January 9th,
5:12pm


Various thoughts were competing for top place in his mind, but all Graham could think about was the arithmancy professor.  After the events at the staff party, as well as the dinner, he was confronted with an issue.  He was attracted to her, and for some reason it seemed as if she felt the same.  It was confounding.  He'd only seen her a few times, and only spoken twice.  They were at an awkward impasse and after the way he behaved, he understood. 

Demetri was absolutely useless to speak with about matters like these.  And anyone else would only laugh at him.  While he valued his brusque demeanor and its ability to keep most people away, it was quite inconvenient when he needed someone.  He'd already screwed up most of his relationships within the castle--particularly after the debacle at breakfast.  Myrni was fragile, and Graham was terrified of cracking it further.

And so lonely Graham--friendless, rude and intractable Graham--made his way to one of the few staff members he respected.  The flying instructor was known for being bluntly honest and fiercly opinionated.  And he had few enough interactions with her that he didn't think she entirely hated him.  Why would she?

He skulked about the pitch, looking for her distinct gray hair.  There--by the broom cupboards.  He made his way to the tents, ducking under the fabric to come face to face with the instructor.  "Afternoon, Hooch," he spoke up, "How goes it?"

Xiomara Hooch whirled around and released a big breath of warm air that twisted and whirled around in steamy swirls in front of her face.  Her eyes were wide - he'd startled her! The hars winter wind was whipping through the Quidditch stands and it's heavy canvas tenting and making a giant racket.  And to be faced with the hairy, surly face of the grouchy Herbology teacher.

Her expression didn't lighten.  She pursed her lips and regarded him with impatience. She's heard how he treated his students and he sounded like a bully.  Why anyone stepped foot in Hogwarts without compassion for young witches and wizards was beyond Xiomara Hooch who enjoyed nurturing those little bludgers into sleek little snitches.  It's what kept her coming back each fall (and staying around each spring for Remedial Flying) all these years. What jogged her out of a fool-hardy retirement!

"Afternoon, Bombay!" she returned in kind. "Polishing, clearly."  She jerked her head to the rack of brooms, half spaced out along the wall, glistening.  She tossed aside a rag and put her gloved hand on her hip.

"Has a bludger gone through one of your windows again? I told you to take that up with the students' head of house," she said impatiently.

Graham jumped back, startled himself by her immediate reaction.  He mumbled an apology, though the wind carried it away.  Sometimes he wondered if Hooch was a mirror of himself.  Her impatient expression made him regret his thought that she could be a sounding board of types.  Despite his own years at the castle, he had nothing on the flying instructor.  She had set him on his own broom, and many other of the professors as well. 

"Of course," he nodded, somewhat regretting his foolish question.  This was hardly the place for small talk, not that he was any good at it either. "No, not this time," he replied, although it was only a matter of time before it happened again.  Practices were picking back up already, and he still had to add an extra layer of enchantments on the glass. 

How did one start this kind of conversation? Bluntly, he supposed.  Hooch encouraged a more straightforward approach, and Graham was hardly one for pussy-footing around either.  "I-I've come to ask your advice," he spoke loudly, almost yelling to speak over the wind. 

Xiomara had worked along Bombay for several years now and this was a first.  Sharing the outdoors areas had always been contentious and her first years often talked about the gruff, beardy Herbology professor with a mixture of fear and frustration.  And she always questioned his role as Ravenclaw Head of House.  However, his students had always excelled at their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s so she did give him some professional credit.

And not, it seemed, he'd earned some personal points with her as well. She shed her scowl, but raised her eyebrows in skepticism.

"Have you now?" She crossed her arms, hoping he'd ask for academic advice so that she mighy lay into him the importance of humility and understanding and that fear was no good as a true motivator and so on and so forth.  Permission to give him a piece of her mind was long overdue.  Afterall, she was old.  And speaking her mind with harsh sincerity was a privilage she rarely took advantage of.

But she held her tongue and stood patiently, as if waiting on an explanation from a student caught filching a broom.

"What is it then?"

Merlin, did she sometimes resemble his mum like that.  Crossed arms, skeptical look, he was clearly getting the maternal call to confession.    Although his mother usually held a glass of brandy at the same time, or her knitting which gave the intense impression of a stabbing to follow after. 
 
"It's a...," Odds Bobs he felt awkward even thinking of saying it.  To actually state it aloud felt humiliating, embarrassing and something he should take care of on his own time.  Not ask for advice.  But she meant something, and Graham wanted to do it right, not screw it up in his own way as he usually did.
 
"lady.  I think fondly of her and I'd like to," he was an adult.  Adults discussed things in mature, straightforward manners, "Express my intentions."  He paused, coming to the real part of the confession.  "I've tried to...court women in the past.  And it hasn't worked.  I'd like to try a new approach, under your advice." He stood straight, feet together, hands in pockets, steeling himself against any retort. 
 
  If Hooch laughed, hopefully she wouldn't see the other professors often enough to share the story.  If she did, well, Graham had three greenhouses to hide within, he'd find someway to avoid it.  But he   trusted her, and hoped for the best.
 

