Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[sevherfan]

Awww, now I don't have to leave a message at midnight! hehe. I love the sensing of one another and the wand mixing. I'm especially interested to hear that last bit from Albus's point of view. It seemed a strange little moment, to offer up his wand for her to play with. Wonder what he was thinking.

ARGH! TELL US WHAT HIS ANIMAGUS IS!!!! Heh, Maybe I'm just more convinced they'll kiss if neither are human when it happens.

[revolutionaryetude]

I still am amazed at how intricate this story has become. Your posts have just become more and more enjoyable. Thank you for posting dedication.

[esoterica1693]

I like your AD much better than the DH one too! I have spent a lot of time and energy reflecting on the DH version. (Trying to write obliquely so as to not spoil specifics....)

I can come to grips w/ each part of it, and some of the aspects that most bother others--his actions towards SS and HP wrt certain strategies--aren't really much different from what I'd always assumed. So I can't put my finger on what my problem is w/ the DH version. But somehow I just can't fully come to terms w/ that version of him. Maybe it's the momentary weakness he shows wrt the Peverell ring horcrux. Maybe it's the way he treats SS at various points, both ca. 1980 and near-DH-present, even though I have no problem w/ how SS is shown in the book overall. But whatever it is, I just can't fully accept that the AD in DH is the real AD. Sorry, Jo!

I am hoping to perhaps learn more about his backstory from her at some point, and not just re ADMM.

[pol]

Ooh what a fabulous update! I am, as ever, left intrigued and delighted. Honestly, this story leaves *nothing* left wanting and although I don't always understand everything that's going on, I trust you to lead our characters the right way.
Also, in response to your story not being canon, I noticed that during my reading of DH I was often confused because I had remembered something from RaM and it had stuck with me as the truth. It took me a while to realise that I was doing this, but I'm not surprised at all. Your story and your characterisation seems as real to me (or more so) as anything else that's been put to page, even by JKR. I'm glad you've decided to follow your own backstory, rather than fit it specifically to DH, because honestly, you seem to make the better choices.
xoxo

[esoterica1693]

Re the DH AD: I wish that we had gotten some of the memories in the "A Prince's Tale" chapter from AD's POV too at some point. It would have made the "King's Cross" chapter too long, and Jo obviously wants to leave his character as she has and make the contrast w/ HP clear. But I'd like to know AD's POV on all those scenes....

Yes, my vote is that MMADfan definitely knows AD better than JKR does, and I'm glad!

[pudupudu]

I have fallen in love with this story *elopes with it and has its babies*. It truly is one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever had the pleasure to read and I must say that I wish it was published to give me and excuse to work it into my university course! I’m sorry if I make you blush again but it’s true!

As for the characters, I admit to wanting, on more than one occasion, to bang their heads together and tell them to get on with it but they’re just too sweet as they are. The world you create seems so real and I feel bereft when I leave it- please write more soon and give me yet another excuse to abandon Beowulf!

[MMADfan]

Note: As I indicated before, RaM is non-compliant with DH.

I really loved reading all your comments -- they were very encouraging! I'm especially pleased that folks like RaM!Albus -- human and fallible, yet, I believe, admirable and lovable!

This chapter is too long for one post, so it will be posted in two parts.

Happy reading!

---

XCVI: A Tale of Two Wands

Minerva woke early the next morning and stumbled into the shower. In this, she was more like her mother than her father. Although she could sometimes sleep late mornings, once she was awake, she generally couldn’t fall asleep again unless she was truly exhausted, and so six-fifteen found her in a warm shower, her eyes still closed, but trying to think about the day ahead. Instead, her mind kept turning to the previous day, the lovely picnic Albus had brought her on, the kind and yet authoritative way that he dealt with Brennan and Melina, and then their evening together. It had been so lovely, and yet, standing there in the shower, Minerva found herself feeling empty and wistful. She should be much happier than she had been a few weeks before, when it seemed that Albus had forgotten her presence in the castle, their friendship, and all that they had shared over the years. And, on a certain level, she was happier. The time they had spent together over the last few weeks had been lovely, even though it had been punctuated with Albus’s occasional and uncharacteristic moodiness. Minerva felt closer to him than ever she had felt before; he had even begun to tell her something of his past, though she was sure that there was far more that he hadn’t told her – about both the defeat of Grindelwald and about his relationship with Valerianna, as different as those two stories were likely to be. And it seemed that he might tell her something about Grindelwald, eventually.

The history books told of Dumbledore’s final mission with a handful of Aurors, how they had set out to find the Dark Wizard and take advantage of his weakening position and the distraction of his increasingly failing grip on the Muggles whom he had thought he could exploit for his own purposes.

