Tea Party on the Ceiling
With so many guests for tea, Minerva had planned to have them eat in the dining room, rather than more casually in the library or sitting room. Minerva had had an idea for seating arrangements around the dining table, but she saw immediately that her plans would need to be discarded. Short of interrupting everyone’s conversations and dictating where they should go and where they were to sit, she couldn’t think of a graceful way of procuring everyone’s cooperation. So she proceeded everyone into the house and asked Orents to arrange everything the library, which was larger than the sitting room; everyone should be quite comfortable in there, she thought. And after what Quin had said earlier about just letting everyone enjoy themselves, Minerva had decided to try to do just that. It was far more sensible; after all, she hadn’t invited them all here just for her own amusement, and as she’d told Quin, the McGonagalls weren’t the Gamps, and this wasn’t a formal dinner. She did want them to enjoy themselves. It would be nice to be able to have a few minutes with Gertie, but she wasn’t entirely sure how she could broach the one subject that was on her mind – whether Gertrude and the Headmaster were involved.
She, Quin, and Johannes had found Melina and Brennan in Merwyn’s study with her father, examining the lease. Melina informed them that Murdoch had brought Poppy around to look at the herb garden and said she hadn’t seen Malcolm and Gertrude at all. After securing their promises to be in time for tea, Minerva led her other two guests out to the kitchen garden, as Egeria called it, and found Malcolm, Murdoch, Poppy, and Gertrude sitting with her mother, sipping lemonade. Someone must have conjured a few more garden chairs, since there were usually only two on the small slate terrace that adjoined the garden. Minerva wondered that her mother hadn’t relocated them all to the gazebo at the lower end of the flower garden, but they looked comfortable enough. Unusually, Malcolm wasn’t holding forth, but had deferred to his youngest brother, who was describing some incident on McTavish Street that had resulted in a visit from a couple witches from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.
As Minerva, Johannes, and Quin approached, her brothers stood, and Minerva made introductions. Malcolm obligingly waved his wand and added a few more square feet of slate and conjured up three more chairs. Egeria invited Johannes to come sit beside her, and the two began to discuss some of the difficulties she was having with a few of her plants. Minerva was happy to see the two of them engrossed in conversation, but would have been happier if Johannes had been sitting beside Gertrude instead of between Murdoch and her mother. She was grateful, however, that Quin and Malcolm didn’t feel compelled to resume their previous incomprehensible conversation, perhaps because Gertrude was there.
Quin bent and gave Gertrude a fond kiss before taking the seat on the other side of Malcolm, saying, “Didn’t want you t’ be thinkin’ I was neglectin’, you, Gertie, but this wizard had you out the door before I could greet you proper.”
“Don’t I get a proper greeting, too, mate?” Malcolm asked with a devilish grin.
“You didn’t change me babies’ nappies an’ stay up wit’ me night an’ day for weeks after their mother died. Do that, an’ I might consider it,” Quin said, settling into his chair.
“Sounds like I missed a once in a lifetime opportunity there. May have to consider another way to earn your regard, then,” Malcolm said, still smiling.
“Malcolm, that’s enough – it sounds as though you’re wishing him ill just so you can” – Minerva curled her lip in distaste, – “‘earn his regard.’”
A peculiar expression crossed her brother’s face, then he said, “Of course not.” He turned to Quin. “Sorry if –”
Quin just held up his hand, remarked that he hadn’t taken it amiss, then changed the subject.
Minerva was slightly surprised to learn that Malcolm had known Gertrude’s brother and, in fact, had worked with him during the war. She had never known what tales of her brother’s to credit and what was hyperbole, to put it politely, although she had been aware that Malcolm had spent time in Europe during the war with Grindelwald and had “done his bit,” as he put it. Malcolm rarely spoke much of what he had done during that time, though, and Minerva didn’t know whether that meant that he hadn’t done very much, that he didn’t want to talk about it, or that what he had done didn’t lend itself to the sort of tales he liked to spin about his adventures. One of the few things Malcolm ever mentioned from that time was his part in the rescue of some Muggles, and he only talked about that when he was angry with the Ministry about something, since, at the time, the Ministry had taken him to task for his role in the rescue and, as Minerva only learned many years later, he very nearly was sent to Azkaban for breaking myriad secrecy laws.
