LXXII: Not a Date

LXXII: Not a Date

Dinner was superb, and other than remembering not to use magic, Minerva almost forgot they were in a Muggle restaurant. The service was smooth and the food was excellent. She and Albus talked about everything under the sun; Minerva almost felt as though they were just Albus and Minerva, out for dinner. The tension that had been between them since she'd begun to teach at Hogwarts seemed to have completely dissipated. Now, though, Minerva felt a new tension, but it was within herself, she was sure. Her acknowledgement of "It," of her love for Albus, her intense attraction to him, her devotion to him, and her need to have him close, all that had only left her lost as to how to now behave. When they had seen each other sporadically, it had been easy enough to pretend they were friends, former teacher and student, and that her feelings went no further. But now that she had acknowledged to herself what her feelings were, and had partially acknowledged them to Quin, Minerva wasn't always sure how to act around him.

As much as Minerva wanted to imagine that this were a date and Albus was more than just a friend, she was having a hard enough time controlling herself around him, second-guessing her words and actions, without pretending it was a date, too. She was beginning to read into Albus's every word and gesture meanings that weren't there. Every glance from him seemed to hold more significance than any reasonable person would see. She wasn't even sure anymore whether she should take his arm as they strolled down the street. But she did. It was innocent enough, and having done so in the past, it might seem odd of her not to do so today.

When they passed a street vendor selling flowers, Albus stopped abruptly, startling her.

"Flowers for your lady, mister? None so beautiful as she, but pretty ones I still have for you," the swarthy, mustached man said, gesturing at the buckets of cut flowers.

Albus turned toward the roses, his hand hovering over the yellow ones, creamy with a blush at the base of their petals.

"Ah, no, mister! For this lady, only the deepest red will do!" the man protested. The short, dark Muggle turned a warm glance to Minerva. "Yes, certainly, for her heart, she needs red roses – no, one single rose will be enough." He plucked a single red rose, petals still furled, from amidst them all and held it out to Albus.

Minerva had never heard a street vendor try to sell fewer flowers rather than more, and the man's gaze seemed sharper and more perceptive than she would expect from a Muggle. He rather unnerved her, and she wasn't sure she liked him.

Albus nodded and smiled. "You are right: none so beautiful as she, and one blossom sufficient to demonstrate that truth." Generously, he pressed a pound into the man's hand, then said something to him in a language Minerva didn't understand.

The man's smile grew, and with a laugh, he responded in the same language, trying to return the coin. Albus just shook his head, insisting the vendor keep the money, and said a few more words to the man. The vendor looked at Minerva, then made a comment to Albus. Albus shook his head again, looking down with a smile, and responded in the man's own language, but then he said in English, "Well, my friend, it is best not to hold extended conversations in the company of others who do not understand the language spoken, hmm?"

"Yes, yes, sir! But wait! I have something for you, for you both." He turned and rummaged in a small wooden chest behind him. "This for you, lady, and this, for you," he said, handing each of them a small object.

Minerva looked at it. It was a bit of mirrored glass set with a small blue stone which had a natural variation in the veins, creating something that looked like an open eye. She had never seen anything quite like it before. Minerva knew that some superstitious Muggles believed in some kind of evil eye talisman, but the few examples she had seen had always been painted or otherwise artificially created. This was different. Albus's charm, from what Minerva could see, was similar, but the stone was a blue-green and slightly larger. Each charm was strung on a bit of cheap cord.

The man's smile didn't fade, and Minerva did her best to thank him politely. Albus's thanks were warmer, and he took Minerva's charm from her hand and tied it about her neck before doing the same to his own. He tucked the charm inside his shirt and thanked the man again, then led Minerva away down the street.

"What is this, Albus? And what was that language you spoke with him? I didn't even recognise it."

"It was a Roma dialect, Romani – it sounded to me as though he may be from somewhere near Turkey, although I cannot be sure."

