LXXIV: Ever Green

Note: Not DH-compliant.

LXXIV: Ever Green

Blampa quivered, bobbed, nodded, and bounced on her tip-toes in excitement when Minerva and Albus returned to Minerva's sitting room and requested Blampa provide them with breakfast.

"Just a standard breakfast, please, Blampa," Minerva said. "Soft-boiled eggs – no, medium-boiled for me – toast, marmalade, fruit, and tea." She turned to Albus. "Would you prefer soft or medium eggs, Professor? And would you care for porridge? Or anything else?"

"I will have exactly what you're having, my dear! Although some elderberry preserves wouldn't be amiss. If possible!" He smiled genially down at the little elf as she practically hopped up and down, so thrilled was she.

"Oh," Blampa squeaked, "it's possible, Professor Headmaster!!! I, Blampa, make possible elderberry preserves for the Professor Headmaster and his Professor Minerva! Yes, yes!"

"Thank you, Blampa," Minerva said.

After the house-elf Disapparated and Albus had excused himself to use the loo, Minerva waved her wand, Transfiguring the small round table by the window to be larger, more suited to breakfast for two, then moved another chair over for Albus. She waved her wand again and added cushions to the seat and back of his chair, taking the time to charm them with a floral pattern, clusters of elderberry flowers on a creamy background. Minerva had thought to use a pattern of ivy and yew, but, for a reason she couldn't articulate, she decided against it.

When Albus returned to the sitting room, he removed the framed photograph from his pocket and held it out to Minerva.

"Thank you, Albus!" Minerva said as she took the picture from him. "It really is a wonderful gift."

It was one of the best presents she'd ever received, Minerva thought as she looked at it, taking in the expression on Albus's face again, how he looked on at her so fondly and how his smile deepened when her gaze met his. She remembered that she had been thrilled he had come to witness the Challenge, and how happy she had been to see that he had stayed afterward, and this joy was reflected in her expression in the photograph.

Minerva's perspective on the photograph shifted abruptly, and for the first time, she seemed to take in the picture as a whole. Whereas before, her attention had been focussed on Albus, and then on herself, she now saw the photograph not as a picture of Albus in which she was also present, nor as a picture of herself, with Albus as onlooker, but as a photograph of them both. Of course, it had always been a photo of both of them, it was one of the things that had made it special, after all, but now she saw the picture as one of Albus and Minerva together, and in that moment, their expressions seemed to her to take on a new meaning. It looked for all the world like a photograph of a couple . . . of a couple – how dare she even think it? – of a couple in love. Or at least, of a couple who loved one another.

"Is everything all right, Minerva?" Albus asked as Minerva went quiet and seemed to look in shock at the gift he'd given her. "As I said, I can change anything you wish . . ."

Minerva took a deep breath. No, it had just been a figment of her imagination, she thought, looking first at Albus's moving image, and then at her own. It was a trick of the timing of the photograph, that was all.

Distracted, she looked up at Albus. "What? Um, no, no, everything is fine. I was just remembering . . . I was very pleased you had come. That's all. I don't want anything changed about it at all."

She placed the picture on her desk. "I'll put it with the others later. Breakfast should be here soon. I'm just going to use the loo. If the food arrives, feel free to start eating."

"All right, my dear. But I would prefer to wait for you."

"That's fine . . ."

After Minerva had left the room, Albus went over and picked up the picture. The strangest expression had crossed Minerva's face when she was looking at it. Was there something wrong, something he hadn't seen? He hadn't much practice in duplicating wizarding photographs, but after all of his work in Potions and in Transfiguration, it was a simple task for him, rather like a low-level Alchemy exercise, actually. But perhaps he had done something wrong. He was sure that Minerva had been looking at the photograph itself, not at the frame. The longer he looked at the picture, scrutinising the details, even examining each of the obscured figures moving in the shadowy background of the picture, trying to detect some aberration in the movement or in the colour, the more he was certain that the duplicate was as identical to the original as it could possibly be; there was nothing technically wrong with the photograph. Perhaps it was one of the onlookers in the background? Someone whose appearance disturbed her, perhaps? But even the people who were offering Minerva their congratulations were somewhat out-of-focus, and the few individuals in the distant background were scarcely recognisable, and he had never really looked at them before. Just as he began to examine the indistinct figures in the background, Minerva emerged from the loo.

"You really didn't need to wait for me, Albus."

Albus set the photograph down on the desk. "I hadn't really noticed it had arrived, actually," he said honestly. "I was looking at the photo again – making sure that I hadn't made an error in its duplication."

Minerva smiled. "It's perfect, Albus. Perfect. And I'm glad to hear that you duplicated it rather than giving me your only copy. I'm happy you were able to find it after all these years."

"Yes, well, I'd kept it with some other photographs, so it wasn't difficult to track down." He pulled out a chair for Minerva, then sat in the one she had arranged for him. "Thank you for inviting me for breakfast, Minerva. Or, I suppose, for allowing me to invite myself!"

