Resolving a Misunderstanding

The first piece the ensemble played was a traditional waltz, and after the engaged couple – Walburga and Orion, not the upstarts – had danced for a few minutes, Gropius and Columbine and the parents of the bride and groom stepped out onto the floor, signalling that others could begin dancing, as well, if they wished. Minerva was not surprised to see Valerianna immediately drag the hapless Francis out onto the dance floor.

“Would you care to dance?”

Minerva had expected Quin to ask her for the first dance, so when Robert’s voice reached her ear, she turned, surprised, to him. Well, she hadn’t promised Quin anything, after all. And poor Robert was there without his wife. “I’d love to, thank you.”

Robert took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. He was a good dancer, and he quite competently led her through the waltz and into the next dance.

“So, Robert, what did you think of the surprise announcement?”

“Rather appallingly poor taste,” he said stiffly, sounding completely British in that moment, not a trace of the Continent in his speech.

Minerva’s lip twitched. “Mmm. I actually overheard her planning it with Francis, although, of course, I didn’t know precisely what she had planned. I told your mother about it, in fact. If we’d had any idea . . . ”

“Mother would have let her go on with it and hang herself in front of the entire company, I am sure.”

Astounded, Minerva looked up into the steady gaze of the tall young wizard. “Really? But Walburga and Orion – ”

“Will recover from this slight quickly. Valerianna will not. Mother may not have told you this, but she despises the witch.” The music changed again, and Robert shifted his hands and his stance to lead Minerva in a foxtrot.

“My goodness, you’re forthright!”

“I take after my mother, I suppose. Although Father was not known for keeping his opinions to himself, so I am probably a combination of the worst of them.” He smiled slightly at her. “I am sorry if I offended you.”

“No, no, not at all. I didn’t have the impression that Gertie liked her, but she never said she didn’t.”

“Mmm. Well, after that business a few years ago . . . Mother didn’t have the time of day for her before that, and after, well, I hadn’t seen my mother so angry at anyone since the war.”

“What business was that?”

“Oh . . .” Robert looked uneasy. “Um, just a personal situation. I thought perhaps you knew of it, but then, you were living in London at the time, weren’t you?”

“I lived in London until last December, yes. Is this to do with . . . Professor Dumbledore?” Minerva asked, unsure whether to broach the subject or not.

“Something to do with him. Well, I think I am going to have to relinquish you to the arms of another, Minerva,” Robert said with a gentle smile. “Thank you for the dances.” He stepped away from her, bowed, then raised her hand and kissed it in a courtly gesture.

“May I?” Quin asked, holding out his hand.

Minerva smiled. “Of course. Although don’t you generally ask that of the wizard before you cut in?”

“Robert and I understand one another well. He wouldn’t dream of keepin’ you to himself.” Quin grinned down at her.

“Your timing could have been better, though, Quin,” she groused, thinking of what she might have learned from Robert about his mother’s feelings toward Valerianna and about what happened with Albus. Minerva now had the distinct impression that Gertrude had not been a disinterested bystander, as Minerva had thought she’d been after their conversation out by the hill fort on Monday morning.

“Really?”

“Yes, this is my fourth dance, and I need to sit and have something to drink,” Minerva responded somewhat disingenuously.

“If you insist, love.”

“Were you dancing with someone?”

“Just by me lonesome – only jokin’. You are the fourth witch I’ve danced with this night, and the most beautiful and graceful of them all, to be sure.” His tone was light and joking, but when Minerva looked up, smiling, she saw genuine warmth and affection in the wizard’s eyes. “You were worth the wait, Minerva.”

Minerva blushed and lowered her eyes, not noticing that the music had changed again, but Quin stepped back and led her from the floor. He handed her a glass with some kind of frothy punch and took one for himself from a floating tray. As he brought her to a free chair and held it for her before sitting himself, he said, “Me first dance was with Ella, dear mother of me sainted wife, the second was with Columbine, and the third was with Gertrude, who, despite being an abysmal Beater, is an astonishingly good dancer. I always look forward to dancing with her if I have a chance.”

