XLVIII: Lessons in Letter-Writing

XLVIII: Lessons in Letter-Writing

Minerva awoke to the same gravely voice she had the morning before.

"Good-morning, Madam Professor! It is morning, Madam Professor!"

Minerva groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. She could still hear the house-elf's voice rumbling on about something. She finally moved the pillow aside and said, "Tea, with milk."

Minerva heard a crack as the elf Disapparated. She opened her eyes and Summoned her wand. Blinking, she cast a Tempus. Seven-thirty. Well, that was better than yesterday, Minerva supposed, but by the time she'd climbed into bed the night before, it had been almost two o'clock, and she would have liked another hour's sleep. She stretched, remembering the previous night and the letter she had written to Albus. She should rewrite it, if she sent it at all . . . two letters in as many days was probably one too many. Just as she was thinking about her letter to Albus, she heard a rattling at her window. Minerva turned and squinted. An owl was sitting on the window ledge tapping at the glass with its beak.

Minerva swung her legs out of bed and padded over to let in the owl and take the letter from it. Probably another letter from Poppy in response to the one she'd sent the day before. "Wait there, I've got biscuits somewhere here."

The owl didn't follow directions well and hopped into the room and settled on the little desk next to the window. Minerva returned with the little packet of ginger newts and broke off a piece for the bird. As she held it out, she looked down at the desk. Minerva stared. Her letter. It was gone. Minerva looked at the owl. It was nibbling the biscuit. The only letter in sight was the one in her hand. The letter she had written at one in the morning was gone.

"Gluffy!" Minerva yelled. "Gluffy! Now, Gluffy!"

Gluffy popped in, a small tea tray hovering above his head. He smiled his wide, toothy grin. "Yes, Madam Professor? Gluffy serves!"

"Gluffy, there was a letter on the desk this morning. Where is it?"

"Gluffy not know, Madam Professor. The owl has it somewhere in the air." Gluffy continued to grin up at her, his pointy, bristly ears perking forward happily.

"The owl? What owl?"

"A Gamp Post Owl, Madam Professor. A nice strong Eagle Owl!" Gluffy seemed untroubled by Minerva's growing agitation. "Gluffy chooses a good Owl for Madam Professor's letter! And your tea. With milk!" Gluffy nodded vigorously at Minerva before disappearing with a loud pop.

Minerva sank into the chair, not caring that the owl beside her had helped himself to another biscuit and was getting crumbs everywhere. Damn! What had she said? At least she'd only been tired, not tipsy, she thought with a sigh. She knew she felt she'd been too open, but at least she hadn't confessed her feelings to him, as Quin had suggested she should. Minerva took the packet of biscuits from the desk before the bird could eat another one and make himself sick, then looked down at the letter that she had gripped in her fist.

Minerva smoothed out the parchment. It was from Albus. Well, at least she knew it was in response to her previous letter, and not to the ill-advised one she had written that morning and that Gluffy had so helpfully posted.

Albus smiled as he watched Minerva Portkey off to the Gamp estate, then sighed after she disappeared. He was standing in Minerva's bedroom, and it occurred to him that it would be impolite to tarry in her room now that she had left. He hadn't been in it since he had first shown Minerva her quarters the previous December, though, and he looked around him. There were only a few indications of Minerva's personality in this room, her hairbrush, hairpins in a small dish on the vanity, a colourful scarf draped over one corner of her mirror, a photograph of her parents and her three brothers on one side of the vanity, a picture of Melina and Murdoch on the other, and . . . a very small picture of him. Albus stared at it, then picked it up.

It was a photograph that had been cut from a Daily Prophet; he recognised it as one that had been taken shortly after he had defeated Grindelwald. He had been leaving a press conference at the Ministry and had been crossing the Atrium with a few other wizards and witches when flashbulbs had begun going off around them. Minerva had trimmed away most of the newspaper picture to create a portrait that showed only Albus's head and shoulders. The view of his profile looked almost like a Muggle photograph, he moved so little, turning only slightly toward the camera before turning away again. Minerva had put the little picture in a tiny silver frame and placed a charm on it to make the paper sturdier. A warm feeling passed through Albus as he looked at the little photograph in its small frame. How very sweet of her . . . to have included his picture with those of her family. He swallowed. After all the time they had known each other, she had had to cut out a photograph from a newspaper. Of course, that would have been more than ten years ago, now, but there had been no other photograph to replace it since then.

