Resolving a Misunderstanding

A moment after their Portkey activated, Minerva stood, blinking and holding tightly to Albus’s arm, looking around her, not recognising where they were. Was Andrew a friend of his? She asked him that.

“No, no, not precisely,” Albus replied, taking her hand and leading her around a corner before turning her and gesturing at the large building they now faced. “St. Andrew’s.”

“St. Andrew’s? Glasgow?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed. We have a little time, now, but I would like to get our tickets. A friend of mine – I don’t know if you know him, Paul Armstrong – acquired them for me this afternoon,” Albus explained as they walked. “It was actually rather handy to have you leave so that I could make arrangements, although I did begin to worry that I should have been more specific about when I would have liked you to return. But I wasn’t entirely certain whether Paul could find us tickets for this concert, and if he couldn’t, I thought I would just bring you out to dinner somewhere nice,” he said as they walked across to the building, entered it, then went up to the counter where they could collect their tickets.

“I would have been happy to return earlier,” Minerva said. “Quin and I talked a lot, and about a variety of things, but I could have returned sooner.”

“Everything has worked out quite well, though,” Albus said as he put the tickets in the pocket of his jacket. “We have at least forty-five minutes before we need to be in our seats. The concert begins at seven-thirty. We could have a glass of wine somewhere, if you like. I thought we could have a light supper after the concert. I hope that is all right and you aren’t hungry now.”

“I’m fine, Albus. I had a sandwich and a tart with my tea, so I’m not at all hungry yet.”

“All right, then, let’s just step around this corner. Hold on, Minerva,” he said softly, pulling her into a shadow and holding her against him.

Minerva didn’t have much time to realise that they were about to Apparate, but it was smooth and silent, and when Minerva looked around and realised that they were now in McTavish Street in Edinburgh, she laughed.

“Being able to Apparate silently certainly has its advantages,” Minerva said. “I never would have dared try to Disapparate from there. Muggles would have been running about, looking for the explosion! At least I’m not as loud as Melina. She is deafening. I have never known anyone who Apparates so loudly – coming and going!”

Albus chuckled. “I thought perhaps we might go to the same café we went to after the other concert, if that suits.”

“That would be lovely, Albus,” Minerva replied. She took his arm and put her other hand on it, as well, but then she dropped one hand and moved slightly away from him, maintaining only a light hold on his elbow. “I’m sorry, Albus. I almost forgot,” she whispered.

“Forgot?”

“My brother’s shop is here, my friends and family are often here, and everyone in the world knows you,” Minerva said, “and we can be easily observed. I remember that you wish to be discreet.”

Albus smiled. “Yes, that is right. But you needn’t pretend you don’t know me, either.”

“I will try not to cling to you, though,” Minerva said softly as he held the door for her, “and a good thing, too, as here comes my niece now. I don’t know if she’s seen us, though.”

Minerva and Albus sat down at the same table they had had before, and Albus explained to the waitress they didn’t have very much time. She smiled and told them she would bring their wine immediately, and the bill with it. As the waitress left, Minerva pointed discreetly. Melina had come in and was looking around the room. She spotted them and waved as she approached.

“I thought I saw you! I didn’t know you were coming to Edinburgh today, Min! How are you, Professor Dumbledore? I wish I had known you would be in town. I would have had Brennan meet me here rather than at his shop.”

“We’re only having a quick glass of wine,” Minerva explained just as the waitress returned, “then we are leaving.”

“You look terrific, Min – Minerva,” Melina said enthusiastically. “You do, too, Professor! Nice evening dress. So you’re doing something Muggle tonight?” she asked as she pulled over a chair and sat down.

Albus chuckled. “Yes, we are. I am escorting your aunt to a concert in Glasgow this evening.”

“Oh, the one at St. Andrew’s? I saw that announced. Strange programme, though, I thought. But I think Swarowsky is going to work out well. What do you think, Professor?”

Minerva gritted her teeth and drank her wine as her niece chattered away about the conductor, and how she wished they had found a Scot to lead the Scottish National Orchestra for once, but for all that, Swarowsky was a good choice. Minerva had no idea who the man was, though it was clear from his name that he was fairly far from being a Scot, so she did agree with Melina on principle about that. She gathered from the conversation, though, that it was considered quite a coup for the orchestra to have attracted him.

Finally, Melina stood and said, “Well, I suppose you ought to be leaving now! It was good to see you, Min!” She gave Minerva a kiss on the cheek then bustled out of the café.

