FIC: "Calm Before the Storm" for escribo
Recipient: escribo
Author/Artist: ???
Title: Calm Before The Storm
Rating: PG
Pairings: Minerva McGonagall/Madam Rosmerta
Word Count: 2700
Warnings/Content Information: None
Summary: It's 1970, and there are signs that all is not well in the Wizarding World. Rumours surround several mysterious disappearances, and even at Hogwarts a growing sense of unease can be detected. All the more reason, as far as Minerva McGonagall is concerned, why the fate of the annual Staff Summer Picnic should not be left in the hands of Albus Dumbledore.
Author's/Artist's Notes: Thank you to J. for all his help and S. for what must have been the most annoying beta ever.
Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm,
I know
It's been comin' for some time.
Have You Ever Seen the Rain
by Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1970
There were a few facts known only to those who were fortunate enough to be employed to teach at Hogwarts. Some of them, such as access to the private staff bathrooms, were student-free perks any professor would guard with at least limb, if not life. Others were, in Minerva's opinion at least, woefully undervalued. She could wash in a tin bath in front of her hearth if necessary, but knowing that the headmaster could generally be found having a snooze in his office at around three in the afternoon (two thirty on chocolate pudding days) was vital to the smooth running of the Transfiguration department, Minerva's life in general, and arguably the whole school.
“Albus!” she snapped out, letting the door slam shut behind her. “I need to speak with you.”
Albus jerked upright with a loud snort. “A quarter of Slugs and a Tickling Pixie, please,” he announced to nobody in particular.
“I beg your pardon, Headmaster?” Minerva said, even though she had heard him quite plainly.
“Ah, Minerva!” Albus blinked his eyes and then beamed at her without the slightest trace of embarrassment. “Come in, come in. I was just resting my eyes for a moment.”
Minerva hid her smirk by adjusting her spectacles. “There are just a few final matters that need attending to, Headmaster. Sowerby and Kettle need letters sending home after them about the summer tutoring arrangements, the Malfoys are demanding the return of half a dozen or so confiscated books, and Hammond left that blasted owl of his behind again. It's refusing to follow him.”
“Who can blame it?” Albus said, straightening his hat. “We do have a very nice owlery.”
“Nevertheless,” Minerva said firmly, and held Albus's gaze until he nodded. She had her doubts those matters would be attended to immediately, but they could at least wait a few days without creating a disaster of massive proportions. The same could not be said for the final item on her list.
“And finally, where are you up to with the arrangements for the staff summer picnic?” she asked, putting on her sternest expression.
“Oh, ah,” Albus said, patting his hands here and there on his desk as if arrangements would miraculously appear underneath them. When a miracle failed to happen on cue, he sighed and looked up at her. “Arrangements, you say?”
“It's the day after tomorrow, Albus.” Minerva tapped her foot impatiently.
“Do we need to make any arrangements?” Albus asked. “Some provisions from the Three Broomsticks as usual, and--” He stopped, and when he leaned back in his chair he seemed almost to have aged ten years.
Minerva pulled up a chair and sat down. “I'm sorry,” she said, sincerely if not as gently as she hoped it would come out. “I know you were close to Ed and Florrie. Have you found out anything that might account for these disappearances?”
“Not a great deal, I'm afraid,” Albus admitted. “And what I have found out...” He pursed his lips then, and clapped his hands together firmly. “No, it can wait until after the picnic. Now, I've heard good things about the new landlady of the Three Broomsticks, so I don't see why we need to change our arrangements.”
“But--” Minerva started, ready with several objections. It was very little notice, and from what she'd heard the new 'landlady', Rosemary or some such foolish name, was a mere slip of a girl. She was almost certainly inexperienced and inefficient, and many other things that promised to make Minerva's day out a trying occasion.
It seemed Albus had anticipated all of her objections.
“I will leave it up to you, Minerva,” he said benignly. “If you don't think she's up to the job, then I will have the house-elves--”
“Not for the picnic, you won't.” Minerva would prepare the food herself before that happened, and with a dozen or so appetites like Albus's that was something she wouldn't be volunteering her services for any time soon. “It's tradition, Albus, even if nobody remembers how it came about.”
“Then we'll raid a few tea shops on the day,” Albus said, waving an airy hand. “But give the girl a chance, Minerva. She might surprise you.”
“Yes, yes,” Minerva sniffed, heading for the door. “Albus Dumbledore gives her his seal of approval, so I'm sure we'll be great friends in no time.”
