Written for Hogwarts' Arithmancy, Task Five: The Freedom Seeker: write about an adventurous person causing chaos.
Also for the Auction Challenge: Character: Irma Pince, the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - Trait: Prankster, Winnie The Pooh - Write about someone happy with life, Showtime: Light Romance/Madman - write about a secret relationship, Ami's Audio Appreciations: Sammy Stevens - Trait: Cynical, Lo's Lowdown: Steve Rogers: write about an underdog, Talk Like Shakespeare Day: "The course of true love never run smooth.", the Bingo Challenge: 8 - Character: Minerva McGonagall, Couple Appreciation: Word: Romantic, Film Festival: Setting - School, Scavenger Hunt: Write a fic about a Professor, but not a defence teacher, Unicorn Day: C - Compassionate.
Word count: 4344
delicate
.i.
Minerva is quietly sipping her tea, waiting for the caffeine to hit and her brain to properly start up, when she notices something new on Rolanda's hand.
Something that sparkles.
She sets her cup down with a soft click and leans a little closer.
"Is that…" The words fall from her lips before she can hold them back — Minerva doesn't make it a habit to meddle in her fellow teachers' private lives (in fact, she makes it a point not to), but in this instance, she can't really help herself.
She can still remember when her own finger had been adorned with such an accessory, and though it has been many years, the memory still serves to make her heart race and her lips twist into a smile.
Rolanda blinks up at her and stares at her hand. She looks confused for an instant, almost as if she can't believe the ring is there — Minerva remembers that feeling too, and to see it on Rolanda's usually stern face makes her smile — and then she blushes violently.
Minerva chuckles. This is much better than tea or coffee when it comes to waking her up.
"Do you have something you'd like to share, Rolanda?"
As soon as Minerva's voice rings out, their table falls silent, and everyone turns their eyes toward them.
Rolanda's blush has abated though, and she sends out dark glares that fail to impress anyone as soon as they lay eyes on the ring on her ring finger.
Rolanda's still playing with it too, and the absent smile that keeps showing on her lips betrays any ill sentiment she might be trying to convey to everyone else.
Finally, she sighs and says, "Well, Minerva, I guess the cat's out of the bag — I am getting married."
The truly terrible pun barely registers as Minerva's thoughts are actually confirmed.
"Congratulations," she replies, a sentiment that is quickly echoed enthusiastically by most of their colleagues.
Most, because Severus is of course still glaring into his coffee like it holds the key to the universe, but also because — and more surprisingly — Irma has choked on her own drink and now appears to have trouble breathing.
She also stares at Rolanda with something akin to betrayal splashed across her face for an instant before the expression is wiped off her face by another fit of coughing — and yes, Minerva remembers with a twist in her chest, Irma had admitted to liking the Flying Instructor once, hadn't she?
Granted, that had been quite a few years back now, and she had imbibed a truly impressive amount of alcohol too, but nothing Minerva's seen since then has led her to believe that this infatuation has… disappeared.
She winces, watching Irma almost pityingly as Poppy finally frees her airways with a quick spell.
She hadn't even known Rolanda was dating anyone, and now it was obvious that Irma hadn't either.
Merlin, the woman had to be devastated.
Looking around, she sees that she isn't the only one who had noticed: Filius is frowning at their Librarian in concern, and Poppy is still patting her back gently, even though Irma can definitely breathe normally again.
Irma looks a little lost, and well, young. It's odd, when she's usually so composed.
Rolanda asks her if she's okay, worry visible on every line of her face, and Minerva bites back another wince when, after Irma reassures her that she's fine, that worry turns into a smile. On anyone else, it probably wouldn't be much to talk about, but on Rolanda, it's the equivalent of a bright grin.
"Ooh, who proposed?" Pomona asks Rolanda now that the drama seems over, and Minerva closes her eyes for a second.
Rolanda sends one last smile at Irma before turning to Pomona, her golden eyes dancing with mirth as she says, "Oh, I did. I rented the Quidditch Pitch her favorite team uses and…"
She goes on to describe how they'd flown around the Pitch, the atmosphere romantic and sweet, until Rolanda had taken out a fake Snitch that she had charmed just for the occasion, and when her girlfriend had caught it, it had opened to reveal the ring.
She looks so very proud of herself, and Pomona is obviously enamored with the story — which is, Minerva has to admit, quite heart-warming — but Minerva is more preoccupied with Irma, whose knuckles have been getting progressively more clenched around her cutlery the more Rolanda talks.