Minerva and Albus left with a little less speed, but Albus said, “I do believe that if we do not Apparate directly to the hall, we will be late. I am going to try a little trick, if you don’t mind, Minerva. I am not entirely sure how well it will work, but . . .”

“All right, whatever you like,” Minerva agreed.

Albus chuckled. “You do not even know what it is! I might have a hare-brained idea that will Splinch us both.”

Minerva smiled up at him, “I very much doubt that.”

They quickly stepped into the shadows next to the building, and Albus whispered, “Close to me, my dear, as is always so lovely. Good. Now, I have done this on my own before, but never when bringing someone with me, so if you could very specifically concentrate on our destination as we go, I believe that will help.” Unlike the other times they had Apparated together, Albus drew his wand, then slipped it up his sleeve, holding the end in the palm of his hand. “First, I am going to make us vanish, and then I will Apparate us, all right, Minerva?”

Minerva nodded against him, enjoying the vibration of his magic around her and the sound of his heart beating in his chest. A moment later, she felt a peculiar tickling, which was immediately replaced with the sensation of being wrapped in a soft, fuzzy cotton blanket infused with Albus’s magic. Remembering that she was supposed to be concentrating on their destination, Minerva tried to ignore the unusual sensations and to visualise the corner from which they had Disapparated.

“Now, my dearest,” Albus whispered, and Minerva could feel the sensation of Apparition.

When they arrived, Minerva felt only slightly disoriented, but fortunately not ill. She waited until Albus nodded and let her go before she stepped away from him.

“We are in luck,” he said softly. “There is no one nearby. Come, let’s find our seats.”

They sat and listened to the orchestra warming up, something that Minerva had always enjoyed, though she couldn’t say why. Looking at the programme, Minerva could understand what Melina had thought was odd about it.

“Tchaikovky’s Nutcracker Suite in August?” she asked, puzzled.

Albus shrugged. “Perhaps it is one of the pieces that was easy for both the new conductor and the orchestra to get together for this concert. I do not know. But I do like it, so I don’t mind that it might be slightly unseasonable. I particularly enjoy the Arabian Dance.”

Minerva perused the rest of the programme. The overture to Tannhäuser. Minerva wasn’t overly fond of Wagner, but it was only one piece, and that overture wasn’t objectionable, from what she remembered of it. The remainder of the music appealed to her more, a Mozart piano concerto and then, after the interval, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major. Yes, other than opening with Wagner, and the fact that the Tchaikovsky seemed a slightly odd choice in the middle of August, which Minerva could overlook, it seemed like a nice programme.

Minerva looked over at Albus. “Thank you, Albus,” she whispered as the lights dimmed. “I was in such a hurry earlier, and then so surprised, I didn’t say thank you properly.”

Albus smiled at her and whispered, “You are very welcome, my dearest Minerva.”

In the dark Muggle hall, Minerva reached over and took Albus’s hand. He made a slight movement, as if startled, but then he closed a warm hand around hers. Minerva had never properly appreciated the Tannhäuser overture before, she decided as she sat there, holding Albus’s hand and feeling his magic flow with the music.

During the interval, Albus asked her if she would like anything to drink.

Minerva shook her head. “Do you mind terribly if we just stay here in our seats and talk?”

“Not at all. In fact,” he said, looking around them, “I can give us a bit of privacy so we can speak more freely.” He let his wand fall out of his sleeve and into his hand again. “Would you wave your programme about, my dear, as though there were a fly nearby?”

Minerva did as Albus asked, and he waved his hand in an arc over them.

“There we are!” he said, his eyes sparkling. “The fly is gone.”

“So . . . people will think we are talking about vegetables?” Minerva asked with a laugh as she settled back into her seat, placing her programme in her lap.

“This time, the peculiarities of weather and sunspots and such things,” Albus said with a chuckle.

Minerva smiled. “You never cease to amaze me, Albus.”

“I thought that the weather might be a more appropriate topic of conversation for a concert hall,” Albus said with a shrug, but he smiled, and Minerva thought she detected a slight blush of pleasure come to his cheeks.

“I enjoyed the first part of the programme,” Minerva said. “How did you think of doing this?”

“I knew there was going to be a concert here tonight, though I didn’t know what it was. Fawkes, being very long-suffering,” Albus explained with a chuckle, “consented to bring a letter to my friend Paul. He did answer with a more conventional Tawny Owl, though, since Fawkes apparently decided that he was done playing messenger bird for a while and didn’t wait for a response. Paul said that if I didn’t hear from him to the contrary, the tickets would be waiting for me. And here we are!”

