LXXXVII: Of Altruism and Magical Accidents

LXXXVII: Of Altruism and Magical Accidents

"Hmm, I'd forgotten that there was more than one letter – time must have conflated them in my memory," Egeria said. "You can keep them, if you like. Now, I need to go talk to your father about our trip. You can just make yourself at home, sweetness."

Egeria gave Minerva a quick kiss and left her in her sunny study with the parchments. Minerva looked at the letters her mother had handed her. Three of them. She took a breath and prepared to be transported back more than fifteen years into the past.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Albus"

So, her mother had expressed concern for Albus's well-being. As a Healer-Midwife, she would be aware of any dangers associated with staunching a magical drain. Albus had downplayed any risk to his own health when he had explained the staunching to her. Had the risk to himself been greater than he had admitted to her? And her mother had said that this incident had confirmed her parents' faith in him. An accident that sent a student to the Hospital Wing could have just the opposite effect on a parent. Was it the fact that he had informed them so soon after the accident that had confirmed their trust, or his actions immediately following the accident? Accidents can happen; a simple accident would not have alarmed her parents unduly, unless they had thought it had been preventable. This accident hadn't been – unless she hadn't been doing the exercises at all, which would have meant she wasn't studying to become an Animagus, and she would not have wanted to have sacrificed that.

Poor Albus. He had been so clearly worried about her. And she had refused to speak to him about the accident or how she was feeling, which had increased his concern. But what could she have said to him? She had tried to hide the tension she felt when she was around him, but she had obviously been unsuccessful. Fortunately, that phase had passed as she became more used to her feelings about him and she fell back into her routine and her Animagus training, and, of course, once she was confident that he would not discover her feelings for him through Legilimency.

"So, did you read the letters? Did they jog your memory?" Egeria asked as she came back into her study.

"Yes, yes, they did. But they weren't particularly informative about what it was that Professor Dumbledore did after the accident."

"I suppose this is where your questions arise, sweetness." Egeria sat down in one of the small armchairs and thought for a moment. "First, I'll explain a little bit about magical drains. There are a few different common causes to them. One that I have not seen since I was in training, because of the nature of my practice, is brought about when a wizard or witch is attempting a spell with which they have little or no experience and which requires a good deal of magical power to effect. The wizard, and it usually is a wizard, casts the spell and in his determination to bring about the effect, loses control over his magic and rather than the controlled flow of just the proper amount of magic to cast the spell, he expends too much in a large burst. The spell is often successful, but the wizard's magic is depleted. This type of drain is usually self-limiting unless the wizard continues to cast unintentionally, in which case, the drain continues until another person intervenes or the wizard loses consciousness.

"Another instance of magical drain can occur with small children. Generally – and fortunately – most magical accidents that children have when they are frightened or angry do not cause magical drain. However, if the stress on the child is severe, the accident can cause a magical drain. Magical drain in children is particularly dangerous because it can result in magical exhaustion, not to be confused with simple magical depletion, and magical exhaustion in children can have long-lasting consequences on their ability to control their magic in the future. It is extremely rare for magical drain in children to result in magical exhaustion, however.

"Magical drain can also occur if a witch or wizard is attempting to cast a powerful spell at the same time that she or he receives a sudden, traumatic physical injury. This type of drain is more often seen with witches and wizards who have greater innate magical power, paradoxically enough, perhaps because in a weaker witch or wizard, the spell cannot be cast with the same degree of force.

"In your case, the magical drain was precipitated by magical syncope and the type of exercise you were doing. It would have been a sudden and violent drain. Fortunately, because your magic had been mature for a couple of years already, even if the drain had not been stopped and countered, you would have suffered no lasting harm, even if it went to the point of magical exhaustion. You would have been ill, however, and it would have required a long period of recuperation during which you would have had to have abstained from using any magic at all. So you are very fortunate that Albus was able to staunch the drain."

