been joking, but "Lady Wandsdown" could indeed be one of them. This was just the kind of suspicion and distrust that Hogwarts did not need.
"Does anyone know anything factual about this letter or about 'Lady Wandsdown'?" she asked, and when they all shook their heads, said, "Then I suggest we follow Dilys Derwent's advice -- we do nothing for now. "
She rose to signal the end of the meeting. "Let's keep this among ourselves and just wait to see if anything further happens."
--//--//--
They had to wait for all of about sixteen hours. At breakfast the next morning, square envelopes adorned every teacher's plate.
"Don't read them now," Minerva hissed. "Wait until we can get to the staff room."
It was probably the fastest staff breakfast on record. In less than five minutes, Rolanda Hooch was hustling out of the Great Hall, and even Horace passed up second helpings to hurry out of his seat. Minerva signaled Filius to stay with the students, but by the time she arrived in the staff room herself, everyone was buried behind their broadsheets, the room silent except for the rustling of parchment.
She sank into an armchair near the fire and unfolded her own copy.
LADY WANDSDOWN'S STAFF PAPERS
21 October 1998
Extraordinary Magical People, Extraordinary Magical News
Never let it be said, dear readers, that Lady Wandsdown would neglect her eager public or let them languish for too long without satisfying their all-too-understandable curiosity.
Secrets I promised you, my friends, and secrets you shall have. Let us bring all that is hidden into the light of day, for Truth dies in darkness.
And so do Dreams. We all of us sustain our inner lives with fantasies, of course, and there is no need for the World to know about most of these private flights of fancy.
But what about our legitimate dreams? Those hopes and plans that could truly give us more fulfilling lives if only we took the courageous step of putting them into practice? When does the moment come at which, for our own happiness, we need to stop hiding and actually DO the thing we have long assured ourselves we will do?
Ah, that is the question, mes amis.
The truth is, we are not always best placed to decide that question for ourselves. We often need the helpful nudge of a well-meaning, sagacious friend.
And that is where Lady Wandsdown shines. In fact, "Lady Sagacity" is one of the names with which I seriously considered crowning myself. Also "Lady Altruista," for I act out of a selfless commitment to the Good of all, you understand.
It has come to your author's attention that one of the fine teachers at Hogwarts cherishes a secret desire to strike out from that august institution and begin an instructional establishment of her own.
Will it compete with Hogwarts? Of course, but on a minor level only, be assured. If a few of the most talented seventh-year students are siphoned off to join a new practicum-based school, why, Hogwarts surely can sustain the loss. In any event, competition is good for the soul.
Thus, take a tip from Lady Wandsdown-Altruista, Madam: Do it. Go now. Start your school.
Fly high, Madam; mount your broom and fly high. Your students will thank you.
Your ever-helpful, all-knowing guardian,
Lady Wandsdown
By the time Minerva concluded her rapid scan of the letter, her colleagues had finished as well.
Slowly, as one, they all turned to look at Rolanda Hooch.
She flushed, her yellow eyes suddenly standing out sharply.
"Is this story about you, Ro?" asked Minerva, keeping her voice neutral, though her stomach had dropped. "Do you want to leave Hogwarts and start a rival school?"
"Not exactly. . .I, uh. . .well, sort of," stammered Hooch. "I mean, no, not a 'rival school' in any way that would threaten Hogwarts. But I did think I would like to establish an elite training school for talented Quidditch players. . .you know, to prepare them for the professional leagues?"
She leant forward eagerly. "There are all sorts of problems with the training camps that the different teams run. It's a disgrace, really; half of the camps are under-funded, and they tend to burn players out rather than nurture them for a healthy long career, so I thought, well, with a school run on sound principles of magical kinesiology, with a lot of game strategy and lessons on how to avoid injury, I could help players and teams alike, you know? I'd start -- "
The others were staring at her with dumbfounded expressions, and she faltered to a halt.
