Resolving a Misunderstanding

By the time Quin came back for Minerva, telling her that lunch was almost ready, she was famished. She had only eaten a little porridge that morning, not feeling hungry at all, but now, her appetite was returning again. She was glad it had, too, because lunch was delicious, the cod nicely cooked with a lovely creamy sauce that had dry yellow mustard in it, potatoes diced and cooked with butter, parsley, and fresh dill, and French beans, steamed, not boiled. Quin served a dry Riesling with the meal, and as they ate on the small balcony overlooking his garden, it felt at that moment like a true holiday to Minerva, as though she had finally escaped all of her daily cares and could block out the rest of the world. Quin apologised for the lack of dessert, but said that there were biscuits in the pantry, if she wanted. Minerva declined the biscuits, saying, perhaps later, with tea.

“That was very good, Quin. I really enjoyed it. Thank you.”

Quin beamed. “The pleasure is me own, it is, Minerva.”

“You know, oddly enough, at this moment, I feel as though I am actually on holiday. And I haven’t the sense at all that we are in the middle of London.”

“Part of that is the charms on the house, to be sure. You can’t hear the traffic or any other noises from the outside, and the air is kept fresh, no automobile exhaust or anythin’ else, so it’s like breathin’ the fresh country air. And then the design o’ the house . . . ’twas for Aileen, the garden, and the sense that one could step outdoors from almost any room in the house. We had a balcony off our bedroom, too, and we’d take our morning coffee there, we would.” He pointed to another balcony across the courtyard.

“Had? You don’t use it?” Minerva asked.

Quin shook his head. “At first, I just couldn’t. I tried. But I couldn’t. And one night, just a few nights after we came back, the three of us, without her, Gertie came and found me tryin’ t’ sleep in the library on that hard leather sofa. She brought me to the room she was using, the one I use now, in fact, and she put me to bed, and then she sat with me all night. I didn’t sleep that night. ’Twas one o’ the many sleepless nights she spent with me. She is a good woman, Gertrude is, and I hope . . . it would be good if she found someone who appreciated her as she should be.”

Minerva nodded. “I would be interested, though it is none of my business, if you were to see Malcolm and Gertrude together, whether you would sense anything.”

“I don’t know. I’m not that talented, not usually. And both o’ them are hard for me t’ read, even in an ordinary sorta way.” He quirked a grin. “An’ your right: ’tisn’t any of your business, or mine. But I’m curious, too.”

Minerva smiled. “I’d say that they are very taken with each other. They seem . . . they seem to inhabit their own space together, if you know what I mean.”

Quin nodded. “That I do. But your brother, you said he moves into and out of relationships quickly.”

“Apparently so. And to such a degree that I have never known him to be in one. I doubt they would be recognisable as ‘relationships’ to me. But this is different for him, and he even acknowledges that. You know, he was wondering, not strongly, but still, he was wondering about Gertrude’s past relationships. He came to see me while Gertie was busy talking to Johannes, apparently informing him of her . . . friendship with Malcolm, so that he would not be surprised by it. And Malcolm was wondering who she may have been involved with. I didn’t think she ever was with Johannes and told him that, but I didn’t say anything about Albus.”

“As well you shouldn’t, not knowin’ the nature of their relationship or if it ever went beyond the friendship they have now, and it bein’ up to Gertrude to tell him about those things, if she wishes to,” Quin said.

Minerva held out her glass and Quin poured her the last of the wine.

“But some things he said, and that you have mentioned . . . I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but were you and Gertie ever – ”

“Me an’ Gertrude?” Quin asked astounded. “Never! Not that she isn’t a wonderful witch, and I love her, but she’s me wife’s aunt and has come to be like me own. It just, no, no, Minerva.”

“Just curious, that’s all. I hadn’t thought so,” Minerva said, “and it hadn’t seemed likely.”

“I need to be makin’ a few phone calls. I’ll be in me study. Make yourself at home, Minerva. I’ll come find you in a little while. I still need to put more potion on your hand. How’s it keepin’?”

“Very well, actually,” Minerva said, holding out her hand for his inspection. It was now healing very nicely.

“I still think one more application might be a good idea,” Quin said. “Should be good as new by tomorrow, I would think!”

“What potion is that? Something from the apothecary in Diagon Alley?” Minerva asked. She hadn’t noticed the bottle the day before, but that morning, she had caught a look at it, and it was not labelled in a way that she recognised.