Albus smiled wistfully. He had his own photographs of Minerva. He kept them in a drawer of the small desk in his quarters. The first one wasn't really of Minerva; it had been taken at a Quidditch match her seventh year and showed the Gryffindor section of the stands. Minerva was rising up from her seat, cheering after a particularly daring catch by the Ravenclaw Seeker, who flashed through the picture, raising the Snitch in his hand and waving it toward Minerva. Carson, of course. Odd that he hadn't realised until that terrible day in France that Carson and Minerva had been a couple. Of course, Carson and, later, Minerva, had denied it, but Minerva's eyes sparkled in the photograph, and it was clear that the Ravenclaw's flight across the Gryffindor stands had been more than an ordinary victory lap.

The second photograph of Minerva that Albus kept was one that had been taken at a Victory Ball after Grindelwald had been defeated. Albus had seen it when the photographer had come to him to get Albus's approval for a photograph of himself to be included in a commemorative book that the Ministry was putting out. Albus wasn't pleased with the idea of the commemorative book – at least as envisioned by the Ministry – but he could at least try to make sure that they didn't use a ridiculous picture of him. The one of Sprangle made the man look like some kind of ancient Roman general; Dumbledore thought that such images were the sort of thing Grindelwald himself would have favoured. As Albus flipped through the photographs, the photographer pulled one out, saying it must have been incorrectly filed, but Albus had stopped him and looked at the picture. It had been taken from the far side of the ballroom; a pensieve expression on her face, Minerva was standing next to one of the French envoys and looking off across the room at something or someone who didn't appear in the photograph. Alastor Moody, raising a glass to his lips, was on the other side of the foreign wizard, who was looking at Minerva, smiling, and saying something. A few other witches and wizards were standing off to one side, chatting. Minerva was the only figure in the photograph who did not appear to move at all, but Albus could detect a slight softening of her expression as a small smile appeared at the corners of her mouth and crinkled around her eyes. Albus assumed that the French wizard had said something to amuse Minerva, but she seemed so distracted, and he had always wondered what it had been she had been looking at and what had brought the small smile to her face.

The last picture in Albus's desk drawer was one that had been taken just after Minerva had defeated Madame Feuilly in her Apprentice's Challenge. It was the only colour photograph of the three, and Minerva was flushed and accepting the congratulations of several wizards as she turned toward Albus, who was standing off to one side, smiling with pride at her accomplishment. As Minerva turned, her polite smile became brilliant as she caught sight of Albus. He remembered that Minerva had been swept off by the French Minister for Magic and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons immediately after the photograph had been taken; for once, Albus had been forgotten and Minerva was in the limelight, which suited him just fine. Albus had seen Minerva later that day at the dinner the Ministry had held for her and at which she had been unofficially bestowed the soubriquet "la grande dame de la Metamorphosis" by the French newspapers, and he'd been able to offer her his own warm congratulations. Albus smiled as he remembered how she had returned his embrace and whispered her thanks to him for all he had taught her. But then a few months later, she was offered an apprenticeship with an old wizard in Heidelberg, and that began the longest period during which they had not seen each other, even for a quick lunch or cup of tea.