The Muggles had made their own choices over the previous ten or fifteen years, there was no doubt about that, but Grindelwald took advantage of those choices, particularly those in Germany. When the Weimar Republic slid away into the Third Reich, Grindelwald had believed that he had his best opportunity to insinuate himself into the affairs of the Muggle world. It had never worked precisely as he had planned. Muggles were far more independent and single-minded than he had anticipated, even those in the authoritarian Nazi regime. While he was able to manipulate certain people and events in the Muggle world in order to make things easier for him to obtain a crushing grip on the German and, later, European, wizarding world, he never achieved the level of control over the Muggle government that he had desired. Nonetheless, believing that a war-ravaged Europe and an authoritarian Muggle state would eventually enable him to take full control of the European Muggle world once he had established himself as sole ruler over the wizarding world, Grindelwald assisted the Nazis and the German army in discreet and not-so-discreet ways, from providing intelligence on the movement of Allied troops to eliminating “obstacles” – usually individual Muggles – to the Nazi campaign. And although Grindelwald cared nothing about ethnicity, “race,” religion, or any of the other Muggle prejudices that drove much of the Nazi agenda, he saw their mass murders as further weakening the Muggle world, and so was happy to assist in finding people who were in hiding.

It wasn’t long, however, before Grindelwald found that he couldn’t spare many wizards on his operation to undermine the Muggle world, and although he maintained a small network of spies and manipulators within the Nazi war machine, he devoted most of his resources to obtaining and maintaining control over his ever-expanding corner of the wizarding world. It was harder than he had anticipated, particularly once Dumbledore was enlisted to work against him. Not merely a believer in the superiority of wizards over Muggles, Grindelwald also believed in the superiority of wizards over witches; nonetheless, as a pragmatist, he found himself having to recruit witches and treat them as more than mere chattel in order to maintain his grip on wizarding Europe. Unlike some pure-bloods, Grindelwald didn’t care about parentage; what mattered to him was power and intellect. Muggle-born, half-blood, pure-blood, he didn’t care; if you were powerful, intelligent, well-trained, and were willing to devote your power to his cause, he would have you. Woe betide any who stood against him, however – they were quickly eliminated, as were any whom Grindelwald came to perceive as a rival within his own sphere. He didn’t hesitate to dine with a wizard one day and kill him the next.

The history books were weak on the details of Grindelwald’s defeat and capture, and in the immediate aftermath of the war, the wizarding world was so giddy with relief, they asked few questions about it. Later, it was done and over with, and the wizarding world was eager to move into the future, with even greater international co-operation and stricter rules governing the secrecy of their world. All that Minerva knew was that a small party had set out with the aim to find Grindelwald in his stronghold and put an end to him. The Ministry had worried when nothing was heard from any of them for more than three days. When the bodies of one of the witches and two of the wizards were found, expectations were grim. But then the wards fell around Grindelwald’s secret headquarters; a short time later, an Auror who had been with Dumbledore reported that Grindelwald had been captured, and within hours, a team of international Aurors was swarming over the ancient castle Grindelwald had called home. All reports were consistent that Dumbledore had single-handedly defeated Grindelwald in a duel while a few of the Aurors who had been with him kept any of the Dark Wizard’s followers at bay. Minerva had seen Scrimgeour quoted, and while he seemed happy to play up his own role in the battle, he had said nothing of Dumbledore other than that, without him, Grindelwald would still be safe in his castle.

Minerva stepped from the shower, dried her hair, and dressed quickly in a set of lightweight robes that her parents had given her the summer before. The skirt was a soft, muted tartan of green, brown, and blue, and the bodice and sleeves were a heathery green. There was also a light shawl that matched the skirt. The colours reminded Minerva of the robes that Albus had worn on their hike the morning before. But it seemed that almost everything reminded her of Albus. She sighed and looked at her vanity.

She was in danger of creating a small shrine to Albus, Minerva thought glumly, yet she felt no desire to change or remove a thing. Before she had gone to bed, she had cast a quick Siccus spell to dry and preserve the rosebud, then she stuck it to an upper corner of the small frame holding Albus’s photograph. She then placed the two white stones, the original and its twin, on the vanity in front of the picture. The evil-eye talisman hung above it from the corner of the mirror.

Minerva picked up the photograph of Albus and looked at it. Even though it was black-and-white, she could see that he had more grey in his beard and less white than he did now. Over the last twelve years, the auburn had turned almost entirely to grey and the grey to white. Minerva could envision the day when his hair and beard would be entirely white; she hoped that she would still know him then, that they would still be friends, that she wouldn’t ruin their relationship by doing anything foolish.

Touching the delicate bud that she had so carefully preserved and attached to the frame, Minerva thought of the old meanings for various flowers. Albus had been drawn to the flowers and had wished to purchase some for her, she thought, but his hand had hovered over the yellow roses, which she believed denoted friendship, though her memory was hazy on that point. It was the vendor who had drawn Albus’s attention to the red roses, and the vendor who had suggested just the single flower. Albus had agreed with the choice, of course . . . but it did not have the same meaning as it would have had Albus, unprompted, simply presented her with a single red rose: you alone hold my heart, I love you. But he had said that there was not a rose as beautiful as she . . . . Minerva blushed at the memory. He had simply been agreeing with the street vendor who, no doubt, was merely trying to get Albus to buy a flower. And yet, Albus had placed the rose in her hair so lovingly and had told her she was beautiful . . . and he had told the portrait of Paris that she was beautiful . . .

