Part LVII: An Early Breakfast and an Owl, cont’dAn hour after lying down for her nap, Minerva woke, stretched and, with some reluctance, thought about the day ahead. It was still only ten o’clock. First order of business, she thought as she dressed, would be to find Gertrude and borrow an owl to post her letters. After that, she wasn’t sure what was expected of her, although Gertrude had said she would like to spend some time with her. Of course, there was Quin, too. Not to mention that, as much as she loathed the idea of having any conversation with the witch, she actually wouldn’t mind getting another look at Valerianna. She would probably regret it, but Minerva felt drawn to her, wanting to know what it was Valerianna had that Albus could have found attractive, and what kind of relationship they could have had. Minerva only had Gertrude’s word for it, after all, that she and Albus had anything other than a superficial social relationship. And, as Gertrude had mentioned, the witch
had been on the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the time in question. Perhaps the Yaxley woman had simply misconstrued Albus’s intentions. After all, she
was a widow, and perhaps Albus had felt some responsibility toward her after her husband’s death. Gertrude could be exaggerating the extent of their relationships, perhaps based on Valerianna’s own misperceptions. Not to forget that the two of them
were related. As much as Gertrude professed to dislike her relatives, she must feel some clan loyalty to them.
Although . . . had Gertrude ever said she disliked any of her relatives? No, Minerva didn’t think she had. Albus had said Gertrude thought that Minerva wouldn’t like them, which was a rather different thing. Quin had said that Gertrude had invited Minerva because she wasn’t like the Yaxley-Black-Flint crowd, and he certainly believed that another part of the reason was because Gertrude was a part of the “Dumbledore-can-do-no-wrong” camp. That may be true, but it certainly didn’t mean that Gertrude didn’t have other things in common with the rest of her family. Who knows? Maybe she
had thought that Yaxley and Albus should have got together, despite her stated opinion of Yaxley and her intentions toward Albus. Although, had Gertrude actually expressed disapproval of her intentions? No . . . not really. She had said that – what was it? – Valerianna hadn’t managed
to sink her claws into Albus before he had discovered she wasn’t the witch he had thought she was, but Gertrude never actually said anything negative about Valerianna. Where Minerva came from, “sinking one’s claws” into someone was not particularly high praise, but who knew how a Slytherin would view such a thing. Maybe Gertrude was only unhappy because Valerianna hadn’t succeeded, as a true Slytherin would have.
That thought made Minerva’s stomach drop. Perhaps Gertrude wasn’t unhappy with Albus’s rejection of Valerianna because of her
own Slytherin designs on him. That would accord with what Quin had said of Gertrude’s devotion to Albus. A devotion that Minerva herself had actually defended the day before. And Albus certainly seemed to value Gertrude highly. Even his letter yesterday had mentioned her. But of course it would; she
was there visiting Gertrude, after all. It would have been peculiar if he hadn’t mentioned her. But he had asked her to try to get to know Gertrude better. Why would he want Minerva to be friends with her? Because he felt close to Minerva and wanted to make sure that she felt comfortable around another witch to whom he was also close? But she wasn’t asked to get to know all of Albus’s friends. He never encouraged her to do any more than tolerate Professor Slughorn, and Minerva had the impression the two wizards knew each other quite well. Or Birnbaum, and
they were definitely good friends.
Minerva did not like the direction her thoughts were going. She didn’t usually sit around analysing everything and everyone around her. She knew what was causing this atypical obsessive introspection: those feelings for Albus which she shouldn’t even have. Minerva sighed and reminded herself that Albus was not in any way answerable to her, his private life was his own, she wanted his happiness above all else, and simply because she couldn’t have him didn’t mean that no other witch should want him. And if Albus wanted some other witch, even Gertrude – tears pricked her eyes at the thought – Minerva would have to be happy for him. As long as the other witch was good for him. And comparing Gertrude to Valerianna, there was no doubt which one Minerva would prefer to see him with. Although she knew that if Albus were to become even more attached to Gertrude than he already obviously was, it wouldn’t matter that he enjoyed Minerva's company; not only would he not have the time to spend with her – which was little enough as it was – but it would be inappropriate for him to spend a lot of time with a young, single witch, even one with whom he had a long-standing mentoring relationship.
Now she had worked herself into a right state. She practically had Albus married off! Gertrude had never expressed any such interest in him. Everything that Minerva knew of their relationship could be as easily explained as a friendship as it could as . . . whatever else it might be they might become. Or perhaps what they already were?
