Minerva and Irma went.
Creativity, for a Slytherin/Gryffindor definition of the word, was practically pouring from their robes.
"I've brought the urn," said Minerva as she took it from her pocket. "I'll Engorgio it once we've found a nice place for elevenses."
"I saw you do it; I thought I might take the biscuits as well. If ever there was a time and a place for carbs, this is it," said Irma. "I couldn't bring the cups, but then …"
"Quite," said Minerva, picking up two pebbles and Transfiguring them into mugs. "As Interhouse Collaboration goes, we're doing rather splendidly, I think."
They strolled towards the Forbidden Forest. It was a fine day to be outdoors, for those who liked that sort of thing. Irma, who had always been firmly of the opinion that outdoors was an area one had to cross in order to reach various indoorsy activities, thought once again of her Derwent biography, and of the joys of reading in a sunlit wingchair. A wingchair with a fine view of the Hogwarts grounds. Irma didn't mind a view, as long as she could enjoy it with a drink in her hand.
Then again, reading her book would mean giving up Minerva's company – and to her surprise, Irma found she was reluctant to do so.
"Now, about this outdoorsy, creative endeavour that will work towards Reconciliation," said Minerva as they entered the Forest and found themselves a suitable clearing to have their coffee. "The traditional way of open-air Interhouse collaboration involves bushes thick enough to hide two people, a little open space, preferably soft and mossy, and two students with raging adolescent hormones. It makes them share just about everything, including but not limited to bodily fluids."
"We might create such a spot and add a supply of condoms," suggested Irma, who was nothing if not practical. And outspoken.
Minerva chuckled. "I couldn't agree more. But I need to do something a bit more Headmistressy, I think. And we might shock that very young man. Now, what else can we think of? The first thing that springs to mind is a mutual enemy."
"An enemy? But we're supposed to stop enmity, not promote it."
"Something to fight – but something neutral. Not House-related. An Acromantula, say, or a Dragon. Or a Troll. Nothing brings people together like jointly fighting a Troll. There's but the one downside …"
"Yes, I can see how parents might not like the idea," said Irma. "And you would have to answer their letters. Something less dangerous then, but still scary. Wait! I know the very thing that can cause a feeling of dread in the bravest of even Gryffindors."
"Really?"
"Yes. It's ghastly, it's repellent, it ought to be destroyed for the greater good, and it's not actually lethal. Not in the traditional sense, that is."
"Well?"
"Here comes: our Inspirational Speaker!"
Minerva stared at her. Then she smiled. Then she chuckled. Then she laughed out loud.
"The perfect plan. But does he look scary enough for our students? Not that we couldn't make him scary, if we set our minds to it. And once he opens his mouth, the students will want to do the right thing and hex him into the next century. After all, we do try to bring them up with a proper set of values."
"There are downsides, though," said Irma thoughtfully. "He might escape. He's reputedly a high-flyer. We might enter the staff room, one morning, and find him there before we've had our first cup of coffee."
"And our instinctive response might land us in Azkaban," nodded Minerva. "What is the Slytherin way of dealing with that? Since we are to do this seeing how the other half thinks exercise?"
"We'd bring a friend," said Irma promptly.
"Really? How, in this particular situation …"
"A friend," explained Irma, "is someone who'll Obliviate the witnesses."
"I see. Yes, I see … Well, we can't expose our students to him, of course, but I do feel it would be a good deed in an evil world if we, a Gryffindor with a Slytherin friend – if I may be so bold?"
"Of course," cried Irma. And she meant it, too. Well, not the notion of doing away with Ghastly Bertie, although she agreed it would make the world a better place. But the idea of calling Minerva her friend … it was suddenly strangely attractive. Would they seek each other's company after this? Minerva would have to take the initiative, of course, being the Deputy Headmistress. Irma wouldn't want to presume.
But she hoped Minerva would. And she, Irma, would encourage her.
