Chapter Twenty-Two: Kinsmen

Chapter Twenty-Two: Kinsmen

"You have to work this weekend?" Malcolm asked, setting down his fork and picking up his wine glass. "Do you really have to? I thought I'd spend the day tomorrow. I had thought we could go hill-walking together. I wanted to stretch my doggie legs a bit, too."

"Sorry, lad, I have to file the petition with the Wizengamot on Monday, and there's the hearing on the fifth, so I canna go with you." Siofre rang the small bell by her plate, and their entrees disappeared. Plates of fruit, biscuits, and cheese appeared in the centre of the table.

"Maybe Johannes would like to go with you," Lydia suggested, reaching for the cheese, "if he doesn't have something planned already."

Malcolm frowned. "I'd hoped you'd have time, Grandmother. But what do you say, Honnie? Ready for a ramble?"

"You are not seeing Gertrude this weekend?" Johannes asked.

"She has to stay at the castle this weekend, more's the pity. Promised Slughorn she'd watch his Slytherins for him over the weekend so that he can attend a wedding or a funeral or something."

Lydia laughed. "There's a big difference between a wedding and a funeral, Malcolm!"

"Not to me!" He gave a mock shudder, then laughed. "I just didn't follow whatever it was Gertrude said after she told me she was stuck up there all weekend. But that does mean that Sluggy owes her. She's rearranged her classes next week, and he's taking her rounds on Thursday and Sunday, so that means she will be here for the entire weekend, Friday included. Well, she said she does have to go back Friday afternoon for an hour to teach one of her NEWTs level classes, but otherwise, she's mine from Thursday evening until I deliver her to the gates on Monday morning."

"That is good," Lydia said, smiling brightly. "Minerva will be here Thursday night for a while, she said, but then she won't be able to be back until Saturday afternoon for Murdoch's party. She is still planning to be here through Sunday, though, which will be nice. I think she wanted to spend more time with the babies."

"So, what about it, Johannes?" Malcolm asked. "Up for a walk tomorrow?"

Johannes glanced at Siofre, then nodded. "Aye, that would be fine. I have no pressing business in Hogsmeade. Perhaps Lydia would like to come with us."

"No, no, that's fine!" Lydia said. "A walk like that would do me in, I'm certain...especially if Malcolm goes haring about in his Animagus form. I will meet you for a picnic in the middle of the day, if you like, though. Tell me when and where, and I'll Apparate there...or one of you could come back for me, if you wouldn't mind that."

"We'd like that, wouldn't we, Honnie," Malcolm agreed with a nod. "And you can take a bit of an amble with us after lunch."

"I would be happy to return for you, unless Malcolm has a specific destination in mind for our picnic," Johannes said.

"There's a route I like to take, it brings us up to the overlook by the southern hill fort, but I don't know whether we would make it there by lunchtime or not," Malcolm replied. "It would depend on when we left in the morning and how leisurely our pace was."

"The hill tower sounds like a lovely spot for a picnic, though," Lydia said. "The view is beautiful from there."

"All right, then, Auntie, we'll have our picnic there," Malcolm said indulgently.

"I could still come for you, if you wish, Lydia," Johannes offered.

"That would be kind of you, Johannes dear. I'll have the picnic all packed, and it'll be ready whenever you two boys are," Lydia said.

"Good...I think an early lunch, if we get up and out whilst the dew's still on the grass," Malcolm said.

"I'll be ready when you are," Lydia replied. "Now, Morgan will be here in a little while to play with me. If you'd all like to, you could join us. He practised some this morning, so I don't think he'd mind a small audience."

"It is your new piece that you are playing?" Johannes asked.

"Yes. I do hope we can have it polished by the time Bertie and Sally arrive!" Lydia said. She turned to Malcolm. "I don't think you've heard my new piece yet, Malcolm."

"The one you're dedicating to Bert and Sally?" Malcolm asked. He shook his head. "I'd like to hear it. Does it have a title yet?"

"Well . . . I've toyed with a few, but I think perhaps Peregrine Homecoming," Lydia said.

"That sounds appropriate...but you didn't write me a song when I came home from my wanderings," Malcolm teased.

"You are aye not her son, either," Siofre said.

