Plans
Minerva finished her letter to Poppy, inviting her to tea on Sunday and asking her nonchalantly about borrowing her Healer’s Pensieve sometime, then began her letter to Gertrude, dating it with the next day’s date. It was almost Thursday, anyway.
“Thursday, 25 July 1957
“Dear Gertrude,
“As you may know, I am visiting my family home whilst on holiday. I am inviting a few friends for tea on Sunday and hoped that you would be able to come. It would be lovely to be able to repay your hospitality in some small way. I am afraid that my relatives are not quite as ‘interesting’ as your own, but you may enjoy meeting them.
“Tea will be served at 4:00, but if you would like to arrive earlier, we will open our Floo to guests at 3:00, so please feel free to Floo through at any time. Our Floo is identified on the Network as ‘McGonagall Library’; if by some chance it has not been opened yet, just call through and a house-elf will fetch someone to admit you. If you would prefer to arrive by broom, I can owl you directions to the house. We are on the coast, however, and the headwinds can be somewhat unpredictable.
“I do hope you will be able to attend, Gertrude. I plan to invite a few staff from the school, as well as Quin, so you won’t be surrounded by strangers.
“I look forward to your reply.
“Sincerely,
“Minerva”
Minerva reread her letter. It was so awkward inviting someone who was neither a friend nor a complete stranger. She would have to talk to her mother about how to open the Floo connection to admit anyone who wanted to Floo through. They now had the default charm set that allowed anyone to Floo out, and anyone to call in, but it was tied to the Apparition wards and only those who could Apparate in could also Floo in. She knew that there was a way to change that temporarily, though. Some folk left their Floos open at all times, but Minerva thought that was a bit foolish. If someone wanted to Floo through, they could call through first and ask to be admitted; no need to keep it open all of the time. Of course, the Floo-Network was monitored, so if a thief Flooed through, or someone else intent on mischief, their Floo-Path could be traced, but with so many public Floos, Minerva didn’t think it would be difficult for someone to use a public Floo and escape identification. What thief would Floo from their own house, after all?
She doubted that Gertrude would arrive by broom – until the pick-up Quidditch game, she had never seen the witch on a broom – but she thought it polite to offer that as an alternative. Wondering whether she should have mentioned that she was inviting Johannes, Minerva set the letter aside and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. It was clear that Gertrude and Johannes were friends, but mentioning him specifically might seem odd. Minerva would have to talk to her mother about seating arrangements. She doubted that one afternoon tea at the McGonagalls’ would draw Gertrude and Johannes any closer than fifteen years of teaching side-by-side had done, but it wouldn’t hurt to give Johannes another opportunity to get closer to the Arithmancy teacher. Minerva had considered mentioning to Gertrude that her father would enjoy seeing her again, but she worried that a mention of her father would only serve to remind her of her husband and his death that soon after the anniversary, so she omitted that.
She composed the next letter to Johannes with somewhat less care. Although the Herbology teacher seemed fairly formal with his precise English and his close attention to etiquette, he was a very warm man, Minerva found, and not really one to stand on ceremony, and so Minerva didn’t think he would take offense at a familiar tone. The next letter was to Quin.
“Dear Quin,
“Thank you very much for dinner at the Three Broomsticks. It was one of the best meals I have had there, and I enjoyed the company, as well. As I mentioned, I am inviting a few friends for tea this Sunday afternoon. I hope you can come. We are on the Floo-Network, ‘McGonagall Library,’ and we will open the Floo for guests at 3:00, though tea will not be served till 4:00.
“You can let me know when we see each other on Saturday whether you are able to come or not. And you are now wondering what I am talking about, I’m sure. Melina, my niece, came to see me, and she tells me that a Mr MacAirt will be showing her two flats on Saturday morning. Since I have been dragooned into helping her find a flat, I assume I will see you. If, by some strange chance, there is another ‘Cormac MacAirt’ whose seal is a cracked cup and you will not be showing those flats on Saturday, just owl your response. Really, Quin, flats now?
