Compromising Positions

I continue to worship at the Altar of Jo in gratitude that she allows us to continue our exploration of her universe.

Everlasting thanks to lifeasanamazon who once again stepped into the breach and provided fabulous beta work on this chapter!

43. COMPROMISING POSITIONS

"Professor..."

She whispered the word as softly as she possibly could, but unable help herself, she had to add, "Are you awake?"

She lay as still as possible in his arms, not wanting to awaken him if he was asleep, but, well, she certainly hoped he was awake....

"No," he growled, but she could tell he was lying. "What were you dreaming?" His voice, so rich and full and sleep-drugged in her ear, sent a tremor through her.

"Fellatio..." she said, feeling the heat build even higher between her legs. "And cunnilingus..." she sighed, "... at the same time."

When he didn't answer, she added, "I saw it in a book."

"Fucking hell," he muttered into her neck.

"I haven't quite figured it out," she said. "Does it work better with you on top or with me on top? Or side by side? There were pictures but..."

"I have no idea," he ground out.

"You don't?" She rolled to face him, astounded.

"I don't know what you've imagined, Miss Granger, but it's not as if I've been spiriting sex partners in and out of Hogwarts over the past twenty years."

"Of course not! I mean, I never thought of it that way. But you...you..."

"I what?" he snarled.

She pulled her wand from under her pillow. "Lumos."

He winced as the light from her wand stabbed his eyes. "Damn it..." He angled his head away.

"But you're so good at it," she said meekly. "And you've been doing it for such a very long time..."

"Miss Granger!"

"Was that an insult? I can't imagine that it was."

He grabbed the wand out of her hand. "Put that bloody thing out before you blind me."

She snatched it back and released the spell so that they were in darkness again, but not before noticing that he seemed to be blushing. Blushing! "I'm sorry," she said belatedly. Although why a man should be embarrassed at being told he was good at sex, she couldn't imagine. She pressed her cheek against his chest and buried herself deeper under the covers. "I guess that means you don't want to do it."

But certain of his body parts...one in particular...certainly seemed as if it wanted to do something.

"It has always seemed to me," he said, his voice choking, "that such an endeavour would require a highly developed sense of focus."

"Oh, I have a highly developed ability to focus. I think that's one reason my charm work is so good, because I'm...I'm very good at focus." She was finding it awkward to speak; she'd actually felt him pulse against her stomach, and that triggered the pulse between her legs to flex in sympathy. 'In fact..." she gasped.

But she didn't get to complete her thought. He grabbed the back of her head and closed his fingers in her hair and held her still until his mouth found hers, and all the words that had been tumbling out of her mouth just disappeared. For the longest time, it seemed that the kiss was all that existed, this devouring ache of a kiss....

And then she reached between them and began sliding her hand up and down the length of his cock, and he ground against her until he finally broke away and gasped, "Why don't we try it with you on top, first?"

And as she slid down his body and found his heat with her lips, and as she felt the cold air hit her moist flesh when he spread open her thighs on either side of his face, and then...oh, god...he blew on her, simply blew on her, and the sensation was part tickle and part torment and all delight....

And as she reciprocated with first the moistening of her tongue against his flesh and then a soft breath of air....

And as they continued their joint torment and tease, until the sounds of lips and tongues and suction filled the darkness, coupled with choked moans and gasps of agony and pleasure....

As all these things were happening, a thought, a revelation, hovered around the edges of her consciousness, unable to materialise, but there all the same....

And as her mouth almost went slack when his fingers and tongue...oh that talented tongue...sent her over the edge, but...oh, god, focus, oh, god...she pulled him in one last deep time and with everything quaking through her, sucked until he pulsed in her mouth. His body jerked under her, and then his hand, trembling, tried to prise her mouth off his flesh but she batted it away and...and...he filled her mouth. She choked, then coughed, and, overwhelmed, fell to the side, holding him snug in her hand as she listened to his gasps and groans as her own pleasure still pumped through her.

Suddenly she laughed, her eyes burning, but she laughed...he was sitting up then, saying in a strangled voice, "Miss Granger!" as he dabbed at her mouth with a corner of the sheet.

She pushed his hand away and fell back against his chest. "That was amazing... I mean, I had no idea...I wasn't ready for...well, when you...but I'm sure with practice..."

