A Missent Missive
One cheery September morning in the McGonagall household, Merwyn joined his wife for breakfast in the small, sunny room where the two took their meals whenever it was only the two of them at home. Now that Minerva was working at the Ministry and their three sons were long established in their own lives, Egeria and Merwyn had a comfortable daily routine. Egeria had always been an early riser, with a much greater morning appetite than Merwyn, who needed at least two cups of tea before he could think about eating even a slice of toast.
Egeria would wake first, throw on a dressing gown, and go down to the kitchen to brew the tea and speak with Fwisky or one of the other house-elves about breakfast. Egeria always preferred to brew her own tea, saying that it was a calming ritual that helped her start her day. She would then go into the little morning room, whose draperies had already been opened by the house-elves, and pour her first cup while awaiting the first owls of the morning. Sometimes the only early Post Owl would be the one delivering the Daily Prophet, but occasionally other early post would arrive while she was sipping her tea, sometimes from one of her prospective mothers, other times from a new mother who was concerned about the health of her infant. Egeria would be on her second cup of tea, reading the Prophet, and beginning her breakfast before Merwyn would shuffle in, squinting in silent protest at the sunlight pouring through the windows. He always felt that it was much gentler to wake to a cloudy morning.
That morning, however, was not the slightest bit overcast, and as Merwyn stumbled into the breakfast room with his customary squint, he greeted his wife with a slight grunt; she blew him a kiss over the top of the newspaper. Merwyn had barely settled into his chair and had not even contemplated his first cup of tea when a particularly large and impressive owl flew to one the large windows behind Egeria and thunked his head against the glass insistently. Merwyn only looked at it blearily. Egeria smiled, shook her head at her husband’s still semi-somnolent state, and waved her wand to let the bird in.
Egeria gave the owl a bit of toast with plum butter as she accepted the parchment from its talons.
“How odd,” she said to her husband, who was drinking his tea with his eyes closed. “It’s from Minerva, addressed to us both. I didn’t think we’d hear from her again until the weekend. Perhaps she can’t come up on Friday, after all.”
Egeria opened the parchment where it had been sealed with a charm, read the first two sentences, then dropped the letter to her plate. Merwyn was awake enough to see that his wife had gone deathly pale, certainly not her usual reaction to receiving a letter from their daughter.
“What is it, Egeria? Let me see that,” he said, taking the letter from where it rested on his wife’s half-eaten breakfast. Upon reading the first sentence, he could understand why his wife had been shocked. After finishing the first paragraph, he became puzzled. He scanned the rest of the letter quickly. “Egeria, Egeria, love, it’s all right. She wrote this months ago. In January. It must have been sent by the Ministry in error. Minerva’s fine.” Merwyn put an arm around his wife. “This must have been something she wrote back before she came home on leave from the Ministry last winter, remember? She went to her friend’s funeral in Ireland, and Albus came to visit. This is dated just a few days before she showed up on the doorstep.”
Egeria, relieved, reached for the letter. “Did you read the whole thing, dear?”
“No, I just scanned it quickly; once I had finished the first paragraph, it struck me there was something very odd about it.”
“‘Very odd’ is an understatement, Merwyn.” Egeria read the letter through, then, tears in her eyes, handed it back to her husband. “I think you should read it.”
“Dear Mother and Dad,
“If you are reading this, then I must apologise for the pain I have caused you. You must know that I wanted to return home to you, and that I would have done what I could in order to see you again. But you also know that I could not refuse the mission that was given me – I do not know if you are aware of its nature, so best not speak of it here – nor could I leave anyone behind if leaving him would mean abandoning him to an evil fate.
“You have both always given me the greatest encouragement and love that any daughter could receive from any parents. You always allowed me the freedom to find my own path, and, where possible, gave me the tools to do so successfully. I have always known that you were as proud of me as ever you could be, no matter what I chose to do. So please, be proud now. You raised me to find what was right and to pursue it. I am doing that now.
“Please give my love to Malcolm, Morgan, and Murdoch, and Melina, too. Tell her to study hard when she gets to Hogwarts, and to take advantage of the opportunity to learn everything she can.
“There is one other thing that I must mention. It may be possible that although I do not return, another will. You will remember this person well, as I did not throw up on his shoes, as you had warned him I might, Mother. It is likely that in this event, he will feel some guilt that he was unable to bring me back with him. You must tell him that I did only what I had to do, and that, as I wished to ‘emulate him in every way,’ could not choose to do otherwise. Remind him, too, that I am a Gryffindor and a McGonagall, and we tend to be a bit headstrong; no one could have prevented me from coming after him and finding him, and no price would be too high to pay in order to accomplish that. I only hope that I was sufficiently successful in my task and that he was able to return, even if without me. If I was successful in that regard, please tell him that my gratitude toward him is immeasurable and that some of my happiest memories include time spent with him.
