Chapter 6
The early evening breeze rustled and whispered through the woodlands that stretched downhill from Ioan Chant's cottage. The sun had almost set; the nights were drawing in at an alarming pace now and winter would soon be upon them. Despite Ioan's arm around her shoulders and her thick muggle overcoat, Minerva shivered. The wide-reaching apparition wards he had set up around his new home were entirely sensible, she knew, but visiting him in bad weather was not going to be pleasant.
Nevertheless, no amount of bad weather would be keeping Minerva from his door.
Minerva allowed a smile to tease at her lips as she cast her mind back over the weekend just gone. After Friday night's unexpected discovery that Ioan found her just as attractive as she did him, they'd barely been able to keep their hands off one another. Minerva had been afraid that three years of celibacy might have left her somewhat rusty when it came to the physical side of love but to her surprise and delight not only had her body had responded ferociously to Ioan's touch but he also seemed to have experienced just as much pleasure from her own diligent if slightly inexpert ministrations. They had spent most of the weekend in bed exploring their newfound intimacy, physical and emotional, whilst the autumn storms had raged outside. On Sunday the weather had finally eased off and they'd made it down to the bay for a long walk across the sands, followed by lunch in the village pub. Back in the cosy warmth of his living room Ioan had decided it was high past time to introduce her to – as he put it – some decent music, and he'd put on an album by one of his favourite bands. They'd curled on the sofa together watching the last of the afternoon sun disappear, both sad to see the weekend draw to a close.
And now Ioan was – reluctantly – escorting her back down the lane so that she could return to Hogwarts in time for dinner. Minerva, for her part, was not particularly looking forward to going back, and not just because it would mean leaving Ioan behind. For so many years Hogwarts had been a home for her, a place of sanctuary and calm. But lately it was beginning to feel like a battleground. Dolores Umbridge was impossible to reason with and the Ministry seemed to have given her carte blanche to cause as much upset and controversy as possible. Lately Minerva had begun to dread the very sight of pink parchment. The weekend with Ioan had been a wonderful escape: an opportunity to put the stresses and strains of work behind her and instead devote her energies to something far more pleasurable. But now it was over.
"Come back any time," Ioan said as they reached the edge of the wards. "I mean it. Even if it's just for an hour or two."
She nodded and turned to kiss him goodbye.
A few minutes later she was hurrying up the driveway to Hogwarts in the gathering darkness. A quick glance at her watch told her she had just enough time to wash and change for dinner and she quickened her pace as she approached the front door.
Sure enough, she arrived in the Great Hall with only a few minutes to spare. Filius was in her usual seat next to the Headmaster, having quite reasonably assumed that Minerva would not be joining them. He rose quickly, apologising, but she waved him back down and instead took the empty chair to the other side of him, feeling a little relieved that Albus would now be unable to quiz her as to where she had been all weekend. She loved him dearly and had done for many years, ever since the evening he'd caught her crying in her classroom over the news that her beloved Dougal had proposed to the vain, simpering Eileen Gordon. Over the course of the conversation that followed he had abandoned his rather clumsy efforts to be a father figure to her and a deep friendship had formed between them instead. But Albus was also a nosy old bastard, particularly when it came to Minerva's love life. Though he'd probably already guessed there was more to her relationship with Ioan than met the eye, she didn't feel ready to confide the details in him just yet.
She ate slowly, distracted by thoughts of Ioan and all that had happened between them. He'd taken her totally by surprise on Friday but, now that she considered it, he must have put quite some effort in to planning it all: the invitation, the candles, the home cooked meal… it was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.
Filius glanced over at her and caught her smiling to herself.
"Good weekend, Minerva?"
"It was lovely, thank you. Any problems on Saturday?"
"Hogsmeade? No, not at all. Remarkably quiet, in fact."
"Good."
