More Relatives
Minerva reread Poppy’s letter and decided that she should write back immediately in order to reassure her friend. It must be that Poppy had known something about That Person and Albus, after all, and, for whatever reason, had not ever mentioned it to her. On the other hand, it could simply be that Poppy had some other reason for mistrusting and disliking the witch, but Minerva could hardly think what would call for such vociferous and vehement warnings. Indeed, the mere fact that Albus had been seeing the witch and had broken it off was probably insufficient to have called forth such a response, no matter how unpleasant the witch was. Minerva was very curious now as to what could have provoked Poppy to warn her so strongly. Really! Never be alone with her? What would she do? Hex her?
Minerva put aside her idea of a nap for the moment and pulled out a piece of parchment.
“Tuesday, 9 July
“The Gamp Estate
“Dear Poppy,
“Please do not concern yourself about that witch. I am fine. She is obnoxious, to be sure, but I can handle her. I will do my best not to let her provoke me, as you recommend, but the woman is provocative. All she has to do is enter the room and her mere presence raises my hackles.
“Gertrude had already warned me about her before I first laid eyes on her. She told me a few things about her and said it was likely that she would be unpleasant. Forewarned is forearmed, they say, and it was fortunate that she gave me the warning, as the witch in question made various vague insinuations and thinly veiled insults from the very moment I met her. I have tried not to stoop to her level, however.
“I am interested to hear exactly what prompted your warnings, Poppy. I do not remember you ever mentioning this witch before. I wonder if it is merely her general reputation that concerns you or something more specific, and if it is something specific, whether it accords with what Gertrude told me of her. And, at that, why you believe it has anything to do with me and to such an extent that you feel you must warn me not even to be alone with her! That is an extreme recommendation, you must admit.
“I have spent more time with Gertrude, as you seemed to suggest I should in you most recent letter. I find myself alternating between warming to the witch and feeling offended and annoyed by her. I have since learned something about her which has intrigued me, however, and I have decided to treat her as I would a problem in Transfiguration and try not to view each of her remarks as though it has a hidden meaning intended for me. Instead, I am going to try to figure her out, just Gertrude Gamp, and take myself out of the picture – if I can – she really can be most irritating, Poppy!
“It is interesting that you also mention Quin in your letter. He and I have spent a good deal of time together, in part out of our mutual distaste for the rest of the company (which makes me wonder why we are here at all!), but also, I think, out of genuine mutual regard. He is odd, as you say, and very different from most wizards of my acquaintance, but amusing and charming, nonetheless, and I have grown somewhat fond of him and feel almost as though we are old friends, despite knowing so little about him and understanding him even less.
“I plan to stay through the party on Wednesday evening. They call it an engagement party, but it’s really more like a ball. I am very glad I went to my parents’ house Sunday and found some appropriate robes. I think they all find me quite outlandish as it is – or they would, except that Quin is even more strange to them than I am! Anyway, Quin and I will be attending the party together – as allies, Poppy! Don’t go getting any ideas in your head! – and it will certainly be interesting. Do you remember Orion and Walburga from school? They’re both Blacks. They are the lovely couple. You can just imagine how utterly thrilled I am to help them celebrate their impending nuptials!
“Don’t worry about me, Poppy. I am sure I will survive. I have been through worse, I am certain! I do look forward to returning home to Hogwarts on Thursday morning, though. I have given only a little thought to your invitation, but it would be nice to see you soon. Are you still planning to visit your grandmother after your visit at Violet’s, or will you be returning to Hogwarts on Sunday?
“Thank you for writing! I am sure we will have a lot to talk about when we see each other.
“Warmly,
“Minerva”
Minerva read it over quickly. Somehow, writing it did make her feel as though everything would be fine and that she was equal to anything this lot could throw at her. She’d post it immediately, glad that the Gamps had their own private owlery. She should still have time for a nap before dinner.
As she walked across the grounds on her way to the owlery, Minerva heard raised voices. One of them was Valerianna’s. Minerva stepped closer, then, curious, stopped to listen.
“ – don’t know why she invited that chit here. She doesn’t belong. It’s not as though she is even a friend of Walburga and Orion’s, after all. She’s just a stuck-up little bint, scarcely better than a Mudblood!”
Minerva could hear a voice trying to soothe her, but couldn’t make out the words.