"Yes, well, I don't need to go into detail now, I expect. But that Lady Whatsit has it all wrong. I don't want to 'siphon off seventh-years' or whatever blather she's on about. I was envisioning something for after students finish at Hogwarts, you know, after they have their wizarding qualifications. Though I suppose a really talented player might want to get started on their Quidditch career early. . ."
She trailed off again and looked disgustedly at Lady Wandsdown's parchment. "But it's not some long-cherished dream that I've been too scared to pursue or whatever. I've only started considering it seriously since the war."
"I'm sure you could make quite a success of such a school," said Minerva, resolutely not thinking about how much she would miss having Hooch on the staff. "And no, it doesn't sound as if it would compete with Hogwarts."
"But how did this Lady Wandsdown come to hear about it?" demanded Pomona. "Who else knows about this idea besides you?"
"No one!" said Hooch, then frowned. "Well, I did sound out the main recruiters for the Holyhead Harpies and the Chudley Cannons and a couple of others, just to see if there'd be any interest. I mean, any training school would have to work closely with the pro teams. Oh, and last week, I floo-called with Wilda Griffiths. You remember her, Pomona."
"Probably the best Chaser Hufflepuff ever had," Pomona beamed, ever the proud Head of House.
"Too right she was. She's with Puddlemere United now." Hooch lifted her hands. "And that's it. Nobody else. I mean, this whole plan is just at the earliest stages; it might not even ever happen. So it's not like I've been advertising it all over creation."
"Well, Lady Wandsdown certainly heard of it somewhere," Minerva said. "No doubt the Quidditch Leagues are like any large organization -- things get around quickly."
"Minerva, you don't think. . .do you? Do you think Wilda Griffiths is Lady Wandsdown?" gasped Pomona.
"I think any guesses just now are premature," replied Minerva quickly; she didn't want to add yet more fuel to the gossip fire. "I have no idea who Lady Wandsdown is. Clearly any number of people could have heard about Rolanda's training school, so at this point, she could be almost anyone."
"Well, if the rest of Lady Wandsdown's 'secrets' are no worse than this one, we don't have much to worry about," said Poppy. She rose to head off to the hospital wing, adding, "There's no scandal here; in fact, as a medi-witch, I think your school is a good idea, Hooch. You'll never hear me argue against injury prevention."
"Indeed," said Minerva, standing as well and determined to end on a positive note. "We'll talk later, Ro. If you really want to do this, we can help you."
With murmurs of agreement, the rest of the teachers began to leave the staff room for their first classes of the day. But Minerva could tell from their surreptitious glances in her direction that they weren't all convinced that Lady Wandsdown was no danger, and she couldn't blame them.
She wasn't convinced herself.
--//--//--
But when a month passed with no further missives from her ladyship, Minerva began cautiously to relax.
"It's beginning to look as if it were a joke after all," she said to Albus's portrait. "A risky one, but a joke nonetheless."
"Or a ploy on the part of the Quidditch Leagues to urge Madam Hooch forward with her training school," suggested Albus.
"Oh, no doubt," said Minerva wryly. "Yes, I'm certain they'd go to all that trouble instead of simply. . .oh, I don't know. . .offering her a subsidy or something actually businesslike."
Albus chuckled. "Well, it would have been original of them, at any rate."
"Ridiculous as it would have been, I'd be relieved if it were the Quidditch Leagues," Minerva said. "At least that would be one mystery solved."
"There are more?" asked Albus, interested.
"Well, the unusual number of homesick first-years isn't exactly a mystery, but it's a difficulty we don't need. And Filius and Septima are still trying to fix that spot in the Charms corridor that keeps suddenly undulating and causing everyone to fall down. Septima thinks she's almost figured out the arithmancy algorithm to -- "
"Perhaps, as I believe I suggested several times," interrupted the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black snidely, "you were premature in starting classes before the Castle and the students alike were fully healed." He brushed invisible lint off the Slytherin insignia on his headmaster's robes and cocked an insolent eyebrow at Minerva.
"I'm not having this argument again, Professor Black," she said. "You know my reasons for opening, and in any case, the point is now moot."
She rose, having had enough of portraits. "I'll be at dinner."
