Entry tags:

beholder_2010, fic, het, minerva mcgonagall, minerva/viktor, viktor krum

FIC: "But Can she Do Maths?" for nimrod_9
Recipient: nimrod_9
Author: ella_bane
Title: But Can She Do Maths?
Rating: R
Pairings: Minerva McGonagall/Viktor Krum
Word Count: Around 5700
Warnings: Nerdy math references!
Summary: Viktor Krum needs a date. Where's Hermione Granger when you need her?
Author's Notes: Gosh, this went through a lot of permutations, including a cabal of sex-loving witches! Thanks to bethbethbeth and themostepotente - and to accioslash for getting me in gear in the first place! I hope you enjoy what worked best, nimrod_9! Betas to be named later, but for one, my SO.

***

Viktor Krum didn't have a date to the annual Quidditch Charity Ball. This worried his publicist, Rufus Steelwell.

"Viktor, Viktor. Must you be so picky? What about Elendra Shopster?" Rufus slid a third glossy picture of a beautiful, curvaceous woman across Viktor's mahogany desk. Miss Shopster blew kisses with scarlet lips on an endless loop.

Viktor peered at the picture and grunted. "Can she do linear algebra?"

"What?"

Viktor gave him a brief look of irritation. "You heard me." Then he went back to working with his quill over numbers and squiggles that made no sense to Rufus.

"Isn't that a Muggle science?"

"It's good exercise for the mind. Who's next in that pile of yours, hmm?"

Rufus shoved another picture over. "Natalie Forlucen. This year's Miss Portkey. Plus, she loves Quidditch."

Viktor took one look, frowned, and turned back to his work.

"She supports children's charities," Rufus added.

Viktor dipped his quill in the ink pot, found it to be tacky, and murmured, "Atra Unda."

"I believe she won a spelling bee while in primary school."

Viktor scowled down at his figures. "She is good speller? That is the best you can find?"

Rufus wisely said nothing about why he should be the one to find any woman at all for Viktor. Women threw themselves at Viktor, despite his brutish looks and beetle brows, but unless they could recite the thirteen laws of transmutation, or name at least five different dragon species found only in Snowdonia, Viktor couldn't be bothered.

"They're all quite lovely. Think how nice you'll both look on the cover of the Daily Prophet."

"I vant to take a smart woman, Rufus. Not a groupie."

Rufus made noises of protest. "I'm sure these women are perfectly intelligent. You can't know."

Viktor nodded his head, conceding the point. "That is true. A pretty face does not mean there is nothing in the head." His face was transformed, and Rufus knew Viktor was thinking of Hermione Granger, the girl he compared to every other woman.

"I'll meet them."

Rufus nodded. "Splendid."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, Rufus and Viktor were once again in Viktor's home office, where they both sat staring down at the glossy photos.

"Elendra can do calculus," Rufus offered, still surprised at that revelation.

"But she vos no Quidditch fan. She said it vos a vaste of time."

"Natalie loves Quidditch."

"She lied about her spelling ability," Viktor said in a plaintive voice.

Rufus spread his hands. "Viktor, Viktor. Just take one of them. You mustn't spend all your free time on Muggle maths."

Viktor scowled. "Find me a woman who loves Muggle maths and Quidditch. Then I vill go."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Minerva McGonagall, dressed in a red and gold swim-costume, settled into a massive bathtub of steaming water; its grandeur easily overshadowed that of the prefects' bath. She sighed in contentment as the bubbling water worked its magic on her tired muscles. Behind her sat a silver tray with three glass goblets; they were filled with the best German Pixie wine the house elves could procure.

"Ah, lovely, heavenly Friday," announced Pomona Sprout as she bustled into the inner sanctum open to the professors of Hogwarts. She sank into the tub next to Minerva, and with a quiet Wingardium Leviosa, floated two glasses over.

"Thank you, Pomona, truly. It has been a week of extreme stupidity."

"Mmm,” Pomona sipped her wine. "Yes, it has, though I'm happy to note none of mine were involved in that unfortunate brawl on the Quidditch Pitch."

Minerva wrinkled her nose. "Yes, initiative is somewhat lacking in your little badgers. Ah, hello, Rolanda. Join us."

"Now, Minnie, just because your darlings exhibit foolhardy recklessness at every opportunity, that's no reason to belittle --"

"Girls, already?" admonished Rolanda Hooch, taking her glass and settling into the water next to Pomona. "No talk of students tonight, please. Who brought the Prophet? Let's see the lonely hearts, poor sods."

