LI: The Lovely Couple

LI: The Lovely Couple

As Minerva changed her robes for the party and began to do her hair, she thought about what Gertrude had said. The witch was terribly frustrating. She certainly could say a lot while adding no new information. It did seem as though Poppy must have some knowledge of Valerianna's relationship with Albus. Minerva cringed at the word "relationship" used in connection with the two of them. Whatever had Albus been thinking? She supposed that only Albus could answer that question, and she wasn't about to ask him. At least not right away. He hardly ever spoke of himself, as it was. He must have been lonely . . . so many years with no one special in his life. Valerianna took advantage of his loneliness and his good nature; that had to be it. Quin had said that she could become very interesting for whatever wizard she'd set her sights on. Gertrude had said the other day that sometimes Albus needed protecting; Minerva had scoffed at the time, but it seemed that Gertie was correct. But if Gertie knew that, and if she was so blasted loyal to him, how could she have allowed Albus to become involved with someone like that? Gertie must have known Valerianna and what she was up to. Of course, it might be difficult to go to one's boss, no matter how good a friend he was, and tell him that he should stop seeing someone. She still should have found a way.

Minerva inspected herself in the full-length mirror, mercifully uncharmed, and despite her critical eye, she was pleased with what she saw. She had pulled her hair into an elaborate, multi-pieced chignon, and left a few tendrils to frame her face. Her gown was of a luscious, flowing emerald-green silk brocade with darker green panels in the full skirt, one large one in the front and two smaller ones on the sides, which peeked from the folds of the skirt and revealed themselves as she walked or danced. The skirt, falling from just below her natural waist, was longer in back than in the front, creating a slight train-effect, and was charmed to resist snagging and dirt. The bodice had a very deep sweetheart neckline and was tailored to fit her closely, flattering her figure, and had a deep "v" in back. Her arms were left entirely bare, though the straps nominally holding up the dress were wide across her shoulder.

Minerva wished she could wear her amber necklace, but it really didn't look right with this robe, and she had worn it that day, anyway. Instead, she had chosen a heavy emerald necklace that her Grandmother Siofre had given her when Minerva had visited her after she had returned from her apprenticeship. Her grandmother had embraced her warmly before presenting it to her, telling her how very proud she was and how glad that she had done the apprenticeship on her own terms, rather than staying with "that dreadful French witch." It had been Siofre's mother's, given to her on her wedding day by her husband's parents. It was old-fashioned and ornate, but Minerva thought it suited the gown well. Minerva had tried to decline it, saying that it should go to Siofre's daughter, Maisie, Merwyn's much younger half-sister, but her grandmother had insisted, saying that she would be terribly hurt and offended if Minerva were serious about refusing it. So Minerva had accepted the jewellery happily, but had only had a few opportunities to wear it since.

Minerva added a pair of Charmed emerald earrings, not as ornate as the necklace, but she thought they complemented it well. Finally, she waved her wand a few times, applying some make-up charms. She started over three times before she was satisfied with the result – just in time, as there was a decisive knock on her door. Quin must have arrived.

Minerva hurried over to the door and greeted Quin and, to her surprise, Alroy, who was in navy dress robes, hair slicked back neatly, looking like a little gentleman.

"I'm sorry we're a bit early, Minerva. I know you ladies like to have every minute to get ready – but may I say now that you are looking ravishin'! – but I mentioned your special trick to Alroy, and he's convinced his self that there won't be another opportunity to see it. I told him, though, that it was entirely up to you, and he's not to pout if you decline."

Minerva smiled and invited them in. She wasn't sure of the effect her make-up charms might have on her Animagus form, if any, but she was happy to show Alroy her "special trick."

"Now, Alroy, you have to understand that becoming an Animagus is a long, arduous process. There have been wizards and witches who have become long-term patients at St. Mungo's Hospital because they have tried to become an Animagus without proper training or without taking the appropriate amount of time. If you seem to have the qualities required to become an Animagus, we will know that in a few years. Until then, you must make a solemn promise not to try to become an Animagus on your own. It has nothing to do with wand-use – in fact, one doesn't use a wand in the transformation – or any differences between the magic you're familiar with and what you'll be learning at Hogwarts. Are we agreed?"

The boy nodded solemnly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Hmm. And don't mention this to your classmates. I prefer to surprise them."