"Eat something nourishing," Albus called after her. "And try not to worry. I'm sure you've heard the last of Lady Wandsdown."
--//--//--
New square envelopes with emerald-inked addresses appeared on all the staff's plates at breakfast the very next morning. This time, everyone reacted like the veterans they were fast becoming, tucking the letters into their robes to be perused in the staff room as soon as they'd eaten.
Or at least, most of them finished eating first. But not being burdened with a House table to look after, Irma Pince the librarian simply swept a pile of toast into a napkin and carried it with her out of the Great Hall, her envelope clutched in her other hand. Aurora Sinistra and Septima Vector exchanged glances and promptly did the same.
When Minerva finally got to the staff room, people had paired off and were whispering excitedly as they darted frequent glances at their fellow teachers.
"Minerva, this -- " Wilhelmina began, holding her letter aloft. Then she waved a resigned hand. "Better just read it."
Taking a deep breath, Minerva tapped her envelope and stared at the now-familiar opening lines.
LADY WANDSDOWN'S STAFF PAPERS
21 November 1998
Extraordinary Magical People, Extraordinary Magical News
Ah, dear readers, it was not Lady Wandsdown's plan to deprive you for so long of her wise counsel. . .and perhaps more to the point, of her pertinent revelations. But alas, an active Lady has many claims upon her time; she cannot always feed your insatiable curiosity as quickly as she might wish.
But your wait is over, my pets. If you have felt starved for my secrets, well, please now prepare yourselves for a feast. Yea, a veritable feast.
Shall we start by nourishing our hearts? Your author has always believed that of all the life-giving organs vouchsafed to sentient beings, the heart, not the stomach, is the one most in need of constant sustenance. Love and lust, roués and romance: our amorous relationships give spice and point to our existence.
And if we do not have such things ourselves, we can still make a meal off the stories of our friends. For do not the poets say that gossip is the food of love?
So let us, if I may use a vulgarism, "stuff ourselves" with details of our Hogwarts staff and their many loves. We must bring these stories into the open, dear readers, for keeping our desires quiet is the surest road to dyspepsia -- both of stomach and of soul.
Love, as I am sure every one of my readers knows first-hand, can be a source of pain as well as pleasure. No, no, my dears, I speak not of kink, although I certainly could. The things these walls have seen. . .
Well. That is a letter for another time, perhaps. Today, I wish to speak of the pain that comes from love unrequited -- pangs of desire stifled and unspoken. It is with sorrow that I tell of two of your respected colleagues who suffer from this dread disorder. Yes, even as I write, they are thinking of each other and wishing, wishing. . .
At night in their beds, they think of each other still, letting their imaginations turn hot and their fingers turn. . .busy. These activities, however, are but a pale substitute for what they really want -- what everyone wants: companionship, support, understanding, commitment.
And good sex, of course.
Why do your two friends not make their feelings known to one another? Oh, they have many reasons, many justifications. You can imagine them; you have probably offered similar ones yourselves at some point or other. They dread rejection and ridicule. They tell themselves that it is unwise to love a colleague, for what if things go sour later? They worry that they are too plump or too short, too boring or too set in their ways. They even foolishly believe they are too old for love (as if such a silly thing were possible).
In short, they are afraid.
As, in fact, is your kind author. . .she is afraid that these two people, so often brave in so many ways, will never find the courage to make their feelings known.
So it seems that I must ride to their rescue. Hence this helpful little epistle. The secret has been brought into the open. The clues are clear.
Put your well-honed gossiping skills to good use, my teachers. Help Lady Wandsdown help your friends by figuring out of whom she speaks. Bring them together. Show them how much their happiness would add to your own.
In doing so, you will also add to the happiness of
Your ever-faithful
Lady Wandsdown
(Postscriptum -- and keeping her ladyship happy is a consequence always to be wished for!)
Minerva kept her head lowered for a moment after she finished reading, so that she could school her features into blankness. She didn't want anything in her expression to add to the avid curiosity that practically crackled in the room.
