CXXXVII: The Silent Knight’s Tale

CXXXVII: The Silent Knight's Tale

Minerva sat in her study and caught up on her correspondence while she waited for Albus. Her conversation with Poppy hadn't been as awkward as she had feared. She could see that Poppy had questions, but Poppy could see that they wouldn't be answered, so she didn't ask them. In time, they would talk more, but not yet. Minerva had made it clear that she and Albus wanted to be very discreet and limit the number of people who would know, and Poppy had lit up at that, knowing that she was one of the few people being entrusted with the knowledge of their relationship. She promised that she wouldn't treat them differently in public, even if it killed her, and said she was very glad that she and Albus had truly become closer. She did have a few questions about Malcolm and Gertrude, but they were not too intrusive, so Minerva was happy to tell her when the two had begun seeing each other, and when she had first learned of the relationship, though not how. Minerva was left with the impression that Poppy had, indeed, been less surprised by Minerva's revelation than she had been by Malcolm's attachment to Gertrude, and hers to him.

She had met Albus in the corridor outside the infirmary, and she told him that Poppy was ready to see him. She hoped that her smile had conveyed that their conversation had gone well, but he still appeared apprehensive. Probably just his discomfort with having the mediwitch examine him. He did seem rather sensitive about it; Minerva found his embarrassment cute and somewhat amusing. In some ways, he was very bold, but in others, he was quite shy, and it was a lovely combination, she thought.

Minerva turned back to her letters, trying to concentrate, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Albus, to the unbelievable fact that he loved her, that he wanted her, that they were really together. The wizard whom she had loved for more than fifteen years loved her. The most powerful wizard in Britain, possibly in the world, and certainly the kindest, most wonderful wizard, loved her and wanted to be with her. He missed her when they weren't together, and he wanted to steal every spare moment to be with her. Minerva couldn't be happier.

Then her thoughts turned to the coming school year, and her heart was torn. Minerva was excited to be the new Head of Gryffindor, to be teaching all seven years of classes, her first full year as the Transfiguration instructor. But she was not looking forward to having so much less time to spend with Albus. If she were only teaching, it would be easier, but being Head of House, she would have to be available to the students. There were many new duties that she would have, and there would be unexpected problems and emergencies that would arise at all times of day and night. As Headmaster, Albus was hardly more free than she, but it wasn't just that he was Headmaster, he had other duties, as well. A sinking sensation came over her. How would they cope? Particularly if they were being discreet, keeping the relationship private.

Minerva sighed and set down her quill. At least they would be going away for a few days. And there would be next summer. Ten months away. Even Christmas wouldn't be their own. As Head of House, she would be expected to remain at the school over the holiday, particularly if there were any Gryffindors staying on. But she wouldn't want to leave, anyway, if Albus couldn't be with her, which he couldn't, as he had to be there over the holiday, as well. Most of the time, though, Albus actually had fewer restrictions on his time than she would as Head of Gryffindor. He was very busy for many hours a day, but he was more in control of how those hours were scheduled than she would be.

But they would also be working together, and that would be satisfying. If Gertrude was serious about giving up her role as Deputy next year – and it did seem the older witch wanted to return to just teaching – that would also allow her to spend more time working with Albus. Yet another reason to keep their relationship under wraps. Too many people would be very fast to assume that it was only her personal relationship with the Headmaster that accounted for any of her successes at Hogwarts. As it was, people might still assume some kind of favouritism, since she had been his student and protegee. Eventually, they would be able to be more open about their relationship, she assumed, but for now, it was simply best that people believed them to be friends, perhaps even just casual friends.

It had proved less difficult to behave normally during lunch than Minerva had anticipated. The environment and the other staff present did bring her back into the reality in which she was a member of Hogwarts staff and the new Head of Gryffindor. She had actually found it interesting to talk with both Grandmother Siofre and Albus together, and not as awkward as she had feared. She hadn't known that her grandmother was one of only a handful of witches to take Defence through her NEWTs, and the only Ravenclaw witch for a few years. It apparently was not considered quite the done thing for a witch in those days, and most quit once they had finished their OWLs. Those witches who did continue through their NEWTs were usually Gryffindors. What's more, Siofre had excelled in it, which Minerva had also not known. She had been aware that Siofre was very good at Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and Charms, and that she was quite a powerful witch, too, of course, but it had never occurred to Minerva to wonder or ask about any other subjects. Siofre dismissed Minerva's expressed admiration, saying with a shrug that she was a Tyree, and all Tyree witches excelled at Defence. It was nothing at all remarkable. Siofre confirmed that she'd been practising with Malcolm over the last week or so in preparation for this day.

"Strategy, chiefly," Siofre explained. "He needed to think strategically, since he certainly couldn't outmatch his opponent in strength or ability. He still wasted too much energy moving around as he did. You would think he believed he was at a dance, not a duel. But he acquitted himself well, nonetheless."

Johannes leaned over and asked her about how she had assisted Malcolm with his preparations. He smiled at the older witch. "So, I saw today why he was asking the questions he did about the wards, the grounds, and what he could do in the Quidditch stadium. Were those spells something you suggested?"

"Nae, we merely worked on timing, strategy, different combinations of spells that might work well together," Siofre replied. "The spells are his own."

"But he could not have counted on your fire trick, Albus," Johannes said, looking over at the Headmaster.

Malcolm, who had been listening to the conversation, shook his head. "I don't know how I could have been prepared for something like that. It was totally beyond my ken. A wizard turning to flame, nothing but ashes left, and then, there he is, behind me, completely whole and unsinged."

Johannes smiled. "Ja! Ich weiss woher ich stamme! / Ungesättigt gleich der Flamme / Glühe und verzehr' ich mich. / Licht wird alles, was ich fasse, / Kohle alles, was ich lasse; / Flamme bin ich sicherlich!" Johannes quoted.

Siofre looked up at Minerva. "Enlighten me, Granddaughter. You spent time in that country."

Minerva smiled. "If I can remember what he said – and I have read it somewhere before, I think. Let me see . . ." She thought a moment, then recited,"'Yes, I know whence I arise. Unsated like the flame, I consume myself and glow. All becomes light that I grasp, everything ashes that I leave. Flame am I, assuredly,' Not a very precise translation, but . . . an apt quotation, I suppose."

Siofre looked over at Johannes sharply, an eyebrow raised, her interest piqued. "Very apt, I would say. You knew what Albus was doing?"

"No, not at all," Johannes said with a shake of his head. "But I immediately doubted that he had exploded as it seemed. Fire seems to like our Albus. I believed he was happy to see the fireball, that he welcomed it." Johannes shrugged. "And that quotation came to my mind as soon as I saw him vanish in that flash."

Minerva wished it had come to her mind – or that at least the doubt that had accompanied it had entered her mind. She had only been in shock and fear. She had doubted not what she saw, but she had doubted Albus. She should have known that, as Johannes had put it, fire seemed to like Albus, and that he would not have stood there and laughed if he were about to be hit by a fireball. Albus was somewhat eccentric, quirky, but not mad.

