Horrid Relatives
Minerva collapsed on her bed and kicked off her shoes, exhausted. Lunch, as Gertie had promised, had been interesting. And, just as she had also promised, Gertie had rather horrid relatives. It was hard to put her finger on exactly what made them so horrid, but Minerva felt that part of it was that they seemed so superficially nice. Pass the time of day with one of them while waiting for a goblin at Gringott’s, and you would never know how perfectly dreadful they were. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she had been seated to the right of Cormac MacAirt and to the left of Gertrude’s mother, the older “Madam Gamp,” Minerva thought she would have embarrassed herself by running screaming from the table.
The first indication of trouble came when, after Gertrude had introduced Minerva to her mother, Columbine Gamp, a tall, reedy woman with snow-white hair piled high on her head, the elder woman insisted that Minerva be seated beside her. A dark-haired older witch who had just entered the dining room stiffened visibly.
“I am sure dear Val won’t mind, will you, Val?” Madam Gamp had said to the woman, making it a pronouncement rather than a question. “I’m sure that you can bear to be separated from Francis for a short time.”
Val gave a tight smile. “Not at all, Columbine, although I had been so looking forward to talking with Cormac. It’s been such a long time,” she drawled.
Minerva guessed this “Val” must be the Valerianna whom Gertie had warned her about. Madam Gamp turned back to Minerva. “Professor McGonagall, have you met Valerianna Yaxley? Oh, you two don’t know each other! Well, you’ll have an opportunity this week, won’t you, dear?” Addressing Valerianna again, Madam Gamp continued, “Val, I would like to introduce you to Minerva McGonagall, one of Gertie’s colleagues at Hogwarts.”
Minerva could have sworn that the witch’s face went into a brief spasm before she responded, and her grey-green eyes narrowed, although she recovered herself quickly. “How utterly delightful to meet you, Miss McGonagall. Now don’t you steal my Francis!” She laughed, twitching something that might have been a wink. “I’ll have to keep an eye on him, I can see now, with all the young witches you have invited, Columbine,” she added in what was apparently her jovial tone, since Columbine laughed.
“I am sure that Francis can take care of himself, Val. It’s we older witches whom you should worry about!” she said, eyeing the anaemic-looking wizard who was standing behind Valerianna. “We do get so bored, you know!”
Minerva was glad that Cormac MacAirt, smartly dressed in a Muggle dinner jacket and black bow tie, appeared just then, and she was spared having to join the conversation.
“Ah! Just the man we were waiting for,” Columbine said. “You got your angels settled then? Good. So nice of young Alroy to keep his little sister company. Quite the gentleman you are raising him to be . . . despite the circumstances!” With that pronouncement, Columbine turned to Minerva. “Professor, have you met Cormac MacAirt yet?” Not waiting for her reply, Columbine took Minerva by her arm and snagged Cormac’s hand on her other side. Pulling them along, she said, “You sit by me, Professor. I’m very interested to hear what my daughter’s been getting up to, and when you tire of amusing this old lady, I am sure that Cormac will be pleased to entertain you.”
So Minerva found herself seated across from the pale, spindly Francis Flint, whom she had seen in the halls at the Ministry, though he had stood out only for being so utterly inconspicuous. Minerva believed that he worked in the Department of Mysteries, although she wasn’t sure. Despite Columbine’s declaration that she wanted to hear all about her daughter from Minerva, as soon as lunch was served – and it seemed more like dinner to Minerva; there were five courses, each impeccably served by unseen house-elves – Columbine began to talk with Francis.
“So, Professor McGonagall, how is it that ye’ find y’rself in our happy company this fine day?” MacAirt asked as soon as everyone was settled and the first course, a thin vegetable soup, was served.
“As you know, Gertrude and I work together. She suggested I might enjoy a trip to Cornwall, and she invited me to come stay for a few days.”
“Did she, now? An’, Professor, ye’ two have been great friends, then?”
“Hmm? Well, we have been acquainted for a long time,” replied Minerva noncommitally.
“Ah. So ye’ barely know each other?” The question lilted teasingly.
“I wouldn’t say that – ” Minerva was not sure she like this wizard.
MacAirt grinned. “Of course ye’ wouldn’t. It’s too polite ye’ are.”
“And you, Mr MacAirt? What brings you here?” Minerva asked, changing the subject.
“Quin,” he replied, taking a sip of water.
“What?”
“Quin, call me ‘Quin.’”
