Resolving a Misunderstanding

Albus went down to the staff room for lunch, unaccustomed butterflies having mysteriously taken up residence in his stomach. A little breathing, a little focus, and the butterflies flew off, but Albus knew why he had felt nervous. He would be seeing Minerva. Their parting the night before – or early that morning – had been warm, and she had been very understanding and accepting. But after having had time to think about all he had told her, particularly about his period of dissipation – brief as it may have been, compared with his very long life – how would she feel about him now? Would she be uncomfortable with him now that she knew so much? Would she think of his profligacy each time she touched him, or, worse, each time he touched her? Albus didn’t believe that she would care for him any less, but such knowledge could make her less easy with him. He would have to be even more punctilious in his conduct and give her no cause for discomfort.

Unusually, he was the first to arrive, and he took a seat to one side of the room near the fireplace to wait for the others. Minerva had been characteristically kind last night, even calling for chamomile tea when he reached a difficult point in the story. And then she had asked him what he had woken to that had shocked him, and she had asked it so matter-of-factly and had seemed to accept his answer that way, as well. Minerva was extraordinary. He did wish he hadn’t had to say precisely what had driven him to Apparate to the side of that road, but when she asked, he wasn’t going to avoid the issue, and lying certainly had never been an option. Of all the memories from his youth, that was one of the most painful, and it was certainly disgusting in a way that the other painful memories were not. Waking with four others in the same bed and not remembering a thing . . . to this day, the memory caused his stomach to drop and his chest to tighten. He was no prude, but such a situation was nothing he would ever choose. Even at his most profligate . . . At least they had been strangers, no one he had seen before or ever again. Though they might very well have later learned who he had been. If they were still alive and could remember anything from that night, themselves.

By the time he heard footsteps outside the door, Albus had quite chased away any appetite he may have had and considered returning to his office and just calling Wilspy for a cup of broth. But then Minerva stepped through the door, looking lovely in her saffron and raspberry frock, and he knew that if he were to leave now, she would believe he was leaving on her account. So he rose and greeted her with as much of a smile as he could muster.

“Good afternoon, Albus! Did you know we’re alone today? I went out for a rather belated morning walk and saw Wilhelmina and Hagrid on their way out. She is taking him on a field trip to the dragon preserve where she will be working. And, of course, Johannes is with his friend and his mother until later today – I’m beginning to think the woman is wooing him with her pastries!” Minerva said with a laugh.

“I actually had forgotten that. Wilhelmina mentioned it to me a couple days ago. Well, so . . . I suppose we should call for our lunch, then, or it will never arrive,” Albus said. Minerva seemed cheerful and as friendly as always.

“We could, or we could ask to have it packed up and we could eat outside – even just out in the garden would be nice. It’s a beautiful day – the perfect Scottish summer’s day.” Minerva smiled.

“I suppose we could . . . yes, that would be fine,” Albus answered.

“Are you all right, Albus? You seem distracted . . . did you sleep at all?” Minerva asked.

“Yes, my dear. I slept fairly well, actually, although I imagine that we will both benefit from a full night’s sleep tonight. How are you?”

“I’m fine. I was able to sleep late, well, later than usual. And the walk was refreshing. If you don’t feel up to it, though, we can eat in here.”

“No, eating lunch in the fresh air sounds lovely. Though I don’t think I want to go far, particularly as we are the only ones in the castle at the moment, and I think a table and chair would be good for these old bones today.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated at a small table in the rose garden, and their lunch was appearing before them. They began eating in comfortable silence.

“You know, Albus,” Minerva said after a few minutes, “I received a number of owls this morning. It started just with a few from family and friends, but then there was one after another, some from Gryffindors whom I don’t even know, congratulating me as the new Head of Gryffindor. There were some from parents of current Gryffindors, too. I will likely spend the rest of the afternoon responding to them.”

Albus smiled. “They know how fortunate they are, I am sure. Or they believe they know, but they cannot imagine how truly fortunate we all are that you are the Head of Gryffindor.”

Minerva returned Albus’s smile. “So, Albus, are there many superstitions surrounding . . . oh, becoming a Head of House, or being Hogwarts Headmaster?” she asked.

Albus raised his eyebrows. “Hmm?” He swallowed his bit of chicken sandwich, then said, “I suppose there must be. I haven’t really thought about it before. Did you have a specific one in mind?”

“Well, perhaps there is a superstition saying that it’s bad luck for the Hogwarts Headmaster to congratulate a new Head of House, or some such thing,” Minerva said, taking a sip of water.

“What? No, no such superstition –”

Minerva smiled. “Ah . . . so a personal superstition, perhaps?”