His groan shut her up. "What made you think you needed to do that?"

"In the book it said that you would like it."

"I'm...I'm not going to even speak to you about that bloody book."

"I know it wasn't perfect, but I thought we did very well for a first effort!" she huffed. "In fact, you were brilliant." She pulsed just remembering.

Again, he groaned, and this time he didn't speak at all.

Suddenly, she remembered. "How did you know I was dreaming?"

He didn't answer.

"How?" she repeated. "And then, horrified, she asked, "Did I...did I make noises?"

He nuzzled her ear. She arched into the delicious feeling.

"You were... making noises, yes. And moving."

Oh, god, how embarrassing.

"And I could smell you."

She gave a squeak of horror.

"It's not a bad thing," he said, his hand full of her hair as he stroked it away from her neck and ran his thumb down the contour of her cheek. "Arousal has a scent."

"Bloody hell," she whimpered. "Can everyone..."

"No, of course not," he said, his hand now at her waist, exploring the softness of her skin. "Perhaps if the werewolf were still teaching here, he'd..."

"Professor Lupin!" She buried her face in her hands against his chest.

"Don't call him that!" he growled. "He isn't your professor."

"No," she agreed, curling against her professor. "He's certainly not."

And then, the revelation that had danced around her when she was least able to comprehend it gently settled over her, and she caught her breath. She rose up on her elbow and, with a tender ache in her chest, touched her lips gently to his. "This is why they hate us, isn't it? The other professors? This is why...."

For a very long time, the only sound in the cold dungeon room was that of their breathing, but eventually he said, "I think you need to elaborate, Miss Granger." and placed a kiss...rough and raspy from his morning beard...against her throat. It filled her with such joy, that offhand yet tender kiss.

"How many times," she asked, trailing her fingers through his hair, "do they wake up in the night, alone and lonely, and now... they have to lie there and know that you're not. You're not alone. " Overcome with the realisation of it, she breathed, "We're not alone."

He froze against her. She eased her hands over his taut shoulders, pressed kisses there, calming him the only way she knew how.

Oh, how she longed to hear him tell her she'd chased away his loneliness, too, but this was her professor and she knew better than to expect such confessions, even in the comfort and safety of their bed.

But he pulled her head onto his shoulder and stroked her hair, and tugged the covers higher over her shoulder, and all in all, his response was adequate.

Adequate, indeed.

XX

"How pleasant to see you both here for breakfast, Severus. You're looking quite refreshed this morning. Yesterday you both looked ready for Pomona's compost heap."

"The rewards of clean living and a clear conscience, I'm sure," Severus replied with a sneer as he sipped his tea...poured from his very own pot, a situation that hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of the faculty.

Beside him, Miss Granger was putting away sausage and baked beans on toast as if she hadn't eaten in weeks, and she'd already polished off a bowl of porridge with sultanas. She'd woken up with more than one kind of appetite this morning.

His eyes lingered...briefly; he wouldn't want to get caught ogling her for Merlin's bloody sake...on her face. The shadows etched beneath her eyes the night before were gone. The drawn quality, the tension, all gone. Instead, she looked not only refreshed, but also renewed, ready to take on the world.

A Miss Granger ready to take on the world was not something he contemplated with equanimity.

She was capable of enough trouble without the bit of fire he sensed in her on this particular morning, and he couldn't help but be annoyed by it, even if it was at least partially responsible for the kind of fire that had awakened her in the early hours. His fingers twitched around his mug of tea in a spasm of memory.

He was about to question her about her day's activities when Minerva strode the length of the table to stop behind them.

"Madam Snape? I'll be ready for you in, say, fifteen minutes?"

His wife nodded, swallowed a forkful of beans and then said, "I'll be there."

When Minerva was gone, he muttered, "What the fucking hell is that about? Why are you meeting with her?"

"She's my Head of House," Miss Granger replied, dabbing her lips with her serviette. "Why wouldn't I meet with her?"

"What is the subject of the meeting," he ground out, immediately more suspicious simply because of her attempt to avoid answering what was a very direct and reasonable question.

"My curriculum." She rose and dipped slightly toward him, then caught herself as he stiffened.