“That was good of him to do so quickly,” Minerva commented. “I don’t know any Armstrongs. Wizarding Armstrongs, that is . . .”

“He’s a Muggle-born, married to a Squib – most unusual situation there – and he moves within the Muggle world very easily as a result,” Albus explained, “although he has quite a conventional wizarding job with Gringotts in their Glasgow branch, handling Muggle currency exchange.”

“It was a wonderful idea, Albus, thank you! I’m sorry about Melina, though,” Minerva said.

“Not at all, Minerva, she is a lovely young witch – and your niece. I enjoyed seeing her. I must say, though, does she ever slow down?” Albus asked with a chuckle.

Minerva laughed. “We don’t think she knows how! Brennan is good for her that way. He’s much more relaxed, steadier, and less impulsive. He’s a good man.”

“And Friday is the wedding,” Albus observed.

“Yes . . . you know, I had thought this even before, well, before yesterday, would you like to do something in the afternoon afterward, or do you need to be back at the school?”

“I would love to spend the afternoon with you, my dear, either at the school or elsewhere, and I do have the entire day free.” Albus blushed and smiled. “I must admit to hoping, even when I suggested I might escort you to the wedding, that we might spend the entire day together, so I cleared my schedule. The Wizengamot will have to do without me.”

Minerva smiled happily. “Wonderful. We can think about what we might do – unless you had an idea already?”

“I do . . . and I am fairly certain you would enjoy it. Do you mind another surprise, my dear?”

Minerva laughed. “I do love your surprises, Albus, especially when they are like this evening. What else did you do this afternoon while I was gone?”

“I did do some work, and Gertrude stopped by. Apparently Malcolm had to go help a friend with something, so she was at loose ends.” Albus smiled. “She really is in love with your brother, you know.”

“I thought she seemed to be. I hope everything works out – first I fear for her, then I fear for him – it just seems as though there are too many things that could go wrong between them. And especially as Malcolm is not known for his ability to make and keep long-term commitments, I worry about Gertrude.” Minerva smiled slightly. “I never thought I would worry about Gertrude, of all people!”

Albus raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Because she is imperturbable and unassailable, or because you didn’t like her?”

Minerva flushed. “Both, I suppose, although, obviously, she is not imperturbable and unassailable, though she certainly seems confident and self-possessed most of the time.”

“Do you . . . like her a little now?” Albus asked hesitantly.

“Yes, actually, I do, and more than a little – and a good thing, too, if she is going to be hanging about with my brother. But, seriously, Albus, I do appreciate her better than I did, and I find myself enjoying her company.”

Albus smiled. “I hoped that you would like her when you gave her a chance, Minerva. And I knew you would give her that chance.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’s one of the things I love about you, my dear, your open heart. I was confident you would give yourselves a chance to know each other better.”

Minerva nodded. “And it was good of her, too. She didn’t need to extend her hospitality, or a hand of friendship, particularly as I was . . . not particularly inclined to reach out my hand to her.”

“She was once . . . not more sociable, precisely, but more friendly, I suppose, more openly warm and obviously generous, with a sense of humour,” Albus said. “But after Reginald died, Gertrude just closed up. She had always been somewhat reserved and a bit shy, but she became positively taciturn and unapproachable for a long while after that. Over the years, as she has got on with her life and adjusted to her loss, she has mellowed, but I thought the witch whom I had come to know as a sweet young newlywed had disappeared never to return, though I still caught occasional glimpses of that person beneath the carapace into which she had withdrawn. Now, however, with your brother – it’s not as though she has returned to being the sweet young thing she once was, but she has a spark of life that had faded, and she seems more relaxed, more spontaneous. I hope it lasts.”

The musicians began to return to the stage and Minerva leaned toward Albus as he dismissed the privacy charm, and whispered, “I should have trusted you, Albus, and known that if you cared for Gertrude, and she for you, for all these years, she was all right. So if you love her, she must be a fine witch.”

Albus turned his head to respond, looking slightly surprised, but the lights came down and the conductor stepped up in front of the orchestra again. This time, Minerva wound her arm around Albus’s then took his hand. She felt him sigh and relax as he wrapped her hand in his.

Minerva had forgotten which symphony the seventh was, and it was beautiful. At one point during the second movement, as a theme was repeated and she felt Albus’s magic seem to reach out and envelope her, Minerva closed her eyes, oblivious to all else, and relished the sensation of Albus’s magic and the music surrounding her.