Minerva looked out across the floor, searching for Gertie, and almost missed her. There she was, gliding gracefully across the floor, dancing with a tall, straight-backed, silver-haired wizard, whom Minerva recognised as the Minister for Magical Transportation, Alfred Tapper. Gertrude was dressed in frosty blue and silver robes and wearing sapphire and silver jewellery. Her hair had been artfully arranged, and her fringe, light, feathery, and swept back from her face. She hardly resembled the stern Arithmancy teacher at all. If Minerva were a wizard, she would want to dance with her.

Nearby danced Valerianna and Francis. She was dressed in robes of orange and peach. Minerva thought they were ghastly. To give the witch some credit, her hair was well-coiffed. It looked as though she was leading. Definitely not a candidate for a dance, if she were a wizard, Minerva thought, wondering yet again what had possessed Albus. Perhaps he had been possessed . . . or cursed, or dosed with a potion. Minerva sighed. No, Albus was more likely to be victim of his own poor judgment, she feared, than the victim of a hex or a potion. Perhaps Gertrude meant that sort of thing when she told her that Albus sometimes needed protecting. Did Gertrude see herself as his protectress, then? And if she did . . . did Gertrude see Minerva as someone to protect Albus from, or as someone who would help her protect Albus? It sounded as though it were the latter, although certain things she had said could be interpreted otherwise.

The music ceased and the bell charm sounded again. Columbine Gamp stood beside the musical ensemble and pointed her wand at her throat before speaking. Her voice amplified by a Sonorous Charm, she thanked the musicians for their work and expressed her hope that the guests were all enjoying themselves as much as she was; she then announced that the “young witches and wizards” would be joining them for a time, and she hoped that they would be made welcome.

Minerva watched as about ten children ranging in age from six to about fifteen filed in, most of the boys looking awkward in their dress robes, but Alroy looking as comfortable as could be. His younger sister, Aine, who was dressed in a set of pretty lavender robes with filmy, floaty sleeves, looked a bit nervous, but she walked gracefully, almost regally, beside a shuffling young witch about her age. Barty Crouch was looking quite pleased with himself; he was one of the older children, and he was wearing very fancy dress robes with black-on-black embroidery and velvet trim. Minerva thought they had probably been purchased for him for the previous holiday season, perhaps a New Year’s party, because they were somewhat heavy for the season, but she considered it eminently sensible of the Crouches not to get him something new for this occasion. He was growing, after all. Bella was wearing a bright red sleeveless robe with a long pale pink chiffon tunic over it. Minerva thought it an odd choice for such a young girl, but she had to admit that the colour set off her shiny black hair beautifully, and she was more self-possessed than some of the older children.

Columbine pointed the wand at her throat again, then turned to the musicians and said something to them. They began to shift about and change instruments. Minerva smiled to see one of the two clarinettists pick up the saxophone she had noticed earlier. They began to play a fairly lively swing tune, something Minerva remembered hearing a lot during the War when she would go out to Muggle London with friends. She hoped it was not the only such piece they’d play.

The children, in the meantime, had walked further into the ballroom to join the party, and Minerva was startled by Alroy’s voice beside her. She had seen him approaching her and Quin and had assumed he was coming to join his father, but she had been so intent on watching the musicians as they prepared to play something jazzier than a foxtrot, she hadn’t noticed that he’d reached them.

“May I have this dance, ma’am?”

Minerva blinked. “Don’t you want to dance with one of the girls?” There were two girls there about his age, one a little younger, one a little older.

“I want to dance with the most beautiful witch in the room, ma’am,” he said with a flattering but self-confident grin. “Besides, Clara has a crush on Barty, Fiona is spoiled, and Elissa is boring. And Bella is just . . . weird.” He looked up at his father. “I will dance with Aine, Da, I promise.” He turned back to Minerva and held out his small hand.

Minerva stood and put her hand in the boy’s. “I would be honoured, Mr MacAirt.”

Alroy’s grin widened, but then he became more serious and bowed to her before leading her onto the dance floor.

