Resolving a Misunderstanding

“Quin, could you fetch me a drink, please.” It wasn’t a request, but a directive.

“O’ course, Gertie.” But he turned and looked at Minerva, raising his eyebrow questioningly.

“It’s fine, Quin . . . go,” she said softly.

Minerva turned and looked out over the garden, resting her hands on the cool balustrade. Her mind was a blank; after the rush of adrenaline from her encounter with Valerianna, followed so quickly by Quin’s very convincing kiss, she couldn’t think. There was still a part of her that could have wept with anger, but she kept a tight hold on herself.

As Quin crossed the balcony, Gertrude said, “No need to rush, Quin.”

The wizard didn’t respond, but Minerva heard his steps falter as he hesitated before proceeding to the ballroom. She hadn’t heard Gertrude move, so she was surprised when the older witch appeared beside her.

“Are you all right, Minerva?” she asked gently.

“Fine. . . fine.” Minerva tried to remember her Occlumency exercises, tried to calm her breathing. She wasn’t fine. That dreadful witch, the things she had said . . . Minerva couldn’t get them out of her head, yet she couldn’t quite grasp them, either. How dare she speak of Albus in that way? She turned her head away from Gertrude and closed her eyes a moment. As she tried to gather herself, she was surprised to feel Gertrude’s hand gently rest on her shoulder. Had she spared it a thought, she would have believed that the older witch would have been upset to find her in a passionate embrace with Quin.

“From the look on Valerianna’s face as she left the balcony, may I assume that Quin was assisting you with her just now?”

Minerva just nodded. She thought she really would be fine as long as she didn’t have to speak. She didn’t know whether she wanted Gertrude to go and leave her alone or to stay and talk to her.

“Good. . . .” Gertrude let out a sigh. “I saw Valerianna from across the ballroom when she came out onto the balcony, but I didn’t know you were here. I should have realised when I saw that she was alone . . . but when I saw Quin headed here with two drinks in tow, I followed. . . .” She squeezed her shoulder gently. “What did she say?”

“Just rubbish,” Minerva replied quietly, her voice cracking slightly.

“Minerva, I know that you have not always seen me as an ally – ” At Minerva’s shake of her head, Gertrude said, “It’s true, Minerva, and it’s all right. But I want you to know that I did not want you to be hurt.”

“What did you want, then, Gertie?” Minerva asked, not looking at the older witch. “Why did you invite me here? As you say, we have never been . . . particularly friendly, although I have always respected you. Your invitation was unexpected, and now it still remains unexplained. That person must have something to do with it. . . . Why am I here, Gertie?”

“You are here, I imagine, because you were curious. As to why I invited you . . . it is not simple. Or perhaps it is. I saw you at lunch and you looked distressed. I had been present when Albus so obliviously dismissed you without rescheduling your appointment. It was apparent to me as the term progressed that you were under some nervous strain. You were handling your classes well, however, and as Deputy Headmistress, I had no reason to approach you about it, particularly given our somewhat distant relationship. I hoped that it was just a matter of becoming used to living at Hogwarts as an adult, which can require a period of adjustment, especially after living in London and working at the Ministry. But when I saw you at lunch . . . the thought occurred to me that it might be good for you to get away from Hogwarts for a bit. Gain some perspective. After I arrived home that afternoon, I thought that perhaps if I were to invite you for a visit, I might be able to speak to you in a way that would be difficult to do at Hogwarts. And so, thinking that a change and some distance might do you good, and that an opportunity for the two of us to get to know each other would be even better, I decided to invite you down. I thought you might enjoy meeting Quin, as well . . . I believed chances were even that you would decline, actually.” As Gertrude finished speaking, she withdrew her hand from Minerva’s shoulder, but did not move away.

Minerva listened silently, looking out at the fairy lights dotting the garden paths. There was more to it than that . . . she felt that Gertrude was being truthful, but not fully honest. But what question could she ask to get the answer that she needed?

“Why this week? Why not invite me to come down over the next weekend, after everyone else was gone? I asked about Valerianna and you said nothing about her in your answer.”

The witch hesitated. “As I told you Monday morning, it has not been my place to speak to you of Valerianna. Her . . . attempt at a relationship with Albus, while not precisely common knowledge, was not clandestine when it occurred. . . . You would hear of it eventually. While I wanted you to know of the witch’s existence, Minerva, I did not want you to be hurt by her.”