Minerva nodded. "I guess that is really my question, then. How did he staunch it? The Hogwarts wards protect underage witches and wizards from magical drain, but I was of age, so they didn't actively protect me. Professor Dumbledore told me several months after the accident that he had staunched it – instinctively, he said. He was also able to draw on the Hogwarts magical field or something, but I am not clear about what that may have involved, either."

"Because severe magical drain in children can have such dire consequences, there is an instinctive reaction that allows a parent to staunch the drain before there can be any permanent damage to the child's magic. This instinctive reaction isn't limited to parents and their children, though. It has also been known for other older relatives – an aunt, grandparent, older sibling, and the like – to staunch a magical drain in this way. The person doing the staunching is usually unaware of it initially, though they generally do become aware of it at some point, since their own magic is being drawn down; the staunching is initiated when the older person touches or embraces the child. If the adult, the donor, breaks physical contact, the staunching is stopped, but she, or he, can also consciously rein in their magic and stop it. The adult, if talented enough, can also control the staunching at the point they recognise what is happening and increase its effect, even counterbalancing the drain. I imagine that Albus did that."

Minerva knit her brow. "I see all that, and Albus explained some of it, but I still don't understand how it was possible. I was of age, technically not a child, and certainly not his child or related to him in anyway. I don't understand how the instinct could have been triggered."

"The reaction doesn't occur only between related individuals. There have been known cases where an unrelated adult instinctively staunches the drain in a child to whom they are particularly close – it has even been heard of for a complete stranger to effect it, although I don't believe there has been a documented case of this occurring where the child is older than about three or four. And, of course, it can also happen that an adult staunches the magical drain in an adult relative, or a spouse or lover. Your professor clearly felt very close to you, Minerva, cared for you very deeply. That is why our faith in him was confirmed. He could not have performed the magical staunching as he did if he did not have your best interests at heart, and we knew that he would do anything he could to protect you. It was clear to us that he would not allow any harm to come to you if he were able to prevent it."

"I see, I think. Because of the amount of time we had spent together over the years I studied with him, he had come to view me as a young relative . . ."

"I wouldn't put it that way, sweetness. It wouldn't have mattered how he 'viewed' you, as you put it. The instinctive staunching originates at a visceral level; it was his feeling toward you that was operative, not his conscious thoughts about you. The person has to feel love toward the other person in order for the instinct to be triggered. It would have been different, of course, if he had been a Healer. Magical drains can be stopped by a Healer using an advanced healing spell and without requiring any physical contact. It is difficult to cast and it is rare to have the opportunity to practice it on someone suffering a genuine drain. As talented as your Professor Dumbledore is, I doubt very much he could have cast that spell, even if he knew of it, so we are very fortunate that he was able to staunch and counterbalance it instinctively, as he did, or you would have been in for a long period of recuperation."

Minerva said, "I see, I think . . ."

"You seem troubled, Minerva. What is it?" her mother asked.

"Well . . . so many things. I don't know where to begin."

"What bothers you most?"

"Professor Dumbledore told me that neither of us was in danger, that he was perfectly well and that it was safe for him to have done what he did, but you apparently expressed concern for him in one of your letters."

"Yes, because it is harder on a witch or wizard – the donor – when the person afflicted is someone whose magic is matured, particularly in the event of a violent drain such as the one you suffered. It was clear to me from what he had said about your treatment and prognosis that not only did he staunch the drain, but he counterbalanced it, which takes far more magical energy. I was naturally concerned that he had caused himself some injury in preventing yours. He is a powerful wizard, but it could, nonetheless, cause him extreme . . . fatigue and discomfort. If circumstances were particularly dire, he could have triggered magical drain in himself, although I doubted that was likely."

"But he told me that he couldn't be injured by it . . ."

Egeria hesitated. "Perhaps that is because of what you said about drawing on the Hogwarts magical field. He is also an extremely powerful wizard; he likely has what might be considered an excess of magic. Still, I don't doubt that it tired him. He did far more than anyone could have asked or expected of him."

"Can this staunching and counterbalancing cause any side-effects, long- or short-term? I mean something other than fatigue and that sort of thing," Minerva said.

