Hope, Suspect
Minerva opened the box that lay on her bed, and she ran her hand over the fabric of the garment within. The stars shimmered faintly under her hand, and Minerva sighed. They were beautiful. Her mother had thought so, as well. Minerva had expected some uncomfortable questions about the robes, but her mother hadn’t asked a single one; on seeing the box and asking Minerva what she had bought, Egeria had expressed natural curiosity about the contents of such a large parcel. Minerva had hesitated slightly, then admitted that she had bought the Headmaster a birthday present.
“But it’s not just a birthday present, although that is the occasion I bought them for. It’s for everything he has done for me, you see. I thought . . . after reading those letters you gave me, and remembering all of his support over the years, and everything he has taught me, and what a good friend he has become, I wanted to get him something special. Once I saw these, I couldn’t imagine getting him anything else,” Minerva explained.
“Well, what is it? It’s a big box. Is it from Madam Malkin’s?”
Minerva nodded. Her mother stood there expectantly.
“Would you like to see?” Minerva asked.
“Yes, if you would like to show me. I love presents, even when they’re not for me! Perhaps especially then – the anticipation, you know,” Egeria said with a smile.
Minerva brought the box into the library and set it down on the long table. She took a breath, wondering what her mother would say when she saw the obviously very expensive robes, and then she lifted the lid. She heard her mother’s intake of breath.
“Oh, Minerva, they are . . . absolutely exquisite! Take them out, hold them up?”
Minerva removed the robes from the box and held them up for her mother to see. Egeria lifted one of the sleeves, felt of the fabric, then let it drift from her hand.
“They are beautiful, Minerva. A wonderful gift. And I see why, once you saw them, you couldn’t imagine giving him anything else. They are so well-suited to him.”
“I hope he likes them. And that he . . . well, they are somewhat more extravagant than other gifts we have given one another in the past. I hope he doesn’t mind, or take the gesture amiss.”
“I can’t imagine that . . . well, I suppose he might feel you shouldn’t have spent so much on him, but they are gorgeous and I think he will get over it, particularly if you explain that this is a . . . special present, for more than just congratulating him on his birthday.” Egeria nodded in approval. “Very good choice, Minerva. Now, I don’t know if you are hungry, but we were going to have a light supper, just an omelette and some fruit. If you want to join us, you are welcome to, and if you are very hungry, I am sure that Fwisky can whip up something more for you, if you like.”
“That sounds fine. I will just bring this upstairs and join you in a few minutes, then.”
Minerva smiled, remembering her mother’s reaction. She didn’t think it an outrageous present to be giving Albus. Hopefully Albus wouldn’t, either. Minerva replaced the lid on the box.
Over supper, she told her parents of her trip to Edinburgh and the different flats that she had seen with Melina, not omitting a description of the grimy little flat whose landlords were concerned about Melina’s fiancé spending the night there before the two were legally wed. When she described the house that Quin showed them, and the low rent he would charge in exchange for some minor services, Egeria and Merwyn both agreed that, unless there was some hidden catch or defect, Melina and Brennan would be foolish to pass up that house.
“I look forward to meeting this friend of yours, Min,” her father said. “Sounds an interesting fellow, and somewhat the iconoclast, but a decent sort. I’d be interested in learning more about this free magic of his. I have some theories about the difference between nonverbally casting incanted spells and casting completely nonverbal spells, and I’d be interested in his thoughts on it.”
“He’s read some of your books – I don’t know which ones – but he is likely somewhat familiar with your spell-theory and some of your research into early spell-forms. Although it could be the linguistic aspect of your research that interested him, I don’t know.”
“You mean you haven’t spent hours with him discussing your father’s theories? For shame!” Merwyn scolded jokingly.
“Very funny – speaking of which, Quin has an odd sense of humour, and he occasionally finds it amusing to answer questions with questions or with answers that don’t really address the intent of your question. At least he does with me, sometimes, but he can also be quite serious when need be. I think you will like him,” Minerva said.
“I’m more concerned about whether he would be a decent landlord,” Egeria said. “Someone can be quite glib and charming and appear helpful but have no scruples. Do you trust him, Minerva?”
“Yes, I do, and I don’t think it’s misplaced. And Gertrude doesn’t let herself get very close to many people, and she obviously thinks highly of him. Albus doesn’t know him well, but he’s expressed to me, more than once, that he thinks he’s a fine wizard.” Minerva made a slight face.
