Collision
Minerva rose early, took breakfast in her rooms – she and Albus had decided the previous day that people might prefer breakfasting at the time of their own choosing – then left for her morning walk. She encountered no one but a rather dreary looking Bloody Baron, which was somewhat unexpected, since the ghosts were rarely to be seen during the summer. She wondered idly what they did during the summer, but then, she really wasn’t entirely sure what they got up to most of the time, anyway. Peeves, of course, was a different story, and it was lovely that he began to lose his energy and his interest in harassing folk within a few days of the students leaving for the summer. He’d occasionally perk up and cause a little minor mischief, but then he would disappear again until he’d finally emerge on the first of September, thrilled and filled with renewed zest and a compelling desire to make an utter nuisance of himself.
After exercising in her Animagus form in the little knot of trees near Hagrid’s cabin, Minerva took a stroll, still in her tabby guise, down to the lake, careful to avoid the edge of the forest, as Albus had requested. She wouldn’t be overly cautious, but he was right that it was better to avoid danger than to have to deal with it once encountered. Minerva sat, front paws tucked neatly beneath her chest, and watched the ripples on the lake, becoming almost mesmerised by them. Finally, with a bit of reluctance, knowing that she had a long and possibly unpleasant meeting ahead of her, she returned to her ordinary form and headed back up to the castle. It was almost time for her meeting with Albus.
Minerva wanted to inform him that she would take the position of Head of Gryffindor House. She was worried, now more than before, that she was being asked only because she was the only Gryffindor available. It seemed that was how Wilhelmina had ended up in the position, despite the fact that she herself felt ill-suited to it. Minerva had later learned that the reason Wilhelmina had left the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match was to take care of a very ill creature Hagrid had just rescued from the forest, not because she was uninterested in the results of the game or didn’t care to be supportive of her House. Still, it had been bad timing and reinforced the image she had of being an uncaring Head of House, which Minerva no longer believed was true. She was simply better with creatures than with people, though she was a very good teacher of her subject.
Minerva believed that, in time, she could become a good Head of Gryffindor. She had an excellent role model, for one; although Albus had been very preoccupied during the last few years in which she had been a student, he had always cared about his House and his students, and they knew it. Of course, she and Albus were temperamentally quite different. She didn’t think she should force herself to behave just as Albus had, but she could still approach it with the same sort of attitude, she thought. She certainly cared about the House and students, and it was important to her to do a good job. All of that would carry her a long way, even if she were only the best candidate for the job because she was the only candidate for the job. She hoped she didn’t let down Albus – or the Gryffindors.
It was ten minutes to ten when Minerva entered the castle. It would take her almost that long to return to her rooms and walk back down to the ground floor, so she went directly to the staff room to wait for Albus. When she got there, the door was ajar and she could hear the Headmaster speaking with someone, saying something about being sorry. When the other person answered, Minerva realised that Gertrude must have returned to the school that morning. Unsure whether to enter, to knock, or to leave, Minerva stepped toward the door. Through it, she could just see Albus and Gertrude on the far side of the room; they were standing close together, and he was in partial profile, although his back was to the rest of the room, and it appeared that his left hand was on Gertrude’s arm. Gertrude was facing him, and Minerva could see the soft, caring expression on the older witch’s face. Knowing she should leave, but feeling compelled to stay, Minerva heard Albus speak again.
“You cannot know what this means to me, Gertie, my dear. Especially today. I know I do not deserve – ”
Gertrude lifted her hand to his face, quieting him. “Hush, Albus. That’s so much nonsense, and you know it. And you know I am not doing this for you alone.”
“But – ”
“No ‘buts,’ Albus,” Gertrude said softly, stroking his cheek. “After . . . everything . . . neither of us should speak of what is earned or deserved, nor of what is given or owed. The main reason I hesitated was not because of what I felt or what I wanted myself, but because I was seeking the right thing to do for you.”
“I hope this, too, is not a sacrifice for you, my dear,” Albus said hoarsely. “I would not want to think you went against your own wishes.”
Gertrude’s expression grew even fonder, Minerva thought, if that were possible. “This is what I wish, Albus. You know my wishes. . . .”
“I have not forgotten what you have told me, although I may forget other things at times. That is why I hesitated to ask so much of you . . . and though you do not want to hear me say it, I am very grateful and know well how fortunate a wizard I am,” Albus replied.
Gertrude’s hand, which had remained resting on Albus’s cheek, moved to the back of his neck; her other hand came up and settled in the middle of his back, and Albus’s arms went around Gertrude. Minerva could no longer see Gertrude’s face, as she rested her head on Albus’s shoulder, her face turned toward him and away from the world. Albus had bent his head as he had embraced the witch, and Minerva could not see his face, either. She backed up, carefully, quietly, shuffling back toward the stair. When she reached the staircase, she popped into her tabby form and raced up four flights of stairs and down the short corridor to her rooms.
Minerva almost forgot that she had to return to her ordinary form and give her password as she stood staring at the Silent Knight and his dog, who seemed particularly inquisitive about the cat looking up at him. Shaking herself, she returned to her ordinary form and whispered, “Alvarium album.”
The door clicked open and she stumbled into her sitting room. She would be late to her meeting with Albus, she thought hazily as she collapsed onto her settee.
“Blampa!” she croaked.
The elf Apparated in with a loud snick. “Yes, Professor Minerva! May I, Blampa, serve?”
“Yes,” Minerva rasped; she cleared her throat. “Could you please inform the Headmaster that I am somewhat delayed but will meet him shortly.”
“That will be all, Professor Minerva?”
Minerva nodded, and when the little house-elf still stood there, looking at her with great eyes, she said, “Yes, just go, please.”
Minerva leaned back. She had no idea what to make of what she had seen and heard. She closed her eyes; they felt hot. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She should know better than to listen at doors; an eavesdropper deserved whatever she heard and should not expect to hear anything good. Minerva let out a shaky breath. Is this how Albus had felt when he’d overheard her with Poppy that morning a few weeks before? No . . . Albus had said nothing nasty about her, she thought, remembering her own words and Poppy’s description of Albus’s expression. “Like a little boy whose pet Crup had died.”
No, this felt more as though a part of her had died, Minerva thought hazily. She drew a breath. She had to pull herself together. She still had to meet with Albus, then with the committee. She could not engage in any pitiful self-indulgence. Besides, she thought as she stood and headed to the loo, they could have been talking about a great many different things. And they embraced, but there was nothing odd in that. Albus had embraced her, after all, and she herself had embraced a good many people. But that had not been a brief embrace . . . but had it been . . . passionate? Minerva didn’t know how to characterise it – loving, certainly, on both sides, perhaps comforting . . . .
As she washed her face with cold water, Minerva reminded herself of her mantra: I do not run the school, Albus’s private life is his private life and none of my affair, Gertrude is Albus’s deputy, Gertrude is Albus’s friend, I do not run the school and Albus’s private life is none of my affair. Looking in the mirror, she decided that, although she looked slightly pale, she didn’t need a Glamour. Besides, it seemed that Albus could see through her Glamours, and he was the only one she really cared to hide from at the moment. Since that was not possible, she would simply have to behave in a businesslike manner. There was no question of her refusing to become Head of Gryffindor simply because of her feelings, her unjustified feelings, about what she had seen in the staff room a few minutes before. She should not have even been . . . spying on them. She should have either announced her presence or left immediately. Or walked in after what she’d seen . . . perhaps received an explanation of what she’d interrupted. It may have been embarrassing, for all of them, but now Minerva wished she had. Now she had no reason to even mention it to Albus without it appearing that she had been lurking in the corridor and spying on him. Which, she supposed, she had been. She had always been too curious . . . it was one of the reasons Albus thought they should have guessed early on that her Animagus would be a cat.
