CX: Seduction

CX: Seduction

Minerva woke on Saturday and tried to muster enthusiasm for the day. She could go into Edinburgh, but with Melina busy with Brennan, she probably wouldn't be available. And it sounded as though Murdoch and Poppy were going to be spending every spare hour together. Minerva thought they would be happy enough to have her join them, but in the first flush of love, or whatever their relationship was, it would be out of kindness and generosity, not out of any true desire to have her with them. When Egeria had asked Malcolm about his plans, it sounded as though his schedule was full, as well – some vaguely defined job he had. Visiting Morgan and Fiona would be worse than staying in bed all day. They were just too precious sometimes. Perhaps there should be some law against Hufflepuffs breeding, Minerva thought, quite uncharitably.

Pulling a pillow over her head, Minerva rolled over and pretended to sleep, but that was no good. She was finally deciding she should get up when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

Her mother opened the door. "Just checking to see if you are feeling well, sweetheart. Feel free to sleep in, of course, if you like. You are on holiday, after all, but it is quite late for you, and I thought I'd look in."

"I'm fine. Just getting up," Minerva said with a sigh. "I know how much you wanted to see me, but . . . would you mind if I returned to Hogwarts today? I can come back again before school begins. I can even just pop over for lunch or dinner, but . . ."

"That's fine! Of course! I understand. It's a bit dull here after a few days, and being the new Head of Gryffindor, you probably have some settling in to do. Come by for dinner tomorrow, if you like – you don't have to, of course. Melina and Brennan are coming to look through the attic again and will be here. We can all talk to her about your idea of additional Apparition – she owled me yesterday and mentioned she was rather annoyed with you about that, but I think it's an excellent idea. It's one thing when she's just deafening everyone, but now that she has Brennan, she needs to keep his safety in mind, not to mention his comfort."

Minerva happily agreed to come for dinner the following evening, then quickly packed and dressed. She ran downstairs, much more cheerful than she had been when she woke up, and ate a quick hard-boiled egg and a slice of toast. Barely taking the time to say good-bye to her parents, Minerva Apparated to the Hogwarts gates, and a sense of relief washed over her. She could see Albus. She would tell him she was back early . . . make plans. Maybe a chess game, or another walk, or they could determine what caused her to have such an extreme reaction to his retrieving the wards from her . . . . Minerva smiled. That could be fun. And she wanted to be introduced to Hogwarts, as he put it, so it would be best to work out whether the process would be harmful to her if they used the mated wands for it.

Minerva went to Gryffindor Tower first, taking the seven flights at a good clip, and dropped her bags in her rooms. Rather than run back down the stairs, she Flooed to her first floor office and walked up one flight. The gargoyle sprang aside when she gave the password, the door opened, and she stepped onto the moving stair. Reaching the top after what seemed an interminably long trip, Minerva took up the heavy knocker and announced her presence. When no one responded, she opened the door. Albus, predictably, was not in the office, and the room felt emptier than usual.

As Minerva began to cross the office to the stairs to Albus's quarters, she heard one of the portraits hail her. She turned and looked up to see a headmaster's portrait waving his gold-topped walking stick at her and winking; she hadn't spoken with this one before and wasn't sure which one of the many headmasters and headmistresses it was. He had long, wavy black hair, past his shoulders, the ends carefully flipped up, an equally long black mustache, and a short goatee. He wore a very wide-brimmed yellow hat, one side of which was pinned up against the crown, a plumy azure-coloured feather gracing it. His over-robe matched the bright blue feather, and he wore an under-robe of wide yellow and garnet stripes. The large, floppy yellow collar of the under-robe was turned over the blue robe, and an equally large and floppy garnet-coloured scarf was tied in a bow beneath the collar.

"Good morning, Professor," the portrait greeted her.

"Good morning, sir," Minerva answered politely.

The portrait showed perfectly straight white teeth. "Please, just call me Eliphelet. How are you this fine morning?"

"Well, thank you." Minerva backed toward the stairs. She really didn't want to hold a conversation with a portrait just then. Well, she rarely wanted to hold a conversation with a portrait, but particularly not when she was anxious to see the real Headmaster. This fop was delaying her.

"I have seen you here before, Professor. Quite . . . talented," the portrait ventured.

"Thank you." Minerva stepped onto the first stair.

"If you are seeking Headmaster Dumbledore, you will not find him in his rooms – although that is a pity. He certainly could use a visit from such a pretty young heifer – er, Professor," Eliphelet said. Another portrait coughed loudly.

"Is he in his library, then, or in the Heart?" Minerva asked, hoping the portrait could be helpful as well as annoying.

"Sweet Minerva – may I call you Minerva? – he is, alas, not present in the Headmaster's Tower. Nor, I believe, is he in the castle or on its grounds," Eliphelet said.

"Oh. Do you know where he is?" Minerva asked, thinking that perhaps Albus had gone into Hogsmeade, or perhaps to London. It was a Saturday, so unless there had been an emergency, it was unlikely Ministry business had called him away.

"No, Professor. He did not share that with us." Eliphelet smiled at her. "But you could stay, nonetheless. It has been rather dull the last few days." The other portrait coughed again. Eliphelet turned. "You really should have that cough tended to, Phineas. There must be a problem in your paint charms if it continues. Perhaps Dilys could help you with it."

"The Headmaster is away from the castle, Professor. He left yesterday morning. He did not inform us when he would return, but it will likely be in the next few days, or he would have left some instruction for us." Phineas's voice was expressionless, and he certainly didn't bother with any courtesies, but at least he was informative.

"Thank you," Minerva said, feeling her stomach sink. Albus not here. She had returned to an empty castle.

Minerva turned to leave. Her brain seemed incapable of any thought. She had been completely focussed on seeing Albus, hearing his voice, spending even a few minutes in his presence, and now she felt completely aimless.

"Professor, please tell Dilys that I was a gentleman, if you would be so kind?" Eliphelet requested, another gleamingly white smile on his perfectly proportioned face. Phineas snorted, but said nothing.

"If she asks," Minerva said listlessly. She had no idea what kind of politics went on amongst the portraits and didn't particularly care. They were only oil, pigment, and canvas, after all, with a few charms giving them the semblance of life and intelligence.

Minerva went back to her rooms, walking the long flights to the seventh floor, her legs feeling heavy, her muscles leaden. She should have asked one of the portraits who held the wards, she thought. It didn't matter. One of the other Heads. Or Gertrude. That person would know how long Albus would be gone, though, and perhaps where he was. There had been no note for her when she had arrived in her rooms . . . but he hadn't known she would be returning that day. She had told Albus she would be gone a few days, possibly as long as a week, but she hadn't been definite about it. He deserved to be able to leave the castle when he could. He had been terribly tied to it that summer. He hadn't even attended any of the Gamp party, despite it being something of a custom for him.