“Ah, then he’s the one whom Albus thinks is quite a catch,” Merwyn said. “I had forgotten that little detail. But you say he’s not interested in that sort of relationship – Quin, I mean?”
“No. I think he’s still mourning his wife, actually, although it’s been several years since she died. But it could be habit, and he is very devoted to his children, and he has business interests in both wizarding and Muggle worlds, so he is very busy. I am actually hoping that he and Poppy might hit it off, though I don’t want to play at matchmaking.”
“He might meet someone eventually, though, whom he likes well enough to forget he doesn’t want to see anyone, and introducing him to Poppy and other eligible witches isn’t a bad idea,” Egeria said.
“On the other hand,” Merwyn said, “it seems if the chap lost his wife and has young children, he might very well have no desire for another relationship and people should not try to force the issue, no matter how well-intended they may be.”
“That’s why I’m not doing anything but offering introductions. If they hit it off, I will be pleased, though.”
“And yourself?” Egeria asked.
“What do you mean, Mother?” Minerva asked, bracing herself for the “nice wizards” speech.
“Just wondering if you hit it off with someone, whether you would . . . express your interest, or possibly pursue him vigorously, I suppose, or whether you would just sit back and wait for him to decide to court you.”
“Mother! I don’t see myself as the sort of witch who chases men – ”
“That’s not what I was suggesting, Minerva. I simply meant that sometimes, after the introductions are over, one party or the other has to make a move. If not, some fine relationships could be passed right on by. I wasn’t suggesting chasing someone who wasn’t interested, or throwing yourself at a man. Just . . . displaying your own interest, that’s all. If there were such a person, of course.”
“Yes, well, there isn’t. So it is all just theory,” Minerva said, feeling slightly cross now. How they had gone from discussing Melina’s flats to her relationship status, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it. It made her think of Albus, and that made her uncomfortable.
Fortunately, the conversation moved away from that topic and back to the furniture that Melina and Brennan would need if they were to take the large house. Minerva agreed to help her mother in the attic in the morning to try to identify some possible pieces of furniture the couple might like and clear some paths through the generations of trunks, boxes, and discarded furniture so that the two could look through it all with ease. If they found things they wanted, then Orents and Quimpy would be enlisted to move the furniture to the new place.
Minerva spent a little time in the library with her parents after they finished supper, but she was tired after her long and emotional day, so she excused herself and went upstairs to get ready for bed. She had to look at the robes one more time and run her hand over them. They were beautiful, and perfect for Albus. But they were far more extravagant than any gift they had given one another before, with the exception of the gift that Albus had given her when she came of age. A very, very old copy of The Book of Taliesin. That had been an extravagant gift, to say the least. She had been in awe when she had first laid eyes on it, but the more she learned about the book and the more she was able to discover about her own copy, the more impressed she had been. Her first impulse had been to refuse the gift, but Albus had said that he would be very disappointed if she didn’t accept it. These robes may not be on the order of an early copy of The Book of Taliesin, but she could remind him of that gift, if need be, and ask him to accept hers graciously.
Suddenly, Minerva wished she had brought the book with her. It was still carefully wrapped in a special archivally-charmed cloth, residing in a cupboard in her bedroom rather than out on a bookshelf, where air and light could damage it. It was a beautiful book, and over the years, she had occasionally spent stretches of time reading it, translating the poems, trying to identify the origins of the ones that didn’t appear in other extant copies of the book, and simply relishing its age and its distinctiveness, and, of course, the fact that it had been a very personal gift from Albus. She remembered when she had first received the book and her initial research into its origins. She could have simply asked Professor Dumbledore, of course, but doing the research was enjoyable for her, and it felt that she received a new gift each time she uncovered some new small fact about the book. She remembered how, during the weeks after her birthday that year, she had spent every free moment learning all she could about the manuscript, and how she would take it out when her roommates weren’t there and savour the words and brilliant colours of the pages.
