Warnings: Sapfic. Shoe fetish.
---///---
Chapter Ten -- A Night Out, Part II
Minerva had finally come to full consciousness -- "assembling her faculties," she called the process -- and taken herself off to the communal bathroom.
Rolanda shut the door behind her and shook her head. A shared bathroom? Bloody bludgers, how on earth had Min found this place? And how did she manage to live here? Ro looked around slowly. No food, no real bed, no books. And virtually no clothes, she saw as she idly opened the wardrobe. At any given time, Minerva must be wearing a good half of everything she owned. Like some sort of -- what did the Muggles call them? -- bag lady.
"Min?" she asked, when McGonagall returned. "Do you remember that thing you used to do? Called transfiguration? Have you forgotten how it works?"
"What do you mean? Didn't you watch me transfigure the sofa just a few hours ago?
"Well, then, why do you live like this? Why don't you have any books? Or clothes?"
Minerva's gaze was pointed. "You're the one who doesn't seem to have any clothes at the moment, my dear," she replied, running a hand down Ro's bare back for emphasis.
"Seriously. You could transfigure any old rubbish into something reasonable. But instead you just wear the old rubbish. Why?"
McGonagall didn't answer immediately. She wasn't sure she wanted to explain just how little the details of her life had meant to her when she'd first arrived in the Muggle world. How little most of them still meant. So many of the things she'd cared about in the past either didn't seem to matter now. . .or she couldn't let them matter.
Finally she settled for a gesture at her rumpled skirt and jumper. "I found these at a Muggle charity shop not long after the battle. They cost very little, and they were genuine Muggle -- which was all that concerned me at the time. And I told you, I don't like to use magic here unless it's really necessary. Transfiguring clothing hardly seems to qualify. In any case, Madam Hooch," she went on, deliberately speaking more lightly, "aren't you the person who once said that a robe couldn't be comfortable if it weren't at least a decade old? Since when are you so interested in dress?"
"Since I've seen how lost we all are in this damned world," Ro said bluntly. "Even you, indomitable Minerva. But at least we're here. We've survived. So let's go wild for once, why don't we? Let's tart ourselves up and take ourselves out."
McGonagall looked at her consideringly and then smiled her old smile, the one that took Ro back to those first heady days of their being together, to those wonderfully-sleepless nights in Min's bed. . .so little sleep that she had once actually drifted off during a Gryffindor Quidditch practice and then had yelled at Harry Potter for not waking her. For making her late in getting back to that bed where sleep was the last thing on her mind, though she had chosen not to share this part with Potter.
"All right, then," Minerva said, still smiling the smile. She reached for her transformed wand. "I'll see what I can do. But I may need more than one attempt," she warned. "I'm still a bit slow with this."
Ro responded with only a snort. Min had said the same thing when she'd changed the settee. But even if her "new" wand did slow her down a little, it made no difference to her skills. That sofa had become a bed more gracefully than anything so orange and lumpy had a right to.
"Surprise me, Min," she said, taking McGonagall's threadbare dressing-gown from the wardrobe and preparing to head to the bathroom herself. "Make us something gorgeous."
When she came back, her first thought was that Minerva had transfigured a traditional robe for herself. But it was a dress, an elegantly-severe black dress with long, tight sleeves that covered Min's wrists and a straight neck that rested just below her collarbone, a dress that looked almost prim until Ro realised how sleekly the silky fabric clung, how well the skirt draped over sheer black tights. And the shoes: high black heels with ankle-straps that made Rolanda want to unbuckle them then and there.
On the bed, Ro's black trousers and tee-shirt had been transformed into a tailored jacket and a straight skirt; Minerva was in the process of turning one of her own shapeless jumpers into a crisp white shirt. Ro's sensible trainers had become red leather boots with pointed toes.
Hooch let her mouth drop open. "Merlin's bum, McGonagall. I thought you always said you didn't know anything about Muggle clothes."
"I've learnt."
Twitching the belt from the dressing gown, she changed it into a red necktie that she handed to Rolanda along with the shirt.
---///---
At the door to the restaurant, Gemma was assailed by a fit of nerves that almost made her turn away. How could they avoid being seen by Mina and her bird-woman? And if they were seen, how could they possibly explain themselves? Mina would immediately see through any pitiful attempt at "fancy-meeting-you-here," of that Gemma was certain.
But one look at the avid glee on Phil's face made her decide she had to go through with it, come what may. Tonight she could at least minimise whatever damage Phil might do, and if it was anything truly awful, she would just try to make things right with Mina later.
Taking a deep breath, she followed Phil into the candle-lit interior of Arturo's.
And immediately felt better. It had been some time since she'd eaten here, and she had forgotten how the booths and potted plants turned each table into a rather private nook.
Phil was already deep in whispered negotiations with a waiter, who eventually escorted them to what Gemma realised was the perfect table: fairly hidden, but with a good view of the main room. She let herself relax fractionally, although she doubted she'd be able to eat a bite.
"There they are," Phil hissed in a stage whisper that was probably more penetrating than her normal voice.
Gemma peeked cautiously to the side. The bird woman was leaning back, one arm lying along the top of the booth, looking insouciant in a man's white shirt; Mina was all in smooth black, something silver sparkling at her ears, her hair gathered into a loose knot that managed to hold its chic shape without any visible pins or bands, as if she'd simply twisted it back and it stayed of its own accord. How does she do that, and why is it I never can? Gemma wondered, fingering the clips from which her own fine brown hair was forever escaping.
She turned back to Phil. "They look smashing."
"Told you," said Phil smugly, as if it were her doing. "What do you think of Morgan's fuck-me shoes?"
"They're hardly that. But it's definitely a change from her teaching clothes," Gemma admitted.