“No, not that either.” Albus furrowed his brow, reflecting. “Haven’t I congratulated you?”

“I suppose, in a way, but you never said the words.” Minerva shrugged. “It’s silly of me, but every time that anyone congratulated me, it would occur to me that you hadn’t yet. I thought you may have been waiting until after I was installed – I’m a bit superstitious about that, myself – but then you still didn’t. In the great scheme of things, it’s not particularly important, of course.”

“I am sorry, Minerva! Of course I congratulate you! But I suppose I congratulate myself more for having persuaded you, and Gryffindor for being lucky enough to have you, and it just – I suppose I thought I had done,” he said.

Minerva laughed. “The more I thought about it, the sillier my concern seemed to me, but then I would still think about it, anyway. So thank you for uttering those words so I can now spend my time thinking about other things!”

Albus smiled and raised his glass of lemonade. “Congratulations, my dear Minerva, on your installation as Head of Gryffindor.”

Minerva raised her own glass. “And to you, for having persuaded me!” she added with a laugh.

“I spent the morning answering owls, myself. I didn’t get any actual work done. Fortunately, it appears as though the entire Department for International Magical Cooperation has gone on holiday for the month of August, so that means less work, and Madam Yaxley is taking another holiday abroad to ponder whether she will continue in her position now that the Ministry has reorganised everything. Given that she’s one of the few semi-competent former-Ministers-now-to-be-Heads, I hope that she does stay on. Although if it were someone new, perhaps my own role might be diminished, which would not be an entirely bad thing.”

“I haven’t seen the Prophet for a few days; I hadn’t realised that the reorganisation was going through. Mother seemed to think it was a positive thing, in general, but that in practice, it wouldn’t make very much difference.”

Albus shrugged. “I don’t suppose it will. What really makes the difference is who is in place and how they manage things.”

“Are you busy this afternoon, then? I know you need to stay close, but perhaps you could join me for a while? Or, if you have work to do, I could come up and bring my correspondence, and then when I finished with that, I could lend you a hand if there’s anything I can help with. It might be nice to have company.”

Albus thought a moment. “I really don’t know, Minerva . . . I thought I might actually have a bit of a kip after lunch. Perhaps later you could join me – in my office, I mean. Or I could send one of the portraits through to you, if you are going to be in your sitting room.” Merlin, for a moment, it sounded as though he was inviting her to join him in his nap! And given his recent thoughts, it was hard for him not to hear it that way. Fortunately, Minerva didn’t seem to have heard it the way it sounded to him.

Minerva fought her blush. A pity he wouldn’t invite her to join him for his nap – not that he ever would, and it was a foolish thought. “Yes, that would be fine. I anticipate being in my sitting room or my study this afternoon. Though I might take a nap, myself. You’re welcome to come down to me, if you like. I mean, after your nap, of course.”

Albus nodded. “Perhaps we could play later – chess. I promised you a rematch, and we haven’t had one yet.”

After finishing their lunch, the two walked up to the second floor together. Minerva expected him to go off toward the gargoyle, but he continued up the stairs beside her.

“I’ll walk you up, Minerva. I need the exercise, I think. I was out in my Animagus form yesterday, and was rather stiff afterward.”

Minerva smiled. “What you need, then, is exercise in your Animagus form, Albus. Going up and down the stairs is good for you, but if you were stiff, it’s because you need a different sort of exercise. Your wings need a bit of stretching, I imagine.” She looked over at him. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you transform since I was a student. I haven’t, in fact.”

“Well, I do transform occasionally. I simply do it out of the public eye – not that I would consider you the public, my dear – and I have been too busy to have the time recently.”

“You should make the time. Now, for example. There’s no one around, and you can flap your way to your tower – come in with me and fly out one of my windows.” Minerva stopped. “Come, now, we’re only on the fourth floor. You still have an opportunity for a bit of exercise.”

“Oh, no, Minerva, I’m fine –”

“Well, of course you are fine. But you can still have a bit of fun. I never thought I would have to encourage Albus Dumbledore to have fun!” Minerva said with a chuckle.

Albus grinned, then with a suddenness that startled her, he transformed with a flash of bright golden flame and a small pop. He took off overhead, shooting up toward the upper stories, reaching the seventh floor, then gliding back down to her. Minerva laughed aloud. She continued her walk up the stairs as Albus circled and swooped about her. Her smile grew as he began to sing. His song had very nearly the same effect as Fawkes’s song, and she felt filled with light, bubbly cheer and great hope for the future, her future at Hogwarts with Albus.

