XIX: Waiting

XIX: Waiting

As Sprangle pored over the maps spread out at the other end of the large conference table, Minerva began to eat the sandwiches and soup that the Minister's secretary had brought her. She ate steadily, although she was not hungry and had no appetite. Under other circumstances, she would have stuck up her nose at the dry fish paste sandwiches and the bland vegetable soup, but she ate two of the sandwiches and finished the bowl of soup, not knowing when she would eat next and aware that she would need the energy for what lay ahead. She had begun eating the milk biscuits when Auror Scrimgeour returned with another man, whom she assumed was Frankel. Why do none of these men ever introduce themselves? Minerva wondered.

Frankel ignored her presence and went over to Sprangle, where they held a hushed conversation. Scrimgeour sat down beside Minerva.

"Good, you're eating," he said.

"It seemed sensible," Minerva responded.

"Hmm, Gryffindors are not always known for their good sense, and from the way you looked when Ouellette told you Dumbledore was missing, I didn't think you'd have any appetite."

"I didn't," she replied. "But as I said, it seemed sensible." Minerva was unsure whether to like or resent this Auror. He certainly thought a great deal of himself.

"I don't think they're sending enough Aurors with you," the intense Auror opined. "That area is dangerous, and it's all well and good that Frankel speaks German, but you're going to France, for Merlin's sake!"

"You just wanted to go yourself. I suppose you speak French?"

"No, that's not it. I do, of course, want to go . . . but . . . I just have a bad feeling about it. And yes, I speak French. My mother's French, and I went to school there. Small wizarding school in the Alsace. It was beautiful until Grindelwald destroyed it. Completely. Levelled it as though it had never been there at all. It wasn't Hogwarts, of course – academically, it was just as good," he said slightly defensively, "but it was small, just a little chateau, and never more than fifty students at a time. It didn't have the history, or the protective wards, of Hogwarts. No one ever thought they'd be needed. Grindelwald doesn't appreciate anything he perceives as competition, though, and when our teachers and Headmistress refused to co-operate with his agents . . ." Scrimgeour shook his head.

"I'm sorry." Minerva didn't know what else to say to this little speech. "Don't you think, though, that Auror Sprangle knows what he's doing?"

Despite her view of Scrimgeour as an overconfident, competitive young Auror, she was a bit uneasy, herself. Now that she thought about it, it did seem odd to send in only one Auror, no matter how experienced, and a completely untrained young Animagus. She understood her value as a member of a team, but perhaps that team should be a little larger . . .

"If he was just popping in and popping out to do some reconnaissance, wearing an Invisibility Cloak, or Disillusioned, then . . . perhaps. But this is supposed to be the search, not just a brief look-see," responded Scrimgeour.

Minerva considered what Scrimgeour said. She wished that she had had some kind of training for this. She had no standard by which to evaluate the Auror's statements.

"I thought you were supposed to be doing something with the Portkeys," Minerva asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, well, there wasn't much to do. I told them the trigger words for your return Portkey – they're setting Dumbledore's to the same thing – and left them to it. They already had the co-ordinates plotted; I just confirmed the time of departure. Someone will bring them up when it's time."

"What do you mean my 'return Portkey'?" asked Minerva. "What about the outbound Portkey? Was it too late to change the trigger word?"

Scrimgeour looked a little uncomfortable, but answered, "You heard that they want you to Portkey in your Animagus form. They have determined that Frankel will be, um, carrying you, um, in a . . . bag." Scrimgeour squirmed under Minerva's glare. "Don't look at me like that! It wasn't my idea! Talk to them about it," he said, jerking his head in the direction of Sprangle and Frankel.

"I most certainly will!" Minerva got up and stalked toward the two men seated at the far end of the table.

"I need a word, Auror Sprangle."

"We will give you a final briefing just before you Portkey out, Miss McGonagall. At the moment, I am discussing the situation with Auror Frankel."

"That is precisely what I need to speak with you about, sir. I understand that you apparently have made certain plans for my journey, without consulting me and without even considering how inappropriate they may be." Minerva spoke quietly and evenly, but with a low, angry edge.

