Resolving a Misunderstanding

Minerva paced in front of the great oak doors. The weather was fine, if somewhat windy that day, so she was awaiting Malcolm outside. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock yet, but she had taken a walk while the others had their meeting, and so had arrived back too late to go back to Gryffindor Tower but too early for Malcolm to have come down yet. She had given some thought to how she might help Malcolm practise, and she hoped he had some ideas about it, as she had only come up with casting spells and having him block them. Which didn’t seem particularly innovative.

Minerva turned when she heard the door open behind her.

“Good morning, little sister! How are you on this fine day?” her brother asked as he trotted down the steps.

“Good – I hope the meeting went well?” she replied.

“Just peaches! That Flitwick is a fine fellow. I now have the rules for the duel,” Malcolm said cheerily, leading Minerva around back of the castle, “but still not a clue as to what Dumbledore has planned beforehand.”

“I’m sure it will be something you are equal to,” Minerva said. “I get the sense – from both of you – that this is more of a game than a qualifying exam, so don’t worry too much about it.”

“I don’t worry. Well, not much,” he said with a grin.

“Where are we off to at such a pace?” Minerva asked. Her brother had longer legs than she, and she was practically running to keep up.

“Quidditch pitch. It’s where the duel will be. Dumbledore didn’t say where the rest of it would take place, but I got the impression it wasn’t to be on the Quidditch pitch. We’ll see!”

They entered the Quidditch stadium, and Minerva was suddenly unaccountably nervous. A peculiar sort of stage fright came over her, despite the lack of anyone in the stands. Ridiculous! She focussed on her brother and ignored the many tiers of empty benches.

“Did you have something in mind, a way that I could best help?” Minerva asked.

“Aye. We’ll play a bit of ping pong – not literally!” Malcolm laughed at Minerva’s expression. “I thought we could stand twenty paces or so apart and trade spells. You send me a hex, I’ll block it, then I’ll send you one, and you block it, but nice and easy. Nothing too fast – at least until I have a sense of your level, hmm?”

“All right – what sorts of hexes?”

“Any sort, as long as they won’t maim or permanently injure. And no Unforgivables, of course. That goes without saying. And you can be inventive, if you wish. It would be good if you were, actually. I can imagine that Dumbledore will be.”

“More so than I could be. And he is much more powerful,” Minerva said.

“Aye, more powerful, but you have the same feel. Whatever you send me will be similarly tuned – gives me a bit of an advantage, really, over a confrontation with a stranger,” Malcolm said.

“We have the same feel?”

“Yes, your magic. Very similar. His is richer, more powerful, but very similar. Noticed it when I met him, in fact. Couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but every time he cast a spell, there was something familiar about it. Then it hit me, his magic reminded me of my little sister.” Malcolm walked out to the middle of the pitch. “Come on, now, we haven’t all day!”

Minerva furrowed her brow as she followed her brother out onto the pitch. “What difference does that make to you?” she asked, though she was remembering her own speculations earlier in the summer that awareness of an opponent’s magical resonance might be helpful in defence.

“It doesn’t take as much energy to counter a spell if you can tune your defence to their signature,” Malcolm replied. “If you really are very familiar with an opponent’s magic, you could even – theoretically, anyway – tune your spell and cast a more effective hex. Haven’t managed that myself. Haven’t had occasion to try, actually.”

“Why don’t they teach that? I took Defence right through NEWTs and got an O, and I never heard of it. I’ve speculated about it myself, but I have never heard anyone discuss it.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Most people can’t sense their opponent’s magic, anyway. Or anyone’s magic, for that matter, except as a sort of . . . general hum, sometimes. I’ve always been able to, and I’ve worked on improving that ability, but it wouldn’t be practical, now, would it, to try to teach something to students who are fundamentally incapable of accomplishing it on even a most rudimentary level?”

“But theoretically –”

“Theoretically, it might be something that is taught to Aurors, or in the Department of Mysteries. Doubt that even most of them could accomplish it, either. Come, are we going to jabber all day or practise?”

“Practise,” Minerva said, drawing her wand. She could use the practice herself, anyway. She might be more magically fit than Gertrude, but she hadn’t practised her defensive magic in a long time.