Pomona gave Minerva a look she reserved for students, but Minerva gave as good as she got, and both women were cracking smiles within seconds. Shaking a finger in Minerva's direction, Pomona said, "I salute you. That glare grows more wicked every year." And then, at Rolanda, "There you go."

The Daily Prophet materialised, already open to the personals. It floated in front of Rolanda, ready for perusal. "Excellent," she said.

Three glasses and seventeen ads later, Minerva did what only wine could induce. She giggled. Rolanda looked over her shoulder and saw Minerva's finger hovering over a small block of text, complete with a tiny, bleating goat. Minerva read aloud to Pomona, while Rolanda snickered. "Seeking woman of mature years to help me milk my goats. Must have the initials P.S. Contact Aberforth D."

Pomona let out a dramatic sigh and took the paper. "One date and he can't let me go."

"Think of the poor goats!" said Rolanda.

"Nasty old teachers! You shouldn't talk of such things!" The voice echoed through the pipes, and out of the tap slipped Moaning Myrtle. She frowned at them all, chiding them in her piteously high voice. "NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY TALK!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Myrtle. Do you, or do you not spy on every student in every bathroom in this entire castle? You hear much worse from their mouths, I'm sure of that," said Rolanda, tipping her wine glass up to get the last bit of liquid.

“I do it for their own good!” she sniffed. “Don't I report every clandestine meeting faithfully to you?” Her big eyes implored Minerva.

“Yes,” said Minerva. “In nauseating detail.”

“I'm being thorough!”

“Oh, Myrtle, you little hypocrite. Just stay and listen," said Pomona.

"I'M THE HYPOCRITE? YOU GIVE NAUSEATING DETAILS TOO! ALL YOUR . . . YOUR SORDID AFFAIRS!!"

"Sordid affairs? Do shut it," said Rolanda, bringing up her wand. "Petrificus Totalis." Myrtle turned a dark smoky colour, and thankfully, nothing else came out of her mouth. "These poor wretches are lonely hearts! We're helping them."

"Was that necessary?" Minerva said. Myrtle's reports, nauseating details notwithstanding, did provide a wealth of social interaction she found quite useful when both doling out punishments and counselling students alike.

"No," Rolanda agreed with great cheer, as she considered her fourth glass of wine. "I must say, I've thought of doing that to my sixth-years today, the whole lot of them. Casting it felt rather better than it should have. Finite Incantatem. No more, Myrtle, understood?"



Myrtle sniffed loudly, but then, she never sniffed quietly, not in all the years Minerva had known her. "I will be quiet."

"That's a good girl," said Pomona. "Oh, my! Listen to this one. It's as if it were written for you personally." She stared at Minerva with bright eyes.

"Oh, let me see," Rolanda demanded, scooting over to peer down at the paper. She then snatched it, ignoring Pomona's indignant huff. "This," she waved the paper wildly, "was designed for you, my little Quidditch groupie." Pomona choked on her wine, and Rolanda pounded on her back, saying, "All right there, my dear?"

"Oh, do get on with it!" said Minerva, more than a little excited.

"Yes, yes. Listen. Desperately seeking intelligent woman who loves Quidditch to attend charity event as an escort. Be the date of an international Quidditch star! Muggle maths knowledge is a must! Candidates will be tested. Will pay handsomely. Please contact Steelwell Limited."

"What do you think?"

Minerva turned thoughtful. She certainly loved Quidditch, and she knew a great deal about Muggle maths. But why would an international Quidditch star need to advertise for an escort? She sipped her wine, pondering the ad.

"Perhaps he's a third-stringer. No one knows him yet."

"Or he's incredibly ugly," said Rolanda.

"The poor sod can't find a date," said Moaning Myrtle.

"Oh, do answer the ad, Minnie," said Pomona. "There's a lonely heart if ever there was one. Why indeed would an international Quidditch star place an advert to find a date? He needs you!"

"Yes!" said Rolanda, raising her glass. "We must aid the lonely hearts!"

"But what of this offer of payment? Being his escort should be payment enough. It reeks of desperation."

"Who bloody cares?" cried Rolanda. "Answer the ad! Maybe you'll get lucky." She winked.

"Eww," said Moaning Myrtle.

"Come, come. Where's that Gryffindor initiative?" said Pomona.

"You mean foolhardy recklessness?"

