Hello, friends both old and new!  Thank you for checking out my latest creative endeavor.  As you  can see, while I’ve been gone I haven’t been idle.  In fact, I snuggled quite a few plot bunnies before choosing this particular one as my pet.  Rivers of the Deep is co-written with my fantastic alpha CoquetteKitten.  It will be updated each Sunday — beginning this Sunday!

A very Happy Valentine’s Day to all our fellow fanfic lovers;

please consider this our box of [dark, slightly bitter] chocolates to each and every one of you ❤


The Old Vicarage

Thompson’s Lane



Twilight was just creeping its way along the River Cam that evening, and the last peals of St. Clement’s bells still hung in the air when one of the twin fireplaces roared to life with a burst of green flames in the house behind the church.

“Is that you, darling?”  a woman called up the staircase.  “I’m just burning dinner now!” As if to prove the statement true, there followed a clamor of pots and pans and then a string of words vulgar enough to make a sailor pause in admiration.

On the other end of the open Floo an elderly witch repressed a smile.  “It’s Professor McGonagall!” she bellowed with the aid of a Sonorus.

The commotion in the kitchen on the floor below ceased, and shortly after a woman raced up the stairs.  She wore an apron over her smart trouser suit and was wiping her hands on a tea cloth, and if she was surprised at the unexpected Floo call, she hid the fact well.  “Good evening, Headmistress!” she exclaimed. “Please come through!”

“I’m afraid I haven’t the time for a visit tonight, which is a shame; I’ve grown particularly fond of your husband’s shortbread.”  Professor McGonagall looked around the cozy room with a frown. “I don’t suppose he’s home?”

“He took the dog for a walk before dinner.”  The woman slowly sank to her knees on the hearth.  “It’s always a pleasure to hear from you, Headmistress, but- ”

“Nonsense,” interrupted the professor.  “My updates bring you nothing but heartache!  If I wasn’t committed to helping cure the cause of that, I’d leave you well enough alone.”

“They bring us knowledge,” argued the woman.  “And without that, where would we be?”

“Back in Australia, no doubt,” sniffed the professor.  The woman snickered, and the sound brought back a memory from what seemed a lifetime ago: a wild-haired young girl dressed in a familiar school uniform and carrying a bookbag threatening to burst at the seams – a girl who bore a startling resemblance to the woman before her, save for the hair.

“With knowledge there is always hope,”  The woman contended in a tone that brooked no argument, but despite her brave countenance, her eyes were bright with tears.  “And right now that’s all we have.  Now what news of Hermione do you have for us today?”



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