Another nod from Alroy. Minerva looked at Quin.

Quin smiled. "He'll be good for you, Minerva – if he isn't, he'll catch it from me, he will."

"If he isn't, he'll have detention with Ogg – and you do not want detention with the Hogwarts groundskeeper, I assure you!"

Alroy's eyes widened.

Minerva twitched a slight smile, then, without further preamble, transformed into a tabby cat with a loud pop. She looked up at the boy's face; he was utterly entranced, then he dropped to his knees joyfully. "Oh, ma'am," he said, "that is brilliant. Just brilliant!"

Minerva thought to herself, it's nothing after you've been doing it since you were a teenager, but she felt pleased, nonetheless, that the boy appreciated the transformation.

"Oh, but it is somethin'! It's . . . it's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen! An' you've been doin' it for so long!" Alroy exclaimed.

Minerva tilted her head, looking at him. It had been almost as though he had known what she had thought. How . . . peculiar. She looked into the boy's eyes. She had discovered early on, to her great amazement and to Albus's amusement, that she could communicate rather well with some animals when she was in her Animagus form; it was easiest with magical creatures, such as hippogriffs and kneazles, but she could even have a rudimentary conversation with mundane animals, although it was usually too much work, and they had very dull and uninteresting thoughts. Minerva narrowed her eyes and thought very distinctly, "I have been transforming longer than you have been alive." Then she waited.

"I'm only eleven . . . how old were you when you first became an Animagus?"

Quin interrupted, "Come, Alroy, she can answer your questions when she transforms; don't be pepperin' her with questions she can't answer now. It's time to stop your pretendin'. You're a big boy, goin' to school soon. Behave like yer ain grown self!"

Minerva, beginning to believe the boy could actually understand her, batted a paw at Alroy, who had turned to look up at his father, a sullen expression on his face. Alroy turned back to her.

She thought, as distinctly as she could, "Numbers are hard for cats." Minerva could, of course, still count, and she retained her human rational faculties, but when communicating like this . . . she'd never had an occasion to think anything other than, "a lot," "a little," "one," and "none," when conversing with other animals, and she wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

Alroy laughed. "Okay."

"You may pet me if you wish," Minerva thought at him regally.

Alroy reached out a hand and petted her. "Wish me da understood," he whispered.

Minerva lay down and let the boy rub her behind her ears. "He's surprised." She looked up at Alroy mischievously. "Let's have fun! Hide-and-seek. I hide. You find me."

Alroy stood and turned to his father. "Can we go into the hall a min?"

"Excuse the rudeness o' me offspring, Minerva. We'll be back in a moment."

Minerva looked around. Where could she hide? She leapt to the back of the lady's armchair in the corner of the room and would have tipped it over had it not been so close to the wall. After quickly regaining her balance, she crouched down, tail twitching, then took a giant leap to the top of the wardrobe. She had been correct: the ornate scroll work at the top of the wardrobe would hide her if she flattened herself down sufficiently. Minerva waited, still as could be, her feline heart pounding in her chest. A moment later, there was a knock, and the door opened and Alroy walked in, Quin following.

"Alroy! You're not to be enterin' a lady's bedroom without her permission!" Quin broke off his scolding, looking around the apparently empty room.

"She's a cat, Da." Alroy rolled his eyes and shook his head at the stupidity of parents.

"She's still a lady . . . where'd she get to?" He looked perplexed.

"It's hide-an'-seek. She wanted t' play." Alroy grinned.

"Don't be daft, boy."

"All right, Da," Alroy said with obviously exaggerated patience, but he crossed the room and looked under her bed, the most obvious hiding place for a cat.

"Minerva?" Quin called, puzzled.

"Hide-an'-seek, remember?" said Alroy, grinning at his father as he crawled around the room looking under furniture.

Minerva risked peeking over the scroll work. Neither of them was looking up. Quin walked over to the screen by the wash basin and knocked on it gingerly before looking around it.

"Could she have Apparated away?" Quin wondered aloud.

"No, Da; that would be unfair," Alroy huffed with a boy's clear logic, shaking his head in exasperation. He opened the wardrobe door.

"You shouldn't be lookin' in a lady's wardrobe, Alroy," Quin scolded. "Besides, how would she have opened the door?"

Alroy grinned. "Now you're thinkin'!"