“Somethin’ o’ me gran’s,” Quin replied. “She makes up potions for various ills and ailments. I don’t usually trust stuff from the apothecary as well as I do hers, although the Headache Potion I gave you is just your standard, basic potion you can get at any apothecary.”

“Oh. Does it have a name?” Minerva asked.

“I reckon it does, but I just call it ‘the healing potion.’ It’s for cuts and the like.”

“I wonder if it’s anything that Murdoch would be interested in.”

“She don’t usually share her recipes,” Quin said.

Minerva shrugged. “He does sell some potions that he doesn’t make himself, although that is his main stock, unlike some apothecaries, where almost everything comes from elsewhere. If he could be assured of its safety and efficacy, he might like to sell it. If your gran is interested.”

“Doubtful. She does make it up for sale or trade, but in small quantities. And I’m sure that Murdoch sells other potions that do the same thing, more or less.”

“Yes, but this one felt nice going on, even when it fizzed, and it didn’t smell disgusting. Some of the wound-healing potions are truly foul smelling, especially the pastes.”

“I don’t think I could use anythin’ foul smellin’ on Aine, little princess that she is!” Quin said with a laugh. “But she’s rough an’ tumble enough to need ’em, to be sure!”

Minerva took the book of myths and legends with her down to the sitting room and stretched out in the cool, clean room, opening the French door to the garden first, and enjoyed the sound of the water trickling in the nearby fountain. She was paging through the familiar story of Jason when Quin came, carrying the potion bottle, and found her.

She looked up from the book. “Finished your calls?” Minerva asked. She had never known a wizard who made so many telephone calls. It seemed very peculiar.

“Yes, for today. Doesn’t look as though the deal with the Swiss company is goin’ to go through. But it’s not a big loss. And it means less work for me, which isn’t a bad thing,” Quin said philosophically.

“I’m sorry, Quin. It’s my fault,” Minerva said, distressed.

“Not at all. I don’t think it would have worked even if I’d been there, so don’t fret yourself about it. Now, let’s see that hand.”

He dabbed some potion onto the closed, red mark on her palm, then blew a cooling breath across it. Minerva could feel some of the ache dissipate as he did.

“If your gran doesn’t want to market her potion, maybe we could market your breath, or your kisses,” Minerva said with a laugh.

Quin chuckled. “There’s a limited supply, so I save up for family and friends.”

“I do feel better, Quin. Thank you. And not just my aches and pains. I don’t know if it will last . . . it does seem to come and go, but for now, I feel better, more like myself. Not completely, but I don’t feel as utterly desperate, I suppose.”

He nodded. “I can tell. This mornin’, you were almost as distressed as you were when you arrived, not quite, but nearin’ that. I think maybe the nap helped.”

Minerva said, “I think it was you. Having you come back right when you did. I felt awful, physically and emotionally, and I hadn’t slept. Having you massage my head and shoulders as you did . . . it felt good, and I needed it. I needed the human contact, the human warmth, almost as much as the massage, I think. And it was very thoughtful of you to pick up some clothes for me as you did.”

“’Twasn’t anythin’ at all, Minerva. Just a bit o’ common sense to get you somethin’ fresh to wear.”

“But it wasn’t just that, Quin. You made me feel cared for . . . I appreciate that,” Minerva said softly.

“And that, ’tis an easy thing, love, carin’ for you.” He looked away. “I just wish things were different for you.”

“So do I.”

“I’m goin’ into the garden for a bit. You can stay here and read, though.”

Minerva shook her head. “I haven’t really been reading, just . . . perusing, I suppose. Remembering the story, not reading it. Do you mind some company?”

Quin gave her his hand and helped her from the sofa, then the two walked out into the garden. Quin was quiet, and unlike during the tour of the Gamp gardens, he didn’t describe or explain anything, though he would occasionally stop to pluck a dead blossom from a plant and banish it.

Finally, they reached a small herb garden, close to a door near the kitchen, and he said, “Just a few necessary herbs now. Used to be bigger when Aileen was alive, though nothin’ like your mother’s.”