When the concert was over and the lights came up, Minerva and Albus filed out with the rest of the audience, and Albus fetched her wrap for her, then they walked down the street, arm in arm.

“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Minerva said. “But it feels as though it might rain tonight.”

“Any evening spent with you is lovely, rain, shine, dark, light, warm, or cold, my dear! We have reservations for dinner in . . . about twenty minutes,” Albus said, looking into her eyes as though he could tell the time from them, or learn the secrets of the universe. “Would you like to find a spot and leave now or stroll a bit?”

Minerva smiled up at him. “Is it a place requiring your current manner of dress?”

“No, although this will be acceptable. I will no doubt appear even more eccentric than usual, though,” he said with a twinkle.

“Then let’s walk a bit here, where no one knows us,” Minerva suggested.

Albus assented with a nod, and they began to walk down toward the Green in the direction of the river. A voice called out, and they turned toward it. Minerva smiled.

“It’s the Gypsy! Isn’t it he, Albus? The same one?”

Albus smiled broadly. “It is, indeed!”

The short, dark-haired man was pulling a small cart behind him. He waved cheerily. “My friends! You enjoy the evening?”

“Yes, very much,” Albus said. “Have you any flowers left?”

“A few, yes, a few nice ones. My brother – ” Then he began to say something that Minerva couldn’t understand at all.

“I am sure that what you have will be fine, don’t you think, Minerva?” Albus responded, then turning to Minerva.

Minerva nodded. She had no idea what he had said, but she was happy to agree with Albus.

“I am sorry, my dear. He was just saying that his brother will be coming to meet him with their caravan shortly, and he has more flowers,” Albus explained. As Albus explained this to Minerva, the swarthy vendor had turned to his buckets and had apparently selected what he thought was the best flower.

“Red rose again, yes?” he said, offering the flower for Albus’s inspection.

“Most definitely!” Albus replied with a smile, paying him, again giving the man a one-pound coin and refusing change.

“I would like to thank you,” Minerva said, “for the nazar you gave me last time.”

“You see clearly now, eh?” the Roma said with a grin. “Good! Very good.”

The two walked for a few more minutes, quietly discussing the concert they had just attended, Minerva twirling the rose lightly between the fingers of one hand. Of the second half of the concert, Minerva had most enjoyed the symphony’s final movement, with its lively, dance-like feel, whereas Albus said that he had most enjoyed the second movement, with its unusual poetic repetitions of the theme. Minerva had also appreciated that movement, finding it sombre and evocative, but she still preferred the lighter parts of the piece. Finally, Albus said that it was time to leave for dinner, and he pulled her into the shadows, out of the view of any Muggle eyes.

“Where are we going, Albus?” Minerva asked.

“You shall see very soon,” he said in a whisper, putting his arms around her. Instead of preparing to Disapparate, however, he kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips, repeatedly. Finally, he sighed and held her close to him, cradling her head to his shoulder. “I love you, Minerva McGonagall,” he whispered.

They stood there for a moment, hearing the Muggle traffic in the distance, until Albus said with a slight sigh, “We must go now, my dear, or we shall be late. Are you ready?”

She nodded, and just a moment later, they were in an alley off of Diagon Alley. He offered her his arm, and they set off. It was warmer there than it had been in Glasgow, and Minerva let her wrap fall from around her shoulders.

“Is Delancie’s all right, Minerva?”

Minerva laughed. “Of course it is! You know, the entire time I was there with Filius, as much as I enjoyed his company, I wished that you were there, too.”

Albus smiled happily. “Very good, then! I asked Delancie to have some nice little things for a late supper. He promised me he would have something special to offer us.”

Minerva looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us there, sharing an intimate late night meal, and wonder?”

“If anyone asks, we are celebrating your being made the new Head of Gryffindor. But I doubt anyone will notice us. I did ask for a secluded table, as well – but in the main dining room,” he added hastily, sensing a change in Minerva’s mood. “We won’t hide . . . but I thought a little quiet would be welcome.”

“It is lovely and romantic, Albus,” Minerva said. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t let the fact that they were being “discreet” ruin the romance of the setting, and she wouldn’t let Albus think that she was in any way disappointed.

They were seated immediately at a small round table set off to one side, a half-wall with cascading plants providing some privacy, though they could still see part of the dining room. Since many of the tables were similarly situated, however, only a handful of diners were observable from their vantage point; Minerva wasted no time looking to see who else might be there, turning her attention only toward Albus.