"Exactly so!" said Pomona.

"I'm rather fond of Quidditch myself," said Rolanda. "Perhaps I'll answer this one."

"No, no," said Minerva. "I'll take this lonely heart. You can have the goats."

~*~*~*~*~*~


"Viktor, I have your woman!"

Viktor lowered the massive tome he was reading. "Yes?"

Rufus waved a scroll; he was giddy with impatience. "It says: In response to your advert, I respectfully put forth that I am the woman you desperately seek. My love of Quidditch goes back many years, and I have a keen interest in Muggle education, higher maths being a particular focus of mine."

Viktor looked thoughtful. "Vot is her name?"

"It's signed Minerva McGonagall." Rufus frowned and then, "Oh!"

"Hmm, that name sounds familiar."

"Viktor, you can't. I should have checked the signature first. She is --"

"She is perfect!" Viktor said, standing and snatching the scroll out of Rufus's hand. "This is a woman I can talk to!"

"She's a professor at Hogwarts!" Rufus said. "And emeritus headmistress."

"Vot is wrong with that?"

"She's no Elendra Shopster, I can tell you that."

"Vot does that matter? There is no pleasing you, Rufus. First you say you vant me to go, and I did not vant to go. Now. I vant to go, and you, you do not vant me to go because this woman is not Elendra Shopster?"

Rufus frowned. "Well, she is old."

"That does not matter. I just vant to have an intelligent conversation with someone."

"Let me arrange a meeting before the ball at least. That way you can be very sure. I did say candidates would be tested."

"Fine, Rufus," Viktor said, waving a hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~


When Minerva saw Viktor Krum wearing a red rose stuck in his lapel that was a match to hers she didn't, not at first, quite comprehend that this was the man she was sent to meet. Krum's impressive career was steady. He was no third-stringer. On the contrary, for a man of his age – closing in on forty – he was still one of the brightest stars Quidditch had to offer. But the rose was there, and he noticed her then, and began striding toward her with a welcoming smile on his face.

Minerva saw in him the traces of the student she'd seen during the Triwizard Tournament, but only a little. Flecks of grey salted his hair, and his thick brows were drawn almost in a single line over his eyes. He'd never be called a handsome man, but his face was kind, his smile genuine, and his eyes were warm as he approached.

A flutter of nervousness began in her belly, startling her with its presence. When he drew near, she tried to pretend he was still a student. She failed.

"Ah, Mr Krum. Your last match – the one against the Harpies? It was magnificent."

"Thank you . . . Professor McGonagall?" She nodded, disconcertingly tongue-tied. Viktor searched her face with an odd intensity. "Shall we sit?" He offered his arm, which she took. He was just a few inches taller than her, his body solid with muscle and warmth.

He led her through the dimly lit café. It was crowded with small tables meant for four but could comfortably seat two at best. The tables held hurricane candles with buzzing fire-sprites that darted too close to the flame. Their tiny death cries annoyed Minerva as she tried to regain her equilibrium.

Once seated, she stated the obvious. "Mr Krum, forgive my boldness, but why did you advertise for an escort? I expected to be meeting a third-stringer. Surely you have no trouble finding a date. Did you lose a bet?"

Viktor laughed, a great booming sound that filled the tiny café. "No, it's not that. I vill be blunt. I vant to find a kindred spirit, I should say. One who can appreciate --"

"Mr Krum? Can my boys have your autograph?" A wizard dressed in shabby robes with four small boys stood at their table; the boys were eager, crowding close to stare at Viktor with awe-stricken faces.

Viktor was gracious and patient as he signed each boy's Quidditch card with Viktor's moving likeness. Minerva recognized it. She had her own collection of cards at home. He answered their questions – questions he'd probably heard dozens of times – with considerable cheer.



Once the family left, Viktor signalled to a waiter. He whispered in his ear: the waiter nodded, expression earnest, and he left in a hurry.

"No one else should disturb us now," Viktor said. "I am sorry you had to vait."

"I'm perfectly content, Mr Krum. Do not concern yourself."

"But I do concern myself. This is a date, no? And you must call me Viktor."

"As you wish, Viktor. You may call me Minerva."

"Thank you," he said, and he touched her arm once, light and easy, then kept a silent beat of drumming fingers on the table.

"Is it difficult for you to be in public?"