After informing Albus of the offer, and this time asking his opinion of it before accepting it – Albus warned her that the master, Herr Magister Gerhardt Sachs, was unpopular because he had escaped Grindelwald and then disappeared without lending his assistance to the Resistance, but nonetheless was a highly competent master of Transfiguration – Minerva left for the Continent, first studying German to improve her facility with the language, and then spending the next year at her apprenticeship. Albus hadn't seen her in more than a year when she had shown up at Hogwarts the first week of October to tell him that she was back and would be taking up a new job at the Ministry in November. Remembering that her birthday was in early October, Albus had convinced Minerva to stay for the afternoon so that he could take her out to dinner to celebrate both her Mastery and her birthday. He had always wished he had brought her someplace nicer than the Three Broomsticks, but Minerva had seemed pleased, and they had forgotten their surroundings as they talked and she told him about her time in Germany. Albus asked her about the wizard she had often mentioned in her correspondence, a Rudolf Brauer, but Minerva didn't reveal very much. From her letters, Albus had the idea that she had been romantically involved with the German Apothecary, but Minerva said she had no plans to visit him, and that, as Rudolf's shop was in Heidelberg and it was difficult for him to get away, it was unlikely they would see each other any time soon. She had brushed off Albus's suggestion that distance was no obstacle to a relationship if they worked at it, looking at him strangely and saying that she was sure that her life in London would keep her very busy.

Albus replaced the small photograph on Minerva's vanity and went into her sitting room to look at the books on her shelves. He selected two Muggle novels, choosing ones by authors he was unfamiliar with. Albus looked around him before he left. Blampa had already cleared away their breakfast dishes, and the room felt very empty without Minerva there. Feeling somewhat melancholy, Albus stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He smiled slightly and whispered, "Alvarium album." The door clicked and he pulled it open before closing it again. Humming, he set off for his office and a long day of paperwork and Floo-Calls with Ministry officials.

The next morning as Albus ate his solitary breakfast in his rooms, he remembered the pleasant breakfast with Minerva the day before, and he wondered whether she had opened his present the night before, and whether she had enjoyed it or had thought it was silly. Albus had been second-guessing himself since he had left her rooms, particularly having kissed her before she Portkeyed to the Gamps. She hadn't seemed displeased or offended, only slightly surprised. Albus sighed. He could make all kinds of promises to himself, but the fact of the matter was that he found it difficult to be around Minerva and not demonstrate his affection toward her. It would probably be best if he always arranged to see her in public; that was the only way he could be sure of not stepping over the line he had drawn for himself. Albus also regretted the openness he had exhibited in his letter to her. From now on, he would not send her any letters without rereading them and waiting at least a few hours before sending them off. He hadn't made Minerva uncomfortable yet, but he was sure it was only a matter of time before he displayed some behaviour that either triggered her disgust or her pity. More likely her pity, given her fondness for him. But it would have to be tinged with disgust . . . he knew that he was very old and far from attractive. Pity or disgust, he could not risk it. He did not want to cause her discomfort, let alone lose her friendship. And she clearly valued their friendship, as well. Albus smiled as he remembered the tiny photograph she kept of him next to those of her family. He would have to play the role of the genial uncle, then, as difficult as that might be, and not behave like a pathetic old man.

Albus dressed and went to his office to begin another day. It was a morning like any other, but after having spent so much time with Minerva over the last few days, he felt an uncharacteristic sense of ennui. It seemed that without Minerva in the castle, he had little to look forward to that day, especially since Gertie – and most of the rest of the staff – was also gone. It was ridiculous, really. He had lived and worked at Hogwarts quite happily for almost twenty years. Twenty very busy years. Most of them without Minerva there . . . today should be no different from any of those previous perfectly happy days. Albus set down to work, dismissing all of his foolish thoughts and cares and finding that his mood improved as the morning progressed and he cleared his desk of the correspondence that had piled up.

Just before lunch, Albus opened a window to let in three owls, one after the other, bringing him more work from the Ministry, then he let in a fourth owl, carrying a letter from Garbhan Govannon, no doubt a thank-you for his assistance the week before. Albus smiled, thinking that if it hadn't been for Garbhan's mishap, he might not have inadvertently insulted Minerva, and then never overheard her conversation with Poppy, and thus not had the last few lovely days with her. He should write his own letter of thanks to Garbhan! Albus was chuckling and in the process of closing the window when a large Eagle Owl swooped out of the sky. As it landed on the sill, Albus saw the yellow band on its leg and knew it to be a Gamp Post Owl. After giving each owl a few treats from Fawkes's supply, Albus sat down in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace and opened Minerva's letter.