Minerva picked a small sprig of dill and chewed it, enjoying its bright flavour, but as they walked, her mood had begun to dip again. She didn’t know what the cure would be, not unless she could roll back time and change everything she had done the day before. If she had only gone to lunch on time, none of that would have happened, and she could be at Hogwarts right now, enjoying Albus’s company. But still harbouring false hopes, hopes that would rise every time he made the slightest affectionate gesture, and she would still not realise they were false hopes, and that day would come, finally, when she found out. Perhaps it was just as well that it happened when it did. She couldn’t imagine trying to teach after having had him react to her as he did.

Her hand was resting at Quin’s elbow as they walked, and he turned to her now and touched that hand with his other.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” he asked softly.

Minerva looked up at him, at his serious blue eyes, the worry for her evident in his expression, and she shook her head.

“No, only time, I think, will help. Though I wish it were that I could go back and change what happened yesterday, I still think it would only be postponing the inevitable . . . but perhaps his rejection wouldn’t have been so dreadful under other circumstances,” Minerva said.

“I still am not understandin’ it, Minerva,” Quin said, bringing her to a bench and sitting her down. “You said yesterday that he told you that he cared for you like a granddaughter . . . but I don’t believe Dumbledore t’ be . . . how to put this . . . I think if he really did care for you like a granddaughter, all the propinquity in the world wouldn’t ha’ brought him to react as I gather from you that he did – though you were never clear on how that was, either.”

Minerva blushed. She said softly, “He was returning my kiss, and then,” she swallowed and continued in a near-whisper, “then he moved his hand around and caressed my breast. That’s when he leapt away from me.”

“I see. Somehow, I thought perhaps it was more than that.”

“No. And it was over very quickly. I had barely begun to realise that he was returning my kiss when he was halfway across the room from me, looking at me like . . . like . . . like he had never seen anything more dreadful than the sight of me.” Tears came to her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up again,” Quin said with a sigh, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I just am tryin’ to understand, is all.”

“At least you don’t see me as a granddaughter, or sister, or whatever the relationship might be,” Minerva said, resting her head against him.

Quin didn’t respond to that, but only sighed again. They sat like that for a long time, and when the sky began to darken and a wind picked up, Quin made a motion for them to go in. Just after they had entered the nearest set of doors into the hallway outside the kitchen, large, heavy raindrops began to fall.

“You don’t keep the weather out of your little bit of paradise?” Minerva said.

Quin shook his head. “And a garden wouldn’t be a garden without some weather, good and bad.” He smiled down at her. “Rather like life, Minerva, isn’t it?”

She nodded, and as she looked up at him, she wished he would be the weather in her life just then, even just a brief storm, or a short heatwave; she wanted to feel alive, and not dying inside as she did. Her eyes burned, and she rested her forehead against his chest.

“Another headache?” Quin asked, concerned. She nodded against him, and he said, “Might be the weather. Let’s go into the sitting room; I’ll rub your head again. That helped last time.”

“I’d like to take a nap, too,” Minerva said, leaning on him heavily.

“All right, now, upstairs. You all right to go upstairs, or would you prefer to nap on the sofa?”

“Upstairs.”

He led her to her room, and Minerva asked if she could have a minute. She used the loo, then took off her robes and put her new dressing gown on over her chemise. She splashed her face with cold water, then looked in the mirror. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes, one eye darker than the other and slightly swollen still, not helped in its healing with all the crying she had done in the last day. She smirked. Definitely not at her best. But it didn’t matter. No one would see her but Quin. A good thing, too, since she didn’t feel up to casting a Glamour.

Minerva reentered the bedroom, then opened the door. At the sound, Quin’s head popped out of the bedroom down the hall.

“Quin, have you anything, a salve or something, that would be all right to put on my eye?” Minerva asked.

“I think so, half a tick.” He disappeared again, and Minerva went back into the bedroom and lay down to wait for him.

Quin arrived with a small tin in his hand. “I think this will be fine for it, though I wouldn’t want to get it directly in your eye. Comfrey and a few other nice herbs, and nothin’ foul-smelling,” he said with a grin.

Minerva tried to return his smile, but her mood had darkened again. Quin dipped his index finger into the salve and gently spread it under her eye in a very thin application. Then he did the same to a spot on her jaw near her left ear where she had a bruise.

“Any other bruises?” Quin asked.

As Minerva listened to the rain lashing against the window panes, she lay back and closed her eyes, every now and then indicating a new spot for Quin to apply the salve. Her forearms had several bruises, and she had a few on her legs, as well. When she indicated a rather large bruise on the side of her thigh, though, Quin paused.

