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Guardian-visitation days at Hogwarts were always interesting. No other adjective could ever describe them adequately one-hundred percent of the time, but ‘interesting’ never failed. There was little room for solely positive adjectives when dealing with underage witches and wizards in the presence of both their teachers AND their guardians (with each role often playing nemesis in their little tales). However, there was a certain appreciation in the staff rooms for the stories such days created; the anecdotes that arose from these days circulated the castle between staff and students alike for months.
“Meet the loonies to love the spawn,” Pomona Sprout was fond of uttering. Hufflepuff was of course known for hosting a number of entirely unique students—their inimitable presences were often garnered from equally perplexing families. Pomona had always held her guardian-day stories close to heart once she worked through the initial exasperation of the interaction.
Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank had not forgotten such days. They were often not very eventful for her; she had previously spent many of them smoking her pipe and chatting with Rolanda Hooch, who also found little excitement. The most Rolanda tended to get was old fans from her Harpy days back to fawn over her. Occasionally Wilhelmina would get an admiring look from one of the wives or aunts; intelligently attached males would quickly guide their companion away, but many more were entirely oblivious.
Today Wilhelmina was back for a Guardian Day. She had never experienced one as a temporary position, so at least something would be new. Regardless, she prepared the tobacco in her pipe and shrunk it to fit in her small chest-pocket container. Perhaps Rolanda would have some interesting tales to tell this year.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” a stern woman’s voice spoke from one of the approaching corridors. The words were spoken sternly with a demanding undertone, not at all what the words would suggest. Wilhelmina merely smiled. She was used to such auras. She turned.
“Are you looking for someone?” she inquired, rolling up her sleeves in preparation for the show she would be performing for any interested guardians. Unicorns could get nippy when they felt playful. Rolling up her sleeves never seemed to protect her white shirts from stains, but the continued effort was perfunctory.
“Something, actually. That boy has lost his toad again. An adolescent at last, and he would still lose his own bottom if it weren’t knit in muscle to his thighs!” The woman huffed, disgruntled, and gave a brief glance down the edges of the corridor to either side.
“You must be Miss Augusta Longbottom.” Wil checked her hand and, finding it surprisingly and adequately clean, offered it to the woman. “Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, stand-in for Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures instructor.”
Augusta gave her a look, an obvious once over, and a second, more thoughtful look. It was still fierce and inspective. She sucked her lip a second and at last responded. “Yes, Augusta Longbottom, though no one in her right mind would call me ‘miss’ at my present age. You know my son, I presume?”
“Yes, Neville. Promising student. Had the misfortune of nearly sitting on his toad when I first arrived.”
Augusta merely rolled her eyes at this confession. “So you have also met Trevor the disappearing toad. I told that boy he would have been safer with a cat. Does he listen to his old gran? Why no, never. Now he’s perpetually down a toad and frightened of a mouse’s shadow.”
Wilhelmina suppressed a chuckle and offered a small smile. “Many monsters may hide in a mouse’s shadow.”
“So Xenophilius Lovegood might report in his hack-a-mammy publications, but the imagination of my Neville is even less reliable, as if that were in any manner possible.” Augusta took a few additional steps to inspect the intersecting corridor and found no traces of toad.
Wil could not contain her chuckle at that, perhaps only out of having Xeno’s daughter Luna in one of her classes. However many imaginary creatures her family conceived, she was certainly proficient enough with living creatures—perhaps moreso than Neville. Yes, rather undeniably, not that she spent undue time comparing her (Hagrid’s) pupils.
“Assistance in your perusal of the grounds?” Wilhelmina offered, gesturing with a sweep or her arm to indicate the rest of the castle.
“I would appreciate that. My Neville is off with his friends. He’s friends with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, did you know?”
Wilhelmina smiled at the pride in the woman’s voice, balancing all previous statements. They walked for a short number of hours. Wilhelmina came to understand that much of Augusta was a balancing scale between pleasure and pride against scorn and snide statements. The razor-line between the two in conversation delighted Wil. Rolanda and the unicorns could wait.
At the end of the day, Rolanda looked hassled (“where was my partner in avoidance?”), Pomona held a glowing gaze (“she had green hair, I swear!”), Pince looked positively prickly (“he dropped my book, that scoundrel; I thought I was rid of him as a third year when he admitted he detested words!”), Pomfrey was fuming (“of course I have my certificate; I can’t be blamed if his son is just magnetically attracted to the floor, stairs or walls be damned”) and McGonagall’s wrath was needling anything or one in sight (“I would have transfigured them both into Muggle bobble-heads, for all that they nodded and comprehended nothing”).