As soon as was polite, she excused herself from the company of her colleagues and made her way back upstairs to her suite, not even bothering to stop off in her office as she passed. Her desk was piled high with outstanding work after the unexpected weekend away but it would have to keep until tomorrow. Right now fatigue was catching up with her and she could barely keep her eyes open. She'd had little sleep the previous two nights. Admittedly she'd spent a fair amount of time - well, otherwise occupied, so to speak. But once that was all over and Ioan was snoring softly beside her, sleep had eluded Minerva. She was used to having her large bed to herself and was a restless sleeper at the best of times, often tossing and turning from her back to her front to her side before finding a position in which she could comfortably stretch out her long limbs and drift off. With Ioan pressed up against the curve of her back, his arm tucked tightly around her, she'd been afraid to move too much in case she disturbed him. Cramped and uncomfortable, she'd spent both nights dozing fitfully but never falling properly asleep. Really she ought to have told him but the idea of spending the night in the loving embrace of this man she had desired for so long was one she was reluctant to cast aside so easily. Perhaps, she hoped, she would get used to it given time.
She undressed and washed as quickly as she could, pulled on a clean nightgown and checked her trusty tartan dressing gown was hanging in its usual spot on the back of the door in case of any nocturnal emergencies. Then she peeled back the crimson bedspread on her large four-poster and slid between the sheets, feeling a little guilty about the relief it brought her to be back in her own bed once more. She'd much rather have been with Ioan, of course. That went without saying. She stretched out her limbs then wriggled around until she was comfortable, one feather pillow cradling her head and another wedged under a splayed out arm. Bliss, she thought, and with that she was asleep.
Monday morning found Minerva feeling bright and cheerful once more, though the discovery of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four pinned squarely in the centre of the staffroom noticeboard somewhat mitigated her good mood. It was, she thought, yet another example of how little understanding Dolores Umbridge had when it came to the students of Hogwarts. The many clubs and societies that existed within the castle kept them engaged and occupied during their free time and – more importantly – discouraged them from finding their own entertainment in pursuits of a less constructive nature. This meant that Minerva, along with the rest of the staff, spent considerably less of her own free time supervising detentions. Not any more, it seemed.
Down in the Great Hall, the school was abuzz with the news. Minerva frowned at the sight of a knot of students crowding around the Gryffindor table. As usual Potter was at the centre of the disturbance. What had he done now? Filius had assured her that all had been quiet on the Hogsmeade visit. But just as she was debating whether or not to intervene it struck her that Dolores' decree hadn't just been about clubs and societies. It had also mentioned teams. Quidditch teams, Minerva realised with a horrible sense of foreboding. Of course. No wonder Potter and his friends were upset. But Dolores would have to lift the ban, surely? The dreadful woman couldn't cancel Quidditch… could she?
Minerva was so distracted that she didn't see the post owl swooping towards her until it dropped her delivery neatly onto her still-empty plate, startling her out of her reverie. Instead of an envelope or parcel, a single long-stemmed red rose lay in front of her, its soft velvety petals perfectly arranged. There was no note, of course. Minerva glanced up anxiously, hoping the gift had gone unnoticed. She guarded her privacy intently, having absolutely no desire to be the subject of idle gossip amongst her charges. A few of the senior Gryffindor students peered curiously in her direction but most were busy eating, preoccupied with their own mail or talking in hushed tones whilst casting the occasional resentful glance at Dolores Umbridge.
Unfortunately the same could not be said for her colleagues. Conversations tailed off on either side of her as curious eyes turned to look and mouths opened ready to speculate as to what the Deputy Headmistress might have done to deserve such a token. She swept them all with the iciest stare she could manage and was gratified to see Filius taking a sudden intense interest in his porridge, while Dumbledore resumed telling Severus Snape about his summer holiday in Denmark slightly more loudly than before. Even Hagrid took the hint and said nothing. Further along the table, however, Pomona Sprout was grinning from ear to ear with triumph and Minerva knew she would be along to interrogate her before the day was out. Swiftly she pulled the rose off the table and onto her lap, before fixing Pomona with a defiant glare which, unsurprisingly, had no effect whatsoever.
Once she had escaped upstairs to the privacy of her office she stared at the rose for a moment, before conjuring a vase of water to put it in and standing it on her desk. It had been a long time since any man had sent her flowers, mostly because she had always made it clear that she considered such material tokens of affection to be entirely pointless. Despite this, however, she was rather touched by Ioan's gesture, not least because laying hands on an owl and a red rose in a remote muggle village so early in the morning must have taken some doing. It was ridiculous, of course, and unnecessary, but the fact that he felt the change in the relationship between them deserved some form of acknowledgement was more reassuring than she cared to admit. She only hoped he hadn't taken any silly risks in the process.