“It was a shame, what happened to him. It was needless . . .” Malcolm shook his head, thinking of Gertrude’s brother. “And people wonder why I have no confidence in the Ministry.”
“I don’t understand. What has the Ministry to do with it?” Minerva asked.
Malcolm cast a questioning glance at Gertrude, and when she gave a slight nod, he said, “Because they knew about the raid, and at the last minute, they pulled out the four most senior Aurors for some official duty. That cut their number almost in half. It was too late to let the Resistence know, the Ministry said afterwards. The other two Aurors went ahead, hoping to stop the three volunteers, but instead, all five of them ended up in an ambush, outnumbered two to one.” His jaw tightened. “Someone had either informed the Ministry that it was a trap, and so the Ministry pulled their Aurors out but didn’t bother telling the volunteers, or they had an informant in the Ministry who told Grindelwald the plans and how few there would be now that the more experienced Aurors had been reassigned. Either way, they were murderers. And that’s why nothing I did ever relied on the Ministry or their people and why the Ministry didn’t care for me much, either.” He turned to Quin, cocking his head and looking the wizard over. “Were you involved? I don’t recognise you, and I am sure I would remember you if I had seen you even once – but if you worked for the Ministry, I probably wouldn’t have met you, anyway. And if so, no offense. I’m sure there were some competent individuals.” Malcolm didn’t sound convinced by his own statement, but at least he was trying not to be insulting to her guests, Minerva thought.
“The British Ministry and I have never been great friends, but I also can’t claim to have done as you did, though I did work in spite o’ them.” Quin shrugged. “You might say I went Muggle back then, though I wouldn’t put it that way meself. But that’s a story for another time, and a very short and boring story it is, too.”
“Come on, Quin, you can’t just say that! What do you mean, you ‘went Muggle’?” Minerva asked.
Quin shifted in his chair and looked slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s all right, mate – little sister is curious about everything. Don’t answer if you don’t want to. We couldn’t all be miscreants, popping about the countryside, bedevilling Grindelwald and tweaking the Ministry at the same time. Though I do admit to being somewhat curious about the ‘Muggle’ aspect, myself, sounds exciting,” Malcolm said with a dark grin. “I’ve tried to blend in from time to time, but don’t manage as well as I’d like. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”
“I mean that I worked as a Muggle, Minerva,” Quin said, avoiding Malcolm’s gaze. “It was one o’ me first encounters with your Ministry, in fact, and not a pleasant one. Didn’t get us off on a good footing, and don’t know as it ever got any better.” Seeing that Minerva was even more curious, he continued, “The Irish Ministry gave me some nice Muggle credentials – me education, occupation, and all – made me a respectable Muggle, and I came over here and volunteered me services. It was forty-one. Things looked bad, and I thought I could help. Some folk . . . gave me a hard time, I s’pose you might say, me bein’ Irish, but I held me own, and it was good honest prejudice that didn’t pretend to be anythin’ pretty, and they got over it when they got to know me, or else they didn’t and, well,” he said with a shrug, “I had to resort to some other Muggle methods to convince ’em t’ leave me be, shall we say. Your Ministry, though, they took exception to me workin’ for the Muggles, and if the Irish ambassador hadn’t stepped in, I’m not sure they wouldn’ta snapped me wand and sent me to that prison o’ yours. But, long story short, they left me alone but warned me not to use me wand in me Muggle work – as if I were that bleedin’ daft – and I got on with it.”
“But what did you do, Quin?” Minerva had never seen Quin blush before, but he did then, and she suddenly felt guilty for pressing him. “Of course, if you’d rather not say . . . I’m sorry, I shouldn’t press you.”
“You’ll be thinkin’ I was up to mischief now, if I don’t tell you.” Quin sighed and glanced over at Gertrude, who was looking at him with a bemused but fond expression. “’Tis nothin’ t’ be ashamed of. I joined the RAF – and I didn’t fly planes or shoot people or drop bombs. Nothin’ glamourous or heroic. ’Twas procurement. Parts and such. I learned a lot I could use later in me businesses, and it was tedious sometimes, but I did me best.”
