Chapter 2

The Coven ladies always gather at eight o'clock, so Violet and I arrive a few minutes later. Lady Montmorency has agreed to substitute for me at the Gryffindor common room (her portrait is in the dungeons, so she's often glad of the chance to spend a few hours in a cheerier realm).

Vi and I take our seats quietly on opposite sides of my empty portrait frame in Professor McGonagall's sitting room; I keep two lovely gilt chairs there for the purpose. We sit just far enough back so that we're invisible to the occupants of the room; it wouldn't do at all to have the professors notice us and ask what the emergency is. We can hear perfectly, and even though we can't see anything except each other and can't speak, we have a fine time communicating through our own little sign language. And we've brought sufficient sustenance. Violet managed to persuade the portrait of Pierre de Blancmange to bring her some liqueur chocolates from the castle stores (such a charming man; he was once the head chef to Salazar Slytherin, you know. It's so very convenient to have a friend who hangs near the kitchens).

So we settle in nicely, just in time to hear Professor McGonagall's wards announce the arrival of visitors from outside the castle. They are Mesdames Amelia Bones, who is the head of Magical Law Enforcement, and Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, the lady in charge of the Ministry's thestral-breeding program. Our dear professors have many lovely friends in high places.

"Butches," Violet mouths at me, and I wave my hand to shush her. It's true - - both of these ladies are sturdy and short-haired, and yes, rather masculine in their affect. They have monocles just like all the rich merchants in Papa's day, and Madam Grubbly-Plank smokes a pipe the way Papa did, too (now there is one scent I miss!) But I still don't think we need to call them names. Well, not Muggle ones. We should stick to our own kind.

"Hitches," I mouth back at Vi.

"Oh, good, Amelia made it," says Professor McGonagall. "She wasn't sure she'd be available."

The voice of Professor Sprout answers her. "Yet another reason to be grateful for the demise of You-Know-Who. Amelia's had so much more free time these last few years."

"Well, don't get too comfortable, Pomona," Professor McGonagall says. "You know Albus maintains that You-Know-Who will be back."

"Perhaps." That brisk voice belongs to Madam Pomfrey the matron. "But we'll face that problem when it happens, Minerva. No need to borrow trouble now."

The newcomers arrive. Professor Grubbly-Plank's hearty tones are always a welcome sound, and Madam Bones is never in a room very long before the laughter starts.

Then Madam Pince says, rather querulously, "Of course Rolanda is late. No doubt she's polishing brooms or something and lost track of the time - - again."

"Here she is now," says Professor McGonagall, and indeed, the wards chime to indicate an internal visitor.

Madam Hooch breezes in, and one can almost feel the cold air of the Quidditch Pitch breezing in with her. "Sorry I'm a bit late," she says. "I stopped at Aurora's room to see if she was back from Edinburgh yet, but no luck. Too bad; I really wanted her to start to get to know us."

"Not to worry," says Madam Grubbly-Plank. "Friendly sort, Aurora. Fit right in in no time."

"That's right, I forgot you two already know each other," Professor Sprout says. "And you know her, too, Amelia, right?"

"Right. Minerva, I'm cracking open this second bottle of Ogden's, okay? That first one was already almost empty. Have you been spending your evenings with Sybill or something?"

Laughter, and I can hear Professor McGonagall snort. "The day Sybill Trelawney can stand up to a stiff Ogden's is the day I start believing in Divination," she says. "Of course I invited her for tonight, but as usual, she claimed a prior engagement. It must be an engagement with her Inner Eye, because she hasn't left her rooms since lunch."

"An engagement with her inner sherry bottle, most likely," says Madam Bones. "So then who's been at your best firewhisky?"

Violet mimes drinking and cocks an inquisitive eyebrow towards the sitting room; she's asking whether poor Professor McGonagall, in her grief over the loss of her husband, has taken to drink. I shake my head firmly. Whatever the professor's faults, a reliance on spirits is not one of them.

