LXXXVI: A Mother’s Trust

LXXXVI: A Mother's Trust

"Thursday, 25 July 1957

"Minerva"

Minerva hesitated, but then charmed the top of the parchment with her personalised seal. Perhaps Albus wouldn't even notice it. That was most likely . . . why would he place the same significance on their wand woods that she did, or on the rose? He likely wouldn't even realise that she had made any changes to the Egidius seal. Minerva smiled; he would notice the cat, though, she was sure of that. She did hope he didn't decide to get rid of his beard and hair, despite what she wrote, but she felt that perhaps she might have hurt his feelings a little by her obvious shock, and she certainly didn't want to do that. But if he did return to the clean-shaven look, she would act as though she didn't notice a thing. Albus shouldn't decide on whether to shave or not based on her opinion, after all. Although it had been sweet, what he'd said . . . the two females in his life, she and Wilspy, didn't like it, so he was going to return to his usual look. A warm feeling spread over her; she was a fixture in his life, just like Wilspy. Of course, Wilspy was his house-elf, and some people might take it amiss to be mentioned in the same breath as a house-elf, but Minerva knew that he was very fond of Wilspy . . . besides, she was one of only two females in his life. Two whose opinions mattered, anyway – he didn't feel the need to wait and see what Gertrude thought of it. And it had been such a spontaneous statement. Not that she should place too much weight on it, of course . . . she was important to him, but as a friend. A close friend, though.

Minerva sighed and sealed Albus's letter with a blob of emerald wax and charmed her initials into it. Sometimes he made her feel so special, it was almost as though he cared for her as something more than a friend. She snorted softly to herself. "More than a friend"; a daughter or granddaughter, most likely. It was folly to imagine anything else. Yet, staring at the letter, she remembered how sweetly he had brought her that special dessert and then walked her down the backstairs, reassuring her. And how he had indulged her when she was tipsy, serving her chamomile tea, then walking her all the way back to her room – unnecessarily. And the last time they had walked down his backstairs and he had caught her. . . . A shiver went through Minerva as she remembered the sensation of his hand against her bare skin. He had removed his hand as soon as she was steady, but that brief moment was burned into her memory. And Albus had thought she looked beautiful in the gown, despite it being utterly inappropriate for Hogwarts, particularly at that time of day. Remembering how he had dropped the parchments he had been holding when she first walked into his sitting room wearing it, Minerva swallowed; could she allow herself to believe that he really did find her not simply beautiful, as he so often told her, but attractive, as well? He did seem to tell her often that she was beautiful; but he was gallant and charming. That could be an automatic compliment he gave her, a mere politeness. But his reaction to unexpectedly seeing her in the dress robes, that had been spontaneous, she thought.

Minerva shook her head, clearing it of her foolish speculations. Even if Albus had found her somewhat attractive, that couldn't change years of caring for her as his student or surrogate daughter. If anything, it was likely to make him uncomfortable, and if he were aware of her intense attraction to him, that would certainly make him uncomfortable, even though her attraction to him was intertwined with her love for him. Perhaps especially because of that, he would be uncomfortable . . .

Minerva sighed and picked up her letters. She ought to get into Portree and owl them to everyone. It was fairly short notice, as it was. Thinking of her new insignia, she cast the Sigillum spell on a piece of blank parchment and recreated her new emblem so that she could show it to her mother. Minerva didn't require her mother's approval, of course – nor anyone else's, since wizarding coats-of-arms weren't officially granted or registered, and there weren't any rules governing the different elements that comprised them, nor was there any standardisation, although there were some commonalities with Muggle heraldry. Technically, they weren't even "coats-of-arms," since they rarely referenced Muggle arms, let alone were they emblazoned on them, although many wizards did use a shield in their insignia; the Egidius and Parnovon families had always used a diamond as the central element of their seals, however. Nonetheless, Minerva hoped that her mother liked it and that she didn't disapprove of her replacing the red deer with a cat. She thought that the deer had been present on the Egidius seal for generations, and the Rod of Aesclepius most surely had been. But she wasn't a Healer, after all. Substituting the rose for the holly would be more difficult to explain, and for a moment, Minerva was tempted to replace the rose with the usual sprig of holly, but then she shrugged, deciding that she could just say she liked the way the rose looked, if her mother asked about it.