“Quin is being modest,” Gertrude said, speaking for the first time. “He became quite important to the Muggles, and they promoted him several times.”
“Better you than me, mate,” Malcolm said, clapping his shoulder and smiling at him engagingly. “I’d sooner stare down a Nundu than even think about that job for more than a minute, but that’s me.”
Quin laughed at that and turned back to Malcolm. “So you’re saying it’s literally deadly dull, then? Or do you know some trick about Nundus that has escaped the rest of the wizarding world?”
Minerva squelched a groan as Malcolm began regaling Quin with the tale of an alleged encounter he’d had with a Nundu somewhere in Africa, and turned to Gertrude, thinking to ask her about the warding and then use that as an excuse to ask her something about Albus, but it seemed that Malcolm had created a captive audience, and even Murdoch and Poppy had stopped their debate about the merits of some new Charmed potion to listen to his outrageous story. Minerva was too far from Johannes and her mother to join their conversation, though since they were discussing something to do with the herb garden, she likely couldn’t contribute much, anyway. Instead, she found herself covertly watching Gertrude. From what Quin had implied yesterday, when he spoke of Hogwarts and Gertrude not holding a candle to her, Minerva thought that Quin didn’t believe that Albus and Gertrude were romantically involved. On the other hand, Quin had once told her that he couldn’t read Gertrude very well that way, so it wasn’t as though it was any more than a surmise on his part. It was still possible that the two were involved, or at least, that they had feelings for each other. Or that she had feelings for Albus.
Minerva swallowed. If they were actually involved . . . no matter how hard it was, or how much it hurt, she would not do anything to come between them. But, if they weren’t involved, regardless of their feelings for one another, or Gertie’s for him . . . she still wouldn’t do anything, Minerva thought with a sigh. How could she? Quin had been encouraging, but he wasn’t the one who would have to live with the consequences when Albus rejected her. Albus would let her down gently, Minerva was sure, but their friendship would never be the same, and it would hurt even more than it did now. In that moment, Minerva thought of the letter she had written him that morning. Thankfully, Albus had already responded and had not seemed to find her sentimentality unusual. But perhaps he was being kind, or it could be he simply didn’t notice her warmer-than-usual tone, taking it as merely an expression of her usual friendly regard for him. That was likely it: he simply hadn’t noticed.
“Minerva?”
“Hmm? What? I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t hear what you said,” Minerva answered.
“I was just asking whether it wasn’t time for us to make our way inside,” Egeria said.
Minerva smiled. “Of course, I’m sorry.” Minerva stood. “Melina and Brennan are with Dad in his study. They said they would come along, so I think we can all go in shortly. I will just check with Fwisky, and if everything is ready, I’ll send Orents for you. I think perhaps we would be more comfortable in the library, as you had suggested, than in the dining room.”
Egeria smiled. “That’s fine, sweetheart.”
She had been determined to take Quin’s advice just to let everyone enjoy themselves, and her mother’s, to make her guests comfortable, but now that they were in the library having tea, Minerva felt as though moving it from the dining room had been a mistake. At first, everyone had sat around the low table, Minerva had poured tea for everyone while her mother explained the various foods set out on platters, and they had all chatted together as they began to fill their plates. Malcolm had teasingly asked whether their father had planned the menu, since it featured three kinds of fish, but everyone, fortunately, seemed to like the food, even Johannes, who declared the Tobermory smoked trout “lecker” and avoided the cress and cucumber sandwiches in preference for the delicious fish.
Although Minerva had given up on the idea of providing an opportunity for Johannes to spend time with Gertrude, she was still fixated on having a moment to speak with the older witch, and she found herself annoyed that Malcolm should pick this particular day to try to behave the gentleman. In addition to guiding Gertrude to a seat on the sofa, Malcolm had taken it upon himself to assist her in preparing her plate, then he sat next to her and did a fine job of feigning interest in whatever it was she was talking about – something about Cornwall, though Minerva hadn’t heard the beginning of the conversation. Then her father, who knew very well that she had hoped that Quin and Poppy would hit it off, had started a conversation with the Irish wizard about early Welsh and Irish spell-forms and the differences between the language of incantations and ordinary communication, and Poppy was stuck with Murdoch, discussing something about mediwizardry. Minerva sighed and turned to join the conversation that Melina was having with Egeria. Brennan was quizzing a very patient Johannes about Herbology and magical plants, so Egeria was taking the opportunity to tell Melina about their rummages in the attic that morning.