Minerva made her way back downstairs. She was only about ten minutes late, although it felt as though an eternity had passed since she had witnessed the exchange between Albus and Gertrude and their comfortable embrace. That was, perhaps, what bothered her most about it, on reflection. How very comfortable they had seemed with each other. And Minerva was well-aware that Gertrude was not a particularly physically demonstrative person, although she had greeted her own son warmly, and had even, somewhat to Minerva’s surprise, given Quin a kiss before he left. But to have been so free to give and accept the embrace from Albus, to have felt comfortable enough to place a quieting hand upon his face then leave it there . . . Minerva cleared her throat. It would not do to think about this now; she needed to have her wits about her when she spoke with Albus.
Minerva stepped into the staff room. Albus was standing, looking at some of the books in the bookcase at the far end of the room. Gertrude was still there, but was seated at the table at the other end of the room, going through a file of parchments. Gertrude looked up as Minerva entered, and smiled at her.
“Good morning, Minerva! Good to see you,” the older witch said, still smiling, as she pulled a quill toward her and wrote something on one of the parchments. She cast a blotting charm on the ink then closed up the file.
Minerva just nodded in response, giving what she knew must appear to be a stiff smile, but it was all she could manage at the moment.
Gertrude pushed the file in Albus’s direction as he turned and walked toward them both. “There you are, Albus. I will see you for lunch, then.” She stood, nodded at Minerva in a friendly manner, and left the room.
Minerva, remembering that she had been able to see and hear quite well through the partially opened door, closed it behind the older witch.
“I am sorry I am late, Professor.”
“You aren’t very late, my dear, and Gertrude and I had some business to finish up,” Albus said, picking up the folder that Gertrude had left for him. “Thank you, though, for sending your house-elf to let me know. That was quite considerate.” He smiled warmly at her.
Minerva simply nodded. “Well, to get down to our business, then – ”
“Won’t you have a seat, Minerva?” Albus asked gesturing toward the armchairs by the fireplace.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, but she pulled a chair out from the table and sat there.
Albus smiled and cocked his head, “Ah, so we are down to business, then . . . quite right.” He took the chair across from her. “You had asked to see me, Professor McGonagall?” he asked, his expression more serious.
“Yes. It is about the request you made of me a few weeks ago regarding Gryffindor House.”
“Ah, yes! I was hoping you were giving that some thought. Have you come to any conclusions, my dear?”
Minerva hesitated slightly, but knowing she really had little option, she forged ahead. “I have. I have decided to accept your offer. I will become Head of Gryffindor House, if you still wish it, and will endeavour to do my best for Gryffindor.”
“Splendid, my dear! Simply splendid! And of course I still wish it! And I know you will do very well, indeed.”
“Yes, well, it’s not as though we have other options . . . but I will try to . . . to live up to your legacy, sir.”
Albus looked at her quietly for a moment. “Minerva, it would not matter if we had a staff filled with Gryffindors, you would always be my first choice for the position. And although you say we have no other options, if you yourself do not wish to do this . . . I can find another way, I am sure. I do not wish you to feel you must do this only because either you believe yourself to be the only option or out of mere loyalty to me. I do . . . appreciate loyalty in my Heads of House, but I do not want that to be the reason you take it on if you truly do not wish to. It is a tremendous commitment, and could quickly become a burden if you were doing it for the wrong reasons.”
“No, no . . . if you were to offer it to me under other circumstances, I would want to be Head of Gryffindor very much.” For some reason, Minerva was having a difficult time meeting Albus’s gaze. “I just thought, perhaps I was not suited to it.”
“I think you will do well, and so does Gertrude. She said that to me again recently. And Wilhelmina also voiced her support for you. She said that she believes that you will always have the students’ best interests in mind and do what you must to take care of them.” Albus paused, gazing at her with a slightly concerned expression. “I hope you will be happy with this decision, Minerva. And if there is anything that I can do – ”
“There’s nothing. Nothing at the moment, Professor. Although I had begun moving into the first-floor Transfiguration classroom yesterday, and although I had the house-elves pack up anything from the classroom itself that I did not wish to keep there, I did not know what to do with the things in your office and didn’t want to disturb them.”
Albus nodded. “Thank you. I will have the office cleaned out tomorrow and have everything removed that you had packed up from the classroom.” He looked at her quizzically. “Is everything all right, my dear? You seem very . . . sober.”
“Everything is fine. There is simply a lot going on right now. A lot of changes. And the committee meeting begins in a little while.” She quirked a small grin. “That prospect is enough to make anyone sober. And don’t hurry with the office; take care of it when it is most convenient for you. I told my parents that I would be coming for my visit as soon as my business at Hogwarts was concluded. I will likely leave tomorrow, perhaps the day after. They had been expecting me Saturday, actually.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I have monopolised you, just as I feared . . . you could have gone to your parents’ this weekend instead of returning to Hogwarts with me, and simply returned for the meeting this morning.”
“I was pleased to stay . . . I enjoyed it.” Minerva’s voice came out in an unexpected rasp.
“My dear, are you certain you are all right?” There was obvious concern in his voice, and he reached across the table to touch her arm gently.
“Fine, Professor,” Minerva said, clearing her throat. “I was out in my Animagus form for a long time this morning. Perhaps the damp . . .” She trailed off.
Albus nodded. “As you so often remind me, you must take care of yourself.” He sighed and looked at the many-handed clock on the fireplace mantle. “Almost time for the meeting, but we have a few more minutes. Wilspy!” he called.
Wilspy popped in immediately. “Yes, sir, Professor Dumbledore. May I serve?”
“Yes, peppermint tea with honey for Professor McGonagall, please, and a cup of Assam with milk and sugar for me.”
“Professor – ” Minerva began to protest, vainly, as Wilspy simply popped away to retrieve tea for the two.
“Professor McGonagall,” Albus said with mock sternness, “I cannot have my Heads of House making themselves ill in the damp, chilly morning air. If you insist on running about in it, then I insist on a cup of peppermint tea for you afterward!”
Minerva smiled slightly. “All right. Thank you.”
“Speaking of Gryffindor House once more, I think it best, if you don’t mind, if you were to take up the position immediately after the warding. Wilhelmina spoke to me a few days ago and said that she would prefer that, as well. But, of course, if you’d rather not . . . .”
“That would be fine with me, too. I suppose I should speak with her about moving into the rooms in Gryffindor Tower.”
Albus nodded. “I’m sure we can work out a suitable arrangement. It would be advisable to do so before the warding, however, as we make most of the changes to the castle layout at that time, too, so if there is anything special you would like done – to have your bath and loo duplicated, for example – ”
Two cups of steaming tea appeared in front of them, and Albus took a sip of his.
“I will think about it. I would like to keep the Silent Knight and Fidelio, though, if that is possible. I’ve grown rather fond of them, odd as the Knight is.” She quirked a little grin, thinking of her peculiar pair of door wardens.