It all felt decidedly different from the relationships she'd been in before, and not just because the object of her affections happened to be wanted by the Ministry for murder. Oh, there had been the usual awkwardness, the anxiety over saying or doing the wrong thing, the endless wondering as to what might happen next. But alongside all that Minerva had found herself experiencing something she never had before: an instinctive feeling that this was exactly the right thing to do. It was as if some part of her had known him forever, had kissed him a thousand times before.
Minerva prided herself on being sensible, practical and unsentimental. So why, when Ioan Chant embraced her, did she feel like she'd finally come home?
She shook herself. It wouldn't do to daydream when there were classes to teach. Swiftly she gathered her belongings and set off down the corridor to her classroom.
By the evening Minerva was feeling just as exhausted as she had the night before. She had been most troubled to learn of the injury to Potter's owl, implying as it did that the High Inquisitor was willing to sink to even deeper levels than previously realised, and she'd jotted a quick note to Albus so that he could alert the Order of the situation. Then she'd arranged for the house elves to bring a light lunch up to her office, where it had taken her the full lunch hour to deal with the mountain of correspondence that had accumulated during her absence. Once her afternoon lessons were over she'd returned to her office and begun ploughing through her marking, starting with the efforts of the seventh year NEWT class and working her way backwards from there. Halfway through a sheaf of fourth year essays on Switching Spells she'd dashed down to the Great Hall for dinner, eating as quickly as she could before heading straight back upstairs again.
She'd managed to successfully avoid Pomona all day but she knew her friend wouldn't be so easily deterred. Sure enough, no sooner had she settled herself behind her desk than the door of her office burst open once more and Pomona came bustling in, a bottle of what would undoubtedly turn out to be some sort of toxic homebrew in one hand.
"You can run but you can't hide, my dear!" she announced theatrically.
With a sigh Minerva set the remainder of the fourth year essays aside once more. "Could you at least close the door?"
Pomona obeyed, then deposited herself into the chair opposite Minerva, conjured up two tumblers and poured a generous measure of clear liquid into each one.
"Come on," she demanded, pushing one of the glasses towards Minerva. "Spill the beans!"
"I don't know what you mean," Minerva protested weakly, though she knew it was pointless to resist. The only way she would get her friend out of her office before midnight would be to satisfy her thirst for salacious gossip.
"You rush out of here on Friday night dressed up to the nines, don't come home for two days and then reappear with a great big smile on your face and get red roses delivered to you at breakfast."
"It was only one rose," Minerva said. "And shouldn't we be discussing Umbridge's latest diktat?"
"Pffft. That can wait. This is much more important."
Minerva took a sip of her drink. A moment later she was coughing and spluttering, eyes streaming.
"Pomona!" she managed eventually. "What on earth is this stuff?"
"Puffapod juice liqueur. It's a new recipe. Add a bit of gillywater if you want, takes the edge off it. What's his name? How did you meet him? When are you seeing him again?"
"Pomona, you know I don't like talking about this sort of thing. Besides, I doubt it will come to anything. It's just a silly fling. That's all." She wasn't quite sure who she was trying to convince: herself or her friend. After all, if she kept her expectations low then she couldn't be disappointed.
"There is about as much chance of you having "a silly fling" as there is of dear Dolores giving us all a pay rise and buggering off back to the Ministry. You can't fool me, my dear."
"All right," Minerva said. "But it's complicated. I've known him for rather a while as a friend but this is all new. It's too early to say if it will work out, which is why I don't want to talk about it."
"Ah. I take it your new dress had, shall we say, the desired effect?"
Minerva gave in. "Yes," she admitted, blushing furiously.
"And are we talking acceptable? Or were expectations exceeded?" Pomona rested her elbows on the desk and leaned forward eagerly.
