Doubt and Comfort
Minerva was relieved to be alone in her room. She collapsed on her bed. This was what Gertie considered a holiday? A sense of guilt washed over her. It had been good of Gertie to invite her here, despite the fact that her relatives ranged from horrid to dreadful, with a few who were merely dull. Quin being the exception. Minerva had not repaid her hostess very kindly. Whatever had she been thinking? She would have to tell Quin to downplay any hint of an attachment when they were around Gertie. Valerianna was another case entirely. That woman made Minerva’s hackles rise. Minerva knew it wasn’t just the witch herself and what she had said to her, though; it was what Gertrude had told her before she had ever even met Valerianna Crouch Yaxley.
That thought assuaged some of Minerva’s guilty feelings. Gertrude had known that that person was going to be here this week when she had invited Minerva. Minerva sprang off the bed and went to the wardrobe. She pulled out the carpet bag. After removing Albus’s present and setting it aside, resisting the temptation to open it immediately, Minerva rummaged around in the bottom of her bag. She found her afghan still there, and she pulled that out and tossed it up onto the bed. The two books joined it. She felt around some more. Yes, there it was; she had packed it – she hadn’t even known why at the time, but Gertrude’s invitation was there, along with the even briefer letter she had written in response to Minerva’s acceptance.
Minerva sat back on the floor in front of the wardrobe and opened the invitation. Reading it over, remembering what Albus had said about it, Minerva tried to analyse it afresh, with the benefit of today’s experiences.
“This evening as I enjoyed the healthy Cornish air, I remembered our conversation yesterday at lunch and your mention of a holiday. It occurred to me that a few days here in Cornwall might have a restorative effect following your first term of teaching. If you have not experienced the landscape here, I believe you will find it invigorating.”
All right, Minerva noted again that it had been Gertie who had originally suggested a holiday, not Minerva, although she had agreed she might take one. Clearly Gertrude had already been contemplating this invitation at that time. Although whether she had come up with the idea only then, at lunch, or earlier, Minerva couldn’t say. Albus seemed to think that Gertie had genuinely believed she needed a holiday, but Minerva still wasn’t convinced of that. And that bit about a “restorative effect” – what was that to mean? She had looked rather dreadful under her Glamour, but Gertie was an Arithmancer and, from what Minerva could tell, not particularly adept with charms, let alone with Glamours. It was unlikely that Gertie had noticed how she had really looked, despite having declared her “peaky.” Minerva did not believe that Gertie had asked her here to help her recover from a term of teaching. What she had meant by “restorative effect” remained a puzzle – of course, they could be empty words, with no meaning whatsoever. And invigorating? If being irritated was invigorating, Minerva supposed she had been quite invigorated, indeed!
“With this in mind, I would like to invite you to visit the Gamp family home next week. If you are so inclined, the ribbon with which this letter is tied is a Portkey set for activation between 8.00 and 8.30 on the morning of Monday the eighth of July. If you are able to accept this invitation, the Portkey may be used at any point within that half-hour with the password ‘ducere.’”
This said nothing to her. “Gamp family home.” Perhaps that meant she wanted her to meet her family? Albus had commented that Gertie was emphasising the familial aspect of the home, after all. But whom did Gertie consider her family? Almost everyone at the table last night, with the exception of Minerva and, perhaps, Flint, had been related to her by blood or marriage. Minerva supposed that her niece and nephew – such a strange thought, that Gertrude was Alroy and Aine’s aunt – were her relatives, and that Gertie would therefore likely consider Quin a relative, as well. Gertrude was the only one there who called him “Quin.” In fact, if Minerva had been paying more attention, she would have realised earlier that Gertrude had even introduced him properly – Cormac Quin-something MacAirt. She would have to ask him his full name again. She could completely understand not wanting to be called “Cormac,” though. What were his parents thinking? “Cormac MacAirt” would be a tough name to be saddled with . . . although perhaps it was a family name, and he was actually descended from the original Cormac mac Airt. Anything was possible, Minerva supposed.