She'd been about to kiss him. It was in the flare of recognition that sparked between them, that she'd been about to bestow a casual wifely kiss, and for a split-second it had felt like such a normal event he'd almost leaned the side of his face toward her...the most infinitesimal movement, nothing so overt as to appear to be out and out cooperation, much less encouragement. But he'd anticipated that brush of warm lips against his skin and had leaned into it, and that certainty terrified him.

His sneer startled her back to awareness, and she quirked the slightest of sheepish smiles at him and gave a quick and embarrassed nod before whisking out of the Great Hall, her school robes billowing behind her.

He returned to his tea, drained the cup and poured another before allowing himself to observe the Slytherin table and see who might be watching, and with what level of attention.

Draco was holding court with his usual sycophants. There was a tussle amongst the first-years, which Severus squelched with a glare. A quick scan of the table showed no undue attention paid to him, and he allowed himself a small exhalation of relief.

But that had been a close call. It was unacceptable for word to get back to Slytherin parents that he and his wife were even friendly, much less affectionate.

He rose stiffly and followed Miss Granger's path out of the Great Hall, wondering what the bloody fuck Minerva wanted to say to her about her curriculum, and cursing the fact that he couldn't follow because he had a class to teach.

XX

"Have a seat, Madam..."

"Please call me Hermione."

"Of course," Professor McGonagall said, seeming relieved. "And you can call me Minerva," she said carefully, as though it took a lot of effort.

"Do I have to? I'd really rather not. I don't think my psyche could take that right now," Hermione sighed. "My life is already upside down without going to extremes."

"I can imagine it feels that way," Professor McGonagall said tactfully and cleared some parchment rolls from her desk. "Now, what did you want to discuss this morning?"

"Several things," Hermione said, taking a quick look at the list in her hand. "First of all I'm here to formally withdraw from Transfiguration."

She watched the tension ease from Professor McGonagall's thin shoulders. "Might I ask why you came to this decision?"

"It's a waste of my time and only seems to result in lost points for Gryffindor," Hermione announced pointedly. Professor McGonagall's cheeks flushed pink, but Hermione continued. "I've concluded that my time would be better spent revising on my own."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I think you're making a wise decision."

So. That was it? Not even pretence of regret? Hermione felt the twist of the knife but was determined not to let it show as she checked her list and moved to the next item. "Second, I hope that you'll explain to me why your attitude towards my marriage to Professor Snape changed."

"It has hardly changed, my dear. I've been against it from the beginning."

"Yes, but in the beginning, you were against it because you said Professor Snape was already too weighted down with responsibility. You were angry at me for what I was doing to him and...well, I understand that now. You could hardly hold me more at fault than I do myself. But now you seem angry at both of us, and I...I suppose I just want to know why."

Professor McGonagall met her gaze without flinching. "Severus had his own reasons for going along with the travesty that is a marriage between a teacher and a student, or I assume he must have, but the fact is that he of all people should have known the impact it would have on this institution. The backlash has the potential to be catastrophic and in some cases actually is."

"Catastrophic? Professor McGonagall," Hermione replied, her stomach clenching and her tone icy, "I'd prefer you not refer to my marriage as a travesty to my face, no matter what you may think of it. And as for this institution, it appears to me that it is still standing and classes are still being taught, and I find your attitude prudish and lacking relevancy in the current times." Professor McGonagall's eyes iced over but Hermione refused to back down. "There are other married students besides me, and if anybody is to blame for all this, it's the Ministry of Magic!"

Without glancing away or breaking eye contact, the Deputy Headmistress waved her wand and a multicoloured stack of leather folders floated from a nearby shelf and landed in the middle of her desk. She opened the top one...a dark yellow with the Hufflepuff crest on it. She lifted the top sheet. "As of yesterday, in our third week of this term, these are the letters we've received from Hufflepuff parents whose attitudes range from merely concerned to absolutely outraged that a Hogwarts teacher has married a student. Many are sympathetic to the outrageous situation the Marriage Law has created but do not accept in any terms a solution that involves a teacher and a student. And I must tell you, there are many who have implied if not stated that we have masked a lascivious situation between a teacher and student by covering it up with a forced marriage."

"But...but that's ridiculous! Nothing could be farther from the truth!"

"I believe you, Miss Granger, because I was present at the event and saw how distressed Professor Snape was. I witnessed with my own eyes the series of events. However, the majority of parents have no idea what kind of relationship you might have had with Severus, and in many cases are all too willing to believe the worst of him..."

