Resolving a Misunderstanding

Minerva woke, fuzzy-headed, to Gluffy’s gruff sing-song, “Time to get up, Madam Professor! It’s rising and shining, Madam Professor!”

She groaned and rolled over, trying to open her eyes to look at Gluffy. Her dreams had brought her tears in the night, and she rubbed at her eyes to clear them. Gluffy looked as cheerful as ever.

“Wha’ time is it?” Minerva croaked.

“It is fifteen minutes after seven, Madam Professor.”

“Mmm. Can you come back at seven-thirty?”

“Of course, Madam Professor!”

There was a crack, and he was gone. It seemed that no time at all passed, and Minerva again heard, “Time to get up, Madam Professor! Madam Professor is to be getting up and getting dressed and eating her breakfast!”

Minerva, trying to pretend she was still asleep, stumbled over to the wash basin and splashed her face with cold water, rinsing her eyes, which seemed practically glued shut with the residue of her tears. A bit more awake now, she looked in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her face was pale. She was going to become quite good at make-up charms, she thought. Or perhaps she should just use a Glamour.

She grabbed a set of robes, not caring they were the same yellow-and-raspberry ones she had worn the previous day, wrapped her dressing gown around her, and shuffled off for a quick shower. Feeling better when she returned to her rooms, she called Gluffy and asked for a cup of strong tea with milk.

Packing as she sipped her tea, she wondered whether Quin would be on time or not. If she wasn’t ready yet when he arrived, he’d probably be happy to wait for her. A wave of apprehension rolled through her. She had been so indiscreet with him this week. A wizard she’d known only a few days, and she’d spoken with him of things she hadn’t told anyone before. But beyond that, there was the kiss they had shared on the balcony. He had said it was just “playing,” and Minerva’s feelings were torn, shredded in pieces, about that. She felt almost as though she had behaved cheaply in allowing him such a kiss on such a short acquaintance, even if it were done in the good cause of disturbing Valerianna. Minerva wondered whether it had lowered Quin’s opinion of her, though she doubted that. She also felt she had betrayed herself, her own feelings for Albus, by allowing herself not only to kiss Quin, but to have let herself enjoy it. She worried that Quin might think she had stronger feelings for him than she did – and he had clearly expressed that he did not want to become entangled in a relationship with a witch – but she also worried that, despite his declared feelings on that matter, Quin might now want something more than a friendship with her.

Minerva sighed. There was no reason to feel guilty. It was only a kiss. And it wasn’t as though she was in a relationship with anyone, and neither was Quin. She shouldn’t feel bad about it. In fact, if she were sensible, she would feel positively about it. She needed to be able to have a relationship with a wizard who wasn’t Albus, after all, unless she resigned herself to never having any romantic relationships at all. Minerva had been shy of developing a relationship with another wizard after having left Germany and Rudolf. She hadn’t been unaffected by the pain she had caused him. She had never promised Rudolf anything, although she had told him that she loved him. And she had loved him . . . just not enough. Minerva did not want to hurt any other wizard the way she had hurt Rudolf. Was that her fate, then? To always have her feelings for Albus come between her and happiness with another wizard? She was so sensible in every other area of her life, it seemed, but not when it came to her romantic life.

Despite all that, Minerva hoped that Quin hadn’t read more into her reaction than had been there. Especially since he very clearly was tired of witches falling for him when all he wanted was friendship and a bit of fun. As much as she dreaded the mere idea, she thought she should mention it to him at breakfast. That brought her back to her concern about his trustworthiness and discretion; she decided there was no point in worrying about it. Besides, as she had told Minister Tapper the night before, Quin was responsible for having raised Alroy, and he’d turned out to be a nice boy. And Minerva had no indication that he’d said anything to Gertrude about what he’d learned from her when he did his divination; if he were going to tell anyone, it would be she, Minerva believed.

She just finished putting the last of her clothes in her carpet bag when there was a sharp knock on the door. It was just a few minutes before eight. Quin was early. Minerva opened the door to see Gertrude standing there, looking far more awake than Minerva felt.

