Resolving a Misunderstanding

Later that night, Minerva relaxed in her bedroom with a cup of chamomile tea and reread Albus’s letter to lift her spirits. She hadn’t even been able to see Gertrude after dinner, let alone speak with her, there were so many guests, and so she had spent the evening with Quin.

The dining room itself had been expanded that evening to accommodate all of the guests – quite a trick, she thought, but probably the work of the house-elves – and there had to have been fifty people seated at the u-shaped table. She had again been seated beside Quin at dinner, for which she was grateful, since Flint was seated on her left and Valerianna was across from him. Fortunately, the Crouches, Alfred and Dora, were seated across from her and Quin. Their son, Barty, was also at dinner and made polite conversation with Alroy about Hogwarts and what he could expect when he arrived. Minerva had developed a good opinion of Barty Crouch during the last term, so she was pleased to see that his parents weren’t typical of the rest of the guests, although they were somewhat reserved, which was fine with her. Better that than the false friendliness Valerianna was exuding. Caspar and Charis Crouch, Alfred’s brother and sister-in-law, were on the other side of Valerianna and Francis.

Flint, to his credit, did seem to try to be pleasant, but Minerva had the feeling that he had received a kick in the shins at one point. They had only been discussing mutual acquaintances they knew at the Ministry, and Francis had begun telling her about some changes that had been made in the departments since she’d left, when he suddenly winced and looked up at Valerianna, who appeared to be trying to charm Alfred Crouch. Francis took a quick swallow of wine, and Minerva turned her attention to Quin, who was chatting with Dora about some Muggle musical they had both seen. She might not like the milquetoast, and Francis certainly had a problem with Quin, but Minerva didn’t want to cause him any problems with Valerianna. There were probably better ways to annoy the witch, anyway.

Minerva found it difficult to avoid looking at Valerianna without appearing to be avoiding looking at her. Dinner was extremely awkward, particularly after Valerianna began discussing the merits of recent marriages and stressing how wonderful it was that Walburga and Orion were marrying. She went on and on, never actually using the words “Muggle,” “Muggle-born,” or “half-blood,” but she was a master at conveying precisely what she meant without actually saying it. At one point, Quin placed his hand on Minerva’s thigh, almost physically restraining her. Valerianna had begun to discourse on how some witches and wizards were simply unmarriageable but didn’t have a clue about the reason no one would want them. Minerva had been just about to jump into the conversation with a remark or two of her own about who was and who wasn’t marriageable when Quin’s left hand landed on her leg. Minerva glowered at him, in a thoroughly foul mood after having had to listen to the witch’s strident voice waxing on about marriage, suitability, and “the right people.” Quin just gripped her leg and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head slightly. Minerva was about to say something anyway, but then she remembered Poppy’s words of caution and took a bite of her dinner, instead. Quin gave her a quick pat before returning his hand to his own lap.

After dinner, Minerva had taken Quin’s offered arm and allowed him to lead her to the conservatory and out onto the veranda. He led her over to one corner of the veranda, and they leaned against the masonry railing and looked out at a spectacular sunset.

“I would like to apologise, Minerva, for bein’ so forward,” he said, after looking about to see if there was anyone nearby.

“Hmm? For what? Oh . . . that,” she said, remembering his hand resting on her thigh. “That’s all right; I was about to open my mouth and likely make a scene. Just as well I didn’t. I think she gave me indigestion, though.”

“I don’t know if anything you said could have topped Dora’s remark, though,” he said, grinning.

“Oh, yes, that was funny!” Minerva said, remembering the look on Valerianna’s face when Dora, in response to one of Valerianna’s rhetorical questions, said, quite matter-of-factly, yes, it was very important to make a good match, which was why she was so pleased that her sister had recently married the most adorable Muggle-born wizard in England, especially since he was also very talented and quite wealthy, too – of course, Dora had emphasised, it was Muggle money, but still quite useful to have when keeping up a manor house, which was, unfortunately, also Muggle, but as it had been in his family for generations, it seemed in poor taste to ask him to give it up just because it had electricity and a telephone! Valerianna had recovered quite nicely, but had clearly been embarrassed by her extended faux pas.

