The MacAirt Pledge
Minerva reluctantly left for Hogsmeade at two-forty-five. She was cutting it a bit fine, but she thought that if she Apparated from the gates, she would still be punctual. She smiled as she walked down to the gate, thinking of the nice time that she and Albus had spent in her rooms. She had moved only to avoid completely cutting off the circulation to his legs. It was wonderful that she could so freely express her love for him, and that he not only accepted it – welcomed it, in fact – but that he seemed to be as desirous of contact with her as she was with him. It made his shyness regarding further intimacy even more puzzling to her.
She had teased Albus again about being “kidnapped” by Gertrude and Hagrid and brought to lunch, then she had asked, caressing his face, “So, my darling Albus, when do I get to see you fresh from the shower, dripping wet, with only a dressing gown wrapped loosely about you, hmm?”
To her amusement, Albus had actually blushed and stammered, but to her disappointment, neither did he provide a real response to her question. She had been teasing, but she had also been quite serious about wanting to see him like that – or, as she had emphasised, he could simply skip the dressing gown altogether. There was something bothering him beyond just shyness, reserve, or a desire to “court her properly,” as he liked to put it. But she would have to talk to him about it when neither of them had to be anywhere, and when he felt comfortable enough to discuss it. It would be difficult in the meantime, though; particularly knowing that it was not a physical problem or a lack of desire that was causing his restraint, Minerva thought she might burst with desire herself if his reserve lasted very long.
Minerva passed through the gates and immediately Apparated to a spot not far from the Quidditch shop. As she walked toward it, she saw Quin emerge from the shop with a parcel. She waved to him and he smiled at her.
“Ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis! Very good to see you – and to see you lookin’ so well, too!”
Minerva couldn’t help the grin that split her face. “Very well, Quin! Very!”
“Tea? Madam Puddifoot’s?” Quin asked.
“I don’t know – a walk? Someplace with fewer people?” she suggested, leaning toward him and speaking softly.
“I think Puddifoot’s can accommodate us adequately,” Quin said, offering her his arm.
Minerva raised an eyebrow, but, trusting him, she took his arm and they proceeded toward the tearoom.
“Quidditch supplies, Quin? Planning another friendly pick-up game?” she asked, reminding him of their game at the Gamps.
He laughed. “No such thing. Just a few little presents for Alroy. I understand that he can’t be after tryin’ out for the team for another year, but if he’s allowed his own broom, I thought he might be needin’ some supplies. I bought him a broomstick maintenance kit, a new Snitch – his old one was slowin’ down – and a pair o’ regulation Seeker gloves. I’ll wait till next year to get him a new broom, though. There might be somethin’ faster than the Cleansweep Four by then.”
“You certainly are going all out for him – are you set on him being a Seeker then? What if he doesn’t make the team? Or if he does, but he’s a Chaser or a Beater?”
“Ah, if he doesn’t make the team . . . I’ll tell him to cheer his House team louder than anyone else and then try again the next year if he wants. And if he’s not a Seeker,” Quin said with a shrug, “we’ll equip him accordingly!”
“As long as you don’t become one of those awful parents constantly trying to push their children into things they don’t want to do or aren’t good at,” Minerva said.
“I hope not. But I do want Alroy to have the best. I don’t want him to be feelin’ second-class. Hearin’ from Mrs Manning’s boy . . . I just don’t want anyone to think of him as the son of a hedge wizard. He shouldn’t suffer ’cause his old man’s a peculiar one, if you see what I’m sayin’.”
“Mmm. You know, Quin, I do know that you mean well,” Minerva said, “and I think the broomstick kit and everything else you have there are just fine, but you also don’t want him to stand out and look as though he’s spoiled, either. I know that Alroy isn’t spoiled, but not everyone at Hogwarts has the same financial advantages that he has had. Now I also know that you feel he’s lumbered with a peculiar old man, and you probably want to make up for Aileen not being here, as well, but don’t weigh him down too much with things. If there’s anything he doesn’t have that he discovers he needs after he arrives at Hogwarts, he can write to you. And if you have any doubts about whether it’s a necessity or it’s him just wanting to keep up with the Blacks – which I doubt you want to encourage, Quin! – you can ask me about it. I like Alroy, and I want to see him get off on the right foot, too, but don’t over-compensate for whatever you see his disadvantages being.”
“You are the wise one, ma grande dame,” Quin said, bowing as he opened the door to the teashop for her. “I shall guard against that. And you’re quite right. I don’t want to be spoilin’ him or havin’ him developin’ airs like the Blacks and such people, but I do want him to fit in.”
