A Confidant
When the room stopped spinning – it had been a very long Floo trip – Minerva was pleased at what met her eyes. The room was bright, cheerful, and simply furnished. It was simple and cleanly furnished without being Spartan, and reminded her a bit of Hafrena MacAirt’s rooms at Hogwarts. The furnishings seemed entirely authentic Art Deco to her, not that she was by any means an expert in such things, right down to the lamps. There were a few simple patterns, but most of the furniture and accessories were in solid colours or stripes.
“All right, there, Minerva?” Quin asked.
“Fine, just getting my bearings. It was a long Floo trip,” Minerva answered. “It’s a nice room.”
“Ta. We like it. You’re welcome to stay here while I cook, and I’ll come fetch you – or I can show you to the library. It’s nothing like the Gamps’, o’ course, but ’tis a bit more interesting than sittin’ here an’ lookin’ at the four walls –”
“No, let me keep you company, Quin. And perhaps I can lend a hand.”
“I’ll accept your charmin’ company, but I’m the host. You’re not to lift a finger.”
Minerva raised an eyebrow at that – she’d never known a man who could have a woman in his kitchen without expecting her to do half the work then claiming all the credit, not that she was much of a cook herself – but she smiled and agreed with him.
True to his word, though, Quin had Minerva sit at the kitchen table, with nothing but a cup of tea in front of her to keep her busy, while he reheated soup and baked fresh scones. He used a peculiar combination of magic and Muggle methods in his cooking, but given that Minerva’s skills in the kitchen were nothing that she would ever brag about even if she were prone to bragging, she wasn’t complaining or criticising. After he had finished the scones and popped them in the oven, Quin sat down with her and poured himself a cup of tea.
“’Tain’t really cookin’ – well, the scones are, but the soup is somethin’ Mrs Manning left for me, and I just have to heat it up. I have some bread, too, and cheese. As I said, ’tain’t much, but it’s a meal, and Mrs Manning’s soups are always good.”
“It smells good, Quin. Who is Mrs Manning?” Minerva asked.
“Sort of a house-keeper, cook, an’ baby-sitter all rolled into one. Her husband works for me, too, and sometimes picks up a few extra quid takin’ care o’ the garden. Good couple. Both Squibs, so ’tis handy that we don’t have t’ be careful ’bout usin’ magic around ’em, and they can make use o’ the Charmed objects, all without breakin’ any Muggle Secrecy laws. Their son Davey is goin’ into his last year at Hogwarts. Proud as all get out, they are. Course, he’s been given a hard time by some of the other students; havin’ Squibs for parents is considered by some to be worse than bein’ Muggle-born.” Quin’s eyes narrowed at that thought. “He won’t let on to his folks, o’ course, but I’ve tried t’ give the boy a few tips on how to deal with folks such as that without lowerin’ his self.”
Minerva furrowed her brow. She hadn’t taught any sixth-years, but she thought she recollected a tall, thin, blond boy named Manning.
“Is he a Ravenclaw?” At Quin’s nod, Minerva said, “I think I know who he is – tall, thin, lots of curly blond hair? I’ll keep an eye out for him. If I see or hear anyone saying anything, I’ll step in – discreetly. I won’t embarrass the boy. I’ll try not to, anyway, but that sort of thing just shouldn’t be stood for, and turning a blind eye to it is the same as approving it, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Would you like the lightnin’ tour of the place while the scones are finishin’?” Quin asked, changing the subject. “We’ll have to be quick about it; don’t want them to burn.”
Minerva agreed, and they took the lightening tour, as Quin called it. The place was no larger than the one they had just seen with Melina, perhaps even a bit smaller, but it was elegantly decorated, and the architecture pleasing. There was a central courtyard, and its small garden was pleasingly laid out, with a little fountain in the centre. Minerva only saw it from above; the house had been designed with balconies on three sides of the courtyard on the first and second stories.
“I had the place completely refurbished and freshly decorated for Aileen. She enjoyed the garden for the short time she was . . . able to,” Quin said as they looked down at the garden. “Come, lunch will be ready now.”
Minerva wondered how it was that Aileen had died; perhaps she had been ill.
“You’ve never said, and I will understand if you don’t want to talk about it, just change the topic and I will pretend I never said anything, but you’ve never said how Aileen died, nor has anyone else. She was so young . . .”