Finally she looked up. "I'd say that Lady Wandsdown has moved into fiction writing," she said with what she hoped was sufficient lightness.
This attempt at distraction succeeded about as well as she'd thought it would, which was to say, not at all. Her staff ignored the comment.
"Well? Who do you think the couple is?" Irma demanded.
"At least this time I know it's not me," said Hooch. "No one would ever call me 'short' or 'plump.'" She flicked a glance at Slughorn. "But Horace, on the other hand. . ."
"Is of standard manly height," Horace declared, choosing to ignore his eighteen stone.
"Stop it," said Minerva sharply. "We will not lower ourselves to divisive speculation about our colleagues' private lives. It's hard enough to maintain privacy in a boarding school without thinking our friends are encouraging idle rumours about us. Now I suggest we --"
But Pomona, red-faced, was on her feet. "I. . .I. . .oh, dear Merlin!" She burst into tears and was out the door before anyone else could speak.
"I'll go to her," cried Filius, scrambling out of the tiny armchair he'd had specially made for his diminutive form, and sprinting for the corridor. The door banged behind him.
A rather stunned silence followed this drama.
"It's them!" said Irma suddenly. "I mean, they. I mean -- Filius and Pomona. They're the couple from the letter!"
"'Too plump,' 'too short'! Of course!" Hooch cried. "Irma, you're right. It has to be."
"And neither of them is exactly young, are they?" chimed in Septima Vector. "Poor Filius, he's been so lonely since his wife died, and Pomona would just be the perfect -- "
"Enough!" shouted Minerva, jumping to her feet and cursing inwardly because it was Saturday, and she couldn’t order them all to head to their classes. "Enough! This is no one's business but their own."
"So you think it's Filius and Pomona, too, then?" asked Hooch, unfazed by Minerva's outburst.
"Dunno if it is or isn't," said Hagrid. At Minerva's request, he'd begun to attend staff meetings as the school's grounds expert. Yet he had somehow managed to make his giant self fade into the background until now. "But I think mebbe the headmistress is right, an' we should just let 'em alone."
"Well, I'm hardly going to take out a full-page ad about them in the Daily Prophet," said Hooch a bit grumpily. "But it's still interesting -- "
"Minerva." Poppy Pomfrey's quiet voice cut across the chatter. She was tapping Lady Wandsdown's parchment against her hand. "We need to find out who's writing these. I don't think any real harm has been done yet, but we have enough on our plates just now without adding the stress of anonymous letters by someone who seems far too well-informed. Do you have any ideas at all?"
Minerva dropped wearily back into her seat. "No, not really. After last time, I asked Albus to make some discreet inquiries via his contacts among the Ministry portraits. He's learnt that we can probably rule out Rita Skeeter -- she's apparently gone abroad to take a rest cure -- but other than that. . ."
"There must be some clues in the letters themselves," Horace offered, and everyone began to study theirs anew.
"For what it's worth," said Orrin Podmore, this year's new (and, Minerva fervently hoped, finally permanent) Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, "I'm not finding any traces of dark magic in these things."
Poppy had been chewing her lip thoughtfully and now nodded as if coming to a conclusion.
"I've been thinking about Lady Wandsdown's writing style," she said. "So old-fashioned and over-the-top. Now, Merlin knows I don't want to cast unwarranted suspicions, but I'm wondering about your house-elf, Minerva."
"Beldy?" said Minerva, startled.
"Yes, Beldy. Didn't you say he took a correspondence course to build his vocabulary? That's what these letters remind me of -- they're rather like a thesaurus run amok."
"Hmm. Makes a bit of sense, "said Wilhelmina, who was leaning on the study table, one sturdy, booted leg resting on a nearby chair. "Elves go in and out of rooms all the time, humans don't notice. Perfect opportunity to see people being -- what did the Wandsdown woman say?" She squinted at her letter. "Right, people being 'busy' when they think they're alone. If you follow me."
Minerva shook her head. "I truly can't imagine such a thing. But there's only one way to find out. Beldy!" she called, and the elf appeared with a crack.