Now, sitting in her study waiting for him, Minerva had a passing sense that she had let Albus down in some way, that she should have had the faith in him that Johannes had shown. But it was from her love that sprang her doubt and fear. It seemed such a strange thing that her love of him should have blinded her to what Johannes had believed so easily. But Albus had come to her to see whether she was all right. He had seen her fear, and he had worried about her.

A small smile crossed her face briefly. Albus seemed more sensitive to her moods than he had been. Restraining his own feelings for her had seemed to have kept him from being able to be as aware of hers as he was now able to be. Minerva had no illusions that he would always know how she was feeling or what she was thinking, and it wouldn't be fair of her to expect that of him, but it was good to know that he had noticed and he had cared enough to take the time to reassure her.

At three-thirty, Minerva heard a barking coming from the sitting room. Perhaps Gertrude had changed her mind and decided to come for tea, after all. But when she went out to the sitting room, the Knight bowed, and said, "The master of the castle is without and seeks the pleasure of your company, my lady."

Minerva smiled. She waved her wand and opened the door. Albus was standing there, dressed in plain, sky-blue robes with silver trim. He stepped through, smiling as he saw Minerva.

"Good afternoon, my dear!" Albus took her hands and bent to kiss her cheek. "I was able to escape a little earlier than I had anticipated. I had hoped to find you in."

They sat and Minerva offered him tea. "I'm not hungry, Albus, but if you would like something, I am sure Blampa would be happy to bring us whatever you would like."

Albus chuckled. "I am sure she would, but no, I'm not hungry. I had a good lunch, and I snacked a bit from Quin's basket of sweets. A cup of tea would be nice, though."

Minerva heard someone clear their throat, and she looked up to see that the Silent Knight still inhabiting the landscape.

"My lady, may I serve you further?"

Minerva looked at Albus. "We did want to know what's wrong with the portrait and hear his story."

Albus hesitated, then nodded. "I had thought to introduce you to Hogwarts Heart this afternoon, but we can do that after dinner, instead. I would prefer to do it before we leave on holiday, since we will be installing Norman as Head of Hufflepuff on Wednesday evening, and I plan to introduce him to Hogwarts immediately after. You could join him, but . . . it is sentimental of me, but I would prefer it to be just the two of us. Especially as I still have some question about the way the wands might interact, and I would prefer not to have anyone else present if only because of that."

Minerva smiled. "That sounds fine. I will call Blampa for some tea, then the Knight can tell us his story." She looked up at the portrait. "Would you stay and tell us your story?"

The Knight bowed. "I serve my lady." He removed his helmet, shaking out his long blond hair, sunlight glinting on it. "I shall be pleased to tell my story."

Minerva called Blampa and asked for a pot of tea and a plate of ginger newts. When she turned back to look at the Knight, he had removed his gauntlets and soft leather gloves and was rubbing his hands, flexing his fingers.

The Knight smiled at them. "The apples may have no flavour here, but it is good to be freer to move about. But I shall serve you, my lady, as long as I am able."

A very long time ago, when Hogwarts was still young and her stones still settling, I was in the service of a family, more prominent than some, less than others, and was set to the service of the youngest child of the family, a beautiful girl with raven hair, cheeks like apples at harvest time, and lips like the harps of angels. She grew in age and in beauty, and I, charged with her care and protection, accompanied her as she went through her days, and nights, I slept not far from her chambers, ever ready to serve. I observed her affection and her attachment to the old wizard who served her uncle's house, and I saw how he visited more frequently than his occupation would warrant. Yet I thought little of it, for my mistress was charming and talented, a witch as her mother had been, and the wizard taught her the ways of magic.

This wizard, old, wise, and powerful, came to me one dawn. He had a task set for him by the lord whom he served, and he would be travelling in far off lands. He knew not when he would return. He asked me whether I was devoted to my mistress, and if I would serve her with my life. I swore I would, and he bound me by oath and by magic to the service of my lady. I had faith in my devotion and believed that the oath was unnecessary: I would never betray my mistress nor shirk my duty toward her.

The wizard departed, secure in the belief that my mistress was safe in my care. But as the weeks and the months went by, my devotion became love, and I pined for the attentions of my lady and laboured to become worthy of her affections. But daily, my mistress waited for word from the magician, and nightly she stood at the highest point in her father's castle, looking out across the land. And it came to me that the one I loved, loved another, and jealousy grew in my heart as my tokens and my feats were greeted with a mild smile and her eyes turned always to the horizon as she awaited the return of the wizard.

My lady's father had in mind that it was long past time that she be married. He had cosseted his youngest daughter, the image of his beloved wife, but as she attained her years, he began to seek a husband for my mistress. I presented myself to her, and begged her prettily to accept me and to speak with her father. When she did not, I petitioned my lord for her hand. He was sceptical, but would consider it, he said, despite my lowly status. Yet my lady told her father she would not marry me, nor would she marry any man, for she loved another. I watched as my lord grew impatient with his daughter as he presented suitor after suitor, and every one, she found lacking, but she would not say whom she loved.

Despite his affection for his daughter, my lord's impatience overwhelmed him. He told her she must choose a suitor or he would choose one for her. I presented myself once again, but my lady would not hear my entreaties.

"I know whom you love, and he will not return for you. He does not love you as I do," I told her, though I believed not my words. "Marry me, who loves you! Marry me, not the choice of your father!"

But again, she rejected me, and I grew angry and my jealousy grew. I forgot my oath and my binding, and when her father presented a lord, a cousin and twice a widower, and said that this man was to be her husband, and that she would be happy as the lady of her own manor, to care for his family, to order his household, I said nothing, though I liked him not, and his son, much less.

The date of the wedding grew nearer, and my lady slept not, watching the horizon in vain, waiting for her wizard, but my heart was hard. She came to me and begged me to save her, to take her from that place, to bring her to safety with her mother's family. She promised me her own fealty in return for mine, but she would offer nothing more. And I stood and watched her married to her father's cousin, and her tears moved me only to anger and jealousy. And I watched as she rode away that day, to be lady in her own household, and I returned to the service of her father.

My heart was heavy with grief and loss, and yet I told myself I had not broken my oath. My mistress was married, as all good women do. She would care for her family, she would forget her wizard, and she would bear her husband more children, and she would leave her magic for the things of this world and for a Christian life. But I grew more despondent, soon unable to eat or sleep; I sickened and was overcome by despair.

And then, in the depths of my despair, word came that my mistress was dead. None knew how, by her hand or that of another, but it was not by the hand of God. I lay on my cot, resting my sword at my feet and my shield on my breast, and I prepared for my death, for that was the only fitting end for me. Turning my face to the wall, I refused all food and all drink.