Minerva shivered. As the sun went in, it was growing chillier.

“Cold, Minerva?”

“Just a bit. But I don’t want to go in. I don’t think I feel up to being civilised just yet,” she answered.

Quin drew his wand from its ornately embroidered sheath and cast a warming spell on the area around them. “Better?”

“My! The ‘hedge wizard’ used a wand,” she teased. “Yes, thanks. Very nice spell.”

“Handy, anyway. And I usually do use my wand. It’s only every-day spells that I cast wandlessly – simple ones that I use all of the time – or, of course, magic that is naturally wandless.”

“What do you mean by ‘naturally wandless’?” Minerva asked.

“Oh, that sort of summoning spell I used in the library. It’s not an Accio. Don’t know what it is, precisely. One o’ me talents. Dead useful, too. Just wish I could shift larger objects, though – would have saved you having to Transfigure me favourite summer jacket into a redundant dinner jacket.”

“You just have to use Finite Incantatum, Quin,” Minerva said, rolling her eyes. “It may have reverted on its own by now, anyway.”

“Hmmph. Hadn’t done when I went to change for dinner. I had a hard time figurin’ out which one was me real dinner jacket,” he said with a grin. “Let’s walk a bit – it’s gettin’ crowded out here.”

Indeed, it was. Even the garden below them had a few people sitting beside small tables, drinking. Small lamps had begun to illuminate the veranda and the area below.

As they walked down the stairs, their little bubble of warm air accompanying them, they greeted people as they passed, and Minerva asked, “How many people are here tonight?”

“Not countin’ the kids, I think there are about fifty-five, fifty-six. There will be more tomorrow evening. At least a hundred, I’d reckon, possibly more. You haven’t seen the ballroom yet, but it’s quite grand, and there are smaller supper rooms off the balconies above it where guests who are peckish can eat whenever they feel the urge. There’ll be a dinner beforehand, of course. I don’t know if they will have it in the dining room – I can’t see how they can expand it any more than they did tonight without doin’ away with the staircase – they may have it in the ballroom and just banish the tables when the time comes.”

“Robert said something this afternoon that made me wonder if they do this every year.”

“Not on this scale, no. It’s generally just the closer family and a few friends. If they do have a party, it’s usually a one-night affair, not this on-going kind o’ thing. But they felt that since Hesper’s grandson was gettin’ married, they would make it a grander occasion.”

“You said family and friends . . . but what Robert said made me think that he’d been expecting the Headmaster to be here.”

“He would expect it, as Dumbledore usually does come. Last year he was very busy – he’d only become Headmaster six or seven months before. I imagine that it’s the same this year, especially since Gertrude’s his Deputy. Can’t leave the castle unguarded, after all!” he said with a smile. “O’ course, this year, the company is a bit less congenial than usual – your own self excepted, to be sure” – Quin sketched a bow – “and I’m sure that, in his position, he must get his fill of havin’ to associate with people not of his own choosin’, as it is, without havin’ to be surrounded by dozens of ’em while he’s on holiday.”

“Of course.” So Albus felt comfortable enough to spend several days every year at Gertrude’s family’s home. He hadn’t mentioned it. But then, what would he say? It would seem odd to just come out and announce it . . . but when she received her invitation, he could have said that he usually visited every summer, but wasn’t going this year. But maybe it wasn’t an annual thing – “usually” could mean different things to different people. But, but, but – she would drive herself mad. This was another example of what she was supposed to be avoiding. She and Albus were friends, and becoming better friends. It was still none of her business what he did with Gertrude or how he spent his free time. . . .

“You’ve gone all quiet on me, Minerva,” Quin said as they reached the rose garden. “Not that I’m complainin’, but y’aren’t angry with me about . . . anythin’, are you?”