“That she was. It was a Muggle . . . accident,” Quin said, but his voice was emotionless and his expression so hard that Minerva almost didn’t recognise the Quin she had come to know.
“Um, an accident?” she asked, figuring that if he didn’t want to answer, he could change the topic.
Quin went over to the cooker, stirred the soup, then started the ladle dishing it out as he opened the oven and Levitated the golden scones over to the countertop.
“Murder, actually. ‘Accident’ always has a nicer ring to it, though,” Quin said as he moved the dishes of soup over to the table.
“Murder?” Minerva blinked. She shouldn’t have asked. If he had wanted her to know, he would have said something earlier.
“Mmm. Blew up the boat she was on. We were on holiday in Greece. Some Muggle friends of ours borrowed a boat, a yacht, I s’pose you’d call the thing, and we were all to go out in it one day. But Alroy got sick. I agreed to stay with him, and I kept Aine with me, since she was just a baby . . . I wanted Aileen to enjoy herself.” Quin sat down and waved the scones over to the table where they settled themselves on a plate he’d set out for them. “Oh, butter, I forgot the butter –” he said absently. Quin took a breath and Summoned the butter from the pantry. “I never asked you if it was all right to eat in here. Shoulda’ served you in the dining room . . .”
“No, this is fine, really. We’re friends, after all, and it’s just a nice lunch between friends. And the scones smell wonderful,” Minerva said, patting his hand. Quin looked distracted, his eyes unfocused, as though he were caught somewhere between memory and presence.
“I insisted she go . . . she said I could go an’ she’d stay with the kids, but she always worked so hard and she liked the water.” He looked down at his plate of bean and barley soup. “The yacht belonged to some rich Muggle. ’Parently he had political opinions that weren’t appreciated by some other Muggles. They had no idea nor any concern that the object o’ their hatred wouldn’t be on the boat. It exploded. Out in the middle of the Mediterranean. I’d say that’s murder, wouldn’t you, Minerva? Five innocent people, two o’ them just children, blowed t’ smithereens for some –” His voice cracked and he stopped speaking and just shook his head. After a moment, he said, looking away from her, “Sorry, sorry, Minerva. Still find it hard – but, ah, that’s how she died so young.”
“I’m sorry, Quin. I oughtn’t have asked.”
Quin shrugged. “’Tain’t a secret. And, as you say, we are friends.” He looked over at her and tried to smile, though there was a slight shimmer of tears in his eyes. “She was the better of us, the best, and if life were fair, ’twould’a been me out there, an’ not me angel.” He gestured to her soup. “Now eat up; you’ll enjoy Mrs Manning’s bean an’ barley soup, t’ be sure. Now, would you be after wantin’ some bread and cheese?”
“After the apple dumplings this morning, I think the soup and scones suit my appetite just fine, Quin. Thank you.”
Minerva picked up her spoon and tasted the soup. “Very good. Delicious. You’re right.” She split a hot scone and put a little butter on it. “And this scone is excellent.”
“Don’t sound so surprised, love,” Quin said, but he wore a pleased smile. “One o’ the things I like t’ make in the mornings for the kids. They like ’em. I’ve experimented some, but now I stick with sultanas or currants. Some o’ me experiments were less than popular with me wee beasties.”
Minerva laughed. “I won’t ask about them, then. These are very good, though. I haven’t had better, in fact,” she said truthfully.
“Would you like somethin’ to drink? Pumpkin juice, butter beer, beer, wine, water?”
“Um . . .”
“I’m havin’ a beer, meself, I think.” Quin waved his hand and Summoned a beer from the pantry, and a glass sailed along behind it. “It’s a nice lager. Would you like some?” He raised his hand, ready.
“No, although . . .”
“Don’t be ‘polite,’ Minerva! What would you like?”
“Some wine?” she said tentatively.
Quin rolled his eyes. “’Tis the very moon she’s askin’ for now!” He got up. “Be right back – don’t like to Summon wine. Disturbs it. Doesn’t seem to bother beer, though,” he said as he disappeared through the door.
“Hope this meets your approval,” he said, uncorking the bottle with a flick of a finger. “It’s just an easy-drinkin’ Chardonnay. Oaky. Thought it would go well with your soup. Which you’ll be needin’ more of, I see.”