She reached her rooms and gave her password, and a thought occurred to her.

"Sir Knight, have you seen the Headmaster in the last few days?"

"Yes, my lady."

"When?"

"Two days ago. He had a book with him."

"Did he say anything?"

"He gave the password, and when I bowed and opened the door for him, he thanked me in a courteous manner."

"He didn't leave a message for me, or anything of that sort?"

"No, my lady. Should I not have allowed him passage until he left you a message?" the Knight asked seriously.

"Of course not. You did well. Thank you," Minerva said with a sigh.

"I am your servant, my lady. My life is at your disposal." The Knight bowed.

Minerva smirked. A bit of paint and canvas, and his "life" was at her disposal.

"I appreciate that," Minerva said graciously, "but at this time, if you would announce and allow entry to my guests, prohibit entrance to those who are unwelcome or who have no business with me, and take messages when I am away, you will be doing your job sufficiently."

"Merely sufficient never suffices for your devoted servant, my lady. However, I will take your instructions to heart and obey as I am able." He bowed again. "I shall ever seek your lady's favour!"

Minerva stepped into her sitting room. She was at a complete loss for what to do with herself. It simply had never occurred to her that Albus might not be there. He had said nothing to her about having plans to be away. Not that the Headmaster was obligated to report to her his plans and his whereabouts. But she would have thought that as a friend, Albus would have mentioned something. Perhaps it had been a sudden decision. He had found the opportunity to take a holiday, so he took it. Hopefully, it wasn't a personal emergency that had drawn him away. Lunch was in about an hour. Perhaps someone would mention something about the Headmaster's whereabouts then.

Minerva called Blampa for a cup of tea, then sat down at her desk and began to review her plans for her first meeting with the Gryffindors. Her mind wandered, however, and soon, realising that she was just staring out the window, she gave up trying to work. The sky was grey and a wind was rising. Minerva continued to look out her window, unseeing. She felt numb. She had wanted to see Albus so desperately that it had felt like an urgent need. And the thought that she was returning early and would see him had so buoyed her, she had felt energised and filled with life, and now, she felt emptier and more exhausted than she had before she had decided to return early. She couldn't very well go back to her parents' after having left in such a good humour. What would she say? "Albus wasn't there, so it wasn't worth returning"? No. She did have work to do, after all. Not that she could concentrate on it. . . .

A barking came from the sitting room. Minerva rose from her chair, feeling as though it took every bit of her energy. She dismissed Fidelio, then crossed over and pulled open the door, feeling as though she simply didn't have the energy to open it with her wand. Besides, she didn't really want a visitor, unless it was Albus, and it might be easier to dismiss one if it didn't appear she was inviting them in.

"Good morning, Minerva." It was Gertrude, wearing the pale rust robes she had worn a few weeks before, the day they had visited the Jarvey.

"Good morning, Gertrude."

"One of the portraits told me that you had returned," the Arithmancy teacher said.

"One of the headmasters?"

"No, another one. Word travels along the portrait network. You were up in the Headmaster's office?" At Minerva's nod, Gertrude continued. "Then you have seen that he has left for a few days."

Minerva nodded again. Gertrude seemed undeterred by the fact that Minerva was standing in her partially-opened door, not inviting her in.

"I thought I would come by, see you, walk you to lunch. How was your time with your family?"

"Fine. I visited Melina, and Malcolm came to dinner yesterday," Minerva answered, trying to be polite, but feeling as though it was an effort merely to speak, let alone say anything of substance.

"Good. Speaking of Melina, do you know of anything in particular that she and Brennan would like? I have been invited to the wedding and intend to go, barring any complications, but the other person whom I have asked for advice on an appropriate wedding gift was not helpful," Gertrude said.

"I don't know . . . something . . . typical, I suppose. A Charmed punch bowl? But they couldn't use that if they have Muggles at a party. I really am not sure . . . I will think about it for you," Minerva said. She wanted to ask Gertrude where Albus was, but couldn't think of a good excuse to need to know. "Are you at the castle this weekend, then?"

"Yes, for the rest of the week, actually," Gertrude responded.

"Are you keeping the wards? If you are, and you need to leave for any reason, I plan to be here over the weekend, but will be going out Sunday evening for dinner," Minerva said. "I would be happy to hold them for you if you need to leave."

"That's good of you, Minerva. Yes, I am keeping the wards while the Headmaster is away. I am planning to be here for the next week, and Johannes is going to be coming and going during the next several days. Horace, of course, isn't returning until the last week of August, and there is no Head of Hufflepuff until Norman James is installed, and that will likely wait until Horace has returned, rather than making him interrupt his holiday again," Gertrude explained, "so Albus left the wards with me." She still seemed entirely unperturbed that she was still standing in the hall outside Minerva's rooms.

"Mmm." Minerva sighed. "Would you like to come in?"

"Thank you." Gertrude stepped in. "We can chat while we wait for lunch."

Minerva invited her persistent guest to sit, then sat herself. "So . . . you are here for the week."

"Yes. But I still view it as something of a holiday. Of course, I will check the post regularly, but other than that, no Hogwarts business for me. Unless one of the wards is disturbed. But I don't anticipate that."

Minerva nodded. "I am trying to do a little work, but . . . it isn't absorbing. I should treat this time as a holiday, myself."

Gertrude nodded. "You know, if you have no business at the school, you might want to take advantage of this time to get away – visit Melina, or friends in London, or what-have-you – even if you are staying here rather than at your family home."

Minerva shrugged.

"I was actually under the impression that you wouldn't be back at Hogwarts until sometime next week," Gertrude continued.

"I wasn't sure what my plans were," Minerva answered wearily. She thought she might have liked Gertie better when she seemed opaque and distant. "I only decided this morning that I would return today."

Gertie nodded. "I see."

Minerva wondered again whether Gertie knew where Albus was and how long he would be gone.

"Had you planned to return to the school now?" Minerva asked. "If not, the Headmaster is fortunate that you did return and he could leave the wards with you."

"We had talked about it. I generally return sometime at the beginning of August to enable him to leave the school freely, even if there is a Head of House present. I arrived yesterday morning and Albus left almost immediately, bags packed."

"Oh. Was there an emergency of some sort?"