Mr Delancie himself came out, carrying a bottle of champagne for Albus’s approval, then he poured them each a glass.

“I have taken the liberty of having my chef prepare several plates sampling some of our most popular dishes, if that would meet your satisfaction,” Delancie said.

“That sounds wonderful to me. What do you think, my dear?” Albus asked, turning to Minerva.

“I would enjoy that very much, I believe. Thank you,” she said, smiling at the genial restaurateur.

He gestured, and a waiter came from somewhere, presenting them with their first plate of tidbits. The waiter uncovered it with a flourish, revealing four escargot with garlic butter; four broiled mushroom caps stuffed with chopped walnuts, mushrooms, and herbs; and four tiny but perfect triangles of puffy pastry filled with Gorgonzola and pine nuts. Minerva wasn’t fond of escargot, but she ate both of hers, anyway, and was pleasantly surprised that they weren’t as slimy as she remembered.

Minerva laughed when butter ran down Albus’s beard as he tried to put a snail in his mouth that was absolutely drenched in garlic butter. She took her own Charmed napkin and dabbed at it, but then shook her head, still chuckling.

“You still have parsley stuck in your beard, I’m afraid,” she said, and Albus waved his hand to clean it off.

They agreed that all of the tidbits were wonderful, but if they had to pick a favourite, they both liked the mushrooms the best, though the Gorgonzola pastries were a close second. Scarcely had they finished the final morsel when the waiter reappeared, this time with a selection of bright-coloured vegetables. There were long, thin, crisp green beans that had been steamed then chilled in a marinade of a fruity vinegar and mild herbs, radishes cut into delicate florets, and warm, cooked cauliflower with a simple garnish of parsley, butter, and fine bread crumbs. These bright vegetables cleansed their palates for the next platter of food, which consisted of a variety of smoked, cured, and fresh-poached fishes. Minerva smiled with delight when she saw that plate uncovered.

Albus grinned. “I thought that perhaps the way to this witch’s heart might be via the sea! I asked that Delancie not neglect a fish course.”

“Growing up with my father, you either came to love fish or hate it, I suppose,” Minerva said, trying very hard to take only half of each type of fish. She tasted a forkful of something the waiter had described as poached halibut with “Delancie sauce.” “Oh, my, Albus! Try the halibut! It’s perfect! And the sauce . . . oh, I would die for this recipe. Not that I could make it, but Fwisky could, and Blampa would probably be happy to be of service!”

Albus agreed that the halibut was excellent, as were all of the other fish dishes. As he poured them both more champagne, Minerva put her hand on his knee.

“This is wonderful, Albus. Thank you very much. I was right about your surprises being fun. It’s both fabulously ordinary, being able to sit here and share a meal with you, and very special, too. It’s perfect,” she said, giving his leg a little squeeze.

A smile lit Albus’s face. “I am very glad. I think any meal taken in your company is special, particularly when yours is the only company, but I always have wanted to have a romantic meal at Delancie’s with you.”

“Always, Albus?” Minerva asked, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Perhaps not always,” he responded, blushing, “but for a while, anyway.”

Minerva didn’t press him on the issue – after all, she wasn’t prepared to tell him she had fallen in love with him while she was still his student. She doubted very much that his own feelings for her had developed that long ago, and it sounded from what had he said that it had been a slow process over years. It did make her wonder about Valerianna, and perhaps answered the question of why he had ever bothered seeing the witch in the first place. Albus had said that he had tried to divert himself from his feelings for her. Valerianna was no doubt a part of that attempt, and somehow she must have sensed it. Minerva couldn’t bring herself to pity the witch, however, remembering that everyone who had told her anything about the relationship made it sound as though Valerianna had actually made the first overtures, thinking that Albus was a promising prospect for Minister for Magic. Minerva was glad that she had never stooped as low as to date a wizard-equivalent of that cow. The worst she had done was date Jean-Paul, the French envoy, immediately after the war, and the worst that could be said of him was that he was boring.

The waiter brought out a Merlot to accompany the next course, which consisted of a variety of meats and fowl and didn’t appeal to Minerva as much, though the bit of duck in gooseberry sauce was nice, as was the steak, which the waiter had said was from Hereford beef, and had been marinated and rubbed with coarsely ground black pepper, then grilled and thinly sliced.

“I will have to tell Mother about the duck,” she said. “She has a few grozet bushes, and she and Fwisky usually just put them up in preserves. They make a nice sauce for duck, though! I always associate duck with orange sauce.”