One night in early October, Minerva began a routine that she followed for weeks after that – until her magical accident drove any thought of archaic Welsh poetry from her mind. She retired early to her room, pulled out her carefully wrapped copy of The Book of Taliesin, got into bed, and closed the curtains around her. She was sure that this was older than the oldest copy she had ever heard of. The Muggles had a copy in the National Library of Wales, she knew, that supposedly had been copied by a scribe in the early 1200s, and the oldest extant copy in the wizarding world, according to her researches, belonged to the Idevean family, with it currently in the possession of Cynog Idevean. If one was a serious scholar, one could make an appointment to view the text at the Idevean Manor between the second of February and the first of May, whereupon it would be returned to rest in a Gringotts’ vault until the following February. The Idevean text had been dated to the early eleventh century, and possessed only thirty-two of the poems that were contained in the copy held by the National Library of Wales, but it also contained six poems that were not present in the Muggle copy, two of which were said to contain language of such power that one must skip every third verse when reading it aloud. Minerva thought that was rubbish, herself: even if the poetry was comprised of a series of incantations, merely reading them aloud would very likely do nothing without the proper intent behind it. She would have to remember to ask her father about that notion the next time she saw him.
Minerva believed the copy that Professor Dumbledore had given her to be even older, perhaps seventh or eighth century. From what she had been able to tell without doing any magic on it – which she was loathe to do without knowing more about whether it could damage the manuscript – at least two scribes had copied the texts. They had used four colours of ink: green, blue, black, and red, with the predominant colours being blue and black. There were only thirty-nine poems in the bound volume, nine of them written on a different, narrower parchment from the others. To compensate for the different sized sheets that resulted when they were cut up and sewn into book form, some well-intentioned, though perhaps not very bright, bookmaker had glued the narrower parchments to new, wider parchment to match the predominant width of the other pages. The glue had no doubt been good – perhaps it had been more of a potion than a simple glue, thought Minerva – since most of the pages still adhered to their backing parchment, but wherever the potion had been placed, the text on the reverse side had darkened and bled slightly. Minerva was just glad that whatever had been used hadn’t caused the parchment to rot away.
In doing her research, she discovered that her manuscript contained the six poems that were contained in the Idevean copy but not in the Muggle version, and twenty-four of the poems that both the other versions had in common. The remaining nine poems were only in the Dumbledore copy and not in either of the others. At first this troubled her, and she wondered why there were so many poems in both the other versions that did not appear in her copy, but then she realised that if her manuscript was older, then that meant that the poems they had in common were likely the oldest of them, and not later additions written by other bards. A chill ran down her spine when she realised that the other nine poems in her copy were likely unique and were among the earliest extant Welsh literature in either the wizarding or the Muggle worlds. And nowhere in her research did she find a reference to this manuscript that Albus had given her. It puzzled Minerva some that this copy seemed entirely unknown to the rest of the wizarding world, but she felt that fact made the gift even more precious.
Minerva had spent hours with the manuscript, probably lending to her fatigue the day of her magical accident. Perhaps if she had been more well-rested that day, she wouldn’t have suffered from magical syncope. She sighed; it didn’t really matter, not anymore. Minerva now believed that even if she hadn’t had the magical accident and the dramatic arrival of It, she nonetheless would have fallen in love with Albus, and likely sooner rather than later. Perhaps during her work with him that summer between her sixth and seventh years, perhaps before that. There was no telling when her childish love of her mentor would have metamorphosed into the love of a young woman for a man, but given the small physical reactions she had been having toward him in his presence prior to that day, and the fact that her thoughts had been dominated by him – his kindness, his warmth, his brilliance, his power, his sparkling blue eyes, and his broad shoulders, across which swept his long, luxuriant hair . . . now, fifteen years later, Minerva felt a familiar tingle and warmth begin to grow within her. She swallowed and shoved the box with Albus’s robes into her wardrobe, and determined to turn her thoughts to some more neutral subject.
Minerva took her nightgown and dressing gown with her into the bathroom and ran a hot bath, adding a fair amount of her mother’s rose bath soap. It foamed nicely, but she waved her wand to enhance the bubbles. She did enjoy the feel of bubbles around her neck and shoulders. She stripped off her clothes and dropped them all in the hamper by the door, then lowered herself into the water. Heaven! Minerva lay back and closed her eyes, lazily passing a flannel across her chest and down one arm. She sank a bit lower in the bath and her drowsy thoughts returned to the events of the day. One particular event stood out. Her embarrassing confession to Quin. Somehow, though, Minerva had felt less embarrassed after her confession than she had before it, and certainly less embarrassed than she had thought she would feel. Quin had done a lot to make her feel comfortable with it . . . with the words she had uttered.