It was peculiar dancing with someone that much shorter than she, but, considering his age, he was competent enough, probably better than some of the adult wizards. Minerva tried to chat easily with Alroy, although it was difficult to forget that she would be teaching him in less than two months. She always tried to maintain a professional distance from her students while remaining accessible to them. She wasn’t there to be their friend, after all, but she did want them to be comfortable enough with her to talk to her if they needed to. Minerva was still figuring out how create that balance.

As she danced with her young partner, Minerva remembered Carson bringing her out one night not long before his death; the band had played this song, and they had danced to it, Carson swinging her energetically. Alroy was not up to the “swinging,” but in his navy dress robes, his auburn hair falling across his eyes despite the effort that had been made to slick it back, he strongly reminded Minerva of a young Carson. She smiled. A bit like Carson . . . and like his father. Yes, Quin also resembled Carson, in a way. Something about the eyes and the smile. And the easy way he had about him. The thought brought a bittersweet ache to her heart.

When the dance was over, Alroy bowed and thanked her, and Minerva thanked him, as well.

“Guess I’d better find me sister now.” He sounded resigned.

“You’re a good older brother, Alroy. She’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.” Minerva thought of her own brothers, particularly Murdoch, who had always tried to make time for her. “Maybe not tonight, but she will.” Minerva patted him on the shoulder.

“Ta, ma’am. An’ you’re not only the most beautiful witch here, you’re the nicest, too.” He barely blushed as he made this pronouncement.

“Well, thank you, Alroy – but don’t think that such compliments will get you out of detention when you’re at Hogwarts, if you deserve it!” Minerva smiled at him and winked, but remembered a Slytherin who used to use his charm to get out of trouble. She didn’t want Alroy, who seemed such a nice boy, to turn out that way. Although there had been far more wrong with Riddle than just using insincere charm to manipulate people. Alroy didn’t have a cruel streak in him, from what Minerva had seen.

Alroy grinned cheekily. “Wouldn’t be expectin’ anything else, ma’am! But when I’m not in trouble . . .”

“Which I hope will be a permanent condition, young man. Now go find your sister.” She sent him off toward where she thought she’d seen Aine dancing awkwardly with a young wizard.

Minerva looked around, trying to find Quin, or perhaps Robert. Not seeing them nearby, she moved toward the French doors that opened out onto a large balcony. When she’d seen the wide balcony over the veranda, Minerva had wondered what room could accommodate it. She was just considering stepping out onto the deserted balcony for some fresh air when a wizard appeared at her side.

“Would you care to dance, Professor?”

It was Francis Flint, standing there stiffly. He smelled slightly of alcohol, but didn’t seem drunk.

“Umm, I don’t usually refuse a dance, and I would accept, but . . . won’t Valerianna mind?” Minerva asked bluntly.

“If you are dancing with her escort, it is courteous for your escort to dance with her . . . .”

“So you are actually here on Valerianna’s behalf because she wants to dance with – my escort?” Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows, avoiding Quin’s name, since it was clear that Flint disliked him.

“Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder uncomfortably. “Please. I could have said anything to you, Professor, but I told you the unvarnished truth.” Minerva saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as the wizard swallowed nervously. “May I please have this dance?” he pleaded. He put his hand out to her. “You do dance beautifully.”

Minerva knit her brow and thought quickly. It could be that Valerianna was setting her up for something. She didn’t trust that witch one bit. Or she could be setting up Quin. But Quin was a big boy and had known her for a long time. He could take care of himself. Minerva looked at Flint, who was now sweating despite the cool breeze coming through the doors. She didn’t know what it was he got out of his relationship with Valerianna, and if he was attaching himself to the harridan, he could bear the consequences of it; she shouldn’t care whether he got into hot water with the witch . . . but Minerva was curious to know what the other witch was up to. And she did feel somewhat sorry for the wizard beside her, so she took his hand, grimacing as she felt his sweaty palm. “Yes, one dance, Mr Flint.”

He smiled, and Minerva could almost feel his relief.

They danced rather sedately, Francis careful not to hold her too closely or place his hand anywhere it shouldn’t be. Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, Minerva asked, “Have many people congratulated you on your pending marriage?” It was all she could do not to say “impending doom,” rather than “pending marriage.”

He cleared his throat. “A few.” The wizard had little control over his emotions, and his colour heightened.