Malcolm nodded. “Okay. You go first, then. We’ll just take turns in the beginning, so don’t worry about how fast you cast – unlike yesterday – but do try for some control. And if you can manage nonverbal, that would be helpful to me.”

If she could manage nonverbal, indeed! Minerva would show him nonverbal. She would also minimise her wand movement to the barest necessary to cast the spell. No flamboyance. Just a good, subtle cast.

Malcolm countered her Leg Locker easily, and cast a basic Stinging Hex, which Minerva likewise blocked. They continued in that manner for almost twenty minutes. Finally, Malcolm held up a hand and lowered his wand.

“I think it’s time to pick up the pace,” he said. “Free-cast. Now!” He slashed his wand through the air, and a bright orange spell arced toward her.

Startled, Minerva raised a strong, general shield, but it tired her and she couldn’t get off another spell before he had cast a second hex, which she likewise didn’t recognise until it was upon her, and a Blasting Hex hit her shield. Her defensive spell held, however, and she quickly went on the offensive and cast a few spells in rapid succession, side-stepping Malcolm’s curses rather than attempting to block them. Malcolm laughed in delight as he countered her spells, including one meant to Transfigure his hands into hooves, then he cast something new that met her Stunner midway on its path and caused a shimmering halo to expand outward and then seem to shatter into multi-coloured shards of iridescence. This startled Minerva so much that she hesitated, and Malcolm’s next hex hit her, undeterred. She fell flat on her back and her vision was temporarily obscured, everything appearing red. Minerva blinked, and as her vision recovered, Malcolm’s face appeared above her.

She tried to speak, but only managed a croak, and Malcolm smiled in response. “You’ll be fine, little sister. Just take shallow breaths until you get a headache, then you can breathe more normally, and we can continue.”

Minerva croaked at her brother again, but he just sat cross-legged on the ground next to her, pulled a penny whistle from somewhere, and began to play a little tune. An annoying little tune. A few minutes later, a sharp pain shot through her head, and involuntarily, she took a deep breath.

“Will you stop that infernal racket?” Minerva said hoarsely.

“Ah, the headache has hit? It doesn’t last. Sooner you’re on your feet, the sooner it will go away.” Malcolm put the penny whistle away and held out his hand to her. “Come on, up on your feet, little sister!”

Minerva was relieved to discover that she could move her arm. She reached out for Malcolm, who grasped her hand, stood, and heaved Minerva to her feet. She was a bit dizzy, but she found that she could stand just fine.

“Your headache should just fade away. Won’t take long!” Malcolm said cheerfully. “I didn’t put much oomph behind it.”

“What was that?” Minerva asked.

“Modified Stunner with just a bit of a Petrificus thrown in. I call it ‘Stare et Attendere.’ Good for talking to someone who doesn’t want to listen to you. Safer than a powerful Petrificus Totalis even at its strongest, and never knocks them out completely, no matter how hard it’s cast, but it can render them incapacitated for quite some time, depending on the force I put behind it,” he answered. “That was just a tickle.”

“A tickle?” Minerva said sceptically.

“Aye – how’s the head?”

Minerva shook her head vigorously. “It’s fine. The headache is gone.”

“And you can move about without a problem?”

Minerva stretched and walked in a circle. “Apparently.”

“No residual discomfort or stiffness?”

“No.”

“It was just a tickle then. Ready for more?” Malcolm asked hopefully.

Minerva nodded. He had asked for inventive earlier. After that experience, she was ready to be inventive.

As soon as they were in their places, Minerva cast the first jinx, grinning as she did so. Malcolm hadn’t been prepared this time, and he began hopping up and down. He managed to spell one boot off, and he quickly cast a Petrificus Totalis, which Minerva blocked easily. She followed up her block with another little spell. Malcolm still hadn’t managed to remove his other rapidly shrinking boot, and as he hopped, her second spell hit, and as soon as his foot came down, he slipped backward and landed with a thud on a sheet of ice.

Malcolm pointed his wand at his shoe and with a grimace said, “Finite Incantatum,” then he spelled the shoe off his foot, since it was now far to tight to remove in any other way.

He looked up at his sister and grinned. “Nice. Very nice. Imaginative combination. Have to remember that one!”

Malcolm sat and rubbed his feet while Minerva returned his boots to their normal size.

“Do you have any imaginative combinations in store for Dumbledore?” Minerva asked her brother as he pulled his short boots back on.