“Then buy him everything on his Hogwarts list,” Minerva advised, “and buy the very best quality you think he needs at his age, even buy him an extra school robe or two, but don’t go overboard buying him things that aren’t on the list. The shops will all have myriad things on display that Alroy will probably think he absolutely must have. Ignore him. Unless the request is truly reasonable! Otherwise, don’t give in. He’ll forget about it once he gets home and starts looking at his new textbooks and equipment, then he’ll be off at school and too busy to worry about whatever trinket you may have denied him.”
Madam Puddifoot herself came around and greeted them.
Quin gave her a charming smile. “Madam Puddifoot, a very good day to you! Would you have a spot where Professor McGonagall and I may talk privately?”
“Of course, sir!”
Madam Puddifoot led them to a set of stairs that Minerva hadn’t noticed before, they were so obscured by the pink flutterby bushes. Up the stairs, she showed them to a small tearoom with a single round table, marvellously flutterby-free, though still very pink.
“Would this suit, sir? Or would you prefer the one in the back?”
Quin smiled. “I don’t believe we need quite that much privacy, Madam Puddifoot. This will do very well. We will have a pot of Darjeeling and a selection of your cakes and tarts – unless you would like something different?” he asked, turning to Minerva.
“Actually, a sandwich would not be amiss. Cheddar and cress, please,” Minerva said.
“Very good,” Quin said. “And if we could be left undisturbed after they are brought up?”
“Of course, sir. Although you will be entirely undisturbed. Unless you would prefer more personal service, I can have the food delivered directly from the kitchen,” Madam Puddifoot said. She smiled. “I have found a house-elf.”
“You ‘found’ a house-elf?” Minerva asked curiously.
Madam Puddifoot blushed. “I s’pose I oughtn’t be saying this to anyone . . . but I found one. Been freed. He was wasting away. I can’t bind him, of course, but I gave him a new purpose in life. Took some weeks to bring him around, but now he’s as happy as a lark down in the kitchens and I have a bit of house-elf magic to add to my own.”
Minerva, despite thinking that it really wasn’t any of her business, said, “Yes, he’s happy, and you have house-elf magic, but . . . isn’t it, um, in contravention of certain, um, Ministry regulations regarding house-elves?”
“If you’re asking me if I’m breaking the law, Professor, that I’m not. I pay him!” Madam Puddifoot seemed indignant. “That was the hardest part of the whole business, getting him to accept payment for his service, but when I explained that he could only serve me if he accepted a wage, well, he agreed. Don’t rightly know what he’s going to do with it, but I pay him, and the going rate, too. And he’s clean and well-fed, not the pitiful thing I found shivering in my garden one cool June night.”
Minerva smiled. “That’s wonderful, then! It’s terrible what happens to house-elves sometimes.”
“Right you are! We never had any in my family,” Madam Puddifoot said, “but some folk treat them terrible. He was freed because the youngest child was struck down sick with something. As if he could have prevented it! Fools, some folk are. But they wanted to blame a body, and they blamed little Feego. He can’t ever see his family again, neither,” the witch said with a sigh and wiping a tear from her eye.
That all settled, Quin held a chair for Minerva then took the one across from her. As soon as Madam Puddifoot left, he closed the door with a gesture of his left hand as he drew his wand with his right. Minerva watched as first he cast a spell she didn’t recognise, then one she did.
“All right, the second one was Colloportus, but what was the first one?” she asked.
He grinned. “You’re wantin’ to know all me secrets, are you? In business, it sometimes is wise to make certain there are no eavesdroppers. So although it is unlikely anyone might try listenin’ at the door, I thought you might feel more comfortable if I made certain no one could accidentally overhear us. If you like, I can hide us from view, as well,” he said, gesturing at the window.
“No, that’s not necessary. I don’t want people to think we’re up to something no good, after all,” Minerva said.
“You know, I thought I’d buy two sets o’ school books. One for me. O’ course, I wouldn’t buy the second set with Alroy right there and embarrass the boy, but even though we did use books for spells and such, I didn’t have the same kind of instruction he’ll be gettin’. I want to know what he’s learnin’, be able to talk with him about it.”
Minerva nodded. “That sounds sensible. I will send you a list of the books for all the required classes right through OWLs, too, so you can get them, too, if you like,” Minerva said. “He doesn’t start Care of Magical Creatures until next year, as you probably noticed, but I spoke with the teacher for that class, and she would be happy to have him help her with things, though she will be leaving in December and can’t promise that he will be able to continue with the new one. And we will both work with him in his ability to speak with animals.”