Albus smiled. “Done! We will do it on the second, when we make the other changes, all right, my dear?”
Minerva nodded. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
She breathed in the stimulating aroma of the peppermint tea and took a sip. Good, not too much honey. Knowing how sweet Albus liked his tea, Minerva was unsure how Wilspy would have prepared it for her, but she must have filed her preferences away in that little house-elf brain of hers. Minerva took another sip. It did seem to soothe her throat. She hadn’t even been aware that it had required soothing. It had, though, and so did she. Albus was being kind to her, as he always was, and, after all, it had been her decision to sit at the table and not more comfortably by the fireplace, but she still wished that he would say or do something special . . . something other than ordering her a cup of peppermint tea. But that was ridiculous of her, she recognised; he had just given her the most beautiful framed photograph, the frame of which he had designed and made himself; he had taken her on a picnic breakfast, then out to dinner, accompanied her to the concert, then brought her for drinks afterward. What more could she possibly expect from the man? She was being unreasonable and she knew it. But what she had seen between him and Gertie – for her, it was the stuff of nightmares. And she didn’t even really know what it was she had seen. It simply made her ill because of her fears that the two were involved somehow and that she didn’t know it.
As they drank their tea, Albus watched Minerva. He had the sense that she was unhappy about becoming Gryffindor Head – but she had declared that she wasn’t, so what could he say? If he told her he didn’t want her to take the position, that he would somehow work something else out so that she wouldn’t have to do it, she would be dreadfully hurt, he was sure, and take it as a sign that he didn’t believe her competent. He sighed softly and finished his tea. He had already told her that she didn’t have to take it and had expressed his belief that she would do a very good job; there was nothing more he could think of to say at that moment.
Minerva looked up from her tea as Albus sighed. Probably worried about the outcome of the committee meeting. At least she had forewarned him and it wouldn’t be a surprise. Although she could hardly believe it would have come as a surprise to him even if she hadn’t said anything – it certainly shouldn’t be a surprise to him. Minerva felt a momentary annoyance with the wizard sitting across from her. He was not naive, but sometimes he certainly did a good impression of it. And if he had been more reasonable from the very beginning, proposed something that the staff could have lived with – even Madam Perlecta, with her dread of werewolves, had assented to the committee’s proposal, and she had even gone and paid the poor man a brief, though kindly, visit in hospital the week before – they wouldn’t have all wasted their time in meetings, research, debate, and occasionally, cross words. He could have made it all easier on all of them. But, Minerva thought with a sigh, he had wanted their participation. He believed it valuable . . . and perhaps he was right.
“You know, more applications for Wilhelmina’s job have come in over the last several days. Would you like to pick them up sometime today? You needn’t, of course . . . I know that you will be going on holiday, and you’ve already spent more time on Hogwarts business than anyone would expect you to – ”
“I would be happy to, Professor Dumbledore. As I said before, I am very pleased to be able to help, and I promised that I would assist you with this. It is neglectful of me not to have inquired about the applications before this.”
“No, not neglectful, Minerva. I could have brought them to your attention earlier. And although there is no immediate hurry, I would like to have your recommendations by the twelfth of August so that we can interview before the children return on the first. I do realise this is your holiday, however, and if it is inconvenient – ”
“Not at all. I would not have agreed to do this if I did not believe I would be able to, and I knew I would be visiting my parents . . . I can return to the school regularly if you like, perhaps every other day, and retrieve any that have arrived.”
“No, no need for that, my dear. They tend to come in a few at a time with none at all for days. Why don’t I simply send them on to you by owl as they arrive? You can, of course, choose to review them in whatever way you find most convenient for you.”
“Very well. That would be suitable.”
“In case for some reason I am not in my office when you are able to come by for them, I will leave the applications on my desk this afternoon if I need to leave. Please feel free to come in and retrieve them.”
Minerva nodded. “I will do that, then, either this afternoon or this evening, depending on how the committee meeting proceeds.”
“Yes, the committee meeting . . . I suppose we should open the door, lest folk decide to be polite and wait out there indefinitely. But first . . . Minerva . . . is everything all right? If you are nervous about being Head of Gryffindor, I am sure that Wilhelmina will be more than happy to help you while she is still here, and you can count on me to help, too. You merely need to ask, my dear, and I will help you in whatever way I can.”
Minerva looked up from her tea. He was looking at her seriously, concerned, and perhaps even slightly confused, about her reticence. She forced herself to smile.
“Thank you, Professor. And I will be sure to call on Wilhelmina for assistance if I need it.” Seeing his expression flicker, Minerva added, “And I will ask you for advice, as well, I am sure. I am actually looking forward to it. Truly.”
Albus nodded. “That’s good to hear, Minerva. . . . Minerva, have I done anything – ”
Just then the door opened, Johannes and Filius had arrived for the meeting, and Albus was unable to complete his question. Minerva’s cool attitude disturbed him; it was one thing to be professional when discussing Hogwarts business and another to be so distant and detached. He felt as though he were watching Minerva dealing with a near-stranger, not with him. Granted, they had agreed to keep school business and their personal relationship separate, but perhaps he had said or done something that had affected their friendship. He was clueless as to what it could have been, however – unless it was his inviting himself into her bedroom the day before. She had seemed fine when he’d left, however, and even yesterday during dinner she had treated him as always. Or perhaps it was the picture itself – perhaps the effort . . . perhaps she found his gift odd, an inappropriately intimate gesture. She had accepted the offer of a photograph of her former mentor, after all, and what she had received was more than just a copy of a picture of him. Albus could feel an ache in his heart as he contemplated the possibility that his relationship with Minerva was destined to be as it was in this moment, forever. No more picnics on the mountainside, no more concerts, no more private dinners, no more walks, no more breakfasts . . . but if that was what Minerva wanted, a purely professional relationship between them, he would live with it and honour her wishes. He had no claim on her, after all, for anything more than that, and it wasn’t as though he had been a particularly good friend to her during her first several months at the castle. He had no right to anything more. It was not as though any of his gestures of friendship could be those of a suitor; no, he had no claim on her. The pain of separation from Minerva seemed almost physical, but there was a meeting to be held, and he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had done far more difficult tasks under far more difficult circumstances than attend a meeting and answer questions when he imagined his heart was breaking.
When Minerva stepped out of the staff room at five-thirty, she felt drained. They had finally hammered out their proposal by about three-thirty, but then they had Flitwick, who had been charged with recording everything, read the entire proposal back. This meant that at several points, one person or another had stopped him and declared that that wasn’t what they had agreed to or meant at all. This led to more discussion, occasional bickering, and more revisions. Fortunately, Flitwick’s charms did a very good job at keeping track of the discussion on one set of parchments and the committee’s proposal on another set, and so the changes, once agreed upon, were easily made. Then at five o’clock, after the new Charms teacher had duplicated the proposal so that each person had a copy, they had sent for the Headmaster. Dumbledore had come down, listened to Johannes summarise their proposal, then perused a copy of it. He graciously accepted the committee’s proposal, saying that he might make a few additions to it, but that he would inform them of any changes before the full staff meeting, scheduled for early August, at which they would present the proposal to everyone, and they would have the opportunity to respond to the changes before then.