“Yes, it’s good soup. I love barley. Your Mrs Manning is quite a gift, I’d say, if she does everything as well as she does this soup!”
“That she is, Minerva, that she is. And the children love her, which is most important t’ me,” Quin said as he poured her glass of wine. He served her a second bowl of soup, then sat down with her and the two ate in comfortable silence.
Quin rose and ladled himself another bowl of soup, doing so by hand rather than using magic.
“So, how have you been keepin’, love? I am sure you’re enjoyin’ your time with your family, but are you after missin’ Hogwarts? Or her Headmaster, perhaps?” Quin asked, paying close attention to ladling his soup into his dish.
Minerva sighed and put down her wineglass. “Yes, as I am sure you know already . . .”
“Know, Minerva? I can only guess, love, though I’d rather not guess, rather be told.” Quin sat down and began to eat his soup.
“When did you first guess?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t know that I’m right, but the thought crossed me mind at some point when we were at that lovely party at the Gamps. But it was just one idea of many that occurred to me. Then the way you reacted to his name that afternoon in the Leaky Cauldron made me wonder . . . then we went to Fortescue’s, and I suppose that is when you would say that I guessed. But I still don’t know that I am right. For one thing, you said it was impossible and it was hopeless . . . I had thought it had to be someone who was” – Quin shrugged – “impossible and unattainable, or somehow unsuitable. I wasn’t sure how the particular person I had in mind was any of those things.”
“And you don’t think he is impossible and unattainable?” Minerva asked, flabbergasted. “We can’t be speaking of the same person.”
Quin set down his spoon and looked at Minerva. He asked softly, “And whom are we speakin’ of, Minerva?” He sat and waited for her response.
Minerva fiddled with her wineglass. She had never uttered it aloud, not even when she was alone. She had avoided thinking about it for years, and had only recently admitted to Quin that there was someone . . . someone whom she loved.
“I love him, Quin,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I really do . . . it’s not . . . it’s not some crush, or something . . . cheap.”
“I know, darlin’, I know,” Quin replied, almost equally softly.
“I love him . . . Albus, I love Albus,” she breathed, then suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt a confused sense of relief mixed with despair.
Quin’s hand was warm on hers, and his thumb gently rubbed the back of her hand. “Tschhh, shh, shh, love. It’s all right. It’s all good.”
Minerva covered her eyes with her other hand, hiding them, and tried to stop her tears. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying, she just couldn’t help herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually . . . I just . . .”
“It’s all right, love. Here,” Quin said, handing her a fresh handkerchief. “It’s good that you finally said it. Was that the first time ever you did?”
Minerva nodded and blew her nose. “It sounds so . . . so absurd.”
“Why? I don’t think it does. Listen to it: you love Albus Dumbledore. Minerva loves Albus. She loves him. And he’s a lucky wizard, is that Albus, to have such a witch as Minerva lovin’ him. You love Albus.” He squeezed her hand. “See? Not absurd at all!”
Minerva looked up to see Quin smiling gently at her. “I suppose . . . I don’t know. He’s Albus Dumbledore.”
“He is, and you are Minerva McGonagall. And I can’t say how he feels about you definitely, but I could tell he’s very fond of you, at the very least, likely lovin’ you, too. I can’t say how, but . . . don’t you think you should give him the chance? Give him the opportunity to be lovin’ Minerva McGonagall, fine witch that she is, the way that she loves him?”
“But he doesn’t, Quin. Oh, he’s fond of me. He may even care for me like a . . . like a surrogate daughter, or something,” she said, her face distorted, expressing her discomfort with the term. “But he . . . he’s a busy wizard, and he has Hogwarts, and Gertie, and half the time, I don’t even think he likes me anymore than he does any of his other teachers, he can be so distant . . .”
“Well, I think I can say with a fair degree o’ certainty that Hogwarts and Gertie cannot hold a candle to Minerva McGonagall, la Grande Dame de la Metamorphosis, and a kind, clever, generous, and beautiful witch, she is,” Quin answered her with a kind smile. “And if he’s unsure of his own feelin’s, that could go far in explainin’ his contradictory behaviour. Could be he’s seein’ his Transfiguration mistress in a new light and don’t know how to act,” he said with a shrug.
Minerva sniffed. “I don’t know . . . but he can be so . . . sweet. Almost romantic. Well, if it were someone else, it would be romantic, but he couldn’t mean it that way.”