“Good-morning, Minerva. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course, Gertie.” She opened the door more widely to let the witch in. “Quin will be coming along soon; we arranged to have breakfast together. Would you like to join us?”

“Not this morning, Minerva, but thank you. I was concerned that you might not be able to find me before you left this morning, and I wanted to say good-bye now. I hope that, despite the encounter with Valerianna last night, you enjoyed your time here.”

“Yes, I did; thank you for inviting me, Gertie, and thank your parents for me. It was a nice change, as you thought it might be.”

“Well, I doubt that a few days here could cure all your worries, but perhaps you have a new perspective on them.”

“Actually, I do.” Minerva smiled slightly. “I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse, but it’s different.”

Gertrude smiled. “That’s good then. That was the main reason I invited you here, after all – ”

A knock interrupted their conversation.

“That must be Quin now; are you sure you won’t join us?”

“Quite sure.”

Minerva let Quin in.

“Ah, good-mornin’ to you, Gertrude. You are lookin’ lovely this morning after such a long day!” He kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I trust you are sufferin’ no long-term effects of our little Quidditch match yesterday?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Quin,” she answered with a wry smile.

“And you, Minerva, are still a vision!” He grinned at her.

“Mmm. I notice you don’t say a vision of what, though,” she joked.

“Well, you do look a wee bit tired, but some fresh air and breakfast will perk you up. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“We can bring your bag with us, then, and you won’t be needin’ to return for it. I assume you’re Apparatin’?”

Minerva nodded.

Gertrude spoke up. “Would you do me a favour, Minerva?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter. “I could send it by owl, of course, but I thought if you could hand-deliver this to Albus, you could also tell him that if he wants to talk about it, he can come down for a visit this weekend. Most of the guests should be gone then.”

“Valerianna, you mean?” Minerva took Gertrude’s letter and put in her bag on top of everything else.

“Valerianna will actually be leaving today. She was rather upset that Mother and I didn’t take her shrinking shoes more seriously and just gave her a potion for her feet. Good riddance. I believe I have convinced Mother not to invite her here again. But then, I thought I’d convinced her of that last year, too, so we shall see.” She turned to Quin. “You and the children will still be leaving later today?”

“We will be; my mother wants them to visit for a while, so I’ll be bringin’ them to her, then returnin’ to London meself for a while.”

“Please give my regards to your family, Quin. Well, you two should be going, and I need to check on a few things, myself.” She turned to Minerva. “I hope we see more of one another at Hogwarts now.” Gertrude touched Minerva’s arm briefly, and Minerva was apprehensive that the witch would expect some show of affection from her, but she needn’t have worried, since the other witch turned to Quin. “Take good care of yourself, Quin.”

Quin hugged her, and the normally undemonstrative witch returned the embrace, kissing his cheek before pulling away.

“I will see you in a couple weeks, Minerva, if you are at Hogwarts at the time.”

When Gertrude had left them, Quin picked up Minerva’s bag.

“I hope that breakfastin’ al fresco is to your likin’, Minerva.”

“We have been eating breakfast outside every day.”

“Ah, but today, it won’t be a tame breakfast on the veranda. I thought we could both use the fresh air and some exercise after yesterday.”

“That’s fine, Quin,” she said, wondering what precisely he had in mind.

They went down to the ground floor and out the front doors.

“Shirfy!” Quin called out.

The house-elf appeared, a large picnic hamper floating beside her. “Breakfast for Mr Aileen’s Wizard.”

Minerva suppressed a giggle.

“Very good, Shirfy. That’s all.” The house-elf popped away, and Quin turned to Minerva, whose giggles burst out as soon as the elf was gone. “And what is so funny?”

“Mr Aileen’s Wizard?” Minerva asked, gasping for air through her laughter, barely able to get the words out of her mouth.

“Mmm, that. I’m so used to it now, I don’t even notice. She and that Krantzy used to take care of Aileen when she was a child, and ever since they met me, I’ve been Aileen’s Wizard, and her death never changed that.”

“It didn’t bother you?”

He looked puzzled. “Why should it? I was her wizard, after all . . . well, maybe not when they first met me, but ’twas the truth, nonetheless.”

