Silver Haired Fox

Another rough Quidditch match over, Gryffindor has just barely pulled out on top, 220-210. Had Harry Potter been two seconds slower, Finnegan would have scored another goal and there would have been a tie breaker, which no doubt would have ended in something bloody. I’ve no more patience for blood today. I can feel the sweat drip down my face, playing referee during one of these matches is almost as fierce as playing in the match. I have to fly twice as fast just to keep up with all the dirty tricks Slytherin attempts.

There are whoops and hollers from all around the stadium. I’m sure there are boos and hisses rising up from the Slytherin section but the thunderous applause rising from the remaining three houses drowns them out. I gave up three years ago on trying to make team captains from these two rivaling houses shake hands, so I land and blow my whistle, signaling the official end of the match. No one hears it over the celebratory shouting and clapping.

My eyes sweep over the pitch, all fourteen players have come to the ground, seven green, and seven scarlet, no blood or protruding bones. At least Poppy won’t be able to gripe at me during Monday afternoon’s staff meeting. I spy the redhead whipping her arms around her lover, she seems perfect for Potter. She’s very attractive, but not really my type, a bit too thin and pale, and I never did care much for redheads. They look like cat people, evil almost.

My eyes turn to my lover in the staff box, ironic that I hold distaste toward redhead’s for their catlike similarities. I frown as I am unable to catch her eye. Her arms are twinned tightly around the slender shoulders of Brownie Locks, as I call her, Gryffindor’s very own Head Girl, Hermione Granger. I swear I see Minerva’s lips brush her cheek but it happens so quickly and then I feel a hand on my back.

“Oi! Madam Hooch! Great game today, yeah?” One of the Weasley twins smirks, which one I’m not quite sure.

“Bloody brilliant calls out there, so glad Gryffindor won!” The other picks up, smiling his lopsided smile. “Come and have a drink with us in Hogsmeade, we’re here for the remainder of—”

“—of the weekend,” the other adds. “We’d love your company.”

I never could tell them apart, not even when they were students, and unfortunately for me, they played the same position for the same house and looked exactly alike, not one distinguishing feature. I once thought that Fred had slightly browner eyes, but the more I tried to distinguish between the two of them, the more they bled into one person.

I smile at them, wrapping an arm around each of their backs. “While it is great to see you, I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged.” One night with them, nearly two years ago and they think I’m the greatest lay in all of wizarding England. And I’m not even straight. Drunk, yes, but fancy them? Never. They were adorable and good fun for a laugh and a prank, but I could never love them, and I’d felt terribly guilty about our sexual encounter, despite them having fled the school and them not technically being students, after all I was still heavily involved with Minerva at the time. Still am.

“Pity, Rosemerta’s having a special…” Fred says. I think it’s Fred.

“Yes, well,” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss each of them on the cheek. “Business is well I trust?” Their joke shop is thriving, I hear Filch and Snape stalking up and down the corridors at all hours of the night bemoaning the latest Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes release nearly twice a week.

“Of course it is, we’re actually developing round seven of—”

“—of our skiving Snack Boxes…” George winks at me. “Oi! Ron!” His attention turns to his youngest brother who has just finished some sort of chanting ritual with the rest of the Gryffindor team, but it doesn’t matter, I’m grateful to have the attention off me. Fred has turned away as well, giving me the perfect opportunity to sneak away. No doubt that the two of them will attend the party in Gryffindor Tower tonight.

I inwardly sigh. A Gryffindor victory usually means a cranky Minerva. Although she’s grateful for the win, even excited, the after parties are almost always rowdy and beyond control. The House Cup Tournament parties are nice. For the last three years I’ve shared the privilege of said party with her, Gryffindor having been undefeated almost four years running. None of her students see it as favoritism that I come and celebrate with them and stay close beside their Head of House all night long. It’s hardly a secret anymore, the two of us. Most of the students speculate, though we’ve never come out and said it. It doesn’t matter, Albus knows, and most everyone on the staff knows, though I still think the concept it lost on Hagrid.

I’ve nearly made it off the pitch and to the stairs that lead up to the staff box when I bump right into the little tart that’s captivated my lover’s attentions. She’s flustered, brown curls falling everywhere and it makes me want to smirk but I don’t, I’m not Severus after all. “Sorry,” I offer her a smile and back up, amber eyes glittering. She’s pretty, more my type, more like Minerva, very elegant and extremely intelligent.

“Ah, Rolanda,” Minerva smiles and gives me a brief nod before turning her eyes back to the girl. “Miss Granger and I are headed up to my office to discuss some of her plans for University.”

I shrug my shoulders, although we’re pretty open about our relationship, I’ve never been one for public displays of affection. Neither has she. “Alright, you know where I’ll be should you need me, Professor McGonagall. Should the party get out of hand, send for me, I know what trouble those boys can be…” I watch her nod and then head off, chatting amicably with Hermione Granger.

I’m not the jealous type, but I can feel a spark of green igniting in my eyes. Two gorgeous women heading off toward a rather cozy office to have a discussion, and I’m not involved in that equation, how tragic. It wasn’t like I’d serve a purpose, I know very little about the girl’s academics, aside from the fact that she’s brilliant, and in her seven years at Hogwarts, she’s never taken an interest in flying or Quidditch. I only wish a girl like her would, not to say I’m not perfectly content with Minerva, who used to play back in the day. She was a chaser, and I was a beater in what seems an eternity ago.