She looks… incensed, and Minerva's heart goes out to her.
This can't be easy to handle.
"Excuse me," Irma finally says, standing up abruptly, just as Rolanda starts to describe the way they had then celebrated their engagement. She leaves the table quickly, leaving behind a half-finished breakfast, and Minerva stares after her.
Beside her, Rolanda pauses in her tale and stares too, frowning a little. It almost looks like she wants to follow, but she must gather the same thing that Minerva does — that being that Irma doesn't want to be followed — because she stays in her seat and finishes her story, even if her voice does sound a little less enthusiastic than it had before.
An idea tickles the back of her mind, but it slips through her fingers and dispels before Minerva can get a hold of it.
But the thought that doesn't go away that easily is the one that says she has to do something to help Irma.
And she will.
They may not be close, but Minerva likes to think they're still friends. And she won't let one of her friends suffer alone.
.
It isn't hard to slip away after her last class of the day. The third year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class went very well, even if Minerva was a little distracted by her thoughts and almost forgot to assign them homework, and she takes advantage of the free period before dinner to go to the Library.
She finds Irma easily, glaring students into behaving from her desk. She stifles a chuckle as she walks over.
"Irma."
"Minerva?" Irma looks startled. On her, it looks quite comical, like her face doesn't quite know how to handle the emotion. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you, of course," Minerva replies. She lets her voice soften, aware that their students are probably currently trying to listen in. "I wanted to see how you were doing, after, you know, this morning."
Irma sighs, wringing her hands before her. To Minerva's surprise, she looks more embarrassed than hurt or sad.
"I'm fine," she replies. "I shouldn't have been quite so… dramatic this morning. It was unprofessional of me." She looks up into Minerva's eyes. "It won't happen again."
Minerva shakes her head. "You can't control what you feel, Irma. We understand that this can't be easy for you."
A flash of confusion passes over Irma's face. "... Hm, thank you?"
Minerva nods and pats Irma's forearm once, gently. "If you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."
Irma nods back, frowning a little. "... I'll see you later then?"
It's then that Minerva remembers that it's Friday — their designated drinking/complain about students evening, which she's hosting.
She flushes a little and takes a step back. "Yes."
Se retreats after that, but she can feel Irma's confused and curious eyes on her back as she leaves. But she wouldn't have become a teacher if some staring bothered her, so she walks out of the Library as normally as she had walked in.
And then she hurries back to her rooms, because she has an evening to prepare for.
They're just lucky it's a night Rolanda has said she'd miss on the virtue of her visiting her mother Saturday mornings. Having her there tonight would just be… awkward.
.ii.
When he walks into Minerva's quarters that night, the first thing Filius sees is Minerva pulling out the heavy scotch. The good one — the kind she only takes out on special occasions.
The kind that means she's actually looking to get drunk or drown out her feelings. He knows she drinks it every year on the anniversary of her husband's death, and for an instant, Filius has to check the date with himself to make sure he didn't actually miss that.
But no, there's still a couple of months until that day comes back around.
And then Irma walks in, and Minerva smiles at her — altogether more friendly than she usually smiles at anyone above the age of seventeen — and Filius remembers how Irma had looked so affected by Rolanda's announcement this morning.
And he gets it — Minerva's trying to get Irma to drink her troubles away.
It's not a terrible idea, but it's definitely not one of Minerva's best ones.
Still, they don't have classes or anywhere to be the next morning, and Poppy will surely give them a vial of her Hangover cure when they tell her that they drank for a good cause.
(The nurse is otherwise merciless and lets them suffer through their own bad choices with a smile that can only be described as evil.)
Irma must notice the same thing Filius did, however, because she starts staring at Minerva's growing collection of alcohol with poorly concealed concern.
"... Have I missed something?" she asks.
Minerva shakes her head. "No, no," she hastens to explain, putting one last bottle on the dinner table. "You're fine. We're just…" She sends a look at Filius, who nods back eagerly. "We just wanted to support you, after what happens this morning."
Irma's face clears up. She smiles — it's really impressive, how much that changes her. She looks about ten years younger that way, closer to her actual age than the one the age lines on her face would have one think of. Even Filius, who's worked with Irma for years, is always surprised to see it happen — though in his defense, Irma doesn't smile often.
