"Merlin, this feels good," Minerva sighed as she stretched her legs towards the fire. She smiled at Muriel, a somewhat rueful smile. "Thanks for listening," she said.

"Nonsense. You needed to talk about it. And it is an important subject, dammit. That boy saved all of our lives. At such a price. He may not know it yet, but that doesn't alter the facts. What he deserves is as happy a childhood as is possible under the circumstances. And if you think he won't have that …"

"He won't. I'm certain of it. Mind, there really is only one option other than Lily's sister. James was an only child; Sirius is the boy's Godfather; normally he'd be his guardian, but … I still can't believe he betrayed James. In spite of all the evidence, I still can't imagine … But there it is. Peter … the poor boy."

Minerva's voice thickened, and Muriel leaned over and briefly squeezed her shoulder in comfort. "And Remus is equally impossible," she nodded. "Can't possibly leave a baby with a werewolf. To think that you had one at Hogwarts! You could have knocked me down with a quill, Min. That certainly was … quite courageous … of Albus." Since Minerva so obviously admired Albus for it, and seemed to like the creature as well, it was hardly the time and place to point out what the Board would have had to say about this – had Albus bothered to consult them.

"It was. He usually does the right thing. That's what makes it all so difficult. I've argued the case for Arthur and Molly until I was blue in the face. He's a fine man and a good father, that nephew of yours. Harry would be happy in that family. He would get used to the way other wizards treat him – and if he ever did get above himself because of it, that pack of older step-brothers would sort him out in no time. Nothing like the rough-and-tumble of a big family. But Albus won't see it.

"And I know that there's something behind it. Albus has a reason that he isn't telling me. And a part of me feels that, as usual, he is right in what he does. But he doesn't have the right."

"You've lost me there," Muriel said, surprised. Minerva had gone over all the options before – but this statement was new and startling.

"He is right," Minerva explained, "because he has a reason for what he does. And he's always right – he's the most cunning strategic thinker I know. The only one who can beat me at chess. And that's it. That's just it. In a way, Albus is sacrificing a pawn. For the greater good, arguably. With the best intentions, I think. For some reason, he really believes that Lily's sister is not unsympathetic towards … our kind. But I can't stop thinking that Harry is a pawn in Albus's game. And I can't change it either.

"Muriel, please, help me to think of something else. I'll go mad turning in circles like this."

Talk about chess, Muriel thought. Was there ever a better opening gambit? She got up, took the bottle of Ogden's Old from the sideboard, and poured them both a small glass.

"There's something I'd like you to consider," she started, once she was back in her chair. "And there are two ways of asking. One is an evening of doubtful and nerve-wracking hints – skirting around each other for hours. The other way is utterly direct. Once, that worked best for me. I hope it does for you, too.

"First, I want you to know that you can say 'no' at any time. Just stop me, and I'll never mention it again."

Muriel saw the look of surprise in Minerva's eyes, the forming of a question on her lips.

"No, just let me say it. And say 'no' if that's what you want. You see, with Griselda – I told you about her – I sometimes enjoyed what is known as …"

Muriel took a deep breath.

"As 'bondage'. Consensual." She saw Minerva gasp and stiffen. As she had done herself, so many years ago. Hurriedly, she pressed on.

"We both enjoyed it. Found it liberating. Exciting. Not always, not as a standard way of making love, but sometimes. As one way of giving and receiving pleasure.

"She proposed it – she was, in many ways, more experienced than I. The first time, I wasn't even sure I'd really enjoy it. It had always seemed … odd. Kinky, as they say these days. But when she asked, I thought about it. And the thought turned me on. And …"

This is the important part, Muriel realised suddenly. Merlin, this is far more important than whether Min would like it or not … why didn't I realise how much her answer would mean to me? Still, now that I've gone this far, I must say it.

"And I trusted her. I knew that she would stop if I used the safe word. I even knew that she would stop if I forgot the safe word, and just said 'stop'. I knew that she'd know the difference between a role-play 'stop' and the real thing. I trusted her."