His father moved over to the windows and looked behind the curtains, then he looked up at the rods holding them. He grinned. "What do cats like t' be after doin', Alroy?"

"Chasin' mice."

"Somethin' else."

"Climbin' trees."

"Right you are. Now we have no trees here, but . . ." Quin went over to his son, who was still standing beside the wardrobe, and lifted him easily above his head.

"There she is! We found her, Da!" Alroy shouted triumphantly.

Minerva stood and stretched, then looked down at the two of them standing next to each other, Quin looking somewhat bemused.

"Hide-an'-seek, is it? I think it's hoodwinked I've been!" he said, not looking unhappy about it, though.

Minerva, not wanting to risk the jump to the narrow back of the chair – it would be embarrassing if she missed or slipped – instead prepared to jump down to Quin. First, though, she looked over at Alroy. "Make sure he doesn't move."

"She's goin' to jump down now – don't move!"

She leapt down, landing with her front paws on Quin's right shoulder, using all her human concentration not to extend her claws and grab on, trusting to him, instead, to make sure she didn't fall. Sure enough, as soon as he felt Minerva's paws touch him, Quin's arms came up and held onto her. He petted her gently and kissed the top of her head, then whispered, "You an' I have somethin' to discuss, I think."

Minerva just butted her head against his jaw affectionately. Quin petted her once more, then put her down, and she stretched languorously before popping back to her ordinary form.

"So, when were you two after brewin' this up? An' Minerva, I'd rather you weren't encouragin' him in his fantasies."

Minerva rolled her shoulders then went over to the vanity to check her make-up and hair.

"Just now, didn't we, Alroy? I hadn't seen him before this, if that's what your suspicious mind is thinking, Quin." She turned and smiled at him. "And your son and I do need to talk before he arrives at Hogwarts. I will want to warn the Care of Magical Creatures teacher about him. He has a bit of an unfair advantage over the other students."

Quin looked at Minerva, then looked at Alroy, then back at Minerva. "You mean he's really . . . understandin' you? When you're a cat?" His brogue thickened in his shock.

Minerva nodded. "Yes, rather well, actually. I will have to be careful how loudly I think around that boy, I can see that." She smiled down at him.

"It's only wit' animals, ma'am, not people. An' not all animals." Alroy blushed with pleasure.

Quin looked down at his son. "I'm sorry, son. I should have known . . . you're a level-headed boy. I'm sorry I thought you were pretendin' at it."

"S'okay, Da," said the boy with a magnanimous shrug. "It is weird, I guess."

"We'll be missin' our dinner, if we hang about flappin' our jaws much longer, though. You run along, Alroy. We'll see you later."

After the boy left, Minerva asked, "Do I look all right, Quin? After transforming, I mean."

"You look absolutely beautiful, love. Not a hair out o' place."

"Why didn't you warn me about Alroy? I could have thought something quite indiscreet and not known he could overhear me!"

"Well, I thought it was a bad childhood habit he'd broke, just playin' pretend. I didn't think there was anythin' to warn you about.

"Hmm. It's a rare talent, and one children often do grow out of. That he hasn't yet is encouraging that he might not – no thanks to his father trying to discourage him!"

"Well, how was I to know?"

"You said he was good with animals; didn't that go to show you that he might not be pretending?"

"It didn't . . . I just thought it encouraged him in his fantasies. Bein' good with animals, I mean. He's stubborn, though, like his mother, to be sure."

"And his father's not stubborn?" Minerva laughed. "I do think it is interesting to see you react to magic that you don't understand, Quin. Perhaps you now understand, just a little, what I felt when you called up those owl treats. And he's your son."

"You're right, o' course. P'raps I'm not as open-minded as I thought . . . but I've been tryin' t' raise him to be a respectable wizard, an' respectable wizards don't go about pretendin' to talk with animals." He smiled.

"I'll be interested to know what it is that he experiences when he listens to animals."

"So will I, Minerva, so will I." He smiled down at her. "You really are a wonder, Minerva." He caressed her cheek briefly, then said quietly, "It's accompanyin' the most beautiful witch in Cornwall tonight, I am."

Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Only in Cornwall?"

He chuckled. "Basin' it on my own limited experience, I will extend it, to be sure . . ." His expression soft, he said, "The most beautiful witch o' me acquaintance."