Gertrude shook her head. "No, he was just taking advantage of my arrival to leave as soon as possible. Lunch is in five minutes. It will take us at least that to get to the staff room." Gertrude stood, and Minerva followed suit. "You know, I think if Albus had realised you would be returning this early, he would have said something. Or left a message for you. He has enjoyed the time you have spent together this summer."

"He mentioned it?" Minerva asked, curious, but trying not to appear interested. She opened the door and let Gertrude pass ahead of her.

"He doesn't always say things directly. As I told you last week, he has developed a habit of not revealing very much of himself, even to his friends, even to those of us who are close to him and care about him. He will do, of course, but . . . usually in his own time and in the manner of his choosing. Often, he is even unaware that he is closing others off by doing this. Albus doesn't intend to be distant, and, indeed, he is very open and affectionate in his own way. But it seems to me that he believes that his own feelings and his emotional reactions to people and events can sometimes be a burden on others. He would never wish to be a burden to someone, and if he feared becoming a burden to them, he would try to protect them from that."

It occurred to Minerva that Gertrude hadn't really answered her question. She assumed that Albus hadn't actually told Gertrude he had enjoyed spending time with her that summer, but that Gertrude had simply deduced that from her observations. And the business about being a "burden" – it sounded like a variation on Albus's "old codger" remarks.

"Yes, well, I don't see that you and I are particularly emotionally effusive, so I don't believe that either of us can fault Albus for being somewhat reticent, himself," Minerva said in Albus's defence, thinking at the same time that she did wish that Albus were more open with her. She had tried to be more approachable and open with her own feelings, after all. Much more so than she was with anyone, even her family, on a certain level. She certainly had made herself vulnerable with him, not that he was to know that, of course.

"No, we are not generally so, and I cannot speak for you, only for myself and of my experience of people in general, but it seems to me that when someone who is naturally reticent with acquaintances and strangers does feel close to someone, a friend or a relative, they are often far more open with them than others who are not as naturally reticent might be. Albus, however . . . his reticence is more acquired and calculated than it is natural. And he can give the appearance of being the supremely confident warlock, which he certainly is, but he is also just a wizard, and despite his great wisdom and his many strengths, he still has his own personal . . . insecurities and foibles." Gertrude shrugged slightly. "He can be quite open, of course . . . but he occasionally needs some prodding. That's all I'm saying, I suppose."

"I see. You two have known each other a long time," Minerva observed. "You seem very close."

"We are . . . if we weren't . . . for one thing, I would not have agreed to continue as his Deputy for another year. I only did so because I believed it was for the best for him, for Hogwarts, and for the next Deputy. As I mentioned to you before, it is not a position I ever would have sought. It was natural for Albus to ask me, of course, and it was, in some ways, a natural outgrowth of our previous working and personal relationships." Gertrude looked over at Minerva as they neared the second floor. "I would hope that you might consider becoming Deputy after me. I think that after a year as Head of Gryffindor, you will be settled sufficiently in your current positions to not be overtaxed by additional duties. You are a very capable witch, Minerva, and I believe that your talents and abilities would easily be more than equal to the task, and your devotion to the Headmaster is clear. He needs more than an ordinary Deputy – at least, I believe that he does – and I believe you are uniquely suited to serve in that capacity. I also believe it would enrich your professional life here at Hogwarts . . . and your friendship with Albus would also deepen through your shared experiences. I hope that you will think about it."

"Actually, I have thought about it, just recently. It was something of a novel idea to me, to be honest, but – " Minerva blushed.

"Yes?"

"It may sound silly, but I was researching something else in Hogwarts, A History, and I wondered if my appointment as Head of Gryffindor was in there yet, and so I looked up my own name. In the section about my becoming Head, there was something suggesting that I might be a candidate for the position of Deputy."

"Really? So old Stanley actually does listen occasionally," Gertrude said with a smirk.

"Who is Stanley?" Minerva asked.

"Fellow Slytherin. Stanley Raffles. Had drinks with him a couple weeks ago. It was an excruciating hour and a half. The more he drinks, the more he talks. Most of it nonsense. But he is one of the editors for Hogwarts, A History, and I wanted to be sure that he had more to say about the new Head of Gryffindor than the usual recycled material. So . . . was it otherwise accurate? Or did it sound as though you duelled Madame Feuilly to the death, as the Prophet seemed to imply?"

"That was you?" Minerva asked, not able to get past the fact that it had apparently been Gertrude who was the "authoritative source" the book had cited.

"Not for the absurd statement about the Challenge that the Prophet printed. No idea where they dug that up. But I did speak with Stanley. I hope it was accurate – did the article say something unflattering? Or something you would prefer not appear in a book generally available to Hogwarts students?" Gertrude asked, stopping at the entrance to the staff room. "I should have checked it myself, but . . . my holiday has been a busy one."

"No, it was fine. At least the bit about the Challenge was, and about my professional qualifications . . . although," Minerva said more quietly, looking around to see if anyone were nearby, "there was some speculation about what work I did during the war. Special work, not my regular job. It wasn't particularly detailed or accurate, but I don't know if it's the sort of thing that belongs there. Did you tell the editor about that?"

"No, nothing at all. He did say he was interested in your time at the Ministry, but I told him he would have to speak to his sources there. If you like, I can see if he would revise the entry to eliminate the speculation," Gertrude offered seriously. "On the other hand, if it's nothing that isn't already general knowledge, between that and the mention of your successful Challenge, you should be able to easily overcome any scepticism any Gryffindors may have about their new Head."

Minerva smiled a genuine smile for the first time since she left the Headmaster's Tower. "Well, then, if it will increase my 'air of mystery' and enhance their opinion of me, I suppose we could leave it as is. Perhaps you could peruse it at some point to see if there is anything you believe should be removed. I would ask Albus, but he is always so busy. I would trust your judgment on it."

Gertrude smiled at her and nodded. "I would be pleased to. Although if you are happy with it, I am sure it is fine."

The two entered the staff room. Although they were a little late themselves, Wilhelmina and Hagrid hadn't yet arrived. When they did, it sounded as though they had been arguing. Minerva hoped this wasn't the beginning of another spate of not talking. It appeared, however, that it was a more ordinary disagreement.

"Gertrude, I will be leaving the castle this afternoon, returning on Friday, or possibly Saturday. I will be easily reached by owl, however, if there is another crisis. I do hope we have passed the last one for the summer," Wilhelmina said with a sigh.

"So do we all," Gertrude responded.

"Taking a holiday?" Minerva asked, bringing a forkful of quiche to her mouth.