"The man's a Gypsy?" Minerva twisted her head to look behind her, trying to find the street vendor, but they were already around a corner and, with all of the pedestrians between them, Minerva could no longer see the short fellow.

"Mmhm." Albus nodded.

"And this thing he gave us – it looks like some of the evil eyes I've seen, but it's different."

"They are special. The eye is naturally formed in stone, not painted on or inlaid; our friend referred to it as a naturally-occurring nazar. The mirror is to help repel evil. I have not made a particular study of it, but I did travel some with the Roma, once upon a time."

"Oh . . . after Dervilia died?"

Albus's hesitation was palpable. "Yes, it was after that. But several years later."

Minerva didn't know what to make of Albus's reticence. "I see." She fingered the charm and its cord. She wanted to ask him what he and the vendor had said, but he had withdrawn somewhere within himself again. "Well, I'll visit the WC before the concert and take it off, put it in my bag."

"No!" Albus said sharply, looking at her, drawn back into the present by her words. "No, not tonight, Minerva," he added more mildly. "Leave it on for tonight. I am not particularly superstitious, but I do think it better that you leave it be for this evening." Albus made a discreet gesture with his fingers. "The cord is longer now, my dear. You can just . . . tuck it in."

Minerva thought Albus blushed as he indicated the front of her dress, and in her mind's eye arose the unbidden vision of Albus tucking the small charm under her dress, his fingers brushing her breasts as the blue stone dropped into her cleavage. But she suppressed her own blush, with the thought that she would soon become quite an accomplished Occlumens if she continued this way; she reached up and dropped the talisman down the front of her dress, carefully tucking the cord in so that it was hidden by the garment's neckline.

"And here is your flower, my dear," Albus said with a smile, now seemingly perfectly at ease, not a trace of discomfort or reticence in his demeanor. "Perhaps in your hair?"

Minerva laughed. "The stem is too long, Albus, and I think that cutting it without scissors might be a bit obvious on a public street."

"Ah, but a gentleman is always prepared!" He paused again, and Minerva took his arm to move him out of the way of the pedestrian traffic to which he seemed so oblivious.

Albus fished around in his inner jacket pocket and, as Minerva looked on curiously, pulled out a pouch. He took out a small tool that Minerva recognised from her father's study, and her eyebrows rose.

"You smoke, Albus?"

"Hmm? Yes, occasionally," he answered distractedly. "A pipe. Not cigarettes. Disgusting things. And not cigars – dreadful." Albus proceeded to trim the stem of the rose, and he used his thumb to push off the few thorns still on the short stem, then handed it to Minerva with a twinkle in his eye. "Not really sharp enough for the job," he said in a conspiratorial whisper, referring to the tool which he was now putting back in his pocket with his pipe and tobacco, "but I helped it along just a little."

Minerva smiled. "Thank you, Albus. I'll have to check a mirror – "

"Allow me to be your mirror, then, Minerva." Albus took the rose from her hand again, indicated that Minerva should remove her hat, and, touching her cheek with his left hand, he gently inserted the rose into her hair just above her left ear.

Minerva did blush at that, both at his unexpected touch and at his solicitude. "I don't know, Albus. I must look a sight," she said, thinking of how outlandish she must appear to the Muggles on the streets of Edinburgh.

"A beautiful sight, Minerva," Albus replied, quickly looking away from her. "We must hurry now, or we will be late and miss the first part of the concert."

With that, the two set off briskly down the street, Minerva holding her hat in one hand, her other resting lightly on Albus's elbow, glad of the silence in which to collect her thoughts.

It seemed that with each day, It grew, despite her best attempts to rein It in. His sweet words and actions couldn't have been more romantic if he were courting her. And yet Minerva remembered Melina's words that winter, "still the same sweet, gallant Professor Dumbledore," and they annoyed her again, this time because she wished he weren't the same sweet, gallant Professor Dumbledore. His warmth and his chivalry only served to inflame her feelings all the more, and knowing that it was simply his nature, that it meant nothing . . . that caused her heart to contract painfully. How she wished she could believe that his words and deeds were especially sweet and gallant for her in particular, that his attentions meant more when they were directed toward her, that his manner with her was different, that she was special to him . . .