“A few possibilities,” he said, standing. He looked around him, then scuffed speculatively at the turf. “One reason that they chose the Quidditch pitch is that the wards are apparently weaker here. Can’t have a very good game of Quidditch if the Bludgers are slowed or players can’t fly aggressively, after all. Do you know much about the wards out here?”

Minerva did, more than she cared to, having transformed back and forth and back and forth as she trotted in and out of the stadium the summer that she helped Dumbledore with the wards. When she wasn’t doing the same thing down at the gates, or in the dungeons, or in the Astronomy Tower, or even Hogwarts Heart. She had actually become tired of transforming into her Animagus form, which she hadn’t believed was possible when she had first achieved her form several weeks before. But they had tuned the wards to recognise a person in Animagus form, and it had been worth their efforts. Not that she had done any of the tuning, of course, but it couldn’t have been done without her, and Dumbledore had allowed her to observe when he was working on the other wards, as well, and Professor Gamp had even shown her the Arithmantic calculations that she was doing and had spent some time explaining the magical inversions and adjustments she performed on them and how she determined where to cast them. Yes, Minerva knew something of the Hogwarts wards.

“Why do you ask?” Minerva replied.

“It would be good to know precisely how inventive I can be, or whether Dumbledore will have an advantage over me because we’re on Hogwarts grounds,” Malcolm said. “My options might be limited and his enhanced. He is Headmaster of the place. He must hold the wards.”

Minerva looked over at him sharply. “I don’t know enough to be able to help you. I don’t doubt that Gertrude knows more than I do. She has taught here longer and is Deputy Headmistress.” Minerva didn’t add that Gertrude had also worked on the wards with Albus, using Arithmancy to help him bring them into alignment again.

“Mmm. I suppose. But she isn’t a Head of House. You are. You must have a better sense of the wards.”

“Gertrude, as you must know since you are asking about it, can also hold the wards, just as a Head of House can. I really don’t feel comfortable discussing this, Malcolm,” Minerva said. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I just don’t know what I can tell you of what I do know, and I really don’t know very much. And if Gertrude doesn’t feel comfortable talking to you about it for fear of bias of some sort, why don’t you talk to Johannes? He’s been at Hogwarts for years, and has been Head of Ravenclaw for much longer than Gertrude has been Deputy Headmistress. He would have a sense of what information might be helpful to you and what would be . . . permissible to divulge.”

“That is an idea, but Johannes . . .” Malcolm frowned and looked off into the distance. “He has been perfectly cordial, you understand, and I know from what both you and Trudie have said that he and Gertrude were never a couple. But I think that for a long time, he hoped that she might return his interest. I assume that one reason he decided to leave Hogwarts is that he gave up. If he truly had hope, he would not have abandoned her. I never would. Even if Trudie no longer wished to see me. I would abide by her wishes, but I would never truly leave her, and I would never give up hope that she might change her mind.” Malcolm shook his head. “But that isn’t the point. The point is, I don’t think Johannes likes me. I don’t want to put him in an awkward position.”

“He is a good man, Malcolm,” Minerva said gently. “Approach him as a friend. Don’t press him for his help, but give him the opportunity to offer it. He might appreciate it. He and Gertrude have been friends for a long time. Johannes could simply be feeling shut out, even if he does know that he never had a chance with her. He might feel as though he’s lost a friend. Why don’t you . . . make it seem that he’s gained one, instead?”

Malcolm grinned at her. “Good idea, Minerva. Aye, an excellent idea, in fact.” He nodded. “I will do just that this afternoon. Thank you!” He put an arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze.

The two walked over to the Gryffindor section of the stands and climbed up to the lowest tier of seats, far above the pitch. Malcolm took a folded, slightly crumpled parchment from his sporran, and a small, brightly coloured packet. He held the packet out to Minerva.

“Gum?” he offered. “Bubble gum?”

Minerva made a face. Malcolm shrugged and popped two pieces into his mouth and began to chew, softening it up, as he unfolded the parchment and looked at it.

“I’ve been reading this over, trying to figure out what” – Malcolm blew a bubble and popped it – “what Dumbledore might have in store for me. I have a few ideas, but I was wondering what you thought.” He shoved the parchment toward her.

