Written for QLFC Round 7
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Minerva/Hooch in a platonic, romantic, or familial relationship
Additional Prompts: 4. (poem) "A Late Walk" by Robert Frost, 8. (word) "addicted", 14. (dialogue) "This isn't safe . . . or legal for that matter"
Words: 1441

Thank you to Liza, Emily, Carmen, (another) Emily, and Kendra for beta-ing!

"Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker?"

It was Snape who'd boomed it out. His derisive voice could be heard even in the corridor; Rolanda had heard his exclamation before she'd entered the room. Now, she saw him holding council among their peers. Him, in a plush armchair next to the fire; them, several feet away in a semi-circle.

"And why is that so surprising, Severus?" Rolanda put in her two knuts from the door she'd just closed.

"Potter," he scoffed again, "is not capable of paying attention to an attendance call. I doubt he would be able to stay on a broom for five minutes, let alone for a Quidditch game."

"You haven't seen the boy fly," this was Minerva, the only one not near the Potions Professor.

"None of us have." He waved a hand dismissively. "I doubt the flying instructor has, either."

"I was taking a student to the Hospital Wing," Rolanda explained. "And as I understand it, the only reason Potter was in the air in the first place was because of one of your students—a Mister Malfoy?"

"Not to mention the fact that Rolanda can speak for herself." Minerva smiled at her for doing so.

Snape sneered at her to counter Minerva's sentiment, at which Rolanda resisted the childish impulse to stick her tongue out. But despite the defiant look on his face, he did not comment further on Harry Potter's flying skills. In Rolanda's unbiased opinion, he had no authority to do so, despite being halfway decent on a broomstick.

"Thank you for that," Rolanda said quietly into Minerva's ear several minutes later. They were sitting on one of the couches in the teachers' room. "Although I could have said it for myself as well."

"You could have." Minerva took an affirmative sip of her tea. "But it was something he needed to hear from someone other than you, as well. As I understand, you've said it to him

previously?"

"Concerning Marcus Flint, yes. He doesn't understand the team dynamic of Quidditch," she shuddered, "and takes pleasure in inflicting pain upon other players, be they from his own team or the opposing one. But Flint's neither here nor there."

"It's the Heads of House that appoint Captains," Minerva pointed out. "And Captains have the last word on players."

"Potter's eleven," Rolanda whispered; she had no desire for her opinion to become public.

"And?"

"This isn't safe," she argued, "or legal, for that matter. There are rules for a reason. He's the youngest Seeker in—"

"A century."

Rolanda glared at having been interrupted. "Exactly. Minerva, you know this. So why—"

"Not here," Minerva answered amicably over the rim of her teacup.

"I still can't understand why I had to come here," Rolanda said several hours later, closing the door to Minerva's office. "It's been a while since I was your student. Anything you want to say to me, you can say to me anywhere."

"There are etiquettes and inter-faculty relationships to consider," Minerva opened a tin and pushed it to her. "Biscuit?"

"You and your biscuits!" Rolanda laughed and took one. For all her jibes, the biscuits were the finest money could buy. "But really, why?"

"I suppose it's nostalgia."

"Nostalgia?"

"Nostalgia."

"Chaser, Professor?" Rolanda Hooch, aged thirteen, lisped excitedly to her Head of House. Her pigtails bounced just as the rest of her chubby form did. "This year?"

"And the next, I would assume," Professor McGonagall answered drily. "Unless you want the position to go to Black?"

"I . . ."

"I thought not," satisfied, the Professor took a sip of tea. "Besides, you beat him by a mile in try-outs. Granted, he was the next-closest, so if you back out—"

"I won't, Professor McGonagall," Rolanda grinned, dimples showing on flushed cheeks. "I really, really won't!"

"Good."

"Thank you, Professor, thank . . ."

"A brilliant player, full of natural potential," Minerva continued. "How could I resist? And to keep one like that from the game? Come on, Rolanda, you wouldn't dream of it!"

"I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to ask you to reconsider." Rolanda laughed. "It's really in his blood, isn't it?"

Harry Potter looked just like his father, down to the last untamed hair, with his mother's green eyes shining from behind his glasses. Rolanda remembered playing alongside James, sleeping in the same room as Lily. Young Harry acted nothing like his parents—how could he, he couldn't even remember them!—but if James came alive when he was in flight . . .

"His father was a good man," Minerva sighed. "Completely addicted to the game, of course, but brilliant. He would plan matches instead of homework most days, drove me mad . . ."

"But Professor," Potter whined, "we're playing Slytherin! How can you expect me to focus on exams when something so—"

"Life-changing," Black cut in.

"Yes, life-changing, exactly!" Potter flashed a smile at his brother. "Something so life-changing is hanging in the balance?"

Minerva cast a long-suffering glance at Lupin, standing sheepishly next to his friends. The boy shrugged at her. She glared. He was supposed to help, for Merlin's sake!

"Potter, I did not make you Captain for you to throw papers at Miss Evans," she said finally.

"And certainly not to give you excuses for not doing your work. Or to give your friends excuses for not doing theirs."

"But—"

"Mr. Black, there is a point when 'I had to stop James from throwing himself off the Astronomy Tower because he was afraid we would lose to Slytherin' stops becoming an acceptable response!" she sighed again. "And Mr. Lupin . . ."

"Yes, Professor?"

"Good job on your essay."

"Lily was no better when she agreed to date him," Rolanda reminded her. "Quidditch Fever was contagious. Black sold potions to stave it off and improve concentration, but they were just doxy powder dissolved in water. Drove poor Remus mad when he realized that was what his cauldron was being used for!"

"Potter was a good man," Minerva sighed

Black had been a good man as well, Rolanda thought with regret. She nodded in response to Minerva's statement. "I suppose seeing his progeny is bringing back the memories?"

"The feelings," Minerva corrected. "Although he's not nearly as destructive. I suppose it's like—do you know that poem that's covered in Muggle Studies, "A Late Walk" by Robert Frost?"

Rolanda furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement, but nodded, "I've heard of it."

"Well, at the end, as the narrator leaves the garden, he takes a flower with him. A memento of the garden, if you will," she explained. She took a moment to drink more tea. "I rather like Muggle poetry. I find, sadly, that our poetry cannot hold its own against it."

"And is Potter the memento?"

"Potter is what remains." Minerva took a biscuit. "And, yes, I want to preserve that. His life has not been easy, however sheltered. Quidditch will add no safety to it, I'm afraid—and I am sorry about that—but don't you think it will make him feel connected to his father?"

"Not only we will see the resemblance, then?"

"I don't think he knew what his parents looked like until Hagrid showed him."

Rolanda tried to imagine that but found herself unable to. Harry Potter, savior of the magical world, kept so in the dark he had no idea who his parents were? And here, people like Professor Snape were ridiculing his mental abilities?

"When you put it like that." Rolanda squared her shoulders as if prepared to take on a Bludger, "Potter will be the finest Seeker Hogwarts has ever known. Damn the rules, then. I may not like him in danger, but we will both have to adapt: him to the game and me to putting a student in danger."

"What's got you so fired up all of a sudden?" Minerva laughed incredulously at the determined look on her companion's face. "Hours ago, the only reason you weren't publicly calling me out on this choice was because it would mean you were on Severus's side!"

"This has nothing to do with my personal feelings toward Professor Snape, Minerva." Rolanda took another biscuit and got a notebook and quill from the pockets of her robe. "And I do still believe this to be a dangerous choice. But there is nothing I can do to change it, and by the way, Potter will need a new broom—you can't expect him to ride on a school one, surely—so maybe a Cleansweep or Nimbus will do the trick . . ."