But Albus had brought her to his special spot on the mountain overlooking Hogwarts. He had only ever brought one other person there, after all. She had felt so special that morning. Albus had made her feel so special. Then he did it again with the rose. Minerva was convinced she looked ridiculous walking down the Muggle street with the flower in her hair . . . a red rose. She sighed slightly. But Albus had thought her beautiful. She snuck a glance at him as he walked beside her. Surely he didn't tell every woman she looked beautiful. And the way he had said it . . . she actually felt beautiful. Come to think of it, it was not the first time he had said such a thing, nor the first time he had made her feel beautiful with just a word or a look. Minerva chased that thought away – next thing she knew, she'd be imagining that he loved her, that his gestures were romantic, not merely polite and friendly, as she knew they must be. Yet walking here beside him, she felt her longing turn slightly toward hope, and her contentment turn toward happiness. And she didn't chase those feelings away, despite her misgivings.

The program that night was a pleasant combination of Classical and Romantic pieces, including two piano concertos, one just before the interval. Minerva enjoyed the music, but enjoyed sitting beside Albus even more. She could feel Albus's magic flowing through his arm as it rested next to hers; she imagined that she could feel subtle changes in its rhythm as the music changed. A subtle rippling in his magic, as though something were rising up out of deep water and gently breaking the surface, caused her to turn her head to look at him. Albus seemed utterly relaxed, his eyes were closed, but a slight dampness shimmering on his eyelashes betrayed his emotion. His tears did not overflow their brims, however, and when the piece ended, Albus opened his eyes and smiled slightly as he joined in the applause.

During the interval, Minerva and Albus stretched their legs and he fetched her some apple juice.

"You are enjoying the music, my dear?" Albus asked as he handed her the small glass.

"Very much. And you seem to be, as well. That last piano concerto, the Chopin, was very movingly performed," Minerva replied.

"Yes, it was. It reminds me . . . it reminds me of all of the good in the world, and of the value of sacrifice to ensure this goodness and beauty their place in the human heart," Albus said softly. "To know that love and human compassion are as alive and stronger than dark deeds, selfish desires, and cold indifference . . . and that there is still room in the universe for the human soul to create something sublime . . . it gives some meaning to sacrifice and suffering." He smiled and continued more brightly, seeming to shake off his sombre mood, "And it is simply lovely to listen to on a Saturday evening in your company!"

"And in yours, Albus." Minerva returned his smile. "I shall be sure to thank Brennan and Melina for the tickets."

"I shall do the same."

The lights flickered and the couple returned to the small hall for the second part of the concert. When they emerged close to an hour later, it was still light out, but dusk was settling in rapidly, and heavy clouds were gathering, further darkening the sky.

Minerva sighed and looked at the sky. "I think it might rain, Albus – we had better find a convenient spot to . . . leave from."

"Yes, indeed. Would you care to stop for a drink before returning to the school?" Albus asked.

"That sounds nice," Minerva responded, happy not to have the day end just yet.

"McTavish Street, my dear, or someplace else?"

"McTavish Street," Minerva said promptly, thinking it would be nice to have Albus remove his Glamour. He looked fine, as he always did, but Minerva missed the long beard and hair – though she would admit they would likely look somewhat out-of-place on a Muggle street. She wondered if he wore a Glamour every time he dressed as a Muggle, or if he had done this for Brennan's benefit today. She wanted to ask him about it – not that it was her place to suggest that he not use a Glamour, of course, but she thought he would merely look a bit eccentric without the Glamour, and there was nothing wrong with that.

"Shall we meet in front of your brother's shop, then?"

Minerva nodded. There was no reason for him to offer her a Side-Along Apparition, and certainly not for her to request one. It was a short hop, after all, and she had done scarcely any magic at all that day, so she could hardly claim fatigue.