Minerva laughed softly. "I believe you did suggest breakfast, but I am more than pleased to have you here. And it's not as though I had to make it myself, and this is far preferable to either of us sitting in our separate corners of the castle, eating our lonely eggs and toast!"

Albus smiled at her as he placed his napkin in his lap. "It is, indeed – far preferable!"

As they ate their breakfast, Minerva asked him a question that had been rolling about just beneath the surface of her consciousness since he had told her of the relationship between their wands. "Albus, you mentioned that mated wands have not been very well studied, but you also mentioned that there were special effects associated with them. I only know a little of brother wands, are the effects similar? And if they are, what are they?"

"Hmm." Albus swallowed a bite of toast and paused before responding. "It is surmised that the wands could not be persuaded to work against one another, although it is unknown whether the resulting side-effect of this would be the same as it is with brother wands, or whether it would be a different sort of effect altogether." He chuckled. "A very good thing I wasn't your Defence teacher, Minerva, or we may have had quite a time of it! But beyond that, it is believed that mated wands . . ." Albus paused as if searching for words. "Mated wands are believed to enhance the strength of any spells cast in common effort. If we were both working toward the same ends and casting spells simultaneously, the wands would . . . recognise each other and the strength with which the spell was cast would be amplified. I certainly did notice that effect when we worked on the wards together, on those few occasions when we tested the wards together . . . perhaps I ought to have told you about the wands at that time, but I did not wish to influence your participation in the project by creating any further sense of obligation in you. Aside from that, it would not have been of any practical use for you to know of it, and would have benefited only me."

Minerva pondered his words. She was actually grateful he hadn't told her about their wands at the time, though not for the reasons he had articulated. As a teenager, she would have been tempted to read more into the relationship between their wands than was there, and imagine that it was somehow significant to their own relationship, and given the difficulty and pain she was already dealing with at the time, she would likely have wallowed even more in her despair over her unrequited love. It would not have been at all healthy. Bad enough that she should now, at her age, wish she had been born decades earlier, but as a teenager, she would have no doubt been convinced that fate had played a nasty joke on her and that she'd been meant to have been born many years before, to have met him and been mated to him as their wands were . . . But that did raise the question in her mind: what did this mean, if anything, for them, and not just for their wands? It had taken so very long for Ollivander to have found the right wand for her, the wand that chose her, and even though he had not been the Ollivander to have made the wand, he clearly knew how special it was, and he had written to Albus and told him. But he had made no mention of it to her at the time . . . Of course, she had been sniffling and snuffling in his shop just minutes before he had presented her with the wand, hardly an impressive sight, she was sure. She had been just a crying child to him.

"Albus, I've been thinking . . . it took so long for a wand to choose me, and considering that witches and wizards can use almost any wand to some degree, it seems very odd that another wand did not choose me first. Or at least perform well enough that we might have stopped after a while and just . . . settled for one that didn't blow things up when I waved it."

Albus laughed. "No Ollivander would ever let you 'settle' for a wand, Minerva." He looked at her fondly. "You should know that . . . How many wands do you think you went through?"

"We arrived at his shop when he opened at eight-thirty. When we left, it was almost lunchtime."

"Oh, my dear! No wonder you were in tears!"

"I don't believe Ollivander was particularly happy, either. At about ten, he locked the door and put up a closed sign. Everyone had received their Hogwarts letters the day before, and there was a regular trickle of customers. After being interrupted several times in his search for the correct wand for me, he became frustrated and just closed up, said everyone could come back later. That was one of the awful things. Five or six other children had come in and they received their wands in minutes, and we just tried one after the other . . . and they were all disasters. But today, I can pick up most any wand and get it to behave for me, at least for simple spells."

"Well, you are now a fully qualified witch, Minerva – more than that, you are a Transfiguration mistress! I would hope you could perform basic spells with most any wand. You were only eleven and not yet trained."

"Still . . . there must be a reason for it." She pulled her wand from her pocket again and looked at it. "That this wand chose me . . . and you possess its mate. It just seems . . . it should mean something, I guess." Minerva shrugged.

"It does, Minerva. It means that the quality of our magic is similar. It is that simple."

"Surely not, Albus!" Minerva looked at him disbelievingly.

Albus laughed. "My, Minerva! You asked me, and now you don't believe me?"

"It's not that . . . it is just . . . our magic is nothing alike. You are very powerful, Albus. Sometimes I think you overestimate me, but even if you were not overestimating me, you must still see that your statement is absurd. You are so much more powerful than I, I doubt the difference could even be quantified!"