“Hmm?” Minerva looked up at him. “No, no. Just tired. You know Albus well, yourself, then. I didn’t realise that from what you’d said.”

“Not really, not well. We’re not always here at the same time, for one. And I spend a lot o’ time with me kids, usually, and he spends time with . . . well, not with the kids! Sure he must get his fill o’ kids, too, workin’ at a school.”

“I think Albus genuinely likes children, Quin. And he’s a bit like you – he’s still something of a kid himself. In fact,” said Minerva, stopping and looking up at Quin, “you remind me of him.”

“Me? Remind you of the great Albus Dumbledore?” Quin laughed.

“Well, not exactly. It’s more that you make me think of what he might have been like had he been born in a different time and place and with different cares and responsibilities, that’s all I meant.”

“The poor wizard!” Quin chuckled. “But o’ course, it could be an indictment o’ me and the life I’m leadin’ – not savin’ the wizarding world from Dark Wizards or tryin’ to drag’em out o’ the Middle Ages, or at least out o’ the Victorian Age, kickin’ an’ screamin’ the whole way.”

“I don’t know, Quin, you seem to be trying to drag the wizarding world into a different business relationship with the Muggle world. That’s pretty heroic!” Minerva laughed. “But I didn’t mean to compare you that way – just temperamentally, that’s all. Neither of you suffer fools, although Albus is more gentle with them than you seem to be, and both of you like to see the lighter side of things.”

“You mean we both like to tease you, Minerva,” Quin said with a grin.

Minerva just laughed and shook her head. “It is a pity that he’s not here, though. It would have been fun to see the two of you together. And it would have given me another ally at the dinner table.” Then Minerva remembered the witch they would be allied against, and she sobered.

“I’m sure he would be amusin’ to have around this week, but . . . well, I don’t know . . . you haven’t said anything about it, Minerva, and I don’t want to be speakin’ out o’ turn, and if you don’t know, I shouldn’t say anythin’ at all . . . but you see, he and Valerianna, well, Valerianna and Dumbledore don’t get along, you might say.” Quin guided Minerva to a stone bench set amidst the roses.

“Mm. Gertrude mentioned something about it to me before I met her,” Minerva responded.

“Oh, good. I hoped she might have.”

“What do you know about why they don’t get along, Quin?” Minerva asked.

“Not much, really. Just that Dumbledore had been friends with her late husband during the war, and that a few years ago he was seen squiring her about, escortin’ her to all the big wizarding affairs, and then – poof! – the two weren’t seen together anymore, and if they were both at the same function, they avoided one another. Valerianna began makin’ general cutting remarks about him at around the same time, but Dumbledore is fairly well-liked by most people, and she found that her remarks were usually not well-received. It was all over and done with before I even knew there was anythin’ goin’ on. I’d seen’em together, o’ course, but hadn’t given it a thought, meself. I didn’t think it could be anythin’ serious – Dumbledore’s too shrewd to be taken in by the likes o’ her, or so I thought.”

Minerva was glad to hear that Quin hadn’t thought it had been anything serious. Not that it should matter to her whether Albus were to be in a serious relationship, but not with Valerianna. No, someone like . . . Ella, perhaps. She was very nice. Pleasant.

“Well, I hadn’t heard of it before, but I don’t move in the same circles as Valerianna does, either.”

“So you hadn’t heard o’ her before Gertrude mentioned her to you?”

“Not one word,” Minerva admitted. “But if this was about three years ago, and it was over and done as quickly as you say it was, that’s hardly a surprise.”

“Perhaps not a surprise, but knowing you’re a teacher at Hogwarts – the Transfiguration mistress, in fact – would make you a target for Valerianna’s more vicious comments, I’m sure.”

“Hmm. And no doubt she’s heard of me from some source – either Albus or Gertie. You remember that kitten remark she made?”