"Of a sort. I am going to be at my brother's for the rest of the weekend, then I'll be going to the dragon preserve to observe a hatching and the mother bonding with her offspring. They will likely hatch on Tuesday, but I'll arrive Monday in case they begin early. The initial phase of bonding occurs within the first twenty-four hours, but they want to be able to observe the new dragons around-the-clock for the first few days after they hatch, so I volunteered to take a few shifts."

Minerva noticed that Hagrid looked unhappier as Wilhelmina discussed the dragon-hatching. He no doubt wanted to go with her and it wasn't practical. Poor Hagrid.

After finishing his lunch, Hagrid rose to leave the room and Wilhelmina placed her hand on his wrist. "I will see you next week," she said softly.

Hagrid smiled slightly. "Yeah. Have a good time with the baby dragons. I'll be here when yeh get back."

As Hagrid headed out the door, Minerva called to him. "Hagrid, may I come down to see you later? Will you be at your cabin?"

"Yeah, there, feedin' Brutus 'is potion, or t' paddock. I'm introducin' the baby Thestrals t' Forest in the next days. They're growin' fine. Yeh should see'em, M'nerva! Flappin' their little wings, trottin' abou', all lively." He glowed as he spoke of the rather ugly equine beasts.

"All right, then. I'll come find you later," Minerva answered with a smile. "I would like to see how Brutus is faring, certainly. And learn about how you introduce the Thestrals to the forest."

"Ah, they do it themselves, mostly. I jest give the reluctant ones a bi' of a boost if they need it," Hagrid replied, pleased. "An' Perfesser Slughorn's potion is doin' wonders fer Brutus – 'e'll be glad fer yer visit."

"All right. I have something to take care of now, but I'll be out to see you this afternoon," Minerva said as she rose from the table and followed him out the door.

Back in her study, Minerva took out her quill and wrote Quin a quick note asking him if he would be available for lunch the next day. Gertie was right; she should take advantage of this time to get away from the castle. Since Albus was not there and she had no idea when he would return, she had no reason to spend all of her time there. Minerva now regretted not having at least asked Gertrude when Albus would be returning. She could have asked that quite easily. Actually, she could have asked her where he had gone. It was a simple enough inquiry. If It weren't causing her to second-guess her every word and gesture, trying to hide her feelings for Albus, she would have asked. There was nothing suspicious about it, nothing that would lead Gertrude to assume anything that she didn't already . . . but no point in confirming anything that sharp-eyed Slytherin may have guessed at.

And that was one reason Minerva wanted to see Quin, to ask him if he had discussed with Gertrude her relationship with Albus. Or her feelings for him. Minerva didn't think that Quin would intentionally violate her confidence, but if he had said something innocently and Gertrude had fished about . . . however much Minerva might now appreciate the older witch's finer qualities and her care for Albus, Gertrude was nonetheless a Slytherin, and even if her motives and goals were fine ones, Minerva wouldn't put it past her to inveigle information from someone if she thought it would serve her purpose.

In her brief letter, Minerva did mention that she had returned to Hogwarts early and been surprised to discover that Albus was absent from the school. Surprised and disappointed. No purpose in hiding her disappointment from Quin, and he would understand it. After all, why would she have returned to Hogwarts early except to see Albus? It still bothered her that he hadn't mentioned anything about his holiday plans to her; from what Gertrude had implied, it hadn't been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Of course, Albus had told her that he hoped to get away at some point during August, and that he was planning on visiting Robert and Thea, too. He was under no obligation to keep her updated about his schedule, and it wasn't as though they hadn't had other things that had occupied their attention and their conversation in those days after the wards had been renewed. First, he had told her the story of his youth and his defeat of Grindelwald, then, just when they seemed to be relaxing with each other, they had word about Pretnick's death, and the following days had been busy ones, and there had been other people about. Although they had had that lovely walk in the garden.

Minerva smiled, remembering how she had taken his hand, and the thrill that had gone through her when his hand had clasped hers and not moved it back to the crook of his arm. The pulsing of his magic against the palm of her hand had sent physical thrills through her, and as he had pointed out the various plants and their properties, but, more often, extolling their beauty above their utility, his voice had seemed to fill her with both desire and satisfaction. Minerva's heart beat faster, just as it had that afternoon in the garden, and she closed her eyes, calling to mind the timbre of his voice, the feel of his hand, and the wash of his magic as they strolled among the fragrant blossoms. She imagined that they rounded greenhouse three and, hearing approaching voices, ducked into the little hidden nook.

They were standing close, face-to-face, and Albus lifted his hand and placed a finger on her lips, quieting any words she might have uttered. Then he gazed into her eyes and realised her feelings for him and her desire. He traced the line of her lips, then grazed her cheek to the shell of her ear. His finger trailed its way down her jaw to her neck, and then to the pulse point of her throat, where it rested, feeling the wild beating of her heart. His lips parted and he bent his head forward, lightly brushing his lips on hers, then drawing back briefly to look into her eyes again before again caressing her lips with his own. Then his kisses grew sensual and seductive; he did not draw away, but pushed her to the wall, and she could feel his growing desire for her pressing into her. Their hands were still joined, and Albus raised her hand above her head, pinning it there, as his other hand moved from her throat downward, now not only caressing, but exploring and groping. She grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer, but Albus took that hand and raised it above her head, as well, trapping them both together there.

She felt wonderfully open to him and vulnerable as he held her there, kissing her, exploring her body with his other hand, his erection firm against her as he rolled his hips, stimulating himself against her body. Unlike the dream of several nights before, when he had asked her permission at every step, in this lovely fantasy, Albus had seen her permission in her eyes and accepted it in her kisses, and now he was showing her his own desire and taking all that he wanted, and he wanted her, all of her. His exploring hand had reached beneath her robes and found her breast, and was now fondling it. Without hesitation, Albus pulled the robe from her shoulder, baring her breast to him and to his free explorations, and when the robe inhibited his further adventures, he simply ripped it from her body. He brought his other hand down and tore the robe open on the other side. Only now did he break from his kisses, to look at her breasts as he cupped them in his hands. He kissed her throat, and she moaned. Albus raised his head, smiling, and shook his head slightly, again placing one finger against her lips. She flicked out her tongue and licked the tip of his finger. His smile grew, and he allowed her to draw his finger between her lips. As she did so, he pressed himself against her again, and she felt his immense desire for her. She suckled his finger and wriggled against him. Albus pulled her robe completely from her body, baring her abdomen, then he watched her face as he opened the lower portion of his robes and thrust against her once more, this time, no fabric separating them. He watched her face as she felt him, flesh against flesh; he brought his other hand to her core and found her ready.