“He couldn’t? And why ever not? I think you should talk to him, Minerva love, tell him how you feel –”
“No! No, I couldn’t. It would be awful. It would ruin everything. He . . . he would be kind, but feel sorry for me. And he’d never be comfortable with me again. I know it. I just can’t. I can’t risk our friendship. You must see that! Imagine if you were in his position, and some former student, someone you were fond of, like a daughter, confessed she was in love with you, and you didn’t feel at all the same way . . . it would be awful, Quin!”
Quin sighed and considered her words. “I still think you should give him a chance, though, Minerva. If he’s been romantic, even if he doesn’t realise it or mean it quite that way, he could still have some glimmer o’ feelin’ for you, an’ he just needs a little encouragement to discover it. He is a wizard, after all . . . he can’t fail to have noticed how beautiful you are, and how, um, feminine.”
“He’s says that, that I’m beautiful,” Minerva said softly, shyly. “But –”
“I don’t like that word today, Minerva! ‘But’!” Quin shook his head. “Look here, you needn’t confess your complete, undying love and devotion to him and that you’re utterly and eternally in love with him, though it’s clear to me that’s all true. You can just . . . give him some hints of your feelin’s. Maybe he just needs to have his own feelin’s prodded a bit, if he’s unaware or unsure of them. Or if he feels somethin’ more for you already, but is confused about it and how to behave around you, he might only need to see that you’re . . . willin’ and open to him. It’s probably harder on him, really, Minerva. Think of what it would be to be Albus Dumbledore, harbourin’ feelin’s for a former student, a much younger witch – he’d likely dismiss them. He could think you see him as a father figure, just as you assume he thinks of you as a daughter. And he probably did, once, or somethin’ like it. To admit to himself that the little girl he cared for as a child has grown up into a beautiful and desirable witch . . . that couldn’t be easy, especially for a wizard who has, well, who has had little opportunity to tend to his personal life, shall we say. He’s been swallowed up by his duty and his work. D’you see what I’m sayin’, love? That it could be even harder for him than for you? And even if I’m wrong, and he doesn’t have some wee inklin’ of a feelin’ for you somewhere in him now, who’s to say that if he were aware o’ the possibility, he might not be . . . interested, at least, in explorin’ it?”
“But I don’t think I could bear it if we . . . if he . . . if he courted me, then he changed his mind. If he wanted to go back to being just colleagues. I just couldn’t . . .”
“It will only get worse, though, love, this needin’ and lovin’ and not sayin’ and not havin’. Just . . . just think about what I’ve said, all right? Will you do that? Consider makin’ it easier on the wizard, anyway, if he already has feelin’s for you?”
Minerva sighed. “He doesn’t. But I will think about it.”
Quin grinned. “The first ‘but’ that I’ve liked hearin’! Good for you, Minerva. I know – you’re only thinkin’ about it, but you’re a Gryffindor. You’ll take action! I know you will, Minerva. I hope so, anyway.”
“Well, I was thinking . . . not anything like what you suggested, but I had been thinking of doing something special for him for his birthday. But he probably already has plans . . .”
“There’s that negative ‘but’ again! Even if he already has some plans, unless he is goin’ t’ be away somewhere, you can still do somethin’ special for him. You just have t’ time it right and make some preparations of your own. And you can start by gettin’ him a present – unless you already have? You haven’t? When is his birthday?”
“The first.”
“The first of August? That’s Thursday.” Quin nodded, thinking. “When are you returnin’ t’ Hogwarts?”
“Wednesday.”
“Well, you haven’t much time, but as soon as you get back to Hogwarts, you will have t’ stake a claim to some of his time – now, don’t look at me like that, Minerva! You’re the one who thinks he may already have some plans. You must make yourself a part of his plans. Have a few different alternatives in mind, just in case how you’d best like to celebrate with him does not fit with his schedule. And, o’ course, arrange to give him his present. Preferably in private.” Quin nodded to himself. “Yes, that’s a start. You know him better than I do, o’ course, and I’m sure you have ideas of what you’d like to do for him, so I won’t try to advise you on that, but I am thinkin’ we should work on that present . . . a gift is imperative, even if ’tis only a small one.” Quin pulled out his watch. “’Tis gettin’ late, but there will still be some shops open in Diagon Alley. We can at least look now, and if we don’t find anythin’, well, there’s always Monday and Tuesday.”