Wilhelmina just smiled. This was the wrong move. A smile, save from Pomona, was sacrilege on this day of ultimate suffering. The others descended upon her like buzzards to a fresh kill—an adequate analogy for her sudden plunge of mood, fending off questions.
“And what brings a smile to your face, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank? Do let us know; we must have just missed it.”
“Did you see the woman with the green hair as well, then? She nearly blended in with half my glasshouse.”
“Let us take a page from Little Mister Sunshine’s book, shall we? Or perhaps the book in its entirety?”
“Let me nurse you back to an appropriate state—sombre as Merlin’s celibate pants!”
One member of their spontaneous staff-room coven glared daggers as she removed her hat and fingered her tight hair. “Perhaps I shall transfigure a Muggle hussy-doll—Barbie?—out of a dear friend, to accompany my growing collection of bobble-headed dolts.”
Grubbly-Plank took a minute to compose herself. She felt the skin of her body, noted the stability of her bones and muscles, took in the (hot) air floating around her and returned to her smile as she found herself back in mental homeostasis. “I met Augusta Longbottom today.”
This shocked them all tongue-less, a feat Wilhelmina was rather impressed with. A flush of pride coursed through her and she momentarily pictured Augusta’s features, perpetually straddling pride and prejudice.
“You met Augusta Longbottom,” Irma repeated, a sharp look in her eyes.
A shrewd spark flew to Minerva’s. “Well. Doesn’t that explain everything.”
Pomona barked out her laughter. “Did you find her long-lost great-grandson, the toad?”
Wilhelmina was momentarily surprised. “You knew he was lost?”
“My dear,” Pomona remarked, grinning until she dimpled, “that toad is always lost. His being found is the temporary state, much like Augusta Longbottom’s pride in a person.”
For the moment, the Hogwarts women were content to swap tales on Augusta Longbottom’s endless stories and ignore the hassles of their own days. Wilhelmina felt that if she hadn’t already come to know the woman quite well through their walk, these stories would surely have enlightened her as to Augusta’s character. As it was, they filled all the holes that needed filling.
Guardian Days would certainly be more interesting than ever before.
Rolanda Hooch approached her after dinner the next evening.
“You like Augusta Longbottom.” No-nonsense, as ever. It was no wonder Minerva liked her so. Minerva had never been a fan of nonsense. Wilhelmina enjoyed the occasional whimsy. Augusta Longbottom’s bird-hat came to mind, which brought a smile unbidden to Wil’s face. It was answer enough.
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps a thestral shits in the woods. You like Augusta Longbottom.” Ah, the hard edges of Rolanda Hooch.
“Yes. Is there any more to be done with the statement, or are we done here?”
Rolanda gave her a look as if to say ‘am I ever done here?’ That answer Wilhelmina knew well enough. They were old companions. If one of them desired, the other would always rouse the troops to settle it.
“She enjoys letters and stories. Today Trevor was confused with a chorus toad and brought to practice. He out-croaked the other toads and shocked Filius out of his chair when he caught a fly from Filius’ beard. When Neville arrived to retrieve Trevor, Filius made him sing as punishment. One of the pitch-pipes broke.” Rolanda smiled perversely. “Augusta may wish to know.”
“That her boy can’t sing?”
“That everything is normal, nothing has changed, and she can go ahead laughing at the absurdity of it all, then judge that it’s as she always says.”
“She’s got the world pigeon-holed, has she?”
“No.” Rolanda quirked a grin and elbowed her friend. “But she pigeon-holed you.”
Wilhelmina couldn’t argue with that. She wrote the letter by firelight, Firewhiskey in hand.
The returning letter was not late in coming. Brief appreciation of the story, disdain at Neville’s place in life, a reminder of the usefulness of cats and an invitation to the Three Broomsticks a week later. It was the shortest line, near the signature, as if refusal was not a possibility. Wilhelmina thought that was probably because it was not.
She answered right away. That evening, Rolanda winked at her over the roast beef. Wilhelmina laughed and shook her head, believing the interaction to be through.
“There’s a reason she’s a Longbottom,” Hooch whispered as she walked back toward her quarters. They split ways at the next corridor.
That evening, Wilhelmina summoned her trusted friends to prepare.