Minerva trotted down the stairs, letters in hand, to find her mother. Egeria was in her study, writing, and she looked up and smiled when her only daughter entered the room.

"All set to Apparate to Portree to owl your letters, then?"

"Yes, I just wanted to make sure that you hadn't thought of anything you wanted me to get, and I also wanted to show you something." Minerva held out the parchment to her mother. "I used the Egidius seal a few weeks ago when I was responding to Gertrude's invitation. She, of course, had used the Gamp family seal. I altered it slightly at the time to personalise it, but I've made a few other changes since, and I thought I would show it to you. Of course, I don't plan on using it all of the time, but I thought it might be nice to personalise it for those occasions that might call for it."

Minerva waited for her mother's reaction, slightly nervous.

"I think it's lovely, Minerva! I like the cat. Very appropriate, sweetness," Egeria said, smiling. "Not only because of your Animagus, but because your spirit is a bit less docile than the doe might indicate. The fiery Tyree side of you, perhaps. And it certainly makes sense for you to use something other than the Healer's Staff in the centre. It was very interesting, about your wand and Albus's – I presume that was the inspiration for the branch?"

Minerva nodded. "I just thought that ivy twining around the yew branch was more appropriate than the Rod of Aesclepius, and it echoed the ivy that was already part of the design. I'm glad you like it."

"The rose is a nice touch . . . I added the holly when I began using the seal about sixty years ago. Traditionally, it was a wreath of mistletoe, but as I thought the holly went well with the ivy and my wand is of holly, I changed it. And certainly the rose as a symbol of love complements the motto, which I see you kept."

"Yes, I always rather liked the motto . . . although it takes a bit more than comfort or compassion to heal someone," Minerva said with a sceptical half-smile.

"But true healing requires compassion. You are right, of course, about simple physical healing – which is fortunate!" Egeria said with a smile.

"So did you think of anything that you might like from Portree?"

"No, nothing, sweetness," Egeria answered, shaking her head at her daughter's eccentric choice of Portree for her errand. "You go on ahead and post your letters. Are you going on to visit friends or will you be back for lunch?"

"I haven't any plans; I want to spend some time with you while you are here, anyway, so I'll be back for lunch."

An hour later, Minerva returned home and looked for her father, first in his study then in the library, finally going to her mother's study.

"Mother? I was looking for Dad – I have his tobacco for him – but couldn't find him."

"I encouraged him to take a walk. I imagine he'll do more sitting and thinking than actual walking, but at least he got out of the house. He'll be back for lunch. Just leave it in on his desk," Egeria answered.

"You didn't go with him?" Minerva asked.

"No, I had some work to do, but more than that, if I were to go for a walk today, I would want to do more walking than sitting," she said with a grin. "Why don't we get out for a walk this afternoon, you and I, sweetness? We can talk and walk and get some good fresh air in our lungs. I should be able to finish this before lunch if I keep at it," she said, gesturing at her parchment.

Minerva smiled. "I would like that. And I know what you mean about Dad. I like a casual stroll occasionally, but it seems he only knows how to stroll and has no idea how to take a good, brisk walk, let alone climb about on the rocks."

"Good! I will look forward to that."

Minerva dropped her father's tobacco on his desk, then went into the library and found the book that her father had dug out for her the night before. She wasn't sure she was in the mood to read it at that moment, although if it did have anything to say about wands and magical resonance, that could be interesting. Thinking about magical resonance reminded her of the other topic she had wanted to research while she was home, magical drains and how they are staunched. Not entirely sure what sort of book would have that kind of information, she began to peruse the shelves. Minerva became distracted when she found a book on the history of Animagi that she hadn't seen before. It was a relatively new volume, only published the previous year. Odd that she hadn't noticed it on one of her many trips to Flourish and Blotts. Of course, those trips were much less frequent than they had been when she lived in London, and if this hadn't been released until she had moved to Hogwarts in December, that might explain why she hadn't seen it before.

Minerva perched on the arm of the sofa and began to look through the table of contents. About thirty pages into the book, she slid down onto the sofa, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet under her. An hour later, Orents popped into the room and announced that lunch was going to be served in ten minutes.

"Uh-huh. Thank you," Minerva said, not raising her eyes from the page.

Fifteen minutes later, Orents returned. "Miss Minerva, lunch is served. Parents is waiting."