"I could! If you want," Lydia said. "You always did come home, though. You just would wander about for a while then come home and leave again for a time. I wondered whether I might die never seeing my boy home again."

Malcolm smiled at her and reached across the table to pat her hand. "Not to worry, Auntie. I was only teasing you a bit. And you did say you'd help me set some of my songs down in proper musical form sometime, and that would be a wonderful gift."

"I thought I would finish some work this evening, but I think I'll simply have an early start tomorrow," Siofre said. "I would enjoy hearing the completed piece with the violin added."

"You understand, it needs a bit of polish still," Lydia said hastily. "It's finished, in that it has a beginning, middle, and ending, but there are a few points where I'm still not happy with it."

"Let's all go into the music room and have a listen," Malcolm said. "And I'd not mind some of that apple brandy you and Shoolie put up, either, Aunt Lydia. She and Shoolie are wonders when it comes to apple brandy, Honnie. Have you had any yet? You're in for a treat, then."

"Is that what the still is for down in the big shed near the rock garden?" Johannes asked. At Lydia's nod, he said, "I had wondered...it is very large."

"We make a few barrels every year...we started doing it absolutely ages ago when we were trying to think of new ways to use the apples. So many bushels seemed to go to waste. We did a lot of cider for a time...and we still keep some as cider, of course...but everyone seems to like the apple brandy. We don't do as many barrels as we once did, though. We're leaving more apples for the squirrels and deer and such, I suppose," Lydia said, shaking her head.

"Do you sell it?" Johannes asked.

Lydia laughed. "Oh, no. We always send a couple barrels to Tiree, and Egeria and Murdoch enjoy receiving a barrel every few years. When they finish one, they send it back empty, and we send them a full one. But we never sell it."

Johannes looked at Siofre. "We could sell some of it. Not in barrels, perhaps, but bottle it and sell it. We could get bottles from Mayfield Charmed Glassworks. Perhaps Madam Mayfield would also accept payment in-kind of some sort. I think we might be able to generate a nice income with it. Have you any barrels on hand now?"

"Oh, heavens, yes!" Lydia replied. "We have about thirty. I'd say that of those, at least a dozen are ready to be drunk. I do like it to age in the barrel several years. Gives it a nice flavour and it mellows nicely."

"They are large, these barrels?"

"We have two hogsheads, but most are about half that size, maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven gallons," Lydia said.

"I do not know that in litres," Johannes said, "but that seems a lot of brandy to me."

"We used to do much more," Lydia repeated, "and if you think we could sell it, if you think people would be interested, we could do more again. Sorrel helped Shoolie and me last year."

"When it comes to alcohol," Malcolm said with a laugh, "people are always interested!"

"What do you think, Siofre?" Lydia asked.

"Aye, it's a fine idea, hen. But don't decide yet whether to distill more this year until we see whether the grandson and Honnie are right and there is interest in it," Siofre said.

"Ah, you're always such a pessimist, Grandmother!"

"Nay, not at all. Simply cautious."

"The apples are not ready until late summer or autumn, anyway," Johannes said practically, "and if it must rest in the barrels for a while before drinking, too, it gives us time to adjust and to begin slowly selling it."

"You're a better businessman than you claim to be," Malcolm said.

Johannes shrugged. "It seems logical first to attempt to find ways of making a profit from the estate doing what we...they...have always done, or have done in the past, as in the case of the bere, rather than trying to find new ventures that might not be viable. Those might come later."

Lydia smiled brightly. "You are a treasure, Johannes! I always say that. Isn't he a treasure, Siofre?"

Siofre side-stepped the question and its implied imperative to praise Johannes. "It will be good to make better use of the estate's natural assets," she said. There was a muted crack of Apparition from the front hall. "That will be Morgan, no doubt. Malcolm, would you and Johannes go meet him and bring him to the music room. Dinna serve him any brandy till after he and Lydia have run through the piece a few times, though."

Lydia began to rise with the two wizards, but Siofre made a slight gesture to her. "I have something I need to tell you, hen, best now."

Lydia looked slightly puzzled, but sat down as Malcolm and Johannes left the room.

"What is it, Siofre?"

