XCII: Expectations and Arrivals

Note: As always, not DH-compliant. Or anything else post-DH.

XCII: Expectations and Arrivals

Albus tried not to indulge the eagerness he felt as he took the letter from the small owl. He had spied the green sealing wax and hoped that Minerva's initials would be impressed in it. They were. Impatiently, he retrieved a few snacks for the wet little messenger, then sat down and opened the letter. After sending off his own letter the previous morning, Albus worried that he had been too familiar in it, but after her clear disappointment that he was unable to accept her invitation to lunch Monday and his own regret that he hadn't done so, he had wanted to reassure Minerva that he did, indeed, wish to spend time with her. And he really did miss her, busy though he was. It seemed as though all the empty spaces in his day, every moment between tasks, and each breath of transition were filled with thoughts of her. He missed her and he didn't seem to be able to escape it anymore.

Albus waited a moment and collected himself before he read the letter. He smiled at reading its first lines. He could imagine Minerva looking out on the rain falling over the McGonagall cliffs and thinking of him here at Hogwarts . . . of course, she didn't say she was thinking of him, not directly, but she said it would be a good day to have breakfast with him followed by a game of chess. And if she were writing to him first thing in the morning, she must be thinking of him. . . .

He read the letter slowly, savouring each word, hearing Minerva's voice in his mind, its gentle burr pleasantly tickling his ear even in his imagination. And when Minerva mentioned the gifts he had given her, his smile grew warmer, and when he read the words expressing her gratitude for his presence in her life, his heart seemed to strengthen in its beating and his magic to rise in a quickened tempo. Albus did not think himself a sentimental man, but he found himself inexplicably filled with the desire to kiss the words on the page. Albus closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. He tried to tell himself that there was no fool like an old fool, and that such thoughts were proof of the adage, but he suppressed that thought at the same time that he subdued the foolishness that gave rise to it. It was all simply an indicator that he was tired and missed her company.

Albus sighed and reread the paragraph – still smiling, though – and finished the letter. Hmm, if they were to have dinner in Minerva's quarters her first night in them . . . that would likely be the first, unless she delayed moving. He didn't really ever celebrate his birthday, not for many years, though he often had a quiet dinner with his brother, or, occasionally, with Gertrude. He had thought he would do the same that year. But it would be nice to have dinner with Minerva on his birthday, even though, of course, she wouldn't realise the significance of the day. It would nonetheless be a most pleasant way for him to celebrate it, even if it was his own secret celebration.

He would tell Aberforth that afternoon that he had business on the night of his birthday and would be unable to have dinner with him, if his brother asked. They never did very much for each other's birthdays; it just seemed after so many years . . . occasionally, one or the other of them would just happen to find something special he thought his brother would especially appreciate, but generally, their gifts were on the range of a bottle of fire whisky or a box of particularly nice pipe tobacco. Of course, there was the year that Albus had given Aberforth his cottage. . . . After finding Valerianna there as he had, Albus could not imagine enjoying the cottage any longer and had given it to his brother. Aberforth had accepted it, but had insisted that Albus take his own small cottage in exchange.

It had taken Albus a few visits with Wilspy to get rid of the smell of goats that seemed to permeate everything, but otherwise, the smaller cottage suited him quite well. It sat alone on its own little rocky island, spelled to withstand the storms that blew in across the sea, particularly in the winter. It felt snug and comfortable to Albus, and he felt it was better that Aberforth have the other, larger cottage. There was more room for his goats to roam, too, and more foliage for them to munch on.