And what of Valerianna? She was Gertrude’s husband’s cousin, but did that mean Gertie considered the witch a relative? With all of the intermarriage amongst pure-blood families, Valerianna could also be related to Gertrude in some other way, as well, although Gertrude had only mentioned the connection with her late husband.
“I hope to hear from you by return owl that you will be able to accept my invitation. There are various family members visiting, so I believe that you would not fail to find some conversations of interest while you are here.”
Well, that much was true: there had been no dearth of interesting conversations.
Minerva was sure of it now: Gertie had intended all along that she meet and talk with Valerianna. That raised more questions, the first one was obviously, why? Secondly, had Gertie been completely disingenuous with her that morning out by the hill fort, or had she really believed when she’d issued the invitation that Valerianna might be arriving later in the week? Beyond that, was what Gertrude told her about Valerianna and Albus the truth? And even if it was, how much of the truth had she omitted? And what role was Quin playing in all this? Gertie had asked him to show Minerva the gardens, after all. And according to Quin, Gertrude had told him that Minerva was unlikely to be taken in by his flirtation. Although perhaps that was only Quin’s interpretation of what Gertrude had said, and he was mistaken. How much could she trust anything Quin told her, let alone his interpretations of what Gertrude said? Was Quin actually working with Gertie on whatever it was she was after? Minerva wanted to trust Quin, but she hardly knew him. Most of all, what could Gertrude’s motives be in all this? She had to want something.
Minerva sighed. That was why her own attempt to turn the tables on Gertie that evening had not worked out very well. Minerva had no particular goal in mind except to create an illusion and possibly surprise Gertrude. A true Slytherin didn’t set about orchestrating events without being clear about why she was doing it and what her end goal would be. And it would have to be for some objective greater than simply making someone uncomfortable – at least if it required much effort or any risk. No, there would have had to have been a reason to make the person uncomfortable, a reason that fit in with a greater goal, which in turn contributed to reaching some even larger objective.
Try as she might, Minerva doubted she would ever be able to figure out what Gertrude was playing at in inviting her down here. She just didn’t know Gertrude well enough; she wouldn’t be able to deduce what her goal or her overall objectives were. And without that, Minerva thought she would never understand why it was that Gertie had invited her here, at this time, with these people. Minerva sighed. She would just have to be alert. And it wouldn’t hurt to make note of things others said that were consistent or inconsistent with what Gertrude – and Quin – told her.
Minerva wanted to like Quin. He was funny and easy to be with, and obviously very bright, as well. Despite his peculiar magical training, he was also fairly powerful, Minerva thought. Strange what he had told her about Alroy – and about Carson. Clearly, Carson’s magic was quite strong; he had been a talented wizard. If Carson had done magic similar to that practiced by Quin, and now by Alroy, it must be true that in some cases, under certain conditions, it was not harmful for children under ten or eleven to practice controlled magic. It went against everything she had been taught. But considering what Quin had said about the laws and customs of England – and Scotland – it made sense that if the Ministry wanted to control the use of magic, they would restrict the use of wands for underage wizards and, in order even better to regulate it, ensure that young witches and wizards did not learn how to practice wandless magic.
From Minerva’s previous understanding of the matter, wandless magic was much harder because the witch or wizard had no tool through which to focus their power. But what if it was simply that one became so used to using a wand that one could no longer do – what was it Quin called it? – “free” magic. Learning to perform spells – or practice free magic – without a wand would be much more difficult for a witch or wizard who had always learned to do everything with a wand. Minerva remembered Albus telling her once during her Animagus training that she had to stop thinking of her wand as the thing that allowed her to do magic. They had begun doing the wandless Animagus Transfiguration exercises that were the necessary final step to actually completing the full Animagus transformation. He had made Minerva spend an entire week without her wand, only letting her use it when she was actually in a class in which its use was required. It had been an odd experience . . . odder even than learning to do magic that required no incantation. As a rather cerebral child, it had seemed more natural to use pure intention without a spell than to cast a spell without a wand. When she returned to Hogwarts, she would have to talk to Albus about all this. Surely with his experience, he must be familiar with magic practiced this way.
Thinking of Albus reminded Minerva of his present. She picked it up and stood. She would wait until she was ready for bed before she opened it, she decided, and gratefully peeled off her robes.