Albus smiled. She had written it that morning to thank him for his little present. It didn't seem that she thought it was silly or foolish at all. He reread the letter more slowly, pausing to savour it. So Minerva had not thought his letter overly sentimental . . . she missed him, as well. Of course, she could have said that out of politeness, but Albus didn't think so. He smiled happily as he reread the lines, "if I may make a confession of my own, as I stood there prepared to Portkey away, all I wanted to do was stay and spend the day with you. I hope you forgive my own sentimentality." Of course he would – gratefully!

As he reread the rest of the letter, Albus got the sense that Minerva was not having a very good time. He wondered if anyone was giving her a particularly difficult time, and he froze, thinking of one witch who might, as improbable as it seemed to him, also be a guest of the Gamps that week. If she were there, Minerva might be in for a difficult time, indeed. But surely Gertrude would take care of her, keep them apart. Albus didn't think that he'd ever mentioned that brief and ill-fated relationship to Minerva; whilst he was seeing her, he had been inexplicably reluctant to mention it to Minerva, and afterward, well, there was no question that he wouldn't mention it to her. Why would he? Merely to embarrass himself more? But if she were there . . . . no, she wouldn't say anything to Minerva. It would only embarrass her, after all. The witch might be quite nasty, nonetheless.

Albus sighed and looked at the letter again. Minerva seemed to be spending time with Quin. Albus didn't know him well, but knew that Gertie thought highly of him, and what contact he had had with the young wizard had always been favourable. He certainly was devoted to his children. That must be why Gertrude had invited Minerva down for a visit. To meet Quin. A little matchmaking. Albus fought the sadness that began to settle in his stomach. Quin was a fine young wizard. And he couldn't fault Gertrude for trying to encourage the two of them to get to know each other. They would have beautiful children. . . . Albus swallowed. This was ridiculous; he had them married with children, and they'd only just met! And besides, it would be good if Minerva found someone . . . a good wizard. He had the impression that she hadn't seen anyone seriously in several years, at least, if he was even correct about believing she'd had a relationship with the German Apothecary. Perhaps her heart had been broken when Carson died – although she denied it – and she hadn't been able to develop a relationship with anyone since.

As he sat and gazed at Minerva's letter, Albus determined that he would do all that he could in order to see Minerva happy. Quin could be quite a catch. He was intelligent, talented, very well-off financially, both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds, and he had been devoted to his wife when she'd been alive, and he was a good father – not to mention that he was very good-looking and charming, as well. Eminently suited for his Minerva. Well, she wasn't his Minerva, but there was no question that Quin could be a very good match for her. He would do all he could to encourage a relationship between them. Of course, he would have to be careful and not be too obvious about it. But if Gertrude was working on Quin, he could work on Minerva . . . subtly. And he would be happy about it. Yes, he would be happy about it.

Albus called Wilspy and asked her to bring him a sandwich and some tea. He would take dinner in the staffroom with the few who were still in the castle, but he wanted to respond to Minerva's letter, and he sat at his desk and began writing. That evening after dinner, Albus put the finishing touches on the third draft of his letter, then put it away in the small desk in his quarters, deciding to reread it before posting it in the morning.

He slept poorly that night, finding it difficult to fall asleep, then waking up at one o'clock, thinking of Minerva. Albus called Wilspy to have her bring him a cup of chamomile tea and went out onto the roof of his tower to look out over the castle's grounds. Conjuring a flowered armchair, he settled down and looked off to the south, wondering what Minerva was doing at that moment. Sleeping, no doubt, as all sensible witches and wizards did at that hour. The chilly fresh air and the chamomile tea drove him back to his bedroom and under his covers, and he fell into a restless sleep, with dreams of Minerva and Valerianna, himself looking on helplessly as Valerianna taunted Minerva . . . it was odd, but he could hear Valerianna's voice, yet he could not comprehend a word that she said. Then Minerva turned to him, crying, telling Albus it was all his fault, that everything was his fault, and, as is the way in dreams, suddenly Valerianna was no longer there, but Quin was, and the young wizard took Minerva into his arms and looked at Albus, shaking his head at him, as though disappointed. Albus forced himself awake from the dream. It was only four-thirty in the morning, and he was covered in sweat. Clearly, he had been spending too much time thinking about Minerva. Of course, thinking of Valerianna the previous evening was not conducive to a good night's sleep, either.