"Mmmhm. All right." Minerva uncurled, sat up, and slid toward the edge of the sofa, still reading.

Orents sighed and Disapparated. Two minutes later, Egeria walked into the library and plucked the book from her daughter's hands. "Lunch, Minerva! I swear, it's as though you were twelve again."

Minerva looked up, confused. "What?"

"Orents has been in twice to fetch you for lunch."

"He has?" Minerva asked, puzzled.

"Mmm. But he apparently has forgotten that you can give an impression of hearing something when you're reading, but actually be entirely unaware of anything. I swear, Minerva, a dragon could swoop in on you and you wouldn't notice unless the books started burning! Come along, you can read later, and," Egeria said, looking at the book in her hand, "I actually bought this book thinking to give it to you; since I've read it, you may take it with you when you return to Hogwarts."

"Oh, thank you! It's quite good. I know most of it already, but the way the author has put it all together is really fascinating." Minerva stood. "I'm sorry about making you wait for lunch. I'm not usually this bad anymore; it's just a particularly good book."

Egeria laughed. "That's all right, sweetness. It feels like old times."

"I'm starving! Let's go eat!" Minerva grinned. "Then we can go on our walk and talk – in fact, I have some questions. I was actually looking for something else when I found this book. You can probably help me find what I want, and you may even know something about it."

"That sounds perfect," Egeria answered. "Now let's not keep your father waiting! You know how he gets when his meals are late," she said with a wink.

"I hope that when Gertrude visits, the weather's nice and I can get her out for a walk. She likes a good hike," Minerva said.

"I'll ask your Aunt Maisie what she's predicting for the weekend," Egeria answered, before stumbling slightly on some loose stone and catching hold of Minerva's arm.

"Hmmph. Weather divination. Not my cuppa, but Maisie's doing well enough, I suppose," Minerva said, thinking of Maisie's "Words for the Weatherwise" column that ran in the Prophet and a few of the smaller newspapers. "Have you seen her recently?"

"A few weeks ago, when we went to visit Siofre and Herbert. She is a peculiar one, that Maisie, and her daughter, well, she's still quite young, I suppose, and I should reserve judgment on her until she's a bit older."

"I saw Dorcas once in Hogsmeade. I waved at her, but she just stared at me as though she didn't know who I was. I couldn't decide whether she honestly didn't recognise me or if she was just pretending not to. At first, I even wondered whether it was I who was mistaken and I'd been waving at a total stranger, but then I noticed her scarf – you know, she always wears those long scarves knit of different coloured wool, none of them matching." Minerva shook her head. "I hadn't seen her in a few years, but I'm sure it was her. It actually made me slightly sad that she didn't at least wave back."

"Takes after Herbert; he's always been a quiet one – though her father was a bit of an odd duck, they say. I think it's just as well Maisie never married the fellow, though I'd never say that to Siofre. She'd think I'd sprung a leak in m' cauldron, as your Grandfather Egidius was wont to say," Egeria said with a chuckle.

"But Herbert is . . . pleasant, even if he's quiet. And Maisie, for all of her barmy notions, is cheerful and outgoing. Dorcas just seems antisocial."

"Yes, well, when she was a child, I suggested once that she be brought to St. Mungo's for a thorough going-over because I was concerned about her development. You'd have thought I'd suggested that she was a vampire or something! Maisie went off on me about how her daughter was a brilliant child and no Squib and the like – I had never suggested that she was a Squib, mind – and that she wanted the girl to develop her creativity without being restrained by conventional morality, as though I were some ancient, repressed, hypercritical old busybody. Siofre, I think, agreed with me, but she told me that she hadn't interfered with the way I raised you children, and she wasn't going to interfere with her daughter now. And she was right, more or less. She did an admirable job, even when she still lived with us before she married Herbert, at keeping her opinions to herself unless asked." Egeria quirked a smile. "I suppose that's why I went to her for advice. She never foisted it on me – or rarely, anyway. She's the one who suggested your brother Murdoch's playroom, and it was an excellent idea. It kept Murdoch out of my things, and he agreed to allow me to restrict what ingredients he messed about with, and he was happy as a Kelpie in a loch. Probably knew more about Potions when he entered Hogwarts than most third- or fourth-year students as a result."