"Meanwhile, fun though this is," said Minerva, and realised that it actually was. Fun. The whole bothersome training day turned out to be rather fun – because she was sharing it with Irma. An Irma who wasn't stand-offish at all, but a witty companion who only needed half a word to know what Minerva was thinking.
And she was a very attractive woman, too, come to think of it. Lovely smile. Positively mischievous, sometimes. The way she was sitting there, supporting herself with a rather beautiful slender hand … Nice shoulders, too. A great figure altogether.
Which was all nonsense, of course. Until today, she had not even liked Irma. Respected her, yes. Admired her work, that too. Admired her as a woman? No! She had only ever admired Irma professionally.
Hadn't she?
However, the notion of something approaching a friendship might not be a bad one, after all. Even though she would have to endure Poppy's and Pomona's unbearably smug 'we knew it' comments.
If at some future point she, Minerva, were to suggest a cup of coffee, or even a drink at Rosmerta's, would Irma accept? Or would she return to her earlier, overly-formal ways?
Minerva rather thought she would not. Something had changed between them. Well, there it was – nothing like fighting a Troll together.
"… do something about it," said Irma.
Damn. Minerva had completely missed her words. Such a lack of attention was hardly a good start for a friendship.
"Look – one storm would do it." And Irma pointed at a big and very dead tree that was leaning towards the clearing in which they were sitting. Minerva saw what she meant – it was an accident waiting to happen.
"You're right," she said quickly, glad that her little lapse had gone unnoticed.
It hadn't.
Irma had noticed the lack of attention for her words, and had rightly attributed it to an overdose of attention for her person. She had been a bit flustered at first. Had thought she saw things that weren't there. And then she realised that they were. And that she wasn't actually adverse to the idea.
Minerva was a very attractive woman, if one looked beyond the bun. And one could visualise circumstances in which that stern bun might add quite a little frisson …
So Irma decided to do things the Slytherin Way. Which means that one doesn't disturb a little daydream if one rather likes the path that daydream seems to be taking. Nor does one make the dreamer feel uncomfortable. One doesn't even make them realise they have been found out.
But Minerva still had a lot to learn about the Slytherin Way of doing things. So she was merely eager to pick up the conversation as if nothing had happened.
"We ought to do something about that tree," she said. "It may not be much in the way of creativity and reconciliation. But if this tree falls on a group of students, it will be a shared experience of the kind that makes reconciliation the least of our concerns."
"True," said Irma. "We had better take it down gently and carefully. Too bad it will take up most of this nice little clearing. But we can always Levitate it to one end, there, under those trees, for instance, and …" She paused for a moment, the better to look at the lay-out of the clearing.
"I know!" she cried. "We can put it in a nice place – a sunny one, say, and then we'll turn it into a bench. That's creative, and students of various Houses can sit in the sun and be reconciled."
"Irma, you're a genius," said Minerva. "It's clearly the way to go. We can even make a proper seat and back rest – the tree is big enough. You see what I mean?"
"Oh, yes. A bit like those Muggle tribes in far-off places, who make boats by hollowing out a tree. Same principle," said Irma.
"Do they?" asked Minerva. "I didn't know that. Must be a ghastly amount of work, without magic."
"They do it without much in the nature of tools, either. They're what other Muggles call 'primitive tribes'. I've read that they make a small opening the length of the tree with their axes, and then they light a fire in it, and when it's burnt out they scratch away the charcoaled bits. And then another fire, and they scratch some more. Very inventive, I've always thought."
"Exceedingly so. And a tribute to their patience. But I suggest we don't carry 'seeing how the other half lives' quite that far. Let's get started."
While Irma put the coffee things in a safe place, Minerva looked around for a good spot for their bench. She decided on the west end of the clearing, which would have the afternoon sun. That was the time the students could enjoy themselves after their lessons.
"We'd better take it down together," suggested Minerva, who knew fully well that they were both powerful enough to do it on their own, but who also knew that aligning your magic with another witch or wizard to execute a spell together made for a very special sensation. Made you feel utterly in tune. Quite intimate, really.