They heard the voices nearing them, but Albus paid them no heed, instead, he grasped her thighs with both hands and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him. He kissed her, silencing her moan as he entered her, filling her, ready to satisfy her desire. Sitting there in her study, Minerva restrained herself from enhancing the fantasy with her hand, relying instead only on her imagination to stimulate herself. He would stretch her and fill her and slide in and out, in and out, rubbing and pressing all the right spots, until finally, as he pumped into her, she would come, hard, but not crying out, lest anyone hear that the Headmaster was taking her against the wall behind the greenhouses in the warm, fragrant garden. And then he would come in her, and afterwards hold her close as their breathing slowed and their heartbeats calmed and they waited for the intruders to leave the garden.

Minerva opened her eyes and sighed. Even if he had some hidden romantic feelings for her, Albus had never come close to exhibiting any physical desire for her, never even kissing her properly. It was not at all sensible to engage in such fantasies. She just couldn't seem to stop herself any longer. At least there was no chance that she would run into Albus any time in the next few hours. She would feel quite embarrassed, even though there was no way that he could know what she had been daydreaming about. Not without exercising Legilimency, anyway, and she knew that he didn't do that sort of thing lightly. And he certainly wouldn't perform it on her without her permission.

She finished her letter to Quin, feeling quite disconnected from her original reason for writing it. Sealing it with her emerald wax, Minerva decided to owl it immediately, then go find Hagrid. He might have already given Brutus the potion and be with the Thestrals, but she imagined he would wait to bring them into the forest until she arrived, and she could see Brutus afterward.

The trip to the Owlery took very little time, and Minerva decided to take the south stair, rather than backtracking to the main stairway that was nearer her quarters. She took them lightly and quickly, but paused at the third floor landing, thinking she heard something. Deciding that she was mistaken, or that it had simply been one of the peculiar unexplainable noises the castle occasionally made, Minerva continued down the next flight, but then she stopped on the landing between the third and second floors. She looked down to her right, her gaze drawn by the source of the renewed sounds.

Minerva blinked. Then she swallowed. Who on earth . . . it was Gertrude. It had to be Gertrude, but . . . it was Gertrude doing something that Minerva would never have dreamed she would see her doing, not under any circumstances, and certainly not in a public corridor at Hogwarts, for all that the castle was deserted. But who was she with? It couldn't be Albus, he was away, Minerva reassured herself. But the wizard was tall – Minerva couldn't see him very well, as Gertrude had him pressed to the wall and was kissing him quite passionately. She didn't think his hair was sandy, though, so it couldn't be Johannes. Poor Johannes. . . .

Now the wizard had bent his head and was doing something to the side of Gertrude's neck. Dark hair, tied back, though they were in the shadows and Minerva couldn't say whether it was brown or black. Then the wizard's hand crept down to the witch's rounded buttocks, working her long robes up in bunches until he had completely bared her thigh and could reach up under them. Gertrude moaned, and then it looked to Minerva as though she bit the wizard's shoulder. The wizard didn't protest, but merely moved his other hand from her shoulders down to reach up under her skirts with that one, as well. Minerva stood frozen as she watched Gertrude raise her right leg, bending it at the knee and bracing it against the wall. Gertrude's left hand, which had been kneading and grasping the wizard's shoulders and hair, disappeared just as the wizard moved his head to the other side of Gertrude's neck. The light glinted off his hair. Dark wavy hair, but reddish. Auburn. Minerva's eyes widened as comprehension began to dawn on her, and then the wizard's voice gasped, "That's not my sporran, Trude!"

Gertrude, in a voice Minerva scarcely recognised, said, "I am quite aware of that . . . mmm . . . I hoped to make it past the sporran easily, and I am very glad I did. Very nice, indeed."

Minerva was rooted to the spot as the movement of Gertrude's arm made the activity of her hand quite evident.

"We were going to your rooms. You were going to show me your rooms today," the wizard protested weakly, in a voice that Minerva recognised as her brother's. "There might be people about."

"I told you, no one's here. Minerva's in the Forest with Hagrid. You're the adventuresome type, I thought. You seem quite happy here, anyway," Gertrude whispered. "Your hands seem happy, and your, um, not-sporran most certainly is very happy." One of his hands was busy somewhere at her centre, and the other was kneading her backside.

"You could make any wizard's cock happy doing what you're doing now. Oh, gods, Trudie . . . do that, and I won't last," he moaned as Gertrude began to add a movement of her hips to whatever her hand was doing beneath his kilt. The wizard didn't stop what he was doing, either, but turned his mouth to her ear, and Minerva could now see her brother's face as he began to tease Gertrude's ear with his tongue.

"I'm not precisely bored myself," Gertrude responded with a gasp. "Yes, keep that . . . yes . . ."

Minerva backed up slightly, but was afraid to move very much, lest she be heard. She certainly couldn't go down the stairs. That would take her right past them, but if she went back up, they might hear her and know that the only way she could have gone up is if she had first come down and seen what she had seen. At the moment, the two were so engrossed in their own activities, they wouldn't see her unless they looked up at just the right angle.

Minerva had never wanted to see Gertrude in any kind of passionate embrace, though she had feared finding her in one with Albus. That clearly wasn't going to happen, judging from this scene. But Minerva had wanted even less to see one of her brothers in this kind of situation. Murdoch and Poppy had been kissing quite sensually, but it was nothing compared with this passionate groping, moaning, and gasping. What surprised Minerva most, though, was that this was Malcolm. He had always seemed, not asexual precisely, but uninterested in witches and sex. She may have speculated to Quin that Malcolm may have had a lover in every city he'd ever visited, but she hadn't been serious; Minerva certainly believed that, whether Malcolm took lovers or not, he would never develop a relationship with one, female or male. It didn't fit his nature. He was not the sort to want the kind of responsibility and ties that came with such a relationship. And she would have been less surprised to find him in a clinch with a wizard after the way he had described Quin the day before. As for Gertrude . . . if Minerva had ever stopped to consider Gertrude's nature in these things, she would have considered her a one-wizard-witch, loyal and expecting the same loyalty in return. Minerva certainly would never have thought Gertrude would be one to have a fling, let alone with someone such as Malcolm. Not that Malcolm was a bad person . . . .

Suddenly, Malcolm flipped positions with Gertrude, and her back was to the wall. It was clear what Malcolm's hand was doing, but to Minerva's great relief, just as it seemed that he was going to try to satisfy the witch right there in front of her, he removed his hand and hoisted Gertrude up off the floor, and her arms went around his neck.

