Well Chaps, it's finally happened! I don't even know if anyone is still following this story, or if anyone even remembers it, BUT, here is the next installment anyway. It won't even be that long until I post the next chapter- certainly not three or four years. Ahem.

Also, there seemed to be some little confusion regarding the pronunciation of Mary's full name. See below.

Pronunciation: mah-RAYD

Hello Madam

The two ascended the front steps to the door and upon entering the cottage were greeted by the warmth and comfort of wood smoke and hot food.

Mairead, despite her nerves, smiled at Hooch. "Smells like Bronwyn is some cook, eh?"

The older woman smirked. "It's a wonder I haven't put on a stone or two, living with her. That woman seems intent on blowing me up."

The potions master snickered in understanding, swallowing her reassurances that Hooch was still very much the lithe woman who had first captured her interest.

Just then, Bronwyn emerged from the kitchen, her apron covered in all manner of spits and splashes.

"Spouting nasties again, Xio?" she teased in a lilting tone, approaching her lover for a kiss. Xiomara leaned up into the taller woman's embrace and Mairead had to turn away as their lips softly met. Knowing that Hooch was with some other woman was one thing, but bearing witness to their easy affection was hot, sick jealousy she had to swallow like a rising bile.

"Just complimenting your culinary aptitude, dearest," Hooch murmured as the two separated.

Bronwyn tossed her head modestly, turning her attention to Mairead. "Hello again, dear. Don't you look lovely. Do please have a seat, dinner is nearly ready."

Bronwyn breezed away, Hooch on her heels, and Mairead doggedly followed the two older women into the living room, where a spread was already laid upon a low coffee table.

"We're just having a casual sit-down, dear," Bronwyn explained, handing her guest a cool glass of wine. "Help yourself to anything, of course. I'm putting the finishing touches on the last few plates, and then I'll join you."

The young woman folder herself stiffly into a corner of the sofa, clutching her drink desperately and sipping quickly. Alcohol wasn't as good as one of her calming draughts, but it would have to suffice. Hooch hovered noncommittally by the doorway to the kitchen, gaze twitching between the two women.

"Do you need any help, Bron?" Xiomara queried lightly.

Mairead tried, with little success, not to read too much into the fact that Hooch didn't seem to want to be left alone with her. Instead, she gulped her wine, and directed her gaze about the cozy sitting room. It reminded her so much of Hooch's old office that she very nearly gave up and left.

At least one of the soft, lumpy armchairs had found it's way to the cottage from Hogwarts, as had some of the more illustrious Quidditch trophies. But there were other things too- a large photo of Hooch when she had played for the Harpies, whooping and flitting about on her broom. A giant bookcase overfilled with tomes on broom mastery, cooking, music- and of all things, a complete set of Witch Weekley's Good Housekeeping. With a start, Mairead realised those books not on flying must be Bronwyn's. The overlap didn't end there.

The two women's life together was displayed cruelly all around her. The broomstick that leaned up against an easel in the corner. The massive harp displayed in front of the bay window so the player could look out to the field and, presumably, to the skies beyond the glass. It was sickeningly clear that the two had a very comfortable existence together. Her throat thickened at the realization, and she shrunk further back into the corner of the settee.

Xiomara, clearly oblivious to the younger woman's defensive posturing, sat down only a foot or so away. Near enough for Mairead to smell her ex professor's loamy cologne.

"So," Hooch opened pleasantly. "What have you been doing with yourself, besides running old Anemone's business single-handedly that is?"

Mairead blushed softly despite herself, not aware that Xiomara knew just how much responsibility she had taken on at the alchemist's. And perhaps with a little pride.

"Well- not much at all, actually," Mairead confessed frankly. "Between brewing potions, filling out paperwork and running the shop during the day, it's all I can manage to get out once a month with some friends."

Hooch wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't sound like much fun at all, luv. Do you- uh- is there anyone else in the picture?"

The younger woman winced. "Not since I was splitting time between my residency at St. Mungos and Anemone's. Nicole, not that I can blame her, was none too thrilled to be playing the third wheel to my ambitions. We broke up over a year ago." She sighed and fingered the stem of her wine glass, wondering why the hell she was doling out her confidence with Hooch so freely in the first place.

Xiomara reached out and patted her knee sympathetically. "Have you considered hiring someone to help out a the shop?"

"It hadn't occurred to me," admitted the younger woman, even as she flinched away a little. "It seems like it would take longer to train someone to my standards than it's worth, unless I got lucky."

"Who's getting lucky, then?"