Somehow, the isolation and simplicity of his current cottage seemed highly appropriate to Albus. Oddly, although most people found Albus more genial than Aberforth, and Aberforth's gruffness and bluntness alienated many who met him, Aberforth was actually the far more sociable of the two brothers. Aberforth thrived when he was able to spend time in the company of others, even if he said little, while Albus enjoyed the company of others and could entertain them quite well, but found solitude a more natural state. Perhaps it was more out of habit and use than from character and nature – certainly, as a young man, Albus had been quite sociable, and there was no doubt that he cared for people and liked them, but over the years, his studies, his travel, and his burdens had slowly isolated him, and his duties continued to do so. Now, he found himself happiest in the company of one or two good friends, friends with whom he could be, more or less, himself . . . there were very few such people. Minerva could be one of them, but particularly lately, he feared his own feelings for her, and feared also allowing himself to relax completely around her. There were times, however, when he was with Minerva and he felt as though everything was perfect . . . as though he was perfectly himself. But then he would do something like cast a Glamour on himself, and that feeling would escape him again. . . .

After having disappointed Minerva once already, Albus decided to respond to her letter immediately. The wet, bedraggled little owl whom she had sent with the letter had fallen asleep perched on the corner of his desk, part of a treat still held in his beak. Albus waved his hand to close the window. He'd let the poor little creature sleep and then send him back to Minerva with his response. He set his plumy purple quill to his best parchment and began to write.

Minerva spent a few warm, sweaty, and dusty hours in the attic with her mother, clearing paths and identifying some nice pieces of furniture that Melina and Brennan might like to take for their new flat, as well as several Persian carpets, rolled up and piled in a dark corner under the eaves. A little house-elf magic and there was a lot of wear left in them, and the colours were still bright and pleasing, Minerva thought.

Her mother had just gone downstairs to fix them a snack and a cool drink while Minerva finished up, when Drest flew in and landed with a perky hoot on top of the wardrobe she had just finished clearing out. Minerva looked up and was pleased to see that there was a letter attached to his leg. He glided down and landed on the back of a broken chair and stretched out his leg obligingly.

"Oh, good Drest! Very good owl," Minerva said. "You deserve an extra treat. Mother's down in the kitchen. I am sure she will give you something nice."

Drest nodded and flew off to find his mistress. As anxious as Minerva was to read the letter, she wanted to read it with clean hands in a more congenial atmosphere than the dimly-lit attic, so she took it downstairs to the second-floor, washed her hands, then settled down on a bench in the hallway. She pulled her glasses from her pocket and put them on, then broke the purple seal and opened the letter.

"28 July 1957

"Albus"

The sunshine that was now streaming in through the large windows on the landing between the second and first floors couldn't cheer her more than the letter from Albus did. And he had agreed to dinner, and it would be on the first! He hadn't mentioned his birthday, but given that she had never known nor, oddly enough, now that she considered it, ever thought to ask when it was, she assumed that he normally celebrated quietly, if at all. Mentioning it now, so close to his birthday, might be perceived as a desire on his part to have her recognise it, and Minerva knew that Albus would not want to appear to be grasping or self-centred. Minerva grinned happily. He would be even more surprised now, thinking that it was just a simple dinner to celebrate her first night in her new quarters, to find that it was a birthday dinner for him. Oh, how she loved that wizard! And she would show him that night how much she did – though she would not reveal the precise nature of her love for him, of course. But she did love Albus, and she had good reason to, after all the years they had known each other and all they had experienced together. From her private tutorials with him to her magical accident, from her work on the wards with him to saving him that time in France – that had all formed a strong foundation for the friendship that had grown over the years and that had recently blossomed so strongly. She could only hope that this blossoming friendship was sturdy and not short-lived. No, it wouldn't be. It would be more than perennial, it would be evergreen, just as the ivy and the yew were; in that moment, Minerva was sure of it. And humming happily, Minerva ran down the stairs to find her mother and the snack she had prepared for them.

At quarter to three, Murdoch flashed through the Floo, startling Minerva, who was reading through the pamphlet on how to open the Floo to any visitors who wanted to come through.

"You're early!" she said, surprised.

"Don't sound so happy to see me, then, M'nervy, or I may just leave and return to hear your overjoyed greeting once more!" Murdoch answered before giving her a big hug.