"To your rooms, now," he said urgently.

Gertrude indicated the direction with her chin, then rested her head on his shoulder and let him carry her off. After they disappeared down the side corridor, Minerva let out a breath. Goodness, what else would she happen upon in the Hogwarts castle? She had never seen people engaging in sexual activity during all her years at the Ministry, and within the course of a month, she had witnessed Hagrid and Wilhelmina going at it in his garden, and now this. In the future, she would never assume that she was unseen if she were anywhere in a potentially public spot in the castle or on the grounds. If she weren't actually in private, she would not assume that she had any privacy. Not that she would ever have any occasion to be engaged in similar activities, Minerva thought with a sigh. Her fantasy about the nook behind greenhouse three would remain a fantasy for more reasons than the lack of privacy. . . .

She had been so stunned by what she had witnessed, Minerva almost forgot why she had been going down the stairs to begin with. But now, she came to herself and continued on down to the ground floor and out the main doors to find Hagrid and spend some time with him and his creatures.

Later that afternoon, after having spent a few hours with Hagrid, Minerva was working her way through her correspondence, answering Quin's response to her letter and agreeing to dinner on Monday evening rather than Sunday lunch, when the familiar sounds of Fidelio and the Knight came from her sitting room, announcing the presence of a visitor. As usual, the Knight did not reveal the guest's identity, and Minerva waved the door open, hoping it wasn't Gertrude. She didn't know if she could look the witch in the eye so soon after what she had witnessed. Somewhat to her surprise, however, it was Malcolm himself.

"Greetings, little sister! I thought I would stop by and see your new palatial quarters," he said with a grin, stepping in and looking around him. "Very nice."

"Thank you. I didn't know you would be coming to Hogwarts," Minerva said.

Malcolm flopped onto the couch and put his feet up on her coffee table. Minerva cringed, but didn't say anything.

"I thought you would be staying at the house longer. When I learned you had returned to the school, I decided to drop in on you," he explained.

Minerva sat. "I see . . . would you like some tea?"

"No. Thanks, though. Just had some," Malcolm replied.

"Are you staying for dinner? That is, would you like to?" Minerva asked.

He grinned. "That would be lovely!"

"There aren't many people here today . . . just me, Hagrid, and Gertrude."

Malcolm nodded.

"So, how did you learn I was here?" Minerva asked.

Malcolm looked momentarily uncomfortable, then he said, "You weren't at home."

Minerva suppressed a wicked grin. "I hope you don't mind dining with just the three of us tonight. Hagrid, of course, can provide you with some interesting conversation. He always has some new fact about some creature or other that he likes to share. You'll enjoy speaking with him. But otherwise, it's just the two staid witches. I do hope that Gertrude and I don't bore you. You're used to me, of course . . . but I hope you will be cordial to Gertrude, for all that she's just a staid Hogwarts teacher."

"You know I said she wasn't that. I will be happy to be cordial to her," Malcolm said.

"Mmm. You two seemed to get on quite well at the tea party. I was somewhat surprised, given your usual attitude. Gertrude hasn't mentioned you since, but she didn't seem to find your company objectionable. She did say at the time, however, that you were an interesting wizard. But likely just because she was speaking with your sister and didn't want to be rude."

"Yes, well, we did have an interesting afternoon. I thought we got on well," Malcolm answered.

"So . . . you have a new-found appreciation for Arithmancy? And Arithmancers?" Minerva asked.

Malcolm shrugged. "Gertrude is fine."

"Did you know her husband?"

"No. I was acquainted with her brother, though," Malcolm responded.

"Yes, you mentioned that at the party. You are aware of how Gertrude's husband died, though?" Minerva asked.

"I know he was killed by Grindelwald shortly before he moved to his stronghold. Crouch was a voice crying in the wilderness. No one paid him any heed until he was dead and it was too late to do anything."

"Do you know how he died? What Grindelwald did to him?"

Malcolm shook his head. "I assumed it was a Killing Curse, but from your question, I deduce my assumption was incorrect."

Minerva averted her eyes. "You don't want to ask her about it . . . that is, it would be best not to, for her sake." Minerva looked back up at her brother. "I'll tell you now, so you know."

As she told Malcolm what had been done to Reginald Crouch and how long it had taken the suffering wizard to die, Malcolm sat up straighter and removed his feet from the coffee table.

"I am glad you told me," he said softly. "I am surprised I hadn't heard about that before now . . . but I am glad you told me. I may have inadvertently said something or asked a question . . ."

Minerva nodded. "So you do like Gertrude, then?"

"Of course. And even if I didn't, I wouldn't want to bring up something like that in my usual ham-handed way. I know I am not always the master of manners, but I have no desire to inflict pain on anyone."

"Gertrude has been through a lot, Malcolm. She was happy with her husband. When he was murdered, she almost lost Robert, her son, who was a teenager at the time. The boy went off looking for Grindelwald, hoping to exact revenge. Fortunately, Albus found him before he and his friends were captured or killed. Then her brother was killed during the war. She is not an effusively warm witch, but I have come to see that she has a great deal of loyalty, fierce loyalty, toward those whom she counts as friends. I don't believe the loyalty is given easily, nor are her affections. We may not be close, but in a sense, I think of her as a friend, and I wouldn't want to see her hurt."

"I would never speak to her about her husband's death, Minerva, unless she wished to discuss it. I have no desire to open up old wounds with her," Malcolm answered.

"I am not speaking of old wounds. I am speaking of new injuries. Think before you speak or act, Malcolm."

"I hardly require a lecture in etiquette from my little sister," Malcolm said, his mild annoyance apparent.

Minerva looked at him a moment. "How did you know I was at Hogwarts? You never really said – did Gertrude tell you?"

"Gertrude?" Malcolm seemed confused.

"Yes . . . when you spoke with her."

"Well, I did see her earlier. She said you were here and told me which portrait guarded your rooms, in case I had any trouble finding it."

"Did you two have a nice afternoon together, then?"

"What – "

"I spent a few hours with Hagrid, so you two had the castle to yourself this afternoon – once I had left," Minerva said.

"Once you had left . . ."

"Yes. After lunch, I wrote a letter, then I posted it from the Owlery before I went out to find Hagrid."

"You saw me arrive?" Malcolm asked.

"I saw you after you arrived. You received a very warm welcome," Minerva said, one eyebrow raised.

Malcolm shrugged. "All right. I have been here for the afternoon. I didn't know you would be here until Gertrude told me you were. She said you were out with Hagrid for the afternoon, though. I did come to see Gertrude."