"I certainly do not know what you are talking about, Miss McGonagall. Now, I suggest you settle down and wait. The Minister's secretary can get you more tea, I'm sure. You will not be leaving for more than an hour yet." Auror Sprangle turned back to the parchment he had been looking at, apparently believing he had dismissed the young Ministry employee.

"Well, then, let me tell you what I am talking about, Auror Sprangle. It is my understanding that you plan on having me transported to France in a bag! Please do tell me that I am incorrect in this understanding, sir, as I am having trouble believing it, myself."

The pot-bellied Auror looked up again, to see a very angry witch. "Now, now, Miss McGonagall. You have to understand the security involved here. It is safest for you to Portkey over in your Animagus form. There is no guarantee that the destination point will not be under surveillance of some kind." The Auror smiled condescendingly at Minerva. "This is for your own safety, I assure you!"

"Well, let me assure you, sir, that I will never consent to being transported in a bag. Have you lost your minds? First, even if I were an ordinary cat, cats do not like being carted about closed up in a bag. Second, I am not an ordinary cat. Third, I would be unable to transform myself back into my usual form if I were trapped in a bag. Fourth, since you are so concerned with my 'safety,' if something were to happen upon our arrival, I would be unable to do anything to save myself – not even run away in my Animagus form. Fifth, that is the most undignified thing I have ever heard of! I would be willing to put up with any indignity if it were to aid us in finding Professor Dumbledore, but this most assuredly would not!"

At the end of her speech, Frankel chuckled slightly. "Told you, Septimus, didn't I?"

Sprangle sputtered, "It's too late now; we can't make you a separate Portkey. Besides, cats can't use Portkeys. They don't know how!"

Minerva laughed shortly at that, "I believe you are very confused, Auror Sprangle. You want me to go over there because as an Animagus, I have certain abilities. You surely must realise that I do not lose my power for human thought while in my Animagus form. And yet you speak as though I would be unable to use a Portkey! Of course, it would have to activate via my touch, or be set to go off at a certain time, but those things are quite simple to arrange. I am sure that all of this would have occurred to you, if you weren't concerned about having to send an untrained witch on this mission. But since, as you point out, time is growing short, Auror Frankel may hold me when he uses his Portkey. He may not put me in a bag or a cage, however."

"That's fine with us, isn't it, Septimus?" answered Frankel with a wry grin.

"Yes, yes; now go back and finish your tea," Sprangle said, with some exasperation.

Minerva returned to her previous seat to see Scrimgeour grinning at her.

"Well, I wish you'd talked to them about sending additional wizards along since you managed that so nicely," he said as she sat down.

"Hmmpf. I doubt I would have prevailed there. It is sometimes wise to choose one's battles, don't you think?"

"I completely agree with you. And a quiet retreat, or biding one's time, can often bring greater success than a reactive attack," the Auror said. "Eventually, if you wait and watch, you will achieve your ultimate goal."

Minerva wondered briefly what his ultimate goal was. "I am concerned, though, about one thing," she said.

Scrimgeour raised his eyebrows as if to ask, Just one?

"From the briefing, it seems clear that Professor Dumbledore was injured, perhaps badly, since we know he didn't Disapparate. Either that, or Carson Murphy was badly injured, and he didn't want to leave him behind. Or both," Minerva continued.

Scrimgeour interrupted. "Actually, and I assume they will brief you on this before you go, anyway, we do know a bit more now. Moody regained consciousness. He said that Dumbledore's wand was broken, and that he himself was injured – apparently at least a head injury, although from what Moody told us, it sounds as though Dumbledore also injured his left arm, or possibly the entire left side of his body. It appeared to Moody that Dumbledore's magic was somewhat weakened, as well, although that might have been because he wasn't using his own wand. In addition, all three wizards were very close to the jeep when it exploded, and were knocked to the ground by the force of the blast; it is possible that Dumbledore has other injuries that Moody was unaware of. Dumbledore was apparently so covered in blood, it was difficult to determine what injuries he may have suffered."