Minerva perused the letter again, smirking on her second reading of it. It actually was somewhat amusing, she thought. “Well,” Minerva said, “as I don’t believe he wants to endanger everyone’s lives, I very much doubt that he’ll have a Nundu for you. Maybe a Boggart? Doxies are an easy thing to deal with, but they are also easy to procure, so he might have some Doxies. Or he might go for the Cornish Pixies. One or the other, but not both, I am sure, as they are both elementary pests, at least in a contained situation such as this. I doubt he’d use Nifflers, as they are not at all any kind of a challenge.”

“Unless you are overrun with them – you should have seen Venice! But you are right, I think, on the other points,” Malcolm said. “Any other ideas?”

“He may have a cursed object for you to deal with, though I imagine it will be something he curses himself. That means . . . that means it will likely be difficult, challenging for you, but whimsical, and probably not terribly dangerous,” Minerva said thoughtfully. “Not for this challenge, although I am sure he could place a dangerous curse on something, if he wished.”

“Now, that is helpful to know,” Malcolm said, nodding, “and it seems in keeping with what I know of Dumbledore.”

“And I wouldn’t ignore what you called your hobbies, Malcolm.”

Malcolm laughed. “Think we’ll go skinny-dipping with the Giant Squid? That could be fun!”

Minerva chuckled. “No, I rather doubt that.”

“Oh, too bad!”

“And I also don’t think he will conjure a table tennis . . . table, either,” Minerva said. “But this Apparition-by-Broom, that’s something that might catch his fancy, though I haven’t a clue how he’d test it.”

“I’ll bring my own broom,” Malcolm said with a grin, “and my penny whistle, too. I wouldn’t want to try it on a strange broom unless I had to.”

The two chatted for a while longer, Minerva explaining a few of the Transfiguration spells she had used but which had never hit their target, then Malcolm banished his chewing gum and they climbed down and left the stadium, heading for the front gates where he was to meet Albus.

“You know, Malcolm, about lunch with Albus,” Minerva began.

“Aye, lunch with Dumbledore. Looking forward to that! Maybe he’ll give me a hint or two about Saturday. I thought I’d show him my enchanted blowpipe,” Malcolm said enthusiastically.

“Your what? Never mind that – I just want to ask you to be, well, on your best behaviour.”

Malcolm stopped. Shaking his head, Malcolm said, “I am not a complete barbarian, you know. I like having guests.” He continued walking. “I also thought he might enjoy seeing my Charmed Obsidian Seer’s Glass. It’s used by Seers in certain parts of the world in the way that we would use a crystal ball. I can’t get it to do much, but I was never very good at divination. Your friend Quin, though, he was able to do some rather amazing things with it. Quite impressed, I was.”

“You saw Quin?” Minerva asked, distracted from her original point by this information.

“Aye, on Monday. Had him come for lunch. He enjoyed himself, I think,” Malcolm said. “Gave him cassoulet. Seemed to like it. Can’t serve that to Dumbledore, though. Don’t have time to make it. It’ll be something a bit simpler today.” He turned and grinned at his sister. “Thanks for the practice, Minerva. It was fun.”

Minerva returned his smile. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Though I could have done without that one spell.”

“You’re none the worse for wear, though. But you’ll have an appetite for your lunch, I’m sure.” Malcolm looked toward the castle. “And here comes Dumbledore now. Don’t worry, little sister, I won’t be poisoning him with my cooking.”

Minerva laughed. “All right. I’ll trust you. Not that I thought you would poison him. He’d probably notice before you managed it, anyway.”

Albus waved and caught up with them. “Did you two have a good time?” he asked. He looked at Minerva as if trying to assess whether she had been injured.

Minerva nodded. “It was more fun than I had thought it would be. I suppose I’m appreciating the notion of a sporting duel a little more. Although I think I need to be less distractable,” Minerva said with a small rueful grin.

“You’re all right?” Albus asked with some concern.

“Oh, yes, quite all right. And I caught Malcolm out, so that made up for my injured pride,” Minerva answered.

Malcolm laughed. “Aye, it was her simplest spells that got me. And she can be quick!” Malcolm looked at his sister, his eyes dancing with mirth. “But I knew that already!”

The three reached the gates, and Albus said, “I’ve passed the wards to Gertrude. She asked me to tell you to come up as soon as you like. You needn’t wait until twelve-thirty.”