“You will meet Melina on Saturday morning. She and her fiancé will be coming to the tea, as well, and I have invited Gertrude and Johannes, so there will be a few people whom you know – although I think you would do just fine in a room full of strangers! Probably having them all eating from the palm of your hand within minutes, the witches, anyway – or do you only do that with owls?
“I look forward to seeing you on Saturday. From what Melina says, your flats are the last ones we’re viewing. Perhaps you might like to have lunch after? I don’t know if Melina will be able to come, since she’ll likely want to get back to Brennan to tell him all about the flats, but it would be nice to have a chat with you.
“I hope you and your children are well,
“Best wishes,
“Minerva
“25 July 1957”
Now she only had to owl Malcolm, Murdoch, and Morgan and Fiona. Melina had said she would tell her father about the tea, but aside from the fact that Melina might forget, Minerva wanted to know whether he was going to attend or not – and she wanted him to know that she was inviting friends, too, that it wasn’t just a family occasion. She didn’t think that Murdoch was seeing anyone, but perhaps he might like to bring someone with him; sometimes it was easier to invite a date to a family occasion if it wasn’t just family. It seemed less . . . ominous or something. If there were a witch he was slightly interested in, he could invite her and explain that it wasn’t a “meet the family” occasion.
Minerva still hadn’t decided whether to invite Albus or not. She was inclined not to, as much as she would like to see him. She didn’t really want to see him in this large group of people where she would have to be doubly careful about what she said and did, and she certainly didn’t want to see him relax around Gertrude and . . . well, relax with her, if that was their way of interacting when they weren’t at Hogwarts. When she saw Albus informally, she wanted to have him to herself, as foolish and immature as that seemed to her. Besides, the point of this tea was to talk to Gertrude and try to get some sense from her about her relationship with Albus. Given that inviting Albus would only mean that she would see the two of them more relaxed around one another but not necessarily behaving as anything more than friends, regardless of their true relationship, Minerva thought it better to arrange things so that she could talk to Gertrude without Albus around. After all, that was what Gertrude had done when she invited Minerva to visit.
That invitation of Gertrude’s . . . those days at the Gamps’ had certainly given her a new perspective on Albus. For one, she had learned about Valerianna. She could have done without meeting the vile old hag, but she had met her, and then Poppy had told her about the conspiracy that Gertrude had orchestrated to expose her true nature to Albus. And, of course, she had met Quin; his divination had given her a new insight into her feelings for Albus. Perhaps not into her feelings, but into the consequences of not acting on them . . . she might be able to avert the consequences now that she was aware of them, even without having to bare her soul to Albus and tell him how she felt about him. Nonetheless, there was that almost constant sensation of being pulled between joy and despair, contentment and longing, whenever she was with Albus or thought about him.
The time at the Gamps’ had definitely changed something in her, and something in the way she viewed Albus. Oddly, she thought that although she had come to know Gertrude better over those three days, it was her perspective on Albus and her relationship to him that had changed the most. But that could just be the result of her reconciling with Albus before she left for Cornwall following her tirade about him in Poppy’s office. Minerva thought it was more than that, though. The timing of the trip after she and Albus had come to an understanding likely helped, but what she had learned about him at the Gamps’ – from Gertrude, Robert, Quin, and, much as she loathed the woman, Valerianna, then later, from Poppy – had changed something in her and the way she viewed Albus.
Now, though, it was close to one o’clock in the morning, and she wanted to get up early and post her letters, so Minerva hung up her dressing gown and climbed into bed. Before she put out the lamps, she picked up the small photograph of Albus and looked at it and the rose. Minerva put a gentle fingertip on one of the rose petals, pleased with the way that the flower had held its deep red colour after she had charmed it. She sighed and felt a blush rise in her cheeks as she remembered how Albus had shortened the stem, then, touching her face lightly, had inserted the rose in her hair. “Allow me to be your mirror,” he had said, and then he had told her she was beautiful.
Minerva set the photograph down, extinguished the lights, and closed her eyes to sleep and dream of Albus.