“Wait!” Minerva interrupted him. “I don’t know about this, Quin. I thought I’d just get him a book and, I don’t know, have lunch with him, or possibly dinner, if he were free. Maybe invite him to the Three Broomsticks –”
“That’s not a good idea – unless it’s the only option that can be managed, o’ course. Much better to have him on your own, if possible. Dinner in your rooms? Or his?”
Minerva nodded. “Yes, I think if he were available, he’d come to dinner if I invited him. He’s had me to dinner in his suite, and we’ve had breakfast in my rooms a few times.”
“Good! Well, let’s be off for Diagon Alley, then, and we’ll start the hunt for the perfect gift!” Quin popped up, full of energy and ready to go.
“The food –”
“Oh, o’ course.” Quin pulled out his wand and waved it, putting a freshness charm on the scones and a cooling charm on the soup kettle. “That’ll hold it until I get home. Let’s be goin’!”
Twenty minutes later, Minerva and Quin stood outside of Scribbulus’s, which they had quickly looked through before the shop closed.
“Well, I already bought him a quill and ink not too long ago, so I didn’t really think I’d find him anything there, anyway,” Minerva said with a sigh. “Should we move on to Flourish and Blotts now?”
Quin hesitated. “Books are wonderful presents, I agree, and if you found somethin’ really unusual and special, it could be the perfect present, but I’m thinkin’ that he probably gets a lot of books o’ the ordinary sort, and you could give him a book at any time. I think somethin’ a bit . . . different for his birthday.”
Minerva nodded, looking up and down the street. “I don’t know where to begin, though, or how to find him something that he doesn’t already have.”
Quin furrowed his brow, thinking. “There’s always jewellery, o’ course. A nice belt buckle, or a watch fob, or a badge o’ some sort for his hat . . . or some other accessory. A hat or scarf . . .” Quin turned to her. “What about a sheath for his wand?”
“Quin!” Minerva blushed.
Quin laughed loudly. “I see where your mind is, love! But I didn’t mean it that way – though perhaps I should have – or not!” he said as her sharp elbow poked him in the ribs. “Still, I got a nice one at Madam Malkin’s once. And she has hats and scarves and such. Then, if there’s nothin’ suitable there, I think that Krebbin’s is still open,” Quin suggested, naming a high-end jewellery shop further down Diagon Alley.
Minerva let Quin drag her down to Madam Malkin’s. The shop was still open, and young Madam Malkin was measuring a customer. Minerva looked around, certain that she would find nothing in this place. A hat or a scarf didn’t seem particularly special to her; then, just as she was about to give up and tell Quin that they should move on, she spotted a display with the most beautiful set of wizard’s robes. She couldn’t tell whether they were dark blue or black; they seemed to shimmer as she looked at them. Entranced, Minerva walked toward the display. They were midnight blue, she realized as she approached them, with silvery-blue piping and delicate embroidery along the seams, but what really mesmerised her were the sparkling stars that were woven through the fabric. They seemed to twinkle. Minerva walked around the display, and the back of the robes were even more spectacular. The Milky Way seemed to have been incorporated into the material, but the effect was subtle, not at all overwhelming. The robes were cut very similarly to those that Albus had worn the first morning they had breakfasted together that summer, perfect to emphasise broad shoulders, a strong torso, and long legs extending from slim hips. Minerva raised her hands to the shoulders, trying to judge the size. Without Albus here to try them on and have them fitted . . . but this would be too much. She couldn’t give him anything like this. And they must cost a fortune. The fabric alone, with its charms, would be expensive, but made up in robes, particularly ones that were obviously of a special, original Madam Malkin design, not just some common, everyday cut, they would surely cost far more than she would ordinarily spend on robes, or on anything else, for that matter.
“Like ’em, then, love?” Quin’s voice came from behind her. He reached around her and touched the sleeve. The silk seemed to fall like water across his hand, and Minerva noticed for the first time that there were actually two layers to the robes. “They are fine,” he said.
“Yes, but . . .”
“There’s that negative ‘but’ again! ’Twould be a special present, t’ be sure.”
Minerva stood and looked at the robes. They were beautiful, and they would certainly suit Albus. She thought they were something he would enjoy wearing, too. They certainly would be a special, and unique, present.