“Before dinner yesterday? O’ course –”

“Well, think back to the Challenge at Beauxbatons – I know it was a while ago, but do you remember one little trick I did?”

“I’m supposed to remember one trick out of all of them?”

Minerva laughed. “Let me refresh your memory, then.” There was a slight pop and then a Tabby cat sat beside Quin.

“That’s right! I am surprised I didn’t make the connection immediately.” Quin laughed. “It really must have stuck in her mind – I’d actually seen you do this before and hadn’t thought of it.” He looked at Minerva admiringly. “Um, may I pet you? That is, if it isn’t rude to even ask!”

Minerva just yawned and settled down, her eyes glowing in the moonlight as she gazed up at him.

“I take it that’s a ‘yes.’” Quin reached down and gently stroked her fur. “You really are a cat! I’m sorry, that must sound daft. I’ve just never met an Animagus before.”

Minerva jumped down from the bench, stretched, then transformed into her ordinary form.

Quin laughed. “That’s bloody marvellous! You must show Alroy! Well, you don’t have to, o’ course, but he would love it! He is somethin’ else when it comes to animals – plants, too, for that matter – and he’d love that trick. Can you teach him to do it?”

“Hold up, there, Quin!” Minerva smiled and placed her hand on the enthusiastic wizard’s shoulder. “I would be happy to demonstrate it to Alroy – but he should be discreet about it. I don’t generally show off at the drop of a hat for people, including my students; they’re more impressed when they don’t see it often. And I would also be happy to keep an eye on him while he’s at Hogwarts and see if he shows any signs that he might be able to achieve an Animagus form, but there’s a very good reason you’ve never met an Animagus before. It’s not only a lot of hard work to become one, but it also requires some measure of innate talent. If Alroy seems to have an interest in it, and it looks as though he might be both adept and dedicated, then I might consider teaching him once his magic is matured – and for good reasons that have nothing to do with burning out his magic, Quin. He really shouldn’t start before he’s at least fourteen or fifteen, preferably a bit later. He should also reach a level of physical maturity, as well. So don’t mention it to him and put any ideas in his head – and if he asks, just tell him what I told you.”

Quin stood and draped an arm around Minerva’s shoulders. “You are a wonder, Minerva.” He grinned at her. “Thanks for lookin’ out for me boy – and you will look out for him, won’t you? Even if he’s not in your House?”

Minerva put her arm around his waist and they began walking back up toward the house. “Of course I will, Quin. And I’ll let him know he can come see me if he wants to. I can’t and don’t play favourites, of course, but there’s no reason why I can’t look after him a bit. And I’d advise any students who came to me with a problem, regardless of their House.”

“Even if he’s in Slytherin?”

Minerva chuckled. “He’d probably feel more comfortable going to Gertrude in that case, but yes, even if he’s in Slytherin. But if he’s good with plants and animals, he may end up in Hufflepuff, since that House seems to attract that sort. Of course, the current Head of Ravenclaw is the Herbology teacher, and I used to believe that only Hufflepuffs were any good at Divination – then it turns out that your cousin was in Slytherin and Carson was in Ravenclaw. So he could end up anywhere. I just hope he’s happy.”

“Were you?”

“What?”

“Were you happy at school?”

“Yes, I suppose I was. I don’t know that my experience was typical, though . . . and there were some very atypical events whilst I was a student. Unhappy events. But I think Alroy could be happy at school. If he gives it a year and hates it . . . well, if he were utterly miserable, you wouldn’t have to make him go back. You could have him taught the way you were.”

They walked toward the veranda.

Quin shook his head. “I haven’t the time to do it proper, and there are fewer witches and wizards who’ll take a child to train these days, even in me own family. And to get him properly matched with the right ones . . . even if it hadn’t been Aileen’s express wish, I may have sent him to a school, anyway.”

The two entered through the small entrance at the foot of the veranda stairs, and Quin led her up through the house to the first floor and her bedroom.

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” Minerva blushed, realising how that must have sounded. “I mean to talk. Or we could go to the library.”