“Oh no, I don't think so,” Albus chuckled. “I shouldn't think she's your type at all, Minerva.”
She gave him a sharp look, but he twinkled innocently at her. Innocent, Albus? That would be the day. He was up to something, she'd stake her last sickle on it.
Still, he had listened. He was coming along nicely. And if she remembered her Care of Magical Creatures lessons correctly, successful performance of desired behaviour should be rewarded.
“I'll bring you some Jelly Slugs back if I have time,” she said grudgingly, leaving him to settle down comfortably in his chair again.
She wasn't even going to ask about the pixie.
* * *
It was a pleasant walk into Hogsmeade, and if it hadn't been for the near certainty of an awkward and fruitless interview with this Rosemary girl at the end of it Minerva would have been tempted to linger, perhaps even roll up her sleeves and enjoy the sun for a little while.
“The students may have gone, Minerva,” she told herself firmly, stepping onto the cobbled village street. “But you're not on holiday yet.”
Most of Hogsmeade seemed to have started theirs, however. Madam Puddifoot waved at her from under a frilly pink sunshade as she gossiped with a couple of smartly dressed witches. They were obviously waiting for the Gladrags proprietor to come back from lunch. Minerva had noticed before, with considerable disapproval, that lunchtime seemed to be a remarkably vague concept at best in the world of high fashion, and could occur at any time from ten in the morning to seven at night. Today, it seemed, was one of those occasions when lunch was to be taken at twelve sharp, rare enough to catch regular customers completely unawares.
The newest addition to the village, Zonko's, had a sign up warning people to 'KEEP CLEAR!' because 'TESTING!' was 'IN PROGRESS!', which Minerva highly doubted meant anything good for the rest of the village, or for her peace of mind in the autumn term when it arrived. The rumour was that it was going to be a joke shop, of all things. Out of caution, Minerva called in at the sweet shop for Albus's slugs immediately, instead of on her return journey. It seemed unlikely that purveyors of stink bombs and nose-biting teacups could destroy a village that had survived the regular invasion of adolescent witches and wizards for generations in the course of an afternoon's 'testing', but one could never be completely sure where playing with magic was concerned.
Jelly slugs obtained, Minerva couldn't put off her unwelcome task any longer.
The Three Broomsticks Inn surprised her when she stopped in front of it. It wasn't that it looked different, because really, it looked the same as it always had, other than the name etched into the bottom of the inn sign. Rosmerta, not Rosemary. She remembered it now. The window boxes boasted their usual array of Fireball Snapdragons and Quickbloom Geraniums, and the gaily coloured panels and boards outside still offered the same menu and prices. But it all looked cleaner, somehow. No, that wasn't it... it looked newer.
Still, a fresh coat of paint and a well-swept - very well-swept - front courtyard wasn't enough to convince Minerva that the Inn was in good hands. Or anyone else, apparently. It was midday and the place was deserted, the tables outside entirely unoccupied, which Minerva couldn't remember ever happening before, not on a fine summer day.
The inside, when her eyes adjusted to the gloom, was just as devoid of customers. Not so much as a table mat was out of place, not a glass any less than gleaming on the racks, and not a bottle on the wall anything but full - except for the Cranberry Cider, Minerva noticed.
That was probably why the first thing that caught her attention about the woman behind the bar was her lips. Cranberry pink, Minerva thought, as she glimpsed a tall goblet being hastily shoved under the counter of the bar. Cranberry pink lips that curved in welcome.
“I'm sorry?” Minerva said, as it occurred to her that the woman - Rosmerta, she assumed - was waiting for her to speak. Really, she must have caught a touch of the sun on the walk down.
“I said, 'Good afternoon, what can I get for you?'” There was a different smile on Rosmerta's face now, though it was no less welcoming. Minerva wasn't quite sure what it meant, but without her permission, she found her fingers adjusting her sleeves and patting down her robes.
She hadn't planned on having a drink while she was here, but there was no reason why she couldn't. She could do as she liked. There were no students to lead astray, no essays to mark or detentions to despair over.
“I'll have a small gillywater,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded too prim and proper after Rosmerta's easy greeting, so she followed it up with a small smile. “Perhaps with a dash of sherry?”