Minerva hung about in the entry hall, watching as the committee members wandered by, drifting off to occupy themselves for the short time before dinner would be served. She wanted to catch Albus. Despite his accepting demeanor in the meeting, she was sure that he must be disappointed. Whatever she felt about anything else at the moment, she wanted to speak to him and make sure he didn’t feel he had failed Pretnick, as he had expressed the previous morning, nor that he felt that she had failed him. Finally, after it seemed that everyone else had left, Minerva was beginning to wonder if Albus had Flooed back to his office, and she was heading back toward the staff room to look for him, when Albus and Johannes emerged from the room, speaking in subdued voices.
“ . . . difficult time of year,” Birnbaum said soberly.
“Yes, it is, this one more than others, I think . . . but perhaps your idea might help,” Albus replied. “Merlin knows, I thought I had succeeded, but when I left . . .” Albus shrugged, but then saw Minerva standing near the stairs. “My dear Professor McGonagall, were you waiting for us?”
“I just thought I’d see . . . how you are.”
Albus smiled, eyes brightening. “I am fine. And you? It was a very long meeting.”
“Yes,” Johannes added, “it was. Thank you for participating, Minerva. It was most helpful.” The German Herbology teacher smiled at her warmly.
“I was glad to be of help – Professor Dumbledore, would you like to meet? About the proposal, I mean,” Minerva said, trying not to be distracted by Birnbaum’s presence.
“Perhaps later, Professor McGonagall, but at the moment, I need to be elsewhere.” He turned and looked at Birnbaum. “I told Gertrude I would fetch her for dinner.”
“Very good, Albus! I look forward to seeing you both there. Now, I need to see if the elves did as I asked today in Greenhouse two. Would you like to come with, Minerva?” he asked.
“No . . . thank you.” Minerva was not the slightest bit interested in whatever the elves might have been doing in Greenhouse two, although she recognised that Johannes was only asking for her company. “Perhaps some other time, later.”
Birnbaum nodded as Albus began up the stairs. “Yes, good. I see you later!”
Minerva turned toward the staircase as Johannes headed toward the front doors. “Albus, are you sure you don’t want to discuss it?” She heard the great oak door thunk shut behind her.
“Not at the moment, Minerva. As I said, I’m fetching Gertrude for dinner – she didn’t eat very much lunch and I don’t want her to miss her supper.” He paused, standing on the third step, looking down at Minerva. “Come with me, though? I am sure Gertie would be happy to see you. You can help me persuade her to come eat a decent supper.”
From what Minerva had observed, Gertrude never required any urging to eat, though the witch was far from plump, and Minerva certainly had no desire to see her at the moment, let alone fetch her for dinner with Albus. Still, it might be an opportunity to speak with him. . . . Perhaps he was disappointed in her, believing that she hadn’t represented him well on the committee; but she had believed she was there merely to present his position, not to advocate for it. Perhaps that was what he had wanted from her, and why he didn’t want to discuss it with her now.
As she stood there noncommittally, Albus took another step up, still looking down at her. “You needn’t, of course, Professor. We can meet more formally, if you prefer – later tonight, if you plan on leaving for your holiday tomorrow.”
“No, I don’t – I mean, I have decided to wait until Wednesday to leave.” She had just made the decision at that moment.
“Good, then . . . I do have business in London tomorrow, but I will be in the castle much of the day. I . . . I will let you know when I have returned?” Albus took another slow step up away from Minerva, seemingly reluctant to leave their conversation.
“That sounds fine. I hope you are all right, though, Albus,” Minerva said, allowing a little of her concern to creep into her voice.
Albus smiled slightly. “Yes, I am and will be fine, if you are referring to the proposal. I suppose this was not unexpected, as you reminded me yesterday.” He shrugged slightly. “Perhaps I could have been more persuasive, but I cannot second-guess everything. I appreciate your concern, though, Minerva. Thank you.”
Minerva nodded, considering asking him if he would care to join her after dinner for a leisurely stroll, not to discuss business, when he took one more step up.
“I really must be going, Minerva – as I said, you are welcome to come along!”
Minerva thought that Albus looked hopeful, but she shook her head. “No, I will see you both in the Great Hall in a little while.”
If he was disappointed, Minerva couldn’t tell, for he simply nodded, turned, and began to hurry up the stairs. She sighed and looked at the doors to the Great Hall. Dinner was being served early that evening, at six o’clock, to accommodate those who wished to stay for dinner with their colleagues, but who wanted to leave for home that evening. Nonetheless, Minerva didn’t particularly want to be the first – and only – person there waiting for it, so she decided to step outside.
As she lowered herself onto one of the stone steps that led up to the front doors, Minerva let out another sigh. She felt exhausted. The meeting had been enervating, as so many such meetings are, but more than that, she had never adequately dealt with her feelings about what she had seen that morning, and they had festered quite nicely untended. Looking back on it, aside from the fact that she had been witnessing something that she hadn’t been intended to see, Minerva found that, rationally, she had no justification for her feelings. And it wasn’t merely her mantra speaking, telling her that Albus’s life was his own and his relationship with Gertrude was none of her business. No, whether Albus and Gertrude were in some way intimately involved or not – or perhaps had been at one time in the past – truly was none of her business. Even if it were, she had no cause to complain or object – not as Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration mistress, nor as Minerva McGonagall, friend of Albus. If it had been only a friendly embrace she witnessed – though heaven only knew why they would be embracing in the staff room on a Monday morning – she certainly had no cause to resent it. And if it were more than friendly . . . well, perhaps she might wish that Albus would tell her of his involvement with Gertrude, or that Gertrude had mentioned it when they had discussed Valerianna, but as Albus’s friend, she had no right to object if he had a relationship with a witch. As she had told herself before, Gertrude was far preferable to Valerianna. And she did seem genuinely devoted to him. . . . Despite her logical arguments to herself, Minerva still felt vaguely ill about it.
What was it they had said? Minerva had become so fixated on the embrace, she found it difficult to recall what they had been talking about. Gertrude had apparently agreed to something that Albus thought was a sacrifice for her. It could have been anything, and given the way that Albus seemed prone to carrying on as though he were responsible for everything, it could have been something quite small. But if it were something small he had thanked her for doing, what was that tender embrace for? And Minerva was back where she had begun, telling herself that it was none of her business. If she hadn’t been lurking outside the door like that, she would be perfectly happy right now – perhaps even with Albus as he retrieved Gertrude for dinner.
Minerva stretched. Albus did seem unduly worried about the witch, though. She was quite certain that Gertrude could manage to get to dinner without the Headmaster fetching her. Now she was being petty. If it had been anyone else he was fetching for dinner, she was certain that she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. In fact, if it had been anyone else who had been with him that morning in the staff room, she wouldn’t have been nearly so bothered. She may have warmed some to Gertrude during her sojourn in Cornwall, but not sufficiently to overcome a long history of repressed jealousy for the witch. Well, it wasn’t so repressed any more, Minerva thought ruefully. Perhaps it had been better left unexamined.
Still, what did she really have to be jealous of? Minerva couldn’t change the fact that they had been acquainted for more than thirty years, after all, nor the fact that they had taught side-by-side at Hogwarts for close to twenty years. And they hadn’t been mere colleagues and friends; she had been one of the very few people who knew about the wards and had worked with Albus on them. Not only that, but Gertrude would be unusual, indeed, if she weren’t grateful, even after all these years, to Albus for rescuing her son.