I remember the first time I ever saw Minerva astride a broom. I was four, the middle child of nine, and I didn’t know then that there were still two more on the way. I also didn’t know then that of my mother’s nine children, I would be the only girl. I know now what the Weasley girl must feel like and understand why she takes so readily to the game. My older brothers, Edgar, Seamus, and Thomas were all at Hogwarts, all of them in Ravenclaw, all of them on the Quidditch team, except Thomas, he was just a first year, but he made the team by his third year.

My mother had been invited to see Edgar play in his final game, the House Cup Match, Ravenclaw against Gryffindor. She was excited, and took me and my younger brother, Arthur with her. The baby, Brian, stayed at home with my father, and I didn’t know then that mum was pregnant, but it didn’t matter.

I’d been flying since I could toddle on a broom, I guess about 18 months or so, and as soon as I could hold a club without falling off the broom, my brothers had me playing beater. The game was so exciting, but the it wasn’t my brother’s who had me watching so intently, it was a girl for the other team. She was a chaser with long wild hair that whipped about all over the place. I wanted to be like her, to fly like her, to play the game the way she did.

At the end of the game we went down on the field to hug my brothers, they had won, and I was so happy because the girl with the beautiful hair walked over to us. She had nodded and laughed, shaking hands with Edgar and Seamus. And then she turned and looked at me. “And who’s this?” she asked.

“That’s Ronnie, she can fly.” Said Edgar. “My little sister,” he smiled and ruffled his hand over my hair, it was silvery even then. Mother had always said it was because we were one 18th Veela. I never believed her.

“She’s certainly got eyes for flying,” the girl smiled and touched my hair. “Hawk’s eyes and Veela hair, what a knockout, she’ll blow the sky apart.” Had I known then that I would fall in love with that woman by the time I came to Hogwarts and she was my young Transfiguration Professor, well I don’t think I would have believed it.

“Watch that game more closely next time,” a voice hisses and stirs me from the reverie of my thoughts. I turn to the sneering face of Severus Snape.

“Oh sod off,” I mutter and trudge off over toward the broom shed, but he follows. With my broom locked up I lean back against the door and sigh, watching him standing very close to me. “You’ve got a problem with personal space today?” I ask and watch his eyes flicker. I chuckle, pushing his chest. “Chill,” I mutter. It’s not a phrase I use often, but I know what he wants.

Fishing around in my pocket, I pull out the packet of Black & Milds, and hand him one of the thing black cigarillos, taking another one between my lips. I don’t smoke nearly as much as I used to. Minerva doesn’t care for it and the number of staff members that smoke has dwindled down to the two of us. Severus Snape is not my ideal companion for sharing cigarillos with, but he’s the only one I’ve got and I do not like smoking alone, never have.

We spend fifteen minutes enjoying two a piece behind the broom shed. Albus has forbidden smoking on school grounds, but it’s mostly for the students, or at least that’s what we tell each other. If I were straight, I would have taken him as my lover. A man who can appreciate the delicacies of Black & Milds is man enough for me. He stomps out the remaining glowing bud and nods his thanks to me before sweeping off toward the castle.

I’m not far behind him as I head up to the castle, up to my rooms. I want a shower. I want to not think about the very attractive young girl and my lover, though Severus was serving as a temporary distraction. Minerva has always been faithful and never given me reason to think otherwise, but the thoughts stir around inside my mind anyway.

As the hot water cascades over my naked body, I close my eyes, letting my fingers play over my nipples. They are Minerva’s hands, touching me, caressing me, and then they are Hermione’s hands, soft and youthful. My eyes shoot open, where had that notion come from? “Bullocks,” I hiss into the steam, now not only was the girl plaguing my mind because she was in the constant attention and embrace of my lover, but now she was invading my mind as well.

I slip my fingers between my thighs and shudder. It has been almost a week since Minerva and I have had any sort of sexual anything. She’s been busy and so have I. I want to sleep in her room tonight. We have our separate rooms, but we usually share my bed, it’s a bit larger than hers, better for our games. But her bed is cozy, good for romantic intimacy.

My eyes are closed once more, two fingers pumping in and out of my sex, my coarse silvery curls grating up against the base of my palm as I pleasure myself, mind drifting back and forth between Minerva and Hermione. I no longer fight the urge to rid my mind of the girl; she’s too enticing with her pouty pale pink lips and eyes like liquid cinnamon.

I force myself to come with Minerva’s name on my lips even though she is not there. Even though she is with the girl who’s face I saw behind my eyelids as I was coming. Shaking my head, a stream of water droplets fly from my spiky hair and rain down on my breasts. Years of playing the game has kept me young and firm, and I’m grateful for that, I assume Minerva is too.

It seems like hours, I want to go up to her room. But I think she’s still in her office, with Hermione. I don’t want to interrupt, but I do. I’m wearing the silk gown she got me last year for my birthday. It’s scarlet; totally against my better fashion sense, but it pleases her and I do feel sexy when I dance around in it for her.

With my feet in fuzzy slippers, I pull a robe around my body, it’s nearly half past eight, Hermione Granger should be in Head Girl room, or at least up in Gryffindor Tower joining the others in a riotous celebration. I can see light seeping through the crack between the doorframe and door of Minerva’s office. The handle jiggles in my hand, she hasn’t locked the door.

I push it open and step in. “Minerva!” I shout, eyes wide.