“Well, a lot of wizards might feel it was demeaning to be called by their wife’s name.”

“As I said, we weren’t even married at the time, we’d just started gettin’ a little serious. In fact, when I asked her to marry me, I asked if she would make me ‘Mr Aileen’s Wizard’ in truth, an’ not just to a couple peculiar house-elves.”

Minerva chuckled. That was sweet. “Where are we off to?”

“I thought we’d go out to the hill fort.”

“Gertie and I were there on Monday. I’m not dressed for a trek like that.”

“We’ll just walk part o’ the way, then, and Apparate the rest – would you be up to that?”

Minerva agreed. She could always transform into her Animagus form, after all.

“Let me take the carpet bag, though, Quin. You shouldn’t carry both.”

“Who said anythin’ about carryin’ them the whole way?” He set the bag and the hamper down, then drew his wand and flicked it at them. “Did you forget you’re a witch?”

“Very amusing, Quin.”

They set off through the garden, then began to cross the moor. The two talked softly as they walked. Minerva had placed an Impervius on her shoes and the hem of her robe, but the damp ground was slippery under foot. After she had slipped twice, and Quin had caught her both times, he suggested Apparating.

“I’m fine, Quin. Let’s walk a bit longer.”

“I’m sure you’re fine, but I’m gettin’ hungry. But if you prefer to walk – ”

“Oh! All right, then. Why don’t we meet at the base of the eastern wall?”

Quin nodded and took hold of the carpet bag and the picnic hamper. A moment later, they were both standing beside the hill fort. Quin led Minerva around to the south side of the tower where there was a large, flat stone. He waved his wand, cleaning it off and drying it of any residual dew, then setting the bag and picnic basket down.

“This all right with you?” Quin asked as he took a blanket from the basket.

Minerva had no objections and helped him unpack the picnic basket. She was happy to see there was a large jug of hot tea. Although the fresh air had perked her up, she was still feeling foggy after her poor night’s sleep. After waking from a nightmare involving Albus and Valerianna, she had fallen asleep again, only to wake again an hour later from another nightmare in which she was in an empty, deserted Hogwarts, searching for Albus, but the stairways, corridors, and classrooms shifted constantly, and every time she thought she saw something familiar, it would vanish. The Silent Knight and his dog kept appearing, but he never spoke and would only point; whenever Minerva turned to ask him where he was pointing, the picture frame would be empty. She finally found the Headmaster’s gargoyle, crouching in front of a set of mirrored doors. No matter what password she tried, the gargoyle would not open the doors to her, but only grinned nastily and picked his nose with a long finger. Frantic, she tried to force the doors open, but stopped in horror as she saw herself in their reflective surface. She was an ancient crone, only sparse grey hair sprouting from her head, her face a map of misery and grief, her body skeletal, her robes tattered and falling from her bony form. Minerva awoke in a cold sweat and fell asleep again only after tossing and turning. From the tears that had sealed her eyes shut, she knew that her subsequent vague, half-remembered dreams had been no better.

Minerva Transfigured a couple of stones into cushions for them. She was too tired to make conversation, so they sat and ate quietly.

“You seem subdued, Minerva. Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“No. I just didn’t sleep very well.” She hesitated, but she decided she might as well broach the subject now. “And I feel uncomfortable about last night.”

“Valerianna? Or somethin’ else?”

“Valerianna, yes, but also . . .” She looked at Quin, who wore a concerned expression. “I just don’t want you to think that I ordinarily fall into a wizard’s arms that way. On such a short acquaintance. Or that . . . it, the kiss, meant more.” She blushed.

“I never thought that, Minerva.” His brow furrowed. “I know you were upset by Valerianna, your adrenalin was high, and you just reacted in the moment when I kissed you. I understand that, as I hope you understand that I trust you not to misunderstand me own intentions. I won’t deny that it was a very nice kiss, though – at least, I thought so. But I am fond of you, Minerva. I would not have kissed you at all if I weren’t, so I hope that you are not feelin’ as though I simply . . . used you for meself.”

“No, no, not at all. I was just feeling uncomfortable about it. Worried you had the wrong idea.”