“A dash of sherry it is,” Rosmerta said, her long curly hair swinging as she turned for the bottle. “Though I must say, Professor McGonagall, I hoped you were here about the picnic arrangements.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Minerva raised her eyebrows, though she made a mental note to repay Albus for whatever foolish plan he had in progress. She'd known there was something going on. Had he already planned the whole thing with this Rosmerta woman for some ridiculous reason of his own? “I suppose the Headmaster told you I'd be calling.”
“I haven't seen Albus since my Great Aunt Bertha's funeral.” Rosmerta placed Minerva's drink neatly on a bar mat with an ill-advised flapping harpy motif. “But I do know how to read the accounts for a business I'm trying to run.”
“And how is business?” Minerva asked her. If her glance around the bar lingered on the empty tables, that was purely coincidental, and not designed to score a conversational point that she badly needed. She would never stoop to such pettiness.
Rosmerta's easy smile wavered for the first time, and she reached for another glass. “I might join you in a gillywater, if you don't mind,” she said. She wasn't backing down; Minerva found herself pleasantly surprised.
“I've no objection if you do.” Minerva took a sip of her drink. It was very bracing with a drop of sherry, just the thing for a summer afternoon. “But wouldn't you rather finish your cider?” she asked, with a sly smile.
Rosmerta's laugh was shockingly loud in the still room, but it seemed to fill up some of the empty space around them.
“Let's start again, shall we?” Rosmerta suggested, topping up both of their drinks and lifting up her goblet. “Hello, I'm Rosmerta, and this is already the longest conversation I've had since I moved here.”
“Welcome to village life,” Minerva snorted, and raised her glass in return.
* * *
Minerva didn't normally enjoy the beach portion of the picnic day out. Grit in sandwiches was a nuisance that no charm or incantation she'd ever learned could deal with, and the weather even when they ventured to the south coast was unpredictable at best.
She had to admit, however, that today she was having a good time.
“It was you, wasn't it?” she said, rescuing her boots from where they lay half buried in drifted sand. “You arranged for Rosmerta to take over the inn.”
“I suggested it might be a new start for her,” Albus said lightly. “She has no close family left, and her aunt was a dear friend of mine.”
Minerva bit her tongue rather than remark that sometimes it seemed as if everyone was a dear friend to Albus. It often surprised her how many people he knew well, why even most of the disappearances-- She glanced at him sharply, but he gave no indication that he was doing anything other than enjoying the weather and the day in general.
She was probably imagining it. Nobody had found any connection between the missing people so far, not even Albus as far as she knew, and Rosmerta's aunt had died, not disappeared.
No, it was nonsense. Minerva shook off the thought along with the sand from her beach towel, and joined Albus. At the edge of the shore, Professor Crooke and Rosmerta were still laughing and chasing after the toy plastic snitch Albus had insisted on bringing.
“I'm not sure how you did it,” Albus said, wriggling his toes happily at a nearby seagull. “But I'm glad you persuaded her to come along.”
Minerva couldn't help being pleased that every time Rosmerta caught the snitch and threw her hands up in victory, she looked over in her direction. Antinus Crooke was a very handsome man, after all. She wouldn't blame Rosmerta if she wanted to direct her attention towards him, although there were one or two other members of staff who might, she thought, looking at the disgruntled huddle of her colleagues queueing for ice cream.
“I promised her that if she closed up today, then everyone would show up tomorrow to find out why,” Minerva told him. “And if she hints at mysterious goings-on, she'll be hiring extra staff by the end of the week.”
Albus chuckled. “Have I mentioned how grateful I am that you're on my side, Minerva?”
A breeze tickled the back of Minerva's neck, and for a moment she felt a chill run through her whole body. From the sigh he gave, she rather thought Albus had experienced the same sensation.
“There are sides then, are there?” she said. It wasn't a surprise, not really. She'd known something was coming.
“Don't let it spoil the day,” Albus advised her. Down the beach, Rosmerta and Antinus's game seemed to have drawn to a close, Antinus conceding with a showy bow and a kiss to her hand.
“Oh, you needn't worry about that.” Minerva watched Rosmerta stride across the sand towards her, and with a sudden determination not to waste time she may not have, she tucked up her legs to make room on her towel for one more. From her picnic basket she pulled out two bottles of Cranberry Cider to set beside the tempting array of food.
Albus had that twinkle in his eye again, but she wasn't going to ask. Minerva saw Rosmerta take in the bottles, and the empty half of the towel, and there was that smile again. Minerva thought she knew what it meant this time.
“I don't intend to let anything spoil this,” she said, and reached up for Rosmerta's hand.