Minerva pushed her way out of his embrace. "I'm trying to figure out how to open the Floo," she said crossly. "These instructions were written by morons. They make absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"Here, let me show you," Murdoch said. With a few taps to the mantle and a couple of words, followed by a small sprinkle of Floo-Powder and one more tap, Murdoch had opened the Floo. "To set it back, do the same in reverse, but end with 'cludo' instead of 'pateo' and it will revert to its default settings tuned to the Antiapparition wards."

"Thanks. That was simple enough. I don't know why they take five pages of bad directions to try to explain it."

"That's your Ministry," Murdoch said, grinning. "Melina, Brennan, and Quin will be Flooing through in a few minutes. I told them I would make sure it was open for them first. That's a nice house he has for them."

"You saw it, then?"

"We thought it would make sense since we were all coming here to tea, and Melina wanted my opinion of it, anyway. She and Brennan are probably going to take it, but she wants Dad to look at the lease first, make sure they aren't promising away their first-born or something like that," Murdoch said with a chuckle.

"So it will be a magical lease?" Minerva asked.

"Yes, but with a clause that will allow Brennan to pay the rent in pounds rather than Galleons should anything happen to Melina and that will permit him to break the lease early under the same circumstances. She was most insistent on that."

"I told her that in the unlikely event that anything happens to her, we would look after him."

"I know," Murdoch replied, "but I see her point. He shouldn't be so completely reliant on us if anything were to happen to her – it would be fine as a stop-gap measure, but he's an adult, and it would be difficult for him to have to be reduced to dependency on us. He does have his pride, and it is also simply pragmatic."

Minerva nodded. "You're right, of course, and I am glad she is considering the practical implications of the marriage. But I hope that Brennan knows we see him as a member of the family now, and that he can come to any of us just as he would his own family, or just as Melina would."

"I think he will," Murdoch said. "That Quin is an amusing chap. I liked him. Mind you, I think he has more than two Galleons to rub together, but he seems down-to-earth despite that. He and Brennan struck it off well, too."

Minerva was about to respond to Murdoch's comments when the Floo flared bright green and the wizard himself stepped through lightly, brushing himself off.

"Good afternoon, Minerva!" Quin said with a smile, then giving a friendly nod to Murdoch. "Brennan will be through next. I went first to provide an additional demonstration and to make sure that the Floo was open to guests. If I bounced to a different Floo, I would be less flustered than Brennan would be on his first trip."

It was only a few more moments before the Floo went green again and a rather dizzy Brennan stepped through. Quin held out his right hand as if to shake Brennan's and discreetly helped him out of the fireplace and over to a nearby chair. A moment later, Melina appeared.

"Oh, good! Very good, Brennan! Did you like it? Was it all right?" she asked, fussing over him and brushing non-existent ash from his hair.

"I'm fine, love! It was . . . different. Better than Apparating, anyway," he said, and Minerva thought he turned slightly green at the mere thought of Apparition.

"We'll have Grandpa add you to the wards." She turned to Minerva as if noticing her for the first time. "He can do that, can't he? So Brennan can Floo through at any time? It doesn't matter than he's not a wizard, does it?"

"I don't know . . . the wards are tuned to our magical signatures. Since he doesn't have one, and doesn't Apparate, I don't know if the wards would even keep him out in the first place." Minerva furrowed her brow. "It's not the sort of problem that I've dealt with before. You know, I think that if anyone would have an answer to it, it would be Dumbledore. I will ask him about it."

Just then, there was a crack of Apparition from the front of the house.

"That's likely either Malcolm or Poppy. I want to stay here in case Gertrude or Johannes comes through. Melina, would you mind?" Minerva asked.

"No, not at all. Come on, Bren, you can meet my crazy uncle. Or Poppy, if it is her – you would like her, I know it. She's a fellow Hufflepuff." Melina kept up her chatter as she pulled Brennan out the library door; he was looking around, apparently looking for some sign that he was in a wizarding house.

Quin laughed. "Reminds me of Aileen, she does! Could talk the ear off an elephant!"