“The idea I have is that you have been pinin’ for a wizard for some time and that, as a result, you haven’t let yourself have a satisfyin’ relationship with any other wizard. And that until you have dealt with that, faced it, stopped denyin’ your love and your commitment, you won’t have happiness – with your wizard or with any other.”

“I didn’t mention this in order for you to bring that up again, Quin,” Minerva said sharply. “I was only worried you might have thought it meant more. Or less.”

“I didn’t think you were easy, if that was your fear.” He poured them each more tea. “And as for it meanin’ more, I think what I just said demonstrates quite well why I wouldn’t think that.”

“I still say you’re wrong about that, Quin. Just because I’m fool enough to love a wizard who is beyond my reach doesn’t mean that I can’t find happiness elsewhere. I have had other . . . beaus, after all.”

“An’ what happened with them?” he asked.

“They didn’t work out,” she said shortly.

Quin just raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“That means nothing, Quin, nothing at all.”

“It means nothin, then?” In response to her glare, he said, “All right, love, all right. I may be completely wrong.”

They sat for a while drinking their tea, Quin picking the currents from a scone and tossing them to a bird that was hopping about a few yards from them.

Minerva sighed. “I’m sorry, Quin. I know you mean well. And you may have a point. But I am fine, really. I just didn’t sleep well last night and I’m short-tempered. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s all right. I told you. But if you want to talk about that, or anythin’, I’m just an owl away,” Quin offered.

She nodded. “But I won’t need to. I may owl you. But I won’t need to talk to about that. In fact, I may have other loves to discuss. Who knows?” she said airily. “I may meet someone tomorrow and forget all about . . . the other wizard.”

He shook his head, smiling slightly at her attempt at nonchalance. “I do not believe that any more than you do, Minerva.”

“You’re telling me what I believe?” Her eyes narrowed.

“I am not; you already did that. . . .” Quin said softly, looking away.

They sat in silence a while longer, then Minerva said, “I should be leaving soon, Quin. I am sorry. I don’t want to leave with you unhappy with me. I didn’t mean to be so curt with you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Minerva. I understand. And I should have known better to bring up a subject that you have clearly told me is none o’ me business. ’Tis I who should be apologisin’.”

“Let’s just forget about it, then.”

They packed up the remains of their breakfast in the hamper, and Minerva looked around them. “It is beautiful here. I can see why Gertrude likes it.”

“You’re right; it is beautiful, wild, and mysterious . . . perhaps a bit like you.” He quirked a grin at her.

Minerva smiled back. “Now I know we’re all right – you’re back to your casual flirting and empty compliments.”

“I take offense at that! I may be flirtin’ casually, but me compliments are sincere.”

“As long as you don’t compare me to the ruins, I suppose I can accept them.” A shiver travelled down her spine as she remembered her nightmare and the ruined vision of herself she had seen in the mirrored doors.

“Are you all right, Minerva? You looked . . . distressed for a moment.”

“Just remembering a dream I had last night, that’s all. A nightmare, actually.”

“A nightmare? What was it about?”

Minerva turned and looked off to the south, toward the broken outer walls of the hill fort. “It was nothing. I can barely remember it.”

Quin came and stood beside her, gazing into the distance. “If you say so, Minerva. But for somethin’ barely remembered, you seemed greatly affected by it.”

Minerva snorted. “I don’t see how you could tell that, Quin. I’m hardly in hysterics over it.”

“Call it the MacAirt gift, if you wish, or just one friend carin’ for another.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I wish you would listen t’ me, Minerva. I have never experienced a divination quite like that, and it disturbs me even more now that I see you are continuin’ t’ deny the effect that this unfulfilled relationship is havin’ on you and your well-bein’.”

“It’s an infatuation,” Minerva replied, unconvincingly. “It doesn’t rule my life. Besides, there’s much more to life than just . . . whether you have a romantic relationship or not. As you must recognise, yourself, since you have made a conscious decision to forego any entanglements while your children are still young.”

“That is true, what you’re sayin’. There are other sources of satisfaction in life – work, friendships, family, community. But this is different, Minerva.”