“Three firewhiskeys and she’s puddy like Puddifoot,” Pomfrey advised as soon as she stepped in the door, understanding precisely why she was there. She then removed her over-robes and accepted the proffered glass.
“So, one less than you?” Wilhelmina countered immediately, smiling over her raised glass. Pomfrey fluttered her lashes and gently trod on her friend’s toes. “Anything else of use?”
“Wear a white shirt, no stains. She likes to know what sort of brassiere she has to ‘grapple with’, and whether her date can hold her own with a glass of wine. She can prattle on against stains for hours after you’ve scourgified yourself.”
“Wear white, buy three. Understood.”
“You’ll be fine. You put up with Minerva for a decade; Augusta is only three-quarters as difficult.”
Wilhelmina laughed. “Where did the other quarter go?”
“Tacked on to Amelia Bones, but you’ll hear all about her on your date.” Pomfrey’s smile was knowing. It teased Wilhelmina with information she did not possess. Just as well, she thought, if she would find out: might as well hear it from the unicorn’s mouth.
Pince came in without a word and dropped a book on Wilhelmina’s tea-table. It was a picture book filled with clippings of newspapers, journal entries, wry comments and allusions to books. Augusta’s winking and chuckling face appeared on the cover; on the back, she gave the two-fingered salute.
“Anything I can give you is there,” she explained tersely. She stared at the book for a moment, until a small smile touched her lips. “She’s all there, that Augusta. You treat her well. She’s been torn to tatters many times before, but she’s always rebound herself and set her spine to more. You’re well off to respect that.”
“Indeed I do.” Wilhelmina gently took the book and cradled it between her fingers and the crook of her elbow. “I will read it this evening.”
Irma actually smiled.
Pomona Sprout just gave her a big soft hug, a perverse but supportive smile and a few statements of good luck. Wilhelmina promised to ‘spill the seeds’ on how the evening went.
Minerva McGonagall rapped on the door with impatience so inherent to her character as to seem inbred. Then, Wilhelmina had met her mother: it was inbred.
She was holding up a bottle of Norwegian Goblin whiskey. It looked as old as they were. Wilhelmina’s heart surged with the love of long friendship and a past containing occasional occurrence of romance.
“This is her favourite evening drink. There is never the need to drink this in over-abundance, nor would she let you.”
“Thank you, Minerva,” Wilhelmina responded in her tone of deepest gratitude. She took the bottle and held it gingerly, scanning over the writing of symbols she could not read. She gazed up once more. “Thank you.”
Minerva visibly softened; her eyes crinkled with the smallest of smiles and her stature slackened minutely. “You are entirely welcome, Wilhelmina. I hope this day goes well for you. Thank you for the same, and Rolanda...”
Wilhelmina shushed her and smiled, motioning her into the room to join the rest. Rolanda stepped into the room behind. She had been meandering in patterns out in the corridor, allowing the two old friends a moment. Wil was grateful for such understanding and insightful friends.
“Ro,” she called gently. “Do come inside if you wish.”
“I just may. Though who could turn down the halls of Hogwarts?”
Wilhelmina chuckled. “Just about anyone, after year seven. Get inside!”
“Yes sir!”
They joined the crowd, Wilhelmina taking note of any other advice uttered throughout the evening. One thing she understood very well: Augusta Longbottom was a very important woman—to the world, perhaps, but certainly to her friends; that weighed heavier in the long-run.
Augusta met her at the Three Broomsticks but directed them by Apparition to a location ‘far away from pesky students’ eyes’. It was an old Italian restaurant attached to a Muggle inn out in the country. From the outside, it looked run-down and ramshackle; from the inside it was beautiful. Low-flying candles, shaped mirrors, comfortable golden hues, tables with elegant clothes, shape-morphing napkins and sparkling faerie centrepieces. Wilhelmina approved immediately and they were seated almost as soon in a comfortable corner.
“What did they all say?” Augusta Longbottom questioned as soon as they were seated. “I know the old hens have nothing better to speak on than the comrades they left outside those walls.”
She spoke affectionately, her words softened by her tone.
“A gentlewoman would never tell. You are admired and appreciated.”
Augusta smiled, unrestrained this time. She set her napkin in her lap. “I do miss them something terrible. We used to get into all sorts of trouble.”
“So I saw.” Wil grinned and tucked her napkin over the topmost button of her white shirt. This was awarded with significant attention from her companion.
“You saw the book, I presume.”
“Irma had me read it.”