The two rounded the corner into an alley. From the street, a bystander might think that the rainstorm had begun and that lightning had struck somewhere in the dark alley – but there had been no flash of light, only one sharp crack followed by a softer pop. Minerva arrived in small park near Murdoch's apothecary and turned to look for Albus. He was approaching the shop from the opposite direction. Minerva waved at him as she walked toward the apothecary. Sudden fat drops of rain began to fall, and Minerva felt for her wand. Blast! It was in her Muggle handbag. She undid the clasp on the Transfigured purse, wondering when, if ever, it would revert to the flower it had started out as, and she felt a small tingle of magic skitter over her. Looking up, she saw Albus smiling as he neared her.

"I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of casting a little Impervius for you, my dear," he said.

"Not at all, Albus. I was just trying to find my wand." The rain was coming down more heavily now, and even Albus's Impervius wouldn't keep them completely dry if they stood out in it for too long, and the slight creeping damp one got through an Impervius was almost as uncomfortable as getting sopping wet.

Albus took Minerva's arm and they hurried down the street toward the café where they had once treated young Melina to ice cream on a hot summer's day. They entered the small establishment, Albus removing their Impervius Charms, and looked around for a table. In the evening, the atmosphere was quite different from what it was during the day, though still cozy. Albus led Minerva to a small round table in the back.

"Will this do, my dear?" he asked before pulling out a chair for her.

Minerva nodded and took the seat he offered her, removing her gloves and placing them in her purse, and a cheery older witch approached the table to give them a menu. They perused the menu together, and Minerva agreed that a cheese board would be nice to share.

"You know, don't you, that you still have your Glamour, Albus?" Minerva asked after the witch had come and gone again, promising them their wine and cheese would be there promptly.

"Oh, yes, so I do," Albus said, touching his beard.

"Do you always cast that Glamour when you are out amongst Muggles, Albus?"

"No, only occasionally. I thought today . . . Brennan might be less likely to look at me as a crazy old coot if I appeared more Muggle, for one thing."

"It was fortunate that he recognised you from the war."

"Yes, wasn't it? I had thought the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. And it's not an uncommon family name." He chuckled. "I do wonder what he would have thought if he had seen me with the long hair and beard after having known me as a clean-shaven Muggle general, though."

"Your hair is still somewhat longer than the usual . . . wouldn't you be more comfortable removing the Glamour?" Minerva asked, not wanting to tell him that she thought his long hair and beard were among his most attractive features, but hoping that he would lift the charm that concealed them.

"I don't really notice it, myself. However," he said, looking around the room and at the few patrons, "I suppose I should." Albus pulled his wand from his jacket's inner wand pocket and waved it swiftly. The Glamour melted away and Minerva smiled to see the familiar hair and beard emerge.

Their food and wine appeared on their table, and the two set about tasting the cheese and sipping their wine. Minerva wasn't sure how he could drink a sweet wine with such nice cheese, but didn't say anything, merely sipping her own dry Riesling, remarking to Albus that it was surprisingly good, considering where they were. They talked about the concert briefly, then the conversation turned to the subject of Melina and Brennan.

"I do hope they don't rush into anything, Albus. I know they think they are in love, but there are so many differences between them – I'd hate for Melina to be hurt. Or Brennan, for that matter."

"Whether they marry or not, Brennan is now tied to our world. And to Melina, and Melina will remain responsible for him until the day he dies, whether they marry or not. That is why I had hoped that this was not some passing fancy of Melina's."

"She told me that you wrote to her, asking her all kinds of questions." Minerva laughed. "I think if I had tried to ask her so many questions, I would have received an enraged 'Aunty Min!' from her and a refusal to talk about any of it."

"Your niece was quite forthcoming with me. Of course, I told her that I could not participate in this without her cooperation. I believe that may have motivated her to withhold any protests," Albus answered with a smile.