“Don’t you give me that! She must know. He must have told her. Or someone did. She understood too much. She must have finagled that invitation, that’s the only explanation. She wriggled her way into Gertie’s good graces somehow and came here just to show me up. Well, she won’t. She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with, the little no-account bitch. We’ll give her a tale to bring back to her master – you will co-operate, Francis, won’t you?” she wheedled. “I know how much you want to please me, darling, and this will please me. I know you wanted to wait, but we can’t. Not now.”
Another almost inaudible response from Flint seemed to please the witch.
“Oh, you are such a darling, Francis! I knew you’d come around. Thank you! I’m sure you’ll be happier now, too.” Valerianna’s voice faded as the couple apparently began to walk away.
Hmmpf. So Valerianna thought she’d come there just to do something to her? That witch had a serious problem if she believed that Minerva would do anything on her account. Egomania, Minerva thought it was called. Minerva wondered what it was that Francis had agreed to do for her. She hoped it wasn’t anything nasty, although considering the two of them, it very likely was. And then that bit about her “master”? Minerva was sure that the woman had been speaking of her, so the only person to whom she could be referring would be Albus. She certainly had a peculiar notion of their relationship. “Master,” indeed! And since Albus had never mentioned Valerianna, it seemed doubtful that he had any interest at all in the doings of the witch, especially not three years later. No, Albus had probably dismissed her from his mind just as he had dismissed her from his life. He certainly wouldn’t care what news Minerva brought back about her.
Minerva posted her letter. Walking back through the gardens, she found Quin, Ella, and Gertrude, who were watching Aine and Alroy play some incomprehensible game. Minerva greeted them warmly, thankful she hadn’t run into Valeriana and her barnacle. She also wanted to talk to Gertrude and mention Poppy’s letter to her. Gertrude would surely know whether Poppy was warning her for the same reasons that Gertrude had. Unfortunately, with Ella and Quin both there, Minerva couldn’t think of a discreet way to broach the subject. She would have to get Gertrude alone later, she decided. Minerva took a seat on the bench next to Quin; Gertrude and Ella sat in the garden chairs next to each other on Minerva’s other side.
Minerva couldn’t figure out what it was the children were doing, but they seemed to be having fun.
“How many other children are here this week, Gertrude?” Minerva asked.
“A few. Bella, of course, whom you met, is six. Barty Crouch should be arriving this evening with his parents; you must remember him from school – a second-year Ravenclaw. The others are toddlers – Bella’s two younger sisters and the little Malfoy boy, who arrived with his mother this afternoon.”
“Where are they? You’d think they would all be out enjoying the lovely afternoon.”
“I am sure I don’t know, although the three toddlers may be down for a nap. Bella, it seems, finds the company of Aine and Alroy quite dull,” Gertrude answered.
Minerva barked a laugh at that. “She’s what? Six? I would think at that age, she’d be thrilled to hang about with older children. Or won’t they have her?”
“She has picked up the Black family nose, I am afraid, and has decided that the MacAirt name has rendered me offspring little more than jumped-up half-bloods, she has,” Quin said.
“Not that I particularly care, Quin, but it seems that you are not Muggle-born, and your wife surely wasn’t, so I don’t see where that would come from,” Minerva said.
“Ah, the MacAirts have never been particular about blood; families such as the Blacks assume there’s so much ‘impurity’ floating about me family tree, I might as well be half-blood meself.” Quin grinned. “O’ course, the MacAirts live long, productive lives, unlike the Blacks – every time I see’em, they look more sickly. The Malfoys ain’t much better. Look at Abraxas – younger than me an’ cold in the ground already.”
“Well, it was dragonpox, dear,” Ella admonished gently. “That could strike any of us.”
“Me granddad had dragonpox when he was eighty, and he pulled through just fine,” Quin said, stretching his long legs out in front of him and lacing his fingers behind his neck. “They inbreed. Just keep weakenin’ the line . . . o’ course, it means the inheritance gets passed on quicker.” He grinned.
“Hush, Quin! Talk like that is as bad as theirs,” Gertie chided.
“Hmm. But I do think it amusin’ that, for all their talk, they end up more like Muggles than the rest of us,” Quin responded. Seeing Gertie’s reproving look, he changed the subject. “Speakin’ o’ family, Gertrude, when is Robert arriving? Or did he decide not to come this year?”