“Thanks very much, Minerva. I appreciate that. And you know me, I could talk about me kids for the rest o’ the afternoon, but you had news for me,” Quin said, smiling broadly. “And I would guess it is good news. You look grand.”
Minerva smiled. “Thank you. I feel grand. I am sure you know what my news is.”
His eyes sparkled. “I have me hopes, but I would love to hear it from your very self!”
Her smile grew. “He loves me, Quin,” she said, wanting to shout it, but almost whispering it instead, almost in awe, like a sacred truth. “He loves me as I love him.”
“That is wonderful news, Minerva. I am very happy for you, love, very, very happy,” he said.
“Thank you, Quin, for everything. For being such a good friend, and for being more than that. There are no words to tell you how very much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Minerva said, tears coming to her eyes even as she smiled happily at him.
“’Tis reward enough to see you happy,” Quin replied with a smile.
“Oh, and I have something for you,” she said, reaching into her pocket, “from Albus.”
Quin raised his eyebrows. “Should I be wary?” he asked.
“Hmm? No, it is just a letter, a note he wanted me to give you.”
Quin reached over and took it from her. “Um, hmm, I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I went to see him yesterday after you left. I talked to him.”
“I know. He told me. He said that was why he wrote me the letter he did.” Minerva felt as though her face would split, she was so happy. “It was a beautiful letter, Quin, and he still didn’t know how I felt, but he wrote it anyway, telling me how he feels, how much he loves me. I went to him as soon as I received it.”
Quin let out a relieved breath. “I was worried you might be angry with me for mixin’ in where I didn’t belong, but I hated seein’ you miserable.”
“No, I’m not angry at all, quite the opposite, in fact,” Minerva said. “I don’t know when – or even if – we would have discovered the truth without your help. Thank you.”
Minerva poured them both tea, then she picked up her sandwich. “You can read the note, if you like.”
“Have you read it?” he asked.
“No. But I’m sure it’s fine.” She bit into her sandwich as he slowly unfolded the letter.
Quin opened the final fold and took a breath, then read, acutely aware of Minerva watching him as she ate her cheese sandwich. His nervousness faded to nothing as he read the first words.
“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
“17 August 1957
“Dear Quin,
“To simply say ‘thank you’ for all that you have done for Minerva and for me seems completely inadequate, yet that is all I can offer you, my very heartfelt thanks.
“It cannot have been easy for you to have come to me as you did and to say what you had to say; I appreciate it more than I express.
“Minerva tells me that you took care of her over the last few days, and I am grateful to you for that, as well. I know that if anything ever happens and Minerva needs help, you will give it to her if I am unable to.
“I have not the Sight of the MacAirts, but I venture to say that your feelings for Minerva are stronger than you let on to me that day of your tour, when you sat in my office and tried to tell me that you were not taken with her, and that Minerva had had her sights set on a wizard who had given her no indication that he returned her interest. I see now what you were trying to tell me then, but that I was blind to. I rarely lack imagination, but my disbelief in this instance was the result of a distinct dearth of that particular quality.
“Thank you, Quin, for waking up this old fool and helping him to see and to do what he had been unable to without you. A lesser man would have behaved quite differently, I am sure, but you are worthy of your name, Cormac MacAirt. I would be pleased to call you ‘friend,’ if I may.
“You are welcome at Hogwarts at any time, and if there is ever any way that I can be of assistance to you, please do not hesitate to ask!
“Gratefully yours,
“Albus Dumbledore”
Quin looked thoughtful as he refolded the letter. Minerva paused and put her sandwich down.
“Is everything all right, Quin?”
Quin shook his head. “Everything is fine, love. Just fine,” he said slowly. “Your wizard is rather remarkable. As I would expect of the one whom you loved so deeply, just as I told you when we were at the Gamps, even before I knew who he was. He would have to be worthy of you to hold your love.” He looked up at her. “That seems a very long time ago, Minerva. Has this been the beginning of a long friendship, or the beginning, the culmination, and the end of one?”
“The beginning, Quin! The beginning, surely, if you will forgive me,” Minerva said, reaching across the table impulsively and taking his hand. “Please forgive me, Quin. Please.”
Quin raised her hand to his lips, but he did not kiss it. He closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. “I was after hopin’ for your forgiveness, Minerva. If you require mine, you have it, though I don’t know why you believe you’re needin’ it.”
The room was quite still for a moment, as though time had stopped and nothing moved or stirred, and when he heard Minerva speak, Quin opened his eyes.