Hermione stiffened. "I'm sure they are," she snapped.

"...or of a Muggle-born student."

Hermione gasped. "You dare..."

"Of course I don't!" She lifted the folder and the thick stack of parchments in it. "But these do." She dropped them back to the desk. "But true to the loyal House of Hufflepuff, all but two were eager to be reassured that their trust in us was still well-founded and they have at least agreed to leave their children here, for now."

Hermione felt a ball of lead growing in her stomach as Professor McGonagall set that folder aside and lifted the red one. Oh, god. Her friends. Or those that she thought had been friends....

"A similar number of letters from Gryffindor families. You will be happy to know that many supported you, mostly those from students in your year. It seems their parents have heard enough tales of you and your friendship with Harry Potter to gain you the benefit of the doubt, not to mention enough tales about Professor Snape to accept that this inconvenient marriage is not necessarily one that was entered into with expectations of a state of matrimonial bliss. They for the most part seem to accept that whatever brought about your marriage, the Ministry are more to blame than the school. Most, if not directly supporting you, at least support Hogwarts. It appears that the Gryffindor reluctance to submit to bullying and the more sinister influences in the Ministry has stood you in good stead." Again, she added, "For the most part."

"For the most part? Who doesn't believe..."

"It is not your place to know which families may have problems with your marriage, Hermione. That is confidential. Just take what comfort you can in the fact that the House of Gryffindor have fewer than any other House."

She moved the red folder aside and lifted the green one. Hermione braced herself.

"The House of Slytherin is intriguing in that we can certainly imagine that impropriety with a student is possibly second to the fact that you are Muggle-born, though they are too cunning to state so. However, there has not been a single threat to actually pull their children out of Hogwarts. It seems that your marriage stirred the viper's nest, but the Dark Lord still prefers the children of Slytherin families to remain here."

"Why?" she asked, astonished.

"Perhaps you should ask your husband that question, Hermione," Professor McGonagall replied sharply, peering over her narrow, rectangular glasses. "I can hardly pretend to have an answer."

She placed her hands alongside the thickest folder, the navy blue Ravenclaw folder stuffed with the thickest stack of parchments. "Which brings us to the House of Ravenclaw. At last count, three students are transferring to Beauxbatons, and one to The Salem Witches' Institute, and I don't have the current count on the number of students who will be pursuing their studies under private tutors in their own homes."

Hermione stared at the folder, dumbfounded and distressed. "But...but why?"

"The families of Ravenclaw put learning above all else when it comes to their children, and many of them quickly came to the conclusion that certificates from Hogwarts will be tarnished for some years to come. Thus, this quick action to distance themselves from this school."

"But...but...how could they be tarnished? How could what happens between me and Professor Snape..."

"Hermione! Think about it! You've had the top grades in the school since you've been here. Not a few Ravenclaws have had their noses out of joint over that. You will leave this school with some of the highest O.W.L. scores, and, we must assume, N.E.W.T. scores, in fifty years if not longer. And your marriage to Severus has put a very serious question mark beside your name. Perhaps in a few decades, when and if you've achieved the notable status in the wizarding world that we all expect of you, it will become clear that your success at this school was earned. But the fact is, you are known to the wizarding world at large as Harry Potter's friend, and, I regret to say, a young woman whose previous dalliance was the subject of gossip in the Daily Prophet for six months." She held up a hand to stop Hermione's outcry. "I'm not saying any of this is fair, Hermione. But these are the facts."

"I didn't know. I had no idea," Hermione stammered. "Why didn't somebody tell me?"

And at that, Professor McGonagall's face softened. "And what would it have accomplished after the fact, except to hurt and humiliate you?"

"But if I'd withdrawn from the school..."

"It would have helped, but it wouldn't have eliminated the problem." Professor McGonagall looked away then and sighed. "Severus fought fiercely for your ability to stay in classes and continue your studies all the way through your N.E.W.T.s. He feels very strongly about your need to complete your educational career at the level that we assumed you would."

Because that's what I wanted. She felt ill, physically ill. She clutched her little list, her silly little list, until it was a crumpled ball. She took in a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled quickly. Then took another, this time, keeping it steady, steady as her eyes as they met her Head of House across the wide desk. "So they tolerate the Marriage Law that made me prey for Death Eaters but condemn us for finding a way around it? Hypocrites!"