Minerva's gut contracted at this new information. "Covered in blood?" she said faintly.

"Yes, although most of it may have been Murphy's. It didn't sound good at all. Moody, well, he thinks that Murphy was likely to die without immediate medical treatment. Apparently Moody protested when Dumbledore made the decision to alter the Portkey for his use, but Murphy and Dumbledore both insisted he take it. It's probable that the two knew that Murphy wouldn't survive the trip, anyway." Scrimgeour conjured a cup, and poured himself some tea from the large pot on the table.

"Isn't it even more important, then, that someone else go with us, if they're both injured so badly? A Healer . . . or at least a mediwizard?" Minerva's mind was reeling from the shocking new information.

"I think, well, I don't know if they think it would do any good, you see. And the only way to get them out is by Portkey – or possibly Side-Along Apparition."

Scrimgeour didn't need to explain his meaning any more clearly. Minerva saw immediately that they believed either that Carson was already dead or that getting him out was bound to kill him, even if he received some kind of medical attention beforehand. She didn't know where that left Albus, though.

"But what about Professor Dumbledore? It sounds as though he was fairly badly injured, as well."

"Moody didn't seem to think he was in immediate danger of death. He was apparently up and about, although clearly weakened by his injuries. Of course, it's cold, which complicates things, and he doesn't have his coat; Moody said he'd given it to Murphy."

That was Albus Dumbledore; he could be freezing to death, and he'd give his coat to someone he thought needed it more – particularly if it were a former student. He is always so protective of his students. It must be torment for him to be able to do so little for Carson now, she thought.

Minerva had the sudden realisation that if Carson were unlikely to be returning home, it was possible she might not be, either. Of course, it was not as though she hadn't known this when she'd agreed to the Prime Minister's request, but now it truly engaged her awareness.

"Excuse me a moment, please," Minerva said, getting up from the table. She walked to the door of the conference room, and, opening it, saw that the Minister's slightly plump, grey-haired secretary was still at her desk.

"Pardon me, do you think I might have some parchment, and a quill, please? Thank you," Minerva said, as the secretary handed her the items she'd requested. Returning to the conference room, but sitting a bit further from Scrimgeour, she prepared to write.

"Letter to your parents?" asked the Auror.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"We all do it, at least once. A letter to parents, or to a wife or husband, or a lover, or to sons or daughters . . ." Scrimgeour squinted slightly; Minerva didn't know whether he was affected by his own words or not. He said no more, but got up to examine the large map on the wall.

"Dear Mother and Dad,

"5 January 1945"

Having finished her letter, feeling that it was hardly adequate to her intent but would have to suffice, she folded it and sealed it with a quick charm without rereading it. She then wrote "Egeria Egidius McGonagall and Merwyn Marcas McGonagall" on the outside. She hesitated, unsure what to do next.

"Give it to the secretary. She'll know what to do with it," Scrimgeour said, having turned from his apparent scrutiny of the map.

Minerva rose and did as the Auror suggested. She explained to the secretary that the letter was only to be sent in the event that she did not return from her trip for the Ministry, or if she died. The secretary appeared used to such requests and took the parchment from Minerva, opened a drawer in her desk that was filled with similar such parchments, and placed Minerva's with them.

"And if you do return? Will you retrieve it, or should I simply destroy it?" asked the secretary.

"I . . . I don't know. What do you usually do?"

"I generally keep them until they are retrieved, or until the sender's conditions for posting it have been met," replied the witch. "I compare the List of Missing and Dead each day with the list in the drawer to see what letters need to be posted. See," she said, pulling the list from the drawer. "The parchment is charmed to detect the writer and the recipient of each letter. There's your name at the bottom. I do have to cross them off manually, however, once I remove a letter from the drawer. I keep meaning to have someone charm it to do that automatically, but I have never found the time."

Satisfied with the secretary's arrangements, Minerva asked her to keep the letter until she returned for it, or until it needed to be sent off.

