If this were a date ...
Minerva dusted off her hands and looked around. The last bit of their climb had taken so much of her concentration, she had been slightly startled when Albus had announced they had arrived and asked her what she thought. It wasn’t so much that it had been a difficult climb – compared to some of the sheer cliffs by her home, this was a walk in the park – but she had been in a bit of a daze since she had returned to her ordinary form on the other side of the wall.
After getting over the stone wall, they had crossed the railway tracks, then headed through a wood, up a slight incline. The slight incline quickly became a steeper one, though, and Minerva was glad that it was Albus in charge of the picnic basket, and not she. The hamper had continued to follow smoothly along behind them, no matter what the terrain, having only made a brief stop to settle on top of the wall beside the two as Albus had rubbed her head and held her. When Minerva returned to her ordinary form, it was all she could do to keep from blushing in extreme embarrassment. She had let herself be cuddled. Not that Minerva objected to Albus cuddling her, of course – but that was actually the point. She was not cuddly. And she normally retained more control of herself than that, but she had been so happy in his arms, she had just let herself go and given into the sheer joy of being a cat – and in Albus’s arms. Fortunately, he hadn’t said anything about it when she was back in her ordinary form; he had just smiled and congratulated her on her swift, smooth transformation and her great leap to the top of the wall.
“This is spectacular, Albus. Truly.” Minerva was, indeed, impressed. Although where they stood was only slightly above the level of the castle, their distance from it and their height above the lake made it feel as though they were far higher than that. From here, Minerva could see the lake, the school grounds, the castle, and even the Quidditch pitch on the far side of the school and Hogsmeade beyond that. The spot where they had stopped was level, with a few large, flat rocks, and surrounded by trees and bushes on three sides, so it was well-shaded.
Minerva stood at the edge of one of the large boulders and looked out at the vista before her. She could feel Albus come up behind her. For one brief moment, Minerva wished that he would put his arms around her so that she could lean back against him, but she stifled that thought quickly. It was enough to feel his warmth and his magic radiating from him . . . and the cuddle she had received while she was in her tabby form would last her a very long while. It would have to.
Albus’s voice came in her ear, very close and low. “I hoped you would like this place, Minerva. It has been a long time since I’d been here. It was one of my favourite places to sneak off to as a student, and I rediscovered it when I began teaching. It was, for a while, one of the places that gave me some rest during those years of the war. But lately, with one thing or another, I hadn’t made the time to come up here. One could Apparate, I suppose, but that never seemed quite right to me.”
“I know what you mean, Albus,” Minerva answered quietly. “There’s something about getting here, the long walk, the bit of a climb . . . you feel you’ve achieved something when you arrive.”
“Mmm. I thought you would understand, Minerva. Many who aren’t Muggle-born don’t, but I thought you would.”
Minerva turned her head slightly in surprise. “Are you Muggle-born, then, Albus?” Not that it mattered to her one way or another. He could be half-troll and half-merman, and she wouldn’t care, as long as he was Albus Dumbledore.
“No. My mother was a Muggle-born, though, of course,” he said, as though it were common knowledge. “But so many witches and wizards – even Muggle-borns, for that matter – forget the satisfaction to be gained in such things. You are never typical, though, Minerva. You never were.”
His voice was deep and warm, and Minerva could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She couldn’t respond except to nod. If this were a date, she couldn’t imagine a more romantic one . . . not even dinner at Delancie’s. But it wasn’t, and this was her Headmaster, not her beau. Yet she couldn’t help the shiver that went up her spine at the sense of him behind her, nor could she stop her heart from beating a little faster at his words. He did care about her and believe her to be special, still . . . and not just as a clever student of Transfiguration.
She swallowed. “This is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, Albus. Thank you for bringing me.” Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.
“Thank you for agreeing to come with me.” He chuckled softly. “I do have somewhat harebrained schemes occasionally, and I did wonder whether breakfast on top of the mountain might not be one of them.”
Minerva smiled and turned, looking up at him and saying, “Not at all, Albus.” Her breath caught in her throat. Minerva had known Albus was close behind her, but hadn’t realised quite how close. His face was only inches from her own.
Albus was smiling, but as Minerva looked up at him, his expression changed. His smile didn’t fade, and his eyes continued to look brightly down upon her, but Minerva nonetheless had the sense that a cloud had crossed his features and he had withdrawn from her, disappearing in a dense fog. Then that sense was gone, and Albus stepped back from her. It was all over in less than the flicker of an eyelash.