Quin smiled down at her. “I would love to come in and talk for a bit. We will need to make sure that no one catches me coming out at some odd hour, however – as Gertie has reminded me more than once, it’s not just me own reputation I need to be worrying about!”

“We’ll just have to make sure you leave at some even hour then; get in here now, before someone comes along,” Minerva said, tugging on his arm.

“I love it when witches pull me into their bedrooms,” he answered, smiling as he shut the door behind them and lit a few of the candles. “Do be gentle with me, please!” He held up his hands in mock surrender.

Minerva rolled her eyes. “Really, Quin! I’d thought we could continue our conversation, but if you’re going to behave like that . . .” She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the small settee with a groan. “It has been a long day.”

“It certainly has,” Quin agreed, taking a seat in the armchair next to her. “I hope that Gertrude doesn’t wake me that early tomorrow morning.”

“It sounds as though she sent the same house-elf to wake you as she did me. It was not a gentle awakening, especially opening your eyes and seeing that face.” Minerva faked a shudder.

“I know, and that voice! It sounded as though he’d swallowed a box o’ drawin’ pins, or somethin’.”

Minerva laughed. “I suppose it served us right for trying to make Gertie think you were seducing me.”

“She should have known better, though. I’m not that much of a scoundrel. I would have waited at least a day!” He grinned at her.

“I do hope you haven’t decided to start now. I am much too tired to properly appreciate any seduction.”

“No, I’d want to do it in the proper settin’.”

“A bedroom isn’t the proper setting for a seduction?” Minerva asked, curious.

“Oh, not at all. Not for the first one. No . . . and for you, it would have to be special. Perhaps a natural setting – something wild, though, not a garden. Someplace wild and romantic.” He smiled at her sleepily and reached out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

“I am definitely too tired to be seduced tonight, then. The thought of anything wild and romantic just sounds too exhausting.” Minerva laughed, then she looked into Quin’s bright blue eyes and wished for a moment that it was a different pair of blue eyes she was seeing, and a different wizard who was speaking to her of seduction. The thought sobered her, and she looked away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, Quin, nothing.” She turned back and looked at him. “Just tired, that’s all. Say, I’ve done my trick for you, you do one for me now!”

“Well, I did feed the owl earlier –”

“Yes, I suppose that was impressive, but it’s still your turn. I fixed your jacket for you yesterday, and then this evening I showed you my Animagus form. Do some of that natural wandless magic you were telling me about earlier.”

He smiled slightly. “All right, then. How about a little divination? I won’t do anythin’ elaborate, just somethin’ simple.”

Minerva laughed. “Don’t think you’ll convince me of anything, but that sounds fine. What do you need?” she asked, thinking of tea leaves and crystal balls.

“Nothin’, not for this. Just you.”

Minerva shrugged. “All right, then.”

“It would be better if I sat next to you on the couch.” He moved over to sit beside her and gazed into her eyes.

“Wait!” Minerva interrupted. “What kind of divination is this? What are you trying to do? Tell my future?”

“Perhaps. With this . . . I’m never sure what I will get. And I may not be successful. We may have to try again tomorrow with a few tools – a bowl of water might do.”

“Very odd sort of divination,” Minerva replied with a shrug. “But go ahead.”

“I’ve already started, or I would have, if you hadn’t interrupted me.”

“Sorry,” Minerva said.

“Mmm.” Quin looked into her eyes again.

“Wait!” Minerva interrupted again. “How do I know you’re not just doing Legilimency?”

“Well, other than the fact that you probably would be able to tell if I was tryin’ Legilimency on you, you don’t know it. Here, we’ll do it this way, then. You look away from me – you can even close your eyes – and I will take your hands.”

“Are you sure you are doing divination and not trying to seduce me?” Minerva asked with a smirk as she held out her hands to him.

“Believe me, if ’twere seducin’ you I was about, you wouldn’t keep interruptin’ me!” Quin said in mock irritation.