"No. I am not in wizarding public enough for fans to become a nuisance. I like Muggle restaurants. No one knows me there. I have to vait for tables in the crowded places. It gives me a measure of humility." He spread his hands out along the table, his smile a touch sheepish.

Minerva's lips twitched. She liked this charming and humble man. "Mr Krum – Viktor, you haven't answered my question. Why did you place the advertisement?"

"Ah, yes." He pulled a scroll out of his dinner jacket, and pushed it across the table. "Vot do you make of these?"

Minerva looked. The scroll was covered with proofs written in a very neat hand. "What is it that you'd like to know?"

"Your response to my ad claimed you are keen on higher maths?" Where once Viktor had been open and eager, he now appeared wary and guarded.

"Yes, I am. Quite," she said, understanding. She gave the paper a proper perusal.

She pointed to the first one, her finger tapping the small square at the end. "QED indeed. This is an excellent proof of transposition."

Viktor bent his head to hers. "Thank you," he said, voice low. His finger hovered over the next one. "And this? Do you think construction works well here? Is it the most efficient?"

Minerva concentrated on the proof, mentally ticking off the possibilities. After a moment, she said, "No, a probabilistic proof might be – I'm afraid I'll –"

She turned and found herself nearly nose to nose with Viktor. "– need a quill."

Viktor sat back, looking like he'd caught the snitch in the World Cup. His wand was in his hand, and he performed wordless magic: a quill and ink pot appeared at her side, along with fresh parchment. "For you," he said.

"Thank you," she said, heart beating a bit faster. She took the quill and began to write her own notations.

"Minerva? Vould you like a drink?"

"Yes, thank you. Pixie Red, German if possible."

"A potent brew for a lady," he teased.

She took it in the spirit it was meant, and went back to the proofs. Together, they picked apart and re-factored the proofs. The wine flowed, and the numbers sang. They were shoulder to shoulder, knees touching beneath the table, fingers tapping and hands brushing as the quill was traded between them.

As the night wore on, each proof became more difficult, and the quod erat demonstrandum that had been so easy when they started, became more elusive. It didn't matter. Minerva didn't want to stop.

It was only when a young waitress stopped by their table and requested they please leave the premises, as the café had closed thirty minutes prior, that Minerva realised her wine glass had been empty for some time. "Oh," she said. "Of course."

Viktor made his own apologies, and once outside, in a rush of words, said, "Vill you come back to my hotel? I vant to discuss Fermat's last theorem with you. It is one of the sexier ones, don't you think?"

Minerva knew all about the Muggle mathematician, Pierre de Fermat. She'd even read the original notes in French. "I would like that very much. Do you know of the Muggle book, Fermat's Enigma?"

Viktor's eyes widened. "I have heard of it, yes, but not had a chance to read it. You vill lend me your copy?"

"It would be my pleasure."

He offered her his arm. "Do you trust me not to splinch you? It vos Pixie wine, after all."

A lightness bubbled up inside Minerva, and she laughed. "Perhaps too potent a brew for you, but not for me. I can take us to Hogwarts."

"No, no," he said, putting his arm around her and holding her fast. "I have you." His gaze sharpened. "Good?"

She wrapped an arm around his waist. "Very good."

~*~*~*~*~*~

It had not been so long for Minerva that she was nervous, but this man was Viktor Krum, international Quidditch star. She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle. In her head, it was Pomona's voice that said international.

Viktor turned from the closet, where he'd hung their coats. "Something is funny, dear, clever Minnie?"

"Nothing, I promise you." She shook her head, and sat up straight, which was difficult, because the couch was plush and soft and high. She lost her balance and gave in to gravity, settling back against the cushions, and closed her eyes. Her feet lifted from the floor at her movement and she wiggled her toes, feeling the urge to kick off her shoes.

A weight settled next to her, and she opened her eyes, just as she felt strong hands lift her legs. Viktor draped her calves across his lap, and his fingers kneaded the muscles there, slow and steady.

"Mmm," she murmured, letting him work over her legs. The man had magic fingers. He slid her shoes off, and rubbed the arch of each foot. "This is heavenly," she said, revelling in the sensation, and closed her eyes again.

Focused, but soft pressure found points on the soles of her feet, her toes, her heels, and each nudge sent cascades of pleasure shooting through other, more sensitive parts of her body.

Her breasts tingled, a happy sigh slipped from her lips and she heard Viktor chuckle. Opening her eyes, she said, "You have studied reflexology?"