“Shall we eat, then?” he asked, gesturing to the basket, still hovering obediently.
“Yes! I am ravenous!”
Half an hour later, having eaten her fill and drunk two large mugs of tea, Minerva lay back with a sigh and looked up at the thin white clouds scudding across the sky.
“That was absolutely marvellous, Albus. Thank you.” She turned her head and grinned across the blanket at where he lounged, still sipping a cup of tea.
“I’m very glad you enjoyed it, my dear. That was my entire aim.”
“You succeeded completely, then. I must say, I am reluctant to leave.”
“We needn’t just yet. As you pointed out earlier, we do have the entire morning. I have nothing on my schedule until I am to meet you and Melina in London this afternoon.”
“Mm. Good. Say, Albus, do you have appropriate Muggle attire? Well, that is to say, I know you must have evening wear if you go to the symphony and such, but, well, do you need any help for today?”
Albus laughed. “I do have ‘appropriate Muggle attire.’”
“I didn’t mean to be insulting, Albus, but, well, you have seen what some folk wear. And my father, he’s fairly hopeless. Even under Mother’s watchful eye . . . it’s always best to get him in a kilt, if we can. He complains about that, too. But to get him into a pair of trousers! You would think they were some kind of medieval torture device.” She chuckled. “And he never fails to complain of ‘rash.’ Rash that no one but he has ever witnessed, of course.”
“Not to be indelicate, my dear, but . . . is your father possessed of the appropriate Muggle undergarments? They do ease the experience, I find.”
Minerva tried not to blush, wondering whether this meant that Albus generally dressed traditionally beneath his robes. “Umm, I’ve not asked. But if there’s anything you could do to encourage him to wear trousers of the proper size, we’d all be very grateful. He’s performed some kind of Transfiguration on the two pairs he owns, and they sort of . . . balloon in a most peculiar way.”
“Next time I see Merwyn, then, I shall have a wizard-to-wizard talk with him.”
“Well, it is good to know that you have some notion of how to dress.” Minerva thought he’d likely show up with some extravagantly coloured suit, but as long as everything more-or-less matched up, that was fine. “Of course, during the war, you wore that uniform. Do you still have it?”
“Somewhere, yes.”
“Do you know, the last time that I saw you in your Muggle uniform, or in any Muggle attire at all, for that matter, was that time in France.”
“Was it? Yes, I suppose it was . . . that uniform was not worth saving, of course.” Albus smiled slightly. “You were very good with me. Not to mention brave, clever, and all that, which I’ve said before. You were still so very young, but you such took very good care of me.” He had reclined against some cushions that had come from the seemingly-bottomless picnic hamper. “It was quite a relief to have you appear, my dear.”
Minerva smiled warmly at him. “It was quite a relief to find you! Waiting there at the Ministry all those hours before we could leave – that was absolute torture.” She turned back to her examination of the sky. “I think I knew even before we left that it was likely Carson was dead. And when there was no Portkey for him . . . well, I had hoped that my fear was unfounded. But I was so worried about you. What we knew of your injuries wasn’t good, either, and if you had been found by the enemy . . .” Minerva shuddered and looked over at him. Albus wore a look of great sadness.
“It had to happen in the end, though . . . it was perhaps fated that I would be taken by Grindelwald.”
Minerva did her best not to reveal her shock. She hadn’t ever realised that Dumbledore had been captured. “Is that how . . . at the end . . . was that . . .”
“Yes,” Albus replied quietly. “And perhaps . . . someday . . . I may tell you more. But not today, Minerva. Not on such a beautiful day, such a perfect day here with you.” He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Minerva wished she could go to him and hold him, but instead she said, “I am sorry, Albus. And you never need to speak of it with me again . . . only if you want to, and I will hear and listen to whatever you wish to say. And this is a very beautiful day, you are right.”
Albus opened his eyes and smiled at Minerva. “I am glad we came.”
“You are welcome to join me on my morning walks whenever you like, Albus. Not that we will always be able to make a hike of it as we did today, but I would always enjoy your company.”
“I will remember that. Thank you for the invitation.”
“When was the last time you were up here?”
“Oh, three years ago or so . . . some time before I became Headmaster. It may have been longer.”
Three years ago, and then he stopped . . . could he have brought Valerianna here? Was that why he hadn’t returned? Minerva wasn’t sure she wanted to know . . . but it would torment her if she didn’t.