“I ask your forgiveness for what I asked of you,” Minerva said softly, tears swimming in her eyes, “what you were willing to give, but which you were wise enough to withhold. And for encouraging any feelings in you that . . . that I shouldn’t have.”
Quin did kiss her hand then, holding it briefly to his lips as he looked into her eyes. “No forgiveness required for that, and I should have been stronger for you, but I did want you t’ know that you are beautiful and desirable, and most certainly lovable, and I hope that it helped you to heal and did not harm you or our friendship. As for me own feelin’s . . .” Quin sighed. He looked at her with soft eyes. “They are complicated. You are truly as I said: beautiful and desirable, and I probably could have fallen in love with you had things been different. Indeed, I do love you. You are easy for me t’ love, Minerva, and the more I have come t’ know you, the greater me affection for you has become. And I hope you understand what I am about t’ say, at least a little, and are not offended by it, but I had me Aileen. If ever any wizard has a love as I had with Aileen . . . other love might be welcome if it comes along, but ’twould never be the same. Your appearance in me life was an unexpected blessing, Minerva, but you belong with your wizard, and I know that I am not he. And it’s all right. You have your Albus. Cherish every minute he is in this world with you. I would give me life to spend one more minute in a world inhabited by me Aileen, even if I were not with her durin’ that minute. Were it not for me children and their need o’ me, I would have left this world in hopes o’ findin’ her. But their need, and Gertrude’s steady presence, kept me here on this earth. And while I’m abidin’ here, I’ll do me bit. And I hope that bit includes bein’ your friend, Minerva.”
“Yes, yes, please, Quin. I would be honoured and grateful for your friendship. And Albus, too,” Minerva said, “I am sure.”
Quin nodded. “Very good, then. You shall be like me own, Minerva, and any who harm you will live to rue that day – and Dumbledore, too, on your account. Let none harm him an’ I learn of it! You have me, Minerva, an’ me son after, should I die aforetime. Alroy will grow to be a strong wizard, and I teach him his duty to family. You have the MacAirt pledge on that. You have a need, or your wizard has one, call, and we come.”
Minerva smiled. “Thank you, Quin. I appreciate that. Although it is rather an old-fashioned sentiment to offer your son’s assistance, as well, isn’t it?”
“The MacAirts don’t go by fashion, Minerva,” Quin said with a slight shrug. “We go by Right. The best we can, any road. The best any man can, wizard or Muggle. And ’tain’t only Alroy, though he is me first-born, ’tis also Aine, and any other o’ me close kin. You’re me own personal friend, Minerva, but you have more than that now in our friendship.”
Minerva looked slightly uncomfortable at those words. “Is it some kind of magic, then? Did you do a binding? I felt nothing,” she said.
“Not a bindin’ like you’re thinkin’. I bound me own heart,” Quin said. “And ’tisn’t the magic you practise here at Hogwarts; ’tis much, much older. Your wizard likely knows of it, though perhaps not of this particular MacAirt . . . tradition, I s’pose you might call it.”
“Am I supposed to do something now? Something . . . reciprocal?” Minerva asked nervously.
Quin laughed at that, a bright, light sound that eased Minerva’s mind. “Just t’ be your ain self an’ true, Minerva. That is all.” He grinned. “I do say that as though ’tis an easy thing, and ’tisn’t for many folk. But for you, especially now that you are whole of heart and have your wizard, I don’t know if you could be aught but true, Minerva.”
Minerva looked at him, shaking her head. “Sometimes, Quin, you seem so modern, so far ahead of any other wizards I know, with your telephone calls, your wizarding and Muggle businesses, your views on commerce, and your attitudes toward Muggles and Squibs, that I am astounded. Other times, it is as though you have just stepped out of the deepest past, and you are equally as astonishing to me.”
“A wizard out o’ time, no matter how you take me, eh?” He grinned. “That’s all right, Minerva. Although that is one of the things that worries me about Alroy comin’ here to your school. I have tried t’ raise him t’ be a respectable wizard, t’ teach him how things are usually done in this world, but without him losin’ his MacAirt heritage at the same time. I don’t know if it isn’t an impossibility, though. But whatever it is that Alroy chooses to do with his life, if it is honest, then he will have me blessin’, even if I woulda preferred somethin’ different for him.”
“Don’t worry about Alroy, Quin. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’ll have problems, but so will every other student at Hogwarts. And there are older students he can talk to, as well as his Head of House, and Gertrude and I are both there, though Alroy seems fairly independent, and he will likely try to work things out on his own. Every student comes in feeling different in some way. I had no idea how to relate to other children my own age when I started at Hogwarts, I had spent so much time with adults. It was almost like being an only child, growing up with my three brothers so much older than I. My first year at Hogwarts was particularly difficult, but things got better.” Minerva smiled. “For one thing, Albus started teaching my second year and was my Head of House, and he made sure that I socialised more, and he also took an interest in me. It was what I needed, I was so used to having so much interaction with adults. He was very good to me.”