His blue eyes seemed to deepen, and Minerva felt a slight thrill go through her at his gently spoken words. If only Albus would look at her like that . . . speak to her like that. . . . Minerva swallowed and smiled. "Well, you're not looking too much like a hedge wizard tonight, yourself. You look very nice." Minerva thought he looked more than "nice," but she considered that Quin's opinion of himself was already high enough and his male ego needed little stroking. He still broke out in a broad grin.

"Glad you're pleased. Thought I'd go all wizard tonight, with just a nod t' the modern world," he said, gesturing at his stiff, white, winged collar and white bow tie. Looking at only his neck and chest, one might think Quin was wearing Muggle evening dress. He was clearly wearing some kind of starched white shirt with silver studs; a white pique dickie and a white waistcoat showed beneath his black robes, which had shiny silk facings, but rather than a cut-away coat, his over robe mimicked Muggle evening dress only in its sweep of fabric behind him. The wide-sleeved over robe closed in front just slightly above the waist, then opened again at the hips to flow out behind him in a long train, and, rather than trousers, a widely-pleated under robe of black fabric showed beneath it. Minerva wondered if the under robe was attached to the shirt, or if it was a separate layer altogether, but discretion kept her from inquiring. He looked quite dashing, and Minerva thought, somewhat immodestly, that Albus had probably been correct – they would be the most attractive couple there, and she said as much to Quin.

He laughed. "Well, 'twouldn't be hard, with this lot, but I do think we would be quite presentable anywhere in the wizarding world. Come, that was the second dinner bell. We mustn't be late, remember!" he said, grinning, reminding her of their first evening there.

"It would be most rude, darling," Minerva said, affecting a Valerianna-like drawl and setting off Quin's laughter again.

He offered her his arm, and his wide, black sleeve fell back to reveal a stiffly starched white cuff with a silver cufflink decorated with a simple triple spiral. Minerva smiled and laid her hand on his elbow, and the two set off for the ballroom.

Minerva was relieved, when they arrived, to see that they had been seated beside each other. Some formal functions placed couples at a distance from one another, even at different tables, a practice that Minerva only appreciated at the time she was dating Jean-Paul, the French envoy, and was preparing to break up with him. She had been quite glad on that occasion to be seated across the room from him rather than across the table. Other than that, she found it a peculiar custom, ostensibly implemented to encourage mingling, but Minerva never liked being seated at a table full of strangers, stiffly trying to make conversation, and she saw little point in going to a formal occasion with an escort and immediately being separated from him. She was quite happy to go alone, in that case, or not go at all.

The room was filled with round tables, each seating ten, with one longer rectangular table at one end, apparently where the feted couple would be seated with their hosts and a few others, probably including their parents. From the number of tables, Minerva guessed there must be at least one hundred twenty witches and wizards in attendance. Probably just about anyone of any status had been invited. And here she was among them. Attending with a "hedge wizard." Minerva smirked. She wondered whether the other guests to be seated at their table would also be such reprobates, and she was mildly disappointed to see the usual array of Blacks, a Malfoy, and a pair of Crouches, but was pleased that Robert was next to her on her other side and that Ella was seated beside her son-in-law. At least the Crouches were pleasant, although Minerva had the impression that the three Blacks and Douceline Malfoy felt slighted at being seated with such "nobodies." Minerva hadn't spoken to Douceline yet that week, and she attempted to make some conversation, asking her about her son Lucius, but the witch was monosyllabic in her responses, and Minerva gave up and turned to Robert, instead.

He told Minerva that Gertrude had mentioned to him her offer to have her mother visit his wife. "I'd be very grateful, Minerva, if you would ask her. After the second one, the healers reassured us that she'd carry the next one . . . that we'd have a healthy child." He shook his head. "But it hasn't happened. I was prepared to give up. It has been so traumatic for Thea, and physically, as well as emotionally . . . but she wanted to try once more. She's been on bed rest, and she's into her fourth month. I'm very worried about her. And I know that Thea would appreciate anything new that your mother could tell us. Uncle Albus would be pleased, as well. He's been devastated each time. He . . . well, you must understand, Minerva, I do not blame him at all, but he didn't even visit the last time. It was too disturbing for him, although we did get a lovely letter from him, and he visited a few months later. But he hasn't been to see us since we found out Thea's pregnant again. Of course, it was term time . . . ."