Mairead whipped her head around to gawk at Bronwyn, who was grinning mischievously as she stood in the doorway laden with dishes. Hooch jumped to her feet to help, rolling her eyes as she levitated several plates towards the table.

"Do you have to do that?"

"Do what, dearest?" asked Bronwyn, raising a coy brow.

"You know what," she shorter woman accused teasingly. "Do you have some innate talent, or do you practice jumping into conversations with some suggestive remark or other?"

"It's a gift, darling," Bronwyn offered obtusely, winking at Mairead as she handed off the last of the plates. "Besides. You like it."

Xiomara merely smiled and relaxed again into the sofa, sipping what appeared to be a tumbler bearing several fingers of firewhisky.

"So Mairead," began Bronwyn as she levitated some dinner onto the plate in her lap. "You're a former student of Xio's. Did you play Quidditch?"

Hooch muffled a snort of laughter with the back of her hand and Mairead had the presence of mind to look slightly offended.

"Shush you," Bronwyn chastised mildly, and the flying instructor clapped a hand over her mouth, hawk eyes still glinting.

"She's right to laugh," Mairead admitted ruefully. "I would've broken my neck in an actual match. No- Madam Hooch and I-

"Xiomara," Hooch cut in, perturbed by the young woman's continued formality.

Mairead bristled and, quite forgetting herself, glared at the older woman. "I may be twenty-eight, but it's been near a decade, if not more, since I've seen you and you're still Madam Hooch to me."

Xiomara looked stunned. Well good, the potions master thought bitterly.

"Children," Bronwyn chastised jokingly as she cast a glance mildly between the two.

Professor and former student took simultaneous, desperate sips of their drinks.

"Anyway," Hooch continued more calmly. "It makes me feel ancient, getting called 'Madam' by you. You've grown up so much."

A silence ensued, and Mairead took the opportunity to stuff her runaway mouth with food. Trying to tread the line between keeping Bronwyn oblivious to their history, making nice with Hooch, and not tearing her hair out in frustration was all getting to be a little much. Never mind the fact that she was pretty sure she now had a mouthful of what tasted suspiciously like dragon balls.

Again, she wondered what in the hell had possessed her to accept the Hawley woman's dinner invitation. Yes, her left-over teenaged desire to nose around in the home life of Xiomara Hooch had been strong, completely overwhelming her better judgement, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that this had all been rather a bad idea.

Bronwyn, either oblivious to the growing dissonance between her supper companions, or intent on ignoring it, levitated more food on to their plates and reignited conversation.

"You were saying Mairead, about flying?"

The young woman swallowed painfully and cleared her throat.

"Yes. Xiomara was kind enough to offer me private flying lessons when I was in my seventh year. It helped distract me from dwelling on my ineptitude with astronomy. Alas," she continued blithely, "my flying technique was equal only to that of my astrological charting."

Bronwyn shot her partner an inquisitive look.

"Mary- sorry, Mairead- nearly killed herself a time or two during our training." Xiomara smiled at Anemone's shop girl. "You did have a knack for nosedives, didn't you."

Mairead chuckled. "I'm surprised to this day I lived to tell the tale."

This much needed swing into casual conversation was cut painfully short indeed by Bronwyn.

"You two should go up for a flight after dinner. The weather is lovely at night, this time of year."

Both Mairead and Hooch moved obviously to protest, but their hostess would seem to have none of it.

"The dishes," Xiomara reminded hastily.

"I've work tomorrow," Mairead argued weakly.

"Nonsense," Bronwyn countered enigmatically. "Xio, dear. I'll isave/i the dishes for you. And Mairead, while your excuse is more valid than Xiomara's obviously falsified concern with the washing up-" she glanced at Hooch, who actually looked a little guilty, "it sounds like you could use a spot of levity. The mountain of pots and myself with be here when you return."

Former teacher and student regarded each other dubiously, and when they hadn't made a move quickly enough for their mutual benefactor, the two felt themselves actually shoved off the couch by an invisible force which had obviously emanated from Bronwyn's proffered wand.

"Bossy, isn't she," Xiomara stated as she stood from the slightly tatty Persian rug and huffily righted her clothing. Mairead, who had somehow managed to remain on her feet, merely nodded.

"I'll just get us a couple of jumpers," the older woman said, leaving Mairead to Bronwyn's not so tender mercies. "You grab the broom, over there."

The young woman shuffled awkwardly in place, glancing over at Bronwyn's beaming countenance. "You don't have two, then?"

Bronwyn shook her head. "I don't fly, it makes me incredibly nauseous. But one will suffice, I'm sure. Unless the two of you were thinking of a little impromptu game of one on one?"