"While I understand your point, Hermione, I also think your grasp of the situation was impaired because you weren't raised in our world and don't understand how seriously we take certain things. Young Muggles are much freer to experiment sexually and, from what I'm told, much more likely to have children out of wedlock without any societal shame. I'm not condemning them, simply stating facts. It's not surprising that coming from that culture, you find it difficult the impact your marriage had on families that look to this school to set a high moral standard, and that includes not implying in any way an acceptance of sexual fraternisation between faculty and students."

Hermione's hands were clenched so tightly in her lap, she felt her fingernails cutting into her palms and half-expected to bring blood. "If I withdraw from all my classes, will it help?"

"It might stem the flow, and will at least make people feel like their concerns were heard."

"It will make them feel like they succeeded in running me off," she said bitterly.

"I don't think this story ends here. If you leave school and do as well in your N.E.W.T.s as we know you will, you will have gone far in proving them wrong. However, I must repeat, Severus will not be happy about this."

"Then I'm afraid I will have to disappoint him, because under these circumstances I must do what's best for Hogwarts and withdraw from all my classes."

And because she was staring forthrightly at the woman who had once been her favourite professor, she saw the glimmer of tears in the older witch's eyes, the slight twitch of nose and sharp sniffle. "Hermione, this is not what any of us wanted."

Hermione nodded.

Professor McGonagall rose sharply to her feet and circled the desk until she could stand before Hermione and take her hand, and looked earnestly into her eyes. "There isn't a professor here who wouldn't consider it an honour to tutor you for your N.E.W.T.s. I want to be the first to offer."

Hermione's fist flew to her lips as she fought tears. "He's going to be so unhappy, isn't he?"

Professor McGonagall tilted her head. "Severus? I suppose he will, but... this isn't about him. It's about you and your future."

"Yes, but..." Hermione broke off, choosing not to continue aloud what was filling her with dismay. By withdrawing from classes she was negating his sacrifice for her. She tried to remind herself that he had other, more important reasons for their marriage, but she also remembered how he'd defended her to her mother, and how he'd assured everyone that she would excel in her education, and now....

She stood up. "I think I need to..." To what? She didn't have another class to attend. She felt lost. But...but this left her more time to research. To research for Harry. For the professor. For the Order.

She tried to form a smile. "Thank you for your kind offer. I'd be honoured to accept your tutelage, Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall dabbed her eyes with a soft tartan hankie and checked the watch pinned on her sleeve. "We have just enough time then for a bit of a surprise."

Hermione tried not to let her desperation show. She needed to get away, to think, to adjust...and of course, to plan just exactly how she was going to break this all to Professor Snape.

What kind of surprise could Professor McGonagall have in store for her?

She followed the older witch down two corridors and up one floor to the wing of Gryffindor guest suites. Her nighttime patrols as Prefect had always included this area, as it had several large statues that did an all-too efficient job of hiding snoggers after hours.

Professor McGonagall swept into the last one and gestured Hermione in behind her.

The room glowed with the morning sun lighting the rich crimson carpet and the four-poster bed with golden brocade covers and drapes, complete with red trim. A red-and-gold brocade pattern covered the small, overstuffed chairs near the fireplace and bookcases spanned three walls...many filled, yet just as many empty and waiting for more books.

Hermione stood and stared, her insides going cold. She looked at Professor McGonagall, unable to form the questions that begged to be asked.

"Severus wanted me to find you safe chambers away from the dungeon..."

No. Hermione shook her head. What were they thinking? What was he thinking? No.

She grabbed the doorframe to hold herself up.

"My dear," Professor McGonagall cried, reaching to support her.

Hermione jerked herself upright and waved Professor McGonagall off. But her heart thudded in a painful rhythm. "How pretty," she said numbly, pretending to look, moving her head to look, but seeing nothing.

"I chose it particularly for you because of the view..."

XX

Severus found the door to Minerva's office locked and warded. He hesitated.

Ginevra Weasley passed hurriedly, evidently attempting to get to her next class without being late. "Are you looking for Hermione? She and Professor McGonagall left a few minutes ago and went toward the west staircase."

He nodded a curt thanks and headed in that direction. If he went down, he'd be on the fourth floor near Rolanda's chambers. If he went up...

The Gryffindor guest wing.