“Why not just invite me to tea at any point during the term and tell me these things?”

“Minerva, you do know yourself fairly well, I believe. How do you think you would have reacted if I had invited you to tea and inquired after the state of your nerves?”

Minerva was silent a moment. “I would have told you that I was well, of course. As I still would, if you were to ask.” Minerva quirked a rueful smile to herself. Even now, she would not tell Gertrude, who had already told her she believed she was under some nervous strain, that she had felt on the edge of a precipice by the end of the term. And she most assuredly would not tell her why. “And as for Valerianna . . . ?”

“I would not have told you about her under other circumstances. As I have said, it wasn’t my place. But now you do know about her – and as more than just an abstract fact, but as a living, breathing witch.”

That seemed hardly an adequate explanation to Minerva, but she doubted that she would receive any better one, and perhaps Gertie didn’t even have one. She also wanted to ask about Gertie’s relationship with Albus, and whether it had anything to do with her invitation, but she didn’t know how to frame such a question . . . but if her motivations did have something to do with Albus, perhaps another sort of question might elicit a clue or two. “And Quin? Has he anything to do with why you invited me?”

“Quin I thought you would enjoy spending time with, that’s all. Now I have answered your questions, but you have not answered the one I asked you.”

“She . . .” Minerva hesitated, knowing precisely what question she had not answered. “It wasn’t even what she said. It was the way she said it, and somehow . . . she was implying something nasty.”

“That’s not a surprise, as she is a nasty woman. But go on.”

“Just some awful things about Albus, the way she described him was just . . . she said that she was too much witch for him. And that she had had to listen to him talk about me, but that I was nothing special. It sounds so . . . benign now, but the way she said it, it sounded dreadful. She made it sound like I was some sycophantic, repressed witch, and as though Albus . . . as though he needed someone to worship him, and I filled the bill somehow. She made it sound deviant, too, and sordid, though I don’t know how.”

“Valerianna was bitter about it when Albus broke things off with her; she identifies you with him, in her mind. She would say whatever it took to disturb you, I think, simply because of that. I am surprised you didn’t hex her. I would have had trouble restraining myself, to be honest.” Gertrude’s tone was harsh as she uttered those last words.

“Well . . . I drew my wand. But Quin arrived.” Minerva’s hesitation was palpable. “I actually couldn’t restrain myself, I’m afraid. But I didn’t hex her . . . it was just a little charm. I’m sorry, Gertie, I know I shouldn’t have cast anything at all – ”

“What charm?” Gertrude interrupted, sounding more curious than distressed by Minerva’s admitted breech of etiquette.

“Fairly soon, her shoes will be very uncomfortable. . . . It was a slow-shrinking charm. She won’t notice it at first. It was just a little jinx. And on her shoes, not on her person.” One did not attend a party and hex another guest, regardless of the provocation, but Minerva could see Gertie’s grin, and added, “I would have charmed her robes to enlarge, but I thought we should all be spared that sight.”

“No, indeed, I would prefer not to have to see that, as well.” Gertie grinned widely. “But don’t worry about it, Minerva. She richly deserves far more than the little discomfort you may have visited on her. But I do think you might want to avoid being alone the rest of the night.”

“No problem with that,” Quin’s voice came from behind them. “I’ll do a better job o’ lookin’ after the lass for you, Gertrude.” He looked from one witch to the other. “Since you’re both standin’ there lookin’ fairly chipper, may I assume I am not in any trouble with you, Gertie?”

“Should you be?” she asked.

“Oh, probably for somethin’, but ’twould be hard for me to pinpoint exactly what,” he answered, handing her a glass. “I hope I wasn’t too hasty in my return?”

“No, but now I am even thirstier, Quin,” Minerva answered him, then smiled when he gave her the drink he had brought her earlier.

“Some kind of fizzy cherry-flavoured drink,” he said “No alcohol, as requested.”

“Mmm. This is good, but now I feel as though I could use something stiffer.”

“Well, how about another dance, instead?” he suggested. “The musicians were taking a break, but they’re about to start up again.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Minerva,” Gertrude said encouragingly.

Minerva hesitated. She didn’t want to have to see that awful witch again, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to let Valerianna think that she had succeeded in devastating her, either. Besides, Valierianna’s shoes were probably becoming quite tight by now. She’d like to see the results of her wand-work. Minerva set her empty glass down and took Quin’s arm.