At least she was sitting in the chair nearest Gertrude; when Malcolm grew tired of talking to the Arithmancy teacher, she could catch a word with her. Minerva had just finished telling Melina about the Persian carpets she had found when she was startled by the most extraordinary sound.
Minerva looked over at Gertrude. The older witch was laughing – laughing heartily, not one of her usual short, clipped barks or mild chuckles. Minerva didn’t believe she had ever heard the woman laugh before. Malcolm was leaning back, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, grinning and stroking his short beard, pleased with himself. Quin, sitting on the other side of the table, looked over at Gertrude and smiled broadly.
After Gertrude’s laughter had subsided to a mere chuckle and she had removed her glasses to wipe her eyes, Quin said, “Well, boyo, you’ll have to share that with the rest of us if whatever it was could make Gertrude laugh like that.”
Malcolm just flashed a smile at Quin and winked at Gertrude. “I think I’ll let you speculate about that. It probably would lose something now, anyway, since you are expecting it to be funny.”
A few minutes later, when Malcolm turned to help himself to an oat cake and some caboc and then became drawn into a conversation with Poppy and his brother, Minerva finally found the opportunity to speak with Gertrude.
“Did you have a nice time in Amsterdam, Gertrude?”
“Yes, quite, thank you. I understand that I would have seen your mother and father tomorrow had I stayed.”
“Mother mentioned that they would be going over on Monday. How is Thea?”
“She’s doing very well, and religiously performing the magical exercises that your mother prescribed for her. She is very happy that she isn’t bound to her bed any longer, although she is still taking it easy and not going out. Her regular Healer was dismayed to find her out of bed and in the sitting room sipping broth and participating in lively conversation. But he admitted that she seemed to be doing well.” Gertrude sighed and looked pensive. “Of course, she had seemed well enough up until she miscarried each time, too, but she had also done strict bed rest for the past two pregnancies, and that had made no difference.”
“Well, I’m glad that Thea is at least feeling well, and it must be a relief not to be confined to her bed. I don’t think I could bear that, myself,” Minerva replied. “Mother didn’t really say much, except that she thought she could help her. If you don’t mind my asking, and if you know, of course, was Mother able to determine anything that the other Healers hadn’t, or has she simply been able to prescribe an alternative treatment?”
“I don’t know the details, but apparently your Mother performed some diagnostics that the other Healers hadn’t, and it appears that there is a rare condition that is . . . afflicting Thea and her child.” Gertrude frowned, her brow wrinkling. “It’s not a disease, from what I understand, but some type of unusual interaction between Thea’s magic and the baby’s. Apparently, each of the children she has conceived has triggered some sort of reaction in Thea’s magic, and with each pregnancy, the effect has increased. Thea said that Egeria had cast some spells on her and on the baby, then had fetched Robert and cast some on him, which none of the other Healers had done. It rather startled them both, I think. It turns out that the baby’s magical signature is somehow incompatible with Thea’s. It has something to do with the combination of the Robert and Thea’s magic in the child. The interaction between the baby’s magical signature and Thea’s has had a physical effect on Thea, and in the past, that triggered the miscarriages. But Robert told me that your mother had seen this a few times before and that she is very optimistic that Thea and the baby will be quite well.”
“That does sound odd. I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” Minerva said. “Of course, mediwizardry has never particularly held my interest. Will this happen every time that she and Robert try to have a baby?”
“I asked that, of course, and Robert said that it is more likely than not, but it isn’t inevitable. Now that they know where the problem lies, however, Thea could begin a regimen of magical exercises as soon as she learned she was pregnant, if they do decide to have more children after this one.” Gertie shook her head. “Personally, I think that once this one is born, hopefully healthy and sound and Thea quite well, herself, they shouldn’t try for another, but it’s up to them, and I certainly wouldn’t say anything to either of them about that at this point. They are under sufficient stress with this pregnancy.”