Albus shook his head, still smiling. "You mistook my words. I said nothing about our relative magical strength, merely that the quality of our magic is similar. You are very accomplished with Transfiguration, you were able to become an Animagus after a truly remarkably short time of study, you have a magical signature that is somewhat similar to mine . . . no, not similar, precisely . . . how to explain this . . . Our magic resonates well together, Minerva. It is as though . . . as though each of us were playing an instrument in the same key, if you understand what I mean by that. Our magic is very easily harmonised. The wands are an indication of this resonance and harmony."

Minerva nodded. "Yes, yes, I see that . . . and I understand what you mean by that. I have often thought . . ." Minerva fought a blush that was creeping upon her.

"Yes? What have you often thought, my dear?"

"Well, you used the musical metaphor; it's just that I've sometimes used the same metaphor, in my mind, when thinking of . . . of what your magic feels like to me. That's all. I understood the metaphor." She was not going to tell him that his magic felt to her like an orchestra playing a symphony. To the extent that she was able to sense other wizards' or witches' magic, when they were casting a spell, or when they were particularly physically close to her, the best she could say of any of them was that they might resemble a quartet or possibly a chamber group, but most of them felt like single instruments, sometimes out-of-tune instruments, at that.

Albus nodded. "It is a pity that it took so long for Ollivander to think of that wand, though."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "He could have spared us all a lot of grief if he had."

Albus chuckled. "Well, it worked out well, in the end. The wand found its witch!"

"I wish I knew more about them – mated wands in general, I mean. Do you know of any books . . . ?"

"There are some books on wandlore in the library, although I doubt you will find very much about mated wands in them, aside, perhaps, for a few superstitions and myths." Albus finished his cup of tea and poured another for each of them. Changing the subject, he said, "I presume that there will be staff returning to the castle tonight for tomorrow's committee meeting. Do you think that I should arrange breakfast for everyone in the staff room? We don't usually do that in the summer, even if there are several people here, but perhaps . . . do you think it would be a good idea, or do you think everyone would prefer to breakfast on their own at the time of their own choosing?"

Minerva forgot her questions about mated wands as the conversation turned to the arrival of the other staff members, the upcoming committee meeting, and the committee's decision to try to draft a proposal that day.

"I do not think that your proposal will be incorporated, Albus. I am sorry . . . perhaps I am wrong. But I don't want you to be disappointed if the committee's decision is not the one you had desired."

Albus sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps it was a foolish hope . . . perhaps Gertie was correct when she said I should have come to them with this as a decision for which I wanted their support and their suggestions on how to best carry it out. She reminded me that the school is not a democracy and that I can make unilateral decisions without being a dictator . . . I should have thought more of Robert and his needs, and just done what I thought best for him."

"Albus, you couldn't do that. You had to consider what was best for the school, not simply what was best for Robert. Although I must say that I do agree with Gertrude in principle here. You cannot present every important decision to the staff for them to have the final say. You are the Headmaster, and, in most things, anyway, you should have the final say. Of course, without the staff's full support, I doubt that you would have had very much success in this instance . . . I don't know if there was any better way to have gone about this than the way you chose." Minerva sighed. "If it's any consolation, I don't think that they want to throw Professor Pretnick out on his ear, either. I think they will try to create a compromise, and since the rest of the staff agreed to abide by the decisions of the committee . . . you will have their support."

Albus nodded sadly. "I do not relish telling Robert of the decision, though."

"He may be pleased with it, Albus. He does not seem to believe it is advisable for him to come back as Defence teacher, anyway."

Albus pushed back from the table and placed his napkin next to his plate. "That is his despair speaking, Minerva. I am sure of it. If he had reason to hope for a normal life . . . I had hoped I could give that to him."

"You did what you could, Albus. Don't berate yourself about it. You aren't responsible for the situation, after all. It's nothing of your creation, and you are doing the best you can to deal with the aftermath."

He just nodded and stood. "Well, Minerva, this has been a delightful morning, but I do need to be going, I'm afraid."

"Of course, Albus. I'm sure we'll see each other later. Thank you once again for the lovely gift. It is a wonderful picture, and its frame will make the others look quite plain in comparison!"

"Perhaps I might see it in its new home?" Albus suggested before realising that he was requesting entrance to Minerva's bedroom. It sounded like a bad pick-up line.

"Well, um, I need to move things around a bit . . . I just . . . emptied my pockets last night. It's not very neat. Um, but I suppose, if you would like . . ." Minerva fumbled for a way in which to refuse his request; she truly did not want him to see the way that she had arrange his other picture with the dried rose on its frame and the two stones in front of it. If she couldn't discourage him, perhaps the excuse of saying that she had just emptied her pockets might at least explain the sentimental placement of the twinned stones, but a dried rosebud did simply leap up from its place and affix itself to a picture frame all by itself.

"I am sorry, Minerva, I forgot myself. It was rude of me. I'll just . . . let myself out." Albus felt his cheeks grow pink; he deserved a bit of embarrassment, he thought, and to have the grace to allow his embarrassment to show. Just because he had been in her bedroom on other occasions for pragmatic reasons did not mean that he could just invite himself in whenever he wanted. What Minerva must be thinking of him at that moment, he could only imagine.