“I take it you wanted to announce it under other circumstances?” Minerva asked, keeping herself from her real question: “What possessed the witch to make such a social gaffe?”

“Um, yes. Actually, I hadn’t been sure . . . .”

“You weren’t even sure you were going to become engaged?”

“Well . . . we’d talked about it. Generally. But I hadn’t thought we’d come to any conclusions. But when Valerianna decides something . . .”

Minerva almost laughed. She doubted that Francis had even asked Valerianna to marry him. Or that she had asked him. She had probably merely decreed that it would happen, and Flint lacked the stones to refuse her.

“Still . . . this was perhaps not the best venue for such an announcement,” Minerva said gently.

“I tried to suggest that we announce it at lunch, at least, if she wished to do it this week. But she seemed . . . well, she wanted to make an impression.”

“I would say she made quite an impression. Though I doubt that it was the impression she had hoped for.”

Flint sighed. “I know. And now she’s unhappy about that. Please don’t repeat that to her.”

“I don’t speak to her if I can help it, Mr Flint.”

He cocked his head slightly, looking at her. “I remember you from school, you know.”

“You do? I’m sorry; I didn’t realise we had been acquainted then.” Minerva had remembered seeing him ghosting about the hallways of the Ministry, but she didn’t remember ever seeing him to speak to before that week.

“We weren’t, not really, but the younger years talked about you. Said you were . . . really good. They were jealous, I guess.”

“What year were you?” Minerva asked, trying to imagine what he’d looked like as a teenager, before his hairline had receded and life had placed its weight upon him. He was an inch or two taller than she, but the slump in his shoulders made him seem shorter. Minerva would have wondered what Valerianna saw in him if she hadn’t already realised that the other witch probably wanted to have a man about whom she could control easily. She probably saw Flint as a compromise candidate: someone with enough ability to advance at the Ministry but who was still amenable to her control. As for what he got out of it . . . perhaps after the business with Quin, he’d become discouraged, and he saw Valerianna as someone who could, what? Help him to advance at the Ministry? Help him to take revenge on Quin? Minerva wondered whether she had made a mistake in accepting the dance, but Flint seemed innocuous enough at the moment.

“My NEWTs were in ’41, just a year before all that nastiness.” He shuddered. “I was glad to have missed that.”

So he was only two years older than she. Perhaps less, depending on his birthday. He looked older than that, she thought. She’d had the impression he was more Quin’s contemporary. Valerianna had to be a good thirty or thirty-five years older than he, if she were about ten years older than Gertrude. Not what a younger wizard usually sought in a wife, particularly not if he wanted a family – although there was a chance that Valerianna was still within her childbearing years, it was a slim one. “And you were in Slytherin?”

“Yes. And you’re a Gryffindor.” He grinned slightly. “Never thought I’d ask a Gryffindor to dance!”

Minerva laughed. “Well, you aren’t the first Slytherin I’ve danced with, and they’ve all survived the experience, so hopefully you will, too.”

The music came to an end, Flint bowed awkwardly and backed away. Minister Tapper, the silver-haired wizard who had danced with Gertie earlier, stepped up to Minerva and asked if she would care to dance.

The minister was a very good dancer and, other than a polite query about how she was enjoying her new career, seemed interested in dancing rather than in conversation, which suited Minerva well. She hadn’t thought that the minister had any idea who she was, so she had been somewhat surprised by his question. Not that she’d expected him to introduce himself; no doubt he believed that everyone knew who he was and that he required no introduction. But Minerva’s work in experimental Transfiguration at the Ministry intersected very little with any area under Minister Tapper’s purview, so she believed he wouldn’t have known anything about her. On the other hand, there was a certain prestige associated with teaching at Hogwarts, even if the likes of Valerianna didn’t appreciate it, and perhaps he’d heard of her in connection with her “defection” from the Ministry to the school.