“That is a large bruise. Perhaps you would prefer to do it yourself,” he said softly, holding out the tin to her.

Minerva nodded and put two fingers in the salve. She applied it in a circular motion, just as Quin had applied it to the other places.

“It doesn’t feel the same as when you do it,” she said.

“The intent matters, Minerva, it helps the potion along to intend it to heal. ’Tis magic, you know,” he said with a smile.

“Perhaps I don’t care enough, or it doesn’t work as well when you apply it to yourself,” Minerva said.

“Any others?” Quin asked.

“There’s one on my left hip, but it’s not bad, and when I took my bath last night, I noticed a bruise under my left arm, on my rib cage,” she said.

“Ah, well, I’ll leave the salve with you, now. You can get them later.”

Minerva nodded.

“Now for that headache. Would you like to lie down?” Quin asked.

Minerva lay down on her stomach and Quin arranged the pillows and her head so that she was comfortable. First removing her hairpins, he began by massaging her scalp, then working at the base of her skull. From there, he moved aside her dressing gown to reach her neck and her shoulders. She wasn’t as sore as she had been the first time, and Minerva sighed and relaxed as his fingers kneaded her muscles. Quin indicated that she should roll over, and when she did, and she looked up at him, he gently brushed her eyelids, closing her eyes, and he began to press and massage her forehead and her cheeks, then, lastly, her jaw muscles, which were still tight.

“Better?” he asked softly.

Minerva nodded, not saying anything, and she reached up and caressed his face. Quin parted his lips as though to speak, but did not.

“There is another bruise you might take care of for me,” Minerva said softly. She opened her dressing gown and indicated an area on her chest, just below her left shoulder.

“Your left side seems to have had the worst of it,” Quin observed, Summoning the small tin of salve.

He moved aside the chemise just enough to apply the salve, using gentle circular motions of his fingertips. Minerva closed her eyes and sighed. She heard him put the lid back on the tin, and she opened her eyes again.

“I should go . . . let you take a nap now,” Quin said.

Minerva shook her head. “Please don’t . . . could you, would you put some on the other bruises? The one on my side is sore when I breathe.”

“Minerva . . .” Quin looked away, and he slowly took the lid from the salve again as Minerva opened her dressing gown. “Where?” he asked softly.

Minerva turned onto her right side and raised her chemise. She heard Quin’s intake of breath as he saw the bruise.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’ before?” he asked. “You may have a cracked rib.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s just a bruise. When I was running, I tumbled into a ditch, but I didn’t stop, I just kept going. And that was after I had already picked up that thorn. It was as though I had gone mad, Quin. And now I feel as though I’m returning to myself, though painfully.”

Quin applied the salve to the bruise, then moved the dressing gown aside further. “Would you like me to do the other, now?”

“Yes, please,” Minerva said softly.

Rather than lower her knickers to access the bruise on her left hip, Quin pushed the fabric up from the leg, and when he couldn’t reach the entire bruise, he simply slipped his fingers beneath.

Minerva reached over and moved the waistband lower for him, and she could feel his hesitation before he resumed applying the salve.

“Minerva, I have to go,” he said softly.

She took his wrist. “Don’t. Not yet. Stay a while. Please.”

“Minerva . . .”

Quin closed his eyes and let out a breath, but he removed his shoes and lay down beside her on his left side, one hand gently resting on her arm. Minerva moved closer and put her arm around him.

“I feel much better. The salve is very good. And my headache is gone,” she said.

“I am glad I was able to help.”

She rubbed his back with one hand, sighing against him and moving closer.

“Minerva, this isn’t a good idea right now.” Minerva could feel him swallow.

“It’s nice though.”

“Too nice. I am only human,” he answered.

She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, but he had an expression on his face that she could not read. Minerva slid up and kissed him lightly.

“Thank you, Quin,” she breathed, before kissing him again.

He opened his eyes. “I should go now.” He shifted and pulled his arm away.

“Do you want to go? Or do you only think you should?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t think you understand, Minerva,” he answered.

“What? That you do like it when I do this?” she asked, kissing him again lightly and caressing his cheek.

“No . . . that I do like it, but that . . . we shouldn’t. I cannot take advantage of you. And . . .”