“Well, at least they know their child isn’t a Squib,” Minerva said, “if it has a magical signature to interfere with its mother’s.”
“They don’t regulate that information in the Netherlands. Healers are free to tell prospective parents if their unborn child has a detectable signature or not.”
“Oh.” Minerva didn’t know what to say to that information. In Britain, whether an unborn child exhibited a magical signature or not was information that was forbidden to share with the prospective parents, except for medical reasons. “And after they’re born?”
“The practice of using spells to detect a young child’s magical signature is strongly discouraged even there. Popular imagination believes that Squibs have absolutely no magical signature, but that is not precisely true, from what I understand; it is simply very, very weak and they have no actively available magic. In addition, not all unborn babies have a magical signature that is distinguishable from their mother’s, even if they are magical and not Squibs. The law in Britain was designed because of pureblood prejudice. Couples were aborting babies that they believed were Squibs, or occasionally abandoning them at Muggle orphanages soon after birth. Since it usually isn’t possible to say whether an unborn baby is a Squib or whether its magical signature has been masked by the mother’s own magic, the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries found many people aborting perfectly healthy, and quite probably wizarding, babies based on a combination of prejudice and imperfect knowledge. The Ministry obviously couldn’t allow that to continue. Some families still seek the information from unscrupulous Healers, of course, or they go to a country where it isn’t regulated, but the birth rate is beginning to go up again.” Gertrude’s face showed her distaste for the subject.
“Quin told me that Mr and Mrs Manning’s boy is a wizard at Hogwarts, and they are both Squibs,” Minerva said.
“Yes, and Squibs who marry other Squibs usually do have wizarding children – far more frequently than there are Muggle-borns – and that goes to show how very short-sighted pureblood ideology is.”
“I hadn’t known that.”
“Many are incorrectly assumed to be Muggle-borns by their peers in school, of course, but it is also a simple fact that there aren’t very many Squibs to begin with, and many of them never marry, or they integrate themselves into the Muggle world and marry a Muggle. I don’t think there are any records that would confirm this, but my pet theory is that most, if not all, Muggle-borns have a Squib in their recent ancestry who entered the Muggle world and married a Muggle. Then, two or three generations later, the magical trait expresses itself again, and there’s a new Muggle-born witch or wizard.” Gertrude shrugged. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. It isn’t the sort of thing that anyone would be interested in researching – or if someone were, it isn’t the sort of research than anyone would fund, either the Ministry or a private patron, most of whom are pure-bloods. So it remains mere speculation.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Minerva asked curiously.
“I hadn’t known anything about the condition that Thea has, of course, but trying to determine whether your child is a Squib or not by using diagnostic spells while the baby is still in utero, that is something that most pureblood witches know about and are aware is illegal in Britain but quite legal in a number of European countries. I don’t remember when I learned that the reason it is illegal is because the tests are unreliable, but it was many years ago, sometime before I married, I believe.”
“I see . . .” Minerva realised once again how different her own family was from those that self-identified as “pureblood.” Her mother’s family on both sides could claim that, but they had never seemed to care about it and they didn’t seem to have much in common with most other pureblood families. Certainly, this fact about testing to discover whether your baby was a Squib was nothing she had ever learned from her mother or any of her older female relatives. On the other hand, most of them were well-educated in mediwizardry and related arts, and they likely wouldn’t have credited the practice and would certainly have disapproved of using it in the way that other pureblood families did. On her father’s side of the family, she had only really ever known Siofre well, and as a Tyree, Siofre was far from pureblood and even further removed from their prejudices against Muggles and Squibs. Of course, that didn’t exempt the Tyrees from other peculiar prejudices of their own. Her grandmother could be quite scathing about the English, for example, or other “foreigners,” but at the same time, she would welcome Summer Walkers to camp on her land.
“Well, I am very glad that Mother has been able to help, and I hope that Thea gives birth to a healthy baby. It sounds as though you had a nice visit with them, too,” Minerva said. “I was happy that you were back and able to come to tea today, though.”
“Yes, I have to return to Hogwarts for the warding in a few days, anyway, and I wanted to spend some time with my parents. I regretted missing my father’s birthday celebration, particularly since I fear that it may be his last, and that’s why I returned to Cornwall rather than going directly to the school.”