Minerva shook herself. No, Albus had only ever agreed with someone else when he’d said she was beautiful; well, that wasn’t precisely true. He had told her on other occasions that she looked lovely, that her hair or her eyes – no, this was not what she should be thinking about. And whatever compliments Albus paid her, appreciating someone’s appearance was a far cry from declaring love. After all, if that were so, she’d be in love with Quin, who was certainly one of the most handsome wizards she’d ever seen. Or even with Minister Tapper, for that matter, who was quite good-looking and distinguished, but for whom Minerva could barely conjure any feeling beyond friendly courtesy. Still, some purely emotional part of Minerva ignored those rational protests and rejoiced in the knowledge that Albus found her beautiful, even as that emotional part of her simultaneously despaired that Albus would ever find her attractive . . . or that he would love her the way that she loved him.

Minerva sighed and set the photograph back in its place. She grabbed her shawl and set off for her walk. As much as she needed a cup of tea, she didn’t want to call Blampa for one, and she didn’t want to take the time to make one herself. She was eager to get out into the fresh air. Tea could wait.

Her footsteps echoing in the near-deserted castle, Minerva hurried down the stairs. Tomorrow there was another committee meeting scheduled, and several people would be returning to the school for it. At the moment, though, Minerva was pleased enough with her solitude and did not anticipate meeting anyone on her morning walk, especially as it was not yet even seven o’clock. That suited her just fine. She might even be able to get in some time in her Animagus form without any audience.

Minerva was quite startled, then, to encounter someone as soon as she stepped out through the great front doors. Albus was sitting near the bottom of the stairs on the low wall that ran along beside them.

He only turned his head slightly at the sound of the door opening, but he cheerily greeted her. “Good morning, Professor McGonagall!”

“Good morning, Professor Dumbledore!”

Although she had looked forward to a solitary walk, Minerva was not at all displeased to find Albus sitting there . . . smoking his pipe? She had almost thought that the pipe and tobacco he had carried the day before had been mere props for his trip to the Muggle world, yet here he was, dressed in sky blue robes with silver piping, a matching brimless hat on his head, smoking his pipe. And Minerva had to admit that it suited him, and the tobacco he was smoking had a chocolatey aroma to it. She supposed it was not up to her to point out to him that even wizards were not entirely immune to the negative effects of tobacco smoke, although her mother had always said that pipes weren’t as bad as cigarettes, and she tolerated it in Merwyn as a minor and infrequent vice.

Minerva came and stood beside Albus where he sat comfortably, leaning back against the end of the upper wall that rose up beside the top few steps before it became the low wall on which he was perched.

“You’re up quite early,” Minerva remarked. She did not believe that Albus was normally an early riser, despite the fact that he was burning the candle at both ends of the day lately.

“I had a task to do this morning. I had started it a few days ago, but the days have been too hectic for me to finish it. I thought if I rose early, I could finally get it done.”

Minerva looked up at him from the base of the stairs. “I know you don’t like me to fuss, Albus, but remember what Poppy said about getting enough sleep – and I’m sure that whatever it was could have waited a bit longer if it had waited this long already.”

“Perhaps, my dear, but this was a favour to a friend, a promise I had made to someone very dear to me, and I didn’t want to leave it undone any longer, lest my friend believe I had forgotten or was being neglectful of my promises.” Albus stood and stepped down to her, banishing his pipe as he did so.

“Well, if this person is a friend, they’d likely understand that you have many duties that call upon your time,” Minerva answered, thinking that he was likely speaking of Gertrude . . . or perhaps of someone whom she didn’t even know.

“I am sure you would be very understanding, Minerva, but I felt it was important. I wanted to make the time for you . . . perhaps to make up for my earlier neglect.” He took her arm and they began to walk around the castle toward the lake.

“Me? I mean, I was the friend?”

Whatever could Albus have been doing for her so early in the morning? Then, just as Minerva was remembering the way that he had looked at her little newspaper photograph of him and promised her a better picture of himself, Albus pulled a flat, brightly wrapped present from his pocket.

“For you, Minerva. I did not forget,” he said, handing it to her.

“The photograph. Oh, Albus. Thank you! But you could have taken your time; I know how very busy you’ve been. And you just did me and my family a very big favour yesterday – ”

“But this is just for you, my dear. And I hope that it is all right. I wasn’t sure . . . after I did it. But have a look!”

“Here, let’s go sit on that bench so I can do this properly,” Minerva replied, indicating a bench near the edge of the lake.

As they sat down together, Minerva thanked him again.

“Well, wait until you’ve seen it. But I hope you will like it.”

Minerva pulled the bright purple and gold wrapping paper from the present and turned the photograph over to look at it. Not only had he given her a copy of the picture that he must have shown Robert and Thea, but he had framed it, as well. The frame was gold with a narrow silver band running along the inside next to the picture. It was all Minerva could do not to gasp when she saw it, not because it was lovely, which it was, but because in the upper left hand corner, there was a single rosebud, exquisitely done in gold, each petal carefully defined, a single small leaf on its thornless stem, looking for all the world as though the rose that he had presented her the night before had been somehow affixed to the corner, turned to gold, then melted into the frame. The rest of the frame was adorned with an interesting bas relief of climbing vines against a subtle pattern that resembled the bark of a tree.