Properly chastised, Minerva closed her eyes and waited. She felt Quin’s hands warmly surrounding her own and the deep pulse of his magic. A ripple passed over her, then another. Minerva relaxed as Quin’s magic washed over her, and she let out a sigh.

“Just listen a moment, Minerva. Just listen,” Quin said quietly. “You are impatient by nature, yet you have spent so many years suppressing your impatience, trying to control it, that it now controls you more. That control can keep you from acting when you should act, and you mistake your instinct to act with your impatience, and so you rein yourself in when you should not.” Quin’s voice was soft and clear as he spoke, but Minerva heard nothing that she believed remarkable. Still, she bit back her comment to that effect and allowed him to continue.

“You have a source of great sadness and pain in your life, and yet . . . it is also the source of your greatest happiness. It could bring you even greater joy, but you restrain yourself from acting. There is someone . . . you have given your heart. Someone holds your heart. You pretend that he does not. He is the source of your sorrow and your joy. But you deny it. No . . . not now, you denied it in the past, but you still do not allow it into your life. You have committed yourself to him . . . but you do not act on that commitment. He holds your heart and you have given it to him . . . and it is replaced with a longing. You must reclaim your heart and give it to him openly, with no denial, or there will be only sadness and longing, and your joy will die. Do not let your joy die, Minerva. You love him. Let him know that he holds your heart. Let him love you.”

As Quin was speaking, Minerva had opened her eyes and turned toward him. She became increasingly disturbed. Carson had used similar words so many years ago. Who had been talking to Quin? How could he know anything? Was he playing with her? But Quin’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed, his voice calm, his hands warm, and his magic still flowed around her.

“And now I have disturbed you, I see.” Quin let go of her hands and opened his eyes, his magic draining back into him. “I am sorry, Minerva. I didn’t know it would be anything so personal. ’Tisn’t, usually . . . I normally see a few general character traits and then images of events and people that have shaped someone. This was unusual . . . but I think it came forth so strongly because ’tis important to you and has been preyin’ on your mind recently.”

“It’s hogwash,” Minerva said in a slightly shaky voice. “Just guesses and generalities.”

Quin looked at her a moment. “All right, Minerva. But if not, then I do listen well; I’m not just all blarney and flattery, you know. And I do not like to see such a fierce sadness in you.”

“I am not sad, not at all!” Minerva said sharply, turning from him.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Quin replied softly, taking her hand. “But if ever you are . . . I’d like to think we are friends. I am sorry if I have trod too close, but ’twas so strong – ’tis dominatin’ your life, Minerva, this sadness that you do not have, this emptiness that you do not feel, this longing that is not there.”

Minerva just closed her eyes and shook her head.

Quin sighed and squeezed her hand. “’Twas meant to be a lark, Minerva, and I am sorry if I added to your pain.”

“There is no pain,” Minerva responded in a low voice, her eyes closed.

“O’ course there’s not, love, o’ course there’s not.” Quin reached out and turned Minerva’s face toward him and brushed a single tear from her cheek. “You don’t need to talk about it. You don’t really know me, after all. But you should talk to someone . . . you bottle too much up.”

Minerva opened her eyes and saw only sympathy and concern in Quin’s face. “Oh, Quin, it’s no use. That’s all. It’s simply no use. If what you say is true . . . he does not feel the same, Quin, and he never will. It is quite hopeless.” With his warm hand still cupping her cheek, Minerva felt a sudden surge of relief at having finally admitted her feelings. She sighed and leaned into Quin’s touch, tears leaking from her eyes. He knew and he cared. She had wanted someone to talk to . . . but was he discreet? “You’re right, we don’t know each other well, but I’d like to think I can trust you. Please don’t tell anyone . . . .” Her voice broke.

“I’d never do that to you, Minerva,” he whispered. “Come here, now. No need to talk, if you don’t want. I’ve seen enough; it’s all right, love. If you’d like to say more, I’ll listen, though.”

