Boys and Banter.
December 19, 1951.
Snow had begun to fall steadily over the grounds of Hogwarts. Off in the distance the gamekeepers hut was reminiscent of an iced gingerbread house upon a pretty blanket of marzipan and even the Forbidden Forest looked to be a scene from a Christmas card. The lights of the castle glittered prettily behind their frozen windows; glazed with ice and frost.
High in Gryffindor Tower four 6th year girls were packing their things, ready to go home for the holidays, comfortable in the warmth of the fires waging battle with the cold outside.
"- I did try to buy a bottle of Firewhiskey for my father but Mr Tottle just refused point blank to sell it to me! What am I to do now?" Ainslie complained loudly to Augusta despite her head being buried under her bed in search for a missing stocking. "Get him… socks?" she exclaimed, clambering out with the rogue stocking clutched in her hand, her face nearly as red as her hair. Minerva's own ears flamed. Her own father's present of socks was neatly wrapped and safely packed in her trunk. She's even embroidered his initials along the cuff.
"You should have gone to the Hog's Head." Augusta suggested offhandedly, intent on cramming a set of dress robes in her trunk. Vera shrieked and looked up from her parchment.
"The Hog's Head?" she raised herself up off of her front and sat cross legged on top of the covers. "Don't be silly. No self-respecting person goes into the Hog's Head, not even for Firewhiskey. The place reeks of a farm yard and that bar man… I've never seen anyone odder."
"How would you know?" Minerva asked dryly, "I thought self-respecting witches did not go to the Hog's Head." She did not need to look up to know Vera had turned a delicate shade of pink. "Firewhiskey is only good for giving one a headache, Ainslie… Didn't you say your father is a writer?"
"Yes… well he tries to be."
All three girls stopped to watch as she rummaged around in her school bag and pulled out an old quill and a pot of ink.
Minerva prodded the quill with her pale wand and the feather shivered on the bedside table as it straightened itself before quivering gently a few inches over the tabletop in anticipation. She frowned briefly before muttering a long string of words under her breath. As they watched the ink pot drained slowly and the quill touched back down heavily. With a deft flick of her wrist a sheaf of parchment whipped out of her bag and twisted itself into a wooden box. Minerva placed the black quill in the box she'd made, pulled the tartan ribbon from the end of her braid and wrapped it around in a large bow before tapping the material lightly and watched it fade to a sleek, uniform red.
She tucked away her empty ink bottle and handed the slender box to Ainslie.
"It's imbued with ink. It will never run out." she explained hurriedly, "… If I did it right." She added feeling her cheeks grow hot under the attention she had just drawn to herself.
"Thank you, Minerva." Ainslie said with an awed gratitude that made Minerva uncomfortable. She was saved from having to respond by Vera's interruption.
"Minerva, how do you spell Amortentia? Is there a 'u' in it?"
"No, Vera, there is not 'u'." she sighed, "Why do you want to know? You failed your potions OWL." She regretted her words immediately as Vera raised an eyebrow in such a way that said she would pay for it later.
"No reason." She hummed coolly, dipping her head over her parchment once more.
She did not dislike Vera but she never ventured out of her way to engage in conversation with her. Vera was wonderfully pretty and insufferably silly. She had large, brown doe eyes framed with long lashes and long hair the same colour as Minerva's but where Minerva's hair was curly, verging on untamed, Vera's was sleek and seemed to fall in neat waves on its own accord. She struck Minerva as the kind of person who had once been rather clever but had abandoned intelligence for a life of being handed opportunities for her appearance. She never considered herself vain or particularly conscious of herself but Vera's presence and the way she giggled with Ainslie had a way of making her feel intensely self-conscious. As if they shared a private joke at her expense.
"What are you writing?" Ainslie asked, peering past Vera's curtains but Vera covered her note with her arms.
"Nothing."
This was very odd. Ainslie and Vera could often be found in remote corners of the library giggling and taking turns in scribbling on scraps of paper. They did not keep secrets from each other. Vera must have realised how strange her behaviour looked and recovered remarkably quickly.
"I'm writing a letter to Aster."
"Why?"
Vera shot Ainslie a look that clearly told her to shut up.
"I'm breaking it off with him."
"What! Why?" Ainslie exclaimed, flabbergast.
"He's far too bookish." Vera explained, her eyes fixed on her secret 'break up' letter, "he never spends any time with me. 'Oh I can't Vera… I have quidditch practice… I have potions homework' there's always something! Marcus Kettleburn keeps asking to take me to Madam Puddifoot's perhaps I'll take him up on his offer."
"Marcus Kettleburn!" Ainslie cried.
"He's a dull as old parchment!" Augusta added, throwing her copy of Advanced Transfiguration in her trunk with such force it threatened to topple off of the bed. This was obviously the wrong thing to say. Ainslie switched her glare quickly from Vera to Augusta and Minerva was very glad she had kept quiet.
"He is not!" she defended hotly, bright patches appearing in her cheeks.
"No… you're right." Augusta back peddled, "He's just very…" but she could not seem to find a single quality in poor Marcus that made him more appealing to her.
"I'm not the one dating Walter Longbottom!" she snapped back.
It was Augusta's turn to blush and she busied herself by jamming a set of scales alongside her textbooks.
"Vera you can't go with Marcus." Ainslie huffed.
"Oh like I would anyway." Vera snapped, "If I had to have a Kettleburn I'd much prefer Professor Kettleburn."
Augusta's blush deepened and Minerva went pale but Ainslie laughed.
It was no secret to anyone that Vera's virtue often ran rampant about the castle but Minerva had no desire to be versed in the intimate details of her escapades. Fornicating was prohibited at Hogwarts and so her position as prefect spared her the worst of it. She did not want to hear anything that would force her to report a classmate or a professor to the Headmaster.
"Ha!" Ainslie shrieked. "We both know it's not Professor Kettleburn you'd have."
Augusta looked on the verge of fainting. Minerva cast a silencing charm on the door as their voices continued to rise and closed her eyes; praying that they would remember she was in the room. This sounded like a very private conversation.
"'Spectacles make him look so distinguished', 'He's just so passionate about his work. He's been places, he's done things.' You're so transparent, Vera."
Minerva could feel a cold, heavy weight growing in the pit of her belly.
"'Oh I wish I could have kept on with Transfiguration-'"
Augusta cleared her throat loudly. Minerva could have kissed her.
"Minerva don't you have a thing?" she asked, tapping the back of her wrist.
Minerva clapped her hand over her mouth as she heard the clock tower chime 8 o'clock off in the distance.
"I'll walk down with you." She slammed the lid of her trunk shut as Minerva scrambled for her wand and the wad of parchment under her pillow.
"What thing?" Vera asked scornfully but neither girl answered as Minerva wrenched the door open and they both clattered down the stairs.
"Oh no. Oh no. I'm going to be late! I'm already late. I can't believe this!"
"Minerva!" Augusta grabbed her arm as she started through the portrait hole.
"Augusta-"
"I know. I know, late, but Walter told me he overheard Malcolm talking about replacing all the bathroom handles with biting doorknobs…"
Her whole body slumped from its usual ramrod posture.
"Oh for the love of all that is good on God's green earth!" she shouted so loudly a boy beside the fire jumped and yelped as he scorched his hand in the flames.
"Just thought you'd want to know…" and Augusta pushed her through the portrait hole.
Practically falling out the other side Minerva ignored the Fat Lady's jibes and sprinted down the corridor. No. She would not let her brother ruin tonight because tonight was the night she would become an animagus.