“So . . . you’ve probably shared this spectacular view with many people over the years.”
“No . . . no, I haven’t. About . . . oh, my, I don’t want to think how long ago it was, now, I brought Dervilia here . . . when we were still students. Only once. She didn’t like the climb, so we Apparated from the edge of the school grounds.”
Minerva was slightly taken aback. Only Dervilia? “And after that?”
“After that, I came alone. Dervilia had enjoyed the view, of course, but we left school not long after, then I didn’t return again until I began to teach.”
“I see . . .” But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure whether this meant that he hadn’t brought many people to this spot, or that he had only ever brought Dervilia. “Was it one of the first things you did upon your return? It would have been for me, I think, if I’d had such a spot.”
“Not one of the first, but I did make the climb that first summer, before the students returned. It was good to know that my mind hadn’t enhanced the memory, and that it was just as beautiful as I remembered it.” Albus smiled at her. “Some beauty even the greatest imagination cannot enhance.”
Minerva nodded. “It’s a pity you stopped coming a few years ago, then.”
“Time passes very quickly . . . I hadn’t realised that it had been that long, actually. I’m glad you like it so much, Minerva.”
“I do . . . and I’m sure anyone else who has been here would have to agree with me. It is spectacular.”
“I like to pretend that I am the only person who knows of this spot, although that’s quite likely a conceit on my part. But no doubt any others who have discovered it also appreciate it.” Albus gazed at her and said, “It would be difficult not to appreciate such beauty.”
Minerva, slightly unnerved by the intensity with which Albus was looking at her, still managed to ask, “You mean you’ve not brought many others here, then?”
“Aside from the one visit with Dervilia . . . no.” Albus shook his head and looked away.
“Oh! Well, thank you again, then, Albus, for sharing this place with me. It is very special here.”
Albus nodded and said softly, “You’re welcome, Minerva. I am just glad that you like it as much as you do and that you found it worth the effort.”
“Very. Very.” Minerva went back to gazing at the clouds, sensing that Albus wished for a bit of quiet just then. For him to share this special little spot with her . . . it was beyond touching. Minerva wished again that she were just a few decades older. Or even just old enough that she hadn’t been his student . . . but then she wouldn’t have known him, or she wouldn’t have known him as she did. Perhaps their relationship was all right as it was, even if she did wish it could be something more. But what more could she want, really? Or, at least, what more could she reasonably expect? If he could be her best friend . . . maybe that would be more than enough. And this was lovely. She sighed, equal parts contentment and longing in her soul at that moment.
Albus stood in front of his full-length mirror and examined his reflection critically. Particularly after what Minerva had said earlier that day about wizards not knowing how to dress, he wanted to take special care with his appearance. And he was wearing his best Muggle pants under the trousers, so no need for any “balloon” Transfiguration such as Merwyn apparently performed. He would have to discuss y-fronts and boxers with the wizard. There was no need for Merwyn to embarrass his wife and daughter by using strange spells on his trousers! Albus certainly didn’t want Minerva to be embarrassed to be seen with him. At least not on account of his dress. Yes, this would do. White trousers, white jacket, white shoes – he’d done away with the spats, not remembering having seen any being worn in some years – and a brilliant sapphire blue silk waistcoat with a matching blue bow tie and pocket handkerchief. Not that one could see his tie, of course. Albus hesitated . . . perhaps that was what was wrong with his appearance, why he didn’t look more Muggle.
He Summoned his wand and waved it in front of him. There. That was more convincing, Albus thought. A Glamour now hid the great length of his beard; rather than almost reaching his belt, his beard now barely reached his collar, and his hair was likewise trimmed. It was still longer than most Muggle men wore their hair, but now it only reached his shoulders instead of flowing halfway down his back. During his travels when he was young, Albus had stopped trimming his hair and beard, and he had never resumed.
Albus placed his wand in the interior wand pocket of his jacket, where it was handy, and Summoned his straw hat. He thought that it was still in style. A Panama hat, he believed it was called, although he didn’t think it came from Panama, and he didn’t think it was made of straw, either. With the hat on, he was quite pleased with the effect that his Muggle clothes and his Glamour had on his appearance. A wave of his hand changed the hat band from black to bright blue to match the waistcoat. Yes, most pleasing. One other thing that a gentleman of a certain age required. He smiled and made a gesture, rubbing two fingers together, and his pipe and small pouch of tobacco settled in another jacket pocket. And the final accoutrement . . . a quick Transfiguration performed on a candlestick, and the Muggle gentleman was now equipped with a smart walking stick, black with a brass knob in the likeness of a lion head. Albus nodded at himself in the mirror. He shouldn’t embarrass Minerva now!