Albus got out of bed and stretched stiffly, remembering his letter to Minerva. He was unsure now whether he should send her any letter at all. But he did not want to offend her, and her own letter had been so sweet. Wilspy brought him a strong blend of tea, and he put on his dressing gown and brought his tea with him out to the small study off his sitting room. He took out the letter he had finished the night before and reread it. He promptly tore it up before banishing the pieces. He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote a letter, sealing and addressing it without rereading it, then he called Wilspy and asked her to post it for him – without delay. There was such a thing as being too careful, after all.

Minerva glanced at her waiting tea, then unsealed the letter from Albus. She smiled as she saw his familiar handwriting. He'd written this one quickly, it appeared, that very morning. Well, it wasn't as though she laboured terribly over her own letters to him. . . . She only agonised about them after the fact. Particularly letters that weren't supposed to be sent in the first place.

"Wednesday, 10 July 1957

"Albus"

Minerva poured her tea and added some milk before rereading the letter. Well, he must be speaking of Valerianna. The fact that he had left the witch unnamed and had only said that they had "a parting of the ways" certainly indicated a reluctance on his part to tell her anything about their relationship. Of course, it would be rather awkward to do in a letter, not to mention that he didn't even know whether the vile witch was there or not. It was nice of him to say something about it, nonetheless.

She sighed as she folded the letter and finished her tea. It hadn't been as warm as his previous letter, but he had said he was looking forward to seeing her. And he seemed to like Quin, which was nice to know.

Minerva got up and put the letter in her carpet bag with the others, then dressed in her saffron-and-raspberry robes. It was good that today was Wednesday and the ball was tonight. She was running out of robes she hadn't been seen in yet. She would wear this one for the day and change for the party before dinner.

After dressing, Minerva went downstairs, heading toward the veranda where she had breakfasted the previous two days. There were several people there, including Quin, who was leaning against the rail watching the house. He straightened when he saw her and smiled, meeting her halfway across the veranda.

"Good-mornin', love! I thought we might take our breakfast elsewhere this morning . . . and may I say that you look beautiful today!"

"Thank you, you look nice, yourself." Quin was "wearing Muggle" again, in a crisp white shirt open at the neck, a navy blue double-breasted blazer, and grey flannel trousers. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Gertie has set up a table down in the rose garden. I thought we could join her. Unless you'd prefer to, um, mingle," he added in a low voice, looking around them at the various Blacks, Flints, and Yaxleys.

"I think I had enough mingling yesterday during dinner, thank you," she answered, taking his arm and starting down the stairs. "I do feel as if I've been monopolising you, though, Quin. I'm sorry. You needn't feel you have to spend time with me, you know. I'm a big girl."

"I was just thinkin' about you . . . after last night. Hopin' you slept well," he said, looking toward the hill fort rising up in the northwest.

"Thank you . . . I'm fine, though. You didn't need to wait for me."

"Mmm, I was the reason for your upset, though, Minerva," he said softly as they walked into the rose garden.

"No, no, you weren't. Let's not talk about it now, Quin," she answered as they turned a corner and found Gertie sitting at a small table, drinking coffee.

Gertrude looked up and nodded at the two. "Good-morning, Minerva, Quin."

Minerva sat in the chair that Quin pulled out for her. "Good-morning, Gertrude."

"Sleep well?" Gertie asked Minerva as Quin gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he sat on her other side.

"Fairly well," Minerva replied. "But you have one annoyingly efficient house-elf."

"Gluffy? I find that he is usually quite good at getting me moving in the morning," Gertie answered.