The photograph itself startled Minerva, as well. In it, she was in the act of turning away from a few well-wishers who stood in the shadowy background; just as the photo was being taken, she caught sight of Albus, and her smile widened as she saw her mentor. Minerva had not taken in Albus’s expression very clearly at that moment, she had been so elated with her victory, and then, seconds later, she had been rushed off by the French Minister and the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, but now she saw that Albus was smiling, his full attention on her, his eyes warm, and when Minerva turned and smiled at him in the photograph, it seemed that his smile brightened more. There was such pride and affection in his gaze. . . .

Minerva’s eyes filled with tears as she looked wordlessly at the present that Albus had given her.

“Is it . . . is it all right, Minerva?” Albus asked softly, somewhat hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Albus. Simply – ” Minerva’s voice broke and she couldn’t continue.

“I’m very glad you like it, my dear,” Albus said quietly.

“I love it, Albus, I just . . . it’s just . . .” Minerva was so overwhelmed, she could not even feel embarrassed by the tears that now ran down her face. She blinked, and a few fell on the picture. There was some kind of charm on it, however, something in lieu of picture glass, and the tears simply rolled right off.

Albus placed a hand on her arm and looked at her in concern. “Are you sure? The frame . . . I wasn’t sure about the frame. I could get a different one for you, or have it framed professionally, if you prefer.”

Albus was uneasy with Minerva’s reaction. Had he chosen badly? He had other pictures of himself, of course, but this picture had always been special to him and was the first one he had thought of giving her, never even considering any others. And the frame . . . he was no artist, and the frame had given him a devil of a time before he was pleased with it. He had used some old Muggle money, old gold and silver pieces that hadn’t been in circulation in decades – or even centuries, for some of them, collected and forgotten by several generations of Dumbledores. They had lain about, shifted from drawer to drawer over the years, largely forgotten, and when Albus was thinking about how to frame the photograph, he drew the bag from its current home and removed the heaviest and purest of the coins. Albus had finished the frame just that morning, making some subtle changes to the vines and their backdrop, but he still hadn’t been completely pleased with it. Then, on a sudden impulse, he pulled out some old gold sovereigns and Transfigured a gold facsimile of the rose he had given to Minerva the night before. He was pleased with the result, although a part of him was uneasy with its potential symbolism, which only occurred to him when he was looking at the finished frame. Despite that, Albus couldn’t bring himself to remove the rose, without which the frame seemed strangely incomplete. Besides, he did love her, even if he could never tell her.

“No, Albus! No, the frame is perfect.” Minerva brought her hand to her face and smudged away some of her tears, the beginnings of embarrassment creeping up on her. “I just didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect anything this special. And I love the frame. I would never consider changing it.” She took the lilac-coloured handkerchief Albus offered her, and she wiped her tears away.

“Where did you ever get it?” she asked, wondering whether it was some chance find somewhere in one of Hogwarts storerooms.

“I, um, made it. From some old coins I had. It gave me a little trouble, but then I finished it this morning.” He relaxed and smiled. “I’m glad it’s all right.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful, not simply all right. And it’s even more wonderful knowing that you made it yourself. Thank you, Albus!”

Minerva held the picture to herself, then reached out one arm and put it around him in a joyful embrace. When she felt Albus’s arms go around her, she leaned her forehead on his shoulder and relaxed. All of the tension and emptiness that she had felt earlier that morning seemed to melt away to nothing. But then Albus patted her back and pulled back slightly. He smiled down at her, and Minerva gathered herself together and sat up straight.

“Would you mind some company on your walk, Minerva? And then perhaps some breakfast? Unless you’ve already eaten . . .”

“I would enjoy your company very much. And breakfast, as well,” she answered. “Would you mind keeping this for me until we return to the castle? The pockets in this robe are not very roomy, and I don’t want to have anything happen to it.”

Albus nodded and accepted the picture, tucking it back into his pocket.

“Along the lake, my dear?” he asked.

“That would be nice, yes.”

---

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

---

XCVI: A Tale of Two Wands, continued

Minerva had been going to exercise in her Animagus form in the stand of trees near Hagrid’s cabin, but after the way she had behaved with Albus the last time she’d become a cat in his presence, she wasn’t going remind him of it, nor did she want to risk losing control of her emotions again. It had been nice, though, she thought wistfully, to let go and allow him to hold her and cuddle her. Turning her thoughts to the gift that Albus had so thoughtfully made for her, she asked, “Where did you get that photograph, Albus? It was all such a blur to me at the time . . .”

“There was a photographer there from the Voyant-Clair,” Albus replied, mentioning the French-language counterpart to the Daily Prophet, “and I asked him if I might not have a copy of one of the photographs, explaining that you had been a student of mine. Later that night, he found me at the dinner and very kindly gave me that one and wouldn’t hear of payment.” Albus chuckled. “He said he received payment enough in observing you in the Challenge, and this was his way of thanking me for having taught you well. Of course, it was your skill and dedication that he admired, Minerva, but I was quite happy to have the photo.”