“You would not be. And what else is there?”

“Minerva, I have said before that I play the part of a flirt very well, but I don’t simply bed women every time the spirit – or something more corporeal – moves me,” Quin said.

“And that’s how you see this, just . . . ‘bedding’ me?” Minerva asked.

“O’ course not. It might even be easier if I did. Though it still wouldn’t be the right time for it,” he answered.

Minerva looked at him for a moment, then she kissed him again. “You don’t fly across the room when I do that,” she observed.

“Oh, Minerva . . .” Quin said with a groan. “Don’t you see – ”

His words were cut off by her lips on his, and as she kissed him, his hand crept back around her, and he pulled her to him. He deepened the kiss and rolled her onto her back, kissing her still. Minerva put one arm around him and brought her other hand between them and began to unbutton his shirt. Quin broke the kiss and buried his head in the pillow beside her, fighting to control his breathing. Her fingers found something suspended from a chain around his neck. A ring. Minerva caressed his cheek.

“What is this?” she whispered.

“Me ring. Me weddin’ ring. Time to take it off, everyone said, for years. Finally, I did. But I couldn’t remove it completely, I couldn’t,” Quin answered.

“I see.” She put her arms around him and held him tightly. After a few moments, she said, “It wasn’t anyone else’s business how long you chose to wear it. No one should have said anything.”

She felt Quin shrug. Minerva held him there, her arms around him, rubbing his back lightly. Finally she turned her head and kissed his head. “What do you say to a nap now?” she said softly.

Quin nodded and rolled aside, off of her. “Sorry. Sorry if I hurt you, if I was too heavy.”

“No, no, not at all.” She tucked the ring back inside his shirt. “Let’s just rest here a while. I think I could sleep. I feel better now that you have tended to my bruises, and I think I will sleep.”

Quin nodded. He made a few gestures, moving the covers from where they were bunched beneath them and bringing them up to cover them. He rolled over on his back.

“Hope you don’t mind. Can’t nap with braces on,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Of course.” Minerva turned over onto her left side, away from him. She could feel him shrugging off his braces, and then his trousers. “It is good to be able to lie on my left side again without it hurting so much,” she said lightly.

“I’m glad you feel better,” Quin answered. He rolled back over and held her, her back to his chest. “Sleep now, love.” He kissed the back of her head. “Just sleep and dream pleasant dreams.”

When she woke up, Minerva was lying across Quin’s chest, and he was asleep. The rain had subsided to a mere pattering against the windows. Looking at Quin, watching him sleep, Minerva thought back on their first meeting, and how she hadn’t known what to think of him, this apparently wild Irishman, a heavy brogue coming and going as he tweaked the snobs at the dining table, and his humour and his honesty with her. She remembered his stiffness when he believed she thought he was a bad father, and when she practically accused him of being a thief, and she remembered, too, his quick forgiveness. Quin was a warm, open-hearted man, and he hadn’t let his own personal loss keep him from being so, nor had it kept him from being a good father or a successful businessman, though he had clearly been devastated by the untimely, violent death of his young, beloved wife.

Minerva brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly when his blue eyes opened and looked up at her.

“’S’alright,” Quin answered with a barely stifled yawn. “Still rainin’, is it?”

“Yes, but not as hard.”

“Mmm.” Quin closed his eyes again. “Don’t usually nap durin’ the day, between work an’ the kids. Feels quite the luxury.”

Minerva lay back against him, placing her head on his chest again. “It does feel like a luxury today. I can barely remember the last time I woke up in someone’s arms.”

Quin chuckled. “My, your memory is sufferin’, then, Minerva, if this mornin’ is that removed from your mind – or it was so entirely unmemorable as to have already faded away!”

Minerva smiled. “No, you know what I mean. Other than here, with you.”

“Ah. Well, that’s reassurin’, now,” Quin said with a laugh. “As for me, ’twould have been with Gertrude, back when she was stayin’ after Aileen died, but we weren’t in bed. Poor witch was sittin’ up with me in the library one night, and I fell asleep on her. I doubt she slept a wink, herself. So that was the last time, unless you count when me kiddums climb into bed with me after a nightmare, or durin’ a thunderstorm. But that’s different.”

Minerva nodded. “It is.” She let out a breath and relaxed against him.

“How’re you feelin’?” Quin asked.