And Minerva had her own friendship with Albus. It wasn’t as long, of course, but she had been a child when they’d met twenty years before. In that time, they had shared a good deal. And it had been she, not Gertrude, who had saved him from that filthy hole in France. And Albus had been grateful to her, even if he had been dismissive of her attempts to comfort him when he felt responsible for Carson’s death. And according to everyone – even that cow, Valerianna – he spoke of her often. He had come to her Challenge at Beauxbatons, and she had made him proud of her, to such an extent that he had asked for that photograph and had kept it all those years.
If Albus had been slightly distant with her just now, her own behaviour that morning had been far worse. What had she expected, after having treated him like a near-stranger, and him not having a clue as to why? She probably should have accompanied him to Gertrude’s rooms. At the very least, she might have learned more about what was going on, if anything, between the two. It couldn’t be anything too . . . intimate, if he had invited her along. But then, she doubted they’d fall into a passionate embrace if they had an audience, no matter who that audience was. Especially not Gertie. But not Albus, either, she thought. He was affectionate, but he didn’t seem the type to hang off of a witch he was involved with – not like Valerianna and her barnacle. Minerva chuckled. She wondered whether Valerianna had tried to keep Albus attached to her in that way, and how he had responded. Whenever she thought about the two of them together, it seemed more absurd and unlikely. Valerianna certainly must have kept up quite an act for Albus’s benefit. And Albus had been rid of her as soon as he was aware of her true character.
On the other hand, the longer that she and Albus knew each other, the closer they became. And he might not hang off her like a barnacle – which she would detest in a wizard, anyway – but he had always spoken of her fondly to others; everyone from Robert Crouch to Valerianna Yaxley had confirmed that. And when they were out in public, he treated her with respect, always introducing her when they met people he knew, and never allowing her to be left feeling like a mere accessory. He brought her flowers he had arranged himself, despite being the Headmaster of Hogwarts and a very busy wizard; he placed a single red rose in her hair and told her she was beautiful, right there on a public street. A Muggle street, but it was still in public. And he held her closely during Side-Along Apparitions. Albus was more wonderful to her than she deserved, Minerva thought, and he couldn’t be more wonderful if he were a true suitor.
Feeling more cheerful now, Minerva reminded herself of some other things they had done together recently. Of course he may have embraced Gertrude that morning, but he had held Minerva in his arms, comforting her as they sat together on his sofa. And he had kissed her on the cheek. And he walked her down his secret stair. And it had been she, and not Gertrude, whom he had brought to his special place on the mountain, the place where he had only ever brought one other person, and that had been one hundred years ago. Minerva shoved aside the thought that arose along side that one, that she was much too young for Albus, and she continued to think of all of the wonderful things he had done for her lately. By the time that Johannes returned from the greenhouses for dinner, Minerva felt quite cheerful, indeed. Whatever was going on between Gertie and Albus, Gertie didn’t have the relationship that she had with him. What they had was very special, Minerva was sure – even their wands were connected. It was a waste of time to be jealous of Gertie. Minerva would never trade places with that witch and give up what she had with Albus. She might never have the relationship with Albus that she longed for, but what they did have was wonderful.
Despite that thought, when she entered the Great Hall with Johannes, Minerva was glad to see that Gertrude hadn’t arrived yet – although that meant that Albus hadn’t either. Hafrena MacAirt was already there, standing beside the large windows and looking out at the grounds, waiting for others to arrive, and Johannes went over and began to speak quietly with the older witch. This reminded Minerva of her speculation that they might be a bit closer than most colleagues were, but although Hafrena occasionally lifted her hand and touched his arm as they spoke, Minerva saw no gestures that would indicate that they were anything more than friends.
Minerva sat down at the large round table and waited for more people to arrive. Hagrid and Wilhelmina arrived. The witch’s collar was turned in, and she looked somewhat flushed. Minerva could only imagine what they’d been doing. The two sat down at the other side of the table, both looking more cheerful than was decent. Minerva tried to catch Wilhelmina’s eye – which was difficult, given her preoccupation with Hagrid – but she finally did and indicated with a gesture to her own neck that Wilhelmina needed to straighten her clothing. The other witch blushed, but mouthed, “Thank you,” and turned her collar out, then checked the buttons on the front of her robe.
As Flitwick and a few others came in – also flushed, but apparently from indulging in a little aperitif and not from the activities in which Hagrid and Wilhelmina had evidently been engaged – Johannes and Hafrena joined them at the table. Minerva considered getting up and changing places to move closer to the others, but there were exactly ten chairs at the table, the number of staff present for dinner that evening, so she remained where she was, and as a few more people came in, the table filled around her. The others didn’t seem to notice, they were so engrossed in conversation, but it was five minutes past six before Albus and Gertrude finally appeared in the Great Hall.
“Isn’t this lovely!” Albus said brightly as he held Gertrude’s chair for her. “So pleasant to have dinner with friends, isn’t it, my dear?”
Gertrude took the seat beside Minerva, and as Albus sat down next to her, dinner appeared on the table. Conversation flowed around her, and she answered a few remarks directed at her by Madam Perlecta, but Minerva felt awkward, sitting next to Gertrude after her thoughts about her, and her jealousy. The other witch didn’t help matters any, sitting almost silently beside her, pushing her peas about. Albus kept making inane, one-sided conversation until Johannes and Hafrena joined it. Their conversation seemed to Minerva to be equally inane. Madam Perlecta had given up trying to engage Minerva in conversation and had begun discussing modern book-binding with Flitwick, who seemed as knowledgeable about that as he had been about everything Minerva had heard him discuss.
“. . . and perhaps Minerva would also like to come. So, would you like to do that, Gertrude?” Minerva’s ears pricked at the mention of her name.
“I don’t know, Johannes,” Gertrude began.
Minerva looked over at the taciturn witch, typically dressed in grey and . . . more grey. She must leave her fashion sense in Cornwall, Minerva thought. And layering a charcoal grey robe over a steel grey one did nothing for the witch’s complexion.
“Oh, come, now, Gertrude! A quick turn about the gardens, a visit to the greenhouses . . . maybe a trip down to the paddock to see the Thestrals – ” Johannes suddenly hesitated mid-speech. “What I mean is, Wilhelmina said that they had foaled. But perhaps a visit to the Jarvey Hagrid found in the forest last week. He is quite amusing! He swears like a drunken Auror!” Minerva thought Johannes sounded unnaturally cheerful.
Gertrude smiled slightly. “Perhaps tomorrow, Johannes. Thank you, though.”
“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Gertie,” Albus said. “And I’m sure Minerva would enjoy it as well.”
Much as Minerva might be intrigued by the prospect of seeing a Jarvey that swore like a drunken Auror, particularly as she wasn’t entirely sure how a drunken Auror swore, Minerva was in no mood for a friendly walk with Johannes and Gertrude.
“I don’t think so, Professor,” Minerva said, speaking more to Johannes than to Albus. “But thank you.”
Hafrena spoke up. “I would enjoy that, Johannes. Come, Gertie, let’s go visit Hagrid’s Jarvey and take a walk in the gardens. It’s a lovely evening.”
Gertrude seemed to waver a bit, but said, “I think I’ll make an early night of it, Haffie, but I appreciate the thought.”
“It is bad, then, this year, Gertie?” Johannes asked, so softly that Minerva almost couldn’t catch his words.
Gertrude nodded. “Shouldn’t be,” she said tersely.