“I am sorry that you missed your father’s birthday.” Minerva hesitated. “Is he ill?”
“When he was a teenager, there was an epidemic of paralytic magical morbilliac fever. Against the odds, he survived it and even came through it with his magic still intact, although it was not as strong as it had been. He has always been somewhat less than robust, as a result, but the last few years, his general health has declined significantly. My mother is quite . . . concerned.”
“I see . . . and it was only you and your brother, you have no other siblings who could step in and help?” Minerva asked, thinking that just because she hadn’t met any brothers and sisters didn’t mean they didn’t exist; after all, she hadn’t even known that Gertrude had ever been married, let alone that she had a son. It certainly would not be out of character for Gertrude to simply neglect the mention of another brother or sister.
“Just the two of us. My brother was a good deal older than I – somewhat like you and your brothers,” Gertie said with a smile, “and I was something of a surprise to my parents when I arrived in the world ten years after he did. They hadn’t believed they would be able to have more children. Even my brother was a surprise to them, I think, since they had been married for several years before he was born. Of course, I have never asked.”
“Of course.”
Gertrude looked closely at Minerva. “My duties as Deputy Headmistress have often called for me to be absent from family occasions. It is a commitment that I take very seriously, although it may sometimes inconvenience me personally.”
Minerva remembered what Albus had said about Gertrude and how she would put aside her own needs for him and he would not even be aware of it until she had done it. That statement had been about Gertrude as a friend, not just as his Deputy.
“You are Dumbledore’s friend –” Minerva began.
“Yes, we are friends. And in a sense, my friendship with Albus is inseparable from my position as his Deputy, but I hope not to remain Deputy indefinitely, and my friendship extends beyond that role. In fact, it is only out of our friendship that I took the job. As you know, the Deputy has in the past almost always been a Head of House, but Albus convinced me that he needed me in the position, and so I agreed out of friendship. It is not a position I sought or desired, and certainly not one I would wish to hold on to if another suitable person could be found.”
“I see . . . perhaps after Johannes leaves, the Ravenclaw Head of House might be suitable,” Minerva said speculatively. “There are a number of Ravenclaws on the staff already, but I particularly liked Flitwick, and he and Albus seem to get along quite well.”
Gertrude looked at Minerva with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose they do. He would likely make a good Head of Ravenclaw.”
Minerva was about to respond when Malcolm turned back toward them. “Talking about Hogwarts? Now, that is a forbidden subject, Gertie, I told you that. No business today!”
“It would be difficult to have two Hogwarts staff together and not have them discuss Hogwarts,” Minerva retorted. “Not everything can be an adventure or a lark, you know, Malcolm.”
“Yes, yes, little sister, there is a lot of serious business in the world, and even a lot of adventures are serious to the point of being grim, even more so than that school of yours, but today is not the day for that!” Malcolm said, his eyes smiling. “And even the most serious adventures can have their amusing sides, you know.” He nudged Gertrude in a familiar fashion. “Told Gertrude about a few of them and got her right out of her Arithmancy-induced stupor.”
“Malcolm! What a thing to say!” Minerva exclaimed, honestly disturbed by her brother’s bad manners, but Gertrude just quirked a slight grin and didn’t seem at all bothered.
“I see that you are unacquainted with the more exciting aspects of Arithmancy,” Gertrude said, poker-faced. “They are far from stupor-inducing.”
“Hmmm, if I had had a teacher like you when I was at Hogwarts, perhaps it wouldn’t have left me stuporous!” Malcolm winked at his sister. “And to think that little sister grumbled about Arithmancy the entire time she was in school, despite having a teacher who can make Arithmancy exciting.”
“I didn’t either, Malcolm, not as though you would know. Really, I didn’t, Gertrude,” Minerva said earnestly. “I did complain a bit about the necessity to continue it past my OWLs, but it was very useful.”
Gertrude chuckled. “I never believed you took it for the joy of it, and,” she said, turning to Malcolm, “some of the most interesting aspects of Arithmancy are more excitement than I care to introduce to a classroom of teenage witches and wizards, most of whom can’t appreciate the beauty in the most basic Arithmantic equation as it is. It might be too much of a shock for them if they were suddenly exposed to its more exhilarating aspects.”