Minerva snatched her letters from the desk, wanting to slap herself for having brought herself from merely wondering about Valerianna Yaxley to speculating that Gertrude and Albus were more than just friends. Time to get out of the room, time to post her letters, time to distract herself.
Minerva fairly ran downstairs to find Gertrude, but instead discovered a gathering in a small parlour. Madam Columbine Gamp and her husband Gropius were there with a few other witches and wizards of their generation. Minerva was about to apologise and excuse herself when Madam Gamp invited her to come in; she introduced Minerva to the others as “Professor McGonagall, my daughter’s colleague.” Minerva recognised many of the others in the room. She nodded pleasantly at the assembled group and wondered how she could make a gracious exit. The family matriarch seemed determined to be hospitable, however, and had her take a seat between Arcturus Black and Hepzibah Rosier, who had been the two youngest in the room until Minerva entered. Arcturus was only in his fifties, but Hepzibah was closing in on eighty. Minerva felt quite the child that Valerianna had called her the night before. Odd that she never felt that way with Albus, and he was older than any of the witches or wizards gathered in the parlour.
Minerva politely nodded and smiled as she listened to everyone discussing people she didn’t know, or, if she knew them, about whom she cared little. Arcturus Black turned to her. “So, Professor McGonagall, is it?” Minerva nodded in response. “I don’t think I know any McGonagalls. Didn’t go to school with any.”
“I was at school with Orion and Lucretia, sir,” Minerva answered, thinking that she remembered he was their father.
“Ah, yes. And your father?”
“He was at Hogwarts somewhat before you were, I believe. He took his NEWTs in eighteen eighty-eight, and my mother was about five years behind him.” Given how old her parents were when she’d been born, she was used to her classmates’ parents being a good deal younger than her own.
“Hmm, hmm,” said the doddering old fellow on the other side of Arcturus – Minerva thought he was another Rosier. “Seem to remember him. Runty fellow with a squint. Always fiddling with runes and such.”
Minerva could scarcely believe this frail-looking wizard had been at school with her father, who was still hale and energetic at the relatively young age of eighty-eight. “You were in my father’s class, sir?” Minerva thought she would be safe and stick with “sir” and “ma’am,” since she couldn’t be sure of all their names.
“He was a Ravenclaw prefect my first year there. My older brother was a Slytherin prefect, so I remember him better than I might. How is your father, dear?” the wizard wheezed.
“Fine. He has another book coming out in the fall based on his research into ancient Persian and Indian incantation forms and their influence on the development of Arabic and European spells.”
“Hmm, hmm. Fascinating. Written many books has he?”
Minerva swallowed her retort and merely replied, “Approximately thirty.”
The witch seated next to the curious wizard cackled. “How very
dull for you, darling!”
“Now, Mother,” said Minerva’s questioner, “as Professor McGonagall is a teacher, I am sure she finds it anything but dull.” He said this in a tone that implied, however, that
he certainly did.
The witch picked up her son’s questioning. Minerva threw a glance in Columbine Gamp’s direction, but both she and her husband were talking with other guests. “So, did your father’s father go to Hogwarts, child?”
Minerva was truly getting sick of people whom she scarcely knew calling her “child,” “dear,” and “darling.” With the exception of Quin and his mother-in-law, Minerva didn’t think there was a single person she had met there who she believed actually had warm feelings toward her. Somewhat agitated, Minerva said, “I think the interest in the McGonagall name comes from its unfamiliarity in your circle. My father’s father was the son of a Muggle-born witch and a Muggle-born wizard, therefore there have been only a few generations of wizarding McGonagalls.” Minerva watched the expressions on the faces of those who were listening to the conversation – showing reactions ranging from stiff disdain to incredulity, and even what appeared to be pity from one witch, as though she believed Minerva was too uncouth to understand what it was she was admitting to.
Minerva smiled pleasantly. “However, my Grandmother Siofre Tyree found my Grandfather McGonagall quite acceptable, and as all four of her grandchildren have gone on to productive wizarding careers, I don’t believe she’s seen any cause to regret her choice.”
“Oh, well then. Must have been a fine wizard,” mumbled one witch.
“A Tyree? You’re a Tyree?” squeaked Arcturus Black.