Minerva stuck a dripping wet hand above the bubbles and Summoned her wand, then cast a quick Imperturbable. She sent the wand flying back to the little wand rack on the opposite wall, then she took a deep breath and whispered, “I love Albus.”
A small smile reached her lips. Perhaps it didn’t sound so absurd, after all. “I love Albus,” she repeated softly, then sighed with contentment. “I love . . . I love you, Albus.”
Those were wonderful words to say; if only she could express them to him.
“I love you, Albus, you know. I love you,” Minerva whispered, her heart once more torn between joy and despair, contentment and longing, and tears rose in her eyes to roll down her cheeks and into the foamy bath. She sighed and smiled through her tears. “I love you, Albus Dumbledore. I love you . . .”
Minerva woke the next morning after sleeping heavily. She stretched under the covers and rolled over, content to listen to the rain pattering lightly against the window panes. Rain. Minerva opened her eyes and groaned. It wouldn’t ruin her party, by any means, but she had hoped for good weather so that she could show Gertrude the trails she liked to hike. Johannes would not flinch at a few raindrops, she was sure, but it would be so much more pleasant for him and her mother if it weren’t raining when they looked at the garden.
She dressed and went down to breakfast, resisting the urge to open the box from Madam Malkin’s and touch the robes again. Minerva could imagine how they would feel on Albus, warm from his body . . . she sighed. She doubted she would ever have the opportunity to run her hands over them while he was wearing them, no more than a cursory touch, anyway. When she entered the breakfast room, both her parents were already there, her father drinking his tea with his eyes half-closed, her mother eating a boiled egg, the Prophet sitting folded next to her plate.
“Good morning, Minerva! Sleep well last night?” Egeria asked.
“Very well, actually, although I was a bit disappointed when I woke up to see that it is raining,” Minerva answered, taking a seat.
“Maisie said it will clear up by mid-morning. She predicted rain from the early morning hours until mid-morning, followed by sun and clouds for the remainder of the day. It should be dry enough by late afternoon for a walk in the garden without resorting to Impervius Charms,” her mother answered.
Minerva made no response to that. Weather divination may be more accurate than many other forms of divination, but she wasn’t about to use it to plan her day. She poured herself a cup of tea and contemplated breakfast. There was a large bowl of fruit and a rack of toast on the table. Minerva thought that would be sufficient for the moment.
They were eating in silence, her mother reading the paper, when Merwyn said, “Looking forward to your friends visiting today, Minerva?”
“Yes, just a bit nervous.”
“Why? It’s all family and friends, after all. And from what your mother has said, it sounds as though we’ll be well-fed,” Merwyn said with a smile. He loved fish. As far as he was concerned, every meal could have fish, and he’d be a content man. As testimony to that, he was now eating kippers, despite the fact that they’d be having three kinds of fish with their tea.
“Yes, but I don’t really know Johannes very well, although he’s very nice, and I think he will enjoy himself. It’s more Gertie. We have become better acquainted over the last few weeks, but I still don’t feel I know her very well; she’s a pure-blood, and even though I haven’t seen any signs of the more disagreeable pure-blood attitudes from her . . .” Minerva shrugged.
“You aren’t embarrassed to have her here, are you?” Egeria asked, puzzled. That didn’t seem like their daughter at all.
“No, not embarrassed. Not exactly. It’s just . . . it could be uncomfortable. For Brennan, for example. From what Melina has said, he hasn’t really spent much time with any wizards apart from her, Murdoch, and her friend Jennie. I don’t know what I think might happen, but if she said something, not thinking . . . I don’t believe she would be deliberately rude. I don’t know. I guess I just don’t know what to expect from her, and that’s why I’m nervous.”
“She’s likely as nervous as you are, Minerva. True, there will be folk here whom she knows, but you have to admit that the McGonagall clan, despite not harbouring the sorts of relatives you described meeting at the Gamps, could be somewhat unconventional, from her point-of-view. On the other hand, even if she is perfectly comfortable outside of the pure-blood world, which seems to me to be the case, she could still be nervous about meeting so many new people,” her mother said.
“Perhaps, but I doubt it,” Minerva answered.
“Well, no doubt she has changed a good deal since she was a girl, but the young witch I remember meeting seemed rather shy and quiet. She may not show it, but I wouldn’t dismiss the notion that Gertrude may be a bit nervous when she first arrives. And if you go to an effort to make her comfortable, even if she isn’t nervous, that will go a long way toward making you comfortable, too,” Egeria said, smiling.