"Expectations were very much exceeded," Minerva confessed, unable to prevent a slow smile from spreading across her face as she recalled once more the events of the weekend. She'd lost her virginity to Dougal McGregor, awkward fumbling in the back of his father's car, too afraid of getting caught to actually enjoy it. A few brief relationships had followed but none of them had lasted. The sex had been unsatisfying and uncomfortable, and Minerva had been left wondering just what on earth all the fuss was about.
She'd assumed that Ioan, a man incapable of hearing a knock at the door when he was absorbed in his research, who rarely bothered to make the bed and who frequently risked tripping and breaking his neck on the piles of books he left stacked on the staircase… well, she'd just thought he'd have the same vaguely distracted air when it came to the bedroom. How wrong she'd been. Ioan approached sex with the same intensity that he had when it came to complex enchantments. He'd worked his way systematically across her body, carefully noting her responses, teasing and testing until he found out exactly how to drive her wild, whether it was whispering something filthy in her ear as he drove her over the edge or pleasuring her slowly and tantalisingly with his mouth and hands until she was begging for release. She in turn had found herself growing in confidence, able to tell him what she wanted and express her pleasure freely and unselfconsciously, feeling the passion that had been missing from her previous encounters. It had been a revelation. Finally Minerva had understood.
Pomona was beaming at her. "Well good on you, girl. It's about time someone gave you a decent seeing to."
Minerva gathered herself. "That's all you're getting for now," she insisted firmly. "Now shoo! I've got far too much work to do before I can sit around gossiping!"
"Only because you spent all weekend shagging!" And with one last gleeful cackle Pomona was gone.
Tuesday morning brought an irate Gryffindor Quidditch Captain to Minerva's office door bearing the news that Dolores Umbridge had declined to give the team permission to reform. Minerva listened to Angelina Johnson's tirade as calmly as she could, though inside she was fuming. At lunchtime she went straight up to Dumbledore's office, almost spitting the password at the stone gargoyle in her rage.
Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk looking as calm as ever, apparently oblivious to the turmoil of the castle below.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall. How are you, my dear? Do sit down."
Reluctantly she took a seat. She'd have been happier pacing the length of his office but she knew he disliked seeing her upset. Instead she tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Miss Johnson informs me that Dolores Umbridge has declined to give the Gryffindor Quidditch team permission to play."
"Ah. That is most unfortunate."
"It is grossly unfair! I note from Severus that no such restriction has been placed on the Slytherin team despite a less than exemplary pitch record over the past few years. Besides, you know how much Potter is suffering right now. Surely we shouldn't be denying the boy one of the few pleasures he has left?"
"I will have a gentle word with Dolores."
"I'm not sure a gentle word is-"
Albus held up a hand, stopping her before she could say anything more controversial. "You may leave the matter with me," he said firmly. "And then we can perhaps move on to more pressing issues?"
"Such as..?"
"Such as the identity of the gentleman brave enough to send you roses?" He said this with a straight face but there was an unmistakeable gleam of amusement in his eye.
"Albus, you know I don't like talking about this kind of thing."
"Forgive me," he said, entirely unapologetic. "I am a nosy old man."
"Ioan and I…" she began stiffly. "We… that is to say…" Minerva's cheeks flamed as she struggled to find a polite way of explaining to the Headmaster that she and Ioan Chant had spent the weekend taking inter-house relationships to a whole new level. Thankfully her stricken expression was enough to give the game away. Albus took pity on her and waved her into silence.
"I understand. I had hoped… but no, it is none of my business."
She frowned. "I assure you I will not allow this to interfere in any way with my duties here."
"I don't doubt that for a moment, my dear," he said with a wry smile. "That is not the reason for my concern."
"Then may I ask what is?"
"I am still troubled by the Angus Murphy affair. It would not have been considered unreasonable for Ioan to have used lethal defence if he thought your life was in danger-"
"But he didn't. He didn't, Albus."
"But what is the alternative hypothesis? That one Death Eater would slay another and let the pair of you escape unharmed, even though the fortuitous murder of a member of the Order of the Phoenix and the capture of an eminent researcher would have brought him or her great favour in the eyes of Voldemort?"