"Yes, well, it is a very serious business. I am glad that you were able to impress that upon her. And she said that none of your questions were – how did she put it? – impertinent? She said that she was afraid you were going ask if . . . um . . . that is," Minerva stuttered, and blushed.

Albus raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Well, if they had, um, been intimate," Minerva said.

Albus laughed. "That was not a consideration. Although I rather think . . . they are very attached to one another. Quite devoted. It was a great relief to Brennan to learn that the woman he loved truly loved him and that he was not mistaken about her."

Minerva, thankful that the conversation had not turned toward what intimacies her niece may have shared with her future husband, nodded. "Yes, I'm sure you're right about all of that . . . and I do hope they are happy together." She looked at Albus's brilliant blue eyes. "I just worry that she will have her heart broken." And in that moment, Minerva felt her own heart crack just a bit, seeing Albus's warm gaze upon her, yet knowing that the one thing she desired in life was the one thing that was impossible for her to have. Albus was good, kind, caring, loving . . . and completely devoted to the school and the wizarding world. If there was any room for a witch in his life, she was likely already there, by his side. He and Gertrude had been together for so long, and now they were running the school together; there was no question that Gertrude was loyal and devoted to him, whether they were involved in any other way or not. And Albus Dumbledore was out of her reach; even Quin would recognise that if he knew who it was she loved – "the great Albus Dumbledore," he had called him.

Albus, sensing Minerva's sadness, but mistaking its origin, reached out and patted her hand, gently leaving it to rest there. "She will be fine, Minerva. And the two young people must make their own choices in this matter, as you have said yourself. But I do believe that their love is mutual and strong. Don't worry about her." He squeezed her hand, and Minerva felt her heart pound painfully, its aching throb echoing throughout her body. She swallowed hard and struggled to control herself.

"Of course, you're right. And I'm happy for them." But the smile Minerva forced felt anything but happy. It had been wrong to even consider imagining that this were a date or to entertain the notion that Albus might ever return her feelings for him. The sparkles of hope and happiness that had effervesced in her during their walk earlier in the evening evaporated at that moment, and Minerva reached up and touched the flower, still fresh from the discreet charm Albus had placed on it. It was a bud, barely a blossom, and would likely die before it ever opened its petals.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Albus asked, concerned by the expression of sadness on her face.

"I'm fine . . . it's just been a very long day." Then, looking at him and worried that he might mistake her meaning, she added, "But a lovely one . . . very lovely. I don't know that I can think of one I've enjoyed more, from beginning to end, in a very long time. Thank you."

Albus smiled. "I am glad you enjoyed it, Minerva, but perhaps we had better get you home. It is getting late. I believe the rain has stopped."

At Minerva's agreement that it was time to leave, Albus paid their bill and they walked out onto the damp pavement.

"Thank you again, Albus. I didn't mean to put you at expense this evening – "

He waved his hand at her. "Please, don't mention it. I enjoyed myself very much. I should thank you. I, too, had a lovely day."

They strolled slowly down the street toward the park.

"You know, if you're tired . . . we could find a Floo, or I could Apparate us both."

Minerva hesitated. She would love to accept another Side-Along Apparition from him. The experience in itself was . . . exquisite, which was a strange thing to say of a Side-Along Apparition, but beyond that, his closeness stirred feelings in her that she was trying to contain and control.

"No, I'm fine to Apparate, Albus," she said truthfully and smiled. "The fresh air is invigorating, don't you think?"

"It is, quite," he answered, and Minerva thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his face, but, she told herself, it was only her own disappointment that she was projecting onto him.

"Very well, then, we'll meet at the gates," Minerva said.

She held her purse to her and Apparated away, hoping too late that it wasn't a mistake not to hold her wand in her hand as she Apparated. When she landed at the gates, she checked herself for signs of Splinching. There was a slight pop behind her.

"All right, Minerva?" Albus asked.