"She'd have to be able to hold her own with you around, Quin!" Minerva said.

"You're right there, Minerva. But how have you been keepin'?"

Minerva snorted. "You just saw me yesterday, Quin. No disasters or miracles between then and now, so I'd say I'm about the same. Murdoch tells me that it looks as though Melina and Brennan will be taking the place."

Quin smiled at Murdoch. "Your approval was, I think, the deciding factor there."

"As long as my father doesn't find any peculiarities in the contract, I do approve of it," Murdoch said. "It is perfectly situated, more than sufficient room for the two of them and any children they may have – hopefully far in the future; I'm not ready to be a grandfather yet – and it has both wizarding and Muggle amenities. I could find nothing wrong with it at all – except the lack of a cooker, but Melina said she'd prefer to find something herself, anyway."

"Listen, why don't we all sit down and wait – unless you'd like to look around the library at the books, Quin," Minerva said, having noticed the way Quin's eyes kept straying to the shelves.

"May I?" Quin asked, eyes lighting up like a child's. Without waiting for an answer, he made a beeline for the shelves containing books on the history of magical theory, which Minerva thought was an odd choice for a "hedge wizard."

"You know, I'm going to go see where the others are," Murdoch said, "then go hunt up Dad." He turned to Quin, who was pulling a book from the shelf. "Have that lease, Quin?"

"No, I gave it to Brennan back at the house after you left."

Murdoch nodded. "See you later, then."

As soon as he left, Quin turned to Minerva. "So?"

"What?"

"So . . . have you put any plans in motion? Thought more about . . . you know?" Quin sat down on the couch next to Minerva, looking like an expectant puppy.

Minerva sighed, but answered him, speaking in a low voice. "I did write and ask him to have dinner with me in my quarters on his birthday – but I didn't mention his birthday, I just told him it would be in honour of my first evening in my new quarters. He wrote back immediately and accepted." Minerva couldn't help but smile at the memory of Albus's sweet letter.

"Well, that's grand! And it will definitely be on the first – not some other night?"

"Yes, he even mentioned the date."

"That's a very good sign – that he'd want to spend the evening of his birthday with you!" Quin clapped her on the shoulder and grinned. "Good job, Minerva! Very good! If he doesn't already view you as more than a friend, you will change that soon, I am sure of it."

"Hush! I don't want to count on anything, Quin – I am just very happy we are becoming good friends. That is enough for now."

"Yes, yes, of course it is, love." Quin's grin didn't fade, though.

There was a crack of Apparition from the front hall, and a moment later, a tall, slim wizard with shaggy, greying dark auburn hair, a short beard and mustache, and greenish grey eyes stepped into the library, a tweed jacket slung over one shoulder. He casually wore a blue shirt, open at the collar, with brown trousers and striped braces.

"Minerva! Hope I'm on time. I forgot whether it was for lunch or for tea and I couldn't find your letter, then I decided it must have been tea and just hoped I was right, since I was in the fens this morning and wouldn't have had time for a bath before lunch!" He turned to Quin, who had stood, and stuck out his hand. "Hello! You must be a friend of Minerva's from Hogwarts. I'm Malcolm."

The two wizards shook hands, and Quin said, "I am a friend o' Minerva's, but not from Hogwarts – never set foot on that hallowed ground, though your sister says that will change. Promised me a tour, she did."

"Irish, are ya? Where from? Spent some time on that fair island, m'self!" Malcolm asked.