“I would love another dance, Quin, thank you.”

As Minerva and Quin danced, she looked around for Valerianna and chuckled when she saw the witch limping toward the door, Flint at her side. She clearly hadn’t figured out why her feet hurt. Minerva wondered whether she had the sense to use a Finite Incantatum before the shoes rubbed her toes raw. In an uncharacteristic moment of schadenfreude, she hoped Valerianna was too distracted by her own resentment and bitterness to realise that her shoes had been jinxed.

“So, you are all right now, Minerva?” Quin asked.

“Yes. That witch . . . she really is one of the most obnoxious people whom I’ve ever met.”

“She wasn’t always that bad, Minerva. She used to have a kind of brittle wit and charm to her; it had eroded into mere polish with no shine over the last few years, but I thought she had mellowed some since she’d latched onto Franky. Seeing you seemed to bring out her most abrasive side.” He held her a little more closely and spoke into her ear.

Minerva snorted. “She should simply ignore me, then. It’s as though she gets a perverse pleasure out of her resentment.”

“Perhaps . . . I didn’t hear all that she said to you, obviously, but I think that we may have at least dispelled any notion that you are ‘icy.’”

“She started out her nastiness by saying quite openly that you had abandoned me in the search for a willing witch.”

“She is a fool as well as obnoxious, then. Do you know that she propositioned me this evening?” At Minerva’s astounded expression, he said, barely loudly enough for her to hear him over the music, “She left out that little detail, I see. That’s part o’ what bothered her about our performance, I’m sure. Yes, within a short time of announcing her engagement, Anna was tryin’ to get another wizard into her bed. I think she thought to do it in order to injure you, I suppose, but she’d never had any success with me before, so I don’t know what she thought had changed. She did seem to think that I would find it . . . titillatin’ to make love to another wizard’s fiancée, no strings attached, just sneakin’ off for a quickie.” He shuddered at the thought.

“But Francis . . .”

“Likely had no idea what she was up to. Though I don’t know if it would have come as a surprise to him.”

“I don’t understand these people at all. Not at all.” She shook her head.

“Theirs is a marriage of convenience, no matter what Anna may say about their ‘joy,’ I see only two people who are each usin’ the other for pragmatic reasons. O’ course, Anna always does seem to enjoy her men, particularly ones younger than she, so, although I cringe to speculate on their private life, I imagine that he also satisfies certain of her other needs.”

“Oh, Quin, I really did not need that image in my mind!”

“Sorry, love. But she only understands relationships between men and women on those two levels – how they might exploit one another and . . . how they might, um, serve one another, so to speak. She no doubt thinks you and I are in such a relationship – and you and Dumbledore, for that matter. The exploitation part of it, I mean.”

Minerva stiffened at the mention of Albus. “I think we have exhausted this topic. It’s beginning to nauseate me. Literally. It’s not a suitable topic for the dance floor.”

“Sorry, love.” He changed the subject to Alroy, telling Minerva proudly what a positive impression his son had made on the Minister for Magical Transportation. For all his not seeming to care about whether he was accepted by society or not, Quin clearly was glad that his son was becoming what he called a “respectable wizard.” “And he mentioned you, too, Minerva. Said he understood now why that school o’ yours was willing to wait for you to take the job.”

“Ah, I wondered why he’d known who I was. The Ministry wasn’t entirely happy that I was leaving, I’m afraid. They felt they’d made an investment and I should have been honoured to spend the rest of my days there. Not everyone, of course.” Minerva didn’t tell Quin what she’d told the minister. Let him think that Tapper had come to an unalloyed positive impression of Alroy entirely on his own.

“May I cut in?”

Quin turned and looked at Robert. “You’ve already danced with me escort more than I have tonight, Robert,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But if the lady wishes?”

“Of course, Robert, thank you.”

A moment later, Minerva saw Gertie take Quin by the arm and lead him off to the side of the room.

“So, did your mother send you to dance with me?” Minerva was slightly annoyed.

“She said she wanted to talk to Quin, but she told me something of what happened earlier. I thought you’d prefer dancing . . . but if you’d rather not, we could sit it out and wait for Quin.” Robert looked uncomfortable. “Or if you’d prefer to dance with someone else . . .”