"By far the best idea," said Irma, who was just as familiar with the bonding effects of aligned magic. When a Slytherin decides to encourage someone, she's a force to be reckoned with.
Less than ten minutes later, the two women enjoyed the pleasurable afterglow of being two wands with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one. And the tree was lying snugly at the west side of the clearing, ready for the first rays of afternoon sun.
Minerva felt positively Slytherin for having thought of aligning their magic. The experience had been everything she hoped for, and Irma had agreed readily enough – would it be too obvious to invite her for drinks at Rosmerta's this very day?
What would a Slytherin do?
On the one hand, Ghastly Bertie provided the perfect excuse for a stiff drink after work. On the other hand, was it … no, not devious, that wasn't the right term. Not nearly reconciling enough. Subtle. That was a good word. Slytherins valued subtlety. Was an invitation to Rosmerta's subtle enough?
Irma felt that things were progressing smoothly, bench-wise and encouragement-wise. What next? Wait for Minerva to make the first move? She was the Deputy Head; Slytherin Subtlety dictated that she, Irma, should hold back a bit.
A Slytherin would take that as the polite next step it was meant to be.
A Gryffindor might take it as 'not interested'. A silly idea, of course, but Gryffindors could be rather … erm … impetuous in drawing conclusions. Yes, impetuous, that was a neat word. A reconciling word.
Would she, Irma, try living the way the other half does? Try something exceedingly, impetuously Gryffindor?
"I think we'd best carve the bench jointly, too," she suggested, carefully wiping her suddenly moist palms on her robes. "The wood might be very hard."
"That's what I was thinking myself," smiled Minerva.
They had only just finished a smooth seat and back rest, and two equally-smooth arm rests (no point in messing up school robes by charmingly-rustic rough edges) when they heard brisk steps.
"Let's see what you wonderfully-creative people have come up with," enthused Bertie. "What is this? And he stared at a seven feet wide, perfectly-designed bench.
"It's a post-modern statue of Ethelred the Every-Ready," snapped Irma.
Bertie stared some more, clearly at a loss for words.
Minerva took one good look at young Arbuthnot and realised he had had quite a trying morning. Had he checked on the creative endeavours of their colleagues in the Castle first? Logistically, that would be the sensible thing to do, and it would explain the haggard look on his face. 'Oh, Merlin, please, not another one,' just about summed it up.
"It's a bench," she said, taking pity on him. She spoke in the clear, patient voice of someone who is not just paid to explain the obvious, but who is exceptionally good at it, too.
"For the students – students of ALL houses – to sit on and reconcile," added Irma, who realised it was thanks to Bertie and his daft ideas that she and Minerva had spent such a lovely morning together. That was a strong point in his favour. The way things were going – Pomona would say, 'like a house on fire', but perhaps 'like a Muggle Tree Trunk Boat on fire' was a more constructive way of putting it – one might even say that there was nothing wrong with Bertie and his Reconciliation Course.
Well, nothing a miracle couldn't cure.
"How fabulous," cried Bertie. "Come and see, all of you!"
And sure enough, there was the rest of the staff. Rolanda and Pomona with the merry spring in their step of outdoorsy people who had been scooped up inside a castle for far too long already. Filch with the wary look of a man who knows that a Forest full of the most magical of creatures isn't the best place for a Squib. Horace, walking carefully so as not to mess up his patent leather shoes and thinking this sort of outdoorsy was really too insufferably rough compared to the hospitality box in a Quidditch stadium, and why the blazes hadn't Rolanda brought a radio?
The group was closed by Poppy, who Levitated a large hamper, and by Sybill, who smiled benevolently. She knew that a little pre-prandial tipple had been included in the luncheon arrangement. She had put it there herself.