"Your headship needs Beldy?" He gazed at her expectantly and then realised that the entire room full of people was staring at him. He began to look uneasy.
"Nothing to worry about, Beldy," said Minerva, glaring briefly at her colleagues to get them to back off. "But I need to ask you again about this" -- she held up her square envelope -- "and I know you will tell me the truth."
"Beldy always tells the truth," said the elf, looking more uneasy still. "House elves cannot lie."
"Indeed. So tell me -- did you write these letters, Beldy?"
The elf staggered backwards as if from a physical blow. "Beldy?" he squeaked in shock. "Beldy write secret letters? Never, your divine headship. Beldy never!"
"It's all right; I believe you," Minerva assured him. "I didn't think you had written them, but I had to ask."
"Beldy never," insisted the elf again. "Why does the headship think he would do such a thing?"
"Because of the excellent vocabulary. These letters use a lot of fine and important words, and use them well, just like you do."
As she had hoped, this praise mollified Beldy. He quieted down and straightened his spine. "Beldy knows innumerable words, yes," he said. "In addition to the correspondence course, he peruses many tomes."
Then he covered his mouth with his hands and shot a frightened look at Irma Pince.
"He's borrowed a few titles from the library," said Irma half-defiantly. "He's very careful with them."
"That's wonderful, Beldy," Minerva said. "I'm glad you enjoy reading books. Thank you for your help today; you may go now."
A crack, and the elf was gone.
"I'm glad it isn't him," Poppy said.
Hooch weighed in again. "You're right about the language, though, Pops. Could be someone bookish." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Irma. "It must get boring up there in the library, Irma, just you and the books, what?"
"Believe me, if I were going to write anonymous letters, I wouldn't be bothering with something as clichéd as unrequited love," sniffed Irma. "It's like a bad romance novel."
"But if it's not an elf, who else could have known about Pomona and Filius and, you know, the 'busy fingers'?" Aurora wondered.
"If Pomona does have feelings for Filius, I'm sure Anthea would know," Poppy said. "Pomona's sister," she added for Orrin's benefit. "They floo-call every week and meet in Hogsmeade when they can. As for the ridiculous 'busy fingers,' I doubt that Lady Wandsdown has any actual knowledge. She's just being provocative."
"Well, I can't see Anthea Sprout sending us all anonymous letters," said Minerva, getting to her feet. Her head was pounding, and she needed the quiet of her own sitting room. "The truth is, we have no credible leads on who Lady Wandsdown is."
She eyed them all sternly. "I trust I can rely on everyone not to spread unfounded gossip or -- " and here she looked pointedly at Hooch -- "plague Pomona and Filius."
"O' course you can, Headmistress," said Hagrid stoutly, and Wilhelmina patted Minerva's arm.
"Oh, we'll be good, Min, promise," said Hooch and grinned. "Until next time."
--//--//--
For the next few weeks, Minerva approached breakfast each morning with trepidation, but they made it into December without any square envelopes appearing among the sausages and eggs.
The afternoon of 10 December found Minerva meeting in her office with her four Heads of Houses to discuss the Ministry's Yuletide Ball, which was to be held in Hogwarts' Great Hall this year. She watched as everyone tucked into the tea and biscuits she'd provided; it was the least she could do after saddling them with another meeting.
Horace was leaning back expansively in his chair at the foot of the table, a cup of honeyed tea in his hand. Pomona and Filius sat across from each other, being scrupulously polite and impersonal, as they had been ever since Lady Wandsdown's letter about them. Wilhelmina, who had only reluctantly agreed to serve as interim Head of Gryffindor, was looking as if she wished she could be outdoors with her magical creatures. She hated administration, despite being good at it.
"I think that covers everything," Minerva said at last, drawing a line through the final item on her agenda.
"Good," said Pomona. She rubbed her temples tiredly. "I understand why Kingsley wants the ball to be in the castle -- a tangible symbol of rebuilding and renewal and all that. But Merlin, it's stress and work we don't need right now."
"Well, at least the Ministry is handling most of the planning and logistics," Horace reminded her.