Three days after my mistress's death, my retirement was disturbed. The magician had returned, two summers gone, and it winter now. The door blew apart and the wrathful wizard entered my small chamber. He stared down at me; his eyes were fire and his voice was thunder, but I did not need to hear his words to know his intent. My end was close, I believed. He would wreak his vengeance on me, punish me for betraying my oath and for allowing my mistress to die in misery.

He looked into my heart, unburying my memories, and he saw that I had refused my lady's entreaties to bring her to the isle of her mothers, and he saw my love and how it had turned to bitterness, envy, and rancour. In his anger, he struck me with lightning from his staff, cracking my shield, upon which, despite my betrayal, my lady's emblem still remained.

But an easy end was not for me. This mighty wizard cursed me terribly, as was only right and just, and laid upon me a heavy geas: until I found and served a lady, similar in heart, mind, magic, and spirit to my own mistress, and was truly willing to do all to defend and protect her and to lead her to happiness with her one true love, I would be unable to speak of myself or of my charge, I would be unable to make any connections with my fellows, to form friendships or to attain any human warmth from man or woman. I would be alone and isolated until I fulfilled my oath of service.

I laughed bitterly, and said that death would find me before I could fulfill my purpose. Was I condemned to be a ghost then, both while alive and then again while dead? Upon my words, the wizard cast the final curse, transporting me, body and soul, into a tapestry that hung in the hall of my lord. None knew I was there, and I could speak not of my state. The magician enchanted me with the ability to sense the magic of a witch and the vibrations of her soul, that I would recognise my new mistress when she appeared.

The wizard would visit the hall of my lord, then that of his son, and his son's son after that, and each time he would stand before me and grant me leave to speak with him. I would tell him of all that had happened in his absence, and, in time, he would converse with me also, for we alone remembered now the lady and the times of my youth. His heart grew compassionate as his grief grew old, but he would not release me from the tapestry or from my geas. But in year after year and decade after decade, I saw no lady, no witch, whom I could serve to fulfill my fate. I grew no older, but I saw the magician fade and grow paler, his hair grow silver, and his step grow slower. His staff was no longer only an instrument of his power, but a support to his bent and halting body.

The day came when he told me that it would be his last visit to me, that he would soon pass beyond, hoping to find again his love. My own heart was heavy, for he had been my only companion, and the only living being to know the truth of my existence, that I was not merely an image woven in likeness to my former self, but that I was, indeed, alive within the tapestry.

The wizard took pity upon me, and he called to him a hound. He spoke in silence with this dog and turned to me and said that the creature had agreed to be my companion, faithful to me and to bear my fate with me throughout the long years to come, until my geas could be fulfilled and my debts atoned. And so Fidelio joined me, and I had a companion there in my barren world, though I saw the wizard no more.

The years passed, and my tapestry was moved to a manor house of a rich landowner. And still I waited, hanging there in his home, watching and listening as the girls of the house grew to womanhood, and as ladies visited, but few shared the magic of my own lady, and none were to be my mistress. One late night, many years after I had taken leave of my former life, I heard the sounds of cracking timber, and the scent of smoke was so heavy that even I within my tapestry could detect it. I sat beneath a tree, my arm about Fidelio, whose fear was great, but whose heart was strong, and I prepared for death and failure. Flames licked at the weft and the warp, but I was not consumed. I found myself with Fidelio, trapped within a painting in an artist's chamber.

The artist awoke, startled to see that I and my hound had arrived as he slept, but the man was a magician, and though he sought unsuccessfully to determine my origin, he accepted my presence, detecting the magic within my image. He added new features to the painting in which I found myself, and sun shone down upon Fidelio and on me, and spring bloomed eternally. I spent lifetimes in wizards' homes and across all those years, I found a few witches whose spirits rang a dull echo of that of my mistress, but none truly worthy and none with one true love, no wizard of power and majesty. Then I came to this castle, brought by a wizard who was fascinated with me, and whose magic and demeanor reminded me greatly of that wizard who had cursed me all those many years ago, but he was alone and there was no lady, no witch, such as my mistress. As time had passed, I had also become more aware of the magic around me, and here in this place, that ability grew. And witches came and went, young ones and old, and some were very much like my mistress, but not alike enough, and a very few were alike enough, but I had no ability to reach out and beg to serve them, and none had a true love of the ilk of my mistress's wizard.

Long years more, and I was removed to the chamber where the teachers in this place meet, and no witches came who were like to my mistress. Then awake one day, I felt the sensation of my mistress moving in the world; she was there in the castle, my new mistress, the one whom I should serve. I knew it and recognised her. Not long after, I felt another arrive, a wizard, a magician of power and skill, and it seemed I recognised him, as well, but he knew me not and I could not speak to him, though I saw him often. And I waited and more I waited, but never did I see the witch to offer her my service. I felt her arrive and I felt her leave and then return again, and I felt her joys and her sorrows, but never did I see her. My longing to serve her grew, and as I felt her great sorrow and her pain, I wished I could leave my painting and seek her, to offer my service and my comfort, little though it might be, but my geas prevented that. Although I had seen that other portraits could leave their frames and visit others, even unto visiting me, I could not go beyond the bounds of my painting. Then the day came that the witch left the castle and did not return for many a long year, but for brief visits, and I was banished to a cold and lonely storeroom, to despair once more.

One day, not very long ago in this weary tale, that wizard who seemed so very like the magician whose curse I bear, came into the dark, closed room where I had lain, dusty and neglected. And I heard him speak, saying he was seeking the right painting for his new teacher, a special portrait for a special witch. He stood beside one, examining her, and fear leapt in my soul. I knew with certainty that this was to be my mistress returning to the castle, and despite my long years of silence, I found I was able to speak, and I offered my sword and my service. I knew then that this witch was to be my mistress, that I could speak was the sign of it. I would live for her, or I would die for her, but I would serve her faithfully, and I would fulfill my geas and my ancient oath. I would serve you, my lady.

Albus and Minerva sat there in silence as the Knight finished his story and bowed. They looked at each other. It was incredible, quite literally.

Minerva had a great many questions and objections to the story, but she voiced the first one that popped into her head, "You said that you couldn't pass the borders of your painting, but you do that all of the time. Right now, in fact. You are in my landscape."

The Knight smiled. "Yes, my lady. In your service, I am at last able to leave the confines of my canvas, but only in your service, not upon my own whim or desire."

Minerva turned to Albus. "What do you think?" Her raised eyebrow said what her question did not: this was an unbelievable tale and there was something wrong with a portrait that "believed" it was alive and bound by a geas.

"I have never heard of anything quite like that being done . . . although there are legends which tell similar tales. But . . . I would not have believed such a thing possible," Albus said slowly. "It is nothing that I could do, nothing that any wizard of my knowledge could do. Yet there is still something persuasive in his story. And as many advances as there have been in magical knowledge, there have been losses, as well. There is also no knowing what a wizard could do if truly enraged, what forces he could call upon . . ."