“No, I appreciate it, thank you, Robert. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit . . . passed about.”

“I’m sorry. Mother said that Valerianna had left, but that she might be back. I agreed that you should have a friend at hand in case she decided to approach you again.”

“Did she tell you what the witch said?”

“No, just that she upset you deliberately. I do not know her well, myself, for all that she’s a cousin, but from what Mother has said of her, she sounds nasty and manipulative.”

“I don’t know her well, either, but she is nasty and manipulative. You needn’t have a close acquaintance with the woman to discover that.”

The music picked up in both pace and volume, and so the two danced without speaking until Minerva signalled Robert that she needed to sit for a while. Her feet hurt after so much dancing. No doubt that’s what Valerianna initially thought her problem was when her shoes began to get tight. Minerva felt only a slight satisfaction at that thought. She and Flint hadn’t reappeared since disappearing from the ballroom fifteen or twenty minutes before.

As they made their way over to where Quin and Gertie were sitting, heads together, Minerva saw Columbine approach Gertrude, a concerned expression on her face. Gertie was smiling slightly and shaking her head, but she got up and followed her mother out of the ballroom.

“What was that all about?” Minerva asked Quin as he stood.

“What? You mean Columbine? Valerianna is believin’ that someone here has hexed her. She and Gertrude went to sort it out. You wouldn’t happen to know anythin’ about that, would you now?” He raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

Minerva took the chair that Gertie had vacated, and the two wizards sat on either side of her.

Minerva looked at him, deadpan expression on her face. “I have cast no hexes tonight, Quin.” She glanced at Robert, then said, “A charm perhaps . . . but not on Valerianna.”

“A charm? An’ what charm would that be, Professor?” Quin asked.

“Just a little spell. But not on her. On her shoes.”

“Her shoes?” Robert looked confused.

“A shrinking charm. A slow-shrinking charm.” Minerva smirked, as did the two men. “She probably just thought she’d been on her feet too long.”

“I saw her hobblin’ out o’ here a while ago, leanin’ on her fiancée’s arm. Thought she’d turned her ankle. I didn’t see you castin’ anythin’, though,” Quin said.

“It’s a simple charm, and I certainly had no problem forming the intent, I was so angry with her, so it didn’t take more than a little flick.”

“Uncle Albus always said you were talented and clever.” Robert smiled. “He didn’t mention your temper.”

“Well, he was my professor. I tried to keep my temper under control in front of my teachers, after all.”

“True . . . but you stayed in touch.”

“Yes, yes, we did.” Minerva thought she might as well be bold and ask Robert a question that had been on her mind since she met him. “You call him ‘Uncle Albus’; is he related to you?”

“I’ve just known him ever since I can remember; Mother felt it would be disrespectful for a child to address an adult by their first name, so he said I could call him ‘Uncle Albus.’ It stuck.” Robert smiled. “And I couldn’t love him more if he were my uncle. And after Father was killed, he . . . I wouldn’t say he took his place, no one could do that. My father was an extraordinary man, Minerva.” He sighed. “But Uncle Albus was there for me when I needed a man to talk to, a grown wizard. I had my teachers at school, of course, but that’s different. And I always knew that Uncle Albus cared about me – about us both. He was also a friend of my Grandfather Crouch’s when they were in school, and he and Mother had worked together before she and Father moved to Berlin, so I do feel he is as much a part of my family as Mother is.”

“They worked together before Hogwarts? I hadn’t known that. I knew Albus had asked her to come teach at Hogwarts, of course, and that they had known each other before that.”

“It wasn’t a formal working relationship, but he was doing some alchemical research involving the use of Arithmancy, and it was something Mother was interested in at the time, so they collaborated some. I don’t know much more about it than that.”

“I see . . . ” Minerva suppressed a sigh. No wonder they were so close. They had known each other longer than she’d even been alive. And Albus had been a friend of Robert’s grandfather. She wondered if his grandfather had known hers. “My grandfather was a friend of Albus’s when they were in school, but my grandfather was killed in an accident when my father was a baby, so I never knew him. Do you suppose your grandfather would remember him?”

“Grandfather died three years ago of paralytic magical morbilliac fever.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” That was a dreadful disease, rarely seen anymore.

“He went quickly, once he became ill, thank goodness.”

“What do you do, Robert?”

“I have an apothecary.” He smiled shyly at her. “Thanks to you, in fact.”

