"Mondays. How are we supposed to teach on Mondays?" Hooch groaned as she flopped down on a comfortable chair in the staff room. "They don't want to be there, we don't want to be there and so little learning happens. They don't retain anything and we're too irritated to properly share the knowledge anyway."

Minerva McGonagall barely glanced up from her grading as the woman entered the room. She was watching her red-inked quill as she spoke. "What would you suggest, starting Tuesday? Then Tuesday would become the new Monday and we still wouldn't get anything done."

Xiomara glared at the stern Transfiguration Professor and, with a huff of resignation, settled more comfortably into the embracing chair. "You don't have to deal with children on brooms circling the campus with their concentration on the last snog they had in the greenhouses."

This stirred McGonagall into looking up scornfully at the spiky-haired woman.

"You are correct," she snapped sharply. "I only have to worry about children transfiguring matches into needles while they're thinking about what a ball they had playing tag during their days off."

Again Hooch was temporarily shushed to silence.

"The lesser of two evils," she remarked at last.

"Is that so?" Minerva cocked a brow, her voice mocking. "I must say I would enjoy watching your take on how to deal with a classroom full of rowdy children not only playing with matches, but with needles."

"And I would equally enjoy studying your technique for keeping a hormonal batch of teens firmly atop brooms hundreds of feet in the air and at great speeds as they encounter the ghosts of their previous encounters," Hooch retorted with growing agitation. McGonagall remained silent at that, her eyes boring into the amber eyes across from her. It was intimidating.

The Quidditch instructor looked away first, her cheeks growing hot with the embarrassment of submitting. The silence between the two was thick as their very friendship bore slight sunder. It wasn't uncommon for them, such strong-willed women, but was nonetheless uncomfortable.

At last the head of Gryffandor stood, smoothed her robes, gathered her belongings, and spoke.

"I trust I'll see you at lunch."

She was met with a grunt in return and walked briskly out of the staff room as Hooch continued to stare out the window.

"She's infuriating sometimes," Minerva confessed to the shorter, plumper woman beside her at the staff table. Apparently the grunt the Transfigurations Professor had received did not mean, 'I trust that you will' but 'scamper off.'

"You already knew that," Pomona pointed out with her eyes twinkling. "You wouldn't be such great friends or partners if you didn't bash heads so often."

The older Professor's lips became a tight, thin line at that.

"I do have an idea to get back at her, however," the Herbology Professor confided with a slightly devious glow to her smile. "If you don't mind some naughty subjects."

Minerva was thankful that the woman had dropped her voice. Nevertheless, she glanced around quickly before replying out of the corner of her lips, "It depends on the plan."

"A teachable moment plan," the other replied with a slight giggle, having heard McGonagall's struggles with her first year class. "And a pinch of retribution for such unwarranted frustration."

The dark-haired Professor felt her face loosening. She looked down and over at her companion, the beginning of a smile tugging at the very corner of her lips. "What is your plan?"

Pomona Sprout leaned over and whispered emphatically into Minerva's ear. The woman was very pleased to have such a finely tuned stoic exterior for her insides were churning at the words.

"Xiomara Hooch," Minerva greeted imperiously as she stepped onto the Quidditch field. The woman looked up, a streak of dirt on her right cheek and her light hair spiked at all angles. Her riding boots were muddied and her apparel was a complete disaster. Minerva kept the grin from her face.

"Minerva McGonagall," the light-haired female mimicked with a near perfect imitation of Minerva's voice. "To what do I owe this most exuberant meeting?"

"Science," Minerva stated simply before leaning up against the broom shed. "I would like to run an experiment."

"And you pinned me for the scientific type? How flattering, but you're way off your mark," Hooch said coolly as she sent her broom into said shed with a swish—and flick—of her wand. "You could easily grab Pomona for that."

The taller woman looked up to the sky and sent the alluring blues and whites a mysterious grin before looking back at Hooch, expressionless. "That wouldn't be nearly as…entertaining. No, it is your body that I wish for science."

"What do I get out of this?" Hooch asked immediately. "After all, our last fair well was not as fair as the term would suggest."

"You will enjoy the experiment."

"Is that so?" the miffed Professor questioned. "You know my head?"

McGonagall shook her head and offered a slow smile. "No, I know your body."

With that she shot forward with impressive dexterity and captured Hooch in an intimate embrace, one hand cupping the woman's crotch below her robes and the other her neck. "This would be an example."

Xiomara yielded slightly, working on auto-pilot as she placed her hands on Minerva's hips. "Fine. I'll play your little game."

"Follow," Minerva instructed as she called for her broom with a touch of her wand. "I have everything set up."