"No, Albus! Really, it's all right – not rude at all." Her hesitation and reluctance had clearly made him uncomfortable. He no doubt believed that she was reluctant to have him in her bedroom, and he never would have had any inappropriate intentions, Minerva was certain of that. Albus must believe her either a persnickety old maid or mistrusting of him in particular.

He had begun to back toward the door. Minerva rose from her seat and stopped him, putting a hand on his arm. "You needn't go yet, Albus."

Albus hesitated. "I just thought . . . I hadn't thought . . ."

"You spent a good deal of time on the picture and the frame. It's a natural curiosity to want to see it in place. It's just that, well, to be honest, Albus, I don't know as I'd want anyone to see my room at the moment . . . I'm a bit of a secret sentimentalist." Minerva smiled slightly and shrugged. "But that's hardly a crime, and I suppose you know me well enough . . . come on, help me decide where to put the new picture." She brightened with her invitation. If she didn't make too much of a fuss, perhaps her little shrine wouldn't strike him as anything peculiar, after all.

"It was still very forward of me, Minerva – "

"Don't be ridiculous, Albus. We're good friends." Minerva paused, remembering the difference in their ages, backgrounds, and positions. "You may not be Poppy Pomfrey, but please don't feel that you need to stand on ceremony with me. That's not like you, anyway."

"Perhaps not, but I hope that it's also not like me to be rude and lacking in consideration for common decency and the feelings of others."

"Not at all! Really, Albus! You are always a gentleman – Melina always calls you 'gallant,' and I couldn't disagree with that description."

Albus's cheeks grew pinker. "Well, that is no doubt an exaggeration. She was always a warm-hearted girl."

Minerva laughed. "Nonetheless, come and help me rearrange things, hmm? Unless you need to go right away."

"All right, my dear." Albus smiled. "Although if you would like a moment . . ."

"Oh, it's just my silliness – just don't laugh at my sentimentality, at least not too loudly!" Minerva smiled at him.

"I promise to restrain myself, my dear." He chuckled. "I have my own little quirks, you know – we all do."

Minerva picked up the photograph and looked at it again, smiling. "It really is a wonderful picture of you, Albus. Thank you!"

"I am just happy that you like it, Minerva."

"Very much," Minerva said as she opened the door. She wished in that moment that she were adept at wandless nonverbal charms so that she could discreetly remove the rose from its place on the picture frame, but given that it was Albus who was with her, he'd likely detect her casting the spell, in any case.

"Let me just move a few things here," she said as she hurried over to her dressing table.

Before she scooped up the small picture of him and the round white stones, and deposited them unceremoniously on her bed, Albus caught a glimpse of the frame. He blinked, but Minerva had put the picture on her bed, face down, and tossed the stones next to it. He thought that he noticed the dried rosebud attached to the upper lefthand corner of the frame . . . but he must have been mistaken. She had simply gathered it up with the rest of the things.

"Now, we need to rearrange the different photographs – this one is somewhat larger than the others. I like there to be . . . balance. I think perhaps just placing it here, on this side, and putting the others over here . . . no . . . you know, there's another photograph somewhere . . . I never really unpacked the way I should have in December. Where would it be?" Minerva went over to her wardrobe, knelt, and dragged out a small wooden chest and set it aside, then reached into the back and pulled out a small cardboard box. She Levitated it over to her bed and replaced the wooden box back in the wardrobe.

"In here, somewhere, I have a picture of Poppy and me, taken in London when she came down for a visit last summer."

Minerva flipped through the folded parchments, papers, and envelopes until she found the photograph, which had been tucked into a folded parchment to protect it. She drew it out and looked at it. She had been meaning to frame it and do something with it, but never took the time before she had moved from London. It had lain here in the box with assorted documents and old family letters, almost forgotten.

"I think that if I frame it, this would look nice to one side of the photograph of my parents and brothers, and I could put the picture of Melina and Murdoch next to the one of you. That would balance it quite well, don't you think?" Minerva asked, turning to Albus. "In the meantime, I'll just put your picture here, and the other three in a little grouping over there. And if I move some of these other things around . . ." Minerva waved her wand, rearranging the various items on her vanity.

"That's a nice picture of you and Poppy," Albus said, picking it up and looking at it. Minerva was laughing, and Poppy had a puckish expression, as though pleased that she could make her friend laugh.

"Mmm. A friend from the Ministry took it – Claire Philbottom, you may know her, as she works in the Minister's office." Claire was an older witch who had become something of an ally to Minerva, giving her news and gossip about anything that might affect her, and even some things that wouldn't.

"Ah, yes, Madam Philbottom. I am acquainted with her."

"It's a better picture of Poppy than it is of me, I'm afraid – which may be one reason I never did anything with it. I look like a braying donkey."