Minerva was mystified. “Me?”

“Mmm. Uncle Albus used you as an example of why it’s never too late to start an apprenticeship. Of course, I had some difficulties, since Thea and I were married. Her father’s a Potions master, and I’d been working in his apothecary for some time, but he didn’t feel it would be prudent to take me on as an apprentice, and so I had to find another master to take me on. Fortunately, between him and Albus, I was able to find one in Utrecht, and I could Apparate back and forth daily. That was important. Your brother’s Murdoch McGonagall, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, he is. You know him?”

“Only slightly. Just the way Potions masters know one another, you know.”

“Do you know Rudolf Brauer?”

“Heidelberg. Owns three apothecaries and turns out the best-trained masters in Germany. Good wizard. I’ve actually collaborated with him on a few new potions recently. You know him from your apprenticeship in Heidelberg, I presume?”

“Yes.” Minerva hesitated. “Yes, I knew him then. I am glad to hear he’s doing so well, opening a third apothecary.” Minerva felt a twinge of wistfulness, thinking of Rudolf, a big bear of a man who had loved her more than she had been able to love him. When he was serious, there was no one more so, yet when he smiled or laughed . . . . And she had been able to make him laugh, until it became clear to him that she was not going to marry him, or even just stay with him in Germany. He never understood why, and she hadn’t been able to tell him; she hadn’t even been able to explain it to herself. Now, of course, she could acknowledge that she could never have loved him enough and that she could not envision living so far from Albus, even though they would never be together. But it had been the right decision, even if only for Rudolf’s sake. And now she was at Hogwarts, with Albus, and their friendship was growing stronger. Albus . . . . she forced her thoughts away from him, away from the longing and despair that seemed the inevitable companions of even her happiest thoughts of Albus.

She turned to Quin. “You were complaining earlier about not having enough dances with me. Here’s your chance!” She smiled at him.

“Well, p’raps I’m too tired now!” But he stood and held out his hand.

As they danced, Quin leaned in closer. “So, I detected a hint o’ somethin’ just now. Is it that Rudolf fellow . . . is he the impossible one who is breakin’ your heart?”

“What? No, no. If there was any heart-breaking going on, it was my fault.”

“Mmm. I see.”

As they danced, Minerva saw Gertrude reenter the ballroom without her mother. She pointed it out to Quin.

He said, “Looks like she cleared things up, or she’d be draggin’ us out o’ here.”

“She is watching us, though,” Minerva remarked.

“So she is,” Quin replied laconically.

“What did she want to talk to you about?”

“This and that.”

“That is not an answer,” Minerva said sharply, tired of all of the non-answers she’d been getting.

“It’s not a conversation for the dance floor, either, as you pointed out to me, earlier.”

“Then let’s not dance.” Minerva stopped abruptly and stepped away from Quin.

“All right, calm yourself, now; you’ve had a hard evenin’, but we can talk,” he said soothingly. “Come, it’s some fresh air that’ll do you good.”

Minerva took his arm, seeing the sense in what he said, and not wanting to make a scene over nothing. He led her out to the balcony, where there were now several couples, some arm-in-arm looking out over the garden, others dancing to the music that drifted from the ballroom.

Quin whispered, “Let’s find somewhere else; it’s gettin’ a mite crowded out here.”

Minerva nodded, expecting to leave via the ballroom, perhaps go to the library. But Quin led her to one end of the balcony and down some stairs to the veranda below.

“What do you say to a walk in the garden, love?”

“That’s fine; just give me a second.” Minerva cast a quick spell on her shoes to widen the heel so she wouldn’t sink into the soft earth if they took one of the paths without paving stones, then pocketed her wand again. “I’m set now.”

Quin offered her his arm, and they strolled toward the garden. They passed a few other couples, and Quin led her further into the garden.

“You haven’t seen the hedge maze yet. We can have a private conversation there; it’s unlikely that anyone else will venture into the maze tonight.”

“Not to pour cold water on your plan, Quin, but I’m not sure I’m keen on entering the maze in the dark, myself.”

“It’s not trustin’ me again, is it?”

“You can send up sparks, then, if we can’t find our way out,” Minerva grumbled, but following him into the maze.

“They do change the plan every year, but they only have a half dozen different ones they use, and I’ve been comin’ here for years. You’re safe with me, Minerva.” He patted the hand that rested on his arm.