Albus wondered if perhaps he might not look a bit younger, as well. Not that he normally cared how old he appeared to be . . . in fact, as a member of the Wizengamot, his age was definitely an asset. And there was no denying how old he was, and Minerva certainly was aware of his age, and however old he may appear, his years were what they were, and it was foolish of him to even consider it . . . but his head seemed to swarm with foolish thoughts of late. In his irritation with himself and his foolishness, Albus almost reversed the Glamour, but then he remembered that the purpose of the Glamour was not to look younger, but to blend in better with the Muggles. And, of course, to not embarrass Minerva.
On his way out of the castle, he stopped in his office and retrieved the few other tools he would need to complete the ritual. They weren’t strictly necessary, but they tended to impress upon the participants the seriousness of what they were embarking upon and added a bit of formality and drama to the proceedings. Even Brennan O’Donald would likely take it all more seriously with these props. Albus hesitated as he reached for the door handle. O’Donald was a Muggle – an Irish Catholic, from what Minerva had said. Albus thought for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to recollect the exact location of the other item he had just decided to bring along. He nodded and Summoned it. Definitely extraneous, this, but O’Donald would likely take it seriously, even if he thought they were all batty. It would be very useful for the initial stages, Albus thought as he left his office.
Hurrying down to the gates, Albus realised that he was late. It was almost two-thirty already, and he couldn’t Apparate directly to the flat because he had never been there before. He had to walk at least six streets over from his arrival point. He had fussed too much with his appearance. Not wanting Minerva to worry about where he was, he took his hat in his hand and sprinted down to the gates, heedless of the dust settling on his white trousers and the scuffs on the toes of his white shoes. A discreet charm could take care of them once he’d Apparated.
A few minutes later, Albus popped into the corner of a dark alley with which he was familiar and looked around quickly to make sure there hadn’t been anyone loitering about who may have noticed his unusual arrival. He charmed his trousers clean and his shoes shiny, then placed his hat on his head at a jaunty angle and set off at a brisk pace for Melina’s friend’s flat. A church bell tolling nearby informed him that it was two-thirty. Well, he was a bit late, but he would arrive shortly.
As he walked, Albus thought back on the lovely morning he and Minerva had spent. He was certain that she had enjoyed herself. It had been a near thing for him, though, not to take her in his arms . . . to hold her. It was a beautiful setting and she was beautiful, even more beautiful than the view. When Minerva had turned to him after thanking him for bringing her there, it was all he could do to keep from kissing her. Her cheeks were rosy from the fresh air and the exertion of the climb, tendrils of her hair had come loose and waved about her face, and her lips looked soft and kissable . . . It was only through the exercise of great self-control and a bit of Occlumency that he was able to keep his emotions from seeping through and to keep his impulses in check. He never should have stood so close to her in the first place. Minerva had even smelled lovely . . . the nape of her neck had been dewy with perspiration and he had been so very tempted to place his lips there . . . to taste her skin, to nuzzle her hair, to put his arms around her and pull her back towards him . . .
Albus gritted his teeth and directed his thoughts toward the serious ritual ahead of him. For Merlin’s sake, he would be seeing Minerva in a few minutes! He couldn’t arrive with such thoughts in his head – he shouldn’t even be having such thoughts! Albus felt like hitting himself in the head with the top of his cane and try to knock some sense into himself. Of course, he would look like an utter madman to passers-by, but they would be right. These thoughts and desires were not those of a man in complete possession of his faculties. Perhaps he shouldn’t have hired Minerva to teach Transfiguration – he had known that it might be difficult to have her in the same place as he, but he hadn’t imagined how difficult. But Albus also knew that he could not imagine Hogwarts without her now, and he couldn’t truly regret hiring her, nor could he regret spending time with her . . . he only wished that his love for her didn’t also have this very annoying physical aspect to it. Their friendship was growing stronger, and he felt closer to Minerva than he ever had. She certainly seemed to feel even closer to him as well – he doubted he ever would have seen her tipsy before that week. At least not under circumstances in which she would just show up at his door having had a bit more to drink than usual. And she hadn’t objected to his little kiss . . . and he was supposed to be thinking about the oath and the binding, not about Minerva! Too late now: he had arrived. Albus gathered himself together and twisted the bell.