Augusta’s smile grew. Wilhelmina was aware that she was witnessing a side often missed by others, for not having the patience to work through the facade of the black-and-white pride or prejudice world Augusta often occupied. Shame on them, Wilhelmina decided.
“Adventurous group,” Wil murmured as she read through the menu. She watched Augusta over the folded pages.
Below the table, Augusta slipped her stocking-clad feet above Wilhelmina’s black boots and let them sit. She answered with a meaningful look and her voice a deeper pitch: “I do enjoy adventure.”
They spoke of Amelia Bones and lovers past, present situations, ideas of the untameable future. The conversation flowed easily, Augusta’s tongue growing looser with each drink. Wilhelmina listened carefully to the stories, gleaning useful knowledge about Augusta from each. This woman provided endless fascination.
Wilhelmina ordered some plate of pasta or another, but soon realised she was hungry less for the carbohydrates and more for the acts for which they would give her energy.
Augusta was tied to the shower head. While she refused to whimper, Wilhelmina took the moment to analyse the situation with her animal behaviour knowledge. Many humans—Magic and Muggle alike—were offended beyond belief to be compared to ‘mere animals’. Wil took no such offense; indeed, if humans were regarded as animals (without negative connotations), their actions could suddenly be viewed with understanding, less enigma. Perhaps humans just fervently harboured their sense of mystery.
Outwardly, Wilhelmina saw little of it with Augusta’s arms held high and straining against their binds, her ample breasts heaving and glistening under the jet of water and cloud of rising steam, her legs spread around Wilhelmina’s thigh and a look of pure wanton lust over her glossy features. Wil fingered through the woman’s silvering brunette hair but halted the action when Augusta craned her neck and head toward it; Wilhelmina gave a rough slap to her arse and smiled as Augusta hissed.
Perhaps it was that compulsive desire (and need) to be at the head of the crowd, lead, be dominant...Augusta excelled at that. She was a pillar of strength. She was often stronger and more skilled than a group of magical people together. Perhaps, sometimes, she needed to break within her own confines and strict plans, just to keep strong when the time called.
Wilhelmina nodded to herself and bit at Augusta’s nipple, pressing her centre with a sharp hip bone. Augusta jerked and glared down. She defiantly stood on one leg and used the other to caress up Wil’s thigh to her bottom. Wilhelmina was impressed, but noted of course that it broke their previously assigned rules—just as Augusta had intended. Wilhelmina gave another slap in return.
She transfigured her washing brush to a shape more fitted to her purposes. She tested the ridges along its length and ran her fingers along Augusta’s fold, murmuring a lubricating spell she knew well enough to perform wandless. Augusta dripped; Wilhelmina smiled.
“Nngh,” was the first sound Augusta uttered after an hour of foreplay and their time in the shower. She hissed, mostly at herself, for breaking under the pressure of pleasure. She pulled herself up by her arms and quickly wrapped her legs around Wilhelmina, a physical beg to get on with it. The acrobatics impressed her dominator, even if the action did leave Augusta further panting. Her skin flushed with the effort and denied release. Wil could feel the woman’s thigh muscles twitching against her straddled hips.
Wilhelmina traced her new object from Augusta’s knee down to her fleshy hip and rolled it up beyond her belly button, then grazing it between and past her breasts, up beyond a strong chin and touched to often outspoken lips. They were silent. Augusta glared down her nose at Wil’s smile but licked and nibbled the tip until she was through and nosed it away, a defiant spark in her eyes. She kicked Wil’s arse from behind.
“Naughty,” Wilhelmina chastised, running the tip with agonising slowness back down the trail it had previously taken. “Patience is a virtue.” She loosened Augusta’s legs and their grasp, pressing the tip close to her entrance. “This is a vice.”
She considered for a moment where she would go from here. Augusta’s hips pulsated and undulated, but did not drop onto the toy, merely brushed it; that would have broken a rule by just a touch too much.
“How do I know you really want this?” Wilhelmina inquired, circling the faintly-vibrating to around Augusta’s folds and catching her clit with an occasional prod. Augusta bit down a moan; Wil could see her throat working to silence her vocal chords. The woman’s face was flush
Wilhelmina leaned down to lick at Augusta’s clit once, twice, with a final stiff-tongued prod. She nuzzled the wet circles of hair. “Would you say your safeword, I wonder?”