“Not too bad,” Minerva said. “Can’t you tell?”

“I can tell that you aren’t utterly miserable . . . but if I keep up talkin’ about it, you will be, no doubt.”

Minerva nodded. “If I can keep from thinking, it’s not as bad. Still . . . empty, but not as painful.”

“I wish I’d been there, wish I could understand it,” Quin said softly.

“There’s nothing to understand. Whatever I didn’t understand was made clear in his letter. He will never allow it to happen again. He didn’t intend it. I am in his care, and safe from him,” Minerva said, choking slightly at her last words.

Quin ran his fingers through her hair, but found no words of comfort for her.

Finally, Quin said, “What about some tea, now, love, and some of those biscuits?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Quin swung out of bed, pulled on his trousers quickly, then his shoes, as Minerva watched.

“I may make some eggs and toast, too, if you’d like some.”

“I am a little hungry, I suppose. I could eat an egg,” Minerva replied.

“Good, then. I’ll see you back downstairs.” He paused and bent over her, and for a moment, Minerva thought he was going to kiss her, but he straightened and said, “Your eye is much better. Don’t look like you were in a fist fight anymore!”

Minerva gave a half-smile. “Well, that’s a good thing, I would say.”

A few minutes later, Minerva walked into the kitchen, where Quin was busily frying eggs and sausages. She sat and watched him, protested the amount that he served her, and then ate it all, anyway.

Minerva poured them each a second cup of tea and said, “I don’t know what it is about your cooking, Quin, but I’ll think I won’t be able to eat a thing, and then I do.”

Quin smiled. “’Tis the smell of the food cookin’. Gets your appetite whetted.”

“Whatever it is, thank you, again, for feeding me.”

“Can’t let you go hungry!” Quin said with a laugh. “Now, what would you like to do tonight?” There’s a wireless programme I listen to sometimes in the evenings. A Muggle programme, but ’tis amusin’.”

They spent an hour in the library listening to the wireless programme, before Quin switched to the wizarding wireless to hear the news, Minerva once again struck by how effortlessly Quin seemed to move between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Even when she had lived in London and had attended Muggle concerts and plays, those activities had required careful planning and seemed quite apart from her everyday life. For Quin, it all seemed of apiece, the Muggle and the magical. She could see why the Ministry found him disturbing. It quite upset their notions of how things should be, separating the wizarding world from that of the Muggles. Minerva thought that Quin posed little danger in creating a contagion of Muggle-loving, however; most wizards and witches, even Muggle-borns, she thought, would simply find it too taxing to move back and forth as readily as Quin did, remembering not to use magic or say the wrong things in front of Muggles. She wondered how Melina would fare, married to one. Melina already seemed to be assimilating into the Muggle world, almost alarmingly so, and she and Brennan weren’t even married yet. But some magic-Muggle marriages did work, and this one had a better chance than most, Minerva thought, since Brennan knew that Melina was a witch before he married her. So often, that was kept secret from the potential spouse until after the wedding, leading to all kinds of complications, particularly the sense that one had been lied to, betrayed, and married under false pretenses.

Remembering Melina’s approaching wedding, however, brought tears to Minerva’s eyes, as she thought of how she and Albus had planned to attend together. She couldn’t even imagine sitting with him, speaking to him in a social setting; she was certain that they would not be going to the wedding together now.

The news programme had ended, and now some innocuous music issued from the wizarding wireless. Quin was reading a peculiar pink-coloured newspaper when he looked over at her.

“What is it, Minerva?”

“Just more foolishness,” Minerva said with a sigh, wiping her tears from her eyes. “We were planning to attend Melina’s wedding together. That won’t happen now.”

Quin put down his newspaper and came over to her. “It might still. You don’t know that. I keep thinkin’ there must be another explanation for what Albus said – ”

“You wouldn’t think that if you had seen the expression on his face, Quin.” Remembering that brought fresh tears, and Minerva turned her head away, covering her eyes.

Quin sat down beside her and put an arm around her.

“You must think me tremendously weak and foolish, the way I break down every other hour,” Minerva said.

“Not at all, Minerva. You have had a difficult time of it,” he said gently.

Minerva turned back towards him and leaned on him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would be fine, Minerva, I am sure. You would hold yourself together when you had to,” he answered.

Minerva nodded. “I feel safe here with you.”