"I discovered who the neighbour is who is causing the Butterworths such vexation," Siofre said.

"Someone we know?"

Siofre nodded. "Someone we're related to, in fact," she said, generously including herself. "'Tis your nephew Drusus."

"Drusus? Well . . . I can hardly say that surprises me. He is a misery in flesh," Lydia said with a sad shake of her head.

"I wished to tell you because I must be adverse to him in these proceedings. You understand that."

"Of course. And I would expect you to do your job properly, in any case, even if Drusus weren't a nasty character."

"I also . . . let us just say that those who live in glass houses oughtn't throw stones," Siofre said. "I may take advantage of that in the case of Drusus."

Lydia's brow furrowed. "How so? He doesn't keep animals. At least none other than some he might keep for potions and such." She shuddered. "They're all in cages and glass cases, though, I'm sure."

Siofre shook her head. "I mean that he oughtn't draw attention to his neighbours' slight peccadillos when his own are much greater."

"You mean his Charms business in general," Lydia said.

"You know the reputation the man has," Siofre said. "It would not be a difficult thing for me to discover and present evidence that the man himself does more than dabble in the Dark Arts, and that these Charms commissions he accepts are most of them for nasty, Dark, or illegal purposes."

"But is that relevant to Butterworths' winged horses?"

"Believe me, hen, I can find ways of making it relevant and ensuring that his place is searched afore he has time to hide everything," Siofre said. "But the man could end up in Azkaban for it, or at least pay a hefty fine."

Lydia stared across the room. She blinked, then looked back at Siofre. "He already has that reputation. It's not a well-hid secret. There must be some on the Wizengamot with their own suspicions already."

"Aye, but with no clear cause to pursue him at this moment. I could give them cause. I dinna wish to take this tack if you would be hurt by it, though, hen. He is your brother's grandson. There are other defences I have."

"But if Drusus is doing wrong . . ." Lydia shook her head. "It isn't just a little law he is bending, either, is it, Sister? One that does none harm . . . and he'd be quite happy to see his neighbour in prison or forfeiting his horses . . . You must do as you see fit. Whatever you would do if he weren't related to me. If it really is Dark or nasty business he's in. If he's just making illegal, unregistered Portkeys for people to make quite innocent visits to family and friends, something of that sort . . . though I know his character well enough to know that wouldn't be all. No, you must proceed however you would even if he were just John Smith, whom we don't know from Adam. Even if it sends him to Azkaban."

"I'd almost as soon not have him sent to Azkaban," Siofre said. "His reputation would only grow after that. Nay, a fine and having his illegal Charmed objects confiscated would be better. Slow him up a bit, anyway, and not polish...or blacken...his reputation enough to steer more Dark business his way. Might have some reputable folk avoiding him, though. And if his Darker customers think he might be raided again at any time, it might keep that side of his business down for a little while. Embarrass him without making him seem more . . . attractive to his nastier clientele."

"When did you learn that it was Drusus?"

"Butterworth told me he thought it was he, but the MLE wouldn't confirm it to him. I received some of the files this morning, and although his name had been redacted...until I file my petition Monday, I canna get the full files...I am sure it is he. There is no other neighbour of Butterworth's who it could be. I thought about waiting until then to tell you, but I thought there was no point to putting off the news. I hope it hasn't ruined your evening."

"Heavens, no. I scarcely know the man, after all. It does make me sad for my family, for that side of my family, but it doesn't diminish my joy in the rest of my family, or the pleasure I'll have with Morgan this evening. He may not be my blood relative, but he's more truly my nephew than Drusus ever was, Malcolm and Murdoch, too. And all the rest of the family, as well."

In an unusual gesture, Siofre reached over and took Lydia's hand. "An' you are a sister to me, Lydia. 'Tis why I dinna wish to take a step against him without speaking with you first."

"Save Butterworth, if you can, Siofre," Lydia said. "Leave Drusus to his fate as he has made it."

"Aye, I'll save Butterworth and his horses," Siofre said with a nod. She cocked her head and smiled. "They've begun without you, I think."