"Wow, thank you. You shouldn't have. How did you…" She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. Just, thank you. This is a lovely surprise. You really didn't have to."
Pomona, who seems to have just been caught up on the happenings by Minerva, smiles at her gently. "Of course we did. You're our friend, we want to be there for you."
She takes a look around the room. "Is that everyone?"
Filius shrugs to indicate he has no idea, but Minerva nods. "Yes. Aurora and Septima are doing their own thing tonight — I think they wanted to go to London? And Severus told me that he was too 'busy' to join us."
She doesn't mention Sybill, as expected, and Filius and Pomona exchange an amused glance at that. Minerva's disdain for Divination is well-known, yes, but her not quite-rivalry with Sybill is a never-ending source of amusement.
Slowly, they migrate to their usual seats around Minerva's table. They don't actually have assigned seats, of course, but they've been doing this often enough that everyone usually ends up seating in the same spot from one time to the next.
(Of course, whenever the new Defense teacher joins in, there's always a bit of… growing pains, which usually adds some fun to the first few such evenings of the year.
For example, after the fifth time that Quirinus tried to sit in the chair Severus had claimed as his own, the stuttering man had stumbled out of the room and never returned.
Severus had smirked and left soon after, and he had only come back once since — which, to be fair, was on par with his usual participation rate, no matter how much they tried to coax him to join in.)
The conversation flows easily — as do the drinks and the food, the latter being generously given by the House-Elves, who know to set apart some of the evening's buffet for them to be delivered in Minerva's room on Friday nights where they do this.
They talk about their classes and students — in a freer way than during their usual meetings, where Albus usually only required the barest of information and where they try not to complain too much about whichever disaster nearly happened in their classroom since the last meeting.
Here, they can talk about the funny bits, like the way Seamus Finnegan nearly set half Filius' classroom on fire trying to cast Wingardium Leviosa.
"I swear, that boy has a gift," Minerva replies, exasperated and snorting into her drink. "I don't know how he does it, but every time he tries something new, there's fire. Or an explosion."
"Or both," she and Pomona finish in unison, before dissolving into laughter.
Irma, drink in hand, scowls a little. She tries to cross her arms but seems to remember she's holding her glass at the last minute, because she sets both hands back on the table, and scowls harder.
"He'd better not set any of my books on fire," she says, and Filius starts to laugh even harder, because now he can just see it — that little first year, inadvertently setting something on fire in Irma's library just by taking his wand out, and Irma, descending upon him like a bird of prey.
Minerva and Pomona were already laughing, but one look at Filius has them in stitches again, and eventually, even Irma joins in — even if her version of her colleagues' uncontrolled fit of laughter is more akin to muffled chuckles than anything else.
But eventually, their laughter dies down, and they finally broach the subject that had them gather here tonight.
"I'm sorry about this morning," Minerva tells Irma. Even if she must have drunk at least half a bottle by now, on her own, Minerva still sounds as sober as ever — the uncharacteristic softness on her face, however, tells Filius all he needs to know about her actual state of sobriety, and he finds himself chuckling again.
Confusion crosses Irma's face for a moment, but it's immediately followed by frustration and anger. Irma downs the rest of her drink in one gulp and smashes the empty glass on the table.
It doesn't break, somehow, and Irma starts ranting.
One thing very few people know about Irma: she gets very talkative when she drinks. Sober, it's almost impossible to get five words in a row out of her, but she's nearly impossible to stop once she drinks.
Filius still remembers the first time it happened fondly.
But here and now, Irma is ranting, predictably about Rolanda.
Less predictably, she seems to be stuck on Rolanda's proposal story.
"I can't believe the nerve of that, that woman sometimes — can you believe it? I rented out a Quidditch Pitch. Who does she think she is? And that proposal? How dare she?! Of all the dreadful, tasteless, moronic —"
"I don't know, I sort of thought it was sweet," Pomona whispers, but Filius and Minerva shush her quickly, before Irma can notice.
Well, that's why Filius assumes Minerva does it. Personally, he's also kind of curious to see how many derogatory adjectives Irma can use before she runs out of steam. He's betting it's a lot, considering she works in the Library.
Irma is still seething, fingers holding onto her empty glass so tightly it's a wonder said glass hasn't shattered yet. "... And she just told everyone that she proposed, too! That, that…" Words seem to fail her as her speech dissolves into a wordless hiss.