Minerva shook her head. She couldn't believe, and yet . . . the Knight said he had felt her joy and her sorrow, her great pain when she was a student. He remembered her magic and had recognised her when she returned. Or that was one interpretation. It could just as well be that he had sensed some other witch, or that he had invented the entire tale. Dilys, after all, seemed to have the semblance of an imagination, and she was able to tat and crochet. It could be that the Knight was inventing this tale just as Dilys tatted lace collars and crocheted afghans.

"It is difficult to understand," Minerva said, addressing the portrait.

"Difficult to believe, is what you mean," the Knight replied. He bowed. "It is of no consequence. My geas will be lifted and my oath fulfilled. I know not what will happen in that moment when the curse is lifted, as I believe will occur when my geas and my oath are fulfilled, but I wished to tell someone my tale before that event."

"How is this happening?" Minerva asked. She might not believe that the portrait was a living man condemned to centuries trapped in a painting, but she could believe that the painting itself had been charmed in some way; that was a relatively simple matter. If the painting had been cursed and the curse was lifting, she wanted to know what was causing the change.

"You approach happiness, you have joined in love with the wizard whose heart is devoted to you, who serves you, mind and body, heart and soul," the Knight said. "I do not know what will finally fulfill the curse's demands, whether it is something that I must do or something that may occur without my intervention, but I have not abandoned you, I have served you, willing even to do so in the face of my own ultimate destruction, and as I did so, I felt my strictures ease, but the greatest loosening of my bonds has occurred when I have done nothing, only waited for you as you were with your wizard. When you left the castle in your pain and grief, I could feel the geas weighing heavily upon me, and I knew that I must do aught I could to serve you, my lady, whatever your own fate or mine. My service would not waver."

Albus looked up at the Knight, who was now petting Fidelio, running his bare fingers over the dog's rough fur. "I will investigate this for you and see whether I can determine what will happen when the curse is released. Did the wizard ever make any indication of what would happen, say anything at all about it?"

"No . . . he did say once that he doubted that he would live to see the day, and he was correct in that. For a long time, in my grief and my guilt, I hoped I would simply die, but then I hoped that I could regain my life and enjoy all those things that this dull, painted canvas could not offer me. And now, it has been a long and weary existence, but it has been mine, and I have seen and learned much that no other has, and I have had the opportunity to serve you, my lady. The wizard's curse took from me my age but not my years nor my growth in them. I would be happy now to step from the painting with Fidelio, to breath the air and feel the warmth of the sun on my face, and then to turn and die at your feet, my lady," the Knight replied, bowing to Minerva.

"Perhaps we can find a way to release you, for you and Fidelio to leave the painting and live normal lives," Albus said.

"And what would I do here with this life? I am no wizard, but I could not live in the world as I have seen it become. Where would I go and how would I live? No, I would prefer final release, but not out of despair, out of fulfilment. I have had a shadow life here in this painting, but it has been my own, nonetheless."

"How old were you when you were cursed?" Minerva asked, not believing, but willing to enter into the pretense of belief.

"Nine and twenty summers I had seen. Four fewer summers had my mistress when she departed this world. After the magician's final visit, I lost count of the years, and every season was much the same as any other, but it was ten times ten summers after her death that last I saw the magician and he gave to me Fidelio. He was old when he cursed me and ancient when last he bade me farewell."

After Albus had asked him a few more questions about what he remembered of the wizard and the day that he was cursed into the tapestry, Minerva thanked him for his service and for sharing the tale and asked that he return to guarding her door.

When the Silent Knight had left, Minerva turned to Albus and asked, "Do you believe it then? That he is a living human being?"

"I do not know. It could be that the curse killed him, but he doesn't remember the event and that the wizard created his image in the tapestry as a way for the knight to achieve vicarious satisfaction of his oath. And yet the way that he speaks of the geas . . . it seems he might indeed be a man and not a mere portrait." Albus shook his head and a slight shudder passed through him. "Such a life, or half-life, living in a two-dimensional world, unable to communicate, one's only companion, a dog, waiting for some confluence of circumstances to come together so that one could fulfill the terms of a curse, never aging, never able to enjoy the mundane pleasures of food, drink, friendship . . . that is, indeed, a dreadful curse." Albus looked up at Minerva. "It is possible, though dreadful to contemplate. And I am reminded of stories that I have heard and read of similar curses. Although I would not be surprised to learn that I was wrong, yes, I believe, for now, or at least I will proceed as though I believe, and I will investigate as far as possible. It may be there is nothing that either of us can do directly, in terms of a counter-curse, to free him, but it would be good to understand it more, and to determine its truth."

"It is quite disconcerting to think of me being the object of his attention, perhaps for years, if what he said means that he sensed my presence even when I was a student," Minerva said with a furrowed brow.

Albus sighed and shook his head. "For now, let us put that aside. Come here to me," he said, opening his arms for her to settle back into his embrace.

They sat in silence a while, and as Albus's breathing grew even and his arms lax, Minerva felt him fall asleep. She Summoned her afghan from the bedroom, resettled him so that he was lying full-length on the sofa, his feet dangling off, then she extended the sofa so that it supported him entirely. Albus stirred only slightly as she raised his legs onto the sofa, a murmured breath crossing his lips, but his hand reached and found nothing, and his eyes began to flutter open.

Minerva took his hand and said, "Shh, shh, Albus . . . sleep. I am here."

She kissed his cheek softly, then lay close beside him and spread the afghan over them both; his arms went around her again as he gave a sigh of contentment and drifted back to sleep.

Minerva sat between Johannes and Wilhelmina at the large round table that evening in the Great Hall. Several members of staff had stayed despite Albus's letter saying that they didn't need to return until Wednesday, so there were many more people at dinner than there had been in weeks.

Malcolm sat on the other side of Wilhelmina and talked to her about the job she was taking up in December and asked about the dragon they had brought to the school.

"Portkey," Wilhelmina replied when Minerva asked how they had got it to Hogwarts without having Muggle dragon-sightings. The older witch took a moment to chew and swallow her steak – Minerva had chosen to forego the steak and was enjoying a haddock fillet with lemon and dill weed. "One Portkey here, and then another that brought her back. We just had to get close enough to toss it around her tail or leg – it was a Charmed rope – then we activated the Portkey. Geoffrey activated it, actually. Kettleburn then landed outside the grounds and Apparated to the preserve just to make sure it had all gone well. I heard from them a little while ago. Other than a broken ankle, Geoffrey made it back just fine, as did Isolde. That's the dragon. They tried giving them numbers a few years back, but the handlers persisted in naming them, so they gave up that scheme."

As Malcolm and Wilhelmina continued to talk about the dragons at the preserve, Minerva and Johannes talked about the day's events, and Johannes expressed his curiosity about her Grandmother Siofre. He had never heard the Tyree name before, which was unsurprising, as he was German, and Minerva gave him an abbreviated and unsensational version of the Tyree reputation.