Minerva brought Hooch to a cove far enough from Hogwarts to be off-limit to students yet close enough to be nearby in case of emergency. It was surrounded by evergreen and deciduous trees, offering shade to the sides of the cove and permitting the sunlight to reach the center. There, a wooden table sat with a box of matches and one solitary needle. Hooch took that in and glared over at McGonagall.

"You prim priss, what are you trying to tell me?"

Minerva held up her hands, palm out, and landed gracefully without their use. She was an expert flyer as well, though admittedly seconded to Xiomar's skills. "An experiment."

Hooch walked slowly towards the table, inspecting it with a cocked brow and attentive eyes. When she reached it she grabbed for the matches and took note of the needle. "Transfiguration?"

Minerva nodded. "Transfigure one match into one needle."

The once-Ravenclaw obeyed and held up her new needle, offering a look that said clearly, 'what do you think I am, a lack-wit buffoon?'

"Very good," McGonagall cooed, just for the effect of watching Hooch stiffen. The taller professor walked forward and pressed her front to the other woman's back, snaking her arm around to place a hand on Hooch's abdomen. Minerva pressed her lips close to her "student's" ear and breathed, "Now we're going to play some tag."

The Transfiguration Professor slid her fingers into Xiomara's robes and under her trousers, at last reaching the wet warmth that made the woman shudder. Minerva circled her thumb slowly through Hooch's curls, pressing harder at some points and feather-light at others.

"Do it again," she instructed. Hooch bit her lip and followed through, producing a needle with a bent tip. McGonagall laughed and prodded the woman's depths once. "That would be useless for sewing."

Hooch nodded and stiffened, pressing back against her lover. Minerva took her other hand and brought it to her prey's breast, pinching through the material of her robes. As she worked she let her fingers wander deeper down, probing Hooch's warmth as her lips touched the woman's neck. Xiomara inhaled quickly as her leg twitched once. The dark-haired woman found and pressed that sensitive button, grinning seductively as the broom wench's body responded.

"Again," Minerva murmured into the woman's skin.

This match became what appeared to be a very pliable, smooth piece of rubber… Minerva McGonagall laughed out loud and worked her hands to allow her victim to come once. "Shall we do some 'sewing' now?"

Upon receiving a nod, Minerva smirked and picked the object off the table.

"And now it's my turn," Hooch informed as she pulled her jacket on over her skewed undershirt. "Surely you didn't think science was a one way street?"

"With you?" McGonagall replied with amusement playing in her eyes. "Never."

"Good. Lesson two, here we come."

Minerva stood and slipped into her clothing as well, at last replacing her hat. Hooch looked the woman up and down, then smiled.

"This is going to be delightfully easy on my half," the brooms wench noted with a satisfied look. "Much easier than a usual Monday lesson."

The Transfigurations instructor raised one dark eyebrow high. "But will it be as easy on my end?"

"Most certainly not," the other woman responded as she took out her wand. A broom shot to her side and stopped on a dime, the way a broom would behave only around the most skilled broom rider. "And now it is time to board."

McGonagall nodded and touched her wand to her hat as she moved to straddle the broom. She winked at her companion. "Hadn't renewed the stick spells in a while, and I'm beginning to believe I'm in for a rough ride."

"Oh contraire," Hooch countered with a fantastically mischievous grin. "It will be delightfully smooth and just to your liking."

She mounted the broom directly behind McGonagall and wrapped her arms around the woman before her. The hawk-eyed woman hid her smile in McGonagall's loose robes but she could not keep it from her voice.

"Just for safety," she clarified, referring to the arms wrapped around the taller woman's waist.

"Yes. Yes of course."

The two kicked off and were soon above the trees, heading parallel to the school and keeping their distance. Just in case, Hooch whispered an illusionment charm. She allowed the pair to float on peacefully for a spot before speaking once more.

"Now, care to perform a simple eight-form turn around that tall tree there?" she asked politely.

"Surely you're not so courteous with your students," McGonagall drawled as she performed the action with great ease. "Not my fierce Hooch."

"No," Hooch rejoined as she slipped one hand below Minerva's robes, "You'll find that I won't be treating you quite the way I treat my students."

Minerva took a deep breath as cool fingers grazed her soft abdomen. "No, certainly not."

The light-haired female let her hand travel slowly down Minerva's front to rest at her yielding under things. She leaned forward to whisper erotic stories into the stern woman's supple skin.

"Do it again," she instructed at last.

McGonagall steered the broom confidently. At the rear end of her turn, Hooch pressed her thin finger to the driver's knickers. The broom veered off in its turn, but was controlled soon after. Hooch grinned and chuckled.

She pressed her lips to the neck before her and wet the skin gingerly with her tongue. Her other hand slipped inside Minerva's many layers at breast level. The first hand maneuvered below the elastic of dampened knickers and investigated the area below. Even Xiomara's foot traveled leisurely up the woman's leg.