"Albus," Professor McGonagall says. "It's his own bottle; my purse doesn't run to Ogden's Gold Label. He keeps it here for our chess evenings. He's been coming by quite often lately; seems to think I need looking after." I can hear the smile in her voice, and the others are suddenly silent; I can imagine all them all glancing away, since they've been trying to look after her, too.

"Well," says Professor Sprout. "It's just that with Elphie. . .passing on so suddenly, it's such a shock, we need to make sure you take care of yourself. . .we worry about you."

"I know you do, Pomona, and I appreciate your concern. I just don't want to be coddled; I don't want people to be afraid to mention Elphinstone's name to me."

"Oh, we'll get to Elphie, never fear," says Madam Bones, who is definitely not the coddling sort. "As soon as we finish with Aurora. Albus made a good move in hiring her; she's a gem. Willa and I have known her since our earliest Ministry days."

"An astronomer worked for the Ministry?" asks Professor Sprout in surprise. "Doing what?"

"No, Willa and I worked for the Ministry; Aurora was at uni. I forget exactly how we met her - - "

"At one of Griselda Marchbanks's gatherings," says Madam Grubbly-Plank. "Did a lot for us, Griselda did. For women like us, I mean. Gave us a place to relax together, get to know each other, build a network."

"Mmmm. Great times, weren't they, Willa?" Madam Bones sounds nostalgic. "All our fellow hitches and their lovely ladies, all in one place..."

I can't resist looking triumphantly at Violet. Hitches. Not butches. Vi makes a little face at me.

"So, Aurora Sinistra is one of us?" Madam Hooch says, with what I think is just a touch too much nonchalance.

"You can say 'lesbian,' Rolanda," says Madam Pince. "You and Willa and Amelia needn't be coy with the Coven, heterosexual though the rest of us may be."

"You don't have to make those sound like dirty words, Irma," retorts Madam Hooch.

"Personally," booms Madam Bones, "I wouldn't mind hearing a few more dirty words around here. There's too much maidenly modesty with all you girls."

"What do you mean?" Madam Pomfrey sounds amused. "You want to hear salacious details of our love lives?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I want to hear. Minerva, you want people to talk to you about Elphinstone? Okay, fine. Maybe tonight is the night you should finally answer my question. I've only asked it at least two dozen times."

The others laugh and groan. "Oh, not that again," says Professor Sprout.

"Yes, that. Why not? Admit it, you're all dying to know. I think it's about time you coughed up the goods, McGonagall. Tell us: how was Elphie in bed?"

Violet stares at me wide-eyed; we can't believe what we've just heard. If Vi's face hadn't been painted as so "interestingly pale," I know her cheeks would be flaming. My own painted cheeks are a lovely delicate rose (just as they were in my 3D days), but I'd be blushing, too, if I could. As respectable women, Violet and I should get up and leave this moment.

We should. We really should.

But I fear that if we were to flee now, given our agitation, we'd reveal our presence. Better just to sit quietly and suffer through whatever indecencies we are about to hear. I motion to Violet to move back; she's leaning forward a bit, and I'm afraid her hair fringe is visible in the frame.

"Amelia, that's personal," says Professor McGonagall.

She's not going to answer, then. Blast. Oops, I mean, good for her! I knew I could count on the Head of Gryffindor to be a lady and keep such things to herself.

"Of course it's personal! That's the point," says Madam Bones. "If you can't be personal with your beloved Coven, then who?"

"Ha! She's right, Minerva. Come on, spill," urges Madam Hooch. "What was Elphie like in bed?"

There's a heavy sigh, and I can just picture Professor McGonagall rolling her eyes. "He was always very. . .attentive," she says.

The others shriek with laughter, and it occurs to me that Madam Bones's impudent question was in fact a wise one. I think this is the first time since Mr Urquart's untimely demise that I've heard anyone speak of him in other than hushed, sympathetic tones. Professor McGonagall is right - - we all have been rather treating her like a piece of fragile china. It's time we stopped.

There's a babble of responses: "Never left you unsatisfied, is that what you mean?" "But what did he - - ?" "How was his - -?"