Minerva looked around discreetly, trying to find Quin. She had spotted him only once, dancing stiffly with Valerianna, just before her own dance with Flint had come to an end. She wondered if he were angry with her for putting him in a position in which Valerianna could claim a dance from him. He could have refused, though. It wasn’t as though he was obligated to dance with the witch, after all, and he’d had no trouble tweaking the other guests on previous occasions. He certainly wouldn’t feel constrained by etiquette not to refuse her if he wished to. Minerva still felt slightly guilty; Quin probably would feel more obliged to dance with her and not appear rude on that particular evening, especially with the children present. Minerva smiled as she saw Alroy dancing with the shy little witch who had walked in with his sister. The boy was looking down at his partner, smiling at her. The girl couldn’t dance very well, but Alroy’s expression never faltered, even when she stepped on his foot. Minerva chuckled, and drew the Minister’s attention to the little couple.

Minister Tapper smiled, himself. “That’s my granddaughter, Elissa. I told my son she should have lessons, but he said that at nine, she was too young yet. I am glad the young wizard is a gentleman.” His lips twitched as he saw Alroy save Elissa from tripping over her robes. “Who is the boy, do you know?”

“Alroy MacAirt. He begins at Hogwarts in September.”

“Ah, Columbine’s great-grandson. Well, well. Turning out quite fine, despite everything.”

Minerva turned a cool gaze on the older wizard. “And precisely what does that mean?”

“Well, mother dead, father not precisely . . . hmm, er, refined, shall we say?”

“Shall we?” Minerva asked softly. “I would not. For to me, ‘refinement’ means that one has eliminated the dross and left the pure metal. And Quin MacAirt, in that sense, is very refined, indeed, for he is true to himself. He is the one responsible for raising that young wizard who is dancing so kindly with your granddaughter, Minister, and you may thank Mr MacAirt for it.” She never raised her voice above its initial quiet tone, but there was sharp steel behind her words.

The minister raised an eyebrow. “You presume to lecture me, young woman?” Then he suddenly barked a laugh. “You will do well at Hogwarts. And you are correct in every point, Professor.” As the music died away, Minister Tapper stepped back, bowing and raising Minerva’s hand to his lips briefly. When he straightened, he smiled down at her and nodded. “Now I see, yes . . . yes, I see. Thank you very much for the dance, Professor. And for the tutoring!”

Minerva stepped back toward the French doors again, looking about for Quin, worried now that she had put him in an uncomfortable situation with Valerianna and that he hadn’t forgiven her for it, but then she saw him coming toward her. Minister Tapper stopped him and shook his hand, his other hand on the younger wizard’s shoulder, standing close and speaking in his ear. Quin was smiling slightly, then he nodded. A minute later he was beside her.

“Well, m’ darlin’ Minerva, I must thank you for havin’ arranged such a pleasant dance partner for me. Wouldn’t o’ thought of it, meself. Stroke o’ genius, that was.” Quin was grinning down at her.

Despite Quin’s smile, Minerva wondered whether he was upset with her. “I’m sorry, Quin. Francis . . . he seemed so pathetic. And I was curious.”

“Ah, I see, you and your kind heart and your curiosity. O’ course. Should have guessed it meself.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry yourself, Minerva; you look so beautiful tonight, you mustn’t spoil it with an unhappy expression. So, another dance or a little drink? Or perhaps a bite to eat. There’s food in the supper rooms,” he said, gesturing up toward the rooms off the interior balcony above them.

“I think something to drink. I don’t think I could eat anything more – unless you’d like something?”

“Not at the moment. You wait here; I’ll bring you something.”

“Something nonalcoholic, please, Quin; I’m thirsty.”

“Your every wish is my command, and if they haven’t anything suitable, I’ll get you a glass and fetch you some fresh water from me own spring, I will,” he said grandly.

“You just want to show off again, Quin,” Minerva laughed.

He winked at her. “Got me figured out already, haven’t you?”

Quin set off for the trays that were floating along the wall across the room from them. Minerva moved into the doorway and relished the feel of the cool night air behind her. She turned and looked out. There was one couple in the shadows at the other end of the balcony, but it was empty other than that. Minerva stepped out through the doors; she could keep an eye on the doorway for Quin. He would find her, in any case.