Poppy had suggested that putting together a picnic for the enjoyment of staff from all Houses would be a truly creative and very reconciliating thing to do for two witches who had been sent to the kitchen, but not, in their younger days, to a cooking course. Sandwiches weren't difficult – taking the crusts off was really a waste of perfectly good bread, wasn't it? – and cold ham, cold chicken, tomatoes, and hard-boiled eggs were feasible. Especially since the cold ham and cold chicken just needed taking from the larder.
"We just need lashings and lashings of ginger beer, and it will be a feast," said Poppy.
And Sybill had Seen at once that while Poppy excelled in getting the simple grub most of her colleagues would enjoy, she would have to deal with the more delicate refinements that a lady such as herself – or a gentleman such as Horace Slughorn, perhaps – would appreciate. A bottle of excellent Amontillado, for instance. And some chilled white wine.
Within seconds the staff had gathered on the bench, praising its position, its design, and its very presence right where they needed a place to eat.
Truly, Minerva and Irma were marvellous. If that wasn't Interhouse Collaboration of the best kind, they didn't know what was. Three cheers for Irma and Minerva! And three cheers for Poppy and Sybill, who had filled the hamper! And above all, three cheers for Bertie, who had agreed that a long, convivial picnic was the Very Best Way towards Reconciliation and Ending Enmity!
Rolanda, who had proposed the last cheer, looked justifiably smug for getting all those capital letters across.
Everyone looked much happier than participants in Wilberforce Arbuthnot's "Dealing with Enmity among Children" training had any right to look.
Everyone except Wilberforce (Bertie) Arbuthnot himself. He had agreed no such thing as a several-hours-lunch break. He could feel his course slipping away from him. Hogwarts staff consisted of the most uncooperative bunch of change-resisting conservatives he had ever met. And they had even brought wine and sherry to their confounded lunch! How unprofessional was that?
Then again.
What mattered were the evaluation forms. Clearly this lot was unteachable, but as long as the forms were positive …
Alcohol could go a long way towards that.
So could the idea that Bertie was a Jolly Good Fellow, as the Hooch woman would start singing any moment – he recognised the signs.
Bertie Arbuthnot decided to throw all his creativity into being the life and soul of the party, for he truly was a most promising young man who would go very far indeed.
The only ones who were not overjoyed at the thought of several leisurely-spent hours of al-fresco eating were Irma and Minerva.
It was not that they resented the idea of food, social interaction or sunlight.
It was just that they had been so very physical all morning, making that bench.
And we all know the dire consequences of being truly physical.
Energy surges until you're tingling with it.
Blood pumps like there is no tomorrow.
Releasing all that built-up exhilaration is priority number one for two women thus afflicted. As well they knew.
"I feel still too … bubbly … from that wonderful, creative experience to sit still," said Irma.
"So do I – why don't you get started on that lovely lunch while we take a little walk?" said Minerva. "A brisk walk will whet our appetites."
"Don't eat all the cold chicken," said Irma.
And before even Poppy had the time to say 'well, well, well' they were gone.
For a brisk little walk.
Which wasn't nearly enough to assuage the surging and pounding.
Fortunately, they were both witches with a complete grasp of all sorts of magic. They could set immovable privacy wards (there was a clear difference between impetuous and reckless, and no-one understood it better than the Head of Gryffindor). And they could do all sorts of other magical things, too.
So the solution to the problem was executed with their customary precision. ("Oh, god, yes, there.")
With thoroughness. ("Deeper! Please! Now!")
With attention to detail. ("There's still a bit of moss on your robe, dear, it would give us away at once" and "that little twig spoils the effect of your bun – here, let me.")
And, above all, with the absolute dedication that had made these women so very successful in their chosen careers. ("That's not fixing my bun, dear. That's undoing it again. It's … aaahhh …")
In short, Irma Pince and Minerva McGonagall addressed the problem of surging energy and pounding blood in such a way that stars were seen and the earth was felt to move.
It's what happens in a collaboration between two very capable women who always speak highly of each other and who work together so very well.
And that, as Pomona and Poppy told each other afterwards, with much smiling and nodding, that was the beginning of a completely new story.