Minerva blushed slightly. “Well, I’m glad he gave it to you. It’s nice . . . that it’s of us both. Fitting, I suppose.”

Albus nodded.

“And the frame? I had no idea you had such artistic skill, or such ability with metals.”

“I’m not particularly artistic – that’s part of what took me so long to get it done – but I did have a design in mind, and I had done a lot of work with metals when I was young . . . as a part of my study of Alchemy. I’d never done anything quite like that before, though. I am glad it was satisfactory.”

“More than satisfactory, Albus – it is beautiful.” At Albus’s shake-of-the-head and slight noise of dismissal, she added, “It is, truly. I would appreciate it anyway, because you gave it to me, but it really is wonderful. I was wondering . . .” She paused and Albus looked at her inquiringly. “Well, just, the rose . . . how did you come to make that?”

Minerva thought she detected a slight twitch from Albus before he responded, as though he were uncomfortable with the question.

“I needed to finish the frame this morning. I had duplicated the photograph a few days ago and begun work on the frame, but I wasn’t satisfied with it, and even after I worked on it again today, it needed something more. I just . . . remembered your flower from last night. Just an idea that popped into my head. So I added it. If you don’t like it, I can remove it easily,” Albus said, looking at her.

“Oh, no, I think it is perfect. The rose was perfect.” Tears threatened her eyes again, but Minerva subdued them. “It’s just that – you’ll no doubt think me silly, Albus,” she said, shrugging and giving him a rueful smile, “but last night, it had been such a nice day, and I took the flower from my hair . . . I dried it to keep it. That’s all.” She felt peculiar enough without adding that she had fixed the dried rosebud to the corner of the small frame holding his picture, in much the same way that he had incorporated the rosebud into the design of the frame – it was one thing to have him think her sentimental, and quite another to have him believe her overly attached to him and to the gesture he had made when he gave her the flower.

Albus smiled. “It was a very nice day, wasn’t it? And I enjoyed our time together. That must be what inspired me to add the rose – the frame just seemed to be missing something until I added that.”

Minerva nodded. “And the rest of the design?”

“Climbing vines against the bark of a tree. I had you in mind,” Albus answered. “Your wand, to be more precise.” He paused and gestured toward a rock, Transfiguring it into a stone bench.

Minerva sat, unquestioning, on the bench beside him.

“May I see it a moment, Minerva?”

She drew her wand from her pocket and handed it to him, arranging her shawl about her shoulders. The breeze off the lake was cool. Albus smiled and held her wand between his hands, balancing it on his index fingers, then he took it in his right hand and cast a Warming Charm over them both.

“Tell me of your wand, Minerva,” Albus said, handing it back to her.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. What was there to say of a wand? “It is, as you have indicated, of vinewood, with a dragon heartstring core.” What else might he want to know? “It is an Ollivander wand, of course.” She remembered the day when her father had brought her into Ollivander’s to get her wand. She had been so excited, she’d barely been able to speak to the peculiar man who had handed her one wand after another, merely squeaking at him like a tongue-tied mouse. Come to think of it, there was more to say about her wand; she simply hadn’t thought about it in a very long time. Minerva looked out over the water, her eyes losing their focus as she called to memory that morning over twenty years before. “My father brought me to his shop a few weeks before I started at Hogwarts. I remember it felt as though I had waited forever to finally get my wand. I was dreadfully impatient with everything back then – I was the youngest in my family by far, and it always seemed to me that I would never catch up with them. Murdoch finished his seventh year when I was only six, and I felt I would never get to Hogwarts myself.”

Minerva laughed slightly. “I was quite a melodramatic child, I’m afraid. Even more so than Melina was at that age. And then I turned eleven, and it was still months before my parents would agree to bring me to get my wand. Finally, when my Hogwarts letter came, Dad agreed to bring me to Diagon Alley the very next day for my schoolbooks and my wand. I don’t think I slept a wink the night before. The books weren’t nearly as exciting to me as the prospect of getting my wand – I had already read or tried to read just about every book in our library, including all of the old schoolbooks. But the wand! Well, that meant I was finally growing up, I thought. And then when we got to Ollivander’s and he began to hand me one wand after another, and they all seemed to reject me and he plucked them from my hand, discarding them to shove another wand toward me, I’ll confess to you now that I cried, Albus. I thought I wouldn’t be getting a wand that day, after all. I knew I was a witch. There was no question of that. But I thought that no wand wanted me and that I would never go to Hogwarts. And Mr Ollivander, who was a peculiar fellow, anyway, and a little frightening to a child, became impatient with me, though I see now that he was trying, in his own way, to reassure me. Every witch or wizard, he said, would get a wand if they didn’t cry about it. It was simply important that they get the right wand.”