"Mmm. However, I have a word of advice for both of you," Minerva said as she accepted a cup of tea from Quin, then paused to take a sip.

She looked at them seriously. "Never cover your head with a pillow when a house-elf is talking."

Quin raised an eyebrow and Gertie looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

"Your very efficient house-elf was rumbling on about something while I had my head covered with my pillow. When I got up, I discovered he had posted a letter that I hadn't finished yet. I actually hadn't even decided whether to send it at all." Minerva sighed and shook her head ruefully.

"I hope it wasn't anything that could have negative repercussions for you, Minerva. I will speak with Gluffy about owling guests' letters without their permission," Gertrude said seriously.

Quin furrowed his brow. "Nothin' . . . indiscreet in the letter, I hope."

"No, no, just unfinished." Minerva shook her head. "But speaking of letters, I had an owl from Albus this morning. He sends his greetings to both of you – and to your parents, Gertrude."

"I owe him a letter, I'm afraid," Gertrude said. "It's been difficult this week, with all of the guests, to have more than a few minutes to sit and think. When you see him tomorrow, let him know that I will write him soon. Most of the guests should be gone by the weekend, except close family, so I'll have more time then."

Minerva agreed, saying she certainly understood the constraints on her time, and no doubt Albus would, too. Breakfast appeared on the table, and the three moved on to other topics.

Albus put the finishing touches on some changes he wanted made to the wand-use laws; he had little hope that they would actually be approved, but if he introduced them often enough, eventually some of them might be adopted. He stretched; he would need a nap after lunch, he thought. After the restless night he'd had, and his very early rising, Albus felt as though the day should be half over, and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet. A walk on the grounds would pick him up a bit, he thought.

It was a beautiful morning; the air was still cool, but the sun was warm, and as he wandered along the edge of the lake, Albus wished that Minerva were there to enjoy it with him. The sunlight glinted off the water as it rippled beneath the light breeze, and Albus conjured a chair and sat and looked out across the lake. He was glad he had answered Minerva's letter, and glad, too, that he had made mention of Valerianna, if not by name. It wasn't as warm as his first draft had been yesterday, but he thought it struck a better balance between collegiality and friendliness than his final draft had done. That version, which he had torn up and banished, had seemed positively cold when he'd reread it in the morning, and, of course, it had held no mention of Valerianna, either.

Valerianna Yaxley. He had scarcely spared her two seconds of thought over the last couple of years, but in the last few days, he had been reminded of her several times, and it was uncomfortable. Probably just as well, however. It might help him to remember to behave himself around Minerva and not act like an old fool. He hadn't been in love with Valerianna, but he had thought he was growing fond of her. And it had been so many years since he had spent so much time in the company of one witch . . . . Albus shook himself. There was no point in thinking about it now, not this long after it was over.

Albus gazed unseeing out across the lake, thinking instead of another witch, one of whom he was more than just fond, when the screeching of an enormous Eagle Owl interrupted his reverie. It landed with dramatic flair on a large rock a few yards from him and preened before finishing its journey and flapping over to the arm of his chair. Albus detached the letter that was fastened to the owl's leg. Another Gamp Owl. And another letter from Minerva. He furrowed his brow. She couldn't have received his letter and responded to it so soon, could she have? Albus fished a peppermint pillow from one of his pockets and gave it to the owl, who scorned it and took off for the Hogwarts Owlery in search of something more satisfactory. Albus paid the indignant bird no heed, however, as he opened the letter and read it.

"10 July

"Minerva"

Albus realised that as he had been sitting on the roof of his tower drinking his chamomile tea, Minerva had been writing this letter to him, also drinking a cup of chamomile tea. As he reached the second paragraph, he inexplicably got a lump in his throat. Minerva wished to spend time with him and she missed him. He thought of his own rather distant letter and wished he had been just a bit more expressive in it. But he would see her tomorrow. He couldn't write her another letter . . . but she was rereading his first one. Perhaps she would welcome just one more short note. One of encouragement, perhaps. She was attending the party with Quin. As allies, she said. That might give them a chance to get to know one another better. It must be what Gertie had in mind when she had invited Minerva there, after all. He might even encourage her to stay another day or two, get to know Quin better. She had said that she was looking forward to seeing him on Thursday, but she shouldn't feel obligated to return then if she wished to stay. . . .