Minerva turned in her sleep, and her eyes fluttered as the morning sunlight fell across her face. She sighed and pulled her pillow over her head in an attempt to recapture her dream. She and Albus had been picnicking on the mountain overlooking Hogwarts, much as they had that morning the week before, but this time, they were not reclining on opposite sides of the blanket. She was leaning back against him and his arms were around her. She snuggled against his shoulder, then tilted her head and kissed his neck just below his ear as she ran a hand down his beard. She moved her lips higher and drew his earlobe between them. Albus laughed softly and ran his hand up her stomach to her breast and caressed her as she hummed her happiness. He sighed in pleasure as her tongue traced the shell of his ear, and he opened her robes to tickle his fingers across her nipple before cupping her breast in his hand. His other hand was just travelling along her side to her hip then to her thigh, when sunlight struck Minerva and unkindly shifted her from her dreaming to waking.
Minerva sighed and opened her eyes, unable to recapture the dream, and pushed the pillow back. She shouldn’t be indulging in such dreams, anyway. It was one thing when she was asleep and had no choice in the matter, and another to deliberately turn her mind in such a direction. She was still feeling a warm, moist tingle, and it took some effort for her to push herself from her bed and steer her thoughts to the day ahead. She washed, dressed, and headed down to breakfast. Her mother was up, eating her porridge and drinking her tea, when she came into the small, bright breakfast room.
“Good morning, sweetness! Sleep well?”
“Yes, quite, and you? Did you and Dad ever get to bed last night?”
Egeria laughed. “I woke up at about two, and we went upstairs. I take it you were the kind soul who turned down the lamps?”
“Yes, I didn’t want to extinguish them completely. I just came downstairs to get some ink and a quill so I could write some letters. I am inviting everyone for Sunday afternoon, if that’s all right.”
“That’s fine. I’ve been thinking about the menu. Since you are inviting Professor Gamp in order to thank her for your hospitality, I was thinking something a bit special. Tobermory smoked trout is always nice, I think, and finnan haddie, too, with water biscuits and brown bread, and some caboc and cress with oat cakes, perhaps a cheddar, as well, and a nice fresh salad. The radishes are quite good this year. And for the sweet, my cream cakes with mixed berries, and clotted and heavy double cream. I don’t want to take over, of course, and if you have other ideas . . .”
“No, that sounds perfect. And I know that Johannes will be happy with the cream cakes – and with the trout, we might even be able to persuade him that the Scottish do something well besides sweets.” Minerva chuckled. “He was saying that English fare is a bit dull – though he didn’t use those words – and that the only thing they knew how to do well was sweets.”
“We could get some rollmops for him, as well. Hoping that he likes fish . . . Spending most of his time at Hogwarts as he likely has, it’s not surprising that he has not been exposed to better fare.”
“Mmm, and as you reminded me last night, the food is geared toward a younger palate. I never really noticed when I was a student, although I did get tired of certain things after seven years of it. Anything of interest in the Prophet this morning?” Minerva asked, changing the subject.
“Not very much, except this new push to rename some of the positions at the Ministry and make the appointments based on experience and knowledge rather than on connections. I don’t think it will actually change very much whether someone is called a ‘Minister for Sport’ or the ‘Head of the Department,’ and I think that it will still be a political appointment with most of the actual work done by their assistants and deputies.”
“Technically, they’re sub-ministers,” Minerva reminded her mother.
“Ha! And when was the last time you heard anyone call themselves the sub-minister for anything? Never. It was a foolish change to begin with. It was one of Spavin’s more idiotic ideas, although it did win him a few friends, I suppose.”
“Yes, well, he was in office longer than most, so it must have paid off for him,” Minerva said. “But you are right, most of the work and decisions are taken by the deputies, and that’s unlikely to change. It seems that only the most barmy ideas actually come from the ministers.”
“What have you ahead of you today?”
“I’m going to send off the invitations – I’ve invited everyone to come any time between three and four, if that’s all right, and to arrive by Floo.”
“That’s fine, sweetness. I will have to find the instructions for changing the charm. So far, we’ve only let visitors through one at a time, and I have that down pat, but opening the Floo for anyone to come through freely is a bit different. I’m sure it’s quite easy, though. The wizard from Magical Transportation assured us of that. Who are you inviting?”
