The liquid barely passed her tongue--tasting of the sea and the Highlands--before she felt the magic begin; her mind slowly retreating from her body. As she looked around in wonder, she could still see her body sitting perfectly still, her eyes forward as if actually paying attention to the goings on in the Great Hall. In her mind, she laughed, just to test that it wouldn’t show up on her person. Nothing happened.
She laughed again as she looked around. She was on a Quidditch Pitch. Not the school’s, she was certain of that, but it took her a moment to place it. It had been eons since she’d been there last. The Glasgow Golden Eagles, one of the first all-female teams. The first Quidditch match she ever went to was in this pitch. She had been 10 years old and there had been so many things she didn’t know before then that she very much was aware of after.
First she discovered that Quidditch was the best thing she’d ever seen and couldn’t wait to learn to fly, to maybe one day play herself. It instantly went to first place on the things she wanted when she got to Hogwarts in the next year. The second thing, the most important thing, is she discovered a tingle that worked its way through every pore of her body watching strong, capable women attain greatness in a heated battle.
Or maybe, she thought later when the game was over and the team gathered on the field and removed their helmets and raised them in victory and she stared in held-breath awe, maybe it was just the strong and capable woman that did things to her.
The woman that had done that for her all those many years ago was the woman who stood before her now, only so much different, so much more. Her hair, dark and spiked then was now silver and still spiked. Minerva marveled as she approached Rolanda and reached her hand to her, touching her fingers lightly to her face, her jawline, her temples, her chin.
“What do you see?” Rolanda asked.
Minerva whispered, as if afraid to break the spell, or still worried her voice would carry outside the dreamstate. “An amalgamation of all the yous I’ve ever loved.”
Rolanda smiled and her eyes shone bright and electric. Minerva had forgotten what that particular shine had done to her. It was almost painful the speed of her heart.
“How does this daydream work? Is this yours, mine or are we truly sharing the same dream?”
“Does it matter?” Rolanda asked with a shrug. She reached for Minerva’s hand and the next thing Minerva felt was the thrill of flying. They were on broomsticks and soaring around the field, the wind whipping their robes about them like tendrils in search of a support. Minerva, after a moment of steadying herself and also reminding herself they were dreaming, clutched the broom tight with her thighs before throwing her arms out wide and embracing the experience for all its life-defying, magical glory.
Rolanda rode up opposite her. “Why don’t you ride anymore? You clearly miss it.”
Minerva shrugged. “Time… life… forgetfulness. I forgot how much I enjoy this. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Did I ever tell you the first time I saw you on a broom?”
“Ey, you have. I used to be both amused and--what’s that phrase the kids use? Creeped out? Yes, creeped out by that. How much of my life I felt I’d lived while you were still a child. Funny how age differences diminish with time. How young you were, how little you’d experienced and now it’s almost like the difference has been reversed--”
“Are you saying I now seem the old one?” Minerva asked with a smirk.
“I’m saying you now seem the wise one, the one with the experiences I never had.”
Minerva smiled and leaned slightly on her stick so their lips could touch. “I like the experiences we have together the best.”
The kiss was an amalgamation too. The heady dream of it all Minerva used to feel when she’d first swallowed her fear and made her desire known, then the rushed and heated of every moment they weren’t kissing was wasted and unbearable, until finally the slow, lingering heat of stable and enduring passion.
She laughed again as she looked around. She was on a Quidditch Pitch. Not the school’s, she was certain of that, but it took her a moment to place it. It had been eons since she’d been there last. The Glasgow Golden Eagles, one of the first all-female teams. The first Quidditch match she ever went to was in this pitch. She had been 10 years old and there had been so many things she didn’t know before then that she very much was aware of after.
First she discovered that Quidditch was the best thing she’d ever seen and couldn’t wait to learn to fly, to maybe one day play herself. It instantly went to first place on the things she wanted when she got to Hogwarts in the next year. The second thing, the most important thing, is she discovered a tingle that worked its way through every pore of her body watching strong, capable women attain greatness in a heated battle.
Or maybe, she thought later when the game was over and the team gathered on the field and removed their helmets and raised them in victory and she stared in held-breath awe, maybe it was just the strong and capable woman that did things to her.
The woman that had done that for her all those many years ago was the woman who stood before her now, only so much different, so much more. Her hair, dark and spiked then was now silver and still spiked. Minerva marveled as she approached Rolanda and reached her hand to her, touching her fingers lightly to her face, her jawline, her temples, her chin.
“What do you see?” Rolanda asked.
Minerva whispered, as if afraid to break the spell, or still worried her voice would carry outside the dreamstate. “An amalgamation of all the yous I’ve ever loved.”
Rolanda smiled and her eyes shone bright and electric. Minerva had forgotten what that particular shine had done to her. It was almost painful the speed of her heart.
“How does this daydream work? Is this yours, mine or are we truly sharing the same dream?”
“Does it matter?” Rolanda asked with a shrug. She reached for Minerva’s hand and the next thing Minerva felt was the thrill of flying. They were on broomsticks and soaring around the field, the wind whipping their robes about them like tendrils in search of a support. Minerva, after a moment of steadying herself and also reminding herself they were dreaming, clutched the broom tight with her thighs before throwing her arms out wide and embracing the experience for all its life-defying, magical glory.
Rolanda rode up opposite her. “Why don’t you ride anymore? You clearly miss it.”
Minerva shrugged. “Time… life… forgetfulness. I forgot how much I enjoy this. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Did I ever tell you the first time I saw you on a broom?”
“Ey, you have. I used to be both amused and--what’s that phrase the kids use? Creeped out? Yes, creeped out by that. How much of my life I felt I’d lived while you were still a child. Funny how age differences diminish with time. How young you were, how little you’d experienced and now it’s almost like the difference has been reversed--”
“Are you saying I now seem the old one?” Minerva asked with a smirk.
“I’m saying you now seem the wise one, the one with the experiences I never had.”
Minerva smiled and leaned slightly on her stick so their lips could touch. “I like the experiences we have together the best.”
The kiss was an amalgamation too. The heady dream of it all Minerva used to feel when she’d first swallowed her fear and made her desire known, then the rushed and heated of every moment they weren’t kissing was wasted and unbearable, until finally the slow, lingering heat of stable and enduring passion.