“Quin?”
“Mmm, it’s what me friends call me, they do.” He looked at Minerva, a twinkle in his eye as he bent a little closer, as though to share a secret. “If ye’d dare be friends with the likes o’ me, that is. O’ course, I would na’ dream t’ think we’d be as closely acquainted as you and Gertie so obviously are.” His lips twitched as he watch Minerva’s reaction.
Unsure of whether to be insulted or amused, Minerva retorted, “Well, then, ‘Quin’ – although I thought your name was ‘Cormac’ – what brings you to this place?” Minerva was undeterred. This Irish wizard was not going to distract her and steer the conversation.
“Ah, an’ there ye’ have it. In a nutshell, so t’ speak. I am ‘Quin’ to me friends, ‘Mr MacAirt’ to strangers and business acquaintances, an’ ‘Cormac’ to this lot. O’ course,” he added, that roguish half-smile returning to his face, “If ye’d prefer t’ call me ‘Cormac,’ I’d not be stoppin’ ye’!”
Minerva laughed despite herself. “If I am to call you ‘Quin,’ you must call me ‘Minerva.’”
“It’s the truth I’ll be sayin’ then, Gertie brought us a goddess this morning!”
“You never answered my question, though, Quin,” Minerva said as they began the fish course. “What brings you here?” She rather doubted she would receive a full answer, since they were seated at the dining table within earshot of their hostess and several other guests, but she was now interested in his response, which she hadn’t been when she had first asked the question.
“Me ‘wee beasties,’” he said, flaking off a bit of salmon and skewering it and a bit of grilled tomato with his fork.
“Your children?”
Quin swallowed and nodded. “You marry into one of these families, Minerva, and you really marry the family,” he said in a low voice, glancing up at Francis and Columbine, who were deep in discussion about some internal Ministry squabble. “Let me serve as a lesson an’ a warnin’ to ye’, then!” he added in a more conversational tone.
“Your wife is a Gamp?”
“Was. She died several years ago. Can’t let the kiddies suffer for their father’s questionable taste – for folk in general, not in wives! – however, and so I bring them for a visit with their grandmother and her family two or three times a year. I stay for as long as we can tolerate each other, then go on home, where I can bring the offspring of me loins to ruination again.”
Minerva noticed that Quin’s Irish brogue came and went, diminishing when he became more serious, his diction becoming clearer. “You were married to Gertie’s sister?” she asked in some astonishment. Quin didn’t look old enough to be married to someone of Gertrude’s generation – and the children were very young.
“No, her niece. Her brother’s daughter.”
“I didn’t know Gertrude had a brother.”
“He was killed during the war. Don’t you know about that?” When Minerva shook her head, Quin looked down the table to where Gertie sat nodding as she listened to Valerianna and Gropius Gamp, a frail, elderly wizard, who were arguing in concert about something. “Hm. An’ she did ask me to be lookin’ after ye’ this week – ” Seeing Minerva’s reaction, Quin added more seriously, “She actually told me to look out for you, I believe. Although she also implied that you might be a desert flower in this wasteland, and that we might find each other’s company more congenial than not.”
“What about her brother?”
Quin looked pointedly at Columbine Gamp before answering Minerva, reminding her that Gertrude’s brother was Columbine’s son. “As I said, he was me beloved’s father . . . and a brilliant man.”
“And your mother-in-law?”
“She stayed on here for a while after her husband died, but she now has a pied-á-terre in London. I believe she will be arriving this evening.”
As the main course was cleared away and Columbine Gamp consulted with a wizened old house-elf, Francis Flint turned his attention to Quin. “So, Cormac. Still doing business in London?” he said heartily. “I haven’t seen you at the Ministry in a while.”
“An’ nor will ye’, Frank. I’m all squeaky clean. Ye’ can check under me nails, if ye’ like,” the dark-haired wizard said slowly, his brogue at its thickest, and he mockingly extended his hand across the table for inspection. “I leave the Ministry alone, an’ they leave me be. Just the way we all like it, now, ain’t it, Frank?”
Minerva watched the exchange with fascination. Somehow, Quin was getting under Flint’s skin, and Flint was so poorly controlled, it showed. Face and neck flushing dark red, Flint sputtered and went to pick up his water glass, but he was shaking so that he knocked it over.