Madam Hooch looked like she'd been shown a very dirty photograph.  Her expression went so blank, she looked just barely shocked. She blinkled a few times, slowly, and cleared her throat.  Xiomara was not a married woman, but in her long life, she'd had a fair number of adult relationships with ... ladies, which seemed also to be Bombay's ken. It wasn't as though Xiomara didn't know how to find a lady friend, it was just that she hadn't ever been solicited for her experience in the area so... directly.  Because her existence was primarily off-campus, her role at Hogwarts was normally quite professional and she was curious if any of the staff had any inkling of her personal life.  She caught herself wondering how then, Bombay had selected her as prey - er, counsel.

"Yes. Well then. I see..." she said, gathering her thoughts.  This wasn't an issue they could very well stand around and cover in a few short sentences.  She breathed a breath of warm air on the tip of her wand and then sort of shook it out towards the ground.  A great, patchy quilt came spilling out the end, and when it was all there, she sent it up to cover the door and all the cracks around it.  The wind was held at bay, much quieter and less chilly than before.  She sat down on a chest and indicated he could move the tub of polish if he'd like to do the same just over there on that one.

"First off, you're going to have to find some way to be pleasent.  Have you ever done that before? Been pleasent?" she asked.  It was gruff, but to be sure, she really intended to take the young man's request quite seriously.  And they'd have to start somewhere.

At least she didn't say anything.  Hooch looked as if she had just swallowed a lemon, but she wasn't laughing.  That was a small blessing.  Graham waited for her to digest the news, realizing it was rather off the path, but still deserving of serious thought. 

He was grateful for the cover from wind, as well as the privacy.  Graham let out a small breath, unaware he had previously been holding it.  That was why he turned to Hooch.  Really, she was the only staff member he could turn to, but that was beside the point.  Graham set the tub of broom polish upon the ground, taking up the leftover space upon the chest.  He turned towards the flying instructor, suddenly aware that this was one of the most intimate conversations he had ever willingly embarked upon in over ten years.

Her next words were a surprise.  "Yes," he interjected strongly, instantly put on the defensive.  "I've been pleasant!"  He paused, considering his reputation among Hogwarts, "To some people.  When they've merited it. You've been around some of these people, you could hardly call them pleasant either." 

Xiomara cocked her head to the side, and blinked patiently.

"I see. How could I have ever doubted. Pardon me," she said, making no show to temper her sarcasm.

"Well, that'll be step one, won't it.  Learn to be pleasant and learn that your collegues don't 'earn' that from you.  Shows charity on your part. And patience.  Perhaps these are traits your beloved might value," Xiomara said, still with a motherly sort of condescending tone.

She might need to start off at the very beginning with this man, right from the basics of how we don't hit and we always share and we should keep our hands and wands to ourselves.  Merlin, how had he courted in the past? Pigtails in the ink wells?

"So who is it then? The new Potions master? She's quite fetching and does perhaps have the added advantage that she hasn't met you yet.  Or have you met -?  Were you this pleasent then?"

His lips twisted, a sign of doubt and misgiving often seen by his students.  Graham knew he could be prickly and well, unlikeable, at times but he was also capable of the opposite.  Was it that hard to believe?

Being pleasant to undeserving colleagues was suicide.  Be pleasant to Tappy? To...Reid? Unthinkable. Undoable. Impossible.  "I'll try..." he responded half-heartedly, giving Hooch the response she wanted to hear.  Just because he was asking for her advice didn't mean he had to take all of it.  If Myrni had liked him before, she'd like him after just fine without this business of pleasantries to the undeserving and ruthless.

But perhaps he would wait until provoked and leave off his usual pre-emptive attacks. 

Graham waved off her suggestion of the potions professor.  After his initial meeting with her at breakfast and all the scuttlebutt concerning her and the librarian, Graham was more in a hands-off mode with her.  "We've met," he spoke simply, not bothering to recap their bout of mistaken identity, "But no, it's..." he paused, unsure even then if it was safe to speak her name aloud in its true context, "The arithmancy professor.  Levartian."

"Professor Levartian?" Xiomara echoed.  She hadn't expected that.  Xiomara knew very little the bookish Arithmancy professor, other than that she was hard to get to know.  She also seemed... less than a match for Professor Bombay's brash personality and passions.  And of all the disciplines at Hogwarts, Arithmancy was probably furthest from broomsport and Xiomara had to admit that made her all the more unable to relate to the much younger witch.  Ah the throes of young love.  She was reminded often that many here at the school were young enough to be her grandchildren.

But an old lesbian high-flier like herself had never felt grounded enough for children, let alone the rest of a family.

She crossed on leg over the other and gave a little nod of approval, although tinged with skeptism for his chances.  She was still a little mystified how he thought an old crone like herself would be able to assist, but she'd offer her opinion none the less.

"Well, what have you done so far? You've been colleagues for quite sometime, after all.  Surely you've had some contact, at least professionally.  That could be a good place to begin."