He climbed the stairs, relieved and satisfied.

On the sixth floor he saw light spilling from an open door at the end of the hall. Something inside he couldn't quite define urged him to increase his pace, and upon arriving at the door it only took one glance to see something was wrong.

Minerva stood at the window, pointing out the view.

Miss Granger stood across the room, her face pale, her hands stiff at her sides.

"Aren't you going to be late to your next class, Minerva?" he asked, cocking his head and leaning against the doorframe.

She looked at her watch and jerked to attention. "Oh dear, I let time get away from me." She walked to Miss Granger and...what in Merlin's name?...pressed a dry kiss to her forehead.

Miss Granger smiled stiffly and nodded, but now her eyes were on his, wide and pleading.

He stepped aside, and as Minerva passed he said, "Notify me when you and Albus will be available so that we can set the wards."

"Of course, Severus," she replied as she moved sedately but quickly down the hall. "But do ward the door when you leave."

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Miss Granger?" he said tentatively.

"Isn't it pretty?" she asked, and her tone would have been termed almost bright, if he hadn't known her so well.

"There's nothing wrong with it that a simple transformation spell couldn't turn green," he suggested carefully.

"But, why?" Her voice was soft, hollow.

"Minerva didn't explain?"

"She said that you asked her to find these rooms for me."

He gently took her hand and led her to the window. She looked out, but he could see by the sheen in her eyes that she most likely couldn't see. He sighed and tugged a white linen handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her.

"I don't need that," she protested and rubbed her eyes. "They itch, that's all."

"Miss Granger." He tucked the handkerchief into her hand. "It helps with itchy eyes, too."

She blotted her eyes and, finally, looked down.

He waited.

She blinked. Then frowned in confusion.

He waited.

"This is the same view that Madam Hooch has," she said.

"Exactly."

She caught her breath.

"Albus and Madam Hooch have both found you alone in a secluded hallway watching for my return on more than one occasion. On three different nights, you've wandered the castle alone because...because I was indisposed, or just being a wretched bastard."

She didn't meet his eyes.

"I would prefer that you never have reason to be out of our chambers at night without me, but it's clear that..."

She inhaled in a gasp, and then seemed to struggle and finally said only, "Oh..." followed by a second and softer, "oh."

"Miss Granger, please tell me you didn't think I was evicting you."

"My...my mind told me you weren't. And my...my heart told me you weren't. But some other part of me was very afraid that you might be."

She continued watching the ground far below them, the gate, the Apparation point, and the Forbidden Forest beyond. By avoiding his eyes she instead left him free to study her profile. Odd how he'd never really noticed her profile before: how her lips were a little too wide, the line of her nose...well, who was he to criticise her nose?...the high curve of her cheek, the smooth forehead and...and the riot of horrid, horrid hair framing it all.

All in all it was a totally unremarkable profile but for the simple fact that it was hers. It was his Miss Granger's, and that in itself made it remarkable in ways he refused to contemplate.

"You can promise me never to leave our quarters alone at night, and then you never need come here at all, you know."

She jerked her face up at that and glared at him. "I think not."

"Then I suppose you owe me a debt of gratitude for securing you this suite," he said placidly, "for those occasions in which you are either so desperate to see me that you must camp out in on a windowsill to watch, or are so desperate to escape me that you will seek refuge in any desolate place."

Her eyes still narrowed, she huffed a breath of disgust.

He arched a brow at her.

"Well, if you put it that way," she said resentfully, and reached up to place a kiss on his lips.

Which he promptly deepened with a possessive surge of emotion and a need to hold her, only...

She pulled away from him, her eyes cloudy and her expression stubborn. "Professor," she said, "I've got something to tell you and I don't know how, because it's going to upset you, but I had to do it, I had no choice, really..."

He drew in a sharp breath. "I believe we should take this to the privacy of our quarters."

"Somehow I think I'd be better off if we had witnesses," she muttered, and he felt the tightness in his chest loosen in relief, because this truly was his Miss Granger, indeed.

Just before he closed the door behind them, she stopped him with a hand on his arm and stepped back inside. After a sensuous bit of wandwork...he had to agree with the Weasley twins; she did have a wicked way with a wand...the carpets and brocade were a satisfying green and she was ready to leave.

He couldn't wait to see Minerva's face.