“So you’re saying that anytime someone falls in love and it doesn’t work out, they’re doomed to misery, completely unable to gain any satisfaction from anything else? That’s ridiculous!”

“’Tis, when you put it that way. But with you . . . you know what I said in the divination. You have given your heart. Fully and completely, but he hasn’t accepted it, and you’ve barely even acknowledged it yourself. From what I understand, you haven’t even let him know how you feel. You haven’t given the man a chance – ”

“A chance for what? A chance for embarrassment? For us both? A chance for him to have to find a way to let me down gently? A chance to make him uncomfortable with me from now on? A chance to ruin our friendship? No, thank you.”

Quin let out a sigh. “I can’t pretend t’ know how he would react, or how he feels, but I don’t know how you can be so sure of it yourself. You need t’ think about giving him a chance, givin’ the two o’ you a chance. Consider it, Minerva.”

“I don’t see what difference it should make to you, Quin. You barely know me.”

“Ah . . . I’m sorry, then. I’ve come to care about you, but clearly me manner has led you t’ believin’ I can only be glib and insincere. Me offer o’ friendship was an honest one, but you needn’t accept it, nor anything I say.” Quin’s voice was harder than Minerva had ever heard it.

She looked up at him. His jaw was tight, and his eyes didn’t waver from their focus on the distant stones.

“That’s not what I meant.” Minerva felt uncomfortable. Quin had meant well. She knew that. And she should be grateful. Not only was he willing to talk to her about the situation, but he was supportive. Of course, if Quin knew who the wizard was, well, he might still be sympathetic, but he would certainly cease encouraging her to bare her heart and soul. Maybe she should tell him who it was. No, she couldn’t do that. Minerva was barely used to the thought herself, despite fifteen years of denial.

“I’m sorry, Quin. I am. Truly. I just . . . I haven’t talked about it with anyone. Please understand that.”

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have been so forward.”

“No. You were fine. I was oversensitive. I do know you mean well, and I appreciate it, really I do. But I’ve got to find a way to deal with this, and telling him isn’t an option. I think it would be better for me to be sensible about it. Get on with my life. Meet someone else. I just need to be open to a new relationship.”

“Simple as that, d’you think? Just . . . be ‘open’ to a new relationship?”

“Yes. If I set my mind to it,” Minerva said with some determination.

Quin chuckled, then looked at her, a smile on his face. “All right, then. So, are we friends?”

“Of course we are, Quin.”

“I have an idea. If we are friends and you still trust me, that is.”

Minerva looked up at him skeptically. “Why do I feel apprehensive about your idea?”

“Mmm, p’raps because you are afraid I’m right an’ you’re wrong?”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“Trust me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound sure, but that will have to do. Here, put one hand here on me chest – not there, higher. Good. Now the other hand here, on me face.”

“What?”

“I would like to kiss you, Minerva, with your permission. You can call it a test. Or a demonstration. Whatever you like.”

Minerva withdrew for a moment, but then said, “Yes, fine, all right. But what’s this with my hands?”

“Trust me a moment and you will see,” Quin said.

Minerva replaced her hands on his chest and face. Quin placed his own hands lightly at her waist.

“Now will you follow me directions?” At Minerva’s nod, he continued, “You say it’s just a matter of bein’ open to a new relationship. Now, I’m not offerin’ you one, don’t mistake me, but I’d like you to close your eyes and think o’ me. Only o’ me. And I will kiss you.”

“I don’t see – ”

“You needn’t do this, o’ course, but as I said, look at it as a test. You sounded so confident a moment ago about your solution. This is me response to that. Think of it as a gift from me to you. A farewell kiss and a little somethin’ for you to think about later. And p’rhaps also as an explanation o’ why I will not take it personally if you never again kiss me as you did last night.”

“I don’t understand, but all right.” Minerva looked up at him.

“Remember me instructions, then. Think of me, only of me,” he said quietly.

