More HP fanfic

In retrospect, this probably should have been foreseeable, even anticipated. As it was, Rolanda harbored no suspicions when the interim Care of Magical Creatures instructor, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, asked for her company at lunch, nor when she appeared at the periphery of the Quidditch pitch as Rolanda dismissed her first years at the end of their flying session with a wicker picnic basket, nor when she lead her along a lightly worn path towards the Forbidden Forest and laid out a checkered blanket in the middle of a bay on the forest’s edge, a meadow surrounded on three sides with trees. She raised her eyebrows when Grubbly-Plank removed a bottle of burgundy from the basket, but having no other obligations that afternoon accepted a glass without question. Neither did she question the attentiveness with which Wilhelmina served the light meal of bread, fruit and cheese, even when she placed a slice of pear topped with a glob of Brie directly in Rolanda’s open mouth, or the way she said almost nothing besides politely encouraging Rolanda to talk about herself, her day and her students. She didn’t get the drift when Wilhelmina shifted herself to sit by her side. In fact, Rolanda was caught completely off guard when Wilhelmina put a hand on the back of her neck and leaned into kiss her.
“What are you doing?��? She asked, startled and pulling away. She swung her legs around so she could face her companion.
“What do you mean?��?
“This, what is this?��?
“You’re joking, right?��?
Rolanda shook her head.
“I was so sure you understood . . .��?
She shrugged and smiled apologetically. “Apparently not. I mean, I'm not offended, I just wasn’t expecting it.��?
“I thought you were going along with it . . . how could you not have known?��?
“Well, evidently I’m the most naïve person in the world. But you . . . how did you know I liked women? Did you know?��?
Wilhelmina took up her pen knife and began segmenting a nectarine. “I knew.��?
“How?��? Rolanda’s eyes narrowed as she accepted the proffered piece of fruit. This was one of her pet peeves. She’d always been skeptical of other people’s claimed ability to discern a person’s inclinations from their movements or dress, perhaps because she was herself so bad at it.
“Well, you don’t seem to be taking pains to disguise it.��?
“What’s that supposed to mean?��?
“You’re hardly the most feminine witch on staff, are you?��?
“Go on.��?
“For starters, there’s you hair.��?
“It’s more practical short. I’m sure you can testify to that.��?
“True, but you’re also only, what? Forty, forty-two?��?
“Forty-three.��?
“Really rather young, and you make not effort to cover the fact you’re already grey.��?
“I’ve tried covering it up, it’s more effort than it’s worth.��?
“You don’t wear make-up.��?
“I use a moisturizing ointment. With all the windburn, I tend to chap.��?
“Then there’s your boots.��?
“What’s wrong with them?��? She asked indignantly, looking at her crossed feet. She loved these boots, knee-high with sturdy two-inch heels, angular steel toes and extra thick leather panels to support the ankle through forceful kick-offs and rough landings. They were practical and gorgeous, broken in to a glove-like fit and bearing their scuffs like ornaments. These were perfect boots.
“Nothing’s wrong with them, they just stick out like a banner to anyone who knows what to look for.��?
Rolanda shook her head. “You’re making this up.��?
“You sit with your knees wide at the staff table.��?
“This is ridiculous. I’m a flying instructor. My job is physical, it’s outdoors, I’m in the air all day, and that’s an important part of my life, and I like doing it. Are you saying you keep your hair bristly and grey as some sort of advertisement? Is that why you’re not out here in smart, strappy stilettos?��?
Wilhelmina smiled modestly. “No. I too compose myself in accordance with the pragmatic concerns of physically taxing outdoor work. Though I could argue that our career choices reflect a shared, innate affinity for nature.��?
“Which has what to do with being queer?��?
“Probably very little.��?
“Then don’t tell me you lured me out here because my boots told you I was a lesbian.��?
She conceded, bowing her head. “I also talked to your ex-girlfriend.��?
“Who?��?
“Betty Morgan.��?
“From Swansea? Jeez, that’s ancient history. We were on an amateur team together. She dumped me the day before a tournament match, scout present and all. Floored me. She got picked for the Harpies, I kept playing amateur and eventually came here.��?
“I met her at a mutual friend’s baby shower. Apparently she’s planning to retire this year.��?
“Really? It’s been so long since I spoke to her.��?
“She and her partner Susan have some idyllic cottage on the beach near Pembroke where they plan to settle down and breed crups. They seemed happy together. Very affectionate.��?
“Bloody hell.��? Rolanda reached to refill her wine. “I’m happy for her, but that’s depressing.��?
“It’s hard watching exes move on.��?
“Worse when they dropped you as coldly as she did.��?
Wilhelmina raised her glass. “To break-ups: if pain truly does bring wisdom, may we always emerge the stronger.��? They clinked their glasses together and sipped in unison. “Couldn’t you tell I was gay?��?
“You know, I did wonder. But Filius said you had a husband.��?
“I did. Past tense, a very long time ago. Thirty years this spring. He was going to leave me, run off with the girl from the grocers’, but I ran off first. With her sister.��?
Rolanda laughed so hard it spooked the unicorn that had been edging towards them, lured by voices and the smell of fruit. Too old anyway, thought the unicorn as he bounded back through the forest, hardly worth the attention.
“Yes, well,��? Wilhelmina shrugged modestly, “Plank was his name, but I thought I’d keep it . Reminder of my failed experiment. You’re not joking with me? You really had no idea I fancied you?��?
“I really didn’t. But then, I’m terrible at guessing things like that. I was dead certain Minerva was queer, when I first got here, but she’s always got a man somewhere, sometimes even juggles them.��? She paused, toying with her glass. “Do you really fancy me?��?
Wilhelmina nodded. “I really do. I must say, you’re not my usual type. I’m usually drawn to girlier lasses, very waifish, very domestic. But my last few girlfriends, in fact too many of the women I’ve dated over the years, we’ve had nothing in common, few shared interests, no shared activities. I like that you like flying, that you’re not afraid to scrape your knees or break your nails. And you’re not so butch. I mean, you’re tough, but there’s a delicacy to you, too. A grace. Like a lot of birds, you look at them close and they seem so fragile, like you can’t believe they can do everything they do without breaking. But they do.��?
Rolanda blinked. “Well, thank you, Wilhelmina—“
“Billie.��?
“Billie, thank you. I’m flattered.��? She set down her glass on the blanket. “Is there any more of that Brie left?��?