"Hmm, I have." His eyes were direct, gleaming with desire. "It is good, very good, for preparing the body." He moved his hands away from her feet, and smoothed them up her legs again, this time moving beyond her knees, under her robes, carefully massaging her thighs.

"Oh, my, you have wicked fingers, don't you?"

"No, Minnie," he said, and he shifted closer, pressing her leg to the front of his trousers, where she felt a distinct bulge. "You have a wicked body."

Minerva giggled and struggled to sit up. Viktor put his arm around her and eased her onto his lap. "May I kiss you?" he whispered.

"I shall be most disappointed if you do not," Minerva said. Their kiss was wine-flavoured, languorous, and soon Minerva was tingling all over.

Viktor pulled back, holding her waist steady with his hands, and said, "I vant you. Now."

Minerva nodded her assent, then reached for her wand. Their clothes were gone in seconds, and when Viktor pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses on her shoulder, Minerva knew this lonely heart had been saved.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Minerva pulled the sheet up to her chin and snuggled closer to Viktor, enjoying the warmth of his strong body. A thought popped into her head, and she couldn't ignore it.

"Tell me, have I passed the test?"

Viktor raised up on one elbow to stare down at her. "Test? Vot test?"

"Your ad stated candidates will be tested."

Viktor smiled, then leaned down to drop a tender kiss at the corner of her mouth. "I believe you've earned all E's."


~*~*~*~*~*~

On Monday morning, Rolanda met Minerva in the Great Hall. "How did it go? Was he a lonely heart?"

Students streamed around them, making their way to the tables laden with breakfast food. "You could say that," said Minerva. She tried very hard to keep a stern face.

Rolanda was busy watching a couple of fourth-years that had begun to shove each other. Their wands were out. "Third-stringer then?"

"Not exactly, no." Minerva's lips twitched.

"Is that so?" Rolanda said, bringing up her wand. "Tell me in a moment, I have to knock some heads."

"It was Viktor Krum," she said.

"VIKTOR KRUM!"

Rolanda's shout was almost as good as a spell, Minerva noted. The students had stopped fighting, and were instead looking skyward.

"There is no need to yell," said Minerva, thoroughly enjoying Rolanda's gobsmacked expression. "Look now, you've unsettled the students."

"I've unsettled the – Minerva! Did you just say that Viktor Krum was the lonely heart?"

"I did."

"And how did it go? Did you get lucky?"

Minerva didn't answer, but she didn't need to. Rolanda knew her too well. Minerva couldn't keep the satisfied smile off her face.

"Nicely done, Minnie," said Rolanda. "Wait till Pomona hears."



~*~*~*~*~*~

The highlight of the Quidditch Charity Ball was the 'impromptu' game set up by the organizers. Minerva had seen Viktor in matches before, but she'd never been the object of his attention. For the majority of the match – it was short, only forty minutes – he kept his eyes on the skies, but whenever the chance presented itself, he swooped near her box, flashing smiles meant only for her. It made the match even more exciting, and once it was over, she was breathless and giddy.

After, she met him at the edge of the pitch, and when he saw her, he smiled and gave her a courtly bow. "I vill meet you at our table, after I wash up."

Minerva could have sworn her heart skipped a beat at the bow, but she attributed it to the heat. "I will be there," she said, laying a hand on his arm.

A boyish grin appeared on his face, but before he could answer, he was scooped up by his teammates; together they laughed and cheered their victory, and moved as one to the locker rooms. He managed a last wave, and this time, Minerva embraced the surge of happiness that swelled within her.

And then, once he returned, it all went wrong.

Minerva couldn't quite put her finger on it at first, because he was kind and attentive and spoke to her more than anyone else. But his courtesy was careful, and he barely touched her. Oh, he took her hand as he led her from group to group. But once there, he was physically remote – he didn't behave at all as one would with a sexual partner. They hadn't kissed once, she realised, not even when he picked her up at Hogwarts. It made Minerva uneasy, but she resolved to ignore the doubt that had begun to creep into her mind.

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough as Minerva met with his friends. Viktor seemed eager to show her off. His fellow Quidditch players were amazed at her impressive knowledge of the sport, and they fired questions at her, none of which she couldn't answer.

"I can't believe you know more than I do," laughed Gordon Roberts, one of Viktor's teammates. He followed her to the banquet table, chattering on about teams founded decades ago.

"Yes, well, Quidditch is one of my passions."

"And maths, I hear," he said, looking over her shoulder.