“There is no ‘should be’ or ‘shouldn’t be,’ Gertie,” the gentle Herbology teacher responded. “But I do think you would enjoy the Jarvey.”
Minerva narrowed her eyes. She was getting sick of listening to this conversation, but the one that Flitwick and Perlecta were having was dense and boring, and she couldn’t hear enough of the conversations on the other side of the table to listen to them, let alone participate in them. No one was trying to convince her to go on a walk. She had declined and that had been that. An afterthought. That’s all she was to these people. Even if she was going to be the new Head of Gryffindor, she was still a newcomer and a youngster to these people.
Gertrude was just opening her mouth to respond to Birnbaum’s latest attempt, when Minerva jumped into the conversation.
“Although this year I find myself here at Hogwarts and not in London, I have no complaints about it.” Her statement sounded empty and foolish to her own ears. “Of course, those of you who have been here for a longer time than I have probably have a different perspective on things. But, um, it seems that the gardens are the same today as they will be tomorrow, more or less, and the Jarvey, too.” She realized then that she had no idea what the conversation had been about and no idea what to say. There was a subtext that she had missed, and she was only just now aware that she had missed it because she was no longer focussed solely on her petty annoyance at not being cajoled to come on the walk with Johannes and Hafrena – and Gertrude. A walk she didn’t even want to go on.
But Johannes took the opening that Minerva had unintentionally presented him. “We should see whether that statement has truth! Let us go for that walk and visit that Jarvey, the four of us, and do the same once more tomorrow.” Again, Minerva thought he sounded peculiarly loud. “It will cheer us all up after a long day!”
Gertrude shook her head again; this time, though, she stood. “I hope you will excuse me, but I have a headache – and I do not believe the fresh air would help,” she said, giving Johannes a sharp glance.
Johannes nodded. “All right, Gertrude. I will see you tomorrow. Perhaps we can have breakfast together?”
This time, Minerva thought the wizard sounded more tentative.
“I . . . that would be nice. Thank you. I will join you in the morning,” Gertrude responded. Johannes looked pleased, though his smile seemed to dim slightly when Gertrude continued. “Perhaps Minerva and Hafrena would also care to join us, and we could take that walk then?”
Minerva was completely uninterested in taking a walk with Gertrude. And she associated her morning walks with solitude or with Albus. She really didn’t want to begin sharing her morning constitutionals with everyone in the castle, let alone with Gertie.
“I don’t think so. Thank you for thinking of me, though.” Somehow, although Minerva hadn’t intended it so, her response sounded sarcastic, even to her own ears. She winced and tried to think of something pleasant to say to gloss over her accidental rudeness, but too late: Gertrude simply nodded and rapidly left the table and was out of the Great Hall before Minerva could even open her mouth again.
Albus, who had been quiet for some time, turned to Minerva and said, very softly, so that the others might not hear, “I do believe she was thinking of you when she asked for your company, Minerva. It sounded – ”
“I know how I sounded,” Minerva replied, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I didn’t intend it to come out quite that way, and I certainly didn’t mean to give her offense. But it’s not like her to be so sensitive – it’s not as though someone died, or something.”
Albus’s face was unreadable at that moment, but Hafrena, who was rising from the table, said, “There is no reason for you to know this, Minerva, but someone did die. Not recently perhaps, but this is the anniversary of her husband’s death, and it’s been an unusually difficult one for her. Now, Honnie,” the Divination teacher said, turning to Johannes, “I will go find her. I’ll bring her up to my rooms, and you can join us in a little while. The fresh air in the tower will be almost as good for her as that of the gardens, though I don’t boast a Jarvey!” The witch spoke lightly, but she did not wait for Johannes to respond before hurrying out of the Great Hall.
Unfortunately, as soon as Gertrude had made her rushed exit from the Hall, all other conversation had ceased, and Minerva found herself turning red. She was just wondering whether she should say anything, or whether it would be better to stay quiet lest she put her foot in her mouth again, when Flitwick spoke up.
“Gertrude lost her husband?” the small wizard asked.
“Yes,” Johannes answered. “It was, as Professor MacAirt stated, not recently, but some years are harder than others for her.” The German shrugged. “Who can say why.”
Flitwick nodded. “Yes, I understand that. My Dora died twenty years ago, and some days, it’s as though it were yesterday, and others . . . . And it’s true about the anniversaries, as well. I have noticed that a few years can go by relatively peacefully, I note the date, but am not unduly distressed by it, yet other years . . . it is as though I grieve anew.”
“Yes, I have experienced the same that you describe, Professor.” The Herbology teacher swallowed and seemed to be gathering himself. “My family . . . everyone . . . they all died the same day in nineteen forty-one. And sometimes I feel that I never grieved them properly, they were all taken from me so suddenly, and all of them at once.” Tears rose in the wizard’s eyes. “And I feel guilty, having survived, almost by chance, and I feel guilty, thinking that I have grieved no single one of them properly because it was such a massive loss, and because I was also trying to escape the same fate that befell them. And there are so many anniversaries . . .” Johannes choked slightly. “How can I forget my little Clara’s birthday, even though she never celebrated even one birthday while she was alive? Or those birthdays of my parents, my brother, my dear wife.” His choke became a strangled sob.
Minerva sat and watched as Albus put his arm around Johannes and guided him from his seat. “Come, old friend. Let’s take a bit of a walk together, then you can join Hafrena and Gertrude, hmm?”
Johannes nodded, tears trickling down his face, his own grief reignited by the recalled grief of another, and allowed Albus to lead him from the room. Minerva’s own eyes were far from dry, and she was embarrassed by this until she observed Filius weeping openly and Madam Perlecta holding her napkin to her face, blowing her nose rather indelicately. Hagrid, who was sentimental, anyway, was crying great tears, and Wilhelmina, apparently unconcerned with what anyone might think of her behaviour, was wiping them away with her own napkin. The others around the table may not have been moved to tears, but they looked stricken, nonetheless.
“I am sorry,” Minerva whispered, to no one in particular. “I had no idea . . . that is . . . I knew that her husband was killed, but I just didn’t know. . . . I didn’t mean to cause her . . . or anyone . . . more pain.”
Minerva excused herself from the table as soon after that as she decently could. The others were barely talking, and it looked as though no one had the desire to finish their dinners. She certainly didn’t.
After leaving the Great Hall, Minerva stood outside the doors, at a loss for what to do. She felt the urge to do something, anything, to apologise to Gertrude. She had clearly misread everything from the time she came in and saw Gertrude and Albus together right through to the conversation in which Johannes had been trying to cajole Gertie into going for a walk with them that evening. It was the height of hubris for her to have taken offense when they hadn’t tried harder to urge her to take a walk she hadn’t wanted to go on anyway. When had she become so . . . self-absorbed?
And Gertrude . . . Gertrude had noticed that something was bothering her when she came to lunch that day a few weeks before, a Glamour covering her puffy face and red eyes. Gertrude had noticed and had invited her for a holiday in Cornwall. On the other hand, Gertrude had sat beside her that evening, clearly not herself, and Minerva had thought only of herself, of her own needs, of her own jealousy. She seemed constitutionally incapable of viewing Gertrude as an individual. Minerva knew this was not her normal way of dealing with others, and she vowed to try harder with Gertrude – not necessarily to try to become friends with her, but to truly try to see Gertrude as an individual apart from whatever prejudices had grown up around her jealousy of the witch. Her behaviour had been as poor as that of the old biddies who had been so “interested” in the McGonagall name, and what that meant about her origins, and Minerva was ashamed of herself.