“And you are. Don’t feel you have to be any particular way with me.”

They sat like that for a while, then Quin waved his hand and turned off the wireless.

“Time for bed, I’m thinkin’,” he said softly.

Minerva nodded, and he walked her up to her bedroom. When they reached it, Minerva leaned against him and put her arms around him.

“I’m not usually so clingy,” she said apologetically.

“Didn’t think you were,” Quin said. “Independent and feisty, that’s what I usually see. And you’ll be back to yourself, I’m sure.”

Minerva didn’t say anything, but thought that she would never be herself again, not after what had happened with Albus.

“So, more Horlicks tonight? Or would you prefer something else? I have chamomile tea,” Quin offered.

“If you’re having something, I’ll have the same thing,” Minerva answered, not wanting to put him to any trouble.

Quin kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back in a bit, now.”

Minerva got ready for bed, and slipped between the sheets. Twenty minutes later, Quin returned, dressed in his pyjamas and bathrobe, a tray floating behind him.

“Tea tonight, chamomile,” Quin said as he sat down at the end of the bed. “You Transfigured the nightgown,” he observed.

“It was too heavy for August,” Minerva explained. “I would have been sweltering in it.”

Quin nodded.

Minerva sipped her tea. Finally, she asked, “Are you staying tonight?”

Quin was silent for a moment. “If you would like, Minerva, but I hadn’t planned to.”

“Oh.”

Minerva tried to make her tea last, and was disappointed when Quin finished his and sent the cup and tray back down to the kitchen.

“You can just leave your cup on the bedside table,” he said. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He stood, then bent to kiss Minerva’s cheek. She pulled him down to sit beside her and held him. Quin put one arm loosely about her.

“Stay. Please,” she whispered.

He nodded, and when he agreed, Minerva kissed him. She felt as though life would flow back into her if she could just feel something other than the raw, aching emptiness within her. Quin returned her kiss, then broke off.

“I don’t know, Minerva – ”

“I do . . . I need you, Quin, I need you.” She rubbed his back, her hand moving down to his buttocks, the other hand reaching beneath his dressing gown and pyjama top to feel the warmth of his skin.

Quin kissed her forehead softly, lingering, then kissed her lips again. He caressed her and kissed her, gently kissing her throat, his fingers moving over her, down her body, then back up again. Minerva moved her hand lower, inching it down between them, and her heart beat faster as she found growing evidence of his desire for her. Quin passed his hand over her breast and moved down to kiss her through the thin nightgown, away from her caressing hand, then he reached beneath the sheet and stroked her leg, moving aside her nightgown as he did so. Minerva could feel the pounding of his pulse, and a thrill went through her; when his hand reached the top of her thigh, she felt his breath hitch. He paused, kissing her again, and lay his head down on her with a sigh, then, his hand still beneath her nightgown, he reached around and embraced her and held her close.

“Minerva . . . Minerva,” he said softly, “if I were to continue . . . I could make love to you so easily, all night. I would kiss you and touch you and love you, and you would feel . . . and I would try to bring you pleasure, every pleasure, but I know that the pleasure of the moment would not bring you any happiness.” He sighed and raised his head to look at her. “Go a winter, and go a summer, come to me then, when you want me, me for myself, if you ever truly want me, and you will have me, Minerva. But . . . not today.”

“Quin – ”

“Shh . . .” He rose up and kissed her lips lightly. “I would do this for you, even knowing that we have no future, if I believed that it would truly help you. But I do not. And I would come to want you and yet not have you, not really, even if you tried to make something work between us.” He looked into her eyes. “I could fall in love with you so very easily, ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis, and yet I would risk it, and my heart, if it would bring you happiness, even if I were to later lose you. But I think you would only feel more empty and alone after.” He shook his head as he saw tears well in her eyes. “Do not cry, Minerva. Not for any reason to do with me.”

Quin withdrew his arm from beneath the sheets and caressed her face, then kissed her forehead. “I will still stay, if you like.”

She shook her head wordlessly, eyes closed, but as he began to rise, she said, “No, wait. I . . . I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are the first witch since Aileen died who has stirred more in me than a vague appreciation. ’Tis good to feel somethin’ again, even if ’tisn’t meant to be any more than what it is now,” he said.

“Would it bother you to stay with me?” Minerva asked.

“’Twouldn’t trouble me,” Quin replied.

