*
"Up!"
Rolanda hides a smirk behind her dragonhide broom-gloves.
"Up!"
Madam Rosmerta frowns down at the Silver Arrow broomstick in the grass. Temperamental thing—and so is Rolanda's old broom.
In the corner of her eye, she spots a streak of silvery fur within a shrub's undergrowth.
Rolanda glares hawkishly.
"Up! UP!—you sodding damn—!"
"That's enough, 'Merta," Rolanda says quietly, lowering Madam Rosmerta's hand. "We will try another day, won't we, hmm?"
"I don't understand how in Merlin's good graces these blasted brooms work—!"
"You will acquire the skill. With time."
Rolanda's lips twitch into another softer smirk as Madam Rosmerta fusses and pulls Rolanda's arms towards herself. They circle round Madam Rosmerta's waist. She's gone plump. It's attractive. Rolanda cradles her lover's face, encouragingly pecking her brow.
The shrub, behind Madam Rosmerta, rustles.
"Come see me in The Three Broomsticks, won't you, Rola… come and see me before the Sorting Ceremony…" Madam Rosmerta trills. She pets into Rolanda's grey hair, spiking it in-between her thin, gold-ringed fingers. "The Minister is coming by so often… and I need a distraction…"
With a little lean, Rolanda whispers "Eight 'o clock on the dot. Tomorrow night." into Madam Rosmerta's ear. Her hands give a squeeze on Madam Rosmerta's soft sides, eliciting a high, girlish laugh. Madam Rosmerta croons, stepping back.
As soon as she's disappeared from grounds, Roland glances disaffectionately to a tabby cat slinking.
"Was that necessary, Minerva…?"
"You are aware of school rules, Madam Hooch," Minerva McGonagall drones.
She plucks off a shrub-leaf from her pointed hat.
Rolanda summons her broom into her palm. "Yes, of course," she says coolly, resting its handle against her shoulder. Minerva doesn't appear convinced, clucking her tongue, raising her eyebrows as Rolanda's other hand twirls in a respectful farewell.
So much for privacy…
*