Albus sat in a comfy overstuffed armchair atop the Headmaster’s tower and gazed out over the school grounds as twilight grew, watching in the gathering darkness until he could no longer distinguish the line of the Forbidden Forest from its shadow. Standing and stretching, he banished the chair. Comfortable though it may have been, he had not felt at ease. Making his way down the ancient stair to his quarters, Albus wondered whether Minerva were having a good time at the party. He hoped that Quin was treating her well. Gertrude had sent him a brief letter just that morning, reiterating her invitation, saying they could always make room for him, even if he only wished to attend dinner and leave immediately afterward. But he hadn’t made arrangements to leave the castle, although he knew that Johannes would have been happy to look after things for a few hours, and that provided him with as good an excuse as any to decline.

In actuality, the thought of being at the same function with both Minerva and Valerianna, not to mention Gertrude, was daunting enough, but he also knew that Minerva would feel obligated to spend time with him, and that was time she should be spending getting to know Quin. Or if not Quin, then another suitable young wizard. Melancholy though he should not be, the image of Minerva laughing, dancing, and smiling at the handsome young MacAirt did not cheer him, but gave him a pang of desolation that his solitary evening did nothing to dispel.

Determined to put it out of his mind, Albus went down to his office and began straightening his parchments, organising the work he had completed that day, setting aside what he needed to tend to the next, and pulling out anything that was not associated with either Hogwarts or Ministry business. As he sorted through his documents, putting them in their proper places, he found his “Minerva lists” again. He smiled slightly seeing them. Perhaps they qualified as Hogwarts business . . . but remembering the feelings he’d had as he had written them, Albus knew they were very personal and that his desire to have her remain at Hogwarts had only a little to do with Minerva’s abilities as a Transfiguration teacher, as excellent as they were.

They had had a lovely time together in those few days before she’d left for Cornwall. It was difficult to believe that it had been less than a week since he’d overheard her complaints to Poppy. He had squandered more than six months in which he could have enjoyed her company, nurtured their relationship and her professional growth, six months that would not return.

They had a long-standing relationship, and certainly they were friends, but would their friendship last when Minerva became involved with a wizard who would desire any free time she could spare him once she had discharged her duties at Hogwarts? It was difficult enough for a witch or wizard on the staff to maintain a relationship with someone who wasn’t in residence at the castle, it would only make it more difficult if she felt a tie to him . . . an obligation to spend time with her friend and mentor. And Hogwarts already demanded so much time and energy. A wizard could resent that; Albus had seen it happen before. He would not do that to Minerva. She deserved a chance at happiness. He would not grasp at her little free time, depriving her of the opportunity to develop a real relationship with someone. Provided the someone was deserving, of course. If he made her unhappy, or was unsuitable for her . . . Albus would have to try to steer Minerva toward someone more appropriate, or at least protect her from an ill-chosen match. He would be her friend . . . for as long as she wished him to be, at any rate. They had maintained a correspondence when Minerva was in London, after all; there was no reason they couldn’t do the same again. Of course, their correspondence had become less frequent during her apprenticeship in Germany, but they both had been busy that year, he knew. Her apprenticeship had been time-consuming, as could be expected, and he’d always thought she had been involved with Rudolf, the Apothecary she had mentioned in her letters, although she’d never told him in so many words. And he’d had his own life. . . .

Albus sighed and gathered up a few personal parchments, including the lists, and headed back up to his suite to put them away. He would keep the lists with his photographs of Minerva, he thought. Sitting at the small desk in his private study, Albus glanced over them again. On the reverse side of the second parchment, the one listing “Insults and Indignities,” he saw a piece of doggerel that he’d jotted down that Friday afternoon as he was making plans for his dinner with Minerva. Just a few lines, pure silliness, really, inspired by the events of the morning.

His eyes misted over as he thought of Minerva. Albus didn’t really know when he had fallen in love with her. The first aching in his heart, that ache which he had always called by another name, was an ache that he remembered first feeling so many years ago that it shamed him. Minerva was still young then, barely out of school, really, and she had just lost the wizard who had loved her and whom she had loved, though Minerva had denied it, trying to spare his feelings . . . she had certainly been too young for someone of his years to even dream of loving. Minerva had been so upset that day when he had come to see her at the McGonagall home and give her the letter that Carson had written her. Yet she had wished to offer him comfort, comfort which he had rejected, and in that moment of rejection, he had felt that ache for the first time. . . .