On the other hand, as Professor MacAirt had said, there was no way that she could have known it was the anniversary of Gertrude’s husband’s death at the hands of Grindelwald – the older witch had never said precisely how her husband had died or when, but she had spoken of him proudly and lovingly. Yet if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with It and her jealousy of Gertrude and the witch’s friendship with Albus, there would now be no need for her to apologise. Minerva doubted she would have even bothered to eavesdrop on the two of them if she hadn’t felt so insecure, and perhaps she would have viewed the embrace as what it now apparently was: an offer of comfort, perhaps mutual comfort, but comfort between two old friends who had shared a long history. And had they ever shared more than friendship . . . Minerva didn’t know and decided not to speculate on it – not at that moment, anyway.
She still didn’t completely understand the end of the discussion she had overheard outside the staff room. That conversation hadn’t to do completely with Gertrude’s husband’s death, Minerva was sure. Although something that Gertrude had said about neither of them owing the other anything – that could have referred to Albus saving young Robert. Minerva wished she could remember it more clearly. If only Poppy were here . . . she had a small Healer’s Pensieve; not one of the rare, extremely expensive ones that could hold hours of memories, but the twenty minutes or so that this Pensieve held would be more than sufficient for her to be able to view the memory again. And this time, she’d see more, and not just from the biassed perspective from which she had first judged what she had seen. There were so many memories that she would like to view, now that she thought about it, although it was unlikely that Poppy would just hand over the Pensieve to her for her indefinite use. Even a small one like that was expensive and difficult to replace. And technically, it wasn’t Poppy’s, but the school’s. But perhaps, if she asked the right way, Poppy would loan it to her for a while. She would write to her and ask, Minerva decided. And since she’d never even told Poppy she was being considered for Head of Gryffindor, she would tell her that, as well. Suddenly, amidst all her other confused emotions of the day, Minerva felt a small spark of pride. Head of Gryffindor House. That was an achievement – and Albus had told her that even if they had a staff filled with Gryffindors, she would still be his first choice. Perhaps it was something to enjoy, or try to enjoy, on this otherwise dismal day.
She was still standing indecisively in the entry hall when Albus and Johannes came in through the great doors.
“Ah, my dear! You finished your dinner, then,” Albus said, smiling.
“Yes – as much as I wanted, anyway.” She took a deep breath. “Professor Dumbledore, Albus, I am sorry. I had no idea. And regardless, I wish I had said something different or had said it in a different manner. I didn’t mean to insult Gertrude when she’s already having a bad day – or especially when she’s having a bad day, I should say. I didn’t even mean it the way it sounded.”
“I know that, Minerva. You would never intentionally hurt anyone, and I am sure that Gertrude knows that, as well. It was merely unfortunate. She has probably already forgotten it. Don’t worry yourself!” Albus’s tone was kind and his gaze warm, but Minerva was unassuaged.
“I feel badly, though. I was having a bad day – of the ordinary sort – and I just . . . ” Minerva shrugged. “I was not at my best,” she ended lamely.
“We all have days like that, my dear Minerva. Your bad day collided with her bad day . . . and I likely wasn’t much help, either.” He sighed. “That’s why I had wanted you to come with me to fetch her for dinner. I know that Gertrude enjoys your company; I had thought if I explained on the way up why it was that she was . . . in an unusual mood today, you could help us jolly her out of it. And perhaps more subtly than I’m afraid we did. I should have simply explained that when I invited you to come up with me.” He shook his head. “That I was distracted by a number of things is the only excuse I have. So you have my apology, my dear. Had I told you earlier today about how Gertrude was feeling, you never would have had the opportunity for accidental rudeness.”
Minerva shook her head, then looked at Johannes, who was quiet, but otherwise seemed as though he had recovered from his earlier tears. “I am sorry to have raised something that required explanation from you, as well, Professor, and that caused you distress.”
“Do not think of it, Minerva. It is fine. I have shed tears before with no lasting harm!” He smiled gently. “And Albus is right. Gertrude will forget this quickly.”
“Perhaps, but I also embarrassed myself in front of several colleagues.”
“Again, that is my fault, Minerva. I should have said something to you. When I saw you this morning, though, I thought that Gertie was going to be all right today. But I’m afraid it was a only a momentary brightening in her mood and a brief respite from her sadness. And later . . . I was distracted, as I said, and I was also finding it difficult to speak to you, to know what to say – you seemed preoccupied. No doubt with your own ‘ordinary bad day.’ But I do apologise for causing your embarrassment.”
Minerva stared at Albus a moment, trying to comprehend his apologies. It was the end of a very long day, a day which, unlike those that had recently preceded it, Minerva would not care to repeat. Ever. And yet, somehow in that moment, Albus’s repeated apologies struck her as simultaneously arrogant, amusing, and charming. Only this complicated wizard could possibly manage all three at the same time with the same words. Her love of this complicated wizard caused Minerva to be more amused and charmed than annoyed, however.
“Do you believe this?” Minerva asked Johannes with a shake of her head. “I do not know how he manages, it Johannes, but he always takes the credit for other people’s poor judgment, errors, accidents, calamities, whatever it is that happens that is bad – there is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Ready to shoulder the responsibility! I think if there were no Albus Dumbledore, we would have no more troubles in the world! It would be all sunshine and ginger newts! Why, he’s probably responsible for all sorts of things, from the declining value of the Galleon, to the invasion of Hungary, to the abolition of the Toddlers’ Truce. Don’t even ask me what that is – some Muggle thing that Melina seems to think heralds the beginning of the end of Muggle civilization!”
Minerva took a deep breath and turned to Albus. “Albus, you are a dear wizard, very dear, indeed, but sometimes you have to let other people say they were wrong without immediately jumping in and saying that you were more wrong. It can become quite tiresome. That said, thank you, and I do accept your apology – as long as you don’t repeat it.”
By the time she had finished, Johannes was grinning ear to ear, Albus was looking bemused, and Minerva herself was feeling a good deal better. As much as she felt she was right in what she had said to Albus, and in being both annoyed and amused by him, Minerva was glad that he had explained things to her. And anyone can have a distracted day, even “the great Albus Dumbledore.” She should know that about him better than anyone.
“And another thing, this whole business about jollying Gertrude out of her mood. You may mean well, but if she’s anything like me, she doesn’t want to be jollied out of it. It can be quite annoying. Not that you want to let her wallow for days on end, or something, and you certainly don’t want to behave as though you don’t care, but have you ever thought to ask the poor witch what she would like to do? Maybe she just wants to sit alone and cry. Maybe she wants to sit with others and cry. Maybe she’d like to reminisce. Maybe she’d like to keep busy. Maybe she’d like to do all of those things. I don’t know; I don’t know her well enough to know. But it seems that because I don’t know her well, it does occur to me, rather than to her oldest friends, to actually ask her what she’d like to do.” Minerva paused. The wizards seemed unoffended by her words and were listening attentively, so she continued. “What does she usually do on this day? Is it different every year, or does she have certain . . . rituals? Not literal rituals, of course, although perhaps that as well. But I know . . . there’s a certain day of the year when I take myself into town and have a Muggle meal. And it’s always the same meal, and I never really enjoy it any more than I did the first time I ate it, but I do it anyway. This was the first year I wasn’t able to do that, and it was hard. But I was busy, and I got through it all right.”