Minerva closed her eyes. She felt Quin’s breath soft on her face, then, much as she had when he had done his divination, she felt a slight ripple of magic flow over her. She thought of Quin, of his kindness, his humour, his warmth, and then his lips touched hers. Quin kissed her mouth gently several times. It was pleasant, but lacked the anger-induced heat of the previous night’s kiss. But then it changed.

Minerva drew back, opening her eyes widely and pushing him away. “What was that? What did you do? How . . . how . . .”

“Hush, now, Minerva – it was just a wee bit of charm – ”

“Charm? I felt . . . it wasn’t you, it was him. How did you know?” Minerva asked angrily. “You said you didn’t know who it was . . . you led me to believe – ”

“Minerva, Minerva! I don’t know what you felt! I did not project it, not the way you’re thinkin’. ’Tis not like me usual little tricks, honestly. Please listen . . .”

Minerva had turned and was walking toward her carpet bag, ready to Apparate away.

“I’ve listened to you too much, and you . . . you tease me with this.”

“Minerva, wait, please. I just wanted t’ demonstrate to you that even when thinkin’ o’ me, your heart is somewhere else, that’s all. And I don’t know what you felt, or who the wizard is. Truly. ’Tis quite obvious that me demonstration was a success, though – not that I’m happy about it. I wish you had been correct. An’ now that you’re angry with me, I’m wishin’ I hadn’t done it at all. ’Twas stupid o’ me. Please forgive me, Minerva.” Distress was evident in his voice.

Minerva stopped but didn’t turn around. “What did you do? What was that?” she asked in a low voice.

“It’s . . . well, you know that I can . . . project an impression that I’d like to make. Honest, or meek, or menacin’, whatever.”

Minerva nodded. After Gertrude had told her about Quin’s special “personal charm,” she’d asked him about it. It seemed that he had the ability to subtly project, within limitations, a certain impression on those around him. Minerva hadn’t been sure she approved of it, but it seemed he couldn’t overcome someone’s own feelings about him if they were strong enough; he’d compared it to acting, playing a role convincingly. He had reassured her that he couldn’t sustain it very long. And he’d told her, “With you, Minerva, what you see is what you get.” But now she didn’t know if she could believe anything he’d said or done. Still, she listened to his explanation.

“I can also provide a mirror o’ someone else’s expectations. It’s much more difficult and very dicey, since I never know what someone else’s expectations are, and they may not be positive. In this case, I tried t’ reflect your true desire. I didn’t know what that desire was, and I still don’t. It was just in your mind, Minerva. That’s all it was. Just showin’ you what was in your own mind. That’s all,” he repeated. “And I don’t know what that was. Honestly.”

“I see . . . ” It had been an odd experience. At first, she felt nothing but Quin and his kisses, but then, under her hand, his face seemed to change, his lips felt different on her own, and it was suddenly as though Albus were kissing her. She had even felt his beard, though when she opened her eyes, it was Quin’s clean-shaven face she saw.

Minerva swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “So that was what you meant by it being a test? And you think I failed it?”

“I wouldn’t say you failed it, Minerva.” Quin came up behind her and lightly placed his hands on her shoulders. “And you may still be right. It’s not as though I’m actually a suitor, after all. Perhaps it was that . . . p’rhaps if you were with someone else, someone you cared about in another way, it would be different.”

“I don’t know. It was . . . it felt real, you know.” She turned to face him. “Do you do that often?”

He looked weary and drawn. “Not often. Almost never. It is difficult, tirin’, and the outcome uncertain; I think it is generally unwise. And probably unwise o’ me in this case, as well.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “Do you have to kiss the other person? That would limit its application, I would think,” she said, trying to make a joke.

“I’ve never done that before, actually.” He looked down at her and shook his head. “And I won’t again. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t think it was,” Minerva said slowly. “It was upsetting, because I didn’t know what you were doing, but I suppose if you told me beforehand, it wouldn’t have worked the same way. I think you were right when you said it was a gift – you did give me something to think about later. I may not want to, but I don’t think I’ll be able to avoid it, now.”

Quin smiled at her, his eyes gentle. “Oh, Minerva,” he said with a sigh, sweeping a stray hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear, “I can do so little for you, but if you need anythin’ from me, anythin’ at all, just tell me, and if I can, it’s yours. I mean that.”