"I presume, from the warm welcome you received, that you were an invited guest."

Malcolm nodded. "Of course. Gertrude told me she would be at the castle this week, but that almost no one else would be here, even the Headmaster would be gone for a few days . . . so yesterday morning, I spent an hour or so with her here, wandering about the grounds, and she invited me to come back this afternoon for a longer visit."

"I see. And you didn't mention this to me either yesterday or even today because it just slipped your mind . . . and when I told Gertrude that you had come to dinner at the house yesterday, she didn't say anything because she was more preoccupied with the question of a wedding gift for Melina and Brennan."

"No. You know that. I can't speak for Gertrude, but I simply didn't want to call unnecessary attention to it. At some point, I would have mentioned something to you since I will be visiting again over the next few days and I don't fancy sneaking about. But I hadn't decided yet exactly what to say," Malcolm replied.

"Well, what do you have to say?" Minerva asked.

Malcolm shrugged. "I like her. We get on. She seems to like me, as well."

Minerva snorted in laughter. "You 'get on,' do you? It looked to me as though you were both a bit beyond that stage."

"What do you mean?" Realisation dawned on his face. "You really did see us together, didn't you – and not when she met me down on the grounds. Here in the castle."

"Yes, on the second floor. Before you two finally went off to her rooms," Minerva clarified.

"Wonderful," Malcolm said drily. "I kept having the sense we were being watched, but I assumed it was the portraits or something. Gertrude had assured me you were out with Hagrid."

"I was surprised. Very surprised," Minerva said. "Surprised, first, to see Gertrude, well, like that, and surprised, second, to see that it was you she was with."

Malcolm stretched. "Gertrude is a very passionate witch under that somewhat brittle exterior. She intrigued me from the moment I met her . . . she seemed different. And I had a sense that there was so much more to know of her, and not just in the obvious way, what you saw earlier. At first, she seemed a challenge to me, someone to try to draw out and discover what lay beneath her everyday persona. And then . . ."

"And then? You do remember what I just told you about her, don't you, Malcolm? I don't want to see her hurt. I will be perfectly blunt. You are not known for your ability to stay in one place nor for your deep and abiding ties to friends. In fact, I don't even know any of your friends, although I assume you have made some. Gertrude is not some one-day job that you can enjoy as a challenge and then move on from without any consequences, you know."

Malcolm was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I do see why you say what you do, little sister. And it is true that I am somewhat of a ne'er-do-well, at least by most people's standards. But I do have a few close friends. Unfortunately, none are British, and none of them even live in the same city. As for other relationships . . ." Malcolm rose and began to walk about the room, aimlessly touching things as he considered his words. "The longest relationship I have had of the romantic sort was one of about two months, on Malta. She became more enamoured of me than I of her, and I left. I was quite a bit younger at the time, and I didn't handle it well, either the relationship or the way I ended it. Generally, if someone is attractive and finds me attractive, I explore the attraction for a while, then move on. I make it clear from the beginning I am not seeking anything more. And, to answer the curiosity you left unexpressed yesterday, that did occasionally include the attractive wizard, but not in well more than twenty-five years. It would be titillating and somewhat intoxicating for me to see what kind of effect I could have on a wizard, but that became a bore, and my true attraction is for the feminine form and the feminine character, and . . . I do love women."

Malcolm sighed. "As I admitted, at first Gertrude was intriguing, and a challenge. I do not know entirely what my aim was, but I did want to seduce her. All of her, have her open herself up to me, and then to finally have her in my bed. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I wouldn't have cared where I first took her, er, made love to her. But as I began my slow seduction, believing myself entirely in control of the situation, and seeing her as a repressed witch who had spent too many years with books and children and rules, I found that it was I who was being seduced. I did not even realise it immediately, but I wanted her. I wanted her in a way that I hadn't believed I did or could. I had believed that I merely wanted her to want me and to make herself open to me . . . I do not think I would have hurt her, as you suggest, little sister, but that is moot. She was seducing me, and using my own seduction to do it. Gods, that witch!" Malcolm let out a long breath. "And one reason I imagine that she has not said anything to you is that we had discussed how open we wish to be with our relationship. I do not want to keep it a complete secret, but she is a respectable witch, with a respectable position here at Hogwarts. It wouldn't do for it to appear that she is carrying on with some wizard in a casual affair. And I, I am not precisely disreputable, but I am not known for my sense of responsibility or, as you put it, for my ability to stay in one place for long. If it doesn't last, we both agreed that it would be best that the fewer who knew about it, the better. I planned to tell you that I would be seeing her, coming by the castle, and so forth, just so that I didn't feel as though I was sneaking about, but I certainly didn't plan to say anything explicit about the fact that we're lovers. But now that you know, there's no point in trying to hide it."

Minerva nodded. "All right, you are both adults, and I certainly wouldn't presume to tell either of you how to live your lives. I was merely concerned that you were leading her on. It even crossed my mind that you might have . . . encouraged her affections, shall we say, with a little artificial stimulation." When Malcolm looked at her blankly, Minerva said, "Those herbs you picked. I thought you might have brewed some kind of aphrodisiac."

Malcolm laughed, unoffended. "Oh, no, they were for a pest-repellent. That's what I was doing this morning. It felt odd, actually. I usually work on my own, but for the last several jobs, I have brought Gertrude with me and came to enjoy her company."

"I must admit, though, Malcolm, to still being puzzled by Gertrude's behaviour. It simply doesn't seem in character for her to be so, um, attached to you. She is normally so reserved. You've known her, what? Two weeks?" Minerva asked.

"We have spent most of those two weeks together. She had a job for me that Monday, right after your little party. We went out to Cornwall and she helped me to eradicate an infestation of Cornish pixies. Well, we didn't eradicate it. We removed them to a little island where they can happily wreak their havoc with no one around. They were on her neighbour's land, and the Gamps were concerned that they would begin to encroach on theirs soon if they weren't dealt with. That's when I hunted up Quin; I wanted to ask about her, make sure that the two of them weren't involved. After that, I invited her along with me, and we spent the next few days hopping about Britain, doing this and that, everything from Doxies to Boggarts to uncharming cursed objects. I could tell she was getting tired, but she would never admit it." Malcolm quirked a grin. "I thought it was all the better for me, you see. I thought that she would be so tired that she would be more open to my charms. I was somewhat mistaken in that. And then, when finally I found the most beautiful spot in which to pursue my seduction . . . I found that she had seduced me."