Minerva nodded. “Don’t let Malcolm distract you all afternoon, Albus. I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, reminding him of their plans.

“I’ll get him back before two, would that do?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes, fine. I’ll see you later, then,” Minerva said, smiling at Albus. She did hope that the lunch would go well. Malcolm seemed to have forgotten his concerns of the evening before and to be focussed on showing Albus some of his artifacts. She hoped very much that Malcolm mentioned neither his age nor the old rumours he had heard.

Albus smiled at her. “Have a nice lunch with Gertrude, my dear!” He gave her arm a quick squeeze.

“So, I thought that since you haven’t been to my flat before, I’d bring you by Side-Along,” Malcolm said.

“Side-Along?” Albus said. He took a breath and nodded. “Yes, most sensible.”

Malcolm took Albus’s arm, and a moment later, the two were gone with a sharp crack. Minerva, glad that Malcolm hadn’t Splinched the Headmaster, despite the unlikelihood of it, turned and headed back up to the castle to meet Gertrude for lunch.

Albus looked around himself. Malcolm had Apparated them directly into his all-purpose sitting room.

“Welcome to my humble abode, Professor. This is my, um, sitting room, I suppose you could say, over here is my little kitchen,” he said gesturing toward a closed swinging door, “and through there is my bedroom. The loo is through the bedroom, if you need it.”

With a few books and boxes set in orderly rows on a set of shelves at one end of the room, a small settee, a single armchair, ottoman, two straight-backed chairs, and a square table, the flat was neat, clean, spare, and might have been called austere in its furnishings were it not for the bright, multicoloured cushions and cloths. There was a Muggle picture on the wall, likewise colourful and lively. Albus walked over and looked at it.

“Chagall, is it?” he asked, unsure.

“Aye, marvellous, isn’t it? Gouache pastel,” Malcolm answered. “I met him a few years ago. I had always liked his work. Whenever I had the opportunity to see it, I did, and one day, I was travelling in Greece, and I saw the man himself. Recognised him immediately, so I went up to him and told him how much joy and inspiration he had brought me. We got to talking, and he showed me a few of the things he was working on at the time. I liked this. He had just finished it. He said it was supposed to have been a study for a larger work that he never did, so he had finished this up as it was. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to have something of his. It feels somewhat selfish to me, having it hanging here for my own enjoyment, but I liked it.” He shrugged.

“It is wonderful. I like the smiling cow flying in the background, and the goat, playing the fiddle,” Albus said. “And the colours are simply amazing. I can see why you acquired it.”

“Muggle magic, I call it. That is Muggle magic at its best,” Malcolm said. “Glad you like it. I have a few other things you might like to take a look at – not Muggle, though.”

Fifteen minutes later, he left Albus playing with an enchanted gyroscope, the Charmed Obsidian Seer’s Glass beside it, awaiting his attention, and the long magical blowpipe leaning up against the wall nearby.

Minerva walked back up to the castle. As she started up the stairs, she could hear Hagrid and Johannes laughing in the staff room. She hoped that Malcolm did speak with Johannes that afternoon. It would be good for Gertrude, too, she was sure. Gertrude likely had not wanted to hurt her friend’s feelings, nor to lose her friendship with him. From what Albus had said, Gertrude was careful to whom she extended her friendship; she must care for Johannes and not want to lose his friendship simply because she had fallen in love. Fallen in love . . . Minerva smiled. She never would have thought Gertrude could fall in love, and that had been very uncharitable of her. Gertrude simply had suffered a great deal in her life, in addition to being a naturally reserved person. But Malcolm – that still seemed incongruous to her, Malcolm and Gertrude together. “Trudie,” as he called her. But incongruous as the thought may have been, when the two were together, they seemed natural and comfortable.

Minerva rapped lightly on the portrait frame outside Gertrude’s room, and the old witch in the portrait disappeared to announce her presence. A second later, the door opened, and Minerva entered to see Gertrude smiling, waiting for her.