"Yes," he responded, answering the question in the name.  There were very few who like him, let alone that he liked back.  And of those, only a minority were female.  As she digested the news, Graham hoped that now was the part where she gave him a brief outline, including general likes and dislikes of the female sex, and then sent him on his way.  He just needed the inside scoop, that was all.  Right?   This was such a puzzle for him.

"Well," he started, trying to think of anything decidedly positive in the arena of affection or relationships they had done.  These feelings were still very new, but he had to have acknowledged her before, right?  "The Halloween ball," he spoke hurriedly, "Yes.  I remarked upon her dress.  She laughed.  It was...cordial.  But then at the staff party. Well, we took a walk." He paused, just now realizing how unimportant the word walk seemed when removed from all the pleasant associations in his mind. 

"We talked.  It was nice.  And then, well, she slipped and I fell, and we ended up on top of one another.  Me on top.  A couple of students turned up, and we had to leave.  But there was a moment," he stated, the last remark emphasized to show proof of his own feelings and assumptions.  "But we haven't really spoken since."

"Yes," he responded, answering the question in the name.  There were   very few who like him, let alone that he liked back.  And of those, only   a minority were female.  As she digested the news, Graham hoped that   now was the part where she gave him a brief outline, including general   likes and dislikes of the female sex, and then sent him on his way.  He   just needed the inside scoop, that was all.  Right?   This was such a   puzzle for him.
 
  "Well," he started, trying to think of anything decidedly positive in   the arena of affection or relationships they had done.  These feelings   were still very new, but he had to have acknowledged her before, right?    "The Halloween ball," he spoke hurriedly, "Yes.  I remarked upon her   dress.  She laughed.  It was...cordial.  But then at the staff party.   Well, we took a walk." He paused, just now realizing how unimportant the   word walk seemed when removed from all the pleasant associations in his   mind. 
 
  "We talked.  It was nice.  And then, well, she slipped and I fell, and   we ended up on top of one another.  Me on top.  A couple of students   turned up, and we had to leave.  But there was a moment," he stated, the   last remark emphasized to show proof of his own feelings and   assumptions.  "But we haven't really spoken since."
 

When Graham began a narration about falling on top of one another, Xiomara's eyes fell shut and she held up her hands - she didn't want to hear Graham explain in an Herbologist's exacting detail the erm ins and outs of a romantic encounter, but thankfully, she was spared.  Saved by the introduction of students to the garden and the narrative.

"That's... That's good.  Well you seem to have the knack of it. If she seemed like she enjoyed herself, then I'd take it as a good sign."

Since Graham appeared not to be the total loss she'd anticipated him to be, perhaps it was time to get (oh how did the kids put it? Oh yes.) time to get real.

She got up from her feet and put her gloved fists on her hips, as if she was about to coach the romance into this strange, hairy man. 

"Now listen," she started with all seriousness.  "I don't know how many people are aware, but I'm not really your run-of-the-mill witch.  I've never been married to any wizard and I never plan to.  I fancy other witches, if I may be so bold, and I think that grants me a certain insight into what we witches want.  And the answer, Mr. Bombay, is a basket of tiddlyflop. We don't want anything, that is, there's not some single thing we all desire.  What Levartian wants, presumably is someone she can trust.  I think that's rather universal."

She stopped talking then and glared at him.

He let out a small breath, relieved to hear that it was positive.  He had been worried that most of his feelings were an exaggeration of his own thoughts.  It wouldn't have been the first time, nor probably the last.  She rose, and Graham felt the beginning expectations of a pep talk.  A pep talk for him.  It was oddly enough as well, one of his first.


He nodded along, hushed by the intensity of her seriousness, and quite appreciative of the stance. But then, tiddlyflop?  Tiddlyflop?  How was he supposed to begin a campaign of love based on Tiddlyflop!  His brow furrowed in dismay, ignoring the glare. "Well of course she can trust me," he sputtered, "That--that's simple.  I need something I can do.  Aren't you supposed to recommend flowers or some other romantic nonsense?"


He paused, supposing that perhaps Madam Hooch had misheard him.  "I want her to think I'm attractive, like a possible mate.  Should I start wearing brighter colors? Shave maybe?  Could you find out if she likes facial hair?"

"Could I found out if she...!"  Hooch visibly wilted.  She'd really thought she'd been onto something with this sad, strange little man.  Merlin!

She shook her head and crossed her arms.  Is that really all he really wanted? Should she just blabber on like some Witch Weekly article about "What Witches Want" and perhaps find what Graham's beard says about his abilities in bed? 

"Uch!" she scoffed, repulsed at the very idea and looked at his sideways.  "You-! You-!"

Huff!

"Fine."  She said the word slowly, and her eyebrow cocked just so. 

"I'll tell you."  Hooch sat back down again and smoothed out her robes.  If he wanted to play it that way, then she'd give him just what he wanted to her.  There was a reason there was no such thing as a real love potion. 

"Wizards with beards remind witches of their uncles.  It's considered old fashioned for wizards to wear a long beards.  Look at Marcus Annwyl - do you think it's any coincidence that he's the playboy he is? Smoothest shaven Minister of Magic in two hundred years, Professor Bombay."