“Johannes – and I mentioned that you might like to talk to him about your garden – and Gertrude, of course, Poppy, Quin MacAirt, Melina, Brennan, the boys, and Fiona. Dad said that Morgan and Fiona might not be able to come, but I thought I would invite them, anyway.”
“Yes, they have been busy lately.” Her mother chuckled. “I think they are busy trying to make babies, but, of course, that’s not what their excuse was the last time. They did invite us to dinner last week, and they seem well. I keep wishing that Malcolm would spend time with them and see how nice it is to settle down . . .”
“Oh, Mother! Malcolm seems perfectly happy.”
“I know, sweetness. And I won’t harp about it during your party.” Egeria took a sip of tea. “I didn’t notice you mention Albus. Aren’t you inviting him, or was that a slip?”
“I don’t think I will invite him this time, Mother. Although perhaps I will have him to lunch soon.”
“We will both be going to Amsterdam on Monday. You could invite him then. He could spend the day, keep you company. I hope you don’t mind that we’ll be gone while you plan on being home –”
“No, I don’t mind at all. I asked Dad about Robert and Thea. He seems to think that you will be able to help them. I’m happy that you and Dad can also take some time for yourselves, as well.”
“We’ll be back on Tuesday, late in the day, so if Monday is inconvenient, you could invite him for Tuesday, instead.”
Minerva nodded. Really, it would have to be Monday or Tuesday, since she was likely returning Hogwarts on Wednesday or Thursday. Albus’s birthday was coming up soon, as well. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but it seemed she should mark the occasion in some way. Nonetheless, she was uncomfortable inviting him to the large, empty house on her own. It was foolish, really, since she had had breakfast with him in her rooms at Hogwarts and had spent time alone with him in his suite. She’d even taken a shower in his bathroom, she thought, blushing at the memory. But somehow, inviting him to the house was different. It was one thing when her parents were there, then it seemed that it was the family she was inviting him to visit. Still, she would write to him that day and ask if he could come to lunch on Monday. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be busy – or at least, not too busy to come for lunch, even if he couldn’t spend the day.
Her father shuffled into the room, leaned over and kissed the top of her head as he used to when she was a girl, then sat heavily in his chair and began to pour his tea. In deference to Merwyn’s semi-somnolent state, Egeria and Minerva sat quietly and read the newspaper, waiting for him to drink his tea and wake up a bit more.
After he had finished his first cup of tea, Merwyn called for Orents and asked for breakfast. “Would you like something to eat, too, Min? It looks as though you’ve only had toast. You need more than that.”
“All right, a boiled egg, please, Orents. Medium. How is Fwisky today?” Minerva asked.
“She be’s better, Miss Minerva. She sleeps last night.” Orents bobbed his head.
“Good,” Egeria said. “Please let us know if you think she is doing poorly, Orents. It would make us very sad if she were to become ill.”
“Yes, ma’am! I tries to tell her to see you, but she be’s proud always.” Orents shook his head. “She thinks a good house-elf not bothering her family.”
“Well, it’s more of a bother if she is unwell and we don’t know and aren’t able to help,” Egeria answered. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her for us. And bring Minerva some fruit, too – an egg and toast is not a proper breakfast, sweetness!”
Orents Apparated away to fetch breakfast for Merwyn and Minerva.
“Did you take a look at Fwisky yesterday, Mother?”
“Yes. I don’t think she’s been eating or sleeping, which makes her feel worse. I gave her a potion to help her sleep and told her she must take it for three nights in a row, and I gave her another potion to stimulate her appetite. Both are quite safe for house-elves and I’ve used them before with them. It sounds as though she at least took the sleeping draught as directed.”
After their breakfast had arrived, Merwyn asked, “So, I noticed you had taken the books we found yesterday. Did you read them?”
“Yes, although I found the one by Prewett annoying to read. He was certainly given to melodrama.”
“Mmm.” Her father nodded and swallowed his toast. “I did find that other book on wandcraft last night, however, and that might appeal to your rational brain a bit more. I actually found the Prewett book quite fascinating, even if he did choose to emphasise the more lurid aspects of his tales. It certainly seemed that holders of mated wands are important to one another. In fact, I think the majority of the cases he cited were of couples – lovers, husbands and wives. Quite . . . fascinating.”
