Dedicated to JP for her post that awakened my long dormant muse.
The torches on the wall of the entrance hall had long since been snuffed out by the castle's caretaker, Argus Filch. Even he had turned in for the evening along with his beloved feline friend, Mrs. Norris. In fact, for once even the students had given up on any ideas of nighttime wanderings within Hogwarts's hallowed halls. Classes had ended the day before to prepare for the Yuletide break and the train was set to depart early in the morning to reunite students with their families in time for the holidays. It had been years since anyone had to fear the dangers lurking outside the safe walls of the school for witchcraft and wizardry. Years since the infamous He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named became He-Who-Must-Be-Worm-Food at the hands of the equally infamous golden trio. There was no reason for worry to overshadow the joyous holiday season, no reason for anyone to be losing sleep over the war long since won. And yet, not all of Hogwarts's occupants slept in their beds. Two of them stood in the Great Hall. One unaware of the other's presence creeping up behind them.
One of the pair was the school's headmistress herself, Minerva McGonagall, and the other her wife of five years, Hermione Granger-McGonagall. Hermione for her part was not sure why they were not currently in their bed in the headmistress quarters but Minerva seemed rather focused on whatever she was doing. Creeping up silently behind where her wife stood muttering to herself, Hermione found her confusion warring with concern the closer she got to reaching the older witch's side.
"Lumos." She had wanted to avoid startling her wife but in all honestly, what Hermione had thought she could see in the darkness warranted further investigation. She needn't have worried as Minerva was far too engrossed in what she was doing to notice. "Min?" Hermione questioned softly, taking in the eclectic collection of items in the arms of the other witch. Minerva was clad in her tartan bathrobe, wand clutched between her teeth, hair spilling wildly down her back, a fistful of parchment in one hand, and an obnoxiously large roll of spellotape in the other.
"Not tartan. Call everything tartan. That is not tartan. Calling houndstooth tartan for Merlin's sake. At least bloody buffalo check and black watch have color."
The words were a bit muffled, coming as they did from around Minerva's wand but Hermione had heard her wife's angry brogue often enough to decipher even the most illegible of English speaking attempts.
"Min, what are you doing?" At this point, Hermione reached her arm out, placing a hand lightly on her wife's shoulders. The older witch seemed to come to her senses at the contact.
"I'm sorry." Minerva offered sheepishly, "I didn't realize you'd miss me."
"Of course, I missed you." Hermione rolled her eyes. She always missed Minerva. Besides, Hermione was quite the cuddler in bed and she was absolutely bereft to find that her favorite cuddle partner was not in the bed with her. There was a significant difference between the toned and muscular body of her partner and the softy squishiness of the overstuffed pillow the woman insisted on sleeping with.
"Now, please explain why you have so much parchment in here that we will need to raze the forbidden forest to have enough trees to replace it." Bemused brown eyes met bashful green.
"They keep calling everything tartan, Hermione. I couldn't take it anymore."
Hermione was now confused even more than ever before. She bent slowly and picked up one of the sheets of parchment Minerva had let fall in her crazed state. Clearly illustrated were several different fabric patterns with labels like "this is checks", "this is gingham", and more until she finally reached one that said "THIS IS TARTAN" which was underlined several times and written in crimson colored ink. Hermione's eyebrows merged into her hairline at this.
"Lumos Maxima." The light at the end of her wand tipped glowed brighter, widening the area that Hermione could see. She was startled to find that there was a sheath of parchment spellotaped to each place setting. If Hermione's eyebrows rose any higher they would have become one with her riot of curls and never be seen again.
"You're a witch, Minerva. You could've just enlarged one of them and stuck it on the wall with a sticking charm." Hermione shook her head.
"I wanted them all to have a copy!" Minerva exclaimed defensively, crossing her arms and looking a little sheepish all the same.
"We'll add it to the muggle studies curriculum. A section on textiles." The younger witch soothed. Muggle studies had become a core aspect of the curriculum in the hopes that knowledge would breed understanding and foster warmth for muggles instead of resentment and hatred from ignorance.
"This is why you're the brightest witch of your age." Adoration filled Minerva's tone as she gazed lovingly at her wife. "We should get you to bed." She slipped her hand into Hermione's daintier one. Her wife rewarded her with a smile and a nod of agreement. Together they returned to their chambers and to the safety of the tartan duvet.
"Now this is a proper tartan." Minerva muttered, tucking Hermione's head under her chin and closing her eyes to let sleep finally take her.