Albus laughed. "You most certainly do not, Minerva! I think it is a delightful photograph of you. You look happy and full of life."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "If you say so, Albus."

"I do," he declared with a grin. "Now, why don't we do something about a frame for it now – that way I can see everything in situ, so to speak."

"What do you have in mind?"

"If you wouldn't mind sacrificing a few of your hairpins, I think I could do something quickly for you, if you like. It wouldn't be as ornate as the other, of course . . ."

"Oh! That would be fine! The hairpins are charmed, though, Albus . . . that might affect the Transfiguration."

"I'm sure it will not prove a problem."

Albus emptied the small porcelain dish of its hairpins, drew his wand and cast several spells in quick succession. It was rather a blur to Minerva, and as he was doing it nonverbally, she wasn't entirely sure what spells he was using – or even if he was using any actual spells at all. First, he must have removed the charm from the hairpins, and they glowed faintly, but briefly, then the hairpins seemed to gather themselves together, merge, then reform to create a simple picture frame. It was nothing Minerva couldn't have done herself, of course, but it was a pleasure to watch him work.

"Now if I may have that bit of parchment," Albus said, indicating the parchment in which the photograph had been enclosed.

He created a backing to hold the photograph in place in its frame and slipped the picture into its new home.

"I seem to have forgotten a small detail," he said, frowning at his work. He waved his wand once more, and a small stand emerged from the picture-backing, creating a prop for the frame.

"Is this all right, my dear?" he asked, holding out for Minerva's inspection.

The frame was simple, but he had put little curlicues in each of the corners, and it certainly was an improvement over having the photograph sitting in a box in her closet.

"That's fine, Albus. I like it," she answered with a nod. She liked the simple design, in fact, and although the picture frame he had made for the other photograph was fairly highly-decorated by comparison, the pattern of ivy was pleasing, somehow simple, natural, and ornate all at once. There was something rather Art Nouveau about the gold and silver frame, she thought, and it was certainly an original design, not merely a copy of something remembered, or the result of happy chance, as many such Transfigurations are. But she would not have expected less of something done by Albus Dumbledore.

One more wave of his wand, and Albus sealed the Transfiguration, making it permanent, then he cast a charm to protect the photograph. He handed Minerva the finished product.

Minerva smiled. "Thank you, Albus . . . you know, I am beginning to feel quite indebted to you. I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me."

"It is entirely my pleasure, my dear," he said with an answering smile. "Now, let's see how everything looks when you have it the way you want it!"

Minerva placed the photograph of herself and Poppy next to the one of her parents and brothers, then moved the picture of Melina and Murdoch to sit slightly behind and to one side of the picture of Albus and herself. She nodded.

"I think I like that. I may move things about more, but for now . . . that will do." She moved the small porcelain dish to the back of the vanity. "Now, of course, I'll need to go into Hogsmeade for more hairpins," she said with a laugh.

Albus grinned. "Well, you do have a few left." He motioned toward her hair, which Minerva had place up in a French twist that morning.

Minerva laughed again. "Thank you for your help, Albus. And your time. I know you had wanted to be on your way some time ago."

"Yes, I'm afraid that a number of owls arrived for me while I was away yesterday, and I must deal with them before they accumulate unmanageably."

"I could help you with that, Albus, if you'd like."

"No, no, that's fine, Minerva. You enjoy your day! And Gertrude will be here tomorrow. She can take on some of it, if need be."

"Of course." And that was more appropriate, as she was his Deputy. "Let me show you out."

A few minutes later, Albus had left, and Minerva was standing in her bedroom looking at her dressing table. She shook her head. She liked the symmetry, but it still seemed somehow out-of-kilter to her. With a quick wave of her wand, she moved Albus's picture to the side of the vanity closest to her bed, moved the pictures of her family to the other side, and then hesitated before moving Poppy's photograph across the room to sit on a small plant table that had served no purpose, but which had been there when Minerva took possession of the rooms. Having done that, Minerva lovingly picked up the small framed picture of Albus that she had tossed so carelessly on the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that no damage had been done to the little rose.

Gazing at the photograph that she had had for so many years, Minerva couldn't bring herself to part with it, despite the wonderful new picture that Albus had given her. She carefully placed it on her bedside table, pausing before setting the little white stones in front of it. Now, she was pleased.

Before she left her bedroom, Minerva once again lifted Albus's gift from her dressing table. It had been an excellent choice, she thought. It was wonderful to be able to pick it up and see Albus directing a proud and affectionate gaze at her, his blue eyes bright and warm. A few minutes later, Minerva shook herself from her reverie, reminding herself that the photograph would be there for her any time she wanted to look at it, and she stepped out into her sitting room to find the book that she had started while at the Gamps but which she had been unable to find the time for since returning to Hogwarts.