“Why? Why do you care?” she asked softly, touched by his words, but curious how this man could make such an offer after knowing her only a few days.

“Why would I not?” He seemed puzzled by her reaction. “You said yourself that you felt you’ve known me a long time. We get along. I like you, Minerva McGonagall. You’re sweet and funny and honest.” He grinned at her. “And stubborn and temperamental and feisty – would you like me to go on?”

“Well, you did leave out ‘brilliant’ and ‘talented,’ but I suppose we have to leave something for later.” She returned his smile.

“I do believe I may have mentioned those on earlier occasions, however. Are we all right with each other, then?” he asked.

“We’re fine, Quin. I’m just a little touchy when it comes to that particular topic. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“I don’t often meet someone new whom I like so well, t’ be honest, and after the divination, I just couldn’t help but care about you even more.” He shrugged. “Listen, d’you want to walk some before you leave? I flustered you a bit. You shouldn’t Apparate if you haven’t got a clear head.”

“Yes, that would be nice, actually. Although it’s an easy Apparition. It’s not far and I’ve done it many times.”

“Not far? But then, I forget I’m talkin’ to the witch who works with the great Albus Dumbledore – from the Pyrenees to the Pennines in one jump.” They started to stroll around toward the west side of the hill fort.

Minerva chuckled. She hadn’t heard that one in years. “Well, I can’t claim to be able to Apparate as far as Albus can, but he would be the first to tell you that it wasn’t from the Pyrenees to the Pennines. It was from Nice to London. But that doesn’t sound as catchy.”

Quin laughed loudly and shook his head. “It must be just as far as doesn’t matter, though. An’ you just take it for granted from him, just as Gertie does. No other wizard can compete with him around, that’s for sure. No wonder Valerianna still holds a grudge after all this time.”

Minerva grimaced internally. Even when they had changed the subject, it came back to Albus. She wondered whether somehow Quin had a sense that it was Albus, even if he didn’t know it consciously. Although it would be natural to mention the extraordinary Hogwarts Headmaster when both she and Gertrude worked there.

The two walked around the western side of the hill fort, and Quin pointed out where the ditches and walls had eroded over time. They circled the ruined tower and by the time they arrived back at their picnic site, Minerva was feeling much better.

“I ought to be going now, Quin. I had a very nice time with you this week. Thank you for spending so much time with me.”

“I should be thankin’ you, Minerva. ’Twas me own pleasure, truly.” He handed her her carpet bag. “Please don’t be tellin’ me we won’t be seein’ each other again.”

“No, I would like to keep in touch. And Alroy will be starting Hogwarts in September. I promised you a tour beforehand, remember?”

“So you did.” He smiled. “I’ll be holdin’ you to it, then. I’ll be in London most o’ the summer, though I have a few short business trips t’ the Continent planned, and I may go home for a week or so later in the summer, if everythin’ works out well. Still, an owl should find me.”

“And I’ll likely be either at Hogwarts or at my family’s home not far from there, so any time that you are available for your tour of the castle, I’m sure I can make the time.”

“Good, then. I look forward to hearin’ from you, Minerva McGonagall.” He took her hand. “You are a marvel, Minerva. Do not underestimate your worth, nor be so sure that your wizard cannot appreciate you or accept your love.” He looked into her eyes, and Minerva felt a sudden shiver pass over her. “If he does not, he is not worthy of you. And I cannot believe you would love such a wizard so deeply and for so long. He must care for you. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t.”

Minerva didn’t respond, but only thought of Albus, and how much he cared for her, and how it would hurt him to know that she had feelings for him that he couldn’t return. It could only sadden him and drive a wedge into their newly repaired friendship.

Quin leaned toward her and kissed her forehead. “Take care of yourself, Minerva. And think about what I have said. I may be wrong, but I do not believe I am. Have some hope, love.”

“I will think about it. Thank you.” She gave him a quick, one-armed embrace, before stepping away, smiling. “Good bye, Quin.” And with a sharp crack, she was gone from the hill, to reappear outside the gates to the Hogwarts grounds.