“He should be arriving this afternoon. He told me he’d be here for dinner.”
“Robert?” asked Minerva.
“My son,” answered Gertrude.
Minerva just blinked. She hadn’t yet completely comprehended that Gertrude had once been married. The thought that she may have had children had never entered Minerva’s head. Gertrude was certainly one of the least maternal witches she knew.
“He is only coming for a day or so,” Gertrude continued. “Thea, his wife, is pregnant and can’t travel. She’s miscarried four times in the past, and he doesn’t want to leave her for long, understandably.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Um, I don’t wish to be forward, but my mother, as you may know, is a midwife. She claims to be retired, but she still sees patients. I don’t know if your son and his wife would like another opinion, but I know she’s dealt with similar cases . . . .”
Gertie looked at Minerva and smiled. “Thank you, Minerva. I shall mention that to Robert. I am not certain whether your mother would want to travel so far, though. They live in Amsterdam.”
Minerva grinned. “I’m sure that would be an added attraction. She might even drag my father with her.”
Gertie winked at her. “And he’d be wise to go, too – no knowing what a witch can get up to in Amsterdam, after all!”
Minerva laughed at the thought of her mother carousing in Amsterdam. “I think she would be happy to take a look at your son’s wife, though, Gertrude. She has decades of experience with such things, and she also keeps up with all the latest developments. I am sure that your daughter-in-law has seen the best healers in Amsterdam, but as I said, if she’d like, I am sure my mother would be happy to look in on her, make some recommendations.”
Gertrude reached out and patted Minerva’s hand, and Minerva could have sworn she saw a tear in her eye. “Thank you. It has been a terrible grief to them both. And to me,” she added softly. She took a deep breath and turned back to Ella. “Have you heard from Granville lately?”
“No, no. Last I heard from him, he was leaving India for Nepal. That was a month ago. If you see a vulture winging its way across the grounds, it’s likely from him!” She chuckled. Ella turned to Minerva. “Granville is my somewhat unconventional brother. He finds the strictures of the Western wizarding world too confining, so he spends most of his time travelling, rarely staying any one place more than a few months at a time.”
“We all thought Granville had finally settled down when he spent more than a year in Hawaii a few years back, but then he apparently discovered that Hawaiian witches think that courtship should lead to marriage, just as their British counterparts do, and so he, um, moved on,” Quin said with a chuckle as he put an arm around Minerva’s shoulders.
Minerva smiled. “And what of your own family, Quin? Do you have brothers? You mentioned a sister.”
“I have four lovely sisters, I do. Three older, one younger.”
“Ah! That explains it!” Minerva grinned.
“What is that?” he asked.
Gertie quirked a half smile. “I think that Minerva may be speaking of your general manner around ladies, Quin.”
“Hmmph! I’ll have to tell me sisters, then, that they’re the reason I turned out to be the rogue I am!” He winked. “An’ then I’ll be thankin’em for it!”
Minerva elbowed Quin lightly in the ribs, but laughed along with the other women. As they were kidding Quin about his habit of charming the ladies, Gertrude suddenly sprang from her seat.
“Robbie!”
Minerva looked over to see a tall, young, traditionally-dressed wizard with reddish-brown hair striding toward them, his forest-green robes flapping about his long legs. She assumed it was Gertrude’s son. He had the witch’s widely-spaced grey eyes, high cheekbones, and sturdy build. Quin stood and smiled at the approaching wizard.
Robert Crouch, as Minerva supposed he must be, bent his head to kiss his mother lightly on the cheek as she grasped his arms in a half-embrace. He smiled slightly at her. “Hello, Mother. Krantzy told me I would find you here,” he said softly.
“I’m glad you could come, Robbie. How is Thea?”
“She’s well. Resting, which she hates, of course, but she’s well.” Minerva thought she could detect a slight, indefinable accent to his speech.
“I’d like you to meet one of my colleagues,” Gertrude said, turning toward Minerva. “This is Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher. Minerva, I would like you to meet my son, Robert.”
Minerva held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
Robert smiled and took her hand. “It is good to finally meet you, Minerva. I have heard so much about you for so many years, I feel as though I know you. You must forgive me if I am too familiar,” he said quietly but warmly, his grey eyes smiling down at her.
Minerva returned his smile, unsure what to say to that. He had heard about her for years? How very . . . curious.