“Mmmph,” Minerva responded, trying to hide her discomfort at her father’s observation by being cross. “Happy couples like Clothilde and Livius, you mean?” she asked sarcastically. “Or perhaps Timothy and Esmeralda?”
Her father chuckled. “Of the many examples he gave, you focus on those.” He looked at her with an amused grin. “That’s my Minnie-girl, as stubborn as ever. But you are right, of course, that his selection of stories and the manner in which he recounts them is sensationalist, but I think there is a kernel of truth to most of them.”
“Yes, well, I would trust his accounts more if he distinguished the stories that were mere legend from those that are history. He treats them all the same, as though they were all equally valid and all deserving of the same degree of belief.”
“As I said, I will give you the other book I found, and you can look at that. I think, though, that mated wands are so rare, and so mistrusted by many witches and wizards, that you will find little more written about them. It would be worth looking in the Hogwarts library, though,” Merwyn said. “But I think that Albus would likely be the best source of knowledge about mated wands and about your wands, in particular. You should just talk to him about it.”
Minerva shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to feel there is anything more to tell me than what he already did, and that was scarcely more than what was contained in the first book we found.”
“Really?” her father said with a raised eyebrow. “Perhaps more will occur to him if you ask him the right questions.”
“Perhaps. If you leave the other book out in the library, I will pick it up a little later. Right now, I want to finish my letters and owl them.” Minerva turned to her mother. “I think I will go into Portree and send them via Owl Post. There are several letters, for one thing, and for another, I think that Gertrude may still be in Amsterdam and I don’t want to use Hengist,” she said, referring to her mother’s large Eagle Owl, “since you may need him. Is there anything you would like me to get from town?”
“No, thank you, dear, but Portree? I suppose if you are only going for Owl Post . . . and you’re Apparating, of course, so you won’t have to Floo into the Bugbear’s Bannock,” Egeria said with a shudder, thinking of Portree’s legendarily grimy wizarding pub.
“I wasn’t planning on doing anything else, but there’s a nice stationer’s there – or there was last time I was there – and the little bookshop run by that funny little wizard with the green hair.” Minerva giggled. Portree really didn’t have much in the way of a wizarding district, despite the fact that they hosted one of the best Quidditch teams in the league, but she’d always liked the peculiar wizard with the green hair. She had never been able to figure out whether it was a colour charm, a Glamour, or a potion, let alone whether it was an accident or on purpose.
“If you wouldn’t mind stepping around to the Muggle shops, there’s a tobacconist there who carries my preferred pipe tobacco.”
“Of course, Dad. Just write down for me what it is you want, and I’ll get it.” Minerva stood. “But I think I’ll write the last few letters now. I’ll find you before I leave.”
Minerva kissed each of her parents, then ran upstairs to jot quick notes to her brothers inviting them to tea, hinting to both Murdoch and Malcolm that if they would like to bring a guest, they were welcome to. She sealed each letter with a bit of emerald sealing wax, charming three intertwined M’s into each one. She paused before sealing Gertrude’s, then decided to use the simple intertwined M’s rather than the fancier seal she had used before. However, before sealing the letter, she charmed a version of the Egidius family seal at the top of the letter with its motto, Consolari Sat Gignere Medella, Scottish-style at the top, again personalising the seal by replacing the red deer her mother used with a cat poised to spring. Looking at the ivy surrounding the seal, Minerva thought of her wand and its mate, and she replaced the Rod of Aesclepius in the centre with a yew branch, ivy entwined about it. She smiled, pleased with the effect. Next, she replaced the little sprig of holly at the top of the diamond with a rose. She would use this seal from now on, Minerva decided as she blobbed a bit of wax on the letter and charmed her initials into it. She might even use it on her letter to Albus . . . show him . . . show him what? That she placed greater value in what he had told her of their wands than he apparently did? She might use it, anyway . . . let him think what he would. It wasn’t as though it was a declaration of her undying love, after all . . .