They reached her rooms, and Minerva said, “Come in, now, you silly thing!”

Albus landed on her shoulder; even with his wings folded, he was large, though he felt much lighter than he appeared. Minerva gave her password and the Knight opened the door to her. As she stepped through, a shiver went down her spine as she felt Albus deliberately bump his head just above her ear and heard him trill a soft, happy note. She reached up and stroked his head and neck with one finger, feeling a slight thrill go through her as she sensed the humming of his magic. She loved this wizard, no matter his form. Minerva tickled his throat as she turned her head to look at him.

“I see why you don’t transform in public. You would be mobbed, you beautiful thing,” she said softly. She put a light finger on his beak, then kissed his head between his eyes. She stroked his beautiful fiery plumage and said, “As much as I would love you to stay – as you are or otherwise – I know you wanted to be going. I’ll just open the window for you.”

The soft, low warble that came from his throat went right to her heart, and it was with genuine reluctance that she brought him over to the window. Just as she unlatched it, she spied a large owl flying toward them.

“I don’t know if this is for me or for you, Albus. Do the owls recognise you when you’re a phoenix?” She had never considered that question before.

Albus’s weight disappeared from her shoulder, and with another rush of flame, Albus reverted to his ordinary form, standing quite close to her. Before she could recover or even move, the owl was there, and it clearly had a letter for Albus.

Minerva sent the owl off to the Owlery for something to eat and was just about to make a joke about needing to stock owl and phoenix treats with her current rash of visitors, when she saw the look on Albus’s face.

“Albus? Is everything all right?” When he didn’t answer her, but only went over and sat heavily on the sofa, she became alarmed. “Albus, what is it?” She went to his side and reached a hand toward him.

His voice came out a harsh whisper. “I have failed, Minerva. Completely. Failed.”

“What? How?” She took the parchment that he held only loosely in one hand.

Her eyes widened then filled with tears and she sat beside Albus. “Oh, Albus, I am so sorry. Poor Robert – but it isn’t your fault. You mustn’t blame yourself,” she said, blinking her tears away and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“When he said he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron and not at my lonely cottage, I actually thought that it might be good for him. To be amongst people. I should have known, seen this . . . I should have visited him more, checked on him. Or insisted he stay here, in the castle, with us, with people who care.” Albus stopped suddenly and took a shuddering breath.

Minerva reached out to him again. “You couldn’t have known. He seemed better. And St. Mungo’s released him.” Albus just shook his head. “Do not blame yourself, Albus. I know it is hard . . . it’s hard for me to bear the thought of him being so desperate. But he’s not suffering any longer, at least. It isn’t what we would have wanted, but there is at least that.”

Albus shook his head again. “He needn’t have done this, Minerva,” he said hoarsely. “And I should have made it clear to him. I should have let him know that I understood, and told him that he wouldn’t always feel as he did, even if it seemed that way in the moment. But I didn’t realise. I should have. But he said nothing.”

“He probably made up his mind and just . . . went about it as efficiently as possible. He didn’t want to be stopped, Albus.”

“Oh, gods, Robert, you shouldn’t have,” Albus said in a whisper, taking the letter from Minerva and looking at it again.

Minerva placed her hand on his shoulder and tried to draw him closer. For a moment, Albus relaxed into her partial embrace, and she raised her other hand and rubbed his back. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, Albus. Very sorry.”

Albus shook his head and pulled away. “It is what it is, as you say. I must . . . I must make arrangements. Please stay here, look after the school. I won’t be gone long.”

“Albus – just sit a moment. I’ll call for tea.” Minerva’s hand slipped down to his wrist as he stood.

“No, no. I can’t. Truly. I do appreciate it, my dear. But there are things I need to do. And I need to find Gertie. I need to find Gertie,” Albus repeated, stepping back away from her.

“It needn’t be at this moment, Albus,” Minerva said.

“Best to do these things immediately. I will be back. The wards will pass to you automatically. I am sorry I haven’t talked to you about that process already. I will. Later. You should have no troubles, though, and you will know when I return. Every Head of House experiences it differently, but generally there will be a sudden sense of a small increase in the air pressure around you, then a slight breeze, and a sense of . . . lightness or relief as the wards transfer back to me. It may be different for you, though. Don’t be startled, whatever it may be. I shall just use your Floo, if I may.”

Minerva nodded, recognising that she had no chance at convincing him to sit, take some comfort from her, sip some hot, sweet tea, and share their grief with each other. She would have thought that she could do just as well as Gertie, though, for whatever he might want of her. But that was a foolish thought; Gertrude was Deputy Headmistress. Even if she weren’t, everyone on staff would have to be notified, and quickly, before they read it in the Prophet.