Sitting back at the conference table, Minerva poured herself another cup of tea, although she didn't particularly want it. It was something to do. She'd have to visit the loo before they left, that was certain. Minerva tried not to think about the two wizards, wounded and waiting in the cold for an uncertain rescue, but she was unable to do so. Albus – she had called him that at his insistence since she'd left school – had most likely found somewhere away from the vehicle for them to hide. She doubted he would have sought shelter in a house or barn, even if there were one nearby, since if anyone other than a friend were looking for them, they would certainly begin their search with any habitations or outbuildings in the area. No, he would probably look for some sort of naturally occurring shelter – perhaps a cave, or an overhang. She realised that she had no sense of the geography involved, and wished that Frankel would finish his conversation with the other Auror and show her the maps they had spoken of.

Minerva got up and approached the two wizards. Before she had the opportunity to speak, Frankel looked up and greeted her.

"Miss McGonagall, we should prepare ourselves to leave very shortly. I gather from Auror Scrimgeour that you are aware of our latest information regarding the status of the two wizards we'll be looking for. That's good; I won't have to go over that with you, unless you have any questions. I think we might profitably take a few minutes to look at a particular map, however."

"Yes, that's why I was coming over here, actually. I don't know what the geography is like, and that will be important to know, if we are to find them as quickly as possible," she responded.

"Yes. Here's the map I think would be most useful to you, especially in your Animagus form. It is similar to a Muggle topographic map, but we have enhanced the maps they gave us in order to provide more detail. It was in the works when Dumbledore left, but hadn't been completed yet, which is unfortunate for him. Nonetheless, he is on the ground there and will likely attempt to use the topography to his advantage."

"That's what I thought, as well," said Minerva as she pulled the map toward her so she could see it better.

"I'll just go and check on those Portkeys, then, whilst you two go over your plans. Come along, Scrimgeour. Don't you have something to be doing? If you're not on duty, then go get some rest; if you are, then go make yourself useful somewhere."

Minerva and Frankel spent some time going over the map, paying particular attention to the areas to the north and northeast of the crossroads. Moody had described their last location as being on that side of the road, and it seemed unlikely they'd return to the road it had already taken them such an effort to get away from. Frankel filled her in on a few more of the details that Moody had shared, including his belief that Carson could not have walked anywhere under his own power, and that Dumbledore's physical and magical strength both seemed low. That certainly narrowed their search area even further.

After they had finished discussing the map and their initial plans – Minerva not arguing or questioning the wisdom of sending only the two of them since she did not wish to waste time, but wanted only to leave and begin to search for Albus and Carson without delay – Frankel recommended that she visit the loo, get some chocolate bars to put in her pockets and bring with her, and rest a little during the short time they had before their Portkeys were ready.

She did as he recommended, using the loo, then asking the secretary where she could find some chocolate, as she didn't want to take any time to go to the cafeteria. The secretary opened another of her desk drawers and pulled out several bars of chocolate.

"Honeydukes' finest," she said with a smile, "just wrapped up to look like Muggle sweets. I keep them for the ones who have to be out and about mixing with Muggles."

Minerva placed a Cooling Charm on her pocket, tucked the chocolate bars into it, then returned to the conference room, to find it empty. She sat down in the chair that had been vacated by Sprangle and pulled the map toward her, attempting to memorise every contour of the land around the area Moody had left the other two. Her mind continued returning to thoughts of Albus and Carson.

Why did it have to be the two of them? It was bad enough that it was Albus, but Carson, too . . . Minerva remembered how she had got to know the good-natured Ravenclaw, and how it became clear that he had a bit of a crush on her. She hadn't minded; Carson was a nice boy, and very bright. They had a great deal in common, and he was always sensitive to her feelings, never pressing her for more than she was willing to give. Later, she hadn't minded because she had believed that "keeping company" with him would help diminish her feelings for Albus. She believed that if she could become involved with someone "more appropriate," she could get over whatever it was she felt for her Transfiguration professor, perhaps even transfer some of the feelings to this more appropriate person. And there was no denying that Carson was appropriate. He was bright and talented, though no more than she, if perhaps in different areas. Most importantly, he was young, he was available, and he wasn't everything that Dumbledore so clearly was. Not that he wasn't a good wizard; no, not at all. The Ravenclaw Seeker was kind, open-hearted, and generous, and his magic was strong, as well, although not nearly on par with Dumbledore's – but whose was? Yes, Minerva had determined that Carson Murphy was a highly appropriate person to begin, well, not dating exactly, but spending time with.