The two men began talking about various areas of Ireland that they had both visited and loved, and Malcolm fell into his old unconscious habit of mirroring the speech of the person he was with. Soon, the two wizards were speaking in an incomprehensible mix of Irish English and Gaelic, and Minerva gave up trying to follow the conversation at all. Instead, she gazed into the empty hearth, only half in anticipation of Johannes and Gertrude's arrival, but wondering where Albus was at that moment and what he was doing, whether his brother had come to lunch and whether he had departed the castle already, leaving Albus alone in the deserted school . . . of course, Albus probably had a lot of work to do. It seemed that no matter how much work he did, there was always more waiting for him. At least she had been able to take the business of going through the applications for Wilhelmina's position off his shoulders. He could have asked Gertrude to do it, or even Wilhelmina, for that matter, but he had asked her. Albus had faith in her ability to help him. And soon, she would be able to help him more as Head of Gryffindor. And they would become even closer friends. And if Quin were right – but she couldn't think about that. She was simply happy that they were becoming such good friends and he had faith and trust in her.

Minerva was smiling, then, when the fireplace flared up and Gertrude stepped through quickly.

Minerva stood, as did the two wizards, and greeted the older witch. "Good afternoon, Gertrude! I am so happy you could come." And so bright was her mood after thinking about Albus that her happiness shone through in her smile, and Gertrude returned it warmly.

"Thank you very much for inviting me, Minerva," she said, shaking Minerva's outstretched hand.

"May I introduce my brother, Malcolm McGonagall." Minerva turned to her brother, almost holding her breath and hoping that he wouldn't do or say anything terribly peculiar right away. "Malcolm, this is a colleague of mine, Professor Gamp. She is the Arithmancy teacher and the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts."

Malcolm flashed a bright smile, took Gertrude's offered hand and shook it. "Pleased t' meet you, Professor Gamp of Hogwarts!" He met her eyes, still smiling, and said, "And I see that you have been climbing about on rocks recently – likely . . . serpentine? And this appears a habitual activity of yours, at least when you're not being Professor Gamp of Hogwarts!"

"Oh, Malcolm, would you please!" Minerva said in exasperation. "I hate to have to apologise for you within the first minute of someone's acquaintance with you!"

Gertrude interrupted her with a short, barked laugh. "No apology necessary. He is certainly more entertaining than the relatives I have to apologise for. And yes, I have been out today for a bit of a clamber." She looked at Malcolm appraisingly. "But where do you get that from, or the idea that I was anywhere near any serpentine rock?"

"You're wearing the same shoes you wore this morning, and the dust has distinctive characteristics. I could have been wrong, but judging from your trace of an accent, I presumed you were originally from Cornwall. Being that it's now summer, I presumed you were not at the school – and I know from my own experience there that the dust on one's shoes is quite different after climbing about those hills," he said with a roguish grin, "and it didn't look like granite, so I presumed serpentine rock. And as for the habit . . . well, you didn't wear gloves." He took her hand again and turned it over, stroking the palm. "You have a few slight scrapes and a single broken nail, nicely filed down since, but you also have some callouses, and unless Arithmancy is much changed since I was in school, which wouldn't be a bad thing, you didn't get the callouses or the scrapes working out a particularly thorny Arithmantic calculation. I assume you enjoy these outdoor activities on a regular basis, partly because of the callouses and partly because you used neither gloves nor charms to protect your hands. However," Malcolm added, looking back up into Gertie's eyes, "you should use a potion on them afterward. A nice balm. Something to soothe but that won't interfere with your callouses. I have just the thing for it."

Minerva was on tenterhooks. Gertrude was not a person who allowed strangers to hold her hand for minutes on end. Remembering her mother's advice about making her guest comfortable, she took her brother's elbow, which caused him to drop Gertrude's hand.

"That's all very interesting, Malcolm, but we can talk about potions when we find Murdoch. What could have happened to them? I'm sorry, Gertrude, but I sent my niece and her fiancé off to meet Poppy several minutes ago, and they haven't come back in, nor has Murdoch, who went after them." She turned back to Malcolm. "Would you mind hunting them down, Malcolm, since you seem to do that so well?" she asked with a smirk.

"No hunting involved. They must be in the herb garden. Probably with Mother," Malcolm answered.

"Well, go look there, if you want, but look out front, first; that's where Poppy arrived. They may be out there waiting for you," Minerva answered.