“Would you like me to draft letters while you are gone? For the staff, and perhaps another for the families of the students, and one for the Board of Governors?”

“Yes, yes, that would be fine, my dear,” Albus said, nodding, distracted. “Thank you.”

Moments later, Minerva was standing in her sitting room alone. The letter from the Ministry official had been brief and to the point. Robert Pretnick had been found in his room at the Leaky Cauldron by the landlady, who was bringing him his lunch, as she did daily. There had been letters found, including one for Professor Dumbledore, and it would be released to him as soon as its contents were recorded for the purposes of their investigation. It was clear, however, that the cause of death had been a self-administered potion and had been fairly close to instantaneous.

Minerva went into her study to begin drafting letters. When Albus returned, he could duplicate them, making any changes he wanted, then sign and seal them himself. This sort of news was best coming directly from the Headmaster, and not from any proxy. Suddenly, she felt a peculiar sensation, a kind of vibration in the soles of her feet and a tickling in her palms, then it was gone. She shrugged. She must now be in charge of the wards. Not that she had much of an idea of what that meant, since she hadn’t discussed the Hogwarts wards with Albus since she was about eighteen, but, as he said, it was unlikely that anything would occur in his absence. With that thought, Minerva realised that she was completely alone in Hogwarts castle, but for the house-elves and whatever ghosts or other . . . beings might be about. But they hardly counted. It was a peculiar thought, and she felt a slight sense of anxiety, which she tamped down firmly. She sat and began the first of the letters.

Albus Flooed to his office. He left word with Dilys that he would be leaving the castle and that Minerva was in charge, transferred the wards to Minerva, then he tapped his fireplace to open an external Floo connection and lit a small fire, tossing a pinch of Floo-Powder into it. He bent over and put his head into the fireplace, saying, “Gamp Estate,” and prepared for the uncomfortable sensation of speaking through the Floo-Network. He had never liked doing it, but sometimes it was the most convenient way to communicate with someone, and if he wanted to be able to Floo through, he would have to call ahead.

A wrinkly grey house-elf greeted him, and Albus explained that he would like to Floo through. A few rather uncomfortable and warm moments later – he should have used a bit more Powder, he thought – and Columbine Gamp appeared.

“Please, do come through, Albus.”

With some relief, Albus withdrew his head from the fire, took a bit more Floo-Powder, and Flooed through to the Gamp parlour.

“Albus, how lovely to see you! We have missed your visits,” Columbine said warmly as he stepped out.

Albus nodded and smiled slightly. “I am sorry, Columbine, but this is unfortunately not a social call. I need to speak with Gertrude.”

“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not here. I am not entirely sure where she is, in fact. She left quite early this morning, before we were up, in fact, and left word that she wouldn’t be returning until late this evening. I am afraid that all I can recommend is that you owl her.”

“Owl her . . . yes, of course. If I am unsuccessful in reaching her, could you be sure to tell her that I was here and that it is imperative that she return to Hogwarts as soon as possible? If she doesn’t get in until late . . . just ask her to return first thing in the morning. It is rather urgent, but if she is back very late, she might as well sleep here rather than at the school,” Albus said. “But if she returns this evening or sooner, I would appreciate it if she came directly to the school.”

“I certainly will tell her. If you like, I could send her an owl for you,” Columbine offered.

“That would be most convenient and very kind of you. Please tell her just what I have said, and tell her that if I am not at Hogwarts that she should find Professor McGonagall. She will be able to tell her what has happened. Now, do you mind if I make use of your Floo?”

A few minutes later, Albus was hurrying down a corridor at the Ministry. As well-intentioned as the Ministry officials might be, he was concerned about who was going to inform Robert’s Muggle relatives and how they would do it. Unfortunately, most of the Ministry’s involvement in the Muggle world occurred when there was a magical accident that needed to be explained away. Albus wasn’t even certain who the current Muggle Liaison was, but whoever it was likely had another job at the Ministry that took priority, and was more accustomed to Obliviating Muggles than offering them comfort.

An hour later, Albus found himself in a small neighbourhood of recently-constructed houses. Apparently Robert had left a letter for his relatives, as well, but it hadn’t been released yet, either. Albus had extracted a promise that he would be allowed to deliver that letter when the Ministry was through with it, and no one had objected to him notifying the relatives, an unpleasant job at any time, only complicated by the fact that his relatives were Muggles.