"How about once more?" Hooch hissed into Minerva's ear, letting her tongue traverse its outer rim. She could feel McGonagall shiver.

As proof of the woman's delightful dignity, she did at least attempt the move. It began as a resemblance of the maneuver but quickly turned astray. Somehow they managed to find themselves suddenly flying on a perfectly tartan mattress.

"Do you know how to fly this?" Hooch hollered over the wind.

"Haven't the foggiest!" her lover replied with a roguish beam. She tucked her leg deviously between the other woman's. "But you are the mistress of flight. Guide us home?"

Hooch grabbed hold of the two front corners of the mattress and eased it down, back to the clearing below them that contained the table of the last experiment. She sighed in relief as they drifted gracefully down the final few feet.

"Well done. Excellent marks," Minerva whispered as she rolled to stroke Hooch's neck gently with her long fingers. "I suppose we've both proved out point, then?"

"Yes," Hooch replied as she dropped her hand to Minerva's waist, "Mondays are significantly more agreeable with a dose of sewing and tag."

Minerva laughed as she drew herself closer to her lover and settled on the woman's collarbone. She took a deep breath and nuzzled closer. "I'm sorry for this morning."

"Likewise," Xiomara replied. She kissed her companion's forehead delicately. "McMin."

The Transfiguration Professor's smile was tender and filled with joy.

"Hoochbird." She tilted back to kiss Hooch softly on the lips.

That evening, two esteemed Hogwarts instructors passed each other in the corridor during meal time. The taller of the two, watching the students with intent feline eyes, offered the other a warmer smile than most would expect.

"Madam Hooch," she greeted.

The other woman, strutting along while watching the students with hawk-like amber eyes, nodded and returned the smile.

"Professor McGonagall," she reciprocated. The two made short bows to each other as they passed.

Pomona Sprout, who had been on her way to dinner, ducked behind a statue—sure no students were in her area—and smirked to see the two other professors greeting each other far off down the way.

"Plan successful," the woman remarked. She grinned and placed her hands on her hips. "Now time to get the dirt."

The Herbology Professor took her seat next to the austere animagus during the evening meal. McGonagall looked to her friend, allowing her kind greeting to shine through her eyes rather than through a smile. The students would have found that peculiar.

"You're on pleasant speaking terms with Xiomara, then?" Pomona inquired innocently. Her smile was jolly. That wouldn't surprise the students, though most of them seemed entirely focused on their meal anyway. "You seemed comfortable together in the corridor."

Minerva gave a look that, in the language of another woman, would be a blush. It was far sterner for the Transfigurations Professor.

"Yes," she answered simply. "We are back to proper professional relations."

"Which is entirely not what I asked," the younger woman pointed out. She gave her older companion a searching look. "What of the plan?"

McGonagall did seem to turn a small shade redder at that question. Instead of looking to the other woman, Minerva gazed down at her plate and continued her nibbling.

"Oh, come now. I can't consider it a complete experiment if I don't have a conclusion. How can I determine the accuracy of my hypothesis?"

McGonagall cocked her brow as she looked to the younger professor. Her look was now remotely amused. "And your hypothesis was…?"

Pomona chuckled and took a bite of her vegetables. Her eyes were twinkling. The Transfigurations Professor shook her head and felt the corner of her lips twist up ever so slightly.

"Maybe I'll write you. Maybe," McGonagall whispered as she reached for her goblet. "You should be glad that I knew of your slanting previous to becoming your friend. My young friend, you are entirely unique in your interests."

"Am I?" Pomona wondered with a little smile. She adjusted her hat and blinked at the dirt that sprinkled down from the rim. "I believe I'm merely the only one to combine it with true scientific process."

Minerva chuckled at that. "Yes, I suppose so. I wonder where you keep it all. No, I'll scratch that, I don't."

"Far from student hands," the woman informed as she smiled down at her plate. McGonagall shook her head and laughed.

Late in the evening an owl tapped on the window of Pomona's window. She pulled herself out of her comfortable, worn arm chair and walked to the owl. It was mighty impatient. The avian fluttered in, landed on her desk, and stuck its leg high into the air. Its nose was held high as the professor untied the ribbon and retrieved the parchment.

When that was through, the bird pecked at her once and shot out of the room.

The woman smiled down at the paper. A cat's message delivered by a bird. Delightful.

She walked to her desk and began reading. Halfway through the letter, Pomona removed her wand from her robes and tapped one of the bottommost drawers. After a few short phrases, it jumped out the desk and threw up a little black book. The witch caught it midair and placed it on her desk. It opened itself to the last written page.

Sprout reached for her quill and began scribbling in the little book, which giggled.

Conclusion: Hypothesis correct.

Pomona finished with the steamy details and replaced the book in the drawer. She kissed the picture of her husband before climbing into bed and drifting off to sleep.