Albus nodded slowly, comprehending what Minerva was saying. “She usually spends it with her son in Amsterdam, or occasionally at her parents, and her son and his wife visit her there. She came back early because of the additional Hogwarts business . . . I am ashamed to say that until she arrived this morning wearing the locket she so seldom wears, I had forgotten the significance of the date. She never mentioned it to me when I asked her to return to the school today. All day I have been trying to make up for my insensitivity. And I suppose I must have made it worse by being even more insensitive.”
The doors behind them opened, and the remaining staff trickled out of the Great Hall. They must have found their appetites and eaten their desserts. Or at least, they had tried to behave as if they had. The three fell silent for a few moments as the rest of the staff went off to other parts of the castle. When the last one had disappeared up the stairs after a muted, “Good night,” Johannes spoke again.
“Minerva, I am going to Haffie’s – Hafrena’s – rooms, where I hope to find her with Gertrude. Would you be pleased to come with?”
“I am sure I am the last person in the world she wants to see right now,” Minerva said.
“You may be wrong, Minerva,” Albus said. “But if you get there and feel uncomfortable, or you feel that you are making her uncomfortable, you can wish her a very warm good night and make your excuses to leave. You are the only one of us who actually thought of Gertrude’s needs, whereas we were thinking of our own need to have her feel better. Quite selfish of us, really.”
Minerva hesitated, remembering how self-absorbed she had been all day and feeling somewhat hypocritical, but still recognising the sense in what Albus had said. “All right. But Johannes, if you think it would be better if I were to leave, can you say something to me – perhaps something about . . . I don’t know . . . ”
“I will tell you, and you specifically, that rosemary is for remembrance.” He quirked a smile. “If I just happen to mention it – which I may, now that it is in my mind – ignore me!”
“All right, you turn to me and say that rosemary is for remembrance, and I will graciously take my leave.” Minerva returned his smile. “Do you mind, though, if I meet you there in a few minutes? I would like a word with Professor Dumbledore – if you don’t mind, Professor?” she asked, turning to the Headmaster.
“No, I don’t mind . . .”
Johannes bounded up the steps like a lanky puppy; Minerva wondered at what point on his way up to the seventh floor his energy would begin to flag.
“Shall we go sit on the steps a bit, Minerva?”
Minerva nodded, and the two went out the front doors and settled on the steps, Albus sitting on the low wall, as he had the previous morning, and Minerva sitting on a step just above him, bringing her to eye-level with him.
“Do you mind if I indulge in a pipe, my dear?”
“Yes, I mean, no, please do.”
Minerva watched as he prepared his pipe and lit it, using a wandless, nonverbal spell to ignite the tobacco rather than the peculiar matches her father insisted were a necessary part of the pipe-smoking experience. When Albus had puffed a few times, Minerva said, “I don’t know whether to apologise to you, to thank you, to be angry with you, or to be angry with myself. I think I will begin with the apology and the thanks, which may make anything else unnecessary. I apologise for being terse with you this morning. I had a great many things on my mind and . . .” Minerva swallowed before continuing, “and I overheard you and Gertrude together in the staff room. I overheard only enough to . . . to be unable to draw conclusions. I suppose I thought . . . no, I wasn’t thinking, not really, I suppose that I felt that there was something happening of which I was unaware and ignorant. I told myself that your business with Gertrude was not mine and that I am not involved in running the school . . . but I still felt . . .” Minerva struggled for words, not wanting to say all that she had felt. “I felt left out, I suppose, and uninformed. It was childish of me. But that is why I was late. Because I had actually been early. So I apologise.”
She took a breath, grateful that Albus did not interrupt her, as he seemed to do so often lately when she tried to explain or apologise. “And I want to thank you for explaining to me this evening what was going on, and for trying to invite me to come up with you to fetch Gertrude. I think all three of us were having a bad day, perhaps. And it wasn’t helped by the committee meeting, either.”
Albus smiled slightly. “No, I suppose it wasn’t.” He looked at Minerva and continued quietly, “I don’t know particularly what you overheard this morning, but Gertrude had once again returned to school, unselfishly, simply because I asked her to. As I mentioned already, in all that has happened lately with Robert Pretnick, and the lovely time that I have spent with you, and the myriad other things that crop up on a daily basis, I had forgotten the anniversary of Reginald’s death. I remember much more clearly young Robbie’s foolishness a few days later. And yet she is never at the school during this week in July, although she always returns before the end of the month. I should have remembered the reason for this. She is perpetually putting her own needs aside for those of others. I know that this runs contrary to your view of Slytherins, Minerva, but I know that she will also be the first to admit that she is very selective about whom she chooses to care for in this way. I have been fortunate to be one of those people, despite the fact that I am not always deserving of it.”
Albus puffed on his pipe a bit, thinking. “Gertrude is one of my oldest friends, Minerva. I may not always understand the best way to help her, but I do try, just as she helps me when she believes I need it. I have lost many friends over the years . . . some to death, some to disagreements, some just to the passage of time and changes in the world. But for as long as Gertie has been my friend, she has been loyal and steadfast, and no disagreement has ever been too profound, and no changes in the world too great, for us to overcome. And believe me when I tell you that I have not always been the easiest person to have as a friend – something that perhaps you already know, in fact,” he chuckled. “But she somehow always sees me, just me, Minerva. And still she stays loyal and steadfast, whether despite that or because of it. I try to repay that loyalty in what ways I am able, but I sometimes do believe that I receive more from her than she does from me. Gertrude would likely tell you that this is not the case . . . and perhaps she would be right. But I feel it nonetheless,” he ended quietly, “and particularly on a day such as today, when she does so much for me and I don’t even notice what she’s given up to do it until after she’s done it.”
Minerva nodded. Not the answer she had expected, and certainly both more information than she had expected and less than she had wanted. But he had not chided her for listening at doors – which would have been her first reaction had a friend come to her and said something similar – and he had been unusually forthcoming, she thought.
“I see,” she said, though she didn’t really. But perhaps because there was nothing to see . . .
“Were you going to join them in the Divination Tower, Minerva?” Albus asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“Yes. I think I will.” She stood. “Thank you, Albus. And next time I’m being difficult to talk to – just tell me. I might not become any easier to talk to, but at least I will be aware of why you aren’t saying anything!” Minerva grinned. “And Albus, I rather think Gertrude is loyal to you because she sees you, not despite it – and remember what I have mentioned to you before. Allow people the dignity of their choices. I am sure that Gertrude does not act blindly. I know her at least that well, I think.”
Albus smiled and nodded. “I will try to remember that, my dear. Perhaps with you by my side, I will do better.”
Minerva smiled at his words, the nicest she had heard all day. “Good night, Albus.”
He looked up at her and smiled warmly, his eyes bright. “And a very good night to you, my dear Minerva.”
Minerva’s heart, so pulled and stretched as it had been that day, felt as though it would burst at that moment. She put a hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed his cheek lightly, then, almost overcome with affection for the sweet wizard, she kissed it again before squeezing his shoulder, turning, and running up the stairs and into the castle, the aroma of his chocolatey tobacco still wafting about her.