"I always resented the fact that I couldn't practice Transfiguration and Charms during the summers, while those who enjoyed Potions could do whatever they wanted," Minerva said. "Not to mention that until I got to Hogwarts, I couldn't do anything interesting at all, to my mind."

"I think that's what spurred Malcolm's interest in wandless magic when he was in school, and if you believe any of the tales he tells, it's saved his life on more than one occasion."

"Hmph. That's if you believe his tales," Minerva said with a laugh.

"Well, I doubt you wanted to talk about Dorcas or the boys," Egeria said, referring to her sons, "so what was it you were looking for in the library before Animagi from Antiquity to Modernity distracted you?"

"I was interested in the phenomenon of magical draining, what it is, what causes it, and how it can be prevented, staunched, and treated," Minerva answered.

"Well, you were looking in the wrong part of the library. When we get back to the house, I'll show you where the books are – they are in the Healing Arts section."

"Thank you. What do you know about it?"

Egeria laughed. "And how would you answer if I were to ask you what you know about organic Transfigurations?"

Minerva blushed. "Well, I suppose that I would ask you what you wanted to know, specifically, and if you had any particular questions in mind, since I know a great deal about organic Transfigurations and could lecture for hours on them."

"So, do you have any specific questions?"

"When I was a student, I had a bit of an accident and there was some magical drain. I have just become curious about it."

"Oh, the accident during your sixth year; I should have guessed," Egeria said, nodding.

"You knew about that?" Minerva asked, startled.

"Of course. You were in the Hospital Wing overnight, for one, but Albus had also promised us that he would take good care of you during your Animagus training and make certain that no harm came to you, although I do believe he would have told us about an accident of that magnitude even if it were unrelated to your Animagus training. He was your Head of House, after all."

"Albus told you? I didn't realise – and you never said anything." Minerva was slightly perturbed.

"Yes, he did. As was his duty, even though you were of age. We didn't get many letters like that about you – or Morgan – when you were in school. Malcolm and Murdoch, though – they were terrors. I was always half-afraid that Malcolm would get himself eaten during some unauthorised expedition in the Forest, and Murdoch, with him it was poisonings and explosions I feared." Egeria shook her head, remembering her two sons and their somewhat reckless pastimes.

"What did he say?"

"That you had had an episode of magical syncope accompanied by a drain and emotional lability. He said that it had been precipitated by his unexpected entrance into the classroom while you were performing some kind of exercise. He may have said what exercise, but it's been a long time, and I don't remember much else about it. He did say that although you appeared to have recovered physically, you still seemed affected by it. He also thought we should know so we could keep an eye on you, in case you had some kind of . . . relapse or something, I suppose, while you were home on holiday."

"Oh. I see. You never mentioned it."

"Neither did you. And although you seemed more quiet than usual that Christmas, you didn't appear ill, and I thought it best not to broach the subject unless you did. You were at that age, remember, when you felt you didn't need parents anymore. You had always wanted to be grown up and independent, rushing into adulthood before you even enjoyed your childhood, I always feared, but at that point . . ." Egeria shrugged.

"Yes, I understand. And I was a bit moody at the time. I likely wouldn't have responded well if you had said anything. And I would have been embarrassed that Professor Dumbledore wrote you."

"I still have it, if you'd like to take a look. The letter. It's with your school papers. It confirmed what we believed about your professor." In response to Minerva's questioning look, Egeria added, "That he would take good care of you, that our trust in him was well-founded. Animagus training is not without risks, and although it was something that you were set on, I believe that Albus would have delayed your training until you were out of school if your father and I had opposed it. But your father had a good feeling about him, and having met him myself and seen how kindly he treated you, I believed he could be trusted to take good care of you. It's one thing to be a powerful and brilliant wizard, which everyone knew him to be, and another to be worthy of entrusting the life and future of your child to him." Egeria smiled at Minerva. "And now you are no longer a child, my daughter, and still I trust him. He cares for you very much."

Minerva nodded. "Our time together when I was training to be an Animagus did create a bond."

"Mmm. Yes. Of course it did, sweetness. Speaking of your training, have you heard from Herr Magister Sachs recently?"

"No. I had a card from him at Christmas, of course, and sent him one. I should write him sometime this summer and find out how he is. In his card, he mentioned that he had just taken on his last new apprentice, he thought."

Egeria nodded. "And your friend, the Apotheker?"