“I’m glad you could come for lunch, Minerva,” Gertrude said. “Spoonie has already served everything.” Gertrude’s eyes sparkled. “I sent her to Madam Puddifoot’s for our dessert. Told her to take her time. Apparently, my little Spoonie is growing up. I think she’s found love in the kitchen down there. Some elf named, what was it . . . Feego, I believe. So I have found an excuse to send her into Hogsmeade daily, and I have been eating rather more cakes and biscuits than usual. Good thing that Malcolm is here so often. He has quite an appetite and can help me with it all.”

Minerva smiled. “Feego, that’s Madam Puddifoot’s free house-elf.”

“Free elf?” Gertrude asked. “Ah. Well, we’ll cross that bridge later. See how things go. Please, have a seat! How have you been?”

Minerva nodded. “Quite well. You?”

Gertrude smiled. “Very well, indeed,” she said, buttering her bread. “I was glad to see that you and Albus have overcome your difficulties.”

Minerva blushed. “Yes, well, I suppose we have. Most of them, I think.”

“I was so hoping that your feelings went in that direction. I hope you don’t mind my saying that. I always knew you cared for him, of course, and I was pleased when I came to believe you could return his feelings for you. But then I began to worry that the two of you would just keep waltzing past one another.” Gertrude smiled happily. “It is good to know that you aren’t any longer.”

“Yes, it is quite a relief to us, as well,” Minerva said with a smile.

“If you ever want to talk about anything, I am here,” Gertrude said, “although I am sure there are other people in whom you would prefer to confide. But I have known Albus a long time, and I know him very well. If there’s any way that I can help . . . Now, would you like some cheese? I have a nice mature Wensleydale here – it was one of Reg’s favourites – and a very lovely Cornish Yarg.”

Minerva helped herself to a little of each, taking a bit more of the deeply-veined Yarg. “How are you and Malcolm?”

“We’re fine.” Gertrude took a sip of her tomato soup. “I am slightly . . . apprehensive about Saturday. I believe that Malcolm will acquit himself well, however.”

“I have never heard of Malcolm having a job for a full year before. I presume that the reason he is considering it is because you are here,” Minerva said.

“I did tell him that he shouldn’t take it only because I would like him to, although it would have been disingenuous of me to behave as though I was ambivalent about it. But it was a factor in his decision. That and you said that you enjoyed teaching here,” Gertrude replied.

“I have also never – and I literally mean ‘never’ – known him to be in a relationship with a witch, and most certainly never so besotted. Perhaps that is not the best word to use, but he counts on you being there for him.” Minerva looked at Gertrude for a moment. “I am glad to know that you are . . . reliable, if you don’t mind my being frank.”

Gertrude quirked a grin. “I would hope you would be, Minerva.”

Minerva wanted to ask her about Albus’s reluctance to go on holiday with her at his cottage – which they had discussed again that morning. He had again explained his feelings about it, but Minerva had found the reasons peculiar. She had tried to tell him that there were different kinds of romantic settings, and he had sighed and said that he understood that completely, which is why he had come up with the many different suggestions for a destination. His latest suggestions had been Tibet and Nepal, followed by the French Pyrenees and Andorra. And they did sound like romantic destinations, and the wizarding inns he mentioned also sounded romantic and lovely. She was beginning to feel unreasonable in her repeated suggestion to go to his cottage, and gauche in having essentially invited herself to his home. Of course, he had never actually lived there; it was more of a retreat from Hogwarts for him than a home. But it seemed that the more Albus suggested other destinations, the more attractive his cottage became to Minerva. Of course, perhaps he was right, and it wasn’t appropriate for some reason; after all, she had never been there. She was oddly fixated on it, though, and it did appeal to her to spend a few days completely alone with Albus in his own cottage on its little island. At least he had said he would consider it.

The rest of Minerva and Gertrude’s lunch was spent talking about Hogwarts and the upcoming school year, Minerva still unwilling to discuss anything too personal with Gertrude, and Gertrude seemed comfortable with that, as well.

In Malcolm’s flat, he and Albus were eating croque monsieurs with cucumber salad, drinking cider, and trading stories, Malcolm sharing more tales than Albus, but keeping Albus thoroughly amused. Albus was so entertained, he had almost, but not quite, forgotten why he had initially invited Malcolm to have lunch with him. So when Malcolm mentioned Minerva’s name, Albus simply took another swallow of cider.

“Minerva and I had a nice chat yesterday morning,” Malcolm said. “I understand that – how did she put it? – you have entered a new phase in your relationship. That’s grand. Minerva seems happy about that. You two have known each other for a long time; you must know her quite well.”