Sure enough, he led her to the centre of the maze with no hesitation, only making one wrong turn, and retracing his steps easily. In the centre of the maze, the pea stones gave way to slate flagstones. There was an ornate birdbath in the middle and four benches, one on each side of the open square. Minerva sank down on the nearest bench, and Quin sat beside her.

“So, you were going to tell me why Gertrude wanted to talk to you.”

“I was goin’ to tell you what we talked about. There’s a difference, you know.”

“Mmm. Tell me about it,” Minerva said, thinking of the Slytherin’s murky motives.

“She wanted to know what I’d overheard, what had happened before she arrived on the scene.”

“And you told her . . .?”

“What little I’d heard. Somethin’ about your bein’ no better than a Mudblood – pardon the use of the word, love – and that you were icy and that Dumbledore was old and dried up – ”

“Yes, yes, I know what she said, thank you. I just didn’t know how much you’d heard.” She didn’t want to think anymore about Valerianna’s nasty words. “But you talked for a while.”

“She lectured me a bit. The usual Gertrude lecture about takin’ care o’ you and takin’ care o’ meself, and all that.”

“Did she mention what she saw on the balcony?”

“You mean the two of us appearin’ a tad more friendly than usual? No, not directly . . . I think she understood why she found us that way. She did say that Valerianna looked quite unhappy when she left the balcony, so I’d say that our performance was adequate to its purpose.”

“Well, that’s good. It was rather – ” Minerva swallowed “ – rather convincing, I thought.”

“Good,” Quin said softly. “I’m a bit out o’ practice, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Out of practice?” Minerva looked at him skeptically.

“Told you already, Minerva. I’m a lot o’ talk . . . but not much more, usually. Irritates the ladies, I’m afraid.” He looked uncomfortable and gazed out at the birdbath.

“And all those witches who think that a good – what did you call it? – a good roll in the hay would convince you to change your bachelor ways?”

“‘Widower,’ not ‘bachelor,’” he corrected. “They think that, Minerva. Doesn’t mean they get the opportunity.”

“But Valerianna . . . ”

“You mean her comment about me bein’ off an’ findin’ a willing witch? Don’t you know better than to trust anythin’ she says, love?” He put a comforting arm around her. “I don’t know what other nastiness she spewed, but I can guarantee you that truth was never a consideration for her.”

“Of course. I just thought . . . ”

“I may appear a rogue when it suits me purposes, Minerva, but I’m actually rather tame.” He smirked. “You really are safe with me, love.”

“I knew that, Quin.” She added, “I trust you, too. It’s probably foolish of me, but I do.” She certainly wouldn’t have let him kiss her like that if she didn’t trust him . . . nor returned his kiss.

“I will do my utmost to live up to your trust, I will.”

Minerva thought of how she had trusted Quin with a secret that she had told no one in fifteen years, the secret that had grown during those fifteen years. Not that he knew the entire truth of the matter; he knew neither the identity of the wizard she loved, nor how long she had loved him. Quin would pity her if he knew; he probably already did pity her, that’s probably why he had been willing to kiss her, especially when he wasn’t the player he pretended to be. Minerva hoped she could trust his discretion. She wondered whether Quin would have been able to tell that it was Albus whom she loved if Albus had been here this week. She wished Albus had been there; she had always felt safe with him, and he wouldn’t have stood for Valerianna’s behaviour . . . at least, Minerva didn’t think he would have, but if he never acknowledged her presence when they were at the same event, perhaps he simply would have ignored the witch. But Minerva was confident that he wouldn’t have ignored Valerianna if the witch were taunting her. A pity that it hadn’t been Albus who had come through the door to her rescue at that moment, and not Quin. Of course, he wouldn’t have dealt with the situation the way Quin did, more’s the pity. But if Albus had done what Quin had, it would have only hurt, knowing it was done in play, particularly since he had likely done more than that with Valerianna when they’d been seeing each other. Minerva shoved that image from her mind, forcing herself to think of nothing but the cool night air and the scents of the garden, growing drowsy.

They sat in silence for a while, Minerva’s head resting on Quin’s shoulder, then he turned to her and said, “Our dance was interrupted. Would you grace me with another?” He stood and offered his hand to her.

“There’s no music, Quin,” Minerva answered with a smile.