Albus looked at the few lines of verse. They were whimsical, but they called him to express his feelings more truly, without their inanity. He took up his quill and quickly penned a few more lines. Rereading them, he felt they were foolish, even more so than the first ones that had inspired him to write more. Yet they were true . . . or partially so. How to express the entire truth of his feelings for Minerva, feelings that would by necessity remain hidden from her, hidden from everyone? Albus began to write again, and this time, he did not stop until he knew he had written the final line, the one that completed the expression of his feelings.

Albus gazed at the parchment, not reading it, and thought he should really just burn it now, or banish it in a thousand particles as dust across the castle grounds. But he didn’t. Instead, he carefully placed it in the drawer beneath the photographs of Minerva.

He felt better after having expressed himself. Now, perhaps, he could be a true friend to her and help her find happiness. Albus didn’t understand why Minerva was still unmarried, or why she was not in a relationship, at least. She was a beautiful, intelligent, witty, talented, strong witch. Although she was not rare among witches in that regard, particularly those who worked at the Ministry or at St. Mungo’s, who often remained unmarried and unattached for the first ten or twenty years of their careers. But Minerva deserved more than just a career at Hogwarts. She deserved some personal happiness.

Whatever wizard she chose, he would be welcome at Hogwarts; indeed, perhaps he could be put on staff . . . even if a position had to be created for him. Albus furrowed his brow; from what he’d heard of Quin, it was unlikely he would want to give up his business interests in order to teach at Hogwarts. Perhaps he would relocate to Hogsmeade, though, to be closer to her . . . but, more likely, Minerva would leave the school if she married him. Who would want a part-time wife who spent almost all of her days, all of her meals, and all of her nights at Hogwarts for nearly ten months out of the year?

It was inevitable: he would eventually lose Minerva. Not that he had her now, but she was here in the castle. And he had wasted six months; he wouldn’t waste whatever time they did have together. But, Albus reminded himself, he must not stand in the way of her getting out of the castle when she could. Even if Quin weren’t the wizard for her, she needed to take every opportunity to meet someone appropriate who could appreciate her and give her the love she deserved. And someone whom she could love . . . .

Albus got ready for bed and sat up for a while reading one of the novels he had borrowed from Minerva’s room. He hadn’t made any time to read as he had told her he would, so was only on the third chapter. He wanted to be able to return it to her and tell her that he’d taken her advice. That wouldn’t happen tomorrow . . . perhaps he could arrange a little surprise for her in the morning, though. A little “welcome home” to show her that he valued her and that he hadn’t forgotten his promise to her. He extinguished the lamps and settled down to sleep, thinking about how best to welcome Minerva home in the morning. The prospect of seeing her chased away any residual melancholy, and he drifted off with a smile on his face.

Minerva took a deep breath of the fresh air and turned to look out over the gardens. There were small fairy lights set at intervals along the paths, not enough to provide true illumination, but the effect was a pretty one.

“So, deserted again, darling? And still so early in the evening . . . such a pity.”

Valerianna’s affected speech caused Minerva’s skin to crawl. She turned to face the older witch, who was a dark shadow framed by the light from the ballroom beyond.

“Not at all; I’m merely taking a bit of air,” Minerva responded, remembering her resolve not to rise to Valerianna’s bait.

“Cormac is a hot-blooded young Irish wizard; it does not surprise me that he might seek more . . . agreeable company.” Minerva could hear the sneer in Valerianna’s voice, but before she could reply, the other witch continued, “Unlike the old Headmaster at your school, who may find it quite pleasant to have the unthreatening, sycophantic company of a . . . witch such as yourself. A nice . . . little . . . pet kitten. But who strokes whom, that was always my question.”

Minerva felt almost nauseated. “I do not know what you think you’re implying, Madam Yaxley, but Professor Dumbledore does not require sycophants, as you seem to, and I am no one’s pet.”