Minerva and Pomona move at the same time to pat her on the back in comfort. Their hands collide awkwardly and Minerva settles for Irma's arm instead.
"It must have been a shock," Minerva says.
Irma nods furiously. She doesn't appear to notice either Minerva or Pomona's touch, not the supporting looks the two witches send her way. "I didn't think she would just… do it, you know. She told me that she could — that she had a whole thing all planned out; and I told her, 'No, Rolanda, there's no need to go that far', but does anyone ever listen to Irma? No, why would they?"
She scowls but Filius finds himself sharing confused looks with his other colleagues.
"She… told you about her proposal?" Filius finally dares to ask.
Irma's dark eyes snap to attention, and confusion overtakes her previous anger — though perhaps anger isn't quite the right word. Filius has seen Irma angry — several times, when students tried to… deface Library property, because apparently some people never learn — and her behavior here has been closer to annoyance and frustration.
Even if it doesn't quite make sense.
Still, Filius isn't one to judge how one deals with their own love life.
"Of course she did," Irma is saying as Filius thinks. "She was very bitter over not actually getting to use her plans, too." She snorts. "I'm not surprised she didn't get the chance to, with how complicated and involved they were."
Filius gapes, silent. His eyes wander to Minerva and Pomona, but both women look as lost as he does.
Minerva recovers first. She clears her first. "I think maybe you've had enough to drink, Irma. Rolanda is getting married, we all saw the ring. I know this can't be… easy for you, but you can't just pretend it didn't happen. I'm sure you'll find someone else who's right for you." She reaches forward and starts to tug Irm's glass out of her hands, but Irma pulls back, frowning.
"Wait, wait, who do you all think that Rolanda is even getting married to?"
Irma's eyes flit around the table, and she appears to grow more and more confused as she takes in the concerned faces staring back at her.
Pomona gets it first, and she suddenly starts laughing.
"Oh Merlin, we've been idiots," she manages to stutter through her fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, Irma," she adds, wiping tears off her eyes as she turns to the stern librarian, who doesn't look quite so stern anymore as much as a little lost. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."
Minerva gets it next, because she suddenly gasps — and the way her eyes zero in on Irma's hands is what clues Filius in.
"You're marrying Rolanda? Why didn't you tell us?" Minerva says, dazed.
At the same time, Filius very bluntly states, "But you don't have a ring."
Irma visibly sobers up. "Yes, I do," she says, and she reaches down her collar to pull out a thin silver chain. There is indeed a ring on it, and though it looks simple, it's not hard to imagine it being an engagement ring.
Filius squeals and almost falls off his chair in his excitement. "Irma! Congratulations! You really should have told us," he adds, trying to force his features into something stern.
From the way Irma's thin lips twitch up, he doesn't quite succeed in that endeavor.
She sighs, fingers playing with the hem of her glass. "Honestly, I just thought you knew. We've never really concealed it."
And yes, now that she says it, it really is a wonder they didn't see it before.
"We're just private people," Irma continues, a little defensively. "I didn't think we needed to make a big even out of… everything, and Rolanda agreed." She smirks, a sharp twist of her lips. "Eventually."
"Right," Minerva replies, nonplussed. "Of course."
"But I should have told you this morning." She shakes her head, scowling once again.
"Right. This morning. What was that exactly?" Pomona asks.
Irma heaves a long, frustrated sigh. "That was Rolanda trying to prove that she would have been better at proposing than I am." She rolls her eyes. "But like I told her, if she really wanted to do it, she should have done it already, none of all this... " She gestures vaguely in the air. "... Exaggeration."
"... Right," Pomona repeats. "So she lied? She didn't propose?"
Irma shakes her head. "No, I did. Obviously, I knew she wanted to, but she was honestly taking forever to do it. I don't need a private Quidditch field or a flying into the sunset together scene — we can get both here whenever we want."
She rolls her eyes again. "Also, Rolanda always forgets I'm terrible at flying. I'd sooner fall to my death than catch any Snitch, and then where would her perfect proposal be?"
Minerva stifles a chuckle in a cough — Filius doesn't bother hiding how funny he finds Irma's dry tone.
"Well, then all's well that ends well?" he says, grinning excitedly. "And since you're actually newly engaged now… It'd be remiss of us not to celebrate that properly." He smiles mischievously, and, with a few clever applications of the Levitation Charm, refills everyone's glass.