Blampa had efficiently cleared away the breakfast things, but her small round table was still a bit larger than usual, so Minerva returned it to its usual size before going into her tiny kitchen to make herself a pot of tea. Calling Blampa for tea might be more efficient, but Minerva enjoyed making her own tea, and Blampa had begun to make sure that Minerva always had fresh milk and a well-stocked tin of ginger newts in her kitchen now that they had reached their new understanding. Blampa was actually shaping up to be a fairly good house-elf, if a bit annoyingly enthusiastic about everything. But that was better than having a gloomy elf, Minerva supposed.

She brought her tea with her out to her little table, sat in the chair that Albus had vacated earlier, and read Pnin, drank tea, and munched on ginger newts for the remainder of the morning. Because Wilhelmina and Hagrid had both informed the house-elves that they would not be present for lunch today, she and Albus were going to make-do, as he had said. Likely for him, that meant lunch at his desk. After all of her ginger newts and a rather late breakfast, Minerva didn't feel hungry, so after she read for as long as she wanted, she decided to begin moving her things from her old Transfiguration classroom to her new one, calling Blampa to help her. When Blampa heard what Minerva wanted, she snapped her fingers and Disapparated, to reappear a few minutes later with three other house-elves.

"They's all bored, Professor Minerva. Blampa asks if Polky, Stanga, and Kreffent can helps."

"That would be fine. Many hands make light work!"

Blampa looked puzzled at that, but her Professor was always saying peculiar things, so she and the other house-elves Disapparated, leaving Minerva to follow in a more pedestrian manner, literally.

With the house-elves cheerful assistance, Minerva soon had all of her things moved down to the first-floor Transfiguration classroom. Deciding what to leave of Professor Dumbledore's and what to remove was more troublesome, and then what to do with what she removed posed a question, as well. He hadn't had time to clear out his office completely, so Minerva left her own things in boxes on the floor of the office, but had the house-elves carefully pack up everything from the classroom that she wasn't leaving in place. She would have to ask Albus later what he would like to do with his things, and make arrangements to move into the office. If she were to become Head of Gryffindor, she would also have a study in her rooms in the Tower, so some of what she normally kept in her office she could move up there. She would have to speak with him about that soon. No doubt he hadn't forgotten, but was just trying not to pressure her for her decision.

By the end of the afternoon, Minerva was looking forward to supper and felt warm, dusty, and sticky after arranging her new classroom, so she took a fast shower and changed her clothes before heading to the staff room. When she arrived, Hagrid and Johannes were already there, discussing an infestation of some sort, and when she sat down and joined them, she was disappointed to see the food appear on the table. That meant in all likelihood that Albus wasn't coming to dinner that evening, although he could just be running late and had asked the house-elves to serve supper as they usually did lunch.

Despite her disappointment at Albus's absence, Minerva enjoyed the conversation around the table. Wilhemina took a seat between Minerva and Hagrid; fortunately, Johannes steered the conversation away from any of the nauseating topics that seemed to fascinate the other two. Flitwick puffed into the staff room a few minutes after the meal appeared, asking if they would mind if he joined them. They teased him a bit about his question, telling him he was practically on the staff already, and he was already working without compensation, so the least they could do was feed him.

In a lull in the conversation, Minerva turned to Johannes. "Professor Birnbaum, do you suppose I might have a word with you after dinner? I have a few Herbology-related questions, and I thought I might pick your brain, if you don't mind."

Johannes laughed warmly. "Of course, Minerva! You make pick away all you like! I am always happy to discuss my subject."

Not long after that, Albus came in and took the free seat across from Minerva.

"Busy day, Albus?" Wilhelmina asked.

"Mm, quite," he responded, loading his plate with red cabbage, mashed potatoes, and sausages.

As he began to eat, Minerva Levitated the bowl of French beans toward him. "There are green beans, as well, Professor."

An almost imperceptible grimace crossed Albus's face before he smiled and took the offered bowl, helping himself to a small, one might say, minute, portion of the vegetable. He looked up to see Minerva watching him, and added one more spoonful of the beans to his plate. Minerva quirked a smile and resumed eating. He could call her "Mother McGonagall" all he wanted; Poppy had said he should eat more fruit and veg. He couldn't eat it if it wasn't on his plate. Whether he ate it once it was, that was up to him, but he should at least make an attempt, Minerva thought.

"Had you wanted your pudding tonight, Minerva?" Johannes asked her as he finished his meal. "I do not think that I will indulge. I was far too spoiled by my friend's mother the last few days! English cooking may be . . . well, English cooking, but your sweets! Ah!" Johannes made a blissful expression. "Ausgezeichnet! And she insisted on a full tea every afternoon. I ate so much cream and butter, I thought I would begin to mooing!"

Minerva laughed. "No, I'm finished, as well. I have a house-elf who, for better or worse, insists on providing me with a steady supply of biscuits. And not just any biscuits, mind you," she said as she stood up from the table, "but 'happy-tasting' biscuits! That is what she insists they are, and I won't contradict her."