Minerva sighed and, despite the Warming Charm, pulled her shawl around her more closely. “He started muttering about the wands of my parents and brothers, then he measured me again, taking more time and more measurements than he had before, then he disappeared into the back of the shop and came out several minutes later with an old brown box in which there lay three wands on a dark green cloth. He took out one, put the others under his counter, then came around, squinted at me for what seemed ages, and finally, he handed me this wand.” Minerva held up the unremarkable-looking brown stick. “He had long before stopped saying what the various wands were made of, we had gone through so many. But when he handed me this wand, he said, ‘vinewood, of a special sort, dragon heartstring core, unusual source.’ I took it, it was warm, it practically vibrated in my hand, and I completely forgot my tears. I waved the wand and the most glorious shimmers and sparkles flowed from it . . . if he hadn’t declared that that was my wand, I would have run from the store with it anyway!” Minerva laughed slightly and looked at her wand. “I’m afraid I’ve grown to rather take it for granted. I’d almost forgotten how much time it took to find it.”

She looked over at Albus, who had listened to her story with a small smile on his face. “I’m sorry, Albus, that must have bored you. But I didn’t know exactly what it was you wanted to know.”

“Did Ollivander ever tell you, or did you ever learn, anything more about the components of your wand?”

Minerva shook her head slowly. “No . . . no, although I suppose I was a little curious at the time, I was more excited and relieved, and it didn’t occur to me to ask any other questions, then once I began using it, it just became . . . my wand. What it was. I hadn’t really thought much about it again.” She looked at him curiously. “Why do you ask? And does this have anything to do with the fact that I could use your wand so well last night? And why did you have me try your wand at all?”

Albus chuckled. “Well, I see that I have reignited your curiosity. It does have to do with my wand and the reason I had you try it. As to why . . . it is perhaps too long a story to tell in its entirety right now, but I will tell you some of it and answer the questions you just asked.

“Many, many years ago, I required a new wand . . . someday I may tell you of the circumstances that led to that, but it is too long a story for this morning. I went to Ollivander’s, as most wizards in Britain do, to see about this. The current Mr Ollivander was barely middle-aged at the time, and it was his uncle with whom I spoke about my needs. We discussed the matter and made certain arrangements. Three weeks later, I returned to his shop to try the wands he had crafted specifically for me to try – something that he rarely attempted, and which I understand the current Mr Ollivander does not do, or that he has not done, at any rate. This wand,” Albus said, drawing his wand from his pocket, “was the wand that chose me. There was another, very much like it, that I tried first. It felt warm in my hand and did my bidding, but its lacklustre response did not satisfy Mr Ollivander, and when I tried this wand, I agreed with him about the unsuitability of the other.” Albus quirked a smile. “If you think the current Mr Ollivander is peculiar and off-putting, you should have met his uncle. It was of no consequence to him how I felt about the wands; he knew his art and he knew when a wand had not chosen its wizard – or witch – and was quite contemptuous of my opinion in the matter,” he said with a nod at Minerva. “My wand has a core of dragon heartstring. The other wand of which I spoke, the one I had tried but which did not choose me, had a heartstring core from the same dragon which provided the core to mine.”

Minerva sat, her attention rivetted. She anticipated what Dumbledore was about to tell her, but she waited for him to finish his story.

“I assume that you know something of wands and their construction, Minerva, that wands with both core and wood from the same sources are called twins and those with cores from the same source are called brothers. The Ollivanders have never made twin wands, for reasons of their own which they do not deign to share with others, although you can find other wandmakers who do that, but they have made the occasional brother wands over the years. Of course, there are a good many wands that might be classified as ‘brothers’ given the loose criteria I just laid out, but to be a true brother wand, there may be only two wands with the core provided by the same source. With each wand that is made using a core from the same source, the effect of the matched cores decreases exponentially, although no one but a wandmaker could tell you why that is, and they do not share this information . . . although I do have some ideas about it myself. One unicorn, for example, may provide dozens of tail or mane hairs over its life, and, because the brother-effect is diluted to such a degree as to be completely inoperable in actual use if even only one additional wand is made using such a core, it is impossible to discern that they have matching cores except through special tests. When, however, there are only two wands with near-identical cores, cores from the same source . . . the effects are most interesting. At this point, I should say that it is very rare for there to be more than one wand with a dragon heartstring from the same animal. Wandmakers almost invariably extract only one heartstring from each organ. There are reasons for this, Ollivander told me, although he would not say what it was. It may be mere superstition or long-held tradition . . . I do not know.”

Albus took a breath and looked at the wand in his hands. “As I said, there are brother wands and there are twins, and the Ollivanders have never made twins. There exists something even rarer still . . . while twin wands have their cores from the same magical creature and their wood comes from the same plant, usually a tree of some kind native to the area, brother wands are two wands, and only two, that have virtually identical cores, since they originate from the same creature, but whose woods are different. The Ollivanders have made several sets of such brother wands over the last few centuries.” Albus paused again and seemed to be considering his words carefully.

“This third category of related wands, rarer than brothers, and rarer even than twins, shares similarities with the other two types. As with brother wands and twins, their core material comes from the same source and there may be only two wands with cores from that source, or the effect dissipates completely. Unlike twins, their wood is not from the same source. So what, you may ask, is the difference between brother wands and these others? It is this: the woods are related. I do not mean that in the sense that the parent plant is the same – but that they are related in some other manner. It is unusual to find two such plants, and even more unusual for wands to be made from both of them, and then for those wands to contain cores from the same magical source . . . as I said, it is very rare.