Albus had Transfigured his robes into a fair facsimile of a dark brown Muggle suit, but he didn’t think it was his best work. At least he wasn’t walking down the Muggle street wearing ankle-length robes of copper and turquoise. He found the house and, after looking for a knocker, found a smallish black button. He pressed it and could hear the buzz of the doorbell, if the harsh sound could be said to be emanating from a bell of any kind. A moment later, and the door opened and Albus found himself looking down at a little boy with pale, straw blond hair and eyes as dark as raisins. A wizarding child, Albus thought immediately. The nephew whom Robert had wanted to help and see through Hogwarts. Albus smiled kindly down at the little boy and asked for his parents, his mum or his dad, and the lad ran off, leaving the door open and calling out for his mum.

Minerva was surprised by a clanking and barking from the sitting room. As she had been attempting to draft the letters, she had been distracted by occasional odd sensations that came and went. She assumed they had something to do with the wards, and she wondered how anyone managed to think with the wards doing . . . whatever it was they did. No wonder Dippet had been thrilled to hand the wards to Albus, if everyone experienced them like this. She imagined it could be worse – and during the school year, with so many people about, so much activity, so much magic in the air, it must be like having an itching jinx all the time. She couldn’t fathom that. But she hadn’t felt anything that she thought indicated that Albus was back and had regained the care of the castle wards, so she couldn’t imagine who was at her door.

As she passed through the sitting room, she looked up at the landscape above the fireplace. The Silent Knight was exiting the picture, but Fidelio was still there, barking.

“All right, Fidelio, I’m coming,” Minerva said slightly irritably.

Fidelio sat, thumping his tail madly, ears forward, looking for all the world as though he expected a treat and a scratch behind the ears. She had to have the most peculiar door wardens in the entire castle, she thought, but she had chosen to bring them with her when she moved, after all.

As she approached the door, Minerva opened it with a wave of her wand. “Gertrude!” Minerva looked behind the witch. “Is Albus with you?”

“No. I received an owl from my mother saying that the Headmaster was looking for me, and I should return to Hogwarts immediately. She also said that if he wasn’t in, I should find you. He wasn’t in.” Gertrude stepped into the sitting room as Minerva opened the door more widely to admit her.

“Oh, oh, dear,” Minerva said, looking at the witch. She had clearly been out doing something active, as she was dressed in belted grey trousers, a pale pink blouse, and stout black boots with a dusting of red earth over them, and she had a grey jacket folded over one arm. “Come in. Have a seat. Would you like some tea? A ginger newt?”

Gertrude sat on the edge of the sofa. “No, no tea. The letter said that it was urgent and you would know what it was about.”

Minerva sat down across from her. She didn’t know what to say. “Professor Dumbledore received an owl about . . . about an hour ago, now.”

Gertie waited patiently. “Yes?”

“It was from the Ministry. Um, I don’t know as there’s any easy way to say this, but Professor Pretnick was found dead in his room at the Leaky Cauldron this noon. By his own hand, they believe,” Minerva said.

“Oh.” Gertrude let out a breath and seemed to sag slightly, her eyes losing focus. “Poor man. Poor Albus. And you, how are you?” she asked, looking up.

“I’m fine, I think. I am writing some letters for Albus. I have done the one for the staff and have the one to the Board of Governors half-written.”

“I am not sure what Albus would have me do . . . he probably wanted me with him while he informed the family, as I imagine he wished to do before the Ministry could do it in their normal fashion. But perhaps I could write the letter to the families of the Hogwarts students, unless you would prefer to do that, Minerva. Or if there’s anything else?”

“I can’t think of anything. That would be fine. And perhaps you could look at what I wrote for the staff letter, too. The letters are in my study.”

The two witches went into Minerva’s study, and Gertrude read the letter.

“I think that’s fine. Anything else about what time they should come back to the school and so forth, Albus will have to add,” Gertrude said with a nod. “Why don’t I go up to his office and wait for him there and write the other letter – unless you would prefer to wait there, in which case I can work from my office.”

“No, that’s fine,” Minerva said absently with a nod and a wave of her hand. “You can Floo from here – from the sitting room. It’s connected to his office.”

Gertie nodded. “Are you sure you are all right, Minerva? You look . . . I suppose it’s natural that you don’t look like yourself after that news. But is there anything you need?”

Minerva shook her head. “No . . . it was just a very late night last night, and then this news now, and Albus –”

“Yes?”

“Albus was upset, then he just got up and left, like that. Just . . . gone.”

“He deals best with things when he is able to do something right away, and it is unsurprising that he would be distressed. He believed that he had found something of a solution to Pretnick’s difficult situation and that Pretnick was amenable to it. It was no doubt a shock to him.”