"Hardly unharmed," she muttered, remembering the excruciating pain she'd been in that night. "But what if the Death Eater in question was also a member of the Order? Have you considered that? You said you had a warning…"
He held up a hand. "Severus Snape was not in Tinworth that night, Minerva, of that I am certain. I don't deny that he warned me. But Severus had plans elsewhere."
"But…"
"Just be careful, my dear," he said gently. "That's all I ask. Keep an open mind. Don't let love blind you to the possibility that Ioan Chant might not be entirely the man you think he is."
Dumbledore's warning troubled Minerva more than she cared to admit. At lunchtime she was distracted and ate little as she turned his words over and over in her mind. What if Ioan had killed Murphy? Perhaps he had denied it out of fear as to how she would react, rather than any more sinister motive. It didn't seem to make sense though, knowing him as she did. But then… how well did she know him? Two years of letters and a few months of courting wasn't much, after all.
She continued to mull it over as she headed into her afternoon lessons, though her musings were swiftly cut short when one of her fifth year Hufflepuff students managed to accidentally turn his mouse into a large and very agile monkey that seized both his wand and his quill before hightailing up into the rafters. By the time she'd sorted out the resulting chaos and delivered a stern if slightly hypocritical lecture on the perils of not concentrating in class it was almost time for the bell.
Her joint Gryffindor and Slytherin first year class followed and here she had no time for speculation: the first years, many of whom were still only just getting to grips with controlling their magic, required much closer supervision and a great deal more help. It didn't help that they were still very much in awe of their strict teacher and, for half of them, Head of House and were thus rather nervous. Much of the lesson was spent moving from desk to desk: demonstrating wand movements, correcting spell pronunciations and occasionally reversing erroneous work. But teaching had always come naturally to Minerva and watching these students grow in confidence and ability as the year went on would bring her both pride and pleasure, though she rarely let it show.
By the time the final bell of the afternoon rang she was feeling much happier, her confidence restored. Albus had only met Ioan Chant a handful of times at Order meetings so he was hardly in any position to judge. But Ioan was the most honest and open man she'd ever known. He wouldn't have been capable of hiding any sort of dark agenda even if he'd wanted to. He'd opened his home and his heart to her and she trusted him completely. And that was all there was to it.
She marched into her office and nearly dropped the armful of parchment she was holding in shock at the sight of an unexpected visitor lounging in an armchair by the fireplace.
"Remus!" she spluttered. "Goodness, you made me jump! You could have warned me you were coming."
Remus Lupin got slowly to his feet. His movements were rather stiff and with a jolt she realised it was only a day or two past the full moon.
"My apologies," he said, stepping towards her and kissing her cheek politely. "I was afraid that if a message got intercepted and the High Inquisitor knew you were harbouring a… what was it? Ah, yes… dangerous half breed… in your office then it might make things difficult for you. I didn't want to risk walking through the castle so I came by floo when I knew she would be teaching."
Minerva deposited the scrolls of parchment on her desk.
"Tea? Or something stronger?"
"Tea would be lovely."
She conjured two cups and then lifted down the teapot that sat on a nearby shelf and tapped it twice with her wand. "Remus," she said aloud and filled his cup, and then, "Mine." The pot supplied delicately fragranced peppermint tea for Minerva and a thick half-stewed builder's brew with milk and three sugars for her guest.
"Your tastes haven't changed, I see," she said wryly, handing him his cup and taking the armchair opposite. "So what can I do for you?"
"I need to talk to you about Harry."
"Oh dear."
There was an Order meeting planned for Thursday evening. The fact that Remus had made a special trip to visit her rather than waiting until then did not bode well. Sure enough, as Remus explained about the meeting in the Hog's Head her heart sank. Apparently Potter still hadn't heeded her warnings, though at least he seemed to be aiming for a touch more discretion this time. Still, she thought, at least he was doing something constructive now.
"You can't deny it's a very Gryffindor thing to do," Remus pointed out.
Minerva sniffed. "True, though sometimes I wish it wasn't. But trust me, if Dolores Umbridge catches so much as a whiff of this… well, he'll be facing expulsion at the very least."
"If it makes you feel better, I think the true brain behind the operation is that of Hermione Granger."