“The witch can’t dance without music? I wonder . . .” Quin got a pensive expression on his face, then squinted, held up a hand and made a motion as though beckoning someone; he closed his fist, one finger at a time, then opened his hand, palm up, and music drifted to them. He smiled delightedly. “Never done that before – didn’t know if I could.” Minerva could see his eyes shining as he looked down at her. “You’re an inspiration, that’s what you are, Minerva, and I’m still needin’ convincin’ that you’re not a goddess.”

He held out the hand with which he had just called the music down to them, and she took it.

“That was impressive.”

“I thought of the music like it was water, flowin’ down toward us,” he said, taking her in his arms. “But unlike when I call water t’ me, I’m afraid that everyone between here and the ballroom will be enjoyin’ the music.”

Minerva laughed. “It’s a good thing you don’t do that with water! There’d be a lot of very wet and unhappy people!”

“You shouldn’t laugh, Minerva,” he said with a grin. “That’s the way I did draw water at first, but now, I just relocate it without it goin’ in between.”

“Sometime you’ll have to tell me more about how you do that. Is it something that Alroy can do?”

“No. An’ I couldn’t do it ’til I was quite a bit older than he. Doubt he’ll ever have that particular skill. It’ll be all wand-work for him.” He sounded resigned.

“After he’s got used to the wand, he can work on wandless magic. Maybe Albus could help him; he’s very good at it.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” He sounded sceptical, but didn’t protest her idea.

They danced for a while longer, Minerva leaning on him more than she had before. Quin raised a hand and made a motion, ending the flow of music.

“It’s late, love. You seem tired.”

Minerva looked up at him. “I am. Very.”

“Time to go in, then.”

He led her through the maze, and Minerva gladly relied on his competence. They entered through the small door at the foot of the veranda stairs and wound their way up to the first floor. When they reached the door to Minerva’s room, Quin raised her hand to his lips.

“Good-night, Minerva. Leavin’ in the mornin’, are you?”

“Yes, after breakfast.”

“Have breakfast with me, then?” he asked with a gentle smile.

“That would be lovely.” She paused. “Would you like to come in?”

“Ah, well . . .” He hesitated. “You are tired.”

“Just for a few minutes.”

Quin looked down the empty hallway, then turned to her and grinned. “I’d be happy to come in for a few minutes.”

When they entered her room, Minerva kicked off her shoes.

“Would you like some tea?” she offered, thinking she could use a cup of Albus’s chamomile tea, but also wanting some company.

“Tea?”

“I have chamomile and peppermint. I only have one mug, but I am a mistress of Transfiguration.”

“Yes, thank you. Peppermint would be nice.” He took a seat in one of the armchairs.

Minerva Transfigured a decorative paperweight into a second mug, then retrieved her package from Albus.

After she had handed him his cup, Quin asked, “Do you always bring your own tea with you when you travel?” He seemed amused.

“It was a present.”

“Oh,” Quin said, as if she had answered his question.

They sat in the armchairs near the small fireplace and sipped their tea in companionable silence, and began to hear others in the hallway, going to their own rooms.

“The party must be coming to an end, finally,” Minerva said. It was almost two in the morning.

“If I know these folk, an’ I do, there will be another party startin’ up soon, probably down in the conservatory.” He finished his tea. “Do you want to go down?”

“No, I think I’ve had enough ‘party’ for one night.” She smiled ruefully. “A bit too much of one, in fact.”

“I am sorry, Minerva. I shouldn’t have left you alone,” Quin said softly.

“I wasn’t alone when you left me, not exactly. It was my decision to step out onto the balcony, after all.”

“You should have been safe here, Gertie said. She was very distressed, I think, though she didn’t say as much.”

“She was probably just as upset that she saw us apparently in the heat of passion.” Minerva looked at Quin, remembering how nice it had felt to be kissed. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a very long time. And likely wouldn’t be again for a very long while. And never by the one wizard whom she really wanted to kiss her that way. The thought was depressing.

“I don’t know about that, love. I mean about her being upset about it, not about the apparent heat o’ passion.” He tried to suppress a smile, but unsuccessfully. “One kiss like that, and your impossible wizard would be impossible no more. Or even reluctant.”

“Don’t joke about it, Quin.” She put her mug down, frowning.

“Sorry, love.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No . . . but believe me, it is impossible.”