"No, none – only if the donor in the counterbalancing loses control and suffers a magical drain himself, but that is unlikely, and would be no more serious than any other magical drain. Of course, if the recipient were suffering from magical exhaustion or were close to magical exhaustion, the donor could experience magical exhaustion in attempting to help them, but I doubt that your situation was that dire, and even if it had been, Albus Dumbledore is powerful and skilled enough to remain in control of his magic, and, as I said, he does seem to have a surfeit of magic, more than enough to share. If he were also able to draw on Hogwarts magical field, that would offer him some protection, as well."

"You know that our wands are mates; apparently the magic of the individuals who hold mated wands resonates harmoniously. Would this have any bearing in this situation?" Minerva asked.

"Only in that it was likely easier for Albus to counterbalance the drain and to infuse you with some of his magic. Instinctively staunching the drain, though, that was triggered by his love for you, not by some magical harmony."

Minerva swallowed at her mother's repeated use of the word "love" and attempted to maintain her calm. Love . . . he had loved her as a child, someone dear to him, but she had been a child to him then, and there was no reason for her to believe that anything had changed in his view of her or in the way he felt about her.

"But infusing magic . . . into another person. That sounds, I don't know . . . invasive."

"In a sense I suppose it is, but the magic flows in to fill the void left when your magic escaped in the drain. It is purely altruistic, sweetness. And the recipient could reject it, although it would be difficult to do so – like holding your breath too long and starving yourself of oxygen."

"But surely receiving someone else's magic must affect your own . . ."

"No, as soon as it enters your magical system, it is integrated and is as much yours as the magic you were born with. There is no distinguishing it. It's like water. I pour one cup of water into a container with another cup of water, and there is no way distinguishing between them," Egeria explained.

"But our magic is resonant – " Minerva said.

"It might be more accurate to say that your magical systems resonate in harmony. It is the way your magic works, the way it flows in you both, that resonates so well together, not the magic itself."

"So what Albus did . . . it couldn't have done anything to me or my magic."

"No, your accident may have had some untoward effects on you, of course, depending on the kind of exercise you were doing, but even that would likely be short-lived."

"I just became concerned that perhaps it damaged my magic or implanted something that wasn't there before, something like that."

"No, highly unlikely. Of course, if his intent had been other than it was . . . it is possible to affect the resonance of another's magic, or to influence their . . . magical proclivities, one could say. But that is a different phenomenon altogether, and once someone's magic is fully matured, it cannot be influenced that way, or more precisely, it is very difficult to do so. In long ago days, fathers would sometimes attempt to influence the development of their sons' magic, or, more rarely, their daughters', by having someone cast a powerful and invasive spell on the child, generally before the age of eight. This magic has been discouraged for hundreds of years, and is now known only to happen accidentally. It isn't precisely Dark Magic, but it certainly is morally questionable, and can be dangerous to the child. An accident like yours and what Albus did to treat you are of quite a different nature altogether, sweetness, and what he did was completely altruistic. But as far as any long-lasting effect . . . I do know that some people who have had accidents of the sort you did – magical syncope brought about while performing particular internal magical exercises – have reported a spiritual experience, and that experience can sometimes have a lasting impact on them. They feel they have gained some remarkable spiritual insight, and they are usually very frustrated once they recover because they can't recapture whatever the insight was. They have a sense that there was something that they experienced, but they can't remember it. Others report intense memories – vividly reliving some emotion-laden event from their past." Egeria shrugged. "I think this has to do with the type of internal exercises they are doing; something is activated by the syncope in combination with the exercise."

"I had . . . I had a rather emotional reaction," Minerva said, "and Madam Valentius said that it was not unusual. She said that the emotions were ones I already had, the accident didn't create them."

Egeria nodded. "She was right. It's the same as with the memories I spoke of – the emotions were already there, but the incident brings them out and intensifies them. They are not new or somehow manufactured by the accident."

"I see . . . and it was unrelated to the staunching?" Minerva asked.

"Completely. Well, that may not be precisely true. The staunching may influence which emotion or which memory is triggered, but it wouldn't create it."

"Oh . . . I suppose that confirms what Madam Valentius said."