Minerva accepted his invitation and leaned into his embrace. Her relief increased as she wept on his shoulder and he held her, rubbing her back and making soft soothing sounds in her ear.

“If you can bear another o’ me magic tricks tonight, I can help you a bit,” Quin offered after she had quieted. “Nothin’ grand, but me kids like it.”

Minerva turned her face from his shoulder and felt him kiss her forehead. A cool sensation washed over her, and she could feel her tears dry, and her heart and breathing calmed as the lump in her throat dissolved.

Minerva sat up and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Hmm? Whatever for? ’Tis what we’re on this earth for, isn’t it?” He smiled and touched her cheek. “Glad I could help. And remember my offer – if you want to talk . . .”

“Thank you, Quin, but I doubt it. I have lived with this for a while. I’ll survive.”

Quin nodded, but looked sceptical. “As you wish, Minerva. But even after you return to Hogwarts, I’m just an owl away, if you need to talk or even just want to get away for a while. I’m always happy to have lunch or dinner with a beautiful witch, and now that I know that I really am safe with you – does Gertrude know? Is that why she thought –”

“No, she doesn’t. She couldn’t. We don’t know each other that well, as I said before.”

“Perhaps Dumbledore knows, and told her.”

“Impossible. I would rather not talk about this anymore tonight, Quin,” Minerva said, shaking her head.

“All right, love. We can move on to some other topic, to be sure. Alroy, for example!” Quin grinned, and Minerva was happy to talk about one of Quin’s two favourite topics – his son and his daughter – and tell him about the Sorting and the Sorting Hat, and about the different Houses and their Founders. Quin knew quite a bit already, but he had a lot of questions, many of which Minerva found she couldn’t answer and had never considered herself.

Minerva smiled as she let him out of her room, checking the hall first for any other guests roaming about. “I now have some homework to do, thanks to you. I thought having read Hogwarts: A History had prepared me, but I see I need to do a little more research into the Founders and the Houses when I get back to the castle.”

“I’d like to visit some time. I’ve been to Hogsmeade many times, but have never seen anything more than the outside of the castle.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that. I’d love to show you around. And since school isn’t in session, I can probably even get you into the different House dormitories, as well, if the Heads of the Houses will allow it.”

“I’d like that, Minerva. And it will give me an excuse to see you again, it will,” he said with a grin.

“Good-night, Quin, and thank you.”

“Good-night, Minerva, sleep well and sweet dreams.” Quin smiled down at her and gently kissed her cheek.

Minerva looked up at him and caressed his face before pulling him down and kissing his lips lightly. “See you tomorrow morning, Quin; sleep well,” she said softly, then closed the door.

And now she was wrapped in her dressing gown after a hot shower, drinking some honey-sweetened chamomile tea, and rereading Albus’s letter. She closed her eyes and remembered again how he had stepped toward her, taking her hand, placing another hand on her arm, then how he had leaned forward and kissed her. Minerva wished she had returned his kiss, that she had stepped closer to him, that he had embraced her . . . she imagined what it might have been like if he had moved his lips from her cheek to her mouth, how she would have dropped her bag and put her arms around him . . . . Minerva opened her eyes and sighed.

Albus cared for her. That pleased her, but it also contributed to the ache in her chest. It would always be only so much and no more, and she could never tell him how she felt about him, regardless of what Quin said about not letting her joy die and letting him know that she loved him. That could only bring greater sorrow, she was sure. Albus would withdraw from her and she would not even have the affection he currently showed her.

