Friday, October 13, 2017
Minerva sat frozen in shock, glass forgotten halfway to her lips, listening with mounting horror as Neville made his announcement. Surely - surely - he must be joking. A duel. A duel in front of the entire student body. A duel between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. She fought the near-overwhelming urge to... well. Something. She forced herself to maintain her bland expression as Neville shot her what could only be described as a significant look. As if they were co-conspirators in this. As if this duel was anything but a complete disaster in the making. She forced the bland look because, if she let herself react, she had no idea what that reaction might be. Laughing? Crying? Shouting? Fainting? They all seemed equally likely, and equally embarrassing.
Neville grinned at her as he slid into his seat across the Head table, eyes twinkling merrily. Minerva smiled weakly back at him, but she knew from the way his smile hardened that her eyes betrayed her. She suspected they were flashing with the fiery glare she'd so often sent Albus Dumbledore's way, when he'd sat where Neville sat now. She hoped they were, at any rate. She hoped they conveyed what she could not - would not - say in front of the students and other professors - the promise of dire consequences, just as soon as she got him alone.
Neville raised his glass to her and winked. Minerva seethed inside. Insufferable...pompous... the boy had grown to be far too much like Dumbledore for her liking.
Dinner dragged on interminably. The Great Hall resounded with the excited babble of hundreds of voices. All of them, she had no doubt, speculating about this mad plan, spinning theories, making wagers. Fools, the lot of them. Couldn't they see what a truly terrible idea this was?
Minerva dutifully ate her dinner, made small contributions to the animated chatter at the Head table - but every bite tasted of ash, and she had no idea what was being said to her, or what response she made. She must have managed a semblance of coherency; no one questioned her lack of enthusiasm, at any rate.
She watched Neville out of the corner of her eye, waiting for the moment he delicately patted his lips, laid down his napkin, and rose from the table. She almost missed it, even so; he chose the moment Filius Flitwick dragged her into a debate about the theories posed in the latest issue of Charms and Transfigurations Quarterly to make his escape.
Minerva stood abruptly, as soon as she realized that the flash of color at the corner of her eye was the trailing edge of Neville's emerald robes, slipping out the door. She shoved her chair back with enough force that it screeched along the flagstones and winced, patting it absently as she hurriedly made her excuses to a startled Filius and Teddy. She took a deep breath, composed her features, and then strode from the Hall.
"Neville!"
Her indignant shout resounded down the empty corridor, and Neville stopped short, turning with a resigned sigh and forced smile. "What is it, Minerva?"
She glared at him. "You know very well what it is! What, in Merlin's name, do you think you are doing, allowing this duel to proceed? You do realize that Harry just got out of the hospital wing? Poppy said he was suffering a PTSD flashback! And you're going to put him in front of the entire school, with Draco Malfoy hexing him? After all the drama those two have been through this year - every year?" She threw up her hands. "And you think this is a good idea, how?"
Neville stroked his beard, looking faintly annoyed. "Relax, Minerva. What could possibly go wrong?" He made as if to continue down the corridor.
She spluttered. "What could possibly go wrong? Longbottom! Don't you walk away from me!"
Neville sighed. "They're grown men, Minerva. As, you will find, am I. We're none of us kids anymore."
"Longbottom!"
"I've got this, Minerva. We've got this." He fixed her with an alarmingly penetrating look. "You're planning to retire soon, aren't you?"
Minerva frowned, thrown off-guard. "Well, yes, I suppose, but - "
"Next year - isn't that what you said this summer, when we brought Teddy in as your successor?"
Minerva scowled. "Mister Longbottom! I fail to see how this is relevant! This... this... duel... is a disaster waiting to happen! You have to - "
Neville interrupted her, speaking gently but firmly. "Minerva. You've done a wonderful job preparing us. We can take it from here."
He turned resolutely and walked away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, whistling slightly off-key.
Minerva stared after him, too off-balance to protest. "This is not going to go well," she muttered.
The door to the Great Hall opened behind her, letting the cacophonous waves of voices bleed out into the corridor, lapping gently against the walls, until the door shut once more, abruptly cutting off the sound.
Poppy walked up beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. They stood quietly together, watching Neville saunter away. "That boy will be the death of me," Poppy remarked conversationally.
Minerva snorted, voice cracking on a half-hysterical laugh. "Which one?"
Poppy didn't reply, just squeezed her shoulder in silent comfort. "Come on," she said, after a moment. "You look like you could use a drink. And, frankly, so could I."
Minerva laughed weakly, eyes still tracking Neville down the corridor. "It's a school night..." she protested.
Poppy took her by the shoulders and turned her, forcing her attention from Neville. She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. One drink won't hurt." She hooked a thumb in the direction of Neville's disappearing figure. "In the highly unlikely event that an emergency crops up in the next forty-five minutes, I suggest we let Mr. 'I've got this' Longbottom handle it."
Minerva snorted, allowing herself to sag against the cool, solid stones of the corridor as some of the tension drained out of her. "Oh, all right," she said. "I suppose one drink couldn't hurt."
Poppy smiled. "That's the spirit. Now, come on. If I'm not mistaken, I've got a bottle of Old Ogden's in the back of my closet with our name on it."
Minerva raised her eyebrows, but felt a spark of interest despite herself. "My, my... who would have thought?"
Poppy shoved her shoulder companionably. "Oh, hush you. I'll have you know it was a gift." She winked. "No sense letting it go to waste, though." She linked her arm through Minerva's, dragging her in the opposite direction to the one Neville had taken.
"They'll be all right, won't they, Poppy?" Minerva asked, dropping her head onto Poppy's shoulder. "I know they're adults now - Neville's right about that, at least - and not my responsibility any longer, but..."
She trailed off, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
Poppy muttered something under her breath that included the words 'boys,' 'Longbottom,' 'hooligans' and 'idiots,' and was decidedly uncomplimentary. Minerva felt the corners of her mouth twitch up into an uncharacteristically wide grin.
"Well," Poppy finally said, "I reckon there's not much they can get themselves into that we can't get them out of again." She shook her head; the loose strands of hair that had escaped her severe bun swished not-entirely-unpleasantly against Minerva's cheek, tickling her ear. "They've got to learn sometime," she added, half to herself. "We aren't always going to be here to fix them up, after all."
Minerva sighed heavily, but nodded. "I suppose you're right." She perked up slightly as Poppy let them into her comfortable rooms and deposited her onto a decidedly squashy sofa in front of the fire. "Any chance you've got any of those chocolate biscuits handy?"
Poppy laughed. "You're in luck - my sister sent some just this morning. No - don't get up. I'll just - accio chocolate biscuits!" She ducked and flicked her wand toward Minerva as a tin whizzed past her head; Minerva's hand shot out to snatch it from the air, in a move that left her head spinning and her thoughts with a decidedly golden tint.
"Oof," Poppy said, from her undignified sprawl on the floor. "Your quidditch reflexes have held up better than mine, I see." She shook her head ruefully. "I'll just fetch the bottle, shall I?"
Minerva looked down at the biscuit tin, clutched neatly in her hand - which looked far older than it had any right to - and laughed.