Minerva turned to see Viktor striding toward them both. He stood close to her, his arm brushing against her. "Is Roberts giving you trouble?" His tone was light, but held a hint of warning.

Roberts laughed. "No trouble, Krum."

Minerva touched his arm, then stroked down his arm to clasp his hand. "Nothing I can't handle, Viktor."

Viktor gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and then let go, cocking his head as he considered her. "Of course. Forgive me." He nodded to Roberts and pulled Minerva aside by her elbow. "Come with me."

Viktor introduced her to a small group of fellow maths enthusiasts he'd invited. Parchment and quills took over one side of the banquet table. They chattered and scribbled, comparing notes and laughing, much like they did in the café, save for one aspect. The warm, affectionate touches he'd given so freely on their first date were gone.

The afternoon wore on into evening, and after they said their farewells to the last of the maths group, Viktor turned to Minerva, his expression thoughtful.

"I vonder," he started. "Vould you care to come to my hotel again?"

Finally, Minerva thought. She'd begun to believe she'd hallucinated their one night together. "I would care to, yes."

Once they tumbled from the Floo in the wizarding lobby of Viktor's hotel, and brushed the soot from their clothing, Viktor said, "Thank you again for this afternoon. You were magnificent. That last proof was stunning."

Minerva accepted the compliment with a quick nod, but didn't elaborate. She was mathed out. "I enjoyed watching you fly." She lay a hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly.

"I know just vot vill make this evening extra special."

"What would that be?" Minerva thought of the way he'd kissed her shoulders. She shivered at the memory, and smiled encouragingly.

"A special scroll arrived in the post this morning. You vill love it. I promise you."

"A scroll?"

"Yes, it is solutions from Bertrager, the wizarding engineer. Do you know of him? His theories on transmutation combined with calculus are fascinating."

Minerva frowned. "Viktor, we've done nothing but discuss maths most of the afternoon."

"And Quidditch statistics, don't forget."

"Those are hardly better."

"Better? Vot do you mean?"

"I mean, Viktor, that I have not the slightest interest in discussing any sort of maths in your hotel room."

Viktor appeared so crestfallen at her response, Minerva almost relented, but then he said, "It can be in the hotel dining room. They vill let us stay there all night, no pesky waiter to interrupt us. I can promise you that."

Minerva imagined the night stretched before her, a night filled with nothing but more proofs, theorems, and solutions. She enjoyed Viktor's company, enjoyed his cleverness, but what she truly wanted was another night like their first. He was an intelligent man. Were her hints so obtuse, or perhaps – a cold shudder of doubt filled her chest – did he not want to pursue a sexual relationship?

The past three hours flashed through her memory with sudden clarity. Viktor's overly courteous behaviour and his desire to speak only of maths or Quidditch were clear signs of his intentions. It was shocking, how quickly she felt the fool. The desire to Disapparate was heady.

"Minerva?"

"I don't feel quite well," she said. "I must go. The heat of the afternoon has affected me. My head is pounding, I'm afraid."

"The heat? I – shall I call a medi-wizard?" His concern was genuine, she could see that, but it did not remedy the situation.

"No, no thank you. You've been most kind."

He pulled her into a quick embrace, his warmth surrounding her, and he kissed her hair. "May I send you an owl?"

Minerva stepped back, confused at his sudden reversal. Was she mistaken? But she had already spoken, and Minerva refused to appear indecisive. "You may," she said, and Disapparated.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Viktor's owl, a magnificent creature called Misha, landed next to Minerva's lunch plate in the great hall the Monday after the charity ball. She read the message quickly.

Dear Minerva,

Here are some proofs I found for you to enjoy. The proofs of contradiction are intriguing. I look forward to your owl.

Viktor

Minerva turned the message over, thinking there had to be something more. There was. Ten proofs were neatly transcribed on the parchment. Wrinkling her nose, she folded the message into her pocket.

Pomona was at her side, watching her with avid interest. "Was that a love letter from a certain international Quidditch star?"

"It was," Minerva said, voice dry as toast.

One of the qualities Minerva admired most in Pomona was her ability to know when not to press. They finished their lunch, speaking only of students, their food, and the weather.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two more owls came that week, and each message they carried was stuffed with proofs, solutions, and a list of books Viktor thought she would like. And questions. Questions about Isaac Barrow and Charles Babbage, and had Minerva ever seen the Difference Engine?