When Malcolm paused, Albus nodded and said, “Yes, I think we do know each other well. We have been friends for some time.”

“She loves you,” Malcolm stated superfluously.

Albus smiled. “I am very fortunate.”

“Aye, you are. Did she tell you anything of our conversation?” Malcolm asked, spearing his last slice of cucumber with his fork.

“A little,” Albus said, leaning back in his chair and taking another drink from his glass.

“Refill?” Malcolm Summoned two more bottles of cider and uncapped them with a flick of his finger. As he refilled their glasses, he said, “She loves you fiercely, Dumbledore. Practically took my head off, she did – almost literally – when I dared to say something a bit uncomplimentary of you.” He took a long drink of his cider, then set the glass down and looked at Albus quite seriously. “It turned out to be a test of her, as much as of the openness of your relationship and of what she knew of you. She really does love you. Don’t do anything to betray it or to hurt her – I don’t believe you would do so deliberately, nor do I believe you are likely to do so. But if you do, I am just giving you warning that she would not suffer it easily. She is a McGonagall and a Tyree. You are more powerful, but . . . her temper might overcome your caution. That’s all I’m saying.” He touched his cheek briefly. “And if her temper didn’t, mine certainly would. And I don’t cool off as quick as she does. But that isn’t really what I wanted to talk to you about today. Let me be blunt. Very blunt. You may decide you don’t want to offer me the job, I’m so blunt. She says you’ve been a perfect gentleman to her.”

Albus, somewhat at a loss at the sudden turn the conversation had taken and unsure of where Malcolm was heading with it, shrugged slightly. “I have certainly endeavoured to be.”

“Don’t ‘endeavour’ so hard is my advice, for what it’s worth. As I said, Minerva is a McGonagall and a Tyree. She is fiery. Buttoned up much of the time, but still, it’s there. She didn’t go into detail – she was very circumspect, in fact – but you have been too much of a gentleman. That much she did say. Minerva likes romance as much as any witch, I am certain. And she assuredly deserves romance and to be treated well and with respect . . . but . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, don’t treat her like a delicate flower all of the time. I don’t know what you’ve been up to over the last several . . . decades, but if you are nervous about the, um, the warmer aspects of romance, just” – Malcolm took a deep breath – “just get over it. You defeated Grindelwald after more than two days of torture – I knew Katherine Fellows rather well at one time, so I know about that – and if you could do that, you can get over your nervousness. Make her happy, Dumbledore. You can make her happy. Romance is more than flowers and pretty speeches. Don’t try so hard to be a gentleman with her. Just be yourself. That will be enough. She loves you.” Malcolm drank off the rest of his cider then looked at the clock on the wall. “I said I’d have you back by two. It’s getting on toward one-thirty. So, am I fired?” Malcolm asked, turning back toward Albus, not looking in the least bit worried.

Albus laughed. “You can’t be fired from a job you don’t have yet. Wait until I hire you first. And you’ll have to work harder than that at being objectionable before I would fire you, anyway.” Albus laughed again. He had thought at the beginning of Malcolm’s “treat-my-sister-right speech” that he would warn him away or tell him to treat Minerva like a lady, and instead, Malcolm had essentially told him to accelerate the pace of the relationship. “I will do my best to bring Minerva happiness. And you are right, I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her and I would do anything I could to keep her from harm.” He looked at Malcolm speculatively. “May I surmise that you caught a bit of her fiery temper yesterday?”

Malcolm laughed. “I most certainly did. She opened a three-inch gash on my face, right down to the bone, practically all the way through the cheek, in fact. I’m afraid she didn’t take kindly to something which I suggested she might not be aware of.” Malcolm shook his head. “It wasn’t anything that mattered anyway. Not to me, nor to her. So there’s nothing to discuss there.”

“Well, as long as we’re speaking wizard-to-wizard, Malcolm, you should know that Gertrude and I have been friends for forty years. No matter what happens, that will stay the same,” Albus said. “Gertrude is a remarkable witch, as I am sure you have recognised, and she has already suffered greatly. Reginald was the great love of her life. Losing him hurt her. It changed her. She seems to be blossoming in your company. She has fallen in love with you with startling rapidity. I love her and don’t want to see her hurt. I know you each have your own lives to lead, and sometimes . . . sometimes pain is inevitable in a relationship. But if you can’t stay with her – and if you can’t love Gertrude the way she deserves, you shouldn’t stay with her – then be honest with her and tell her. Don’t just disappear, either literally or figuratively.”