With a slight smile, Quin said, “Ach, so sorry, me boyo, forgot meself a minute there, I did. Let me help.” And with a slight wave of his still extended hand, Quin righted the glass and dried the table cloth. “Ah, but ye’ll still be thirstin’, now, won’t ye’?” Another brief wave, and the glass filled with water as though it was poured from thin air. “Go ahead, now, ye’ c’n drink it. It’ll na’ poison ye’ – good fresh spring water, that is, none o’ that mere conjury would do fer th’likes o’ me pal Franky!”
“Franky” stood from the table, pushing his chair back violently. Columbine who had missed most of the exchange until Quin began to fill the water glass, looked up at him, startled.
“You . . . you . . . you hedge wizard!” exclaimed Flint.
“My dear Francis, do calm yourself, dear!” said Columbine, rising gracefully from her chair and placing a hand on the wizard’s elbow.
Flint, breathing heavily, turned his head spasmodically, seeking Valerianna. By that time, the entire table’s focus was on the apoplectic wizard. Quin sat calmly, playing with the stem of his wine glass, looking for all the world like a saint, a mild expression on his face. Minerva thought he even seemed smaller than he had, though that could not be possible.
Valerianna rose and came to stand by Flint. “Darling, whatever is the matter?” She turned to Columbine and said, “He has been over-worked lately; the Ministry just values him too much, I’m afraid. He can never say ‘no,’ can you, darling? I think we’ll go take a bit of a rest now.”
As Valerianna was speaking, Flint seemed to recover himself some, and he stared malevolently down at Quin, who continued to look quite unperturbed.
Just as Valerianna was leading Flint out of the room, he turned back to the room and growled at Quin, “My name is not Frank!”
“So sorry, old boy, must remember that. Not Frank. I believe I do have it now.” Quin’s words seemed light, but his tone was clipped and even and carried a slight edge to it. He raised his glass to the departing couple, who hurried out the door.
Minerva was only slightly surprised that the meal continued without further incident. Quin’s conversation was monopolised by the young witch to his left, and Minerva was left making awkward conversation with Madam Gamp on her right. As soon as it was polite to do so following dessert, Minerva excused herself and took off for her room, trying not to break into a run. She wondered if Albus would mind if she opened his present a little early. Minerva sighed. She would wait. Besides, the day was only half over. Who knew what other excitement lay ahead for her! She would probably need her little surprise from Albus even more then.
Thinking of surprises from Albus, Minerva thought again of what Gertrude had revealed to her about Albus’s former relationship with Valerianna. Although she could certainly understand why a woman such as that might think she had found a catch in Albus, Minerva couldn’t fathom what it was that Albus had seen in her. Gertrude had said that she was literate and superficially charming, but surely Albus could see past superficial charm? He was the wizard who defeated Grindelwald, after all; surely a social climber like Valerianna Yaxley could not fool him long. Of course, from what Gertrude said, she hadn’t been able to fool him terribly long . . . . Minerva wondered what it was that led him to stop seeing her – how had Gertrude put it? – to break it off with her completely.
The woman hadn’t been much to look at either, although she was expensively dressed and wore a great deal of expensive jewellery. About Minerva’s height, perhaps slightly taller, although that could have been her shoes, Valerianna had black hair with just a sprinkling of grey through it, a rather ordinary face, greyish-green eyes, small mouth. She had a fair figure, though, for a woman of her apparent age – slim but still curvy, not gone all to bone or to fat, as some witches were wont to do. Of course, Minerva had no idea what sort of witch Albus might be attracted to, but she had always imagined him with a rather stately, slightly plump, grey-haired witch with a pleasant smile. Someone with warmth and dignity . . . certainly not anyone like this Valerianna person appeared to be.
And that remark about not stealing “her Francis”; what was that supposed to be about? As though Minerva would be interested in the dyspeptic balding wizard! He certainly was a step down from Albus – although probably far more manageable, from what Minerva observed. She wondered what it was that Quin had said that had disturbed Flint so. Quin clearly knew what he had been saying and was unsurprised by its effect on the other wizard. Minerva let out a chuckle. “Hedge wizard!” What sort of insult did Flint think he was making? Quin’s little legerdemain certainly did set him off completely. Minerva had been impressed despite herself. Albus, of course, could have done that quite easily, as well, but Quin’s bit of wandless magic had still been no mean feat – particularly pouring the water in the glass. For some reason, Minerva did not doubt Quin’s word when he said that it was actual water, not just the ephemeral conjured variety. If Minerva were in the same room as a water source and was familiar with it, she could do the same thing – but using her wand. Quin certainly was a man of surprising talents, for all that he talked like a bit of a rogue.