Egeria leaned forward in her chair and put her hand on her daughter's. "Do you want to talk about it? What happened then . . . you can talk to me about it, you know, sweetness."

"Yes, I know. But I was curious about the phenomenon, that's all," Minerva said, feeling slightly guilty at dissembling. "And I had some new questions, of course, now that I know about the mated wands. I had surmised that whatever it was that drew us to have mated wands might have made it possible for Dumbledore to perform the staunching."

"His emotional connection with you is what made it possible; the magical resonance likely made it more effective and easier for him," Egeria answered, giving Minerva's hand a pat. "If you ever want to talk about it, or you have any other questions, you know I am here, sweetness."

Minerva smiled, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know that, Mother, and I do appreciate it. I think I just want to digest this, and if I have any questions, I will let you know."

Egeria nodded. "That's fine . . . I did find another letter from Albus from that December. As it wasn't directly related to your schooling or the accident, Merwyn had it. I'm surprised he kept it, but more than likely, he just never threw it away," she said with a grin, handing Minerva a small, folded parchment. "I'm going to go do some work in the garden now. I'd love your company if you'd like to join me in a bit."

"I may do that. Thanks, Mother – I really appreciate your taking the time to explain this all to me."

Egeria laughed slightly. "I enjoyed it, really. I'm glad I could answer some of your questions."

When Minerva was alone again, she unfolded the small parchment.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Albus"

So her parents had expressed their gratitude by sending Albus a bottle of whisky, one of her father's favourite gifts – both to give and to receive – and they had told him that she was doing well. And he had been so hopeful that she would be returned to her usual self when she returned to Hogwarts in January, and she had no doubt disappointed him or, more likely, worried him. Of course, their relationship did eventually return to normal, despite her constant battle with her feelings for him.

Minerva was just preparing to leave her mother's study to join her in the garden when there was a familiar clattering at the window. A large owl was banging forcefully against the glass. Minerva hastened to let it in before it injured itself. With a rather disgruntled sounding hoot, the owl settled on the back of the chair that Minerva had just vacated and offered her a leg to which was attached an envelope. Minerva opened the top right-hand drawer of her mother's desk, where she knew her mother kept owl treats, and offered the bird a large handful before closing the drawer.

Minerva now recognised the writing on the envelope. Her first response to the invitations she had owled that morning. She drew her wand and sliced open the envelope neatly.

"Amsterdam

"Gertrude"

Minerva thought it slightly odd that she should have used an envelope – her previous letters had been rolled and sealed – but if she was visiting her son and daughter-in-law, she probably just used what they had handy. Now that Gertrude had accepted, Minerva desperately hoped that her other guests would, as well. It could be awkward if it were just her, her parents, and Gertrude. Of course, Melina and Brennan would be there, too. She hoped her brothers would have the courtesy to respond since she'd taken the trouble to actually owl them with the invitations. Hopefully they would understand that it wasn't just a casual invitation and that she would like a response. Malcolm, though, could be somewhat derelict in such social niceties. Perhaps she should call around to see him if she didn't hear from him by morning.

Just as she was speculating about her brothers, Melina's obnoxious little owl, Bootsie, flew in through the open window and let out a squawk. Minerva hurriedly took the letter it carried and gave it a few treats, hoping to avoid being pecked at or bitten by the ill-tempered bird.

This one was from Murdoch, letting Minerva know that he would be arriving with Melina and Brennan on Sunday afternoon, and they would likely arrive shortly after three o'clock. Minerva let out a sigh of relief. Even if no one else could come, there would be enough people there to keep any awkward silences at bay.

Minerva tucked her letters into her pocket with the ones from Albus to her parents and headed out to the garden to keep her mother company as she worked. She was likely gathering herbs, which was why she had asked for company rather than help; she was very fussy about what parts of the herb were picked, which leaves or flowers, and she preferred to do all of her gathering on her own, although she did sometimes let Melina help her. First fetching two glasses of lemonade from Fwisky in the kitchen, Minerva left the house to find her mother in the garden.