“No, no. My mother is an Egidius. It’s my
grandmother who was a Tyree.” Minerva had the impression that two of the wizards had blanched at her repeat of the name “Tyree,” although it was difficult to tell. “I do hope that you will excuse me, however.” Minerva rose. “As pleasant as this has been, I was off to post some letters. It has been most interesting.”
She nodded at the others and headed toward the door, pausing a moment to thank Columbine Gamp for inviting her to join her and her friends. The oblivious witch smiled vacantly and told Minerva that she hoped to see more of her over the next few days. Reaching the relative safety of the hallway, Minerva let out a breath. Columbine Gamp didn’t seem terrible, just somewhat vacuous, and Gertrude’s father seemed equally inoffensive, but their friends alternated between being boring to being annoying in the extreme.
After wandering around the ground floor and finding only other guests, who paid her no attention as she peeked in at them, Minerva stepped out the front door and began to walk around the house. She couldn’t remember the route Quin had used to go to the gardens the day before, and she didn’t want to walk through the conservatory where Druella, Orion, and a few other younger guests had gathered. Despite the early hour, it appeared they were drinking something stronger than the tea that the older crowd had been enjoying.
Minerva walked the long way around the house. As she approached the veranda, she was unhappy to see that Valerianna Yaxley and her barnacle were there with Gertrude, Pollux, and Irma. Gertrude was wearing her usual inscrutable expression, Irma was simpering, Pollux looked bored, and Valerianna looked like the cat who ate the canary – an expression she no doubt cultivated to make others nervous. Swallowing her own slight anxiety and remembering to calm her breathing and her heart rate, Minerva walked up the short flight of steps to the veranda.
As she came toward the table, Pollux stood politely; Francis half-stood, somewhat reluctantly, before Valerianna tugged his sleeve, reseating him with a quick jerk.
Just as Valerianna was about to open her mouth, no doubt in “friendly greeting,” Gertrude said, “Minerva, how lovely to see you. I was afraid you had forgotten our walk. Excuse us, please, but I did promise to take Minerva on a bit of a tour this morning.”
Gertrude hustled Minerva down the stairs and into the garden, leading her around to an area that Minerva guessed was not visible from the veranda.
“They were becoming insufferable. I was trying to think of an excuse to get away from them when you so conveniently came along. Since I presume you were not seeking their company, might I guess you were looking for me?”
“Yes, actually. I know what you mean about needing to get away. Your mother very kindly invited me to join her and her friends in the parlour. It was rather tedious until I just happened to mention my Grandmother Tyree. Whilst they were trying to determine how to respond to that, I managed to excuse myself.”
The corners of Gertrude’s mouth quirked briefly. “Hmm. Must remember that myself. That you’re a Tyree, I mean.”
“As I explained to them, my mother’s an Egidius; it was my father’s mother who was a Tyree, so I’m not a Tyree.”
“Near enough, Minerva, near enough. But I doubt you wanted to discuss blood-lines, or you would have remained in the parlour. What may I do for you?”
“I have a couple of letters. I was wondering whether there might be an owl or two I could borrow. One letter is going to Hogwarts, the other one is just going to Wales.”
“Mmm. Usually summon a house-elf to post my letters, myself, but we can walk around to the owlery. Feel free to use any of them. All the Gamp owls have a yellow band on one leg with ‘
ducere’ on it. Other owls not belonging to us occasionally rest there before heading back home is the only reason I mention it.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Minerva had never heard of anyone having so many owls that they banded them and had their own private owlery. “‘
Ducere’?” she asked.
“From the Gamp motto:
Ducere est Imperare. Not that any Gamps have been called upon to live up to that motto for a few centuries.” Gertie seemed to think this was funny.
They reached a small outbuilding on the far side of the garden near a grove of trees. Gertie helped her choose two owls, a large Eagle Owl to carry her letter to Albus and a small but vigorous-looking Scops to bring her letter to Poppy. On Poppy’s letter, she had written, “Madam Poppy Pomfrey, care of Violet Bowen,” in case the owl needed the additional information in order to find her. Minerva sometimes thought she should have continued with Care of Magical Creatures in her NEWTs years, but a witch could only do so much, and her Animagus training took much of her energy during her sixth year.
Gertie made no comment on the letters Minerva was sending, although she must have seen that one of them was to Albus. The two witches walked in silence back through the gardens, Gertie leading Minerva to an area that she and Quin had not explored the day before.