“Do know that I love you all, although I may not say it often enough.
“With apologies,
“I remain your loving daughter,
“Minerva
“5 January 1945”
When he had finished it, Merwyn blinked hard. “Quite something, our Minnie-girl, isn’t she,” he said hoarsely.
“She certainly is. What do you think we should do?”
“Nothing. Put the letter away. Minerva probably forgot she’d written it, or she assumed that the Ministry destroyed it when she returned safely. She never told us anything about this . . . whatever this mission was that she couldn’t refuse. She would likely be upset that we received the letter. Perhaps at some point, when it’s not all quite so fresh, we could give it back to her. Or at least let her know that it was delivered to us, after all.”
“Well, at least this explains something of her mood when she was here.” Egeria gazed at her now-congealed eggs, not seeing them, but remembering that bitterly cold day earlier in the year when Minerva had Apparated in, with no explanation other than that she had been given some leave by the Ministry, and that she decided to take it and come to Scotland for a visit with her family. She had been home for Christmas recently, but it had been only a brief, two-day visit, so Merwyn and Egeria had been pleased to see her again so soon.
Minerva explained to them that she would need to leave for Ireland for a funeral and wake in two days. She would be travelling by Ministry-authorised Portkey in both directions. When Egeria asked whose funeral she would be attending, Minerva looked out the window at the steely Highland sky, pausing as if to collect herself, then told them that it was for an Auror who had been killed in the line of duty, her friend from Hogwarts, Carson Murphy.
Minerva had mentioned Carson several times in her letters home, both from Hogwarts and from London. Both Egeria and Merwyn were themselves shocked by the news, although they had never met the young man. Their daughter had been understandably quiet for the next few days, but her mood did not seem to lift when she returned from Ireland. If anything, she seemed more subdued. When Egeria had suggested that perhaps returning to work might be a good remedy for her grief, or that it would at least provide her with something to occupy her time, Minerva had let out a mirthless laugh and explained that the leave, and its length, were involuntary. She didn’t offer any further information; Merwyn and Egeria presumed that the Ministry had placed Minerva on some kind of bereavement leave. They did think it odd since she was not kin to the dead boy.
The elder McGonagalls were further surprised when Albus Dumbledore Apparated to their home a few days later, looking for Minerva. Albus had apparently been unaware that Minerva had been placed on leave, and so had Apparated from London after having sought her out at the Ministry. They were ensconced in the library for over an hour; Merwyn came down the hall just in time to see his daughter flying out the front door, cloak half on, and the door to the library open to reveal Albus sitting in a wing chair, forehead cradled in his hands. Merwyn knocked lightly on the opened door and stepped into the library, greeting Albus softly. Deciding to stick to mundane matters, Merwyn didn’t mention his daughter’s flight from the house, instead suggesting that, after Apparating first to London then back to Scotland, Albus might be fatigued. Merwyn invited him to join the family for their midday meal. Albus agreed, somewhat hesitantly, to stay for dinner, and at Merwyn’s request, he went out into the windy grey day to find Minerva and tell her that the meal would be served soon.
Egeria remembered her response to Merwyn when he told her that he had sent Albus off to the cliffs to look for her. “Are you sure that was wise? And I don’t mean simply because you say she seemed upset.” Her husband removed his glasses, kissed her forehead, and held her, then said, “It was the only thing to do, love, wise or not. Minerva’s not been herself – even more than usual, I mean. Dumbledore knew the boy, too, if that has anything to do with whatever is wrong. And at least she got out of the house. She’s been moping about so much, it was almost a pleasure to see her run out the door in a fury as she used to when she was small.”
Yes, Egeria thought, this letter certainly places those events in a new perspective. Odd, though, that she hadn’t mentioned Carson in the letter. Although the letter was cryptic, and the “anyone” whom Minerva would not leave behind could have referred to the Murphy boy as much as to Dumbledore . . . . But it was Dumbledore whom Minerva had mentioned explicitly, if obliquely, and it was for him that she showed concern, gratitude, and affection. Egeria sighed. Without knowing more about what the mission was, it was futile to speculate on why Minerva might have written of certain things and yet not written of others. Perhaps Carson’s death was coincidental and unrelated to the mission; perhaps Minerva had already known that he was dead. If they were to proceed as Merwyn suggested, however, and not mention the letter to their daughter, any questions Egeria had would have to remain mysteries for now.