Malcolm was quiet for a moment, then he said, “All right, I suppose I was blunt with you. But you needn’t worry. She and I have already had this talk, and to be honest, I am afraid that she will discover that she fell in love too fast and with a wizard who isn’t all she had thought he was. I fear disappointing her.” He looked at Albus steadily. “You’re the other wizard, aren’t you? The other love of her life. I thought for a while . . . I didn’t think it could be you.”

Albus shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t. I don’t know whom she was speaking of. I only knew of Reginald. If there was anyone else . . . it wasn’t me.” Albus looked uncomfortable. “I don’t discuss such things, but, as I say, we have been friends for a very long time. Our friendship . . . our friendship expressed itself in different ways at different times. But she was never in love with me. You are a lucky man – I am sure that there have been wizards over the years who had their hearts broken by her and her desire to remain only friends.”

“Oh.” Malcolm looked puzzled, then he shrugged. “Well, would you like some coffee? We have time for a quick cup. Or tea, if you would prefer that.”

Albus smiled. “Tea would be very nice, indeed.”

A few minutes later, Malcolm set down a pot of tea, milk, and two cups. “Do you take sugar? I have some.”

“I usually do take sugar. It smells good. What is it?” Albus asked.

“It’s an Assam blended with some Indian spices, heavy on the cinnamon,” Malcolm replied, Summoning a crock of sugar.

The two sipped their tea in companionable silence.

“I’m glad you could come for lunch, Professor. Next time, I’ll serve something a bit more posh,” Malcolm said as they stood.

“I enjoyed this very much, both the meal and the company,” Albus said. “And if you like, you may call me Albus, you know.”

“All right, I’ll try to remember. Um, about yesterday. I’m sorry if I was rude. But I was uncomfortable with that. Being called ‘my boy.’ And it did strike me as odd, given that I am seventeen years older than Minerva and, well, never mind that – I do say the most inept things sometimes. And sometimes, in trying to make something better, I make it worse,” he said with a sheepish grin, “like now.”

Albus returned his smile. “That’s all right, although I do hope you will forgive me if I occasionally forget.”

Malcolm nodded. “Agreed. We should get back, I suppose. Minerva will be looking for you soon, and Gertrude claims she’d like me to keep her company, and I choose to believe her,” he said with a laugh. “You two have plans for the afternoon?”

Albus hesitated, then said, “We are going to the McGonagall Cliffs. Your parents have invited us for dinner.”

Malcolm looked slightly surprised. “Oh! Do they know, then?”

Albus nodded. “Apparently before we had realised ourselves. And Minerva wrote them a letter on Saturday.”

Malcolm asked, “Are you nervous?”

“Minerva assures me that I have no reason to be nervous,” Albus replied.

Malcolm smiled at him. “I would be nervous, too, if I were you. But don’t be. If they’ve known and now they are inviting you both around, they must be okay with it. I know that they both like you.” Malcolm grinned wickedly. “Or they did!” He laughed, and Albus couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“I am not precisely looking forward to this with pleasurable anticipation, but it was important to Minerva, and it’s not as though it is something that could be delayed indefinitely. As she pointed out, too, waiting wouldn’t make it any easier,” Albus said. “But . . . you know that I was in school with your grandparents, and I was actually a few years ahead of them. It is hard for me to conceive that your parents have no qualms at all.”

“Minerva loves you. I don’t think that what anyone else has to say about your age or anything else should have any influence on you and your relationship with Minerva. So let’s get back to Hogwarts so you can begin to treat my sister the way she deserves,” Malcolm said, smiling and clapping Albus on the back.

Albus looked at him, bemused, thinking that Minerva was certainly right: Malcolm was definitely one odd wizard. But he liked him, nonetheless.

“Yes, and you can keep Gertrude company,” Albus replied with a smile.

“We can each Disapparate from here. I will meet you at the gates,” Malcolm said, drawing his wand. “See you there!” Malcolm left with a crack, Albus following him a half second later.