“I assume he’s still among the livin’, and where there’s life, there’s hope. I don’t see why it’s impossible.”

“It is. Just believe me, please.” Minerva wished he would just leave it alone; if she was doomed to lose her joy, she’d rather do it without any fuss and just get on with it.

“All right, love. I’d just like to help you. I’ve grown rather fond of you, and I’d like to be your friend. But o’ course, that’s hubris speakin’. I’m sure you have other friends, someone more sympathetic you can talk to about it.”

Minerva looked at him. “I haven’t. No one knows. No one but you, Quin.” Her eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away with the palm of her hand.

“You’ve had a long day, Minerva. It’s time I’m leavin’ you and goin’ to me own room.”

Minerva nodded.

Quin stood and said, “Breakfast tomorrow, then? It’s late now, but is eight o’clock too early for you?”

“No, that’s fine. I have things to do tomorrow,” she said, thinking of her visit to Poppy. “I want to get back to Hogwarts beforehand.” And to Albus.

“Good, I’ll see you then.”

Minerva walked him to the door. “Other than the bit of unpleasantness earlier, I enjoyed this evening. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Minerva.” His eyes softened. “I’ll always be happy to talk to you, about anythin’, if you wish.”

“Thank you.”

He opened the door behind him. “Good-night, Minerva.” Quin raised her hand and kissed it lightly, but then blinked, leaned forward, and kissed her cheek. “Sleep well.”

“You, too, Quin,” Minerva said softly.

Minerva closed the door and leaned wearily against it. She didn’t regret accepting Gertie’s invitation. In fact, she was glad she’d come. Even though it had meant listening to the nasty things Valerianna had said that evening. She wondered what Albus would say about it if he knew . . . well, it wasn’t the sort of thing she could tell him. But she would mention Valerianna and ask him about her. After all, Albus had already acknowledged her existence in his letter, even if he hadn’t mentioned her name or the precise nature of their relationship.

It would be good to leave, go home to Hogwarts, and see Albus again. She made herself another cup of chamomile tea and took out the little packet of ginger newts. As she got ready for bed, she nibbled a biscuit, and smiled again at Albus’s thoughtfulness, but then she wondered what little gifts he had given Valerianna, that undeserving, nasty, sluttish waste of magic. Minerva couldn’t understand how Albus had ever thought Valerianna worth his time, regardless of what Quin said about her having been charming and witty. If he had been with someone else, someone like Ella, or even Gertie, Minerva didn’t think it would distress her this much.

Minerva took her tartan afghan from her carpet bag, drew back the covers on the bed, and placed the Charmed blanket over the top sheet. Curled up in bed, tired, but her mind still racing, she thought again of what Valerianna had said. If Minerva had to describe the witch’s tirade, she would have said that it was a jealous one. The witch was somehow jealous of her friendship with Albus, which was utterly ridiculous. They had barely seen each other, after all, with him at Hogwarts and her at the Ministry. Albus had made the time to squire that witch around the wizarding world, whereas he and Minerva only managed to have lunch or tea, or, very occasionally, dinner, when Albus happened to be in the city and had the time. Yet there was no doubt that she had sounded jealous of Minerva. Minerva only wished that the other witch had reason for her jealousy. Albus had likely not only spent time with Valerianna, but he had probably also touched the older witch in ways he had never touched her, and never would. Minerva had been avoiding that thought since Monday morning; she tried to push away the disturbing vision of Albus embracing that awful witch, kissing her . . . . She sighed, blinked back tears, and tried to turn her thoughts from Valerianna and Albus and what they might have done together.

Rolling over and drawing the afghan up around her shoulders, Minerva thought of Albus, her Albus, the Albus she knew, not the one who had courted that awful witch. Albus, brilliant, sweet, thoughtful Albus . . . if it had been Albus kissing her earlier, and not Quin, she wouldn’t have let go. Minerva wondered how it would feel to kiss him like that and to have him kiss her. She felt a wave of warmth flow over her at the thought. If Albus kissed her cheek the way he did on Monday morning, but then didn’t stop with her cheek, but moved to her lips and pulled her into an embrace, holding her in his arms, kissing her . . . Minerva almost moaned aloud, whether from despair or desire, she was unsure, herself. She held the tartan afghan close to her and fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of Albus and Valerianna together in a passionate embrace, and of herself, just standing by, unable to do anything but watch and cry.