Johannes grinned. "Your grandmother, she has spark. And I do not think she likes fools."

Minerva laughed shortly. "No, I would say that she doesn't. Or 'foreigners,' by which she usually means English. You made a good impression on her, though."

He shrugged. "I do not know. But I found her an interesting witch. I do hope not to anger her, however, after what you told me," he said with a chuckle.

"Pish! That's precisely how the mystique works – no one dares challenge a Tyree any longer." Minerva paused then, thinking of her grandmother. "But you're probably right. It's probably best not to cross her."

They both laughed at that, and Gertrude asked what they found so funny. She quirked a slight smile and agreed, saying that she could see some of Siofre in Malcolm.

Minerva finished her rice pudding and looked over at Albus. He wasn't quite finished with his pudding yet and seemed deeply engrossed in conversation with Filius Flitwick. They had agreed to meet in his office after dinner. It looked as though Albus would be a while, so Minerva excused herself and went up to his office, where she removed Albus's post from his Charmed owl box. The treats receptacle on the side was almost empty, so she found the rabbit-flavoured owl treats in Albus's desk drawer and refilled it. She had just finished and was turning from the window when the door opened and Albus walked in.

His face lit up in a smile as soon as he saw Minerva. "Good evening, my dear!" He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Did you enjoy your dinner?"

"I did. Much more than I would have if I had eaten the bloody mess that Wilhelmina found such a treat." Minerva made a face. "I suppose that soon we'll be back to the usual school year fare."

"Yes, but you can always request a different entree if there is something that you dislike," Albus said. "The house-elves are happy to accommodate a teacher's special requests."

"There is usually enough variety at every meal that I can find things that I like well enough," Minerva said with a shake of her head. She didn't want to make a fuss. There was nothing wrong with the food, other than being a bit monotonous and heavy. And there was usually a choice of two different main entrees, so if she didn't like one of them, the other was likely to appeal more.

"Are you ready to be introduced to the wards, my dear?"

"Yes – did you want to do anything more to test my wand first?" Minerva asked.

"No, I believe it will be quite safe, if a bit more powerful than usual. I wrote to Nicolas and Perenelle to request their advice, and they assured me that there should be no untoward effects," Albus replied. He seemed to blush slightly. "They, um, they asked about you."

"Did they? And what did you tell them?"

"I told them that I am a very lucky wizard," he said softly. "And they are happy for me. They would like to meet you."

Minerva nodded. She would like to meet them, too, she thought, although she couldn't imagine what she would say to such an illustrious couple.

"They have mated wands, don't they?" she asked.

Albus nodded.

Minerva looked up at him curiously and asked the question that had puzzled her since she had read of the Flamels' wands. "Why didn't you tell me about their wands when you told me about ours? You know them, after all. You worked with them. It seems as though it would be something you would at least mention."

"I don't know . . . I suppose thinking about their own long relationship made me feel uncomfortable," Albus replied with a shrug. "I didn't want to acknowledge even to myself what it was I wished for but that I believed was . . . inappropriate, and improper to even contemplate."

"What did they say when they found out about the wands?"

"They have known about their existence since I obtained mine, of course. The only people whom I have told, other than you. I told them immediately," Albus explained, his arms going around Minerva and pulling her closer to him. "I wrote them as soon as I left Ollivander's with my wand. They assured me at the time that I would meet the witch or wizard whom the mate chose, and that our lives would be entwined in some way, but as time passed and the wand sat in Ollivander's shop . . . I began to believe that my wand would pass on to another and when it did, then the other wand would also find its owner. I even spoke with Ollivander about making arrangements to will my wand back to the shop upon my death. But then I received the letter telling me that the ivy wand had found a young witch, and I wrote to the Flamels and told them the news. I was curious about how our lives would intertwine, but did not give it very much thought. I had been patient for sixty-six years; I could be patient a while longer. I assumed that at some point after you had left Hogwarts, we would meet and possibly work together. But then less than a year later, Headmaster Dippet wrote to me, and I met you much sooner than that."

Albus closed his eyes a moment. His mind and his memory were overlaying an eager twelve-year-old Minerva onto the upturned face of the young witch in front of him. He held his breath and opened his eyes. He let his embrace loosen and cleared his throat. "You were a bright and pure-hearted child. I saw in you a yearning for knowledge similar to my own, but I knew that you would never fall into the ways that I had: you would never value knowledge or satisfying your curiosity over the lives and needs of those around you, and you would never suffer the pride and insecurity that had allowed me to invite a murderer into my mother's home."

"But you couldn't have known – "

"I did know, Minerva," he said harshly. Somewhat more softly, he said, "I did know. I knew his character well enough." He let go of her and turned away.

"I'm sorry . . ." Minerva put her hands on his back.

Albus shook his head. "He will do no more harm where he is now." He turned and faced Minerva. "And perhaps before the end of his life, he will change. I doubt it. A man such as he, without a conscience . . . I don't think he will ever develop one. I have seen no change in him. But I still continue to believe that he should have the opportunity to do so."

"You have seen . . . you have seen him?" Minerva asked, astonished.

"I feel duty-bound. I visit him every year at Christmastime. Usually a few days before the holiday." He chuckled. "I bring him a fruit basket, which he persists in believing I have poisoned, though his guards always check for such things, and I bring him books. I hope the edifying influence of the literature and history I bring him will help in his rehabilitation. Unlike the fruit, which he doesn't touch, I understand he does read the books, though he never says anything about them. In fact, we barely exchange a word. He has gone beyond grunting at me when he sees me, but not much."

"You bring him fruit?!" Minerva asked, her incredulity growing.

Albus nodded. "Mens sana in corpore sano, they say." He smiled. "Perhaps one day, I will bring him that fruit basket, and I will find I have been able to forgive him. And myself. We shall see." He took a deep breath and smiled brightly down at Minerva. "But now we are to move on to something much happier. The final act in your installation as Head of Gryffindor. After you have been introduced to Hogwarts in this way, the wards will always recognise you unless a severing ceremony is performed. That has only been done a few times in history, and never in the last two hundred years."

"That's why Wilhelmina can still hold the wards?"

"Yes, although in theory, I could actively pass them to anyone, they will only be passively transferred to someone who has been introduced by the blood ritual, and the ability of a person to manipulate the wards and to inject their own magic into Hogwarts or to draw on that magic is greatly enhanced by the introduction. I also doubt that a stranger would obtain as much information from them, either."

"You mean if something were to happen, like when there was an explosion in the Potions classroom and Johannes was alerted?"