“Would you like to sit a while? Lunch won’t be for another hour. Quin is off playing with the children in some other part of the garden, though, if you would prefer to find him,” Gertrude said.
“No, I think it would be nice to sit a while. After the long day I had yesterday, I’m not sure I’m up to playing with three MacAirt children,” Minerva replied, pleased when her remark elicited a smile from the older witch.
“Mmm. He is a bit of a child sometimes. But he is a shrewd businessman, from what I understand, and a powerful wizard, although he doesn’t alway let that show.”
“I was rather impressed by his performance at lunch, though.”
“Oh, he was just playing there. Rather like Albus and his armchairs. Although he did enjoy annoying Francis.”
“He said that Frank – Francis – really did hate him, but he never had time to tell me why.”
“He didn’t find any time in between whispering sweet nothings and nibbling your ear?” Gertie asked with a smirk. “Francis has never been happy with the way that Quin has integrated himself so well into the Muggle business world. At one point, he had himself convinced that Quin must be violating numerous Muggle Secrecy laws and must also be using magic in some way in order to make his businesses a success. Francis launched an investigation, involved the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister's office in it, and then the investigation turned up nothing – but only after Quin had led them on a merry chase through all of his Muggle and wizarding businesses. Francis was blamed for the waste of Ministry resources and was stuck doing some kind of parchment-pushing in the Department of Mysteries.”
“Does he? Quin, I mean, not Francis. I don’t mean does he violate the Secrecy laws; does he use magic to get ahead in his Muggle businesses?”
“Possibly, but not in any way that would come to the attention of the Muggle authorities. He operates all of his Muggle investments and businesses according to Muggle laws and doesn’t use any Charmed objects or spells in order to increase productivity or to induce Muggles to do as he wants. From what I understand, he uses almost entirely Muggle methods in his Muggle business life.”
“‘Almost entirely’ is
not entirely, though, Gertrude,” Minerva replied somewhat sternly.
“I don’t peer over his shoulder, Minerva, but I believe that he only uses various divination methods and perhaps a bit of . . .
personal charm to advance himself in the Muggle world.”
“Divination? Well,
that’s more likely to put him at a disadvantage, I’d say. And there’s nothing wrong with being charming, which he is. Unless you mean something different than I do.”
“It’s magic, but it doesn’t have an exact cognate in the formal wizarding classifications we normally use when discussing magic. You’ll have to ask him about it – although you actually witnessed a mild example of it yesterday at lunch.”
“The water glass? But I could do those things – with a wand, anyway.”
“No. Perhaps you didn’t notice then.” Gertie thought a moment. “After Francis became so enraged and the entire table turned its attention on him, didn’t you notice how very innocent Quin seemed? Mild . . . perhaps a bit smaller?”
“Yes, actually, but . . . did he
really become smaller?”
“It’s hard to say. I’m not sure. You will have to ask him more about it. As an Arithmancer, I’ve always been more curious about his divination practices, so I haven’t asked. As a Transfiguration Mistress, though, I can see how this ability might be of interest to you.”
“He told me he was rubbish at Transfiguration!” Minerva exclaimed indignantly.
“Oh, he is, quite. I am stellar at it compared to Quin – and I will confess to receiving only an ‘Acceptable’ in my Transfiguration NEWT. What he does is not a charm or a Transfiguration, as far as I know. As I said, you’ll have to ask him.” Gertrude seemed to be tiring of the discussion of Quin and turned it in a slightly different direction. “I was impressed that you stuck with Arithmancy through your seventh year, Minerva. I never had the impression you particularly enjoyed it, despite earning an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on your NEWT.”
“I didn’t
dislike it, but you’re right, it wasn’t my favourite subject.”
“I can easily guess that Transfiguration held that position.”
“Of course. Otherwise, why would I have pursued an apprenticeship in it?” answered Minerva.
“Albus was very proud of you. Proud of the way you handled your first ‘apprenticeship,’ particularly. I think everyone on the staff heard about your Challenge performance at least twice – more if he had a willing audience.” Gertrude grinned. “I probably heard the story in its entirety at least a half dozen times – at least in bits and pieces.”
Minerva breathed calmly and tried not to blush. “I was glad to make him proud of me. He was my first Transfiguration teacher. I would not have wanted to have embarrassed him by not doing well.”
“He was tickled pink by your performance, so no need to worry on that score. And he clearly thinks enough of you to hire you to teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts.”