Click here to leave a comment
Author/Artist: ???
Title: Calm Before The Storm
Rating: PG
Pairings: Minerva McGonagall/Madam Rosmerta
Word Count: 2700
Warnings/Content Information: None
Summary: It's 1970, and there are signs that all is not well in the Wizarding World. Rumours surround several mysterious disappearances, and even at Hogwarts a growing sense of unease can be detected. All the more reason, as far as Minerva McGonagall is concerned, why the fate of the annual Staff Summer Picnic should not be left in the hands of Albus Dumbledore.
Author's/Artist's Notes: Thank you to J. for all his help and S. for what must have been the most annoying beta ever.
Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm,
I know
It's been comin' for some time.
Have You Ever Seen the Rain
by Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1970
There were a few facts known only to those who were fortunate enough to be employed to teach at Hogwarts. Some of them, such as access to the private staff bathrooms, were student-free perks any professor would guard with at least limb, if not life. Others were, in Minerva's opinion at least, woefully undervalued. She could wash in a tin bath in front of her hearth if necessary, but knowing that the headmaster could generally be found having a snooze in his office at around three in the afternoon (two thirty on chocolate pudding days) was vital to the smooth running of the Transfiguration department, Minerva's life in general, and arguably the whole school.
“Albus!” she snapped out, letting the door slam shut behind her. “I need to speak with you.”
Albus jerked upright with a loud snort. “A quarter of Slugs and a Tickling Pixie, please,” he announced to nobody in particular.
“I beg your pardon, Headmaster?” Minerva said, even though she had heard him quite plainly.
“Ah, Minerva!” Albus blinked his eyes and then beamed at her without the slightest trace of embarrassment. “Come in, come in. I was just resting my eyes for a moment.”
Minerva hid her smirk by adjusting her spectacles. “There are just a few final matters that need attending to, Headmaster. Sowerby and Kettle need letters sending home after them about the summer tutoring arrangements, the Malfoys are demanding the return of half a dozen or so confiscated books, and Hammond left that blasted owl of his behind again. It's refusing to follow him.”
“Who can blame it?” Albus said, straightening his hat. “We do have a very nice owlery.”
“Nevertheless,” Minerva said firmly, and held Albus's gaze until he nodded. She had her doubts those matters would be attended to immediately, but they could at least wait a few days without creating a disaster of massive proportions. The same could not be said for the final item on her list.
“And finally, where are you up to with the arrangements for the staff summer picnic?” she asked, putting on her sternest expression.
“Oh, ah,” Albus said, patting his hands here and there on his desk as if arrangements would miraculously appear underneath them. When a miracle failed to happen on cue, he sighed and looked up at her. “Arrangements, you say?”
“It's the day after tomorrow, Albus.” Minerva tapped her foot impatiently.
“Do we need to make any arrangements?” Albus asked. “Some provisions from the Three Broomsticks as usual, and--” He stopped, and when he leaned back in his chair he seemed almost to have aged ten years.
Minerva pulled up a chair and sat down. “I'm sorry,” she said, sincerely if not as gently as she hoped it would come out. “I know you were close to Ed and Florrie. Have you found out anything that might account for these disappearances?”
“Not a great deal, I'm afraid,” Albus admitted. “And what I have found out...” He pursed his lips then, and clapped his hands together firmly. “No, it can wait until after the picnic. Now, I've heard good things about the new landlady of the Three Broomsticks, so I don't see why we need to change our arrangements.”
“But--” Minerva started, ready with several objections. It was very little notice, and from what she'd heard the new 'landlady', Rosemary or some such foolish name, was a mere slip of a girl. She was almost certainly inexperienced and inefficient, and many other things that promised to make Minerva's day out a trying occasion.
It seemed Albus had anticipated all of her objections.
“I will leave it up to you, Minerva,” he said benignly. “If you don't think she's up to the job, then I will have the house-elves--”
“Not for the picnic, you won't.” Minerva would prepare the food herself before that happened, and with a dozen or so appetites like Albus's that was something she wouldn't be volunteering her services for any time soon. “It's tradition, Albus, even if nobody remembers how it came about.”
“Then we'll raid a few tea shops on the day,” Albus said, waving an airy hand. “But give the girl a chance, Minerva. She might surprise you.”
“Yes, yes,” Minerva sniffed, heading for the door. “Albus Dumbledore gives her his seal of approval, so I'm sure we'll be great friends in no time.”