"Then come for a walk with me, Minerva, and we will talk!"

Before following the Herbology teacher out of the room, Minerva stopped by Albus. "Do you suppose I could have a word, Professor? Tonight, or tomorrow morning?"

"Of course, my dear. Perhaps tomorrow morning . . . here in the staff room? Ten o'clock?"

The committee meeting was scheduled to begin at eleven o'clock and go for as long as necessary; the committee would have lunch served to them in the staff room. Albus was scheduled to answer a few final questions before the committee began its work on the proposal.

"That sounds fine. I will see you then!"

Minerva joined Johannes in the entrance hall, and they both departed the castle through the great front doors and began to stroll in the direction of the greenhouses.

"So, Minerva, you wished to poke my brain a bit in hope of extracting some information?" Johannes asked with a barely suppressed grin.

"I do, indeed. Ivy, specifically Hedera pythonica. What do you know of it?"

"A great many things, Minerva . . . if I knew whence sprung your interest, I could better respond to it."

Minerva drew her wand from her pocket. "I always knew that my wand was of ivy, but I recently learned some other rather interesting and intriguing things about the nature of this particular wand, and learned, too, that it was not of ordinary English ivy, as I had previously believed, but of magical ivy. I became curious about it."

Johannes held out his hand. "May I see it?"

Minerva handed him her wand. He held it in front of his face, just inches from his eyes and examined it closely. He then ran it across his palm in both directions, turning it slightly as he did so, and finally, he held it up above him, squinting at it against the backdrop of the pewter-coloured sky.

Returning the wand to Minerva, Johannes said, "Very nice specimen. And most certainly, as you say, Hedera pythonica and not common ivy. If it were not your wand, I could perform tests upon it to confirm this, but I have no doubt."

Minerva smiled. "Thank you. And ivy?" Minerva had taken Herbology through her NEWTs, but could remember little other than the most basic facts about ivy, and nothing about magical ivy; indeed, she was unsure that she had even learned about magical ivy as a student, although its Latin name hadn't sounded entirely unfamiliar when Albus had used it. She simply couldn't place it in any context.

"Well, since you are asking me, I will tell you and begin at the beginning, presuming you know nothing; that way, you may learn whatever it is you are seeking. Please excuse me if I repeat what you know."

"That's fine. I remember little enough, anyway, and it may not be correct or relevant."

They reached the greenhouses, but rather than go in, Johannes led Minerva to a wooden bench outside of Greenhouse Three.

"It is too warm in there for comfortable conversation. This is more pleasant."

Johannes stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned his head back against the side of the greenhouse, lacing his fingers behind his neck, beneath his long, sandy, greying hair, and stared off into the distance.

"Efeu. Treue, Unsterblichkeit, ewiges Leben, und Liebe. So we learn in first-year Herbology when I am a boy. You know the meaning, Minerva?" he asked, not turning his head.

"Yes, of course, ivy, fidelity, immortality, eternal life, and love."

"Richtig. These are, of course, folk meanings, but they are not without their own truth. In this country, I teach more concretely that the ivy vine spirals about a plant, climbing it, being supported by it, embracing it. The ivy vine may appear delicate, but it is powerful; in the absence of trees, it may climb a brick wall and, in time, cause it to crumble. Ivy can reach great heights when it has a support, to the top of the tallest oak it can climb. And yet, without the tree, the ivy can content itself to creep along the earth, spreading widely and vigorously.

"Ivy is not a parasite, you know. It coexists quite peacefully with its tree. But just as ivy can crumble masonry, it can also bring destruction to the tree through its mere existence. Magical ivy, however, is different in this regard. It, too, will grow to the top-most branches of a tree. It, too, may blanket the tree entirely, its own leaves obscuring those of the tree. But magical ivy, rather than inadvertently starving its friendly host of sunlight, provides extra nutrition to the tree the more thickly it covers it. And where a mighty oak will fall when the common ivy permits strong winds to knock over the tree by growing so densely that the air can no longer move freely through the tree's branches, magical ivy, through an as-yet unstudied mechanism, absorbs the power of the winds, allowing the tree to be buffeted, but not to fall.

"Hedera pythonica, the magical ivy, also provides a very positive protection for the tree that plays host, not merely off-setting its own potentially deleterious effects, by repelling harmful insects, beetles, and parasites that might otherwise infest the tree. And where common ivy ordinarily confines itself to deciduous trees such as the oak, the magical variety is found most often on the yew tree, which is also an evergreen, like the ivy itself.

"An interesting, though perhaps meaningless and purely coincidental, observation I have made, is that Muggle cemeteries in England often host yew trees, and in Germany, ivy is often a motif on Muggle gravestones." Johannes shrugged. "In both the Muggle and the wizarding worlds, the two plants are associated with life, death, and immortality, yet the quality of their woods is quite different – both the yew and the magical ivy are resilient and long-lived however.