"That doesn't surprise me. She's already been to see me twice to complain about how inadequate the new Defence curriculum is, though of course there was nothing I could do about it."
"Anyway, I thought you might appreciate an advance warning. I get the impression that Sirius is rather fanning the flames, shall we say? At least this way you can keep an eye on things this end."
She sighed.
"Thank you. I shall do my best."
That night she found herself missing Ioan acutely. She'd never felt lonely at Hogwarts before but all of a sudden the bed she'd been so relieved to be back in two nights before seemed suddenly empty without him beside her. It wasn't just that her body ached furiously to be touched and kissed and stroked into a state of wild abandon again, though that in itself was bad enough. But she also missed him: missed his easy smile, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating on his work – or on her, as it turned out – and the cosy warmth of the cottage, the home that he had created there for himself and into which he'd welcomed her so joyfully. It was far too risky for him to visit her at the castle so they'd agreed that, for the time being at least, she would come to him, and then only on the weekends since she didn't wish to be seen skipping in and out of the castle like an errant teenager in the first flush of love. Still, as she'd climbed the stairs back to her rooms she'd briefly entertained the fantasy that he'd be there waiting for her, ridiculous though it was. The weekend was beginning to feel like nothing more than a dream. She wondered if Ioan was missing her too.
By the following evening the last of Minerva's resolve had drained away. After wrestling with herself all the way through dinner she finally gave in, collected her travelling cloak and bag from her office and swept off down the driveway, trying for all the world to appear as if she was merely out for an evening stroll and not sneaking off for a late night tryst with her secret lover; as if her cheeks were flushed with cold and not anticipation.
The cottage stood exactly as she'd left it, perched on the clifftop under an icy moonlit sky. The lights were on downstairs; hopefully that meant he was home… and perhaps even missing her too. She marched swiftly up to the front door. The air seemed to shimmer slightly on either side of her as she stepped through the protective enchantments and knocked twice on the glass pane. For a moment she remembered a different door and a different night and shivered at the thought of how close they'd come. She didn't have time to dwell on it, though, as the door opened and Ioan stood on the threshold, staring at her with a mix of surprise and delight.
"Minerva!"
Minerva felt her insides clench thrillingly at the sight of him and immediately knew she'd done the right thing.
"I'm sorry," she said aloud. "I should have sent you a message, I know, but I missed you and I-"
He cut her off with a warm embrace. She'd forgotten how good it felt to be in his arms but the scent of him made her memories suddenly much more vivid.
"I missed you too. Come in, quick. It's freezing."
She shrugged out of her travelling cloak and hung in up by the door, and followed him through into his living room where a welcoming fire blazed in the hearth. She could judge exactly where he had been sitting by the maelstrom of papers, books and parchment that covered just about every available flat surface within arms reach. Hastily he gathered up as much of the mess as he could, piling it all in haphazard stacks on the coffee table until the sofa was clear. Not for the first time, Minerva wondered how on earth he could work in such chaos.
"Sorry it's a bit untidy. Have a seat. Wine?"
"Not on a school night, thank you."
He shrugged and went to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of clear amber scotch for himself. He gestured at the sofa and she sank down next to him.
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," she began, "but please don't send me flowers in front of the whole school again. It only makes people gossip about me and I really don't like that."
"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I didn't think."
"I was hoping we could perhaps not tell the Order, either. Albus knows but I'd rather keep it that, if you don't mind. Just for now at least."
He nodded. "Absolutely. Whatever makes you happy."
She felt a twinge of guilt at his obvious discomfort. "It was a beautiful rose," she said. "It's in a vase on my desk. I was very touched. It was lovely to know that you were thinking of me."
"All I've done since you left is think about you," Ioan said. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you now. You look tired, though. I take it that Umbridge woman is still making things difficult."
Minerva grimaced and nodded.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She hesitated. "Not really," she admitted. "I'd rather not think about it at all. Actually, do you mind… could I have one of those, please?"
"Of course." He summoned the whisky and another glass from the kitchen, poured her a finger and then searched around for somewhere to put the bottle. In the process he managed to send an accidental avalanche of paperwork cascading from a side table; fortuitously this resulted in a clear space on the table. He set the bottle down and turned back to her before he upset things any further.