"Key word there is 'most,'" observed Wilhelmina. "Still plenty for us to do."
"There certainly is," Minerva agreed, "and you know how much I appreciate all the staff pitching in." She took up the to-do lists that her automatic quill had finished copying and handed one to each professor. "I'll consider it a win if we can just get through the whole business without any further nonsense from Lady Wandsdown."
"Almost three weeks now with no sign of her," said Filius. "I'm hopeful that we've heard the last."
The staff all rose and headed for the revolving stone staircase, Horace nicking another few biscuits as he left. Minerva shut the door behind them gratefully and went to her desk.
"Excellent delegating skills, my dear," said Albus's portrait.
She looked at him with no little irony. "Indeed. I learnt from a master. But unlike you in your headmaster's days, Albus, I've kept a few tasks for myself."
"Well, you're so good at them," said Albus unrepentantly and then rather hastily changed the subject. "I have to agree with Filius, though -- I truly do believe we are finished with Lady Wandsdown."
No sooner had the words left his painted mouth than a square envelope suddenly appeared on Minerva's desk.
They stared at it.
"You were saying, Albus?" Minerva queried dryly.
"Oh, dear. At any rate, at least this time you don’t have to read it in front of the entire staff. That's a plus, surely?"
Minerva pursed her lips and reached for the envelope as gingerly as if it had been a Howler.
"Best get it over with," she said.
LADY WANDSDOWN'S STAFF PAPERS
10 December 1998
Extraordinary Magical People, Extraordinary Magical News
The spirit of Yuletide is abroad, my darling readers -- Lady Wandsdown's favourite time of the year, for she does so love to play Mother Christmas. That's correct, my dears: I come bearing another gift for you, yet another secret to bring into the healthy, shining light of love and fellowship and good cheer with which the Yuletide surrounds us.
This time, it is not unrequited love of which I will speak, but of a full, ripe love that has lasted many years now. Two of Hogwarts' most esteemed professors have found in each other a soul-mate, tried and true.
Ah, you are saying to yourselves, a happy story of consummation at last! Thank you, Lady Wandsdown!
But no. Here is the sorrow of this relationship, mes chers: these two lovers, despite having so long ensnared each other's senses, have to live publicly as though they are nearly strangers. They cannot exhibit their deep love freely and openly. . .for they are two women.
Two women who are very well known to you: our beloved headmistress and
"My god," said Minerva, letting the letter fall from her fingers.
Albus looked at her with concern. "Beldy!" he called. "A brandy for the headmistress, please."
"I'm fine, Albus," Minerva said rather irritably, but she took a large swallow of the brandy when it arrived. "Listen to this."
She took up the parchment again and read aloud: "They cannot exhibit their deep love freely and openly. . .for they are two women. Two women who are very well known to you: our beloved headmistress and her beloved, the stalwart and sturdy Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. They seem so confident and in control, our leader and her paramour, yet their brave faces conceal endless heart-break."
She rose and began to pace angrily about the office.
"I'm so sorry, my dear," said Albus. "We shouldn't be surprised, really; I suppose it was only a matter of time until our letter-writer turned her attention to the headmistress's love life."
"And yet it doesn't make sense, Albus!" Minerva stopped in front of his portrait, rapping the offending parchment sharply against his frame. "You're right that we could expect me to be a target sooner or later, but why this particular so-called 'secret'? Most of the staff already know about Willa and me. Oh, I suppose it's vaguely possible that Orrin Podmore hasn't yet heard, but staff gossip being what it is, I've no doubt he's as in-the-know as everyone else by now."
"Good point." Albus frowned. "Minerva, are we certain that the Hogwarts staff are the only people on Lady Wandsdown's mailing list?"
As if on cue, the fireplace flared green and an official-sounding voice said, "The Minister of Magic requests a meeting with the Head of Hogwarts. If the present time is not convenient, an appointment can be sched -- "
"Send the minister through," Minerva broke in, giving Albus a resigned glance.