"Right, whatever you say, little sister," Malcolm said with an indulgent smile. "But first, may I say that I haven't seen you looking so radiant in a very long time. Your holiday must be doing you good." He reached out and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Come with me, then, Professor Gamp of Hogwarts?" he said, pivoting toward Gertrude.

"'Gertrude,' Mr McGonagall. 'Professor Gamp of Hogwarts' takes too much breath," the older witch replied with a wry smile.

Malcolm nodded sharply. "Then you know how you must address me – "

Without missing a beat, Gertrude said, "Fen-walker?"

Malcolm laughed. "You beat me at my own game!"

"It's scarcely a game for a Slytherin," Gertrude said, taking his offered arm as Minerva looked on.

"Hmm, a Slytherin," he replied speculatively.

"But – Johannes will be Flooing through shortly – " Minerva interrupted.

"Oh, is he coming? Lovely, Minerva," Gertrude answered. "I look forward to seeing him and asking how the Jarvey is doing."

"Jarvey?" Malcolm asked as he led the older witch out the door.

"So, that is your crazy brother? I quite like him," Quin said.

"You would," Minerva grumbled. "At least I'm not a teenager whom he can embarrass any more. Well, he still embarrasses me, but he doesn't mortify me. I'm just surprised that Gertrude put up with his nonsense."

Quin chuckled. "You mean his little Sherlock Holmes act?"

"Hmmpf. Now he'll be telling all his outrageous tales of vampires and Hinkypunks and Nundus and who-knows-what all! I just hope he doesn't tell the one about the 'Great Niffler Invasion of Wizarding Venice,'" Minerva said with a distressed frown.

Quin tried not to smile. "The Niffler invasion of Venice?" he asked, puzzled.

"Mmm . . . ever heard of the Pied Piper of Hamlin? Malcolm has this story he tells of how he saved wizarding Venice from an infestation of Nifflers that was beginning to spread into Muggle Venice – even endangering St. Marks, from what he says – and he makes it sound like he was the Pied Piper of Hamlin, except that the Venetians paid him off and he didn't steal their children. Not that he would have!" Minerva added hastily. "But he's got all these . . . these tales and they're no more than fairy tales, or exaggerations, at any rate." Her shoulders slumped. "I shouldn't have invited him, but I don't know, I was worried that conversation might get stiff and dull, and he can be entertaining. . . ."

"Ah, Gertie's quite capable, she is, an' she's put up with me for more than a dozen years. I think she can bear up under a couple hours with your brother!" Quin reassured her. "And I found him interestin', meself."

"But nothing's going as I planned, Quin! Nothing! Everybody's scattered; I don't know where Murdoch's disappeared to, you're supposed to be meeting . . . well, meeting my family and friends, and you're stuck in here keeping me company, and I wanted Johannes to have time to spend with Gertrude, but now Malcolm has dragged her off to find Melina, who was supposed to be showing Brennan the house and introducing him to everyone, and Poppy, I don't even know where Poppy is!"

"Calm yourself, love! Johannes will likely be arrivin' shortly, we can find everyone, and we can have a nice afternoon. You should just let people be enjoyin' themselves as they like. You have a nice family, from what I've seen. Murdoch and the others have likely gone off to find your father, have him look at the lease, test it for unwarranted charms and the like. Poppy's probably with them. Let's just relax here and wait for the gardener, hmm?"

"He's not a gardener, Quin, he's an Herbologist!"

Quin smiled slightly and looked away. "Ah, that was what I called me Aileen. She was even more than an Herbologist, but so much still a gardener. Like an artist, she was. So I didn't mean it amiss, quite the opposite."

"Oh, all right. As long as Johannes won't mind . . ."

"Well, I'd hardly address him that way, now, would I? Come, love, I'll be on me best behaviour. You can count on me today, at least. What would you like me to do?"

"Just keep me company, I suppose, as you are doing. I can't very well ask you to wander about a strange house and find my friends and relatives whom you don't even know." Minerva slumped onto the sofa and bent her head and rested her forehead in her hands. "Although if you had some Headache Potion in your pocket, I would not be unhappy about it."