"Fine, just . . . checking," she answered with a blush.

He smiled at her. "You didn't Splinch," he reassured her. "I would have noticed at the other end."

"Oh, of course. It's just that I usually like to have my wand a bit closer when I Apparate more than a short distance, and I forgot it was still in my purse."

Albus nodded understandingly. "Yes, these Muggle things can be confusing, and switching back and forth between worlds – I know some people do it on a daily basis, but I think I would have trouble with it, myself."

"But during the war – "

"I had a little mental checklist I would go through every time I got ready to go out as a Muggle," he answered as they began the walk back up to the castle. "I still managed to sit on my wand once and break it because I put it in my back pocket instead of in my coat. Fortunately, it was my spare and my main wand was in Amiens. Of course, getting it back to London after I was injured was quite a process, since I had warded it there and was the only one who could retrieve it. And I wasn't up to Apparating that far and had to wait for the Ministry to arrange a Portkey."

"I don't understand – why didn't you have your own wand? Or, more to the point, why did you have two wands at all?"

"During the war, I occasionally carried two wands in case I was disarmed, you see. But on this particular mission – it was supposed to be a short one, and we weren't going to be interacting with other wizards, only Muggles – I decided to take just the one. I don't know why I decided to take my spare wand rather than my primary wand." Albus shrugged. "It never worked quite as well for me . . . . Perhaps it was a premonition of a sort. It was not my normal habit to carry that one in preference to my other, although . . . ." Albus hesitated.

"Although what?" Minerva asked, intrigued. She had heard that Dark Wizards and criminals sometimes had two wands, one unregistered, so that they could use Dark spells and be undetected. She couldn't imagine that that was the reason for Albus to use a second wand, however.

"I had used the spare at school on occasion, as well. When teaching. Perhaps it was that habit that saved my primary wand from the fate that befell my spare," he said with a smile.

"Well, you are fortunate, then. Do you still carry two wands?" she asked – she so often saw him perform wandless magic, it was quite incongruous to imagine him carrying more than one wand.

"Rarely, though I do have another in my desk in my study." He drew out his wand from his jacket and performed a nonverbal Lumos. "This one I'm rather attached to . . . as most wizards and witches are to the wand which chose them."

Unexpectedly, he thrust the wand toward her. "Like to have a look at it, Minerva?"

One didn't usually handle another's wand without permission, and it was also unusual to simply offer it up for inspection casually, as Albus seemed to be doing. Minerva took the wand in her hands. She had seen it before, of course, many, many times . . . especially during her school years when they were doing her Animagus training. Although that may have been his spare, she now thought.

The wand was warm, perhaps from being carried so close to his body, perhaps from the spell he had just cast. It didn't prickle as her brother Murdoch's did when she touched it, nor did it feel like a dead stick in her hand, as Melina's did. It felt more like her own wand – alive and waiting for her to use it. Even her parents' wands, which she had used a few times, didn't have that vitality of her own wand. Fascinated now, Minerva ran a finger over it.

"You may try it, if you like," Albus said softly.

Minerva looked up at him. "I might . . . do something to it."

She didn't know what she could do to his wand, exactly, although she of course knew to be false Murdoch's claims to her when she was a child that if she used another's wand, she would burn out the core. At the age of eleven or twelve, it hadn't occurred to her that she had occasionally seen her parents use one another's wands with no untoward effects – although her mother's wasn't very cooperative to Merwyn's touch – and Minerva had believed Murdoch that it was dangerous to a wand for it to be used by anyone other than its rightful owner. She soon learned that a wand might not respond well to anyone but its owner, but that using the wrong wand was more likely to backfire on the user than to do anything to the wand itself. He just hadn't wanted her touching his wand.

Albus chuckled. "It might not behave itself very well, but I doubt you can hurt it – unless you plan on putting it across your knee and breaking it!"

Minerva gently swished the wand through the night air and a few sparks fell from it. "Lumos," she whispered, softly but articulately. The wand glowed a lovely blue. Rather than the usual mild Nox, Minerva said, "Finite Incantatum."