Minerva hurried down the stairs and opened the door, relieved to see Albus there. She hadn’t been worried that he wasn’t coming, but she had been slightly concerned that her directions may not have been very good and he may have become lost somewhere in Muggle Edinburgh.
“Albus! So good to see you. Everyone is upstairs. Murdoch arrived about ten minutes ago.”
“I am sorry I am late, my dear. I am afraid I misjudged the time.”
“Don’t worry about it, Albus. I was just concerned that my directions may have been bad.”
“No, they were fine.”
“You look . . . very nice,” Minerva said, looking him up and down. She wasn’t exactly sure what she thought of it as Muggle dress, but Albus looked better than very nice. Perhaps his attire was more suited to some place other than the centre of Edinburgh, but Minerva thought he looked marvellous. With the exception of the shorter hair and beard . . . “Is that a Glamour?”
“You mean the beard? Yes. I thought it more Muggle. Is it all right?” he asked hesitantly, wondering whether he should have made himself appear clean-shaven as he had during the war.
“It’s fine! I was just surprised – I hadn’t thought about it before now.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Brennan is growing rather curious.”
Minerva led Albus up the narrow, creaking stairs to the first floor flat. She opened the door and preceded him into the small sitting room, which already felt crowded with the three current occupants.
“Brennan, I’d like you to meet the gentleman we told you about, Albus Dumbledore.”
Albus stepped through the door. Brennan was suddenly on his feet, standing straight as a ramrod.
“General Dumbledore! Sir! I didn’t know . . .”
“Ah!” Albus looked at him, a glimmer of recognition now in his eye, and smiled. “Captain O’Donald. You may be at ease, my boy. I am no longer a General.”
“Major, sir. Promoted before the end of the war.” Brennan grinned, but didn’t sit down. “When they said your name, I thought it had to be coincidence, although ‘Dumbledore’ is not a particularly common name.”
“I, too, thought I recognised your name, but I couldn’t place it, and it has been a number of years. Almost thirteen, now.”
Brennan smiled and sat back down as Albus took the seat across from him. “They have been telling me something about learning more about Melina’s family,” he said with a nod toward Melina and her father, “but I couldn’t imagine what it was – I still can’t.” The Muggle hesitated. “I was somewhat apprehensive . . . but now that you’re here, I’m not as worried, more curious than anything.”
Albus nodded, then turned to the others. “Is there somewhere we may have a little privacy for a few minutes? I believe that before I ask anything of Mr O’Donald, he may have a few questions that need answering first, and he may feel freer to ask them if we were alone.”
Brennan went faintly pink, but didn’t protest. Melina insisted that the two would be more comfortable where they were and that she, her father, and her aunt would take a walk and return in fifteen minutes.
The three left the flat to Albus and Brennan, Melina hustling them noisily down the stairs and out the front door.
“Where to now, oh daughter-of-mine?” Murdoch asked whimsically.
“Just up to the corner and back, I think. I wanted to buy some flowers for the flat, anyway, to thank Jennie for letting us use her flat all day – again! I think I owe her more than flowers, but that will have to do for now.”
When they walked through the door of the sitting room, Minerva could tell that the Muggle – Minerva told herself she would have to stop referring to him as that – that Brennan was much more at ease.
He stood and kissed Melina’s cheek. “Well, the general has reassured me that you aren’t involved in organised crime or anything nefarious like that, Mel, nor are you a member of a secret sect and already possessed of multiple husbands!” Brennan laughed loudly when Melina punched him playfully in the arm.
“I have told you that you are the only man in my life, Brennan. But I’m glad Professor Dumbledore was able to reassure you about my general law-abiding nature.”
“Yes, and he confirmed what you said about him having been one of your teachers – although he was as evasive about the school as you and Minerva were earlier.”
“Why don’t we all sit down and Professor Dumbledore can lead us through this discussion,” Minerva suggested. “I think it will be a long afternoon as it is, and the sooner we begin, the sooner Brennan’s questions will be answered.” She hoped that he would feel reassured. It had been an incredible stroke of luck, she thought, that Brennan had somehow recognised him as “General” Dumbledore. Minerva remembered Melina mentioning that he had been in the army, but so many men had been, and she thought the chances were slim to nil of his ever having met Albus while he was pretending to be a Muggle army officer. But it was clear that Brennan trusted Albus completely, and that would make things much easier.