Quin grinned. “Even when talkin’ about me boy, we come back around to Dumbledore, don’t we?”
“I’m sorry, Quin, I just meant –”
“I know, love,” Quin said. “But your point is a good one. Every kid’ll feel different. I’ll remind Alroy o’ that, too. It’ll help him, I think, to remember that. But as to Dumbledore, ’tis hardly surprising that he had a hard time comin’ round, if he started off as your teacher when you were what, twelve? Thirteen? Even though you’re well an’ truly an adult witch, and have been for years, he also has his memories of you as a little girl. It must sometimes feel peculiar for him, disjointed, kinda, lookin’ at you now, talkin’ to you, attracted to you, lovin’ you, and then rememberin’ the little girl in pigtails. I can see how a man would be uncomfortable with that. It’d be like, twenty years from now, findin’ meself in love with one of Aine’s little friends, but worse – I don’t know them the way that Dumbledore knew you, day-in, day-out, takin’ care o’ you, teachin’ you.” Quin sighed. “I was hard on him, I was. Perhaps too hard. But I’d seen what it had done to you, his rejection, and me sympathy was with you. But then, that may be what he needed in order to tell you the truth. He doesn’t hold it against me, at least.”
“Well, aside from the fact that I haven’t worn my hair in pigtails since I was six years old, I think you have a good point.” Minerva furrowed her brow. “Perhaps that is what is still bothering him.”
“Still troubles, then?” Quin asked.
“I don’t know . . . I shouldn’t discuss this with anyone. It’s quite . . . personal,” Minerva said.
“Ah. The physical side o’ things.”
Minerva shrugged, blushing. Quin waited silently. Finally, he said, “He does touch you, doesn’t he?”
“Of course. And it is wonderful. He is very affectionate,” Minerva said.
“Affectionate is good,” Quin said.
Minerva nodded.
“But I gather that he is still uncomfortable with the more . . . passionate expression of his affections?” Quin asked.
“It’s peculiar, really, Quin. I understand part of it. He is . . . a gentleman. He doesn’t want to rush things. And I appreciate that he wants to court me, as he puts it. And I’m a little nervous about the entire, um, passionate side of things, myself, with just the ordinary worries any of us might have, I suppose. But there is something more with him than just wanting to court me or being ordinarily nervous at the start of a physical relationship. It could be what you just mentioned, about memories of me as a child conflicting with his feelings for me now. That would be awkward, certainly, to suddenly have a memory of me as a little girl as he’s, um, holding me now.”
“Could be,” Quin said, “could be. I . . . I don’t know how much Dumbledore told you about me visit to him.”
“Very little, actually. More or less that you told him I was upset and had injured myself, and that he should tell me the truth,” Minerva said.
Quin nodded. “When I went there, I wanted him to apologise to you properly, for him to understand the hurt he had caused you, and I had some hopes that I might . . . I don’t know, persuade him to consider takin’ his affection for you and his attraction to you an’ puttin’ them together, I suppose. You were so convinced that he had been horrified by his physical reaction and that he had no intentions toward you in that way, you had me almost persuaded of it; still, I thought it was worth tryin’. But then, when I was talkin’ to him, it got kinda heated,” Quin said, somewhat embarrassed. “I thought that he wasn’t listenin’ properly, and I reached out an’ touched him. His feelin’s were so close t’ the surface, Minerva, ’twas no avoidin’ them. I couldn’t believe it at first, an’ then I stretched out me magic, an’ there it was, clear as day. His love for you, to be sure, but his desire, too, and his pain. His pain was great, Minerva. Didn’t soften me heart toward him at the moment, though, seein’ as how his pain was of his own makin’, and I had just nursed your pain over more ’n two days. Later, I regretted some o’ me tone toward him. But I know Dumbledore is in love with you, and he does desire you. Give him some time. ’Tisn’t an easy thing to suddenly jump into a relationship with a witch after years o’ bein’ alone. Could be that’s part of it, too, combined with some residual unease with the idea that you were once one of the children he taught, and he was no young wizard even then.”