Albus rose and banished the chair and headed back to his office to write one last note to Minerva. As he climbed the many stairs to his tower, Albus grew warm thinking of her words. She always wanted to spend time with him. Her thoughts turned to him, and she wished he were there. Albus smiled. Although he would encourage her to enjoy her time with Quin, he would have to express his appreciation for her, as well. He didn't want to neglect her as he had done before; it still caused him pain to remember her words to Poppy, but not because of any insult to him, rather because it reminded him of the hurt he had caused her. And after all of these years and all that they had been through together, Minerva had every right to expect more of his friendship than he had given her during her first months at Hogwarts. It was time that would never return, and she would never again have a "first term" as a teacher. He should have spent more time with her then, both as a friend and as Headmaster.

They did have a nice time when they were together . . . better than "nice," from his perspective, Albus thought, remembering their recent meals together and their outing to London, and Minerva seemed to value it, as well. But he would have to make sure that she did not feel obligated to spend time with him and that he did not monopolise her when she could be getting to know other wizards, such as Quin.

Minerva was surprised when, just as they were finishing breakfast, a small Scops Owl flew up and politely settled on the edge of their table, hooted softly, and bobbed its head. There were two letters attached to its leg, and when Quin reached over to remove them, the little fellow hopped over to Gertrude.

"Well, snubbed by an owl! See if you get any o' me bacon, you little urchin!" Quin said with a smile.

"You haven't any bacon left, Quin," Minerva told him.

"I have a bit o' toast I'd have shared, though," he grumbled jokingly.

Meanwhile, Gertrude had taken the letters from the owl and fed it a bit of bread and cheese. She handed Minerva one of the letters. Minerva raised her eyebrows. From Poppy. She looked over at Gertrude, who had glanced at the letter then put it in the pocket of her sea-green robes. Minerva, despite her curiosity, did likewise.

The remains of their breakfast vanished from the table, leaving a fresh pot of tea and another small one of coffee. Minerva poured herself a third cup of tea and offered some to Quin.

"Ta, Minerva, but I think I'll go see if me kids are survivin' Bella. She's a holy terror, that one – or an unholy terror – for all she appears quiet when she's around adults. But meet me on the veranda in an hour – you, too, Gertie. Robert and I have some plans that require your participation!" Quin rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"What have you got in mind, Quin?" asked Gertie suspiciously.

"Just show up, Gertie, an' you'll see!" With that, Quin stood and took his leave, bending first to kiss Minerva's cheek.

After he had disappeared behind a hedge, Gertie said, "Well, it does seem that you and Quin are getting along well."

"Yes, we are. He is fun . . . and easy to talk to." Minerva felt slightly uncomfortable under the older witch's sharp gaze.

"I'm glad. It is good to see Quin enjoying himself."

Minerva had the feeling that Gertrude had been going to add something else, but when she didn't, Minerva finished her tea in a few swallows, and excused herself from the table. "I think I'll go up to the house now, myself, Gertrude. I may pay a visit to the library before whatever it is that Quin has planned."

Gertrude nodded, then said, "If I were you, and knowing Quin and Robert, I would change my robes."

Minerva's eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"They usually arrange some kind of vigorous activity one morning. I fear that you have been caught up in their plans, Minerva. You don't need to participate, of course."

"Oh, well, perhaps it's best to be prepared, however. How like a man not to mention appropriate clothing, though! Thanks for the warning, Gertrude!"

Minerva headed back up to the house and her bedroom. As soon as she closed the door, she pulled Poppy's letter from her pocket. She had been surprised to see that Poppy must have also written to Gertrude; she hadn't had the impression that they were particular friends, although Poppy probably knew her better, since she'd been at Hogwarts longer than Minerva had.