"Precisely. Not that the wards can detect everything that occurs in the castle, of course, and I never could discover where the . . . where the entity was that was attacking students, where it came from, where it went, how it obtained entry, but the wards were not disturbed at all. It was very troubling. I remained awake for hours, concentrating on the wards, thinking I would surely detect something, some change, but I never did. Only once, when Myrtle was killed, did I feel a slight rippling in the wards, but nothing that would indicate that something was amiss, and certainly nothing that would have signalled that a student had met her death. After you mentioned the girls' toilet on the second floor and the drippy tap, I carefully examined the strands of magic flowing through that entire level of the castle, and oddly enough, I found they were actually stronger there. If anything untoward were happening on that floor, I could not understand why the wards would not alert me. But there was that whole 'Heir of Slytherin' business," Albus said with a sigh, "and it occurred to me that perhaps the wards there were somehow protecting whatever this agency was. I never discovered its source, despite spending a good deal of time investigating it even after the attacks had stopped. So you must be aware that the wards are not infallible, nor impenetrable, and sometimes, you must trust to your own simple senses to inform you."

Minerva nodded briskly. "That is often the case, although as Malcolm said this morning, appearances can be deceiving. Shall we get on with this, then? It is almost eight o'clock."

"Of course. I will meet you there shortly, my dear," Albus replied. "Go on in and wait for me. Or you may wait here, if you prefer."

In the Heart of Hogwarts, Minerva waited quietly, wishing for a chair, but she did not conjure one. She felt somewhat superstitious about casting any spells in the Heart, though her rational self told her that it couldn't possibly hurt anything. She had only been in the Heart alone once, and that was when Albus had seemed to vanish when he had fled her rooms the previous week, and she had hardly tarried. Now, she looked around her, and she examined the intricate carvings in the great stone table. They were an odd mixture of several small vignettes, apparently depicting events leading to the founding and construction of Hogwarts, and a great many symbols of various sorts, some of which Minerva recognised, and some which seemed familiar but whose meanings she did not know, and others which were entirely foreign to her.

As she examined the table, the door opened behind her, and Albus stepped through from the hidden staircase. He was wearing the robes that she had given him for his birthday, and she smiled at him.

"I would wear my Headmaster's robes, but I thought these more suitable on this particular occasion," Albus said softly.

"You look wonderful, Albus. Thank you," Minerva said. She was glad that her introduction to the Hogwarts wards meant so much to him, and her heart seemed to expand with the love she felt toward this wonderful wizard.

He smiled. "It is a simple ritual. It was designed by Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin, though Gryffindor and Hufflepuff approved it, of course, and had some say in its purpose and construction. Rowena was interested in keeping it simple and elegant, and Salazar was concerned with the strength of the binding," Albus explained. "Through Helga's influence, the binding is one of the most benign of any blood binding, although Godric agreed with Salazar that the binding should be strong. It does bind your magic to that of Hogwarts, but it will only draw on yours if you will it to. That is where the mutations caused by Headmaster Black's changes caused the most damage, because the wards caused a constant, small drain on the magic of each of the Heads of House, and a greater drain on that of the Headmaster, himself. As I told you when you were a student, that particular mutation is the one I fixed first, and it has functioned properly since then. The strength of the binding lies in its apparent permanence. Unless reversed through a severing ceremony – or through death, of course – the binding remains in place. There has never been a recorded instance of the binding disintegrating through disuse or absence. It was once far more common for a witch or wizard to teach at Hogwarts for a decade or less, and then to move on and return to their previous lives. Even decades after a Head of House left the school and had been replaced many times over by succeeding Heads of House, the binding would still be in place if they returned for a visit."

"It sounds as if an unscrupulous person could use this to his benefit – or hers," Minerva said.

"Yes, and that is why a few of the former Heads of House were forced to undergo the Severing. One Headmaster, as well, but we shan't speak of that now," Albus said. "We can begin as soon as you are ready, my dear. I shall call the Hogwarts magic and make it visible as it flows through the chamber. I then shall cast a charm that makes it . . . receptive to accept your introduction. At that point, I will first introduce you to it through blood and then through magic. It is the latter activity that concerned me, as it involves both of us using our wands simultaneously in order to intermingle some of your magic with that of Hogwarts. There is little for you to do during this phase. At the point at which I am to intermingle your magic, you simply raise your wand and relax your magic, so to speak, creating the intent simply to allow your magic to flow into and through your wand. I then use my own wand to draw off a small amount of your magic, release it, and then weave it into Hogwarts magic. You will be able to see this all happen, since I will have made the Hogwarts magic visible."

"Will it blind me?" Minerva asked, remembering the first time he had made all of Hogwarts magic visible to her.

"No. When I displayed it for you last time, it was in the model of Hogwarts, and so was very concentrated. This will be bright, and perhaps somewhat dizzying, but it shouldn't be blinding," Albus answered. "Then I will pass you the wards, you will commit yourself to the school and the instruction and discipline of her students, using whatever words you feel express this intent, and then you return the wards to me."

"That is all?" Minerva had expected something much more elaborate, and perhaps some long Latin recitation.

Albus smiled. "It is a great deal, Minerva. You will hold the wards. Your intent must be clear. It is the clarity of the intent that creates the final seal. Rowena was well aware that language, even the most powerful magical language, is merely a conduit for the speaker or the spell-caster. Words can lie; hearts do not. Remember: it is always intent that matters most when casting any spell, whether an Accio or an Unforgivable. It is what we teach our first-years, and yet it is so easy to forget when we become accustomed to using our magic. And in this, we are using not only our own magic, but that of another, that of Hogwarts, and intent is even more important."

Minerva nodded, suddenly awed by the thought that her magic was going to be intertwined with that of Hogwarts and all those who had taken part in this ritual before her, and by the knowledge that she was joining her intent not only to her own magic, but to the magic of Hogwarts.

She drew her wand. "I am ready," she said softly.

Albus brought her to stand beside the table, then he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his wand, and the room was alive with colour: thin precise strands, wavy ribbons, thick streams, and foggy channels of magic flowed and pulsed through the Heart of Hogwarts. Minerva opened her mouth as she took an amazed breath. It was beautiful, like a thousand rainbows arcing through an aurora borealis with the light of dawn, dusk, and the noonday sun shining off the ocean, all in one place at one time. Albus smiled and allowed her a moment to appreciate the beauty of the magic flowing and sparkling through the room.

Finally, he said, "And now to introduce you bodily, Minerva."

Albus took her left hand in his own and raised his wand to draw off a pinprick of blood.

"Wait!" Minerva said, softly but urgently. "Didn't you say that this used to be done with a copper knife?"

Albus nodded. "Salazar's knife, passed down father-to-son a thousand years or more before he gave it to Hogwarts for use in this ritual."

"That is what you used; I would like that, too," Minerva said.

"Not when I became Head of Gryffindor. I did not know of its existence then, but when I became Headmaster and strengthened the binding . . . but we will use that, if you wish," he said with a nod, placing his wand in his pocket again.