“That could be,” Minerva said slowly. “This summer, he kept going on about being an old codger, something I had never heard him say about himself before. Well, perhaps a few times, but it had always been more . . . more joking before. And Albus told me last night that one reason he hadn’t told me the truth about his feelings was that he knew that a vital young witch needs a vital wizard, as though he were some ancient shell of a wizard. You’ve met him, Quin, you’ve seen him over the years, do you think it reasonable of him to think of himself that way? Is it just me, seeing him through loving eyes, that I see a vital, virile wizard? Do others see him differently?”
“I never would have described him as such, as an ancient shell, meself. He has more energy than many wizards half his age, and he certainly seems hale and hearty t’ me. There was a summer, oh, must have been . . . six, seven years ago, now, when he played in our annual pick-up Quidditch game. Don’t know how much time he spends on a broom, likely not much at all, but he played Chaser, and he was quick and agile. Unfortunately for me, he was on Robert’s team, and he kept scorin’. We caught the Snitch, but Robert’s team still won by more’n ten points. And we play, as you know, with only two Chasers. ’Twas quite a feat, even in a friendly game. Tried t’ get him on me own team the next year, but he wouldn’t play again. So, I agree with you, love. He’s certainly not worn out yet . . . unless there’s somethin’ physical wrong with him that we don’t know about. But a visit to a Healer might cure that . . .”
Minerva blushed, but she said, “He said it’s not a physical problem of that sort. He said it was just him, just himself. He suggested that I might . . . find him attractive now, but that the reality of it would put me off, as though his actual touch would disgust me in some way. I wouldn’t discuss this with you, or with anyone, except that it disturbs me that he would think like this, and I don’t understand it at all.”
Quin sat and thought, pouring them each another cup of tea. After drinking some of his tea, Quin said, “I don’t know, Minerva, I may be entirely wrong in this, and it may be . . . unlikely. But . . . how many witches do you suppose Dumbledore’s been with since his wife died when he was barely growed?”
Minerva blushed. “I am sure I don’t know,” she said, remembering the story that Albus had told her of the time in his youth when he had slept with women in return for a warm bed, to “entertain” them and to forget his own troubles. She certainly wouldn’t be sharing that with Quin. Although that might have had some odd effect on Albus, after all, especially since toward the end of that period, he didn’t seem to be at all discriminating about whom he slept with, and was entirely libertine, disgusting himself. “But,” Minerva added, “I do believe that when he returned to England after studying with his Alchemy master, he consciously chose to live a retired life and not become romantically involved with witches. That would have been around eighteen-seventy, I think. A very long time ago.”
“So, since he was a boy, or a young man, at least, he’s likely had only a handful of lovers, if that,” Quin said thoughtfully. “Do you know of any witches whom he’s seen over the past few decades? We know of one, definitely – Valerianna Yaxley-soon-to-be-Flint. And possibly Gertrude, though we can’t be sure o’ that. D’you know of any others whom he may have possibly, um, been close to?”
Minerva shook her head. “Every now and then, we would both be at the same Ministry function, but although he occasionally escorted different witches to them, they never seemed . . . together, if you know what I mean. As though it were a casual, polite thing for him to accompany them. I noticed this in particular, as you may imagine, since I had such strong feelings for him and I lived in dread that he would marry. But it was rare that we would attend the same parties, so there may have been some to whom he was closer. I just don’t know, but somehow I doubt it. Especially given that he did see Valerianna. It doesn’t seem that he would have been at all interested in her if he weren’t, well, not desperate, but if he had had any other witches to compare her to, if you see what I mean.”
“So, Anna and Gertrude,” Quin said thoughtfully, nodding. “And if he ever was with Gertrude, it was likely at some time before he became involved with Valerianna and not after. Possibly when you were a student, certainly not before then, since her husband died only a few years before she started to teach at Hogwarts. If that is so . . . I don’t doubt that he and Gertrude, if ever they were together in that way, had a good relationship, since they are still close friends, and have been ever since I first came to know Gertrude back in forty-four, forty-five. So I can’t see that they ever had any serious disruption in their friendship.”
Minerva interrupted. “They have been friends for forty years, and I agree with you. Although I must say that I am glad they aren’t involved now, I doubt that any kind of relationship between them came to a messy end. But what are you driving at, Quin?”
“Valerianna is nasty, a piece o’ work, as a Muggle friend o’ mine likes to say. I only overheard part o’ what she said to you there on the balcony, but what I remember . . . Tell me, Minerva, what did she say?”
“I’ve tried to forget it. She suggested that Albus required sycophantic followers, and that I was one of them. And that I was repressed and cold.”
“I know it’s unpleasant, but what exactly did she say? Can you remember?”