"Haven't any potions of any sort. Gettin' a headache?" Quin asked.

"Yes," she answered with a sigh. "But it'll have to wait."

"I can wait here for Johannes, if you like. He knows me. 'Twouldn't be rude of you just t' step out for a moment, fetch yourself a potion."

"No, no, I'll be fine. I'll just call Orents for some water – would you like anything?"

"I'm fine. Who's Orents?"

"House-elf," Minerva answered before calling out the house-elf's name. A moment later, Orents popped into the room, wearing his most spiffy, stitched-together tartan tea towels.

"Yes, Miss Minerva? Tea preparations goes as requested, Miss Minerva. Everything be's ready for four o'clock sharp!"

"Thank you, Orents. I had every confidence that it would be. Could you bring me a glass of water, though?"

"I is happy to, Miss Minerva. You needs anything else?"

"Orents," Quin said, "your mistress has a headache. Do you have any Headache Potion?"

"Yes, sir, um, sir." Orents looked over at Minerva.

"This is Mr MacAirt, Orents. And yes, you may fetch me a Headache Potion," Minerva said with some resignation.

After the house-elf had disappeared to get the water and Headache Potion, Minerva turned to Quin and said irritably, "I could have asked for potion myself, Quin, had I wanted it."

"It won't hurt you, love, and you look as though you need it. You were perfectly relaxed and happy until Gertrude arrived, and now you've got yourself all tensed up."

"Hmmpf," Minerva grunted as she closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

"Sorry if this is an ignorant question from a mere hedge wizard, love, but . . . your house-elf, was he wearing clothes?" Quin asked, puzzled.

"No. Mother insists they dress decently, though, and has convinced them that if they sew together their tea towels and what-not themselves, they aren't clothes." Minerva giggled slightly and looked over at Quin. "You should see the things they wear in the winter. Mother knits these woolen squares and calls them, of all things, doilies, though no one could ever use them as such, and she leaves them for Fwisky to make into winter outfits, but then Mother worried about their little arms getting cold, so she started knitting tubes, sort of like footless socks, and claims they're for wrapping silverware in when packing picnics." Minerva laughed again. "Anyway, Mother knits these things in a few different colours, and always enough of each so that they could make solid-coloured outfits, but Fwisky always mixes the pieces so they are never dressed in fewer than four colours. It can sometimes be dizzying to look at them."

"You were right; the McGonagalls certainly aren't the Gamps," Quin said with a smile.

Orents popped back into the library, a small vial of Headache Potion floating to his left and a glass of water on his right. He popped away as soon as Minerva took them from him. She swallowed down the potion then drank some water.

"Better?" Quin asked.

Minerva smiled. "Yes, Quin. Better. You were right. Thank you."

"Well, it was Headache Potion or a neck massage, and we haven't time for that, since Johannes should be Flooing through at any time," he said with a grin.

"Mmm." Minerva just rolled her eyes. "So, Melina and Brennan, do you think they'll be happy in the house? What are the lease terms like?"

"I think they could be happy in the house, if they are t' be happy anywhere. An' the lease terms are standard. Wizarding, as you know, though I did give them the option of a Muggle lease, instead. 'Tis a two-year lease, which was agreeable to all of us. I'm thinkin' personally, though, of offerin' it for sale before then – just to them, Minerva! Not out from under 'em. I haven't mentioned it yet, since it seems they have enough to be gettin' on with at the moment."

"Mmm. That sounds about right," Minerva agreed, thinking of Brennan's recent introduction to the wizarding world and Melina's own nervousness. Not the most propitious time for them to be considering purchasing a house.

The fireplace glowed green, and with a whoosh, Johannes Flooed through. He stepped out into the library, his arms full of some large green, flowering plant. With a smile, Minerva stood to greet him. The party was now complete . . . if she could find everyone.