Lydia grinned, hearing Malcolm with his penny whistle and Morgan on his fiddle playing a lively tune. "We'd better get in there before Malcolm completely leads him astray and we have an impromptu ceilidh on our hands! Hmm, perhaps Malcolm might wish a part...not for penny whistle, perhaps for recorder . . . There is a spot in my composition where that might fit quite well."

"Let's go ask him, then," Siofre said, pushing back from the table and standing.

Three hours later, after the three had practised Peregrine Homecoming a few times...Malcolm learning his part of the melody more by ear than by reading the music...and after the musical evening had become a miniature ceilidh, with even the house-elves called to tap their toes and twirl about, Kilbeena and Duster given special dispensation to stay up late and the older house-elves indulging in butterbeer, and Lydia grabbing Johannes's hand and leading him in a vigorous dance, during which the Herbologist appeared confused, but not unhappy, Siofre finally declared that she was off to bed.

"Ah, one more dance with your favourite grandson," Malcolm wheedled, Morgan guffawing in the background and tightening one of his strings up a bit.

"Eh? My favourite grandson?" Siofre looked around her. "I dinna see Murdoch here!"

Everyone laughed, and Johannes, quite warm from the drink and the dancing, put his arm through Malcolm's. "Come up with me, Malcolm. Bring the bottle, and we'll have another on our own."

"Can you get home safely?" Lydia asked Morgan anxiously.

"Aye, an I not Apparate," Morgan said. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright. "Nex' time, Fiona'll be here. She wanted t' sleep early, though, when she can." He blinked. "I'll walk down fine."

"We should light the path somehow," Johannes said, brow furrowed as he considered it.

"Think about that some other time, laddie!" Siofre admonished. "'Tis the weekend, an' you're not t' be workin'! I told you that already." She turned to Malcolm. "I'm aye after tellin' him not to work every day of the week. You see he has fun this weekend. Bring him home with you. Take him out. Fun, laddies, fun whilst yer young! I had little enough: you do better. Aye, and sleep well, dream sweetly."

With that pronouncement, Siofre left the music room, the house-elves all Disapparated, and Lydia accompanied Morgan through to the conservatory and the door that led to the kitchen gardens.

"All right, mate, now you and I can have a proper chat," Malcolm said, appearing suddenly much more alert and sober than he had...and more than Johannes felt. He snagged an unopened bottle of brandy with his left hand and steered Johannes toward the hallway. "We have some questions to discuss."

"Discuss?" Johannes asked. "Fragen? Ich meine, that is, what questions, why?"

"A matter of magic, my boy. Yours. And a few other things I've noticed tonight." Malcolm helped Johannes stumble up the steps. "I got ya in over your head here, I'm afraid, mate," he muttered to himself.

"I am find. I will have a glass of water to drink. We will tomorrow the hills walk." Johannes blinked at him.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're just 'find,' but it's not the drink that concerns me," Malcolm replied. "And we will the hills tomorrow walk, though I'd prefer to walk the hills tomorrow. However you prefer, though, mein Freund."

Johannes smiled at him. "Ja, mein Freund." He squeezed Malcolm. "Ein guter Freund. Der beste. 'S gibt keinen besser."

"Aye, I know, I'm the bee's knees and the cat's pyjamas," Malcolm said, guiding Johannes toward his suite.

Johannes laughed. "A cat in pyjamas. You should tell Minerva, cat's pyjamas!" He laughed again.

"I wanted you loose and lucid, not completely paralytic," Malcolm grumbled.

"Oh, aye, I am lucid, I am," Johannes said with a vigorous nod. "Just need to use the faculties and I will be, how do you say it, ready for another round. That is good, that Brandtwein."

"It is...how many glasses did you have, anyway, Honnie?" Malcolm asked as they reached the door to Johannes's sitting room.

"Hmm, four? Five? I cannot recall. You poured and Morgan poured." Johannes shrugged. "Not many. I did not pour any myself. Your brother is a generous wizard. McGonagalls are . . . das Salz der Erde. Und die Tyrees auch. But only a few glasses had I to drink."

"But you had wine with dinner, as well."

"Was that a mistake? Wine with dinner, no brandy after? Ich weiss, Wein nach Bier, ich schenk' das dir, Bier nach Wein, lass das sein! Aber 's war kein Bier. It was Lydia's lovely brandywine. Apple."