“I don’t know if they would fit – you know, you’re about his size, only a little taller.” Minerva turned and placed her hands on Quin’s shoulders, judging his size. “Yes, I think . . . could you try them on? If they fit you, more or less, they’ll fit him, I think. Close enough so he could simply have a few alterations done, anyway.”
“Your mannikin I’m t’ be, then? Very well.” Quin smiled, then turned and signalled Madam Malkin, who was just finishing up with a customer.
“Aunt Gussie!” young Madam Malkin called.
An older witch emerged from the back and saw Minerva and Quin standing by the dark, brightly shimmering robes.
“You like these, then? Very good taste. The fabric was woven to my own specifications, and the charms are of my own design and bear our one-hundred-year guarantee.” Madam Malkin looked Quin up and down. “Yes, they will suit you well.”
“They aren’t for me, although I’ll be tryin’ ’em on. They’re a gift, you see,” Quin said.
Madam Malkin looked from Quin to Minerva. “For your husband?”
“No,” Minerva said with a blush.
“Well, he’s a lucky wizard, whoever he is. I had a wizard in mind when I designed these, but as he’s not been in recently,” the old witch said, shrugging, “your young man should enjoy them.”
“They’re a present for the lady’s mentor. Sort of a . . . an apprentice’s gift, wouldn’t y’ say, Minerva?” Quin said.
“Something like that,” Minerva responded, thinking that if she did purchase them and they needed alterations, Albus would likely have Madam Malkin do them, and so she should have some explanation for her having given such an extravagant gift to the Hogwarts Headmaster. “It’s someone to whom I owe a great deal, and I would like to give him something special.”
“These are special,” Madam Malkin agreed as she waved her wand and removed the robes from the display mannikin. She handed them to Quin. “You know where the dressing room is, sir.”
When Quin emerged a few minutes later, Minerva’s eyes widened. The robes were even more beautiful on, and she could just envision Albus wearing them, his grey and silver beard and hair flowing down over the dark fabric and glimmering stars. Quin’s eyes seemed bluer, and in her mind, Minerva could see Albus’s bright blue eyes twinkling at her, brighter than the stars in the robes. The robes swished and rippled as Quin walked toward them, and Minerva admired the drape and fall of the fabric. They suited Quin, and they would no doubt suit Albus even better.
“They are absolutely gorgeous, Madam Malkin,” Minerva said.
“They will look a bit different on your wizard. The charms gradually tune themselves to the wizard’s harmonics and the stars and constellations will twinkle differently depending on the wizard wearing them. After he’s worn them a few hours, the charms will settle permanently into the pattern brought out by the wizard’s magic.”
“Like ’em, then, love? Is this the thing?” Quin asked.
“I . . . I need to think about it.”
Madam Malkin shrugged. “Let me know what you decide. I’ll be in back. Just have my niece call me.”
Minerva touched the fabric again, admiring the subtle embroidery stitched at all the seams. “They are beautiful. But they must cost a fortune.”
“You think on it, then, Minerva, and I’ll just change into me rather dull-seemin’ Muggle suit while you do.”
Minerva dithered as she waited for Quin to reemerge from the dressing room. If she didn’t buy them, she would regret it, she was sure, but it was such an extravagant gift. Whatever would Albus think? Of course, she could say something similar to what Quin had told Madam Malkin, that it was a birthday present, but much more, as well, a thank-you for all he had done for her over the years . . . a token of her esteem and affection. And it had been twenty years, almost, since they had met – and twenty years since he had begun working at Hogwarts. It could also be a sort of anniversary present. Yes, she would buy them. She swallowed, thinking of the dent the purchase would make in her bank account, but she had never lived above her means and had a good deal of savings. No point in not spending money on the ones she loved, not for something special, anyway. Yes, she would buy them, and not think too much about it afterward, either.
Quin stepped out of the dressing room, the robes draped across one arm. “Decided, Minerva?”
“Yes, I’m getting them. They are perfect, and I can’t imagine anyone else wearing them but him, and any other present I could consider now would seem inadequate compared to these. Thank you for modelling them for me, Quin.”