Once she had washed and changed into her nightgown, Minerva sat down on the bed and held the parcel in her lap. She remembered how cheerfully Albus had given it to her just that morning, and how sweetly he had kissed her good-bye before she Portkeyed away. How could her Albus – well, he wasn’t precisely hers, but the Albus she knew – how could he have ever been involved with that horrid woman? It made Minerva feel rather sick. It had been bad enough when Gertrude had first told her about it, but then after meeting the witch . . . .
Minerva shook herself. If Gertrude or someone had told her about the situation with Albus and that woman only after Minerva had met Valerianna, perhaps Minerva’s feelings toward the witch would have been different. Perhaps everything that Valerianna had said and done was coloured by Minerva’s prejudgment of her, all based on what Gertrude had told her just a few hours before.
Minerva tried to look at Valerianna objectively. She really wasn’t all that bad looking, Minerva supposed, although if she weren’t wearing dress robes and expensive jewellery and a few layers of make-up charms, she would be rather plain. Her manner of speaking was off-putting to Minerva; aside from the insults that Minerva had perceived, Valerianna just seemed dull – a socialite with little to say. But Quin had told her that Valerianna was like a chameleon and that she could make herself interesting to whatever wizard she was with. No doubt as a young witch, and one with nothing to offer her, Minerva simply wasn’t worth the effort for Valerianna to become interesting. Gertie, too, had said that she was intelligent. Of course, she also had money and social standing, but Minerva was fairly certain that those were two things that would never motivate Albus’s interest.
On the other hand, what did Minerva know of Albus? Simply because Minerva knew one side of his personality did not mean that Albus’s taste in women – of which she had known nothing until today – was in line with what else she knew of him. Minerva had known one happily married wizard, who worked in the Department of Ministries and was reputed to be quite brilliant and powerful, whose wife was an untalented, very ordinary witch with unspectacular looks. She was pleasant, though, warm and friendly. Minerva could imagine that she had personal qualities that quite made up for any deficiencies in intelligence or magic. If Valerianna was intelligent, and possibly talented – although Minerva had no way to judge that – perhaps that had off-set her less than pleasant personality for Albus. Of course, Valerianna was also quite sociable and out-going. Far more so than Minerva herself, and Albus was fairly out-going. He was not very revealing, though, Minerva thought with a sigh.
She wished she had had some clue that Albus had been seeing this witch. For all Minerva knew, Albus could be seeing someone now, perhaps at that very moment. Doubtful, but possible. It could be that Valerianna was one of many witches with whom Albus had kept company over the years. Minerva had no idea, and it bothered her.
She looked at the brown wrapped parcel on her lap, almost not wanting to open it any more. But then she reminded herself of Albus’s expression when he had given it to her before breakfast, and of his pink-cheeked smile when he said good-bye to her when she left . . . and of his kiss. Albus had always been good to her, and when he realised that she had felt neglected by him, he had gone out of his way to remedy it. Minerva remembered his lists, which he had made never dreaming that she might see them. He enjoyed spending time with her. He valued her. He wanted her there at Hogwarts with him. And Minerva remembered the tears in Albus’s eyes when he had confessed, just two days ago, that when he had heard her harsh words, he had been afraid that she hated him. And yet he had put aside his own fear and hurt feelings and worked to make her feel better.
Tears entered her own eyes, then. What did it matter that he had never mentioned the Yaxley woman to her? It had only been a few months – Valerianna had clearly made more of it than Albus had. It shouldn’t matter that Albus hadn’t shared that with her, Minerva thought. And now that they were both at Hogwarts, and she was an adult, not a student in his care, they were becoming closer. Surely, as a friend, he would now begin telling her more about himself. It had never been appropriate or convenient to have those conversations before, they had seen each other so infrequently and so briefly over the last several years.
Minerva pulled the string tied around the package, foregoing magic in order to savour the experience. As she unfolded the brown wrapping paper, a letter fell out. Minerva opened it up, almost smiling with relief to see Albus’s familiar hand writing.