Not once did he suggest an outing or use language that hinted he wanted her to be anything other than a study partner. Over the past week she'd wondered, more than once, if she'd been too hasty to sleep with him. If she'd been younger and less experienced, Minerva might have felt she was pining for something she couldn't have.

She sent her owl in return, politely answered his questions, but gave no encouragement for further discourse.

~*~*~*~*~*~


"Minerva," said Rolanda, standing in the doorway of Minerva's office, her broom in hand. "Will we see you tonight? I took a sneak peek this morning. The Prophet's bulging with personals."

Minerva glanced at the latest scroll that lay upon her desk, open and unanswered.

Minerva,

I am only in London for three more days. May I meet you at Hogwarts on Friday evening? I have a few books I want to give to you before I leave for Luxembourg.

Viktor

Minerva rolled it shut. She did enjoy Viktor's company, but she wanted more than a relationship built on maths. It was clear he did not. "I'll be there, after I hear Myrtle's report."

"No word from Viktor, Minnie?"

"Nothing of consequence, Rolanda. Don't wait on me." She heard Rolanda's receding footsteps and allowed herself one last indulgent sigh.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Minerva listened to Myrtle with half an ear as she washed her hands in the small WC tucked in the back of her office.

" . . . and then I saw Rose Weasley. She put her tongue in Scorpius Malfoy's ear!" She giggled. "ROSE HAS A BOYFRIEND, A BOYFRIEND, A BOYFRIEND!"

"Don't shriek." Minerva made a mental note to be present when the Malfoy and Weasley families picked up their children at the end of the year.

"Sorry, Professor. Oh! I almost forgot. Ravenclaw's prefect, the boy? He's been selling essays to Slytherin third-years."

Minerva wiped her hands dry and faced Myrtle. "You nearly forgot students cheating, but prattled on about Rose Weasley's new boyfriend?"

"It was more interesting! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!" She sobbed loud and long, and Minerva almost didn't hear the knocking coming from her office. She passed through the icy essence of Myrtle, ignored her shout – "THAT'S RUDE!" – and swept through the office to pull open the door.

"Minerva?"

Viktor Krum stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway. "I heard shouting, and thought you –"

"Yes?"

"I vanted to talk to you."

"Sitting for exams, are you?" It was childish, but it felt good to say.

"Exams? Vot are you – did you get my last owl? I included some proofs I thought you vould – "

"Viktor, it is true I enjoy maths. And while you have made it perfectly clear that my love of maths is all you value, I do not feel the same." Her office, filled with House Cups of years past, and the vibrant colours of Gryffindor streaming from banners hung from the ceiling made her bold. "I was hoping for an adult relationship. A sexual relationship. I realise now that's not what you want from me."

"No, that is not it. I am not interested in just your math knowledge. I promise.” He squared his shoulders. "But that night, I was intoxicated, and I took advantage. I did not vant to give the impression I only wanted more sex–"

"EWW," cried Myrtle.

Minerva held up a hand. "Stop at once. You did not take advantage of me. Answer me. Are you saying you don't want me for my intellect?"

Viktor's mouth gaped like a fish. "Of course I vant you for your intellect!"

She frowned, and Viktor reached for her hand. "I do not know vot you vant me to say. I can say I vant your body, but that is not what a gentleman says. I do vant to date you."

"My dear Mr Krum," Minerva said, voice firm. "This has been lovely, truly, but I will not date you if you are only interested in my . . . brains."

"You are my ideal woman! Clever, sexy, and you . . . you know calculus." He pressed a kiss to her fingers.

"Have you thought that perhaps you are not my ideal?"

At Viktor's look of anguish, Minerva patted his hand. "Ideal or not, you are charming and intelligent, and I enjoyed the time we did have."

"Please, Minerva. I can get you box seats for any Quidditch team you vant." When she stared back with a raised brow, he added, "and we vill have lots of sex. Because I vant all of you, brains and body."

She looked him up and down, and delighted in the very girlish thudding in her chest.

*

Pomona and Rolanda sat in the tub, the Prophet laid out before them on the tiled floor. "Oh, this one looks promising," murmured Rolanda. "Poor sod just lost his wife."

"Hmm," said Pomona. She glanced toward the door. "Where's Minnie, do you think?"

Myrtle whooshed out of the faucet, singing at the top of her lungs, "PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL HAS A BOYFRIEND, A BOYFRIEND, A BOYFRIEND!"


=the end=