“Well . . . she suggested that the reason that I was alone was because you are a hot-blooded Irish wizard and you were looking for a, um, willing witch, and that I’m a cold fish. I have no idea where she got that . . . and she said . . .” Minerva stopped and thought a moment, recalling the witch’s bitter tone and her nasty words. “She said that a cold fish like me was perfect for Albus. Then she said that she had asked around about me at the Ministry and learned that I was nothing special, but that she had had to endure listening to Albus talk about me. I see now that she must have been jealous of me, although at the time that they were . . . together, Albus and I rarely saw one another. She said that the reason they weren’t together any longer was that she was too much witch for him.” Minerva snorted at that. “I won’t go into detail, Quin, but the real reason wasn’t that she was too much witch as that she enjoyed sharing herself with too many wizards. Albus was the one who broke it off.”
“I thought it was somethin’ like that. But when I was comin’ out onto the balcony, she was sayin’ somethin’ about Dumbledore, too –”
“Oh, yes . . . in our earlier conversations, she had kept emphasising his age, of course . . . and on the balcony . . . she implied something about the reason he would have me around was because I was, um, an icy, jumped-up Mudblood, or something of the sort, then she said something about him being pitiful.”
“‘Pitiful and dried-up,’ were, I believe, the words I overheard,” Quin said. “If she’d say that to you, can you imagine what she might say to him? If she was angry, a woman scorned? And if she was runnin’ around with a lot o’ young wizards . . . ’tain’t reasonable, not to us, not seein’ Dumbledore, and not knowin’ the nastiness that bears the name ‘Valerianna,’ but could be that Albus, with his years o’ scholarly near-celibacy, could be it hit home, if she said he was old and dried up, right to his face.”
Minerva blanched. “But he wouldn’t believe that, would he? Coming from her? Poppy told me – and I wasn’t going to mention this to you, and it’s not widely known – but he found Valerianna with another wizard in his own home. And that’s why he broke things off with her.”
Quin’s face was a thundercloud. “Under the man’s own roof!” He looked away, and Minerva could see his jaw working. Finally, he said, “Providence had better keep her from me reach until me anger cools – if ever it does.”
“Well, Albus found out about her and broke it off before it could get worse, anyway,” Minerva said, trying to soothe Quin’s mood. “That was surely a good thing.”
“Mmm. Sorry, love. But tryin’ to put meself in his place – unpleasant don’t describe what it musta been for him.” He let out a deep breath. “Still, he’s had little recent experience, and it seems that the last one was with a witch who not only two-timed him, but who likely told him he was old and dried-up – probably her excuse to herself, if not to him, for her own disgustin’ behaviour. Albus loves you and doesn’t want to lose you now, I’m sure. If he’s concerned about his age, he might worry that bein’ more demonstrative to you will somehow turn you away from him. ’Tisn’t reasonable, but the heart isn’t reasonable. If you want me advice, Minerva, be patient with him, and listen to everythin’ he says before reactin’ to it. ’Tis an embarrassin’ topic, anyhow, and if he feels you don’t take his feelin’s on the matter seriously, he might close up more. Not to say you should give them credence, if they’re unreasonable fears, but take his self seriously, if you see what I’m sayin’.”
Minerva nodded. “Whatever the reason is, aside from his desire to treat me properly and to court me, I will respect his feelings on it, though I will try to persuade him to abandon his fears about it.” Minerva closed her eyes and sighed, then she looked at Quin and said, “You would think that my own reactions to him would have convinced him already. But thank you, Quin. I don’t think I’ll mention to him that we talked about this – it would be even more embarrassing for him, I’m sure.”
“It will be as though we never spoke, Minerva,” Quin said with a smile. He paused, then continued, somewhat uncomfortably, “And I didn’t mention to him anythin’ about, you know . . . sleepin’ with you. And the other time we spent together. But he obviously knows you stayed with me.”
“I won’t tell him about that, either, then – not that I had considered doing that, anyway. At some point, perhaps, but I can’t see that there would be any good that could come of going into detail. If he asks, that is another thing entirely, and I wouldn’t hide anything from him, though I would be careful about how I communicated it.” Minerva patted his hand. “I will always think of you when I think of the lovers I had before Albus, Quin, even though we didn’t . . . I was more intimate with you than with wizards I have been more physically involved with. And I will always appreciate that.”
Quin quirked a smile. “Might be wise, love, not t’ be mentionin’ any other intimacies or any earlier lovers to your wizard, leastwise not until he’s settled more.”
Minerva nodded. “Unless there’s some reason for it, I wouldn’t anyway, even if the situation were less unusual than it is.”
“Have you had enough to eat, Minerva?”