“My wand,” he said, holding it out in front of him, “is of dragon heartstring and yew wood. The wand that I had tried, and that was somewhat responsive, was of dragon heartstring and vinewood from a variety of magical ivy, Hedera pythonica. The dragon heartstrings in the two wands were from the same heart. The woods were related . . . the ivy from which Ollivander made the other wand was taken from a vine that had grown up and around the yew from which this wand was made. Both had thrived together. These wands were the first mated wands that the Ollivanders had made in four centuries.

“Some years later, several decades, in fact, I received an owl from the current Mr Ollivander, informing me that the mate to my wand had just chosen a witch. I inquired further and learned the identity of this witch. A year later . . . I met her. I met you, Minerva. I was very pleased to discover that the other wand had gone to such a delightful owner. And that is how I came to sometimes use my secondary wand while teaching. You needed to learn to use your wand and to focus your magic without the effect of my wand being nearby. The effects of mated wands are not as well studied as those of brothers and twins simply because they are so rare, and even when there are mated wands, the persons to whom they have attached themselves may never meet, although . . . they usually do. I was unsure whether carrying my wand in your presence might have some effect, positive or negative, on your own wand-use, particularly as you were so young and still learning to use it, and I,” Albus said chuckling, “I was far from young, very well-practiced, and, if you take no offense at this, rather more powerful. It was conceivable to me that the strength of my magic combined with the presence of the mated wand would keep you from reaching your full potential. I didn’t carry my secondary wand all of the time, of course. Sometimes I would simply leave my wand in my office, particularly as you became more skilled. And during our project after your sixth year, I used my primary wand exclusively. I do think that there was some . . . amplification of its effect when I used my wand and you were nearby with yours. And the few times that we cast a spell together to test a ward, I was certain of it.”

It seemed that Albus had finished his story, and he looked at Minerva, seeming to anticipate a barrage of questions. Minerva, however, sat and considered what he had told her, and it was several moments before she asked her first question, and when she did, it was not a question he expected.

“The first time you used my wand, that wasn’t an accident or a mistake, was it?” she asked, looking at him.

“No . . . it was rude of me, but I didn’t plan it, even though it wasn’t an accident that first time. I had wondered for a while what it would feel like to use it, now that it had chosen its true owner, whether it would respond well to me, whether it would feel anything like my own wand. I don’t even remember exactly what we were doing at the time, but I remember needing to demonstrate something and seeing your wand there. I simply picked it up and used it, knowing it was yours . . . my only excuse for my rudeness, other than my somewhat unrestrained curiosity, is that the idea popped into my head and, in that moment, I did it without reflecting upon it.”

“We were doing organic Transfigurations – Transfiguring one living creature into another living creature, I believe. It was my fourth year, in my tutorial, not in class. I later surmised that you were having me work on such exercises because you were already considering asking me if I wanted to try to become an Animagus.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, I was thinking you might have the aptitude for it, and your ability to perform advanced organic Transfigurations convinced me it was worth offering you.” He looked uneasy. “I am sorry that I hadn’t told you about the wands before this, Minerva. When you were a student, it seemed inadvisable at first, and then . . . later, I just thought it better to wait. There was no need for you to know about them – it would have been an interesting fact, but little more. It was useful for me to be aware of, of course, both to avoid using it while teaching you and to benefit from it when working on the wards that year. And after you left Hogwarts . . . it’s not as though I forgot about your wand, but it seemed irrelevant and it never occurred to me to tell you about the relationship between our two wands. It would have been peculiar teatime conversation, at any rate, and it never came up. But now that we are working together in the same place, there may be times when it may have some practical application or effect – or there may not be. And last night on the walk up to the castle, it just occurred to me, and I wondered whether my wand would work at all well for you; not knowing its origin, you wouldn’t have any preconceptions about it.” Albus shrugged. “There was a time in my life when studying these two wands would have intrigued me, compellingly so. At one time, I may not have even considered you and any possible effect it might have on you, but insisted on researching the properties of the wands even when you were a student, a child still developing her magic.”

“I can’t imagine that – ”

“I can,” Albus said abruptly, interrupting her. “Perhaps my better nature would have won and I would not have, I can only hope so and can never know, but it was not even a temptation by the time I taught you. My only temptation was to try your wand without your permission; I gave into that temptation, and I am sorry. My apology comes many years too late, but it is sincere, and you have it, for whatever it’s worth.”

Minerva laughed softly. “The only reason you are apologising all these years later, and that you even remember it, Albus, is because you were curious about that particular wand. I can’t count the number of times that one of my brothers or a friend or Melina has just picked up my wand because it was close to them and used it, knowing full well it wasn’t theirs, and without asking my permission first. And after that first time, you always did ask. I wondered why you would use my wand rather than Summon your own, but I suppose I see now. And you haven’t done it in a long time. So, you’re forgiven your moment of slight rudeness.” Minerva shook her head, wondering whether that moment had actually bothered him for so many years. Albus was a strange and complicated wizard, but she didn’t love him any the less for being so.