He stepped around the table and raised his hand to a closely-clustered group of symbols. Laying his hand on them, he said quietly, "Patefacio!"

A small opening appeared in the table above Albus's hand, and a long, slightly curved knife rose up from the opening. As soon as Albus grasped the handle of horn, the table closed again.

Albus returned to Minerva, and as the magic of the Heart pulsed and flowed around them, he took her left hand in his left, then he raised it to his lips and gently kissed the tip of her index finger. Minerva felt the finger go slightly numb, then Albus whispered, "Corpore corporis; substantialitas consubstantialitas; integra, integrior, integerrima."

As he recited the words, he placed the tip of the blade to Minerva's finger, and she felt slight pressure then saw her blood beading up, seeming black in the particoloured light. Albus laid the knife on the table, then he drew his wand and flicked it over Minerva's outstretched finger. The droplet of blood rose up in a thin line, then seemed to fly apart and fall through the coloured mist like a fine powder and vanish.

Albus smiled slightly at Minerva as he raised her hand to his lips once more and kissed her finger. She felt a gentle tingle of magic as the small cut healed. He drew his wand once more and signalled to her to raise her own.

He had said to relax and just allow her magic to flow, and so she did just that, completely secure in the knowledge that Albus would take care of her and her magic. Minerva raised her wand, holding it lightly in her hand. She smiled as she felt her magic flow through her and into her wand, then out to meet Albus's wand, which he had raised at a gentle angle. It seemed as though his wand was a magnet for her magic, but her energy flowed smoothly and softly, and it felt comfortable and warm. Albus made a slight gesture with his wand, and Minerva watched with fascination as a ribbon of magic, gold with swirls of burgundy and deep green, appeared, drifting in a wave from the end of her wand. It seemed to find its direction and to reach out for Albus's wand. Another slight gesture from Albus, and the ribbon separated from Minerva's wand and began to come together, to coalesce into a fluid golden ball, a large bead of magic, dark red and green swirls still eddying through it.

Albus gave a slight twitch with his wand, and the ball of magic became a thousand beads, then a thousand thousand particles, and they dissipated in an expanding sphere, blending with Hogwarts magic as they did, adding their colour and energy to the power flowing through the chamber. Minerva smiled with happiness, and a shiver of appreciation passed through her to see her magic join with that of Hogwarts.

Albus smiled at Minerva's joy, then he nodded to her, and with a small upward sweep of his wand, he transferred the wards to her. This time, she saw thousands of tiny threads seem to bend toward her, silver and gold, and she felt them settle over her and into her magic, a smooth and shimmery energy.

Remembering Albus's instruction, Minerva thought for a moment, then she said, "I commit myself to Hogwarts and to her students, to their education, their care, and their discipline, to raise them up and to bring them into their own strengths, and to protect all who are under Hogwarts care, regardless of House affiliation or station in life."

Albus's smile grew at her words, and he lifted his wand slightly, waiting for Minerva to pass him the wards. She blinked for a moment, unsure of what to do. Albus had never uttered a spell, although she was sure there must be one. Dippet must have needed to use one. But then she remembered his words: it is always intent that matters most when casting any spell, whether an Accio or an Unforgivable. Minerva raised her wand, thought of the strands of magic that had settled into her own, and with a switch of her wand, she sent them back to Albus, a smile of pleasure crossing her face as she saw her success as they flowed back to Albus.

Albus pocketed his wand then held out his hand to Minerva. "Congratulations, Professor McGonagall."

Minerva transferred her wand to her left hand and shook Albus's, then he pulled her a little closer, bent his head and kissed her lips. "Congratulations, my dear."

She smiled up at him. "Do you congratulate all of your teachers in that manner?"

Albus grinned. "No, I save that for you."

Minerva thought of something just then, with the magic still flowing visibly around them. "Can I take the wards from you, now?"

"As I am the Headmaster, I normally need to pass them to someone else, and no one could simply reach out and take them; however, with my permission, if I let them go, you could take them, yes."

Minerva said, "I would like to do that, then. I don't know as it will have quite the same effect on you as it does on me when you reach into my magic and take them back, but perhaps you will experience something of what I do when you take them from me."

"Very well, my dear," Albus replied with a nod. "You may take them."

Minerva stepped back and raised her wand in her right hand, then she stopped. "Um, how do I do it?"

Albus smiled and lifted his wand. "I will make it easy for you, I promise. Just . . . reach out and pull them toward you. I will let them go."

Minerva still looked hesitant. "What if I hurt you? Couldn't I . . . I don't know, snag your magic or something?"

Albus chuckled at that. "Unlikely. And my magic is pretty resilient and 'snag-proof.' But here, I will do this for you." He waved his wand in a circle, and Minerva could now see his magic, like light and flames, flaring in red and gold around him, and she saw the distinct strands of Hogwarts magic woven through it like shiny metallic threads, stretching out and blending with the aurora still flowing visibly through the room.

Albus extended his wand toward her again, waiting for her to retrieve the wards. Minerva let out a breath, and as she inhaled, she flicked the tip of her wand toward him then back toward herself, extending her magic into his to take hold of the wards, and the threads followed her wand and began to gather and move toward her. She almost missed the surprised expression that crossed Albus's face as her magic entered his and pulled the threads free. Smiling, she lingered, slowing her retrieval, pulling the strands gently and slowly, consciously stretching her magic into his as she did so.

When she was done, Albus let out a breath and said, "Oh, my . . . I think I do see what you mean. I didn't see any radiating colours as you described, but your magic in mine, that was most . . . delicious."

Minerva grinned. "Care to take them back?"

Minerva closed her eyes and relished the sensation of Albus's magic reaching into hers, bubbling through it, tickling and rushing, and she sighed at the wonderful sensations and the impression of music and light that came over her. She opened her eyes to see Albus smiling down at her, standing closer, the magic no longer visible; she smiled up at him. "You are beautiful, Albus, you, and your magic."

"No, it is you who are beautiful, my dear, although you do bring out the best in me," Albus replied, caressing her cheek. "I love you, Minerva."

Minerva put her arms around him as he kissed her, and she loved feeling his back and shoulders covered in the silky, starry robes she had given him. As his lips moved against hers, she moved one hand down to his buttocks and cupped and squeezed as she pressed herself against him.

Albus pulled back slightly, then kissed her once more, and whispered, "We should retire for the evening, I believe."

Minerva pressed herself against him again, pulling him closer. "Make love to me, Albus."

She felt his desire growing, and he licked his lips.

"Let's go to your rooms," he said softly.

Minerva reached up and began to unfasten his robes, then, to emphasize her impatience and her desire, she whispered a spell, and all hooks, buttons, and magical clasps released and his robes were open.

"Minerva!" Albus exclaimed, then as her hand began to caress him, he moaned, "Oh, Minerva."

"Make love to me," she whispered.

"Here?" He seemed surprised and torn.