“I know that, it’s just that –” Minerva looked over at Gertrude. She had known him a lot longer than she had. “I don’t understand why he just left so suddenly. He seemed upset, and then he was leaving. It felt – abrupt, I suppose.”

“There are likely a number of reasons that contributed, but the overriding one was probably his desire to inform Pretnick’s relatives. They are Muggles, and the Ministry can be somewhat clumsy when dealing with Muggle relatives, from what Albus has said to me in the past. And as for any other reasons for it . . . I think he might just need time to deal with his feelings himself, even though I am sure that he knows that you care about him and you would not mind if he shared them with you. I think you could be a help to him, in fact, Minerva, but . . . Albus is complicated, as you know. If you were to ask my advice, I would say that in this instance, you might want to let him come to you. Sometimes, as I have said, you will need to tell him his own mind, but other times . . . Just let him know that you are here to listen or to . . . to keep him company.” Gertrude put out a hand and patted Minerva’s arm. “I know that urge to want to rush in and help him for his own good, and sometimes, he does need someone to give him a good shake, metaphorically speaking, but it’s best to reserve the shaking for those moments when he really needs it, I believe. Just love him, Minerva, and all will be well. I am sure of it.”

Minerva blushed and couldn’t find any words.

Gertrude shrugged. “That’s my advice, based on my experience, anyway. I’ll be in his office if you need me for anything.”

Gertrude returned an hour later, once again announced by Fidelio’s cheerful barking. “I decided that I could wait for him just as well anywhere in the castle. I left word with a couple portraits that I had returned, though, in case he goes directly to his office. I thought if you would like, we could have tea and a bite to eat.”

Minerva was just as happy to have Gertrude’s company. She had finished the letters and had spent the rest of the hour trying to respond to the mundane correspondence that she had received that morning, but she was having a hard time concentrating, between the feeling that there must be something more important she could be doing and the intermittent peculiar sensations that rippled across her magic.

As they drank their tea and ate the sandwiches that Blampa provided, Minerva mentioned that she had been given the wards.

“Obviously, since I am the only person here, and the Head of Gryffindor, he would pass them to me, but we hadn’t talked about it before, and, I don’t know, have you ever held the wards?” Minerva asked.

“Only a few times. He prefers, obviously, to pass them to a Head of House, since that is the way they are structured.”

“How do you manage with the constant . . . I can’t describe it . . . it’s like bubbling or something in my magic. It’s most distracting,” Minerva said.

“Oh, he should have mentioned that – it’s actually worse when there is no one in the castle and nothing really happening, oddly enough. It’s like when it’s perfectly quiet at night except for one frog croaking and just as you begin to fall asleep, the frog croaks again,” Gertie said. “But you can make it less noticeable. Where is your wand?” Minerva took out her wand. “All you need to do is just touch the naked stone of the castle with the tip of your wand and hold it there for a moment or two . . . you’ll know when it’s been long enough. I’m not entirely certain how it works, but it’s like tuning a wireless, according to Johannes. The castle will . . . shift something. Albus can explain it to you, I’m sure.”

Minerva looked at Gertrude somewhat sceptically, but then put the tip of her wand on the window ledge. She didn’t feel anything and shrugged.

“Try the stone of the wall,” Gertrude suggested.

Minerva stood and touched the tip of her wand to the limestone wall next to the fireplace. She felt a peculiar rushing sensation go through her arm, then a slight vibration, then nothing at all. Minerva lowered her wand and stood attentively. No, she didn’t feel any other peculiar sensations at all.

“Better?” Gertrude asked.

“Yes, much to my surprise. It sounded very odd to me,” Minerva said with a slight smile.

“Good. Now you will only feel if something goes wrong. I am not sure how we are supposed to identify what it is, but Johannes said that once when he was holding the wards last October, there was a large explosion down in the dungeons, and he immediately knew the location of the problem and was drawn there, though he didn’t know why, and was quite startled when he arrived in the Potions classroom to find Horace on the floor with a small knot of seventh-year students trying to bring him round while a few others dealt with the fire.”

“Slughorn had an explosion in the Potions classroom?” That would be an unusual occurrence. At least for it to be a large one. Slughorn was very cautious.

“Apparently one of the seventh-year students thought he would experiment with substituting ingredients without asking Slughorn first. It was not a good idea. Demolished a bench and a cupboard, incinerated some potions ingredients – fortunately, none that were overly combustible, shall we say – and sent Horace to the infirmary for two days. He was a terrible baby about it, too.”

“What about the student?” Minerva asked.