Albus nodded. “Delancie tries to use native ingredients in his cooking, as far as he can. He brings British cooking to new heights,” he said between bites of pork, which had been roasted with turnips and rosemary. Minerva liked the turnips and rosemary, but didn’t touch the morsels of pork.

“He’s a Muggle-born,” Albus continued, “and his family were in the restaurant business. He saw the need for a high-quality restaurant in Diagon Alley, and the wizarding world is the richer for it. There were two others here, before your time, of course, but Fortescue converted his to an ice cream parlour, which he does extremely well, and the other one – what was it called? – Turleigh’s, I think. That one closed up a few years after Delancie’s opened, and Delancie has set the standard ever since. I would say that even the quality of the food in the Leaky Cauldron has improved by necessity, despite the obvious differences between the two establishments. But wizards – and witches, of course – have learned that a meal eaten out in Diagon Alley doesn’t have to be bland, overcooked, or fried to death.”

“Too bad that Johannes hasn’t eaten here,” Minerva said. “He thinks English cooking is terrible. He did enjoy our tea, though – Mother saw it as a point of Scottish pride, I think, that he liked it.”

Albus laughed. “It would probably just go further to convince him that ordinary English cooking isn’t very good, if he were to eat here.”

“I had not remembered Hogwarts food being bad – and it isn’t precisely – but it is rather monotonous during the year, and fairly heavy. Mother says it’s likely aimed at the appetites of the students and not the tastes of the teachers.”

Minerva had thought she couldn’t eat another bite when the next course was brought out, but the creamed spinach with sorrel, tomato aspic, and thin-sliced pickled potatoes were all lovely and light, and she had some of each. The dessert course was likewise light, a fruit soup of mixed berries served with heavy cream over it, and thin, crispy biscuits, and two cups of coffee. Albus loaded his coffee with sugar and cream, and Minerva just added a dollop of cream to hers, knowing she wouldn’t drink much of it anyway.

As they sat enjoying an after-dinner cognac, Minerva sighed in contentment and reached under the table to take Albus’s hand and give it a quick squeeze.

“This has been absolutely lovely, Albus. It’s funny, everything we were served was fairly simple, but each thing was done with care. Not one wrong note. It’s a pity that the rest of life can’t be more like that,” she said.

Albus, gazing at her warmly, agreed, and said regretfully, “If only we hadn’t hit so many wrong notes this summer, most of them – perhaps all of them, in fact – by me.”

“That’s not true, Albus. Perhaps my wrong notes were not as loud as yours,” she said with a smile, “but I am sure there were things I could have said or done differently, for the better. But you know, Albus, I think that I would like to take a different perspective on it all. I have always enjoyed the sound of an orchestra warming up. It’s discordant, and no one’s in tune yet, and everyone’s playing something a bit different, but without it, the orchestra could not come together to play the beautiful music they do.” Minerva smiled and took his hand again. “Why don’t we look at that time this summer as our warm-up, Albus? And now, we’re in tune, hmm?”

Albus’s smile was happy, and he leaned toward her and said softly, “That is a beautiful way to think of it, Minerva, and one more example of all that I love in you.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “And I am looking forward to playing with you for a long time to come, my dear.”

Minerva shivered pleasurably as his low voice in her ear raised goose bumps over her entire body, and his mention of playing with her brought to mind specific ways in which she would like to play with him, and she grew warm. She turned her head and looked into his eyes.

“Let’s go home now, Albus, please,” she said huskily.

Albus nodded, but then he hesitated slightly. “I had something I had wanted to tell you this evening, but there never seemed an appropriate moment.” He swallowed, and Minerva thought he looked a bit nervous.

Her heart began to pound in her chest. What bad news was he going to break to her now? It didn’t seem there could be any, but she nodded and said as calmly as she could, “You would like to tell me now, then?”

Albus seemed to gather himself together, then he said, “I know that we agreed that we would be discreet, and it was my own suggestion that we not inform anyone but Quin and your parents about the new state of things – ”

“The ‘new state of things’?” Minerva asked.

“That you and I are, um, that I am paying you court,” Albus said awkwardly. “But I do have to confess to you that that small circle has already grown beyond those original three.”

Minerva, relieved that it was only that and nothing more serious, asked, “So you discussed this with Gertrude?”

“Yes, how did you know?” Albus asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Well, aside from your friend Paul and Mr Delancie, who would scarcely care, the only person you mentioned speaking to this afternoon was Gertrude. And she obviously does care. I may be completely overjoyed that we have surmounted our misunderstanding, so to speak, but even in my haze of bliss, I am still capable of making that rather elementary deduction,” Minerva said with a grin. “So . . . already expanding the list of people who will be told, hmm? What did you say to her?”