“Me pleasure, Minerva! Anything to promote the cause o’ . . . your cause,” Quin said with a grin, avoiding using the word “love” in public; he was well aware that Albus might return to Madam Malkin’s to have the robes altered. “And the wizard would be a fool not to appreciate these. They aren’t t’ me usual style, and I thought they were grand. He’s sure to like them.”
The two went to the counter, and young Madam Malkin fetched the older witch, who carefully packaged the robes in a specially charmed box that would keep them straight and wrinkle-free. When the witch quoted the price, Minerva swallowed. It was over a month’s salary, but she nodded, and drew her wand to charge them to her Gringotts account using a wizarding cheque.
“And although I do recognise you as having visited us before, madam, you haven’t an account with us, and I do need your address and your particulars . . . just in case. Gringotts goblins, you know,” the witch said.
“I assure you, Madam Malkin, there are sufficient funds,” Minerva said, indignant.
“I don’t doubt you, madam,” she replied politely. “It is our policy, though, for all purchases of this magnitude when a customer doesn’t have an established account with us.”
“Madam Malkin, I am sure the good Transfiguration Professor would be happy to give her address at the Hogwarts School, but I really don’t think you need to be askin’, now do you?” Quin asked, eyes sparkling, a warm, open smile on his face, looking more handsome and . . . angelic than Minerva had ever seen him appear. Minerva could feel sincerity and trust-worthiness emanating from him. This must be an example of the “charm” that Gertrude had mentioned; there was definitely something different between this and his normal demeanour with her, even when he was being charming and amusing. Minerva thought she would recognise this “charm” coming from him, if he ever did try it on her.
“Oh, of course, yes, Madam Professor. No need for any formalities. None at all!” Madam Malkin smiled warmly at them both. “I look forward to serving you often in the future! And no need for an account. Your custom is always welcome here at Madam Malkin’s!”
After they had finished up and were walking out with the package – Madam Malkin had added a matching hat at no charge, she was so pleased to serve them – Minerva turned to Quin and said, “So that’s the MacAirt ‘charm’?”
They reached the pavement, and Quin offered Minerva her arm. “’Twas an example of it. But worry not! She will be as well-disposed to you when next you return as she was just now, unless you do something in the interim to distress her, o’ course. An’ before you ask, Madam Professor, Madam Malkin did nothin’ that she wasn’t already inclined t’ do, particularly once she heard that you teach at Hogwarts.”
“But the hat –”
“At the price you just paid for the robes, she had better be throwin’ in a hat, as well! Don’t get me wrong, Minerva, I think the robes were well worth every last Knut you paid for ’em, or I would’a had you haggle a mite, but people deserve t’ be recompensed for their artistry and originality, as well as the materials and time, so I’d say you both did well,” Quin said. “You got a unique and very special gift for your Albus, and she got a fair price for her work.”
Minerva smiled. “Well, as long as you didn’t force her . . .”
“Never – and certainly not o’er somethin’ as piddlin’ as security for the purchase o’ some robes, nice as they are.”
Minerva squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Quin, for all your help!” She looked up at him, eyes bright. “I wasn’t sure what to make of you when we first met, and sometimes, I’m still not sure, but I am very glad we did meet and become friends.”
“I feel the same, love,” Quin said, smiling down at her. “And I’m very happy to be of some help. Now, I need to be after gettin’ home, I’m afraid. I have t’ send those documents on to your niece this evenin’.”
“Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten. Well, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Quin. I hope that Melina and Brennan decide to take that house of yours. I think it would be nice for them – and I wouldn’t have to go off viewing more grimy little flats with her next week. I haven’t much time for that, anyway.”
“I’ll do what I can to make it possible for them – and no ‘charm,’ if you were worried about that!”
“No, actually, it hadn’t occurred to me that you would do that with them – though now I’ll be wondering!” Minerva said with a raised eyebrow, before she laughed, reassuring Quin that she had just been joking.
“I’ll be leavin’ you here, then,” Quin said as they reached the Leaky Cauldron. “Get home safely – takin’ the Floo-Network?”
“No, it’s easiest to Apparate, I think.”
Quin’s lips twitched. “O’ course. Probably won’t even be huffed when you arrive, either.”
Minerva rolled her eyes. “Bye, Quin. See you tomorrow.”
Quin stepped away and nodded at her. “Tomorrow, Minerva,” he said, and watched as Minerva grasped her wand, held her package close, and, with a muffled crack, Disapparated.