"Aye, lovely apple brandy, Johannes. Go to the 'faculties.' I'll get you some coffee and myself another drink." As Johannes disappeared in the direction of the toilet, singing softly to himself in German, Malcolm shook his head. "Maybe he's just drunk in English." He called for Multry, who seemed the house-elf least taken with drink...aside from Shoolie, and he didn't want to disturb the old house-elf.

"Aye, Little Collie, I can bring him some coffee. Coffee with a lot of cream. You'll have some, as well?"

"A cup of coffee might be pleasant right now," Malcolm said. "With a shot of the brandy in it, especially."

Multry laughed. "I'll send it up with some biscuits. It won't be long."

"Thank you, Multry. I won't be calling you again tonight," Malcolm said.

"Call if you need to, Collie. Sorrel is putting the bairns to bed. I'll be up a while longer, but call after that if there's need!"

"You're good as gold, Multry." Malcolm reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Thank you."

"Save your thanks," Multry said, but she smiled up at him before she Disapparated.

When Johannes returned to the sitting room, Malcolm had lit a fire in the fireplace and poured himself another glass of brandy. He was sitting in a wingback chair, shoes off, with his legs stretched out in front of him, warming his feet by the fire.

"All right, there, Johannes?" Malcolm thought that it looked as though Johannes had washed his face.

"Aye." Johannes picked up the bottle of brandy, looked at it, shrugged, then poured himself a small amount.

"I asked Multry to make us some coffee. It should be here in a few minutes."

"Good. She makes good coffee. The coffee at Hogwarts always tasted to me as though they thought it should be tea," Johannes said, pronouncing his English especially carefully. He made a face. "I taught my own house-elf, however, how coffee should be made and how it should taste, and I would have a strong cup before breakfast."

"Aye, Gertrude always complains about the coffee, too."

"So, for what did you wish me 'loose and lucid'?" Johannes asked. "In retrospect, it sounds not so very friendly."

"Ah, well . . ." The coffee and spice biscuits arrived, saving Malcolm from responding to the question.

Malcolm poured them each a cup, and Johannes added a liberal amount of cream to his before he passed the pitcher to Malcolm. Malcolm put a little brandy in his coffee, then added the cream and stirred.

"You seem happy here, Johannes," Malcolm said, taking a sip of the hot coffee.

"Yes, I am. It was a good decision to come here. I am grateful for your recommendation."

"I'm glad you've found it a good position for you. I have to say, though, that you seem rather . . . different tonight."

"Well, perhaps I had a wee too much brandy, and Lydia's dancing was quite exhausting. It brought the drink to my head."

"Mmm, I could see that, but I noticed it before. From the moment you came down the stairs . . . have you . . . have you been doing anything unusual lately? Or taken any potions?"

Johannes raised one eyebrow. "Potions?"

"Aye, potions. Or performed unusual magic?"

Johannes shook his head. "I have not taken a potion in many days, and the last was your grandmother's own Headache Potion. The magic I do, I always have done. Did you think my magic felt odd? I was a little busy today, I Apparated many times, perhaps it is merely that I was tired. The brandy did feel a bit powerful." He shrugged. "But do not worry yourself, Malcolm. I am not ill, I am sure."

"Nay, it wasn't that." Malcolm looked at him. "Your magic feels different, not tired, not weak, not . . . ill. Simply different."

Johannes shrugged again. "I cannot say why you felt that. You notice such things more than I."

"Let me tell you what more I felt, then: I felt Tyree magic in you, as clear as I felt it at Cadoc Terwilliger's house, I felt Tyree magic in you, and not just Tyree magic, but Grandmother Siofre's magic. Now tell me, Johannes, why might that be?"

Johannes returned Malcolm's unblinking gaze. "You sound disturbed by this, but do not be. It is no cause for concern. It is probably because she performed a ritual with me yesterday."

"Performed it with you? What sort of ritual? For the bere field? For the water garden? It didn't feel like your plant and earth magic."

Johannes finished his cup of coffee and set it back down in his saucer. "Properly said, perhaps, she performed it upon me, not with me." Johannes smiled. "We are kinsmen now, you and I, Malcolm."