Mairead paled, and said nothing. The only one on one she wanted with the flying mistress of Hogwarts had very little to do with bloody Quidditch.

As Mairead was about to become unbearably uncomfortable under Bronwyn's disarmingly calm expression, Hooch returned with a couple of warm looking wool pullovers and moved over to the easel to retrieve the solitary broomstick.

"Be gone with you," Bronwyn trilled brightly. "If you're especially lucky, the dishes may even be done by the time you get back."

Xiomara shot Mairead an expectant look and gestured towards the door. As the two made their way towards the fields, Hooch called over her shoulder. "You always were better at cleaning charms than me, anyway."

-~XHMB~-

The two women stood stiffly together around back of the cottage, neither willing to approach the broom first.

"How did you let this happen?" hissed Mairead under her breath.

Hooch gaped. "Did you want to explain to her why exactly this is so incredibly inappropriate, because we could always go back in and-

"Oh, never mind," snapped the younger woman. "Let's just get this over with."

Xiomara, trying to gather some sympathy for her companion quelled the acidity provoke by Mairead's attitude.

"It'll be fine," she soothed. "We're only getting on the same broom, luv, nothing more. We'll go up for a little while, enjoy the sunset over the blue pool, and we'll come back down. What do you reckon?"

Mairead regarded her with eyes overfull of uncertainty, yet as Xiomara gazed back, warm and sure, the younger woman felt her resistance faltering.

Silently, Hooch placed the broom in the air, and with a small smile, Mairead climbed on.

But as she watched the capable young woman settle astride the handle, it was Xiomara's turn to feel anxiety rise up like the swell of a huge, threatening wave. Trying desperately to heed her own advice, she swallowed thickly, stepped over the broom, and wrapped her arms about the slight waist in front of her.

At first, Mairead stiffened and leaned forwards, away from the warmth and softness of the older woman. At Hooch's disapproving grunt, she remembered suddenly an important factor of riding double, and tried hard to relax her energy. The broom could read the body's feelings like an animal, and responded accordingly.

"Good girl," murmured Hooch approvingly. "Let's fly west. The pool I spoke of is over that rise, and it's glorious in the evening."

Mairead nodded and directed the broom gently towards the setting sun, focusing on the landscape below to distract herself from the older woman's arms, threaded possessively around her middle. Xiomara, who was far too familiar with the rise and fall of the moors to be much enchanted by them, was having far less luck. She worked to keep her embrace loose and casual, but the scent of the young woman twining with the clean cool air had her wishing that their circumstances were entirely different.

"Oh," Mairead exclaimed suddenly, a girlish shiver of excitement vibrating through her small frame. They had reached the Blue Pool. "It's beautiful."

She turned to smile at Xiomara, as the older woman leaned quickly forwards to see the girl's reaction. Their noses bumped, and their lips brushed fleetingly, and Hooch stared into Mairead's eyes, still tinged with the wonder of their discovery.

The barrier was breached. The beauty of the azure pool was forgotten. Both women slammed together helplessly, lips bruising against teeth, needy fingers threading into soft, windswept hair.

And just as suddenly, unease and guilt and the wrongness of all of it oozed in.

Gasping, Mairead pulled away first, shaking violently. For a moment, it seemed she was about to leap from the broom. Instead, Anemone's Alchemist took them into a familiarly rapid descent, crashing roughly onto the grass only moments later.

Mairead tumbled from the broom and began staggering towards the pool shoreline even before she'd regained her footing.

Xiomara, realizing that the least intelligent thing to do would be to follow, stood rooted, panting. She watched as a Mairead sank slowly to her knees at the water's edge, listening as a low keening carried across the whispering grasses.

Hooch flinched. How had she let this happen again? The answer came too easily. If she hadn't let Bronwyn strong-arm the both of them into this situation, if she hadn't selfishly been trying to keep her past with Mairead a secret, none of this would have bloody happened.

At some point in her life, Ximoara Hooch was going to realise that she couldn't have it all.

She braced herself with a few deep, even breaths, and began a wary approach.

"Mary, sweetheart-"

"Don't." Mairead choked, cringing defensively.

Hooch backed off a ways, and sat gingerly in the grass, waiting for that horrible soundless sobbing to leave the younger woman. It would be too easy to give into the same affliction. More selfishness.

"Mary?" Hooch tried again, her voice hitching strangely.

Mairead turned, finally, pale and red eyed. "I can't do this again," she whispered harshly. "Don't make me do this again."

Xiomara reached out, fingers closing on empty air as a head rattling crack signalled the disapparation of the last chance she'd ever have with Mairead Briston