The first thing that Albus did was draw an old black Bible from somewhere inside his jacket – it seemed impossibly large for him to have carried in a pocket, and, indeed, Brennan’s eyebrows rose when he saw it, whether from its unexpected size or merely its unexpected appearance, Minerva was unsure.
“Brennan, my boy,” Albus said in a friendly but serious voice, “what we are about to tell you is a very strict secret. It is something about which some of those in the highest levels of the British government are aware, but it is far from common knowledge, despite the fact that very ordinary people such as myself, Melina, Murdoch, and Minerva, are raised in full awareness of it. Because of this, I would like, first, for you to take an oath on this Bible, swearing that, without the permission of one of us, you will not reveal anything of what we will tell you in this room, nor anything that you learn as a result of what we tell you or show you here, not to anyone under any circumstances. Not friend or relative, enemy or stranger, unless your own life or that of another is in imminent and clear danger. In turn, I will swear to you that what I will reveal to you will be the truth, and I will swear to you that while you are here, I will do my best to keep you from any harm that might arise because of what you learn from us. Can you agree to that?”
Brennan swallowed, looked at Melina, who was smiling at him, slightly nervous, but clearly hopeful, then he nodded. “Yes, sir. This is important to Melina. And if you are here, and her father and aunt, well, it must be something that she can’t tell me on her own. And I trust you, sir.” Without the slightest hint of any further hesitation, he placed his left hand on the Bible, raised his right hand, and said, “I swear that I will keep secret all that is revealed to me here today, under the conditions that you have put forth. So help me, God.”
Albus smiled slightly, nodded, then placed his own left hand on the Bible. “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do solemnly swear that all I tell to Brennan O’Donald on this day and in this place will be the truth, insofar as I know it and am able to reveal it. Anything that I am unable to reveal will be left unspoken. So I do swear.”
Thus Brennan O’Donald’s education about the wizarding world began with a Muggle Bible, then proceeded to a wizarding oath and a light magical binding of the five occupants of the room that would allow Brennan to discuss the subject with any of them, but to no others. Albus drew his wand, allowing his magic to become visible as he cast the binding, red, green, blue, and gold streams emanating from his wand and encircling each participant as each in turn agreed to the binding, leaving Brennan till last.
In response to Albus’s prodding, Brennan numbly repeated the words, “Juro et concurro,” and the Albus’s magic swirled about him before dissipating in a final dramatic flash of gold light.
“Brennan, what you have just witnessed is magic. Magic of a very real kind. Murdoch and I are wizards and Melina and Minerva are witches. You are what magic folk term a ‘Muggle,’ meaning simply that you do not possess the ability to do magic. One is either born magic or one is not. Through training, practice, and education, a witch or wizard’s magical abilities may be honed, strengthened, and focussed, but no amount of training or education can change a Muggle into a wizard or a witch. This is the secret that Melina has been keeping. She has recently completed her education as a Healer, which is something like a physician in the Muggle world – your world. And Murdoch is not, as you have been told, a chemist, but an apothecary – a Potions master, to be more precise – and a very good one.”
Brennan listened, wide-eyed, as Albus proceeded to tell him first of each of the individuals in the room, and their particular occupations, and then to explain something of the magical world that existed beside the Muggle world. He began his own story by explaining how it was that Brennan had come to know him as General Dumbledore. As the man’s shock wore off, he began to ask questions, intelligent, pointed ones. Minerva was pleased to see that as Brennan’s comprehension grew, so did his comfort in the situation. Some Muggles would have become increasingly fearful, but not Melina’s gentleman. He simply became more curious. Minerva detected only slight envy in the fellow, which he dismissed with a shrug of his shoulders – he’d lived without magic for his entire life. It would be like suddenly wishing to be a Michelangelo or DaVinci, he said, to suddenly wish to have a talent he had lived quite happily without before. He grinned and said it would be enough to admire it in Melina.
When they took a break for tea between the first and the second phases of Brennan’s “education,” Brennan asked Melina if he could speak with her in private for a moment. When they emerged from the room that she had pretended was hers whenever the chemist had visited the flat, they were both wearing broad smiles.
“Murdoch,” Brennan said, “your daughter has just agreed to marry me. If you would give us your blessing, it would make us both very happy.”