"I can tell you more of its botanical properties, if you wish, and its use in potions, but perhaps that is sufficient to your purposes? Your curiosity about your wand?"

Minerva nodded. "Yes, I think so . . . essentially, I wanted to know more about magical ivy and its differences with common English ivy. Come to think of it . . . isn't magical ivy used in a clear-seeing potion of some kind?" Minerva furrowed her brow.

"It is. Though its efficacy is debatable." Johannes chuckled. "Personally, I believe it is ineffective when taken by anyone who is not already possessed of divination talents. It would not help someone like me, who is hopeless in that regard, to see any more in the crystal ball than he already fails to see! But I do not think that means that it is not a potent potion. It simply has to have something to work with!"

"Is it used much in other potions?"

"There are several potions of which I am aware that call for magical ivy, but it is a fairly rare plant these days, and therefore expensive and not often used if something else may be substituted. Your brother may be able to tell you more. I believe it is the leaves and berries that are the parts most often used in potions."

"And for wandmaking?"

"I am no expert in wands, Minerva, but yours is the first wand of which I am aware that is of Hedera pythonica rather than Hedera helix, the common entwining ivy we see everywhere and which, itself, has interesting properties. You could probably find more information on the use of different woods in wandmaking in the library, if you are interested."

"I think that for now, this answers all of the questions I have – if I think of any others, may I ask you?"

"Of course, Minerva." He smiled at her. "It is pleasant to sit and talk with you. I worried some about you. Not greatly, but you seemed so . . . preoccupied these last few months. You were more serious than serious, and I worried you were unhappy. You are all right? You do not mind my saying this, I hope . . ."

"No, no, I don't mind. It is good of you to be concerned, but I am fine. I was under some stress; I suppose it has not gone away, but it has changed, and I am dealing with it better, I think."

"If there is ever anything that I can do for you . . . or if you wish to speak to someone," Johannes offered, shrugging one shoulder. "I know we do not know each other well, but Gertrude and Albus always spoke highly of you, and I would like to think I might be a friend to you for the short time I am here."

"I do think of you as a friend, Johannes. Thank you. I will miss you when you leave, you know."

"I will be happy for visitors, if you like to take a holiday in Germany. I will be in Dossenheim – do you know it? It is a small village, but a friend has procured me a place with land enough for a large greenhouse, and it is close to Heidelberg. You studied there, yes?"

"Yes, I did my apprenticeship in Heidelberg, and I am familiar with Dossenheim." She smiled. "And will you be growing any of the other sort of vine there, Johannes?" she asked, referring to the winemaking the region was so well-known for.

"Perhaps, one day, after I have established my primary livelihood," Johannes answered with a grin. "My friend's cousin is an Apotheker, very successful, and he believes that his cousin will be happy to buy herbs and other potions ingredients from me."

"Really?" Minerva asked. The world really was too small sometimes, she thought, the wizarding world in particular. "I may know this wizard. What's his name?"

"Rudolf Brauer."

"Rudolf . . . when you see him . . ." Minerva paused. "When you see him, will you give him my warm regards? Tell him . . . tell him just that."

"I hear a story in the words you do not say, Minerva."

She shrugged. "We knew each other in Heidelberg. I . . . I haven't heard from him in a long time. I just hope he is well."

Johannes nodded. "I will tell him this for you." He stretched. "You know, I was going to work in the greenhouses tonight, but I think I will retire early in anticipation of that meeting tomorrow. I can look over all of the reports again, as well. Shall we walk back to the castle now?"

"Thank you, Johannes, but I think I will take a walk first. Clear my head before sleeping."

The two stood.

"Good night, then, Minerva. I will see you in the morning!"

"Good night. Thank you for explaining Hedera pythonica to me, and for the company!"

"You are very welcome," he responded warmly.

Minerva headed around toward the east side of the lake, strolling with no particular destination in mind. It was odd, she thought, that Albus had not told her more of the qualities of Hedera pythonica, given that it was so entwined with the yew, both literally and figuratively, and his own wand was from the yew tree around which her ivy wand had once grown. Perhaps he thought it sufficient explanation to say that the wands were mates. Still, the relationship between magical ivy and its host tree was an interesting one, and one that required more consideration, she believed.

Dusk began to fall rapidly, and Minerva turned from the lake and from her musings, and headed back to the castle, to her rooms, and to her new picture of Albus, in its frame of gold and silver with a design of climbing ivy . . . a single thornless rose in the corner.

Note: As always, do not take my story as your source for accurate information about the Real World; I strive for verisimilitude, and if it is also accurate, that's great. However, if you are curious about scientific, historic, cultural, or sociological details mentioned in RaM, I have no doubt that there is a wealth of accurate (and inaccurate!) information on the Web! That said, English ivy, also known as common ivy, is found on oak trees and other trees in that family, and ivy really is carved on grave markers as a symbol of immortality, and the yew is also associated with eternal life. Thanks for reading!