“Monday, 8 July
“My dear Minerva,
“I hope that this day has been an interesting one for you and not too wearing. You are no doubt tired at the end of a long day, however, and I hope that this little gift helps ease you to a good night’s rest. No doubt the Gamp house-elves could provide more sophisticated refreshment, but sometimes something more homely and simple is more comforting.
“I look forward to hearing all about your trip when you return. It will be interesting to learn what surprises Gertrude had in store for you. I do hope that you get to know each other better; like you, my dear, Gertrude does not allow many people the privilege of knowing her. I believe that you would appreciate her if you knew her better. I also know that she thinks highly of you, and has done for quite some years.
“I shall miss you while you are away, my dear, but then I shall have the pleasure of spending time with you on your return, with the excuse that I wish to hear about your time at the Gamps. In truth, I shall always seek an excuse to spend time with you, now that you have reminded me so well of my priorities, and if it weren’t your trip, I would find some other reason to invite you to share a meal with me or just to go for a stroll on the grounds together.
“As I write this, I find that I am missing you already, in anticipation of your imminent departure; thus, I hope you will forgive an old man his ramblings. I must remind myself that I will be seeing you for breakfast in just a few minutes – that was a most unexpected yet welcome invitation, my dear; I had planned to have Wilspy deliver your little gift this morning, and I was very happy to realise that I could hand it to you myself – you are not yet gone from the castle, and I must not allow my anticipation of your departure to cloud my enjoyment of your presence whilst you are still here.
“Do take care, Minerva, and do not forget who you are when you meet anyone who may be less appreciative of you than they should be. And enjoy the company of those wise enough to recognise your worth. I must go now; I do not wish to be late for breakfast with you, my dear.
“Sleep well, sweet dreams,
“Yours,
“Albus.”
Minerva read the letter twice. It was so warm and wonderful. She didn’t think he had ever expressed anything quite this way before. Of course, when she was a student, he had tried to get her to appreciate her value in the lives of others, but he had been her mentor then, and the tone had been different. And there was their conversation the other morning when she had apologised for saying what she had, but this was different: it was wholly unsolicited and apparently completely spontaneous. What touched her most was his expressed desire to spend time with her and his declaration that he was already missing her when anticipating her departure. Minerva’s eyes misted over as she carefully refolded the letter and set it beside her on the bed.
Beneath the plain brown wrapping, Albus had wrapped the package in tartan-patterned paper and sealed it up with temporary sticking charms. Minerva carefully unsealed the package and then opened the box. She smiled as she pulled out a large green mug. Inside the mug, three jars were nestled one atop the other. The first jar held amber-coloured honey, the second, chamomile tea, and the third, peppermint tea. Reaching further into the box, Minerva found a mesh tea ball, a silver spoon, several ginger newts wrapped in kitchen parchment, and another note, this one shorter. It read:
“Tea with honey can be quite a good tonic, I have found. I included some ginger newts, since you seem to like them and your house-elf will not be there to provide you a constant supply! Good-night, my dear Minerva! – Albus.”
Minerva folded the second note and picked up the first one. She carefully placed them both in the bottom of her carpet bag and returned it to the wardrobe. Bringing her mug with her, she went to the little sink in the corner of her room and filled the mug with water. She returned to the bed and set the mug down on the night stand. After the day she had had, Minerva thought chamomile tea would be soothing, so she opened that jar, filled the tea ball, and cast a spell on the water to bring it up to just below the boiling point before she dropped the tea ball into the mug. After waiting a few minutes, during which she turned back the covers and finished getting ready for bed, Minerva removed the tea ball and added just a spoonful of honey.
She unfolded her afghan, wishing it were a colder night, and spread it on top of the other covers. Minerva climbed into bed, deciding not to try to read anything that night; she was just too tired. Sipping her hot tea, Minerva remembered her vow to be grateful for Albus’s friendship. She would not allow her own confused feelings about him ruin their friendship. If it weren’t for her inappropriate feelings, the revelation that Gertrude had made would never have disturbed her to this degree. Minerva finished her tea, yawned, and put out the lights. She fell asleep smiling, remembering Albus’s words, I shall always seek an excuse to spend time with you.