"Oh, Robert, I didn't mention this to you, but I received a letter from Albus today, and he wanted me to tell you he'd try to make it to Amsterdam sometime toward the end of the summer to visit you, if it's convenient, and he hopes that Thea is well. I don't know when Thea was last . . . but before I started at Hogwarts in December, he was doing double-duty as Headmaster and as Transfiguration teacher, so if it was during the school year, well, he was very busy." Minerva hated having anyone think that her Albus was insensitive . . . even if he were, very occasionally, remembering their own misunderstanding.

"It's quite all right, Minerva. I understand." He smiled at her. "And you're as kind and as pretty as promised."

Minerva laughed. "Now, you see, I was given the impression that Quin was the only flirt and that you would be the model of reserved decorum."

The young wizard beside her blushed. "I'm sorry if I was too familiar . . ." He looked away and tasted his soup.

"No, no, not at all . . . really, Robert." Minerva smiled him. "I'm just not used to so many compliments in such a short time, that's all."

Robert returned her smile. "I've just heard so much about you . . . after my father died, Mother moved us back to England – to this estate, in fact – although I returned for school during the year. I saw quite a bit of Uncle Albus during the holidays and then again during the war. Between him and Mother . . . well, I felt as though I knew you. And I certainly would have recognised you anywhere."

Puzzled, wondering whether he had been another of the spectators at her Challenge, Minerva asked, "Have we met before, then? I'm afraid I don't remember seeing you before . . . and, well, not to embarrass you, but Gertrude never spoke of her personal life . . . ."

He chuckled softly. "So you didn't know of my existence, then? It's all right, Minerva. My mother does like to maintain a certain distance with people. It's quite a good sign that she invited you this week. She always sounded somewhat fond of you, but it's difficult to tell with Mother, even for me, sometimes."

"So she spoke of me?" Minerva was still trying to wrap her mind around that idea. She wouldn't have expected Gertie to give her a second thought outside of Hogwarts.

"Occasionally, but usually just when Uncle Albus was mentioning you."

"But how would you recognise me? Have we met?"

"No, but I saw a photograph of you. Something taken after that Challenge you did, one of you and Uncle Albus and a few others. You haven't changed."

"It wasn't that long ago . . . ." Minerva remembered all of the cameras and flash bulbs going off, but she hadn't realised that a picture had been taken of her and Albus together. Albus must have a copy . . . she felt sad, thinking of the tiny picture she had of him, knowing that perhaps there had been a better picture she could have had of him, quite legitimately and without raising any awkward questions. "So is this photograph something your mother has?" Minerva thought it likely that the older witch would have photographs of Albus, perhaps even one with her in it.

"No, I don't think so . . . I'm fairly sure that it was Uncle Albus who showed me. Along with several newspaper articles." Robert smiled fondly. "He was very proud of you. Came straight to Amsterdam from the Challenge. Yes, he showed us the photo at the same time as he waved the newspaper articles about. I'm sure of it."

Minerva blushed. She was glad that Albus had been proud of her . . . probably like a proud parent. And if he'd never had children – and Minerva was certain she would know at least that about him, even if he had never mentioned it – it would be natural for him to stop at Robert and Thea's to report to his surrogate son and his wife about his . . . protege's performance. She shied from the appellation "surrogate daughter." She didn't feel like his daughter, and she didn't want to deal with the fact that he likely saw her that way.

Uncomfortable with the current topic of conversation, Minerva steered it back to his wife's health. Robert promised her that he would leave all of their contact information with a house-elf to give her before she left the next day. He was sure that he could arrange a Portkey for both Egeria and Merwyn, if she were willing and able to come to Amsterdam and examine Thea.

Dinner finally came to a conclusion after five courses. Minerva talked mainly with Ella, Quin, and Robert, since the others seemed perfectly happy to ignore them. To be fair, the Crouches, who were across the table from Minerva, seemed even more reserved than they had earlier, but were as equally reserved with Douceline and the Blacks as they were with everyone else. At least they didn't look as though they were prepared to scowl or sneer at the drop of a hat, Minerva thought.