“Oh, the student was fine. Horace looked over just as he was adding the venom or blood or whatever it was. He jumped on the student, knocking him out of the way of the explosion. The students said it seemed simultaneous. A second later, and it would have been the student, and he would have had it right in his face, not in the backside, which was Horace’s primarily affected area,” Gertie said with a slight smile.

“Slughorn jumped on the student?” Minerva said, eyes wide, trying to imagine such a thing. She didn’t think he could stir himself to cross a room at anything faster than a leisurely amble, and she would have thought he’d be the first to seek cover if he thought something was going to explode.

Gertrude smiled. “Yes, and to hear the students tell it, it was some sight. He was wearing bright yellow and orange robes that day, with a black teaching robe over them, open down the front. They said it was very amusing. Once they were certain he was going to live, of course,” she added with a chuckle.

“Of course,” Minerva said, smiling. “But still – please don’t take this the wrong way – but I still find it difficult to fathom.”

“Why? Because he’s Slughorn or because he’s Slytherin?” Gertrude asked, mirth in her eyes.

“Well, both, I suppose,” Minerva admitted. “Not really either one, just both together. And he doesn’t seem to be capable of swift locomotion, you must admit, let alone any kind of leaping about.”

Gertrude laughed out loud at that. “No, no, no ‘leaping about’ for Horace,” she said, then laughed harder. When she had some control over her laughter, she said, “It is an amusing thought, I agree, and incongruous, but he is an excellent Potions Master and he certainly takes the safety of his students seriously. He would never let harm come to them if he could help it. Surely you must appreciate that, Minerva.”

“Of course . . . I suppose it’s just the image,” Minerva said with a smile, just as amused by Gertrude’s own amusement as she was by the image of a portly Slughorn, clad in yellow, orange, and black, leaping on a student.

“I have known Horace since he was a boy, two years behind me in school here. He has always been somewhat physically indolent, and he certainly enjoys his myriad luxuries and tends to pamper himself, but when push comes to shove, he will usually do the right thing. And in this case, it was obvious and clear-cut what that was. He wouldn’t put himself in physical danger if there were some other remedy, of course – he’s no Gryffindor – but if that’s the only avenue . . .” Gertrude shrugged.

Minerva remembered what Slughorn had said about Gertrude having had a crush on him when they were in school together. That seemed even more unlikely now.

“So . . . were you two friends when you were in school?” Minerva asked.

“We were in the same House, but I would not go so far as to call us ‘friends,’ but then, I call few people that now, and although I may have been more sociable as a student, there were few whom I would have called friends, even then. Horace, though . . .” Gertrude stopped. “For some reason, he took to following me about. Rather annoying, actually. I was a prefect, and when he was made a prefect, he did whatever he could to have patrol the same evenings that I did. So I suppose he thought us to be friends.”

“He had a crush on you?” Minerva asked, trying to hide her amusement at the thought of a mini-Sluggy have a crush on young Gertie.

Gertrude shrugged. “I suppose something of the sort.” She raised an eyebrow at Minerva’s poorly suppressed grin. “It’s not as though I was completely homely as a girl, you know.”

Minerva shook her head. “I didn’t think you had been. You aren’t now. It’s the image of a young Slughorn, who, for some reason, I can only picture as a shrunken version of his current self,” she said with a little giggle, “following you about being, well, Slughorn.”

Gertrude smiled. “I’m sure you will see the same thing year after year as you teach here, students with crushes and such, and then the students grow up, and some are just like larger, older versions of their younger selves, and others change quite a bit and you wouldn’t recognise them twenty years later.”

“And what sort am I?” Minerva asked, curious, though she was fairly certain that she hadn’t changed very much, except, of course, to have grown up.

“Obviously you have matured and don’t run about doing headstrong things anymore – perhaps you actually should occasionally – but you were always bright, serious, and caring. You were sometimes even too solemn, I thought, for a Gryffindor, but I didn’t get the sense that you were unhappy. You were just very . . . intense. You still are, though a bit less so, perhaps. No, you are one who is completely recognisable, and all to the good, Minerva,” Gertrude said.

Suddenly, Minerva sat up straighter and said, “Oh! Oh! Oh, my!” She blinked.

Gertrude became alert. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“No . . . no, I don’t think so. I think perhaps that Albus may be back?” she answered in a questioning tone.

“You felt the wards shift back to him, then?”

“Yes, at least, I think that’s what it was. I could feel him – that is, I felt something,” Minerva said, trying to keep from blushing. “I thought it was him taking the wards back.”

Five minutes later, the wizard himself appeared, his head floating in a green flame in Minerva’s sitting room fireplace.

“May I come through?”