“That’s probably good advice for any occasion, Mother,” Minerva said with a smile. She put her napkin on the table and stood. “I have a few letters to write. I’ll be in my room. Just come get me when you’re ready to go through the attic.”
“Very good, dear. I’ll be up in a little while, then!”
Minerva went back up to her room, sat at the little desk, and took out the deep blue-black ink she had picked up at the stationer’s in Portree the other day. She really only had one letter that she wanted to write that morning. After her bath the night before, she had been too sleepy to put quill to parchment, and she was also afraid that in her relaxed and semi-somnolent state, she would be indiscreet and allow herself to express herself in ways she might later regret. Nonetheless, Minerva felt there was nothing wrong with expressing some warmth and friendship in her letter to him; after all, he had loved her when she was a child and he was clearly still fond of her now, and he missed her company.
“Sunday, 28 July 1957
“Dear Albus,
“It is raining here, and I imagine it is raining at Hogwarts, as well. I can just imagine the early morning mist rising up off the loch to meet the falling rain, and the Forbidden Forest, the trees heavy and dark with rain, looking particularly mysterious and alluring in the distance. It would be a good morning to have breakfast with the Hogwarts Headmaster followed by a challenging game of chess, I think. Certainly spending the morning with you would make me forget the rain and gloom outdoors and feel as happy as if the sun were shining and the birds were singing.
“This morning, however, my plans are quite different. Yesterday, as you may remember I mentioned, I viewed a few flats with Melina. One of them is actually a house, far larger than anything she and Brennan had previously considered, but it is, in Melina’s words, ‘just perfect.’ It actually belongs to Quin – or, more precisely, his son – and he is very willing to make arrangements that would allow them to afford it. Because it seems likely that they will need some furniture to fill such a large house, Mother has asked me to help her in the attic this morning in anticipation that they may want some of the old things that have been in storage up there for years, so I will be spending the rainy morning in a dim and dusty attic rather than in your bright and cheering company. I’m quite happy to help, of course, and sometimes you can find some rather interesting things. Several of the items now decorating my classroom I found in our attic – including the large tapestry, ‘Gwion Bach Learns Wisdom.’
“That reminds me of the wonderful present you gave me so many years ago, The Book of Taliesin. That book has meant a great deal to me over the years, and I still enjoy it and continue to discover new things about it. It is certainly one of the most special material gifts, if not the most special one, that I have ever received; the only other present that might rival it is a certain framed photograph I was recently given. I must say, however, that the gift of our acquaintance is the very best present I have ever been given, and every day I am grateful for it and for your continuing presence in my life.
“I am looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday, and it would be lovely to have lunch with you, if that is still possible. I would also like to have dinner with you one night – perhaps the first night I spend in my new quarters, as a sort of inaugural dinner? It would mean a great deal to me if you were my first dinner guest my first evening in Gryffindor Tower.
“Thank you very much for your letter yesterday. It came at a very good time and I was very happy to hear from you. I am sorry that you have been so busy this summer and haven’t had very much time to relax. It sounds as though the session of the Wizengamot was particularly tiring. I do hope that you were able to relax yesterday evening as you had planned, however, and that you are able to have your monthly lunch with your brother today. That sounds like a very nice tradition, and one well worth expending some effort to continue.
“I hope you have a good day, Albus, and I look forward to seeing you.
“Yours,
“Minerva”
Minerva charmed her new seal at the top of the parchment and reread the letter. Mentioning the very rare and valuable manuscript that Albus had given her when she came of age might help him to accept the expensive gift she had bought him for his birthday, she thought, and it also offered her the opportunity to remind him of all he had done for her over the years they had known each other. It would be easier to offer her thanks to him, and the gift of the robes, she thought, if Albus was already mindful of her gratitude toward him. Minerva smiled at the invitation she had extended. She was fairly sure that her first night in her new quarters would coincide with his birthday, and if not, she would somehow arrange for them to have dinner that evening. Perhaps she could enlist Wilspy’s help. The house-elf did seem to like her.
Minerva felt more optimistic about the future of her relationship with Albus than she ever had, and yet she could find no good reason for it. Suspicious of this hope and trying not to think about it, Minerva rolled up the letter, sealed it, cast a strong Impervius on it, and went off to find Drest to deliver it for her.