She knew that wasn’t precisely how it went, but Augusta had told her over their dessert (and under a silencing spell) that she wished to be topped as never before. What stronger way to express ultimate yielding than to do what she had never been pushed to do, in a moment in which it wasn’t entirely needed? She had never used her word. She had never been pushed, never been called, never been driven. Would she yield and give her word for the ultimate reward?
It was soon, fast, unexpected...but then most of the things in life that truly, utterly, ultimately allowed (or forced) a person to submit were. Most animal hierarchies were determined by the first meeting, the initial ‘who is alpha’ sniff-out, often ending or beginning in simulated fucking. This was pure animal lust. What other guidelines applied?
“N...n...nnguh,” Augusta grunted, biting down. Her jaws worked as her eyes clenched closed. The grip of her thighs tightened around Wil’s hips. Her eyes opened. She took Wilhelmina in with surprising clarity and calm for her situation, evaluating every inch from head to toe; she spent considerable time gauging Wilhelmina’s worth through the window of her eyes. Wilhelmina stood tall under the inspection, daring Augusta to draw her conclusions.
“Phoenix.”
She slackened. Immediately, Wilhelmina pressed the toy in until her thumb touched soft flesh; she circled it at Augusta’s clit, spelling the toy to pulsate and thrust. Wil held the woman aloft, shoulders straining but bringing no pain, kissed the crease of her hip and thigh and moved upward. She nibbled a line up Augusta’s stomach, taking care to admire each ample inch in a thorough but efficient sojourn.
She landed at Augusta’s face, which she took in without thought yet with her entire mind and body. It wasn’t conscious, didn’t bring words or pictures, but the sight of it was her everything in that moment. The pressure of Augusta’s closed eyelids, eyes motioning wildly under the light skin in pleasure, brought a jolt of electric heat to Wilhelmina’s core. Augusta’s lips thinned, pressed, opened, released air in a predictable cycle that made Wil weak. The water splashed against them both, further enhancing the heat they experienced within.
Wilhelmina kissed Augusta. It was unexpected; Augusta’s mouth opened wide, uttered a slight sound of shock, closed and relaxed. She kissed back, tongue and teeth and lips, as her body contorted within the confines of her tied wrists and leg-grasp of Wil’s hips.
When she opened her eyes to Wilhelmina’s overpowering gaze, her world exploded fire and ash and pure heat. She screamed, eyes closed and head back against the tiles, muscles tensed and showing the strength she held and hid every day. She was flying.
Augusta Longbottom came down with muscles gently twitching, breath slowly collecting and Wilhelmina lowering her back to the shower floor. They would be sore tomorrow, but today was not tomorrow, which was a present in itself.
Wilhelmina spelled the knots free and massaged the woman’s chafed wrists. She would care for them properly later; there was no real damage done. Wil kissed each soft and surprisingly delicate wrist twice and gave their possession back to their true owner. The scrubbing brush was replaced against the dials, which were transfigured back to their natural bath setting.
Grubbly-Plank assisted her companion in stepping into Wil’s long white button-down and walking to the bedroom. They sat in two cushioned armchairs and gazed at each other, wordless, thought-lost or lost-thought, either way.
Augusta smiled, sated, loose, vulnerable and stronger than ever at once. Wilhelmina was herself, as it was all she ever was—her most endearing trait, she was told. She poured the drink Minerva had gifted them, a small portion into each glass. Augusta caught gaze of it and laughed deep in her throat; it was a gruff sound given her previous scream.
“After the three firewhiskeys? I doubt I can take it.” Despite her words, she took the glass as soon as it was offered. “Or perhaps I may; I’ve done more surprising things this evening.” Augusta tucked the white shirt around herself and caressed the material gently, her smile fainter but equally radiant.
“Phoenix, hmm?” Wilhelmina sat back, nude and careless, envisioning the fiery avian and recalling the myths and facts. “You are a phoenix.”
Augusta Longbottom sat silent for a moment, inspecting her Goblin whiskey and contemplating any number of things. Wilhelmina had a guess: her friends, her life’s various flights and fights and fires, and how the prior allowed her to rise again through the latter. “That I am.”
She held up her glass, wordless gratitude for the reminder. Some things and knowledge had to be lost to be found, remembered and appreciated in entirety. Perhaps Trevor had the right idea, getting lost all those times. He’d learned to sing, hadn’t he, and got a good meal of it too?
Those critters. They had the right of it every time.
And she’d caught herself a phoenix thanks to a toad. What a world these critters created. The absurdity, and the way it all turned out just right.
Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank laughed; Augusta Longbottom laughed too.