"Oh, let Min be," says Madam Pomfrey. "She's said enough; figure out the rest for yourselves."

Then Madam Grubbly-Plank says, "Rolanda, in answer to your question, yes, Aurora Sinistra is a lesbian. Why? Interested in her, are you?"

"Well. . .it's possible," says Madam Hooch airily.

"Really, Ro? But I thought you always went for, you know, dainty women," says Professor Sprout. "Like Flossie Abbott with her lace collars."

"Haha, Flossie Abbott!" laughs Madam Bones. "And we all know how well ithat/i relationship worked."

"Amelia, behave," says Professor McGonagall. "But Pomona's right, Ro - - Aurora doesn't seem your usual type."

"It comes as a surprise to me, too," says Madam Pince. "I've read some of the academic literature, Muggle and magical both, and the scholarship suggests that attraction rarely if ever occurs between two butch women. They can't constitute each other."

At the word "butch," Violet smirks and wags her finger at me with what I think is just a bit too much self-satisfaction. A little legitimate triumph is one thing, but there's no need to overdo it.

"What the hell does that even mean, 'constitute each other'?" demands Madam Bones.

I hear a puffing sound and know that Madam Grubbly-Plank is taking a few ruminative pulls on her pipe. "Irma," she says, "I'm afraid your literature's got the wrong end of the wand on this one. At least in terms of my own experience. Been attracted to a lot of hitches in my time, and I'm not exactly a feminine ideal."

"I'm sure I meant no offense," says Madam Pince stiffly. "I was just reporting what - - "

"Oh, never mind, Irma, it's all right," says Madam Hooch. "It's true, I'm not usually compelled by women like Aurora, but...I don't know, there's just something about her. That cute little cowlick in her hair, maybe. Is she involved with anyone, do you know, Willa? Amelia?"

"Not as far as I know," says Madam Bones. "But my advice is just to go ahead and court her. She'll let you know if she's not interested."

Madam Grubbly-Plank grunts assent. "Nice woman. Let you down easy, if it comes to that."

Professor Sprout giggles, which means she's on her third cup of mead. "I thought that was supposed to be Rolanda's job."

"Excuse me?" says Madam Pince.

"I don't get it," says Madam Hooch.

Professor McGonagall laughs. "Well, no one lands a broom more smoothly than Rolanda."

"That's it exactly!" says Professor Sprout, still giggling. "We all know how you like to take your ladies for romantic rides, Ro. And you always bring them down easy!"

Madam Bones groans. "No more mead for you, Pomona," she says. "Not if you've reached the bad-jokes stage already."

"Oh, don't listen to her, Pomona," says Madam Pomfrey. "She loves the bad jokes; we all do. But, Ro, I think you should listen to Amelia. If you're interested in Aurora, pursue her."

"I don't know," says Madam Hooch slowly. "If it doesn't work out, then we'll both be stuck here. No getting away from each other."

It's a good point. I've often thought how difficult things would be if Violet and I ever had a falling-out. That sort of situation does happen, unfortunately. The headmaster even had to move the portrait of Winifred the Winsome after her ill-fated affair with Sir Reginald of Pimms. After their break-up, they kept shouting at each other from their frames on opposite sides of the Charms corridor, and poor Professor Flitwick's classes were constantly interrupted. The aftermath of failed liaisons d'amour is never pretty.

Still. . .for the sake of l'amour, I do hope Madam Hooch changes her mind.

Ah, l'amour.

"Oh, come on, Ro," says Madam Bones. "There'll be plenty of space for the both of you. It's a big castle. And magically expandable."

"True," says Madam Hooch, drawing out the word as if she's pondering. "Well," she says finally. "I'll give it some more thought."

The Coven members must feel they have said enough, because they don't press the issue, and the talk moves on to matters of curriculum. Of course, I would be willing to stay and be edified, but I know that Violet finds such conversations tedious (she's not terribly intellectual, poor dear). So I sign to her that it's time to leave, and we melt quietly away.