She looked around them and found a round, white stone a little larger than a Galleon. She set it in the middle of the path and pointed Albus's wand at it. "Geminio!"

Her magic didn't flow through this wand as easily as it did through her own, but the stone shimmered then duplicated itself neatly. Minerva laughed and handed the wand back to Albus, then bent and picked up the two stones and examined them.

"I've never used another wand that responded half as well as my own, but that one – I wouldn't mind using that one in a pinch," she said.

Albus smiled. "Well, if ever you are 'in a pinch,' my dear, you have my permission to use my wand."

Minerva blushed, unsure what she was blushing about. Changing the subject slightly, she said, "You used my wand a few times when I was a student. I was always very impressed. Especially the first time."

She remembered how, during her fourth year, he wanted to demonstrate something to her about organic-organic Transfiguration of a living creature, and he had simply picked up her wand from the table and used it, seeming to realise only as he cast the spell that he was using her wand. He had handed it back to her with a slight apologetic smile. But the spell had been perfectly executed. Minerva had thought it just one more sign of Dumbledore's magical power and incredible abilities. He had borrowed it a few more times after that, always asking permission first. By her sixth year, Minerva had thought it slightly odd that Albus didn't simply Summon his own wand from his office where it lay on his desk, but he was her professor and it wasn't her place to question him – nor to deny him anything. At least nothing as reasonable as the brief loan of her wand for demonstration purposes.

Now, however, Minerva wondered if there was more to it than just Albus's skill at play. She was about to ask him about his wand and why it might be that she could use it so easily when they arrived at the doors of the castle and were, unfortunately, greeted by Peeves. Peeves usually went into a kind of hibernation during the summer, becoming more and more lethargic as the weeks passed, but he would have occasional spurts of liveliness, and this was apparently one of those occasions. He did nothing more than swoop and laugh and sing a dirty rhyme about witches who wore short robes and wizards who wore none, before disappearing, but he distracted them both so that Minerva didn't remember her questions about their wands until she got ready for bed later that night.

Albus walked Minerva to her room and bade her a quiet good night, nodding and smiling gently, his hand just grazing her arm in an affectionate gesture, before he turned and left for his tower. Minerva told herself that she should not be disappointed that he hadn't kissed her cheek or embraced her, or even taken her hand in his. But she was nonetheless disappointed. Still, they had had a lovely evening, and the morning had been even more exquisite, and they had helped Melina and Brennan find love . . . the day had been a good one, and she shouldn't want more from it. After all, it wasn't a date, she thought as she removed the cheap talisman from around her neck and hung it by its cord from the corner of her mirror. It wasn't a date; it was just a very nice day with a friend. Yet as she lay in bed remembering the sensation of his fingertips on her cheek as Albus placed the rose in her hair, the vibration of his magic as he sat beside her at the concert, the teardrops on his eyelashes as the music moved him, and the warmth of his hand on hers as they sat together in the café, Minerva wished it had been more than just a nice day, and that it had ended with a kiss and an embrace and not a nod and a smile. . . .

Note: As usual, please don't take this story as your source for any information about the real world, however, there really are such charms as the "evil eye," an evil eye actually is called a "nazar" in Turkish (according to a Turkish friend who once gave me one), they are often (perhaps always) blue, and they can be found in many cultures. Beyond that, anything in the story about evil eye talismans is made up, particularly the bit about "naturally-occurring" nazar, and any resemblance to "real life" superstitions is coincidental. There are also Roma ("Gypsies") in real life, but I know very little about the actual Roma, beyond the fact that they were among those people who were persecuted and murdered by the Nazis. They also have a reputation for being suspicious of outsiders, so it would be highly unusual for an outsider such as Albus to travel with them. If you are interested in the history and lives of the Roma, I'm sure there are many sources available on the Web.

Next: A Tale of Two Wands