“Then do, please, do stay.”

After he had settled beside her and the lights were out, Minerva said, “I do love you, Quin. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know; it isn’t in your nature to deliberately hurt someone, particularly not someone you care about,” he answered softly. “But you don’t love me as you do him, and nowhere near it, and never would.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. Don’t be at all. Just sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. A new day.”

Minerva woke the next morning feeling better, if feeling numb could be considered an improvement over the pain of the previous two days. She got up without waking Quin and slipped into the small bathroom. She showered quickly, then dressed in her new robes. She felt they were a bit young for her, but they were pretty. First charming her shoes to match the pale yellow under robe, she then reentered the bedroom. Quin had rolled over and was now clutching another pillow in front of him. He seemed deeply asleep.

More comfortable in the house now, Minerva went down to the kitchen. After rummaging in the pantry and the kitchen, she started making a breakfast of omelettes and toast. She wished she had Quin’s skills in the kitchen and could make fresh scones or crumpets. But trying to figure out how to use his cooker was enough of a challenge first thing in the morning. She noticed the matches on the shelf near the cooker and assumed they were for Mrs Manning’s use, but she just used her wand to light the gas. Deciding that Quin would have to make his own coffee if he wanted it, she found some tea and brewed a large pot.

Quin shuffled into the kitchen, still wearing his pyjamas, his dressing gown on.

“Thought you said you couldn’t cook,” he said, “but somethin’ smells good.”

“Good morning, Quin! I don’t make coffee, I’m afraid, so I left that to you. But we have omelettes with cheese and mushrooms, and I made tea, and there’s toast.”

“That’s lovely, Minerva. I’ll just have tea this mornin’, though.”

After breakfast, they spent the day much as they had the previous day, though with fewer tears and a few smiles that Quin managed to tease from her. Several owls arrived during the day, even one for her, from Poppy, filled with ordinary, everyday news, and a few hints that she and Murdoch were still seeing each other, though not daily anymore. Not a single owl from Albus, though. She considered writing him a note, but each time she picked up a pen, she had no idea what to write.

Finally, late in the afternoon, she decided on something short and professional. She couldn’t address what had happened between them or what he had said in his letter. If she were going to do that, it would have to be in person.

“16 August 1957

“Dear Albus,

“I wanted to let you know that I have been staying with a friend and I hope you haven’t been worried about me. I will return the week before school begins, although if there is anything for which I am required before then, I will, of course, return earlier.

“I hope you are well.

“Yours,

“Minerva”

She hesitated before addressing it, then she finally addressed it just to him without adding “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” to it. Even though there was nothing personal in the letter, she didn’t want it deposited in his owl box, possibly to be opened by someone else, and if he weren’t at the school, he would still receive it. Quin cheerfully brought her letter in its Muggle envelope to Diagon Alley and owled it for her, explaining that he travelled too much to have an owl, particularly in the Muggle world, though his son and daughter each had their own owls that they kept with them wherever they were staying.

“I should leave soon, Quin,” she said when he returned from the errand. “I do appreciate all you’ve done, and I’ve been very comfortable here, but you have your work and your family. I know you have talked to the children, but that is not the same thing as seeing them, and Alroy will be leaving soon for Hogwarts. I’m sure you want to make the most of this time.”

“Where will you be goin’, now?”

“Home. To the McGonagall house. To my own family.” Minerva sighed. “I doubt I can hide how I feel from them, but at least I’m not crying at the drop of a hat now.”

And so that evening after a light supper, Minerva gave Quin a kiss and said good-bye.

Before she left, Quin said to her, “Don’t forget, Minerva, that you are a beautiful, talented, desirable witch, and any wizard would be fortunate to have your love. If Dumbledore loves you and he finds you attractive, he may still come to fall in love with you one day. Don’t lose all hope, Minerva.”

“I cannot hope, Quin. The hope that arose in me when I thought Albus was returning my kiss was irrevocably shattered when he rejected me and apologised for his behaviour. I have no more hope for anything at all,” she said. “And I am sorry if I have hurt you, Quin. You were concerned about taking advantage of me, but it was I who was taking advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t concern yourself with that, love. I knew what I was gettin’ into. And you are a fine witch and a good friend. I hope we will be friends for a long time to come.”

She kissed his cheek and gave him a squeeze, then Flooed through to the McGonagall library.