“Of course!” Minerva said.

He disappeared for a moment, then stepped into the sitting room. “I am glad to find you two together.”

Minerva stood and offered him her chair, but he sat instead in one of armchairs by the fireplace.

“Would you like a sandwich? Some tea? Blampa can bring a fresh pot,” Minerva offered.

Albus smiled. “A sandwich would be most welcome. But I don’t think I could drink any more tea. Perhaps just some water.”

Minerva called Blampa and asked for pitchers of both water and apple juice, then put a sandwich on her plate after cleaning it with a quick charm, and handed it to Albus, saying, “It’s cheese and mixed pickle. I hope that’s all right.”

“Fine, my dear. Thank you very much.”

He bit into the sandwich and chewed slowly, then accepted the glass of apple juice Minerva handed him. He looked very tired, she thought. He had needed a nap and instead he had had to rush about taking care of unpleasant business. The two witches waited quietly for Albus to eat.

After he had finished half his sandwich, he looked up at them and said, “I’m glad to find you together. More convenient this way. And I’m sorry, Gertie dear, to have dragged you away yet again from your holiday. It looks as though you were having a nice time, too.” Gertrude was still in her Muggle trousers. “There is little to tell you, except that his remains will be released to his family sometime in the next few days. I did go and break the news to them. It was difficult, since they did not know that he had been bitten, or anything of where he had been in the last few weeks, which was most unusual for them, since he generally spent most of his holidays with them. I tried to emphasise the heroic aspect of what he had done . . . but still, it was difficult.” Albus let out a deep sigh. “The letters will be available tonight, and I will fetch theirs at the same time I retrieve mine, and I will deliver it personally. I think tomorrow will be soon enough for that, though. It will give them some time to . . . become somewhat used to the idea. If that is possible.” He sighed again.

“We wrote your letters, Albus. There’s one drafted for the staff, one for the members of the Board of Governors, and Gertrude wrote one for the students,” Minerva said.

Albus nodded. “Thank you. That will save me time. I will owl the staff and the Governors this evening before I return to London then, and prepare the letters to the students to be sent out tomorrow. Could you send those out in the morning, Gertrude? Johannes was returning at the same time I did. I already informed him of the sad news. I am sure that he would be happy to assist you. And Minerva . . . I hesitate to ask this of you, and you needn’t feel obligated, but if you would accompany me tomorrow morning when I deliver Robert’s letter to his family –”

“Of course!” Minerva said immediately. “Just let me know when. And what I should wear – a Muggle dress, I suppose?”

Albus nodded in response. “Thank you for the sandwich. I think that we will skip dinner this evening. Anyone who wants something can call a house-elf. I told Johannes already when I saw him. Wilhelmina and Hagrid won’t be back until late tonight, so no one else is affected. I will get the letters ready – I am sure you would like to return to your rooms and change, Gertrude, but if you could accompany me to my office first?”

Minerva gave Albus the letters she had written for him, and then showed the two to the door, as Albus said he would prefer to walk and not develop the habit of Flooing everywhere in the castle and become lazy. Minerva highly doubted that that particular wizard would ever become lazy, but she didn’t say anything. As he and Gertrude were leaving, Albus turned to Minerva.

“How were the wards? I presume, because you didn’t mention anything, that everything was fine here.”

“Indeed, although for the first couple hours, I thought they would drive me to distraction, the way they burbled through my magic at odd intervals, but Gertie showed me how to settle them down, or whatever you might call it, and then they were fine until you came back.” Minerva smiled involuntarily. “That was rather interesting and not at all what I expected based on your description, Albus.”

“Really?” Albus asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “You shall have to describe it to me at some point, and I will also explain the transfer process better. I am sorry I did not tell you about it earlier. I thought there would be plenty of time between now and September to do so.”

“That’s fine, Albus. It was just . . . peculiar,” Minerva reassured him.

“I will let you know when we will leave. Would you mind accepting the wards again this evening when I pop into the Ministry? It will only be for a short time, but if not, Johannes –”

“I am happy to. I am not going anywhere, after all,” Minerva said.

Minerva closed the door behind them, then cleared up the tea things with a wave of her wand. For the first time, she wondered what it was that Gertrude had been doing that she had been dressed in her “scandalous” trousers and unavailable to accompany Albus. Then she thought that Albus may have wanted to fetch Gertrude to go with him to see Pretnick’s family that afternoon, but it was she whom he wanted with him tomorrow, and not Gertrude. It shouldn’t matter, but the thought pleased Minerva, and she was very glad Albus had asked her, even though it was bound to be a sad and uncomfortable outing.