"10 July

"Poppy"

Minerva quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and composed a note.

"10 July

"Minerva"

Minerva quickly folded and addressed the letter, then pulled off her dress and changed into her pale blue robe, which was plain cotton with long sleeves, and its matching sleeveless over-robe. She could always use a Cooling Charm if she became too warm. Pulling on her dragonhide boots and charming them to match her dress, Minerva wondered what activity Quin and Robert had planned. Robert had struck her as being very quiet, the little she had seen of him yesterday afternoon and at dinner. But Quin was quite the opposite. He had suggested a "clamber" to Robert; perhaps he was bringing them all on a hike. She wouldn't mind getting a closer look at some of the menhirs and discern whether they were laid out in any sort of pattern. Gertie could probably tell her more about them, but it would be more fun to see if she could see a pattern for herself.

"Gluffy!" Minerva called, deciding that if the elf could post a letter he wasn't supposed to, he could post one that should be sent.

Gluffy popped in promptly, wide, toothy grin plastered to his jowly, purplish-grey face. "Yes, Madam Professor? Gluffy serves!"

"Yes, Gluffy, I have a letter that needs to be posted to Wales." She held it out to the old house-elf.

Gluffy's grin wavered slightly, but then he took the letter and bowed. It was the first time he had bowed to her, and Minerva found she didn't like it, though she should be used to it from house-elves.

"By the way, Gluffy, I wish to apologise to you – "

Gluffy turned greyer. "Oh, no, Madam Professor – "

"Yes, I do. And you will let me." The house-elf, grin completely faded, looked up at her, listening obediently. "I left out a letter last night. This morning you owled it for me. I assume you were telling me that you were doing that while I had my head covered with my pillow." The squat little fellow nodded. "I wish to apologise for blaming you. It should have occurred to me to put the letter away last night, and I should have listened to you when you were speaking to me. Of course, it would have been a good idea if you had made absolutely certain that I wanted it sent first, but I am sorry if I got you into trouble with your mistress."

Gluffy gave a small smile. "Madam Gamp is a good mistress. Madam Gamp is telling Gluffy not to owl guests' letters without guests asking to. Gluffy not in big trouble, Madam Professor. Only a little trouble."

"Good, then. Thank you for owling this letter, then!" Minerva smiled down at the elf, whose natural colour had returned.

"Gluffy happy to serve, Madam Professor!" He grinned at her before winking out of the room with the letter.

Well, a Gamp house-elf who didn't cringe when thanked. He couldn't be the one that Quin had bribed that first day. Quin . . . so much had happened, it was hard to believe she had only been here two days, that she had only known Quin such a short time. And after what he had said last night, Minerva felt even closer to him. How had he known? She had definitely felt Quin's magic flowing over her. It must be some sort of empathy, but it wasn't only her feelings he had sensed, but their nature and their potential consequences. The consequences. He had said that if she didn't act on her feelings, her joy would die. Minerva shook herself. She didn't believe in such things. Yet she could see how what Quin had said might be true . . . but then, if it were true, it was inevitable that her joy would die. There was no chance that anything positive could come of telling Albus how she felt. He would feel sorry for her, and in his fondness for her, he would be kind, but she didn't think she could bear having him feel sorry for her, or having him know of her feelings and not returning them. And he would wonder how she had felt when he had hugged her or kissed her; he would feel very uncomfortable about that. And she couldn't blame him. It seemed as though telling Albus would end their friendship, and yet, from what Quin had said, if she didn't tell him, she would become more and more miserable until their relationship was no longer a source of joy for her.

Minerva swallowed hard. She'd more-or-less agreed to meet Quin and Robert on the veranda; they would be expecting her soon. Looking in the mirror over the washbasin in the corner of her room, Minerva saw that her eyes were red, despite not have shed a tear, and there were circles under her eyes, probably the result of too little sleep the night before. Minerva Summoned her wand and cast a light Glamour on her eyes, reducing the redness, puffiness, and dark circles, then she splashed her face with cold water and ran downstairs to the veranda.