Carson had been very happy when, in their sixth year, Minerva agreed to accompany him to the village on Hogsmeade weekends and to study with him in the library instead of going off who-knew-where to study by herself. He never pressed for more than she seemed ready to offer, though, afraid that he would lose her if he tried too hard to persuade her to do more than just "spend time" with him. He was even more thrilled, therefore, when Minerva agreed to go with him to the St. Valentine's Day Dance, which Headmaster Dippet thought might cheer the students, with all the bad news they had been hearing lately.

Late in the evening, when the Dance was almost over, Carson took Minerva for a walk in the frozen rose garden, regretting that it was not spring and he couldn't present her with a more romantic setting. He cast a Warming Charm on a cold stone bench, and, with what he hoped was a gallant sweep of his hand, gestured for her to sit. Then he'd sat beside her, taken her hand, and told her how pretty she was, and how smart; he told her how much he enjoyed being with her and how happy he was that she was there with him now. He smiled at her and called her "my fair Minerva." Then he had tried to kiss her, just holding her hand, leaning forward, and placing his lips gently on hers. At first, she seemed to respond, to return his kiss, but, in a bare moment, she pulled her hand from his and gently pushed him away.

Minerva still remembered the crushed look on Carson's face and how he had tried to hide his disappointment and hurt. She couldn't bear to hurt him any more than she already had by pushing him away – he was her friend, after all, and a good wizard, one any young witch at Hogwarts should be happy to have kiss her – so she simply said that it was all a bit too fast; she'd never had a boyfriend before and wanted to take things more slowly. Carson had happily agreed since, to him, it did not seem like a rejection. Minerva, though, knew that she was rejecting him, although she did not want to.

Minerva's body had rebelled. She had begun to feel a bit warm when Carson took her hand there in the moonlight, and she thought perhaps it was a good warmth. And when he bent toward her and kissed her gently on the mouth, she thought his lips felt rather nice, despite the discomfort that was growing in her. But when she tried to respond as she thought she ought, and return his kiss, the warmth grew, not passionate, but merely more uncomfortable. She felt short of breath, but not breathless, and her stomach was not filled with the butterflies other girls spoke of, but with nausea. In fact, bile had risen in her throat, and Minerva was sure that if she had not broken off the kiss, she would have been sick there and then.

Minerva had continued seeing Carson after that, sure that if she just saw him enough, if she just liked him well enough, she could kiss him without feeling ill. She was almost ashamed at her physical reaction. Carson was a gentleman who treated her with courtesy, kindness, and thoughtful affection. How could she possibly feel sick when he touched her?

Finally, midway through their seventh-year, Minerva sat Carson down in a secluded nook in one of the seldom-used corridors and told him that he should bring someone else to the next Hogsmeade weekend. She felt guilty that he was spending time with her when he might be spending it with someone who would appreciate him more than she could, someone who could return his affection in a way that she couldn't. And she also felt as though she were betraying the true object of her affection, although he would never even know it. Trying to explain her reasons to Carson seemed impossible. She told him the truth, as far as she was able: that she liked him very much, that she enjoyed spending time with him, and that she always would. She just didn't think that she could ever like him in quite the way that he obviously liked her.

Carson had just sat there, listening, quiet, blinking hard. When she was finished, he reached for her hand, looking at her questioningly as he did so. When she nodded, he took it between his, and stroked it gently. Looking down at the hand he held, he had said, "There's someone else, isn't there?" Although he had phrased it as a question, it had sounded more like a statement.