Seconds later, Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the fireplace, brushing bits of ash off his blue-and-silver robes and shaking his handsome dark head. "One of these days I'll update that ridiculous bureaucratic announcement," he said, laughing. "Minerva, how are you?"
She was in no mood for pleasantries. "Just fine, Minister," she said shortly, motioning him to a seat. "What can I do for you?"
"Well. . ." The look of wary indecision on his face was unusual for Kingsley, and Minerva wasn't surprised to see him remove Lady Wandsdown's recent letter from his pocket.
"Good god, Kingsley," she groaned. "Please don't tell me that the entire Wizengamot has received one."
"No," he replied. "As far as I know, besides me, only two others did: Griselda Marchbanks -- you know she's taken Dumbledore's old position as Chief Warlock. . .well, Chief Witch now, and Arthur Weasley as the new head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors."
"All three of them solidly in your corner, Minerva," called Albus cheerfully.
"Oh, definitely," said Kingsley. "And we're all three also solidly confused. Who on earth is Lady Wandsdown?"
Minerva briefly explained the story, ending with, "The letter you received is the fourth one. And we're still no closer to identifying the writer."
"I see," Kingsley frowned. He held up the parchment. "So. I have to ask. Is this Lady Whoever. . .correct?"
"About my relationship with Wilhelmina Grubby-Plank? Yes. The rest of it is all rot."
"Not all rot, surely," said Kingsley. He searched for a passage and read aloud, "'I tell this sad yet lovely tale of the headmistress's love, not to embarrass her, but to free her -- and to free the wizarding world at large. We have been backward long enough; it is high time that we embrace and celebrate our many sexual differences instead of hiding them."' I wouldn't call that 'rot,' would you?"
Minerva barely refrained from rolling her eyes. "It sounds fine in theory, but that's not the world we live in, as Lady Wandsdown probably well knows. I'm certain her true goal is to discredit me, and she may well succeed."
"I don't think she will," said Kingsley.
"Come now, Minister. Are you seriously suggesting that Voldemort's defeat has changed things so much that you'll hear no objections to a lesbian headmistress of Hogwarts?"
"Oh, there will be some outcry, no doubt," Kingsley agreed. "But attitudes are changing, and as Albus says, the senior ministry officials are all your strong supporters. Your job will not be in jeopardy."
"You say so now, but what happens when parents start to remove their children and half the Board of Governors agrees with them?"
"We'll deal with it. There may be a bit of a battle, it's true, but -- " and he flashed her his warm smile -- "we've faced worse. I seem to remember duelling side-by-side with you against a certain dark lord. Anyway, it's about time our world moved into the modern age, and who better to model . . .what is the term? Oh, yes . . . 'alternative sexualities' for young people than the head of Hogwarts? Someone in a position of power and respectability. Think of the role model you'll be."
"Oh, do be serious."
"I am being serious," he said. "You could do a lot of good along those lines, Minerva. It's worth thinking over."
He smiled again and got to his feet. "But for now, we'll just wait and see what happens, if anything. We may hear nothing further. I know Griselda and Arthur and I won't say a word if you don't want us to. Who else knows?"
"The Hogwarts staff. But we all use a privacy charm; Filius devised it. People can share gossip freely with other staffers -- and trust me, they do. But not with outsiders."
"Excellent." Kingsley took a handful of floo powder from the jar on the mantel. "Well, we're probably safe. Even if word gets out, I don't think you'll face as much opposition as you fear."
"Perhaps," said Minerva.
He turned to face her, his eyes earnest. "But if we do, remember, the Ministry stands with you. You and I are fighters, Minerva. If there's a fight to be had, we'll fight."
With one more smile, he tossed his floo powder and was gone, sparing Minerva the need to reply.
Which was good, because she didn't think he'd have liked her response. She might have explained that fighting Voldemort had been different -- he'd been a general existential menace, a danger to everyone equally. Defeating him had been a duty they'd all shared.
But this new threat was individual, personal in a targeted and intimate way that the "dark lord" had not been. Now, her only duty was to herself and Willa.
And this fight might not be one she'd care to subject them to.