Minerva looked at his letter again. When she returned to Hogwarts, she would put it with the rest of his letters to her. She had kept every one that he’d written to her since she was in her fifth year; even before she had loved him, she had saved them. Of course, she had loved him then, but not in the way that she later came to. Minerva had even kept the little notes he left her that were scarcely more than a dozen words. Minerva had treasured the first one that he had ever signed with just “Albus.” She was still in school, it was the summer that she helped with the wards, and he had dashed off a quick note to ask her to meet him later than usual that day. No doubt, he had not thought about how he had signed the note, but to her adolescent mind, it meant that he saw her as something more than just a student, perhaps even as a friend. Of course, she had assiduously tried to tamp down those thoughts, but she had still found her mind turning to that one simple word at the end of an otherwise mundane note: “Albus.” Perhaps they could become friends eventually, she had thought wistfully. And when, the afternoon of her final Leaving Feast as a student, he had invited her again to address him by his first name, she had smiled and said, “Thank you, Albus, I would like that.”

And now they were finally becoming good friends. She would not spoil that by behaving like a hormonal teenager. She would accept the love he had to give her and make no demands on him, not even obliquely by telling him of the depth of her own feelings. And he wanted to spend time with her . . . . Minerva smiled as she reread his declaration that he would always seek an excuse to spend time with her. If only he knew that he required no excuse for her, that she would always want to spend time with him.

Minerva hopped up from the bed, sending her empty mug to sit on the night stand, and going over to the small desk to find a piece of parchment.

“10 July
“The Gamp Estate

“Dear Albus,

“Despite a long and tiring day, I am still awake at one in the morning, so I was drinking a nice cup of chamomile tea and thinking of you.”

Was that too forward? Too much information? Minerva reread it. It would be natural to think of him whilst she drank the tea he had given her. And she didn’t have to send the letter, after all, if she decided it was too revealing.

“I had your letter out and reread it – your friendly words were as soothing as the cup of tea, or more so. I must, however, correct a misapprehension on your part. It seems that you believe that you require an excuse to spend time with me, and I wish to reassure you that no excuse is necessary. I will always want to spend time with you, Albus. I do not know whether you are missing me as you had anticipated, but I have missed you, though that perhaps sounds foolish to you. It has been a very busy two days, but my thoughts turn to you repeatedly and I find myself wishing you were here with me.”

Minerva reread the paragraph and erased the words “with me.”

“It has been a very busy two days, but my thoughts turn to you repeatedly and I find myself wishing you were here.

“I have enjoyed the company of a few of the others here, however. Quin has been particularly good company, and I found that he had many questions about Hogwarts that I could not answer. I have some research to do!

“As you suggested, I am trying to get to know Gertrude better. I had no idea before this visit that she had been married, and even after learning that, it did not occur to me that she might have any children, so you may imagine that I was surprised to meet her son, Robert. He spoke of you fondly and expressed disappointment that you were not here. You see, Albus, you are missed!

“You must also know Ella, Gertrude’s sister-in-law. She seems very nice, although she is quiet, and Quin tends to dominate conversations when he is around, so I haven’t got to know her very well.”

Minerva paused. Should she mention Valerianna by name? It might make him uncomfortable; she would wait until she saw him, then she could judge his reactions better. And he may not want to be reminded of her; Minerva doubted his heart had been broken by the witch, but anything that could have brought about such a reaction on her part could not bring him any happy memories, not to mention that Quin had said that they obviously avoided one another whenever they attended the same events. Better to wait.

“There is a party tomorrow evening. Quin and I have decided to attend together as allies. Having someone else there to turn to in the case of an encounter with a particularly unpleasant witch or wizard will be reassuring for us both, I think.

“I hope that you are sleeping peacefully as I write this letter, and I think I can now go to sleep more easily, myself, for having written it.

“I am looking forward to seeing you Thursday, if you are at the castle when I return, and telling you all about my trip, as you suggested in your letter.

“Until then,
“Yours,

“Minerva”

Minerva wrote Albus’s name on the reverse side of the parchment and then reread her letter. She wouldn’t send it, she decided. Or only after rewriting it. It was far too familiar. But it had felt nice to write it, and to sign it as she had. After talking with Quin and writing her letter, she felt relaxed, content, and sleepy. She doused the lights and crawled into bed, holding her tartan afghan to her, and quickly fell asleep.