"No, no, Carson, there's no one else. I just can't explain it. I want to like you the way that you like me, but I just haven't been able to. Maybe I just can't care enough, maybe I can't give my heart as freely as you give yours, or maybe I'm just too young yet. All I do know is that you are a good wizard and a good friend. I care about you, Carson; I want you to be happy. I don't want you to miss the opportunity to meet some other witch who is better for you than I am."

Carson had argued with her only a little, then, resigned, said, "You may not even know there's someone else, Minerva, but I think there must be. I think you can't give your heart to me because you've already given it away."

Minerva said nothing to that, only shaking her head sadly. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss, first one on the cheek, then one on the mouth. Ironically, it was the first time that kissing him had not made her feel queasy. They continued to study together in the library, and sometimes they'd meet at the Three Broomsticks on weekends, but always with a group of friends. Despite her encouragement, Carson didn't invite any other girls to go with him on Hogsmeade weekends, and after the Leaving Feast, he had come over to her and hugged her hard, holding her tightly.

When Carson finally broke their embrace, he said, "You know I've been accepted into the Aurors' programme. As soon as I'm done with the initial three-month training, I'm going to be staying at a flat my family keeps in London. I'll owl you – or maybe even stop by and see you at the Ministry – and let you know. Our 'free' time is highly structured those first few months, but maybe after that we could have lunch sometimes, or get out in the evening? As friends, of course," he finished with a slight flush.

"Of course. I'd like that. I don't know many people in London. I've found a bedsit through a friend of my brother Morgan's, myself; it's not much, but it's close enough so that I can walk to my job without having to Apparate or be on the Floo-Network."

In fact, after those initial three months, Carson kept his word and turned up at her desk one day and invited her to lunch, explaining that he had the whole afternoon off, and if she could take the time, perhaps they could go to Diagon Alley for lunch. Minerva had gladly closed up her tiny office – she was convinced she'd been given her own office only because either they didn't want to have to look at all the boring parchments she got or because they didn't want her to see all of the more interesting things that everyone else was assigned – and went off to Diagon Alley with Carson.

There was no awkwardness between them as they sat in the Leaky Cauldron and talked of their work and of his training. They had significantly shortened the normal Aurors' training course, so he would be 'out in the field,' as he put it, as a fully-qualified Auror in just three more months. Minerva thought he looked tired and somewhat stretched, herself, but he was excited about his work and seemed happy. He ate ravenously, explaining that, although there had always been plenty of food available, it had been pretty bad, so now that he had more freedom, he was going to make up for lost time – and meals – and eat as much good food as he could whenever he had the opportunity.

As time went on, he and Minerva began to meet regularly for lunch; whenever he was at the Ministry, or nearby, he'd stop at her desk, she'd close up, and they'd take off for lunch. No one seemed to mind how much time Minerva took since she often stayed late and never left any work undone. The two would often go to Diagon Alley, but, almost as frequently, they would find themselves in Muggle London, which Carson seemed to know well. He would charm his Auror uniform to a less conspicuous brown, and they'd set out for some restaurant that he'd found, and that she "just had to try." Despite the wartime restrictions and rationing, Carson always seemed to manage to find somewhere with "good food."

One Friday, a few months after their first lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, and shortly before he was to finish his training, he picked her up and asked her if she needed to get back to work that afternoon, or if they could spend it together. She'd asked her boss, who had just nodded and waved dismissively at them from behind her parchment. Minerva shrugged and said she guessed that meant is was all right. Instead of exiting the Ministry in the usual way, Carson asked Minerva whether she would mind Apparating, instead. Minerva hesitated. Although she no longer vomited every time she Side-Alonged, she still became nauseous and dizzy.

"I'd like to bring you somewhere special for lunch today, Minerva. It's easier if we Apparate."

Minerva reluctantly agreed, although Carson would not tell her where he was taking her for this lunch. They went to the designated Apparition Point in the Ministry, signed the watchwitch's book, and Minerva stepped to his side, took his hand, closed her eyes, and swallowed in dread. It actually wasn't as bad as usual, she thought when it was over. She only felt slightly dizzy and a tiny bit queasy.