There was the sound of a bell lightly ringing – a charm, Minerva thought – and all conversation ceased. Gropius Gamp stood and indicated that everyone else should, as well. When everyone but a few elderly guests were standing, he made a gesture and, with the exception of the long table at which he and the guests of honour were seated, all of the unoccupied tables and chairs disappeared, to be almost simultaneously replaced with dainty chairs along the walls, a few small tables scattered amongst them. Minerva had no doubt that it was the work of house-elves, and nothing that Gropius himself had done. Albus probably could have achieved the same effect with no assistance, she thought.

Gropius pointed his wand at his throat and uttered the Sonorous Charm. Good thing, too, given how weak his voice sounded even with the Charm.

"Dear friends, Columbine and I are so very happy to have you all here to help celebrate the engagement of Orion and Walburga Black. . . ."

Gropius continued waffling on for a few minutes, wishing the young couple every blessing of the wizarding world on them and their progeny, and hoping the guests had enjoyed their dinner and would continue to enjoy the party for the rest of the evening. Minerva noticed that other witches and wizards were beginning to shift about as they stood silently listening to the old wizard's rambling congratulations.

Finally, he raised his glass and a veritable armada of house-elf-levitated trays of drinks distributed themselves around the ballroom. A few moments later, when he was fairly sure that each guest had had the opportunity to take a glass of champagne, Gropius said, "I would like to toast the happy couple!" He raised his glass. "To Walburga and Orion!"

"To Walburga and Orion," repeated a chorus of voices.

Minerva had just taken a sip from her flute when a stridently familiar voice was raised above the slight murmur that had begun as it became clear that Gropius was likely finished with his speech. Minerva's stomach contracted to hear Valerianna's drawl.

"We, too, have our announcement to make, darling," she said, apparently addressing Gropius. "I do hope you don't mind, but Francis and I are just so overjoyed, we simply must share our pleasure with you all."

Valerianna had been seated near, although not at, the head table, and she had now stepped out in front of it, blissfully ignorant of Gropius's wide-eyed stare and dragging Francis with her.

"Francis and I are engaged!" she announced triumphantly, staring straight at Minerva. Not taking her eyes off of Minerva, she continued. "Yes, we had thought to wait, but why wait when we are so much in love? And so perfectly suited to one another? Such a perfect match as this is not to be denied, as I'm sure Walburga and Orion would agree!" Still staring at an increasingly bemused Minerva, Valerianna went on, "I hope you will understand how eager we are to begin our new life together." She paused dramatically. "We will be wed on the first of September!" For the first time, the witch took her eyes from Minerva and looked about the room filled with flabbergasted guests.

Minerva couldn't remember the last time she'd seen such a blatant display of bad taste. To announce one's own engagement publicly was something of a faux pas in itself – a friend or relative should be enlisted – but what was worse, how had the witch ever thought it appropriate to make such an announcement at the celebration of another couple's engagement? Minerva was not particularly keen one way or the other on the social niceties of pureblood society, but it was common courtesy and respect for the feelings of the engaged couple not to do such a tasteless thing.

Minerva shook her head and turned to Quin. The room had begun to buzz, and no one had toasted the new couple. The expression on Walburga's face was priceless. Minerva thought that there was one pureblood household that would not be welcoming Valerianna and her new husband any time soon.

In a low voice, she said, "That must be what I heard her talking about in the garden yesterday. I mentioned it to Gertie earlier. She seemed to think that whatever she had planned would be something that would disturb me, but I don't particularly care – and it looks as though she's alienated at least half the room with her ill-timed announcement."

Quin was unable to answer Minerva at that moment, because Gropius began speaking again.

"Yes, we offer our felicitations, of course. Now I believe the groom had a few words to say."

Minerva smirked. Not only had Valerianna rudely interrupted an engagement party to announce her own engagement, but she had interrupted the host and the groom before the groom had even been able to speak. She must have lost some of that urbanity and sophistication that Gertie and Quin had claimed she had. For the thousandth time, Minerva wondered what Albus had seen in the pathetic witch.

After a few more polite toasts to Walburga and Orion, Gropius announced that the happy couple were going to lead the first dance. Minerva then noticed that, while everyone's attention had been on the head table, musicians had been setting up at the other end of the room. Quite an extravagance. There were only a few wizarding bands and chamber ensembles, and they were very expensive to hire. From the array of instruments and the number of musicians, Minerva had some hope that there would be a variety of music that night, particularly when she saw a saxophone.