Albus put down the teapot and congratulated the young couple. Murdoch clapped Brennan on the back and welcomed him to the family before turning to embrace his daughter. Minerva thought there may have been a tear in his eye, but she wasn’t sure, given the tears in her own; when Brennan turned to her to shake her hand, he hugged her, instead, and said, “I am so grateful she’s only a witch, I can’t even begin to express how happy I am!”
Minerva looked over at Albus, who was beaming, and smiled.
Over tea, they had quite a laugh over the various scenarios that poor Brennan had painted for himself to explain the mysterious disappearances and peculiar behaviour of the young woman he had fallen in love with. Now almost giddy with relief, he explained that the explanation that had passed through his mind most frequently was that she had some other man and that one day he would wake up to discover that she had run off with him. He also considered at various times that she was with organised crime, with a classified government department, or even that she was secretly married. Having been introduced to Murdoch hadn’t helped, since in some of these hypothetical explanations, he had convinced himself that Murdoch wasn’t really who he said he was, but was a friend who had been enlisted to pretend to be her father. The strain on their relationship had grown over the last few months.
Minerva suggested that they wait at least a year to be married in order to let Brennan get to know Melina, the witch, and the world of magic. While both agreed that they didn’t want to rush, neither wanted to wait simply so that he could get to know Melina better.
“I already know her completely. That she is a witch simply explains things that worried me. She hasn’t changed as a person,” Brennan declared.
Minerva thought they were being rather impractical, but forbore saying anything else, knowing that it was their decision and their lives and she could only give them something to consider, not make any decisions for them.
After tea, the stronger binding was performed between Melina and Brennan, followed by the spell that would allow Brennan to see the wizarding world.
“You’ll probably be rather astounded, at first, by the number of things that you notice but which you have never seen before despite having passed them hundreds of times,” Albus warned him. “And although I know that you took your oaths seriously and that you swore not to reveal what you have learned today and what you will learn as a result of this, you will find that the bindings prevent you from discussing anything of the wizarding world with anyone who you don’t know to be a wizard or a witch because you were introduced by one of us. There is another spell that can be performed after you are married that will alter the binding so that you can speak freely with any magical person about the wizarding world, no matter how you come to know them, but even then, you will be unable to discuss the rituals you have undergone today without the permission of one of us. You will, however, be able to explain to a witch or wizard that you are married to a witch, and that should suffice. You may, indeed, find it difficult at first to even discuss ordinary Muggle magicians and magic tricks until your mind has thoroughly sorted out the difference between real magic and Muggle tricks – which are quite fascinating, by the way. It shouldn’t cause you too much difficulty, however.”
Brennan was so eager to get to know Melina’s world – and especially to see Murdoch’s apothecary – that Albus and Minerva were the unexpected recipients of two tickets to a chamber concert that evening.
“I was going to bring Melina – provided, of course, that she hadn’t brought me here to break up with me or inform me that she had five husbands or something,” Brennan explained with a laugh, “but it would be a pity for them to go to waste. Please, take them and enjoy yourselves!”
And so Minerva and Albus found themselves alone in Jennie’s flat, thinking about supper and where to have it, and what to do about suitable clothes. Minerva was wearing a blue calf-length dress that with a minor spell or two could be altered to suit an evening out, but had nothing else with her – and a lady out without her purse, hat, and gloves would be most unusual, even if she were to forego some kind of evening wrap. Albus performed a simple colour-change charm on his trousers, jacket, hat, and shoes, altering them from white to black for evening, but keeping the brilliant blue waistcoat and tie. If the tie made Minerva smile, she made no objection to it.
“A flower, for you, my dear, would make an admirable handbag,” Albus said, removing a rose from the bouquet Melina had bought for Jennie. He waved his hand and the rose was transfigured into a soft silk evening bag. Borrowing another rose, he created a pair of white gloves and a small hat, and presented them to Minerva with a bow. “May I have the pleasure of your company this evening, Professor McGonagall?” he asked, smiling.
“That would be lovely, Professor Dumbledore,” she replied.
“Dinner in a Muggle restaurant? Or would you prefer something in McTavish Street?”
“Wherever you like – Muggle is fine, especially now that we are properly dressed for it.”
“Very well, my dear, then let’s be off!”
Minerva smiled warmly as she took Albus’s arm and left the flat, wondering whether it would be a terrible mistake for her to imagine that this was a date and Albus was more than just a friend . . . and she decided that she didn’t care if it was a mistake, she was going to enjoy herself and Albus’s company for the evening without worrying about it. Perhaps the day would end as wonderfully as it had begun.