Malcolm walked over to the window and looked out across the grounds, his back to Minerva. He said quietly, "I haven't told her this, and I won't, not yet, but . . . little sister, your brother is in dire danger. I don't want to be rid of her, and I don't want to lose her. I even fear that she may become bored with me. I think I may possibly be falling in love. Ridiculous, isn't it?"

"No, not ridiculous," Minerva answered softly. "Difficult for you, but not ridiculous."

"She is truly amazing . . . Tru, Trude, Trudie," Malcolm said in a soft, sing-song voice.

He had first called her "Trudie" on a cold, misty dawn on the Isle of Man when she was helping him find the lair of a buggane that had begun bothering the local Muggles as much as it was the wizarding folk. It was causing no end of trouble for everyone, and Obliviators had even been called in a few times when Muggles caught sight of the ugly, smelly creature. He had given Gertrude a direction, asking her to go around to the west of the thicket where he suspected the buggane had dug its lair. He had already stopped calling her "Gertie"; to Malcolm, the name didn't fit the witch he was with, the witch he glimpsed beneath the reserved persona. When he said "Trudie," she had hesitated, then nodded and did as he had asked.

Later, after they had successfully dealt with the buggane, they stopped for coffee and a bite to eat in a Muggle pub, he used the name again, "Trudie," and Gertrude paused in midbite before swallowing her food and answering his question.

"Do people call you 'Trudie'? Does it bother you when I do?" he asked her then.

"I haven't been called that in many years. But if you wish to, you may," she answered, then took a sip of her coffee.

"I do; it suits you, Trudie." He smiled at her and was pleased when she returned his smile.

A few days later, they were climbing about some old Cistercian ruins, she in her trousers, he in his kilt, just the spot for a bit of seduction, he thought . . . a little bit of a kiss, a single sweet caress, shyly offered, but making the witch feel desired and desirable. A little staring into her eyes . . . she did have wonderful eyes. . . . That had been his plan. And as he offered her his hand to step up on a broken stone beside him, beneath a still-beautiful stone arch, he thought he had found his opportunity. He brought her to stand closer to him than was strictly necessary, and he turned to look down into her eyes, but he found that she was looking off into the distance.

He caressed a wind-blown strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He wondered what she had looked like when she was young, and found that he didn't care. She was perfection as he looked at her, strong profile, clear, grey eyes, and an honest step upon the earth. He found himself staring at her, and his hand went back to her face, grazing her cheek. He wanted her attention, he wanted her to know him, to find him . . . more than just attractive. He wanted her to find him. His hand lingered warmly by her face, but he hesitated to touch her again.

Without knowing what he was saying, he whispered, "I have been lost and did not know it until I met you, Tru."

She turned toward him, raising her hand to where his hovered still, then she placed a soft kiss in the centre of his palm. She looked up at him, grey eyes meeting his, and she said simply, "That was not what you planned to say, was it?"

He shook his head and she held his hand to her cheek briefly before letting it go.

"That was much better than anything you could have planned, I am sure," she said, raising her other hand to touch his face lightly.

He found himself unable to move as she traced the line of his beard on his cheek. He watched as her eyes followed the path her fingers took, and when her fingertips gently grazed his lips, she parted her own.

"Were you going to kiss me today?" she asked softly. He nodded mutely. She raised her eyes to meet his again, and said, "I think this might be a good moment."

Barely able to breathe and unable to think, he allowed her to guide his head, with just the gentlest touch to his jaw, and his lips met hers. It was no brief kiss, calculated to seem shy and tentative, though tentative it was, at first. Only their lips were touching, but for her fingertips on his face, and yet as they kissed, Malcolm felt that there was more intimacy in that moment with her than he had ever had with anyone in his life.

His heart racing, as much in fear as in excitement, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

"What are you doing to me, Trudie?" he whispered.

"I thought I was being seduced, but it has been a while . . . I may have been wrong," Gertrude answered, her breath warm upon his face.

"I thought that is what I was doing. I was wrong," he said. "And I thought . . . I believed . . . perhaps I wanted it to be something else . . . not this."

He sensed more than saw that she was smiling. "Was that not pleasant?" she asked.

"Oh, it was more than pleasant, and you know it. It is hard to believe that it has 'been a while,' as you put it. Do you always do this to wizards?"

"You know the answer to that, I believe, Malcolm."

"I wanted a challenge, you know, Trudie . . . not to say that was all I wanted, or that . . . I am not saying this right." He swallowed. "Now all I want is to kiss you again."

"I am here," she said softly.

This time, he put his arms around her as he kissed her, and more than their lips were touching. Then he held her there, a long, long time, it seemed, just holding her in his arms and savouring her presence. They walked a bit more, and she kissed him again. He cast warming charms and spread his light cloak on the ground, and he knelt before her, looking up at her.

"Kiss me again?" Malcolm asked, smiling.

She ran her fingers through his hair, then joined him on the cloak, kneeling, and she did as he wished, kissing him and kissing him again. He murmured her name and lowered her to the ground, holding her close. He caressed her and kissed her cheeks, then just lay there, holding her tightly, unsure what to do, what she wanted, or even what he wanted.

"I have had only two lovers in my life, Malcolm," the witch whispered against his chest. "I knew each of them for years before we were ever lovers. Both were fine wizards. One I lost to death, the other, I let go. Now I think . . . I may like another lover, if that lover were you. I think, if you would like, we could see what we might have together."

"I feel I should warn you, Trudie, I am not known for being particularly reliable, personally. I rarely stay in one place more than a few months. I have already been in Aberdeen longer than is usual for me. I was beginning to feel some wanderlust again. And I have had far more than two lovers. But now . . . I, too, would like to see what we might have together. I don't have any idea what that might be. And I may still decide next week, or next month, or the month after that, that I need to leave, to go and do and find and be something different. I don't want you to have any expectations."

"Will you say good-bye before you leave?" Gertrude asked.

"Yes. I would say good-bye. I would . . . if I were to leave. But right now, this minute," he said, kissing the top of her head, "I have no desire to go anywhere, but only to stay here with you. And if you were to leave, I know I would want to follow you. But that is this moment."

Gertrude nodded against him. "And, for the moment, that is all that matters to me. If that changes for me, I will tell you."

She raised her head and looked at him again.

"I want you, Trudie. I thought to wait, to take some time to . . . seduce you, as you say. But now, I want you and I don't want to wait. But I will never push you beyond what you are comfortable with."

"Make love to me, Malcolm. Now."

And he did.

Malcolm shook himself and turned away from Minerva's window. He looked at his sister and grinned. "So, when's dinner around here?"