“Oh no, I don't think so,” Albus chuckled. “I shouldn't think she's your type at all, Minerva.”
She gave him a sharp look, but he twinkled innocently at her. Innocent, Albus? That would be the day. He was up to something, she'd stake her last sickle on it.
Still, he had listened. He was coming along nicely. And if she remembered her Care of Magical Creatures lessons correctly, successful performance of desired behaviour should be rewarded.
“I'll bring you some Jelly Slugs back if I have time,” she said grudgingly, leaving him to settle down comfortably in his chair again.
She wasn't even going to ask about the pixie.
* * *
It was a pleasant walk into Hogsmeade, and if it hadn't been for the near certainty of an awkward and fruitless interview with this Rosemary girl at the end of it Minerva would have been tempted to linger, perhaps even roll up her sleeves and enjoy the sun for a little while.
“The students may have gone, Minerva,” she told herself firmly, stepping onto the cobbled village street. “But you're not on holiday yet.”
Most of Hogsmeade seemed to have started theirs, however. Madam Puddifoot waved at her from under a frilly pink sunshade as she gossiped with a couple of smartly dressed witches. They were obviously waiting for the Gladrags proprietor to come back from lunch. Minerva had noticed before, with considerable disapproval, that lunchtime seemed to be a remarkably vague concept at best in the world of high fashion, and could occur at any time from ten in the morning to seven at night. Today, it seemed, was one of those occasions when lunch was to be taken at twelve sharp, rare enough to catch regular customers completely unawares.
The newest addition to the village, Zonko's, had a sign up warning people to 'KEEP CLEAR!' because 'TESTING!' was 'IN PROGRESS!', which Minerva highly doubted meant anything good for the rest of the village, or for her peace of mind in the autumn term when it arrived. The rumour was that it was going to be a joke shop, of all things. Out of caution, Minerva called in at the sweet shop for Albus's slugs immediately, instead of on her return journey. It seemed unlikely that purveyors of stink bombs and nose-biting teacups could destroy a village that had survived the regular invasion of adolescent witches and wizards for generations in the course of an afternoon's 'testing', but one could never be completely sure where playing with magic was concerned.
Jelly slugs obtained, Minerva couldn't put off her unwelcome task any longer.
The Three Broomsticks Inn surprised her when she stopped in front of it. It wasn't that it looked different, because really, it looked the same as it always had, other than the name etched into the bottom of the inn sign. Rosmerta, not Rosemary. She remembered it now. The window boxes boasted their usual array of Fireball Snapdragons and Quickbloom Geraniums, and the gaily coloured panels and boards outside still offered the same menu and prices. But it all looked cleaner, somehow. No, that wasn't it... it looked newer.
Still, a fresh coat of paint and a well-swept - very well-swept - front courtyard wasn't enough to convince Minerva that the Inn was in good hands. Or anyone else, apparently. It was midday and the place was deserted, the tables outside entirely unoccupied, which Minerva couldn't remember ever happening before, not on a fine summer day.
The inside, when her eyes adjusted to the gloom, was just as devoid of customers. Not so much as a table mat was out of place, not a glass any less than gleaming on the racks, and not a bottle on the wall anything but full - except for the Cranberry Cider, Minerva noticed.
That was probably why the first thing that caught her attention about the woman behind the bar was her lips. Cranberry pink, Minerva thought, as she glimpsed a tall goblet being hastily shoved under the counter of the bar. Cranberry pink lips that curved in welcome.
“I'm sorry?” Minerva said, as it occurred to her that the woman - Rosmerta, she assumed - was waiting for her to speak. Really, she must have caught a touch of the sun on the walk down.
“I said, 'Good afternoon, what can I get for you?'” There was a different smile on Rosmerta's face now, though it was no less welcoming. Minerva wasn't quite sure what it meant, but without her permission, she found her fingers adjusting her sleeves and patting down her robes.
She hadn't planned on having a drink while she was here, but there was no reason why she couldn't. She could do as she liked. There were no students to lead astray, no essays to mark or detentions to despair over.
“I'll have a small gillywater,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded too prim and proper after Rosmerta's easy greeting, so she followed it up with a small smile. “Perhaps with a dash of sherry?”