"Here . . ." She kissed his chest and ran one hand over his torso as she stroked his erection. "So strong, so wonderful, so virile . . . I need you now, gods, Albus, now!"

Albus let his robes fall to the floor and he quickly reached behind Minerva and undid the fastenings and laces of her robe. He pushed it down, then unbuttoned the first few mother-of-pearl buttons of her chemise before he simply pulled it up over her head and dropped it onto the table behind her. He ran his hands down over her body, breathing hard as he looked at her. He pulled her knickers down, and they dropped to the floor. Minerva stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Albus lifted Minerva up so that she was sitting on the edge of the table; he brought his hands to her breasts and caressed them as he stepped closer, pushing her back onto the table. He stood between her legs and pressed his erection against her crux and Minerva moaned with desire. Albus brought one hand down and rubbed her clitoris before taking his erection in his hand and, bending slightly, bringing the head of his cock to her entrance. She was gasping as he pushed into her.

"Oh, gods, Minerva, Minerva," Albus moaned, and he began to stroke in her, completely stimulating her, pushing up against the upper wall of her vagina, causing her to let out a long, breathless moan.

She put her legs around him and flexed her muscles around his cock, and Albus gasped and groaned in response. He stroked and pumped, shifting a few times, and as Minerva began to come, he stopped, rose up, pushed her legs from around him, and brought her knees to her chest, then he resumed, and as her cries of pleasure grew, his legs almost gave out, but her orgasm clenched around him, and he slowed his movement, rubbing her clitoris with one finger, and resting his chest against her feet, savouring the sensation of her orgasm rippling around him. Albus looked down and watched Minerva's face, and he let out a satisfied sigh.

As Minerva opened her eyes, he smiled at her, then withdrew, let go of her legs, rolled her over onto her stomach, and gently pulled her toward him again.

"Not uncomfortable?" he whispered.

Minerva shook her head. Not too uncomfortable, she thought, as she felt Albus's fingers seek her clitoris, and as he teased her, she felt the head of his cock at her entrance again, pushing into her. He continued to caress her clitoris as he pumped into her vagina and massaged her buttocks with his other hand. Soon she was moaning and rolling her hips as she approached orgasm again. As she came, Albus could not hold back any longer, and pumped twice more before calling Minerva's name as he shuddered and released in her warm depths.

Several minutes and a few freshening charms later, as they helped each other get dressed again, Minerva said, "That was the perfect way to congratulate me, I do believe, Headmaster."

"Well, Professor McGonagall, for one who is as extraordinary as you, only the most heartfelt congratulations are in order," Albus said with a slight twinkle.

"Do you plan on congratulating other Heads of House in this way?" Minerva asked as she straightened the collar of his under-robe.

"I believe this was a unique event, and it shall remain so, my dear!" He tried to put some of her stray hair back into her hairpins, but with no success. He frowned. "You will have to show me how to do your hair. As much as I might enjoy taking it down, if you would permit that, I would also like to be able to put it up, play with it . . ." He twirled one strand through his fingers.

"I would enjoy it if you would take my hair down, Albus," Minerva said with a smile. "And if you would care to learn how to put it up," she said with a tilt to her head, "that may take you a bit of practice, but I think that I can be a patient teacher." She waved her wand, and her stray hairs gathered themselves and rejoined their fellows in her chignon.

"Shall we retire to your rooms now? If I might invite myself," Albus added tentatively.

Minerva placed both hands on his chest. "You may invite yourself, but if you do . . . I hope you will stay." She had been about to say, "you must stay," but she didn't want to make an ultimatum of something that was supposed to be pleasant for them both.

He nodded and kissed her. "Unless you ask me to leave, I thought I would . . . then we can depart in the morning. If I fetch my luggage tonight, we can leave directly from your rooms. We could see this as the beginning of our holiday."

Minerva smiled. "You have packed already?"

Albus nodded again. "I packed a few days ago, other than a few last minute things, of course. But I can get those now."

Minerva waited for him in his sitting room as he quickly moved from room to room and gathered the last things that he needed to pack, then he came out of his bedroom, one large carpet bag and one small one floating behind him. He also held a wrapped package in his hands.

"I thought we would Floo from my office, Minerva, so that we don't encounter anyone on the way," he said.

She agreed. Just before they were to step into the Floo, Albus handed her the package. "If you would take this, my dear, I will take the bags."

Minerva Flooed through first, holding the package, which was heavy for its size. A moment after she entered her sitting room, Albus followed. He set down his bags and she held out the package to him.

"No, my dear, that is for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but why wait?" he asked with a grin. "Open it!"

Minerva sat on the sofa and carefully unwrapped the package. She smiled. "It's beautiful, Albus!" She ran her hand over it appreciatively.

"It isn't new. I have had it for almost forty years, but I think it is something you would enjoy. Lift the lid!" He sat down beside her.

As she did so, Minerva's smile grew. "Wonderful, Albus! 'Liebestraum,' isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered. "I just had it added this week, especially for you. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get it back before we left, but your mother kindly fetched it from the shop for me, and I retrieved it from her this morning when Malcolm and I were there. Wilspy took it for safe-keeping during the tea break."

"I love it, thank you!" Minerva said. She leaned over and kissed him. "But are you sure you want to part with it?"

"Yes – it isn't as if it is going far. You will have it, and we can enjoy it together. Gertrude gave it to me originally, actually. I told her I was thinking of giving it to you, and she thought it an excellent idea."

"Really?" Minerva closed it up again. "When was that?" Had Gertrude given it to him when they were seeing each other, as she believed they had? If so, it might feel peculiar for her to accept the gift. But no, he had said he had it forty years. . . .

"The very first Christmas after I met her. I spent the day with her and Reginald, beginning a tradition that lasted until his death. They were my family in many ways."

"Thank you, Albus. It is wonderful. I will enjoy it, I am sure." She leaned over and kissed him again. "You are always most thoughtful."

An hour later, after having helped one another undress again, and Albus taking Minerva's hair down, and both becoming quite distracted in the process, Minerva sighed happily as she rested her head on the pillow beside Albus's and he pulled the covers up over them with a wave of his hand. She kissed his cheek.

"Good night, Albus. I love you," she whispered.

He turned his head and kissed her, draping an arm around her. "You are so precious to me, Minerva. Thank you for all of the happiness you bring me, all the joy." He sighed and kissed her again as Minerva waved her hand to extinguish the lamps. "You are my joy and my happiness, my dear and my delight. My delight, my sweet, sweet delight."

Note: Albus and Minerva's holiday can be found in the story A Holiday with the Headmaster. It is a separate twelve-chapter story available here on TPP. The next chapter of RaM picks up with their return from their holiday. So if you want to read about their holiday, where they go, and what little adventures they have, skip on over to A Holiday with the Headmaster. If you would prefer the abridged, bowdlerized, T-rated version of their holiday, you can read A Little Holiday over on fanfiction.net.