Minerva wondered whether she was expected anywhere or if she could take a nap. There was a rap at the door that signalled it was unlikely she would get a nap. Assuming it was Gertie, Minerva padded over to the door in her stocking feet, lifting her skirts so she wouldn’t trip over them. A smiling Irish face beamed down at her when she opened the door, however. Definitely not Gertrude.
Minerva’s surprise must have shown in her face, since Quin laughed and said, “So sorry to disappoint you. If you were expecting Prince Charming – or Franky Flint – I am not he!”
“No, I assumed it would be Gertrude,” Minerva said, responding seriously to his jest, not knowing what else to say.
“Ah, yes, your close . . . acquaintance,” he teased. “I bribed a house-elf to tell me which room you were in.”
Minerva stepped back, opening the door to him. It was probably best not to be carrying on a conversation in the hallway. “You bribed a house-elf? I didn’t know such a thing was possible!”
“Yep, little blue fellow. Bribery, extortion, depends on your point of view, I suppose.”
Minerva closed the door behind him and turned to find Quin making himself quite at home in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, stretching out his legs and folding his hands behind his head. Well, she had let him in, after all. Minerva perched in one of the other armchairs.
“What did you do to the poor thing?” she asked.
“Ah, it’s more what I didn’t do. Or promised not to do.” He grinned impishly, his blue eyes sparkling.
“You are really quite infuriating, Mr MacAirt, you know that?” Minerva asked, but she couldn’t restrain a slight smile.
“I live to infuriate others, but not goddesses such as yourself. And are we no longer such close acquaintances? Is it to be Mr MacAirt, then?”
“Oh, come on, Quin, what did you do – or not do – to the elf?!” Minerva rolled her eyes. This man made her revert to her childhood.
“Ah, well, seein’ as we’re such good friends again, I’ll tell you.” Even without the strong brogue he had affected at lunch, the lilt of Ireland sang in his speech. He winked at her and whispered, “I promised not to thank him anymore.” He chuckled at Minerva’s open-mouthed expression. “Ah, yes, I see you are speechless with awe at me cunning. It is the dread of all fine, respectable wizards and witches everywhere – especially witches!”
“You really are terrible, Quin,” she said with a smile.
“I have heard that many a time, but to hear it from your sweet lips – it wounds me to the quick, it does!” He clasped his chest dramatically.
Minerva gave an unladylike snort of laughter at that. “So what was so important that you had to terrorise an innocent little house-elf?”
“Innocent? Innocent? You believe a house-elf can be innocent? Now that is a sure sign of innocence, itself!”
“Quin, do you ever answer a question the first time it’s asked?”
“And where would be the fun in that? People don’t usually want to know the answers to their questions, anyway – or they think they already know the answers. Much better to play a little along the way, don’t you think?”
“Well, as you likely either don’t want to know the answer to your question, or you already do know it, I think I won’t bother with it. Nonetheless, Quin, I do want to know what you want.”
“Ah – a more straightforward question, but with several different answers, depending on the time of day, me mood, which way the wind blows . . . but the straightforward, plain answer is that I thought your company preferable to me own, or to that of anyone else in this house. I decided to see if I was right about that.”
“Oh, well. I had been going to take a nap. I found lunch rather exhausting, to tell the truth.” Minerva wondered whether she should be so forthright with Quin, but in his own very peculiar way, he had been forthright with her.
“I would say that you get used to it, but I hope that you never have to,” he replied somewhat seriously.
Minerva remembered her curiosity about Flint and the entire exchange at the table, and thought that she might not be very sleepy after all. “Well, I suppose some company might be nice, but I’d prefer not to stay here.” Minerva’s eyes flicked involuntarily toward the bed.
Quin chuckled, but to Minerva’s relief, made no comment about her discomfort at lounging about in her bedroom with him. “If you still don’t mind bein’ seen with me, then, I thought we could take a turn about the garden. Gertrude said you had expressed interest in it.”
“That would be lovely. Would you mind giving me a few minutes to freshen up? I could meet you downstairs.”
“You look lovely and fresh to me, Minerva, not old and stale as some in this house. But yes, I will be happy to meet you downstairs in a few minutes.” He rose and took his leave, and Minerva sighed with relief. She wondered if she were really prepared for a walk in the garden with Quin, or if it would turn out to be as exhausting as lunch had been.