"Rudolf sent a card on my birthday, but he didn't write a note. I suppose I should write to him, see how he is." Minerva sighed. "It turns out that Johannes is friends with Rudolf's cousin, of all things, and wants to sell him potions ingredients after he moves back to Germany and establishes his own greenhouse."

"Mm. I am looking forward to meeting Johannes. I hope he can give me some pointers about what I am doing wrong with some of these plants."

The two witches had walked along the cliffs to the very edge of the McGonagall property; they had avoided any climbing, but they were now far enough above the house that they could look down at it.

"Sit for a bit?" Egeria suggested.

Minerva signalled her agreement by taking a seat on a low, flat rock, and her mother settled down beside her.

Egeria smiled, gazing down at the house. "That old wreck looks fairly good from here, doesn't it? I grew to love that house and these cliffs, though they were nothing I wanted, or thought I wanted, when I was young. Your father had been pestering me for years to marry him, but I saw no reason to change things when I was quite happy as I was. I told him that if we had children, I'd marry him, but not before. You know that I didn't want to share a house with his mother – or any other woman, for that matter. What witch doesn't want to be the mistress of her own house? And I certainly couldn't imagine living way out here after having spent most of my life in Edinburgh. But then your father challenged me to abide by my word. He said it was all well and good to talk about children and marriage, but if we weren't having any, it was only talk. He said he always had wanted a family, and this Apparating to and fro . . . he was tired of it. So I agreed, threw all caution to the winds, and let him try to make babies. Even with all of my education and experience, I still thought it would take a while once I'd stopped the spells and potions," Egeria said with a laugh, "but three months later, Malcolm was on his way, and the following month, your father and I married and I moved up here with him – which was also part of the deal.

"I think if I had been utterly miserable, Merwyn would have agreed to move us to Edinburgh, or perhaps to Aberdeen, somewhere near family, but to my utter astonishment, I was not merely happy here . . . I was somewhere beyond happiness. And your father was always quite content to have me flit about the country doing my work, always coming home to him – even if the unpredictability of my practice meant that I was sometimes gone overnight, or even two or three days at a time. He would just send me cheery little letters with funny little drawings in them . . . I couldn't have had a happier life than I have, even if it wasn't the one that I had thought I wanted.

"Your father and I were so different, and many people thought we were both slightly barmy to try to make a life together. And even after more than ten years of 'courting,' I wondered if we might not be barmy to be getting married. But I couldn't imagine my life without him, sweetness, and that life brought me you, and your brothers, and that house and these cliffs. We have had some sorrows in that house, but we have had so much joy . . . and that is what I told Melina. She and her young man haven't waited a decade, or even a year, to marry, but she shouldn't worry about the differences between them as long as they have the most important things in common, as your father and I do. We aren't opposites, we're complements, I like to say. Remember that, Minerva, that differences aren't what determine the success of a relationship, but whether the things that matter most to you both are things you have in common, or that they easily fit together."

Minerva nodded, but looked at her mother with a slightly worried expression. "You aren't . . . are you well? You aren't ill, are you?"

"No, sweetness! Why would you think that?"

"Well, it just sounded so . . . it's not as though I'm Melina, about to make my life with someone, after all. I wondered what brought on that speech," Minerva said.

"Just nostalgia, looking at the house, and, no doubt, having talked with Melina last night. For all that she appears confident about her decision, she is nervous about it. She is quite aware of all of the differences between her and Brennan, and if she forgets, you remind her of them. You really should leave her be, Minerva. She has worries enough as it is."

"Oh, I have already decided that. I told her that if she was certain of it, then I was happy for her and I would celebrate with her. I am just worried about her, that's all."

"I know, sweetness, but you must also remember that love can remove many an obstacle. Love is a very powerful force; don't underestimate it. It can drive people to the greatest acts of bravery and sacrifice, if the love be true. Love will even sacrifice itself, and that is a tragedy."

The two sat for a while longer, then Minerva said, "Well, that was not a particularly cheering thought, but I will take your word for it. I am getting hungry for tea now. Let's head back and you can show me the books you have in mind and we can have our tea."

"Yes, and I'll fetch you that letter, too," Egeria said, standing. "Now, I wonder what your father and Fwisky have planned for our tea!"

Next: "Of Altruism and Magical Accidents" Minerva reads correspondence written years before.