“As I said, I am glad I be able to perform well.”
“Mmm. There is more to living up to the job he handed you than just performing well, though, Minerva.”
Taken aback by Gertie’s use of the phrase “the job he handed you,” Minerva could only stare at the other teacher.
“
Loyalty, Minerva. I believe you have it. And I hope you do. The Headmaster needs your loyalty, as well as your competence, although he would never come out and ask for it directly. I certainly believe that he
deserves your loyalty, though, and I believe you have the capacity for it.”
“Of
course he has my loyalty!” Minerva said indignantly. “Why would you even question that?”
“I do not question it, Minerva, I merely draw your attention to it. His staff is all more or less loyal to him, of course, and as Headmaster, he should expect at least some measure of loyalty from all of them. I believe that your own loyalty is even more important, though. Tell me, has he talked to you at all about your future at Hogwarts?”
“What do you mean?” Rather paranoid, Minerva wondered if Gertrude was thinking of cutting short her future at Hogwarts.
Gertrude sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Wilhelmina is leaving at the end of next term,” she said without further explanation.
“Oh. You mean Gryffindor House.”
“Yes, precisely. I am sure he would have informed me if you were going to become Head of House, so I presume that either you are not going to be, for whatever reason, or that either you or he has not yet come to a decision.” Gertrude waited.
Minerva said, “We discussed it. I said I would consider it, but I feel I am somewhat young for the position, and I don’t want to take it if Professor Pretnick would feel slighted if he were passed over.”
Gertrude snorted. “Who would or would not feel slighted should not be a genuine consideration in such decisions – although it unfortunately often is. My point, though, Minerva, is that if you become Head of House – Head of
Gryffindor – Albus will need your loyalty even more. And I have found that he is sometimes in need of protection. Even from himself at times. For all of his intelligence, power, and many, many talents, Albus Dumbledore needs to be protected by those who are loyal to him. I have occasionally had to shield him myself.”
It was Minerva’s turn to snort. “I do not see Albus as needing protection – and certainly not
my protection! Look at the two of us, after all!” The comparison was absurd.
Gertrude turned to look at her and smiled. “I have done, Minerva. I believe you might do well as Head of Gryffindor. And I think that if you understand what Albus needs, even if he does not always understand it himself, you would do very well, indeed.”
Minerva would be the last person to disavow Albus or even to hint at being anything less than loyal to him. She
still didn’t like this conversation, though, and felt that Gertrude was being rather high-handed.
“I am rather insulted that you would question my loyalty to the Headmaster, Gertrude, even if only by implication. And if ever he needs any protection and I can provide it, I will.” Minerva suddenly recalled the incident in France in which he had needed more from her than just her loyalty, and she had given it more than willingly. She hadn’t precisely received his thanks for it when it was over – well, she
had received his thanks, but her subsequent overtures to offer him comfort had been neatly deflected. Minerva straightened her back. “I would offer him anything he might accept from me, if ever he needs anything I can give him.”
Gertie smiled slightly. “Good. You might remember to be a bit persistent, though, Minerva. It may occasionally be somewhat difficult to do so, since your relationship with Albus began developing when you were a student. You may have a few habits to break. You must simply remember that you are now more than just his student, and then call on that Gryffindor backbone of yours and tell Albus what he needs. Don’t back down.”
Minerva bristled slightly. Who was this Slytherin to be lecturing
her on how to be a Gryffindor? Never mind the fact that Minerva hadn’t been particularly persistent after the incident in France – but Albus had made it quite clear to her that her concern was neither needed nor wanted. Besides, she had been living in London at the time. Minerva responded stiffly, “I would not presume to tell the Headmaster what he needs, Gertrude.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you were right earlier,” Gertrude said. Minerva looked at her quizzically. “About Gryffindor House.” When Minerva still showed no sign of comprehension, Gertrude said patiently, “You said you might be too young for the position.”
Before Minerva could do anymore than open her mouth in complete indignation, Gertrude stood. “Time for lunch, Minerva. Gird your loins!”
Gertrude started back toward the house, not even looking back to see if Minerva was following.
She has an odd way of speaking not in riddles, but something close. That long talk about loyalty was interesting, to say the least. I am in the minority of people who like Gertie, probably because she is a very complex person. No one is all good and all bad, and Gertie's no exception. And we all know Min is going to take the position, but that was wonderful manipulation on Gertie's part. 
(