“Ah, but she’s been used to me company now, Robbie. You’ll be a proper gentleman in comparison!” Quin said, shaking the younger wizard’s hand and clapping his shoulder. “You do look well, but a mite pale. We’ll have to get you out for a clamber later!”
Robert smiled and nodded, greeted Ella, who was smiling genially from her chair, then he turned back to his mother. “Is Uncle Albus here yet?”
“He’s not coming this year, Robbie,” his mother replied softly.
Uncle Albus? Minerva looked at Gertrude and her son. He couldn’t mean that literally. Could he? No, Gertrude’s husband had been a Crouch. A great-uncle, perhaps? But that seemed unlikely.
Robert frowned slightly. “Oh. That is a disappointment. It has been so long – he was not here last year, either.”
“He is busy with the school, you know that. Come, now, take a walk with your old mother!” Gertie took her son’s arm, and the two excused themselves and set off down the path toward the hedge maze.
Quin sat down again, this time in the chair vacated by Gertrude. Ella excused herself, saying she thought she’d take a nap before dressing for dinner.
Minerva glanced at Quin, who was stretched out, eyes closed. The children had run off to another part of the garden some time before. “Quin?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you know Robert well?”
“Fairly. Not as well as I know Gertrude. He doesn’t get to England often. I visit him when I’m anywhere near Amsterdam. He only lived here for a couple of years after his father died. When he came of age, he joined the fight against Grindelwald, much to his mother’s distress, and he met Thea and her family at that time. They married as soon as Grindelwald was defeated, and he settled in Amsterdam with his wife.”
“Why was Gertie distressed when he joined up to fight against Grindelwald?” asked Minerva suspiciously.
Quin opened one eye and looked at her before closing it again. “Do you really need to ask, Minerva? You may not be a mother, but . . . .”
“Oh. Of course.” Minerva was still uneasy. “But surely she would want her son to do what he could to bring down the wizard who killed his father?”
“Who killed his father, and then, a few years later, killed her brother,” Quin answered. “He is her only child, Minerva. And she already almost lost him once to that madman, she did.”
“You always say things that just raise more questions than I started with, Quin! What do you mean ‘she already almost lost him once’?”
“Robert was almost sixteen when his father was killed. He and a few of his friends thought it might be a good idea to exact revenge,” Quin responded, shaking his head at their foolishness. “They took off from home, scarin’ their parents half to death, but they actually managed to track down one of Grindelwald’s top men and were in the process of trying to discover their headquarters – as if a bunch of teenagers could have detected it, let alone penetrated its wards! – when they were very nearly caught. Albus swooped in just as they were comin’ under attack – what they had thought was a very clever ambush had actually been a trap for them. Albus was able to rescue all four o’ the muttonheads. O’ course, he couldn’t rescue them from the ire of their parents, but it was a daft, dangerous thing to be after doin’. They all would surely have been captured or killed. Even at that time, Grindelwald was not known for his hospitality toward his enemies, and it is doubtful that he would have cared that they were all fifteen and sixteen years old.”
“Oh. I see now. When was this?”
“Umm, ’35, I think, or ’36. It was a couple o’ years before Gertrude started teachin’ at Hogwarts. I didn’t meet Aileen yet, so I didn’t know them. They were livin’ in Germany since before Robert was born. Gertrude moved back here and kept Robert on a short leash until he returned for his last year of school.”
“He didn’t go to Hogwarts, then.”
“He didn’t; he went t’ Durmstrang. She had him safely home during the holidays where she could keep an eye on him.”
“Is that why Robert calls him ‘Uncle Albus’?” Minerva asked.
“Rather doubt it. O’ course, it may be why he continues to, even as an adult.”
“I was confused for a moment – it crossed my mind that he might really be Robert’s uncle.”
“As far as I know, Dumbledore is not closely related to either the Crouches or the Gamps, although it’s possible, I suppose. I think Dumbledore’s mother was a Muggle-born, though – leastwise, that’s what I remember – so if he is related to them, it’d have to be through his father, and I’ve never heard the Crouches braggin’ that they’re related to the Dumbledores, sure an’ they would be if ’twere true.”