“Ah, me, then it is worse than I had thought, poor old fellow,” she said, feigning distress. “But perhaps you are well-suited, after all – you’re a cold fish and he’s . . . well, I shan’t tell tales out of school!” She cackled as though she thought she’d said something particularly funny.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, and it is quite clear that you don’t, either, but I will not hear another bad word about the Headmaster.” Minerva was fairly shaking, any attempts at calming herself a failure.

“Oh, I believe you will . . . quite a few of them, mydear. And not all from me. Does that grizzled old charlatan still have you convinced that he is universally loved?” The older witch clucked her tongue. “But I suppose that’s not surprising . . . do you know that when I heard him speak of you, I thought you’d be something special? And then I do a little investigation of my own, and what do I discover but that you’re just another Ministry-hag-in-the-making, too good for the wizards in your Department, of course. And still I had to hear him talk – on and on – about you. His little kitten. And the way he always wanted to take time to see you when he was in London visiting me . . . well, I was enough for him and I made sure he knew it.” Valerianna stepped further out onto the balcony, and Minerva could make out her face, its expression contorted into one of disgust.

“Really? He never speaks of you,” Minerva responded coldly.

Valerianna’s eye twitched. “I was too much witch for him, my dear – as you well know,” she spat. “And now I meet you in the flesh, and I still see nothing special, just a jumped-up little chit, no better than a – a – Mudblood, and an icy one, at that! No wonder he’ll have you around, the pitiful, old, dried-up – ”

Valerianna didn’t finish what she was about to say about Albus, because, simultaneously, Quin appeared behind her and pulled her roughly toward the door, and Minerva drew her wand from the folds of her robe and pointed it at her.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doin’ here, Anna, but from what I just heard, nothin’ good.” Quin turned to Minerva, who was still pointing her wand at the older witch. “Come, love. You don’t need that stick.” Quin waved a hand and the two drinks that had been floating behind him settled on a small, low table.

Minerva lowered her wand some, but didn’t put it away. Heart pounding in her chest, she was blistering with outrage that that witch, someone whom Albus had apparently once valued in some way, could dare say anything bad about him. Valerianna had been privileged just to know him, and she dared betray him with those vicious words. Minerva gave her wand a subtle flick.

Quin came around in front of Valerianna. “Come, Minerva, my sweet Minerva, she’s not worth your breath or your thought,” he whispered, putting an arm around her and turning her away from the still sneering witch. He guided her toward the edge of the balcony, then leaned toward her and, in a low whisper, said, “Shall we play?” He ran a hand down her right arm, encouraging her to pocket her wand. “You don’t need that with me here, love.”

Quin caressed Minerva’s face with his left hand, pulling her into an embrace with his right. His breath tickled in her ear. “Is she still there?”

Minerva turned her head slightly to look past him; the witch still stood in the doorway, a looming shadow between them and the ballroom. She looked up at Quin, angry tears in her eyes, and nodded slightly.

Quin kissed her forehead, whispering again, “Shall we play, then?”

Minerva put her right arm around his waist and raised her left to his shoulder, then tilted her head to meet his kiss. Quin’s lips touched hers as he pulled her closer. He kissed her and kissed her again, his right hand warm on the skin of her back, his left hand cradling her head. Minerva held him more tightly, parting her lips to return his kisses, to venture into his mouth, to stroke his tongue with her own. Quin pulled away with a slight moan, only to return to kiss her neck. Minerva was breathing heavily, and as his lips touched a sensitive spot on her throat, she gasped and pushed herself even closer to him, threading her arm beneath his overrobe.

Quin’s kisses trailed up to her ear, and he whispered, “Is she gone yet?”

Minerva had forgotten their audience for a moment; she opened her eyes and moved her head to look toward the door. Blinking, she realised that Valerianna was gone, but there was another witch standing in the doorway. She swallowed.

“Yes, yes, she is,” she said softly.

Quin gently released her from his hold, then stepped back slightly, raising a hand to her face, smiling and wiping a tear from her cheek. “I think perhaps we may have made an impression of our own.”

At Minerva’s distracted expression, he frowned slightly, then turned, following her gaze. There was Gertrude, the silver in her dress and jewellery reflecting the light, but her face unreadable in the shadows of the balcony.