"To Irma and Rolanda," he cheers.
"And us being blind idiots," Pomona adds with a chuckle as they all click their glasses together.
.iii.
The lights are off when Irma stumbles back to the room she shares with Rolanda.
And really, they've been living together for five years now, how did none of the staff notice that? For the staff of the supposed best school in the world, they sure weren't very bright about this.
She tiptoes to the bedroom, wand tip lit with a soft glow to guide her steps — she doesn't share Rolanda's almost preternatural ability to see in the dark, sadly.
She slips into the adjoined bathroom silently to change and tiptoes back toward the bed.
Her head feels stuffed with cotton and her stomach roils a little, just enough to let her know that her body thinks she's getting too old for this kind of drinking, even if it's celebratory.
She slides under the covers gratefully, and hums a little when Rolanda instantly shuffles closer.
"Had a good evening?" she asks with a yawn, her face buried against Irma's shoulder.
Irma rolls her eyes fondly. "Sleep," she whispers back, tucking the covers a little higher over them to cover Rolanda's bare shoulders. "You have to get up early tomorrow to see your mother."
Rolanda chuckles. She shifts away some, propping herself up on her elbow. The room is dark, but enough moonlight filters in through the window for Irma to discern the shape of Rolanda's face now that she's grown used to the darkness.
And Rolanda's golden eyes always shine like jewels even without light anyway.
"I'll be fine," she replies. "I went to bed early."
Irma feels her lips ease into a teasing smirk. "What, you didn't wait for me? And I have so much to tell you, too."
"Oh?"
Irma snorts. "Don't play coy. You know what you did."
Rolanda chuckles. She leans in closer again, and starts trailing her fingers down Irma's arm — ignoring it and focusing on the conversation at hand isn't easy, but she knows better than to let Rolanda distract her.
Even if it'd be lovely.
"Is this about this morning?" she asks, her breath hot against Irma's neck.
"Yes," Irma bites back, but then she winces. "And no." She moves away from Rolanda a little — it's always hard to think properly when they're this close — and glares.
Rolanda probably can't see it, but it still makes her feel better.
"Did you know," she continues, keeping her voice deliberately even, "that none of our colleagues seemed to be aware we were in a relationship?"
From Rolanda's barely muffled chuckle, she had been. Irma isn't impressed.
"Do you have any idea of how confusing my day has been? Minerva came to see me in the Library, and she patted my arm. She and Filius kept sending me those pitying looks like someone had died, and then Pomona joined in. They thought I needed to get drunk tonight to get over you breaking my heart."
Her voice is progressively getting higher as she moves through her itemized list, but Irma isn't done yet.
"Severus held a door for me. Severus. He tried to tell me he 'understood', and that he was 'there if I wanted to talk'. Severus, Rolanda. He has said maybe five words that weren't some kind of greeting to me every year since he's started working here, and he just tried to talk about feelings. Do I even look like I want to talk about my feelings?"
Rolanda laughs and quickly pecks her cheek. "No, you do not."
It's hard to scowl properly when Irma can still feel the lingering pressure of Rolanda's lips on her skin, but she tries anyway.
"And Quirinus tried to be nice to me," she continues, trying to convey how traumatic that experience had been. "He offered to help me reshelve the Library."
Rolanda barks out a laugh. "Aw, love, did you leave him in one piece?"
Irma valiantly resists the urge to cross her arms defensively. "I'm not that violent," she replies, sniffling. "He's fine. I simply told him — gently — that I didn't need his help. That's all."
"I'm sure," Rolanda drawls, laughter still audible in her voice. "Still, it was… nice of him, if a tad misguided."
Irma huffs. "I suppose. But he ought to have known better. Trying to meddle in my Library," she mumbles, her voice cutting off into a yawn.
Rolanda chuckles again. "Maybe we can continue this conversation later then. You sound tired."
And she is, Irma belatedly realizes. Talking with Rolanda and the potent mix of emotions that had invoked had kept her awake, but Irma's running on fumes, and now that Rolanda's brought it to her attention, she can feel sleep tugging at her consciousness.
She stifles another yawn as she nods. "You're still not forgiven for that stunt this morning, by the way," she hears herself mumble as she sinks deeper into the mattress. "Quidditch Pitch, and what's next?!"
The last thing she hears before sleep finally pulls her under are Rolanda's chuckles, echoing in her ears, soft and haunting, like a faraway siren song.