Malcolm laughed. “I am no teenager; perhaps I could weather it.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” Minerva said. “Malcolm, I swear that you are a bad influence – you could lead a saint astray!”
Malcolm just laughed harder and turned toward where Murdoch and Poppy had been holding their conversation, ready to ask his younger brother his opinion on whether he was a bad influence or not. As he turned, Minerva noticed that four of their number had left the library. Not only were Murdoch and Poppy gone, but her father and Quin had disappeared, as well.
“Well, we can’t get Murdoch’s respectable opinion on the matter, I see,” Malcolm observed.
“He took Poppy to see his playroom,” Melina said, hearing Malcolm’s comment.
“And Quin and Dad?” Minerva asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see them leave,” Melina replied.
“Lovely. This is turning out to be quite upside down,” Minerva grumbled under her breath.
“What’s that, Minerva?” Malcolm asked. “Did you say your tea party’s upside down? I think it is one of the nicest tea parties I have been to in years, wouldn’t you say so, Gertie?”
Gertrude nodded obligingly. “Very nice. I have quite enjoyed myself, Minerva.”
“Of course, it isn’t the best tea party I have ever been to – but that one would definitely have offended your notions of a proper tea party, Minerva.”
“I can only imagine,” his sister said dryly.
“Lovely party,” Malcolm said, feigning a dreamy expression on his face. “On the ceiling.”
“What?” Minerva asked.
“Tea party on the ceiling. Great fun. Tables, chairs, teapot, nibbles, and all the guests, several feet up in the air, having a wonderful time. No seriousness allowed there!” Malcolm answered, adding immodestly, “And my stories were very appreciated.”
Minerva snorted. “Are you sure it was tea you were drinking and not some potion?”
Gertrude laughed. “It sounds like something that Albus would enjoy. It would tickle his sense of humour, certainly.”
Minerva nodded and sighed. “Yes, he probably would, and I suppose it does sound amusing. Speaking of which, Gertrude, what was the story Malcolm told you?” Minerva was still very curious about what could have brought Gertrude to laugh so hard.
“Nifflers, in Venice,” Gertrude said, trying to suppress a chuckle.
“Oh, Malcolm, that’s your most ridiculous story; it even beats your Nundu tale,” Minerva said; yet, seeing the smile on Gertrude’s face and remembering the story herself, she smiled, too. “It is funny, though.”
“Glad you think so, Minerva,” Malcolm replied with a grin that said he found it funny, himself. “Was beginning to think I’d become stale to you.”
“Auntie Min,” Melina said, interrupting their conversation, “Grandmother is going to take Johannes through the garden. Do you suppose you could bring Bren and me up to the attic and show us some of what you found this morning? Just point us to it, you don’t need to stay up there.”
“I will, as long as you make it clear to your fiancé that my name is ‘Minerva,’ and if he calls me ‘Min,’ or, worse, ‘Auntie Min,’ I may Transfigure him into a toad,” Minerva threatened, glaring at her niece. When she saw Brennan blanch, though, she turned to him with a smile and said, “Don’t worry, Brennan, I wouldn’t really. Honestly. I’m just trying to train my niece, with only a little success.”
“But you could?” Brennan asked with a croak.
“Well, I could, but I wouldn’t. You know, at some point, I’d be happy to show you some Transfiguration, if you like. And I assure you that I do not use it on unwilling wizards – or Muggles – no more than you would poison someone, even though as a chemist, you doubtless know how.”
Brennan relaxed with a sigh. “I see. I’ll try to remind Melina, and I promise not to call you ‘Min,’ if you don’t like it. And I must admit that I don’t see you as my aunt, so you needn’t worry that I will begin to call you ‘Auntie Min.’”
“All right, then. Do you mind, Gertrude? I’ll just be a few minutes.” Egeria and Johannes had already left the library. “Malcolm, perhaps you could bring her out to the garden and join Mother and Johannes.”
“Perhaps I could,” he said with a grin directed at Gertie.
“That would be fine, Minerva,” Gertrude answered. She held out her hand to Brennan. “It was nice to meet you, Mr O’Donald.”