Minerva sat and digested this. She hadn’t heard anything about Albus’s parents. But of course, there were likely few alive now who had known them, and those few were likely quite old themselves, now. But Minerva didn’t care about Albus’s parents. She did wonder about Albus and his relationship with Gertrude and her son. But if Robert lived in Amsterdam, it was likely they rarely saw one another. Minerva felt that any further speculation on her part would appear to Quin to be both rude and peculiar, so she changed the subject.
“Speaking of relations, Quin, I was wondering if you are related to Hafrena MacAirt, the Divination teacher at Hogwarts.”
“Mmm.” Quin had closed his eyes again. “She’s me cousin. Me father’s first cousin, t’be precise.”
“Huh. So she’s related to Carson?”
“Mmmhm.”
“Am I keeping you up, Quin?” Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you did keep me up last night, lass, an’ then Gertrude sent one godawful ugly son-of-a-house-elf to wake me at the crack o’dawn – as you may remember – an’ then I was busy with the kiddies in the mornin’, followed by the pleasure of lunchin’ with all those charmin’ folk this noon. Is it a wonder a man’d like a bit o’shut-eye?” Quin sat up and grinned at her. “Why don’t we walk? We can find the kids, or not, and it’ll keep me awake and concentratin’ on your lovely self an’ not the back o’ me eyelids!”
Minerva laughed and took his arm.
“You were askin’ after me cousin, Hafrena – ain’t she lumbered with a name, though? – I don’t know her well.”
“Neither do I. I dropped Divination after my fifth year. Load of rubbish.”
Quin smirked at her. “Rubbish?”
“I’d always wondered why Carson continued with it. Must be because his cousin was teaching it and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Quin laughed out loud. “It never occurred to you that he might like it – or have a talent for it?”
“Well, I suppose he might have. He’d always just laugh when I expressed my opinion on the subject.”
“Very tolerant boy, was Carson. Divination skills run in the MacAirt family, Minerva. Don’t look at me that way! That’s worse than when you thought I was lettin’ me boy burn his self out! O’ course, the witches are the ones with the real Gift. But most o’ the rest of us are a fair shake at it. Carson probably had a bit o’ talent for it.”
Minerva chuckled. “Well, I think it’s a bunch of imprecise poppycock, and if you make enough predictions and word them mysteriously enough, there’s bound to be a few that could be interpreted to have come true.”
“Divination isn’t only about predictin’ the future, Minerva. You should know that. That’s just the part of it that people want most to exploit. It’s also about knowin’ the present. Knowin’ the people around you. In business, I use it to help me decide whether a person or an enterprise is worth my trust and investment, not necessarily to predict how an investment will turn out.”
“Hmmph. Still all seems vague and shadowy to me. You’re better off just getting to know the people and doing some research.”
Quin shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. But it works for me, most times. Not that I’m particularly gifted. Me gran, on the other hand, she was remarkable. Course, she was mostly interested in folks makin’ good matches, not in business partnerships, but she could look at you – wouldn’t even need to do anythin’ – and she could tell you about the match that would make you happy. An’ what ones would bring you to ruination. She tried warnin’ some couples away from ill-advised marriages. They didn’t listen, and you can imagine the results.” Quin shook his head dramatically.
“What? A lifetime of happiness and a houseful of children?” asked Minerva with a smirk.
“Unhappiness, death, ill-fortune, all kinds of sadness. Gran never said ‘I told you so,’ though.”
Minerva looked at him skeptically. “Yes, well, I can look at Walburga and Orion and say that they are fated for disaster, and their children are, as well. I don’t think there’s an ounce of Divination involved. Just common sense.”
Quin grinned. “Well, not all folks have got common sense.”
Minerva stifled a yawn.
“Now who’s keepin’ who up?” Quin asked.
“Oh, I had thought to have a nap this afternoon, but I will settle for a splash of cold water before I dress for dinner,” Minerva answered. “I suppose we should head up to the house to change now.”
“You go on ahead. I’m goin’ to find me kids and make sure they are scrubbed up proper.”
Minerva headed back to the house, wishing she had had an opportunity to ask Gertrude about the contents of Poppy’s letter. She’d try to catch her alone after dinner for a few minutes. Minerva didn’t want to monopolise her hostess’s time; after all, Gertrude rarely saw her son, but he probably wanted to socialise with some of the other guests, anyway. She was sure she could catch her for a few minutes and find out more about what was going on that would warrant such an almost hysterical reaction on Poppy’s part.