“Plenty – and as my Grandmother Siofre always says, enough is as good as a feast!” she replied.
“Me own gran always says that, too. Nowadays, before I can get it out o’ me mouth, one o’ me kids says it, very disgusted-like, knowin’ they aren’t gettin’ anymore o’ whatever it is they think they want,” Quin said with a laugh.
“I would like to pay for tea today, Quin. I invited you, and after your hospitality, and your gifts, and your friendship, I would appreciate it if you would allow me,” Minerva said as they rose.
Quin hesitated. “That’s fine, Minerva, but there’s usually a charge for the room. I don’t know if she will levy it if you’re payin’ or not, but she never does with me. Just fair warnin’ that it may be a bit pricier than your usual tea.”
Minerva smiled. “Thanks, Quin.”
He laughed. “Thank you, ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis! And I appreciate your advice about Alroy. I’ll try not t’ go overboard. Don’t want him developin’ airs or gettin’ acquisitive.”
After Minerva had settled the bill – and Madam Puddifoot had not charged her for the room, though Minerva believed that it was only because she was with Quin – the two left.
“I’d like to spend more time with you, Quin, but I told Albus I would be back, and it’s beginning to get late,” Minerva said, turning to him.
“That’s fine. Me kids an’ I are Portkeyin’ home in the mornin’, and I need to get ready to leave. I hope to spend most o’ me time at home in Ireland for the next couple weeks, and just come over when I have somethin’ important scheduled – such as your niece’s weddin’ and the school shoppin’ trip with Alroy. He wanted to go with Ella last week, but I told him I wanted to go with him, make it a father-son time.”
“Enjoy your time with your family, Quin. And thank you again for all you have done for me.” Minerva took his hand, then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You may never find another Aileen, but I wish you happiness in your life.”
“And I wish the same to you,” Quin said, smiling.
“’Bye, Quin!”
Minerva held her wand to her and Disapparated. On arriving at the gates, she rushed up the drive. She hadn’t told Albus precisely when she would be back, but it was nearly dinner time, and he may have expected her sooner. Now, where to go – her rooms, where she had left Albus, or his office? His office. He likely returned there after she had left the castle.
She hurried up the stairs and gave the password to the gargoyle. He wasn’t in his office, but as she started up to his suite, she heard his voice call to her.
“Minerva? Is that you?”
“Yes, Albus. I’m back!”
She trotted up the stairs and into his arms as he stepped out of his sitting room door.
He held her tightly, then he kissed her. He looked at her, his eyes sparkling, and said, “I had wanted it to be a bit more of a surprise, my dear, but time was growing short and I had to change.”
Minerva noticed for the first time that Albus was wearing Muggle evening dress. “We’re going out?” she asked.
“Yes, my dear. If you could just change into some robes that might pass as a Muggle evening gown? We could be on our way.”
“Just like that? I need time – I need to do my hair, I need to take a shower, I need –”
“You need to change your clothes, and that is all, Minerva. You are fine. Don’t worry about your hair. It is lovely as always!”
Minerva let out a breath and looked up at him with a rueful smile. “All right. But I wish I had had more warning. Where are we going?”
“That shall remain a surprise, my dear,” Albus said with a twinkle.
“But how do I know what would be appropriate?” Minerva said, frustrated. “I appreciate a surprise, but –”
“But –” Albus interrupted her, “do you have the gown you wore the morning you Apparated to the Gamps?”
Minerva nodded.
“That would be perfectly appropriate, I believe!” Albus said.
“You remember what I wore that day, Albus?” Minerva asked, surprised but pleased.
“Of course I do! You looked lovely. You could use the same hair things, perhaps. They were very pretty,” Albus said.
Minerva smiled happily and let him lead her through his suite, though she did wish they could dawdle in the bedroom, and down his backstairs, then escort her to her rooms, where Minerva got ready to leave as quickly as she could. She didn’t know what to do for a purse. She couldn’t find her Muggle evening bag. Finally, she gave up looking for it, aware that Albus was pacing in the other room, and simply took her other handbag and Transfigured it. This was better, anyway. It now matched her gown perfectly. She charmed an evening wrap in a shade complementary to the colour of her dress, did the same to her shoes, then joined Albus in the sitting room.
“You look marvellous, Minerva! Absolutely beautiful.” He took her arm. “Now, I don’t normally do this, but I have created a Portkey for us – quite legal for me to do, if somewhat unorthodox, as I have not registered it – and we can leave from here.” He reached into his pocket and removed a broken button. “Ready, my dear?” At her nod, he said, “Andrew’s.”