That was the bottom line, wasn't it? The thing she only fully understood now. How important it was to her that Minerva would trust her – to that extent. A 'no' would be about more than black silk bonds. Had it been like that for Griselda? Merlin, the courage it took.

"Would you think about it?"

At first, Minerva just stared at her. Then at her glass. Then at the fire. Then at Muriel again. "This is important to you, isn't it?" she finally asked.

"Yes. That is, it's something that I find … occasionally … a very … sensuous way of making love. And I think that you would enjoy it, too. If you don't want to, that's all right. It's not some deep, necessary craving. I've never really missed it. But if you'd want it, too – and only then – it might be … lovely … to add it.

"The reason I mention this now … while you have so much on your mind, I mean; well, I think I know to some extent how you feel. I've had my share of feeling … powerless and forced. Sometimes claustrophobically so. And at times like that, it was so … liberating. I'd want you to have that experience."

"I see." Minerva picked up her glass, swirled its contents around. She took her time thinking, and Muriel was glad of it. This was not a decision to take loosely. Let Minerva, that unsurpassed chess-player, take all her time to weigh all the options, all the consequences. Let Minerva, that passionate, uninhibited lover, take all her time to visualise the idea, to feel her body respond – or not respond – to the images.

Muriel had never been interested in chess. Not for her, the thinking out of every move. When Griselda had first suggested using bonds, she had been shocked. Then surprised – for it was something for truly weird people; but if Griselda liked it, then it wasn't really weird, was it? Then she had imagined lying down on the bed, while Griselda tied her wrists to the bedpost. And she had felt a shiver of excitement run through her body. She had visualised the scene well and truly. I'm getting wet, she had thought, wonderingly. I want this. I want to try this. She had looked at Griselda. With you, she had realised. And without further ado, she had said 'yes'.

Would Minerva feel the same? She had come to Muriel expecting the evening to end in bed – more, to end making love. Relaxing love? Tender love? Long, lingering, sensuous love? Angry getting-the-stress-out-love? There had been that, occasionally, in the past, and it had made Muriel think that Minerva would enjoy … Please, let Min not be disgusted with the idea – with her, for suggesting it.

Finally, Minerva looked up. "How, precisely, does a safe-word work?" she asked.

Muriel smiled. How utterly Minerva to come with an almost academic question, while at the same time her eyes, the catch in her voice, even, betrayed ... interest, if now downright arousal. And Min didn't bother to hide that; she just still wanted answers.

"It's a word the one who's tied up uses when she wants to stop," Muriel explained. "But not 'stop' itself. You see, sometimes it can feel … good … to say 'stop', while you know that the other won't. When you don't really want to stop, that is. So there's a word – a completely unrelated word that you'd never use during sex, but that will mean 'stop'. Something like 'quill', or 'cleaning spell', or even 'Wizengamot'. I always use Howler." It should be a word you couldn't possibly forget.

"Hogwarts," Minerva answered at once. And that was a definite 'yes'. Muriel felt as if her whole body would explode with joy – but not at the idea of the pleasures to come. She remembered how Griselda had kissed her, deeply, hungrily, when she had agreed. That wasn't the anticipation, she realised, it wasn't about sex, it was about love – confidence – trust. This feels …

"Thank you," was all she said. Minerva looked at her with a mixture of awkwardness and expectancy. Clearly, she had been imagining, visualising, just as Muriel hoped she would. And the images had worked for her. It reminded Muriel of how she herself had felt, that never-forgotten day when Griselda had made her suggestion. After that spontaneous 'yes', Muriel had been speechless. What was the next step? "So let's tie each other up?" or "Please, take me?" or … For a few moments, the uncertainty had been ghastly. Then Griselda had taken her by the hand and had simply led her upstairs. And told her what to do. And it's not as if I have anything better to offer, she thought. It worked for me. Please, let it work for Min.

She took the now empty glass from Minerva's hand, put it on the table, and led her to the bedroom.

A/N You may feel that, in making you wait a whole week for the bit where it finally happens, I'm stretching consensual beyond its limits. My dears, waiting can enhance pleasure. And while I wouldn't dream of forcing you to leave reviews, it'll make the posting of the next chapter much more of a certainty …