"Well, as I believe I've told you, she's hot, our Mina. Look, they're almost through a bottle of wine already. And it's no plonk, either."
"Where do you suppose they learnt about wine? A prison correspondence course?" Gemma asked wickedly.
Phil ignored her. "I wish we could hear what they were saying. I'd like. . ."
But she was interrupted by the appearance of their server. After they'd given their orders, Phil winked at Gemma and said casually to the waiter, "Those two women in the corner. . .we think we might know them. From our office. Did you happen to notice if they were talking about, uh, prisons or criminal justice or anything like that?"
Gemma closed her eyes. Oh, god. . .
But the boy was incurious. "Couldn't say," he shrugged. "They ordered in English, but otherwise they speak some foreign language."
"French? German?" asked Phil.
"No idea. Can I get you anything else just now?"
---///---
Even though their conversation charm was strong, Rolanda lowered her voice as she said, "Don't look now, Min, but those women are over there. From your office."
McGonagall sighed. "Yes, I saw them."
"That one who said you were in prison -- she's barking, if you ask me." Hooch let the tip of her wand slide from her sleeve into her palm. "If you wanted, I could. . . you know, just a little hex. . ."
"Don't think I'm not tempted," Minerva answered. "But I believe it will make poor Gemma happy if we simply don't notice them. And even better. . .it will make Phil unhappy."
Hooch looked disappointed. "All right, I'll control myself. But if she comes over here and starts fishing for details about gangs or sadistic warders. . .well, then I make no promises."
"Agreed. Perhaps you could practise your jelly-brain jinx?"
"I resent your implication, Professor," Ro said, pointing an admonishing finger and then ruining the effect by grinning. "You know the Harpies always played clean. All those jelly-brain rumours were started by Puddlemere. Hell, they had to excuse that huge loss somehow."
But as she poured them the last of the wine, she grew serious.
"This afternoon, Min," she said. "When I asked you to come back to Arthur's with me, you didn't really answer, and then you said you'd tell me about it later. Well, it's later. So what's going on?"
Minerva set down her glass and reached for one of Hooch's hands.
---///---
"They must be discussing some serious shite there," Phil said, peering toward Mina's corner. "Look at their faces."
Gemma stole a glance. Mina sat tall and straight, talking earnestly, clasping the bird-woman's hand in hers; Ro seemed slightly glassy-eyed, as if she'd eaten something that vaguely disagreed with her. Or it could have been merely the effect of candlelight on the unusual yellow eyes, Gemma reminded herself. She didn't want to be guilty of too much dramatising.
But as she watched, Ro pulled away and folded her arms across her chest. She started to speak, and it was clear that her words were clipped and angry.
"Uh-oh," said Phil. "Trouble in paradise."
---///---
"It's dodgy as hell, Minerva."
"I know that. And I'm sorry, my love, but I don't see any other option just now. I'll be as careful as possible, and so will Filius. I won't take any unnecessary risks." She tightened her grip on Ro's fingers.
Hooch withdrew her hand and leant back. For a moment fury burned in her: at Weasley, at Shacklebolt, at Voldemort. At McGonagall. "Damn it, Min. As far as I can see, the whole sodding project is an unnecessary risk! Surely there's some other way to make money. Look at these clothes you've made. You could set yourself up as a bespoke tailor and transfigure Muggle suits!"
Minerva hazarded a small smile. "And it may come to something like that, one day. But we need a solution in the short-term. This is something I have to do, Rolanda. But I promise that when it's finished, I'll take a holiday from dangerous assignments."
"You promise to stay safe." Rolanda knew she sounded disbelieving.
"Oh, Ro. . .we both know no one can promise that these days. But I swear to you that after this, I won't court danger, and I will do my best to protect myself."
Hooch closed her eyes. "I love you, for fuck's sake," she said through gritted teeth. "Do not go and get yourself killed."
---///---
Gemma watched as Mina reached across the table to lock her hands behind Ro's neck and pull the other woman towards her. The kiss was quick, as was the touch of Mina's hand to Ro's cheek, yet it was enough to make the bird-woman's eyes widen in surprise; Gemma knew it must be very unlike Mina to be so demonstrative in public.
But it was the look on Mina's face as she sat back that made Gemma's breath catch: it was gone quickly, replaced by Mina's customary sternness, but for a brief space, she wore an expression of such unguarded love and yearning that Gemma never forgot it.
That's what I want, she thought. I want someone to look at me like that. Just like that.
---///---
"Excellent, they've made up," said Phil. "Now's the perfect time to stop at their table and pretend we just happened to see them. Mina will have to introduce us to Ro then. . .I know! Maybe we can get them to come to your place for a drink. You can take Mina out to the kitchen or something, and I'll see what I can learn from Ro. Come on."
"If you go over there," said Gemma quietly, "I will leave you. I mean it." And rather to her surprise, she found that she did.
Phil looked hard at her, and whatever she saw convinced her to stay where she was. She leant back in her chair, her eyes wide with astonishment.
"Let's go," said Gemma.
"But we haven't finished eating yet."
"I'll get the bill."
---///---
Whatever Hooch had expected, it wasn't a public display of affection in the middle of a Muggle restaurant. A public display from a woman who would barely even let her robes brush against Ro's at the Hogwarts high table. But a public display is what Rolanda got.
She got warm hands around her neck and warm lips against her mouth and a cool shiver down her spine as Minerva whispered "And I love you," her fingers brushing Ro's cheek for just the briefest moment of softness and heat before she settled back almost as if she'd never moved. But the truth of her words was there in her face.
Hooch tossed her napkin onto the table. "Let's go," she said. "If I'm not mistaken, you have a tie to untie. And I have some shoes to undo."