"Cheers."
He clinked his glass against hers and she took a long sip, savouring the fiery heat of it as she swallowed. Just one, she thought guiltily. It was good, very good in fact, but what she really wanted was him. Tired of waiting, she set the glass aside and reached for him with both hands so that she could kiss him properly.
"I think this is the first time I've seen you in your work robes," Ioan said thoughtfully when they finally broke apart. He ran one hand over the heavy emerald green velvet that draped her shoulders.
"I'm sorry. I was in such a rush to see you I didn't bother to change."
"Oh, don't apologise. I'm actually rather aroused by the idea of undressing a teacher." Ioan got to his feet. "In fact, would you care to accompany me upstairs, Professor McGonagall? I've got some… wandwork I'd like to show you." He noticed her blushing and grinned. "You can always put me in detention if you don't approve."
Minerva peered doubtfully over her spectacles at him; too late she realised she was giving him exactly what he wanted.
"Ioan-"
"Indulge me for a moment," he murmured, "and I promise I'll make you forget all about work."
Her initial misgivings were soon proved to be entirely unfounded. Once they were in his bedroom, Ioan lifted her spectacles from her nose, teased the pins out of her hair one by one and proceeded to slowly, sensually undress her, refusing all attempts on her part to assist with the process. First the heavy winter robes were unclasped and slid from her shoulders, then he was carefully unbuttoning her blouse and tracing his fingers over the bare skin beneath, following them with soft, teasing kisses. With every article of clothing he removed she felt the weight of her worries slowly lift and her mind grow clearer. By the time he had peeled off her stockings she was every bit as aroused as he was and all thoughts of Dolores Umbridge were – thankfully - long gone.
"How was it for you?"
"Fifty points to Ravenclaw, Mr Chant. And detention… with me, all night."
Despite – or perhaps because of – her determination to get a good night's sleep, Minerva spent another restless night. Ioan didn't stir at all as she slid out of his bed and retrieved her clothing from his bedroom floor. She still felt a little awkward about waking in someone else's house and she washed and dressed quickly, lingering only for a moment to gaze with affection at her sleeping lover before slipping away downstairs and out into the crisp October morning, not even daring to make herself a cup of tea. A fresh breeze blew in from the coast, bringing with it the plaintive cries of seagulls. Minerva had always loved the sea, reminding her as it did of her childhood in Caithness and the father she had adored. Her life at home at not always been easy and, when her mother didn't need her, she would often slip away from the house and off down the familiar paths that led her eventually up to the lighthouse at Duncansby Head, from where she could gaze out across the Pentland Firth, watching out to sea for dolphins and whales in the summer and, through the autumn months, peering down over the cliff edge to look for the fluffy white coats of the newborn seal pups. When the fog rolled in from the icy North Sea it would often reach all the way inland to the village, shrouding the familiar landscape and bringing an aura of magic and mystery with it.
Ioan's new home lay on the north Pembrokeshire coast. Though it was but a pale shadow of the soaring majesty of the Highlands, it was nevertheless beautiful in its own way: a gentler, smaller, friendlier version of home. Rolling hills of green replaced bleak moorland. But the smell of salt in the air did not change and Minerva felt strangely wistful as she strode off down the lane.
Back in her office she hung up her travelling cloak wearily and was about to head upstairs when out of the corner of her eye she registered the pile of parchment rolls sitting on the desk: first year homework essays that she'd forgotten about in her rush to see Ioan. It wasn't a disaster by any stretch; they could wait another day or two for their marks. But it bothered Minerva immensely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd missed work like that. And now she was tired again, and with a full day of lessons to teach. Was this how life was when you were in a relationship? Maybe she had just been spoilt by only having herself to worry about for all these years. Some of her colleagues had children as well as partners and they seemed to manage perfectly well.
She glanced at her watch. If she skipped breakfast she could get the essays marked in time to hand back later. She'd feel better then.
She settled herself in her chair, pulled the first of the essays towards her and reached for her quill. If this was how things were going to be from now on then so be it. She would cope, she told herself firmly. She would.
She had to.