"I don't believe it," Malcolm said flatly, leaning forward, pulling in his legs and tucking his feet under his chair. "I saw a mark on her arm, near her wrist . . . it led up her arm." He shook his head.

"She offered me to become a member of the Clan Tyree," Johannes said. "How could I refuse? It is a generous offer, an opportunity not offered to many. Siofre wished to admit me to the wards..."

"That does not require you to be a member of the clan or a member of the family," Malcolm said sharply.

"As I was about to say, she offered me a choice. She explained that if I were a member of the clan, she could grant me full entry into the family wards, and not just to the modified wards, but it was clear to me that it was not merely entry into the wards that she was offering. She has given me . . . a place, a sense of belonging, a family." Johannes blinked as tears welled in his eyes. "Siofre gave me a great honour, and I am humbled by her gift, but beyond that, she has helped me to find new roots."

"She hardly knows you, man!"

"No, not true. Or true, but not completely true."

"You have worked here, what? Two months? Not even that. And before that, you were just some Hogwarts teacher to her. She didn't know you any better than any other. Grandmother would not offer clan membership to a man she has known such a short time."

"What do you say with that? That I lie? I would show you my own arm, but your grandmother's skills healed it and now there's not a mark there. Wait! Here!" Johannes fumbled at the neck of his robes, trying to find the gold chain that hung beneath them.

"Nay, I don't say that you lie, Honnie," Malcolm said. "I know you aren't lying. I am sorry it sounded that way. And what I am about to say won't sound much better, but I need to know what you did to have her bring you into the clan."

Johannes pulled out the artifact from his clan adoption and held it up for Malcolm. "Here, see. Look. This is blood and magic. I am of the Clan Tyree."

Malcolm raised his hand. "I see that. I can feel the magic. You needn't prove it to me. But I still don't understand. It seems . . . you must have done something. Said something."

Johannes shook his head and leaned back. "I did nothing. We talk. We are friends. She is . . . she is a remarkable witch. That says not enough of her. She is . . . she is to me sublime. I revere her."

Malcolm's mouth opened, but he didn't say anything.

"I did nothing to her, Malcolm. I would not. Could not. I did not even know of this clan joining before she suggested it. I did not know such a thing was possible, nor that Siofre had some standing in the clan to do this. She invited me. What would you say if I had refused? An ungrateful wretch, I would be. Pitiable and ignorant."

"Honnie . . . yes, you would have been a fool to refuse," Malcolm said slowly. "I do not understand Grandmother." He raised his eyes to meet Johannes's grey ones. "Or perhaps I do not understand you, either."

Johannes poured himself another glass of brandy. "You know that Siofre has come to trust me. You were surprised when she invited me to stay here, although it was very sensible and practical for me, and we all have benefited. I do see that this could seem a very short acquaintance to you, Malcolm, but I feel as though I have known her longer, and that I know her better than I do people whom I have known for years, and that the longer I know her . . . the longer I will wish to know her."

"Well . . . I suppose that you have had opportunity to come to know each other well, better than under other circumstances. And I'll never deny that you are trustworthy...or I hope never to have to deny it...and that it is Grandmother Siofre's best judgment to trust you as she does. There are few people of whom Gertrude ever speaks as highly as she does of you, my friend, and in the time I've known you, I've never had a reason to disagree with Trudie on that." Malcolm leaned forward and picked up his brandy snifter. "To you, kinsman. Slàinte."

Johannes touched his own glass to Malcolm's. "Slàinte mhor."

They each took a drink, then sat in silence a while, Malcolm turning his brandy snifter in his hands and looking into the deep amber liquid.

"D'you know, Grandmother Siofre only admitted me to the family wards a couple years ago?" Malcolm shrugged. "I wasn't around often . . . I suppose I didn't need it. And before Herbert died, they were often at the McKenna place . . ." He shrugged again. "We'd better get to bed if we're going to greet the dawn."

The two men stood.

"Goodnight, Malcolm."

"'Night, Honnie. Schlaf gut."

"Du auch."

When the door closed behind Malcolm, Johannes stood and stared into the fireplace for several minutes, then he drank off the rest of his brandy, waved his wand to extinguish the lamps, and went to find his own bed.