Albus blushed darkly. “I hardly had two words out of my mouth, not even intending to tell her anything other than that you had returned to the castle and we had spent some time together, when she said, ‘Finally! I was beginning to despair of you both!’ She evidently had been aware of our feelings and had been trying to get us to do something about it, but being ‘bloody stubborn Gryffindors,’ as she put it, we seemed to be determined to ignore or misinterpret every one of her hints. And I do admit, looking back on it now, that Gertie had tried to get me to talk to her about you, at the very least, and I did turn away every opportunity she presented me, and she had also encouraged me talk to you directly, to spend time with you and such, but again, I did not heed her, not in the way that she had hoped, anyway.”

“So she knew all the time?” Minerva asked, unsure whether she was surprised by that or not.

Albus shrugged. “We have known each other for forty years, and Gertie has come to know me and my moods very well in that time. Apparently, she began to suspect some years ago that I was, um, becoming enamoured of you,” he said, lowering his voice, “and she didn’t know whether anything would ever come of it or not, but she believed we would be well-suited to one another, if you returned my feelings. Then, three or four years ago, Gertie did some Arithmantic calculations, which she says she has never before done on friends without their knowledge and consent, but she made an exception this time. She said that she didn’t possess enough of the variables to be able to say with very great certainty, but that each calculation she performed pointed to our being ideally matched. One reason she didn’t tell me about this – and I agree with her now, although I wish it weren’t true – is that she believed that if she had, I would have worked even harder at ignoring and diverting my feelings. Gertie had apparently even done a set of calculations in which she intervened and encouraged me, but regardless of how she performed the calculation or what interventions she proposed, the results were always unsatisfactory. Until you came to work at Hogwarts. Then she had hope that we would simply . . . find each other. That I would wake up and tell you. As for you, she was unsure of the nature of your feelings toward me, though she became persuaded that they mirrored mine. That is one of the reasons she invited you to the Gamp party. She wanted to see if she could determine the direction and strength of your feelings. Apparently a confrontation you had with Valerianna Yaxley decided it for her – probably the one in which you shrunk her shoes – and that was when Gertie decided that she could try encouraging me more. Not that I was very receptive. But she did try.”

“I see.” Minerva sat and thought about these revelations for a moment. Then she smiled at Albus. “Another reason for me to get to know her better and develop more of an appreciation of her. Shall we go?”

It never would have occurred to Minerva to use Arithmancy to analyse her relationship to Albus and the possibilities for their future. She certainly was aware of variables that Gertrude likely wouldn’t be. But her own skill in Arithmancy was adequate to her purposes in developing new Transfiguration spells – and barely adequate for that – and Minerva doubted she would have been able to do such a thing even if it had occurred to her. And now, she didn’t want to know anything that Arithmancy might have to say about their relationship. It was enough to know that Gertrude’s calculations had seen that they were well-suited to one another.

Albus passed his wand over the bill that the waiter presented, then Mr Delancie was at the door, bidding them good-night. It was well after midnight, but as it was a Saturday, the Three Broomsticks was still open for a while, and the two agreed that it might be best to Floo rather than to Apparate after the champagne, wine, and cognac they had imbibed.

“I would have loved another Side-Along with you, Albus,” Minerva said, “but I think that as we are both tired, using the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron would be wise.”

“You enjoy those?” Albus asked with a smile.

“That is an understatement. They are wonderful. Though in a different way from when you take the wards from me using your wand.” Minerva blushed, hearing a double-entendre where she hadn’t meant one.

“Really? We will have to experiment more with those, I believe,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. “And you still need to be introduced to Hogwarts, of course.”

The two Flooed back to Hogsmeade, Albus’s unconventional dress drawing many stares that it hadn’t in London, where it was more common to see a wizard wearing trousers or Muggle evening dress.

“Would you like to stay for a drink?” Albus asked.

He didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea, and neither was Minerva, who wanted to have Albus to herself, and certainly away from the eyes of everyone in the Three Broomsticks. They walked toward the edge of town, and Albus turned to her and said, “You know, my dear, I do believe I could manage a short Apparition to the gates, if you would like a little Side-Along?”

“That would be very nice, Professor Dumbledore. Thank you,” Minerva replied, restraining an inappropriate laugh, given that there were people in the vicinity.