Minerva looked around her; she was in what appeared to be a sitting room in a private house, but she didn't recognise anything. There were two armchairs and a small sofa, what one might actually call a "loveseat," in front of a fireplace, with a small table in between; a few bookcases lined one side of the room, and there was a Comet leaning against the wall next to a closed door. Minerva could see there was a second door leading to the room, which was open to reveal a dimly lit hallway.

"Welcome to my humble abode, Miss McGonagall," Carson said with a tentative smile. "I have a little kitchen here, and I've been trying to teach myself to cook. I'm still somewhat limited in what I can safely feed another person, but, well, I wanted to try out my new skills for you."

He and Minerva had a pleasant lunch, quite edible, in Minerva's opinion, although Carson kept apologising for each dish as he served it. Once Minerva had put a stop to such foolishness, they went on to talk of other things, from Minerva's dissatisfaction with her job to Carson's eagerness to finally be done with training so he could do something "real," as he put it.

After lunch, they went into his little sitting room, Carson apologising this time for the size of his flat.

"I do wish you'd stop apologising for everything, Carson. When you have something to apologise for, I'll let you know. Save it until then, all right? Besides, you should see my place. It's just one not-particularly-big room, and although I have my own small loo, I have to share a bath with all the other lodgers on my floor. I have a tiny corner in which I can make tea and sandwiches, but I can't do any real cooking. I have so little room that most of my books are still shrunk and in boxes, and I had to make an inventory and number the boxes so I could find a book when I wanted it. Your place is practically a palace in comparison!"

They sat on the small sofa in front of his fireplace, which was unlit although it was almost the end of December, with Christmas just a week away. Carson explained that the flat had last been used by one of his uncles, who hadn't used the fireplace in so long that Carson needed to get it swept before he could use it, but apparently it was hard to find a good wizarding chimneysweep in London these days. It wasn't on the Floo-Network, anyway, and Warming Charms had done well enough for him so far, although, he said, he'd always wake up at about three-thirty in the morning to have to refresh it since, even with an extra blanket, it would get cold at night. Then he looked at Minerva and blushed and looked away again.

They talked more of everything in their lives, of Hogwarts, of their work, of what they wanted to do after the war. Carson asked her if she'd like some supper with him, and when she agreed, he told her to stay in the sitting room and look at a book – he didn't have as many as she did, he joked, but at least she wouldn't have to unshrink them before she could read them!

Minerva settled down on the loveseat, shoes off and legs curled up under her, with a copy of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes, and waited for supper. When Carson had returned some twenty minutes later, it was to find the book open to page three, and Minerva asleep. He gently removed the book from her grasp, and when this woke her, he apologised.

"I told you not to apologise, Carson! It is I who should apologise, in any case, for being so rude and falling asleep on your couch."

"You are welcome to fall asleep here anywhere you like," replied Carson. "What I mean is, um, you should feel at home here. We're old friends, after all." He was blushing again, and this time Minerva found herself blushing, as well.

"You brought sandwiches, I see, and tea. It looks delicious, Carson! Thank you," she said, diverting their attention away from wherever it had been going.

They sat together and ate sandwiches in a comfortable silence. As he took her plate from her, she remarked, "You have a very cozy flat, Carson; thank you for your hospitality. I haven't been home to my family in ages, and I don't visit anyone in London much, so this has been very nice."

"I'm glad; you're welcome. And I mean that: you're always welcome here, Minerva." He gazed at her and reached toward her; when she didn't move away, he took her hand, as he had once in the Hogwarts' rose garden. "I know we're friends, Minerva. And I know . . . I remember what you said before, at Hogwarts, I do. And I don't want to make you uncomfortable after the nice day we've had, but I just need to tell you that I still care for you, my fair Minerva, probably more than ever. And I understand if you will only want lunch and conversation when we're together, and if that's still so, I will learn to content myself with that."

Minerva didn't know how to respond to her friend's heartfelt words. So she didn't say anything, but merely squeezed his hand. Carson raised his other one and gently caressed her cheek.