“A dash of sherry it is,” Rosmerta said, her long curly hair swinging as she turned for the bottle. “Though I must say, Professor McGonagall, I hoped you were here about the picnic arrangements.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Minerva raised her eyebrows, though she made a mental note to repay Albus for whatever foolish plan he had in progress. She'd known there was something going on. Had he already planned the whole thing with this Rosmerta woman for some ridiculous reason of his own? “I suppose the Headmaster told you I'd be calling.”
“I haven't seen Albus since my Great Aunt Bertha's funeral.” Rosmerta placed Minerva's drink neatly on a bar mat with an ill-advised flapping harpy motif. “But I do know how to read the accounts for a business I'm trying to run.”
“And how is business?” Minerva asked her. If her glance around the bar lingered on the empty tables, that was purely coincidental, and not designed to score a conversational point that she badly needed. She would never stoop to such pettiness.
Rosmerta's easy smile wavered for the first time, and she reached for another glass. “I might join you in a gillywater, if you don't mind,” she said. She wasn't backing down; Minerva found herself pleasantly surprised.
“I've no objection if you do.” Minerva took a sip of her drink. It was very bracing with a drop of sherry, just the thing for a summer afternoon. “But wouldn't you rather finish your cider?” she asked, with a sly smile.
Rosmerta's laugh was shockingly loud in the still room, but it seemed to fill up some of the empty space around them.
“Let's start again, shall we?” Rosmerta suggested, topping up both of their drinks and lifting up her goblet. “Hello, I'm Rosmerta, and this is already the longest conversation I've had since I moved here.”
“Welcome to village life,” Minerva snorted, and raised her glass in return.
* * *
Minerva didn't normally enjoy the beach portion of the picnic day out. Grit in sandwiches was a nuisance that no charm or incantation she'd ever learned could deal with, and the weather even when they ventured to the south coast was unpredictable at best.
She had to admit, however, that today she was having a good time.
“It was you, wasn't it?” she said, rescuing her boots from where they lay half buried in drifted sand. “You arranged for Rosmerta to take over the inn.”
“I suggested it might be a new start for her,” Albus said lightly. “She has no close family left, and her aunt was a dear friend of mine.”
Minerva bit her tongue rather than remark that sometimes it seemed as if everyone was a dear friend to Albus. It often surprised her how many people he knew well, why even most of the disappearances-- She glanced at him sharply, but he gave no indication that he was doing anything other than enjoying the weather and the day in general.
She was probably imagining it. Nobody had found any connection between the missing people so far, not even Albus as far as she knew, and Rosmerta's aunt had died, not disappeared.
No, it was nonsense. Minerva shook off the thought along with the sand from her beach towel, and joined Albus. At the edge of the shore, Professor Crooke and Rosmerta were still laughing and chasing after the toy plastic snitch Albus had insisted on bringing.
“I'm not sure how you did it,” Albus said, wriggling his toes happily at a nearby seagull. “But I'm glad you persuaded her to come along.”
Minerva couldn't help being pleased that every time Rosmerta caught the snitch and threw her hands up in victory, she looked over in her direction. Antinus Crooke was a very handsome man, after all. She wouldn't blame Rosmerta if she wanted to direct her attention towards him, although there were one or two other members of staff who might, she thought, looking at the disgruntled huddle of her colleagues queueing for ice cream.
“I promised her that if she closed up today, then everyone would show up tomorrow to find out why,” Minerva told him. “And if she hints at mysterious goings-on, she'll be hiring extra staff by the end of the week.”
Albus chuckled. “Have I mentioned how grateful I am that you're on my side, Minerva?”
A breeze tickled the back of Minerva's neck, and for a moment she felt a chill run through her whole body. From the sigh he gave, she rather thought Albus had experienced the same sensation.
“There are sides then, are there?” she said. It wasn't a surprise, not really. She'd known something was coming.
“Don't let it spoil the day,” Albus advised her. Down the beach, Rosmerta and Antinus's game seemed to have drawn to a close, Antinus conceding with a showy bow and a kiss to her hand.
“Oh, you needn't worry about that.” Minerva watched Rosmerta stride across the sand towards her, and with a sudden determination not to waste time she may not have, she tucked up her legs to make room on her towel for one more. From her picnic basket she pulled out two bottles of Cranberry Cider to set beside the tempting array of food.
Albus had that twinkle in his eye again, but she wasn't going to ask. Minerva saw Rosmerta take in the bottles, and the empty half of the towel, and there was that smile again. Minerva thought she knew what it meant this time.
“I don't intend to let anything spoil this,” she said, and reached up for Rosmerta's hand.
Click here to leave a comment