A/N: Here I am, once again apologising for lack of updates on my stories. I hope you'll forgive me.
The breeze was brisk on her skin as Rolanda Hooch soared through the autumn air above the Quidditch pitch. After a long day of teaching, a nice long flight was exactly what she needed (even if she had already spent most of her day on a broomstick). It was her go-to cure, after all.
After another hour, Rolanda felt the first trickles of rain sting the skin of her neck as they advanced towards her collar. Reluctantly, she swooped towards the ground and dismounted her broom, slinging it haphazardly over her shoulder. Her footsteps made thick sloshing sounds as the rain reached something near storm-level. Rolanda hurtled towards safety of the changing rooms.
As the dimming sun flooded into the changing rooms, Rolanda dropped her broomstick. Her colleagues were all gathered before her. Damn it.
"Bring it on," Rolanda announced, spreading her hands wide in a gesture of what she thought to be bravery. If they were taking something away from her, she would not go down without a fight. "I have absolutely no crazy obsessions that you can take away from me. Throw all you've got at me."
"Broomsticks," Albus said. That single word was enough to place a lead weight in the pit of Rolanda's stomach.
"It gives way for too many 'riding' innuendoes," squeaked Pomona Sprout, sounding much more like Filius than she had intended.
"I'm concerned for your social life; brooms seem to be the only thing you're riding," Minerva said without a hint of joking about her lightly-accented voice.
"See what I mean?" Pomona sighed exasperatedly, clapping her hands to her forehead.
"I would like to point out to you all that I ride broomsticks for a job." This is it, Rolanda thought, I've got them now.
"We know." Having prepared herself to leave in a blaze of glory, broom held triumphantly aloft, Rolanda was understandably shocked by the curt reply issued – in a rather impressive unison – by several of her colleagues.
"But then you fly in all your free time," Severus replied curtly, glancing with disdain at the bright scarlet furnishings.
"I do not!"
"When was the last time you accompanied us to The Three Broomsticks?" Albus asked. Damn the man and his annoy-everybody-then-get-out-of-it-because-those-stupid-blue-eyes-twinkle-and-Minerva-gives-in-because-she's-a-softy-for-children-and-let's-face-it-Albus-is-not-always-the-most-mature ways!
"That's an unfair question!" The sweet taste of victory was slipping from Rolanda's tongue as she realised she was losing the war.
"Rosmerta thought you had died," Minerva said, her face fixed in a perfectly matter-of-fact way. If Rolanda were not so terrified for what may happen, she would have laughed.
"You used to spend enough there to keep her afloat."
"So you would rather I was an alcoholic than a broom enthusiast? Well, that's logical!" Rolanda crossed her arms sulkily, not caring that she now looked like a stubborn child who has been refused their favourite treat.
"You are not an enthusiast, you are obsessive!" Sybil Trelawney snapped unusually brusquely, far from the flower-child airiness she generally emitted.
"I am NOT. Tell them, Filius." Unfortunately, Professor Flitwick, still suffering from the ban from his precious books, could not formulate an adequate reply. Rolanda sighed, sinking down to the wooden bench as her knees buckled with the realisation of what she was to lose for a month.
"No broomsticks outside of teaching hours for a month, Rolanda." Albus's words sent a chill down her spine and planted a seed of anger in her mind. This matter did not end here.