"Minerva, my fair Minerva . . . ," he whispered.

She leaned into his caress and closed her eyes. He was good, kind, and gentle, and she did care for him. And she was young and yearned for a touch from a wizard. This was not the wizard she wanted, but Carson was there and Minerva cared for him. So when he leaned in, much as he had almost two years before in the rose garden, and touched his lips to hers, she did not push him away. Encouraged, Carson moved closer, still kissing her, delighted that she was responding, that she had raised an arm and put it around him, urging him nearer.

His kisses moved from her mouth to her face; he kissed her cheeks, her lidded eyes, her forehead, and then returned to her lips again; he caressed her cheek with a lingering touch, as if cherishing her, and then drew his fingertips gently downward to her throat, barely touching it. Releasing her hand from his, he put his other arm around her and pulled her still closer, kissing her lips, sucking them lightly, then stroking them with the tip of his tongue. Minerva gasped at the sensation, and he tentatively entered her mouth with his tongue, first lightly running it over her teeth, then flicking the tip against the roof of her mouth, before finding her tongue and gently prodding it with his own, as if asking her to join him.

Minerva remembered the rest of that night very well. She spent it with him, in his arms and in his bed. She did feel a warmth from being with him, which was now not unpleasant. Minerva recollected how, even in his passion and his need, he had tried to be gentle with her. He was barely more experienced than she, having been with a woman only once, that July, shortly before he began his Auror training. She was a Squib whose family lived near his own, he told Minerva as they were lying in bed that first night. The two had played together as children, before he went to Hogwarts. He said he felt guilty about the encounter afterward: he didn't want to be in a relationship with her, but apparently she had wanted just that, and so she believed that he had used her and then rejected her because she was a Squib.

"You know, it wasn't that at all, Minerva. In fact, I thought that I might want to court her, once the war was over, but when we were together that time, I wasn't thinking of her at all . . . and that wasn't right." He left unsaid that he had been thinking of Minerva, but Minerva knew that he had been. Minerva felt her own guilt then, for she knew that, although she hadn't thought of another wizard while Carson was making love to her, it was only because she wouldn't allow herself to.

Despite her promise to herself that she would not let it happen again, that she would not stay with him like that, she did nonetheless, although only a few times more. It was actually Carson who ended that aspect of their relationship, to Minerva's surprise. On her sixth visit to his flat, on a sunny Saturday morning, he'd brought her tea in bed, then sat beside her with his own cup.

"Minerva, I think we should go back to the way things were," he said, looking into his teacup as though it might hold the answers to the universe. "I know that you care for me, but you don't love me, and I don't believe you ever will." He spoke over her protest. "You may love me in some way, Minerva, but you were right, back then at Hogwarts: I feel differently for you than you do for me. I'm not saying this to condemn you, Minerva. I say it because I do love you. Not only do I not want to settle for whatever affection you may have for me, which I fear would eventually turn to resentment, but I want you to find whoever it is who holds your heart in his hands. I know there is someone; I feel it when we're together – there's a part of you that isn't there, that belongs to someone else. Don't protest this, Minerva; I know what you've said, that there's no one else, but there is – maybe you haven't even met him yet, and it's like in those stories my gram used to tell me when I was little, where you're destined not to love until you've met the wizard whom Fate sends you. Or maybe you have met him, you just haven't recognised each other yet." Carson sighed. "She always loved those tales, my gram did. I just hope it is so for you, my fair Minerva, and that you will find each other soon, so that you will be both happy and fair. I shall dance at your wedding and shall toast your groom when I know you have found your love."

Minerva had sat, tears on her cheeks, and ceased her protest. And although she did try to laugh and tell him that he was obviously Irish, with his Romanticism and celebrating Fate come-what-may, she did not try to convince him that they should be anything other than friends.

So it was with dread for the two wizards waiting in the frozen night that Minerva slipped into her Animagus form and settled herself in Frankel's arms, and Portkeyed away from all that was familiar.