“Not at all. My pleasure entirely,” Albus said. “Let us just step over here . . .”

Albus led her into the darkly shadowed doorway of a closed shop, unilluminated by the street lamps. Without saying another word, he enfolded Minerva in his arms and nuzzled her hair as she rested her head against him. Minerva was scarcely aware of arriving at the gates, and Albus did not release her from his embrace immediately. She relaxed against him, relying on him to hold her.

“Mmmm, I could stand here forever with you in my arms, my dearest Minerva.” Albus kissed her head. “And I love to smell your hair,” he said in a low voice, “and to kiss you so freely.”

Minerva raised her face to look up at him. He wore a look of utter contentment. She lifted her left hand to caress his cheek. “I love you so very, very much, Albus. This was a wonderful evening. Thank you.”

She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him, feeling as though she would simply melt away as his lips moved against hers, soft and supple, and his arms held her so securely. He moved his lips to her forehead, where he brushed them over her skin, seeming simultaneously to kiss her and to breathe her in. Finally with a sigh, he laid his cheek against her forehead.

Albus whispered, “We should go up to the castle now, my dear.”

Minerva nodded but did not loosen her embrace until he did. Albus opened the gates for them and they slowly walked up the long drive to the front doors.

“I shall escort you to your door, Minerva,” Albus said quietly.

Minerva opened her mouth, unsure of what she wanted to say, but knowing that she didn’t yet want the night to end.

“Would you prefer to Floo from your office or to walk, my dear?” Albus asked.

“Take the stairs . . .” Minerva wanted to stay with him as she had last night, but she wanted more. She wanted him to undress her and make love to her. But she knew that Albus did not want to rush, and that whatever his reasons, this was not the time to press him. Still, she would put off their parting for as long as possible.

They took the stairs slowly, Minerva, her hand lightly on his arm. Sometime, she would have to ask Albus why she was so aware of his magic, how she came to be so sensitive to it, but for now, she simply enjoyed feeling it coursing through him, glad that such slight contact could bring her to feel so close to him. It seemed that they reached her door in no time at all, despite their pace.

“Good night, my dear. Thank you very much for the pleasure of your company this evening,” Albus said softly.

“Could you come in? Just for a minute?” Minerva asked.

Albus shook his head slightly. “It is late.” He reached up and cupped her cheek warmly. “But I hope we will see each other tomorrow.”

Minerva nodded. “Breakfast? May I invite you for breakfast?”

Albus smiled. “I would love that. Thank you. What time?”

“Er, eight? Or is that too early? It is, as you say, late now.”

“Eight-thirty, perhaps? I would like to see you as soon as possible, but we both do need our rest.”

Minerva couldn’t help herself, and she said impulsively, “You could stay, and then you would see me when you wake up.”

Albus closed his eyes, still smiling, but he shook his head again. “That image is a lovely one, but I think not.”

“Last night – ”

“Was different,” finished Albus for her. “Quite different.” He paused, then said very quietly, “Please do not make this difficult for me, my dear.”

Minerva smiled ruefully. “I had to at least try, you know. Thank you, Albus. This was wonderful, everything was. I enjoyed my surprises very much.”

“I am glad. Good night, Minerva.” He bent his head and kissed her very softly and sweetly on the lips, but then stepped back and said again, “Good night.”

Minerva wanted to reach for him, pull him to her, and kiss him with vigour, but she simply nodded, feeling that doing that would be making it difficult for Albus, and it wasn’t yet time to press him. She gave the password, and the door clicked open to her.

“Good night, Albus. I will see you in the morning.”

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Minerva called Blampa and asked her to bring breakfast for two in the morning, telling her to decide what to serve, and that if she were uncertain, to ask Wilspy.

Minerva was exhausted, and she washed and got ready for bed as quickly as possible. She was sure that if Albus were there, she would find him too much of a distraction to sleep, though, particularly if he slept nude. Minerva blushed. Given his current feelings about “rushing,” she was certain that even if he were to have relented and stayed with her, he would have Transfigured something into a nightshirt for himself. Sleeping in one’s clothes, though handy when getting up in the morning, she thought with a smile, was really not particularly comfortable.

As she slipped into bed, though, Minerva couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to have Albus lying in bed beside her, sleeping, and without the benefit of a nightshirt. She closed her eyes and imagined what it might feel like to snuggle up against his bare skin. Best if she, too, were not wearing anything at all, she thought. Soon, perhaps, she would know. With that thought, she drifted off to sleep.