“It was good to meet you, too, Professor. I look forward to seeing you again,” he said as he stood and shook her hand.
On their way up to the attic, Minerva asked Melina whether they had plans to see Gertrude again, or if Brennan had just been being polite.
“Oh, we invited her to the wedding. Just this afternoon. I’ll owl her invitation next week with the others. She said she would be happy to attend.”
Lovely, Minerva thought. Another event which both Albus and Gertrude would attend. She had harboured a hope that she and Albus could attend the wedding together, but if Gertrude was going, too . . . Minerva shook her head, clearing it of her pointless speculations.
“You don’t think we should have invited her,” Melina said questioningly, confused by Minerva’s shaken head.
“No, I think it is a fine idea. Just unexpected, that’s all.”
Minerva quickly pointed out some of the pieces of furniture that she and her mother had particularly thought they might be able to use, including the wardrobe that she had emptied, then told them to look around and see if there were any other things they might like. She left them alone in the attic and hurried down the stairs and out to the garden. She found her mother and Johannes crouched beside some shrubby herbs discussing microclimates, but her brother and Gertrude were nowhere in sight.
“Mother, have you seen Malcolm? He and Gertrude were going to come out here.”
Egeria looked up at her daughter. “They were here briefly, but they said something about trousers and the cliffs and Malcolm brought her off for a walk. I’m sorry, I know you had wanted to take her for a walk. I wasn’t thinking. I should have asked them to wait for you.”
Minerva sighed. “I think Malcolm’s tea party on the ceiling sounds quite ordinary and pleasant right now.”
“This is a lovely tea party, Minerva,” Johannes said, smiling up at her. “I enjoy your family very much, and Brennan is a very pleasant young man. And your mother has some nice plants; I am impressed that she has been able to get some of them to grow here in this harsh place. When we create her microclimates properly, they should thrive. I am happy and I think that Gertrude is, too. It is good to see her happier than she was before she went to visit her son.”
“Yes, you are right, of course,” Minerva said, feeling a rush of goodwill toward the kind Herbologist. “I had hoped we would spend more time together, though, all of us, and that you could talk to her, too.”
Johannes shrugged. “I see her when we all return for the warding. Albus said you would be there this year because you will be the new Head of Gryffindor. Congratulations! I would shake your hand, but,” he said, holding up his hand, “I have been exploring the soil here. It is an honour, and I wish you well.”
“Thank you, Johannes. You know, you and Mother seem busy here, and I didn’t mean to interrupt. I think I will go find Dad and Quin, see what they are up to.”
“I think they are likely in his study,” Egeria said.
“Where else?” Minerva asked with a smile.
On reentering the house, however, Minerva didn’t head toward her father’s study, but went instead to the kitchens. Time to rescue Poppy from Murdoch. Quin could take care of himself, she thought, and Gertrude had seemed happy enough in Malcolm’s company. When she entered the kitchen, Fwisky, Orents, and Quimpy were sitting at their little low table in the corner, drinking tea, the remnants of their meal still on the table. It seemed the rollmops hadn’t been as popular as the trout or the finnan haddie, both of which had only small scraps left on the plates.
Minerva held up her hand as Fwisky prepared to pop up from the table to serve. “I don’t want anything, Fwisky, just to thank you and Orents for the lovely tea. It was all perfect.”
“Thank you, Miss Minerva. Quimpy helped, too, but I think he forgets things living with Master Murdoch and Miss Melina,” the old house-elf said, looking slightly disapprovingly at her oldest son. Quimpy just helped himself to a biscuit, unperturbed, and took a bite of it. “And now eating when Miss Minerva is here!”
“It’s all right, Fwisky. Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you. Have you seen Murdoch and my friend come through?”
“Yes, they was here and went down to Master Murdoch’s playroom. They still be’s there, unless they Apparates out,” the house-elf said with a slight smile.
“Thank you, Fwisky. Enjoy your time with Quimpy. Leave the cleaning up for after he leaves, please.” Minerva thought Fwisky looked quite a bit better than she had just a few days ago, and having Quimpy come for a visit seemed to be a good tonic for her, too. She smiled fondly at the house-elves, then headed to the back of the kitchen toward the pantry, seeking her brother and ready to rescue Poppy.