“Now, I have many more questions, Professor Dumbledore,” she said briskly, “but they must wait. I am more hungry for food at the moment than I am for answers.” Minerva reached out and rubbed Albus’s upper arm reassuringly. “And it will be good to get in out of this wind, as well. As nice as your Warming Charm was, I think it’s time to go in and find our breakfast.”

“Very well, Professor McGonagall, breakfast it is! If I may be so presumptuous, perhaps we might eat in your sitting room?”

“That would be lovely.” Minerva smiled and took his arm as they stood. “And I can put my wonderful present in where it belongs, as well. Thank you, Albus, for everything.” She squeezed his arm slightly.

“You are very welcome, my dear.” He smiled down at her. “It is the very least I can do to express my appreciation for your putting up with me.”

Minerva laughed in response, and they headed up to the castle to find their breakfast.

---

Note: As you can see from this chapter, there is a reason I say that RaM is not DH-compliant!

As always, please do not take RaM as a source of information about the real world, despite any similarities! I know very little about the so-called "language of flowers," but from what I do know, there are some variations on the meanings even within the same culture, and different people at different times have come up with different meanings for the same flowers. However, red roses do usually signify romantic love and a single red rose supposedly means "I love you." In addition, please note that there is no such plant as Hedera pythonica, magical or otherwise. (If there is, I will be greatly surprised! ;D) I made it up for the purposes of this story.

In canon, we learn that there are such things as "brother wands," and Harry and Voldemort possess such wands. I extrapolated on that idea to come up with twins and mates. As far as I know, these concepts do not appear in canon.

I look forward to reading your responses to this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!

[Hogwarts Duo]

OMG…this is absolutely the most romantic chapter, without it trying to be romantic at all. SIGH! I WANT AN ALBUS (Richard Harris style, thank you very much )!

The framed photo that Minerva has now with the rose from the previous night and then the one that Albus created from his gold coins (how wonderful is that) sound so similar that it’s go to be some subconscious connection between them. The fact that Albus took the time to create the entire frame, complete with a perfect rose, was so loving and shows his willingness to go the extra mile to do something special for her. AWWWW! It was especially sweet to see that he was a bit insecure about his creation, no doubt wondering if he’d overstepped the line with her but then again, not really caring. Her reaction was perfect!

The dragon heartstrings in the two wands were from the same heart. The woods were related . . . the ivy from which Ollivander made the other wand was taken from a vine that had grown up and around the yew from which this wand was made. Both had thrived together. These wands were the first mated wands that the Ollivanders had made in four centuries.

The story of their mated wands was so beautiful. As Albus and Minerva were discussing the “wands,” I had an incredible picture forming in my mind. The image you create here is of a yew tree (I imagined it to be strong and true as trees often are) and then this little vine, starting at the base of the yew tree and over the years growing and maturing around the yew, feeding from the same nutrients and occupying much of the same space, etc. Just as Minerva started her "growing up" at Albus' feet (so to speak, under his tutelage) and then drawing from the same things (magic, their friendship, etc).Then they end up occupying the same space (Hogwarts). I love the image I conjured when reading this chapter. Albus as the strong yew and Minerva as the equally strong but also delicate ivy vine...awwwww.

The idea of Minerva and Albus having mated wands only goes to show just how their fates are entwined. It’s such a romantic idea, and to know that even back then, something in the universe knew they would cross paths and they would forever be linked. I can’t wait to see what Minerva’s thoughts are on their mated wands once she’s had a chance to really sit and ponder the idea. WHEEEE!!!!

Thanks for posting this wonderful chapter this week. I think I speak for all of us when I say we needed a good dose of ADMM reality given the rough week we’ve all experienced. And who knows our Albus and Minerva better than our very own MMADfan? Certainly not the likes of the Blue Meanie…JKR!

Toodles,
Your GLM

[revolutionaryetude]

I love the stories where Minerva and Albus are so obvious to everyone, except themselves. I can't wait till they finally fess up. If this chapter is so romantic, and they don't mean to be, I can't imagine how it will be when they actually mean it. I love you wonderful updates! You are absolutely AWESOME!

[sevherfan]

I was starting to fear that pudupudu really had eloped with the story. Good to see you're back! And obviously well-rested enough to write a killer chapter. I love how Albus has known and kept this secret about their connection for so long. Yet, it doesn't sound as though he considers it a secret or tried to read into the possible deeper meaning of their connection. Before this I didn't think anything could make them more destined to be together. You raise the tension unfathomably with each new chapter.

Oh man, for the first time - ever - I wished Ron was around. To say: "Our wands are mates, so how about we ...."

[MMADfan]

sevherfan said:

Oh man, for the first time - ever - I wished Ron was around. To say: "Our wands are mates, so how about we ...."

OMG, I actually laughed out loud at that! Very good . . . .

And you do realize that it hasn't even been a week since the last update, don't you? (The pressure, the pressure . . . . *sweats*) Just teasin' you a bit here -- I'm very glad you look forward to the updates and enjoy them so much!

And as far as what Albus may or may not read into their possessing mated wands, well, he's very good at telling himself not to get carried away in flights of fancy, after all. So whatever a third party might read into it, knowing all that Albus knows about the wands (some of which you and Minerva don't know yet), isn't necessarily what Albus would conclude -- unless, of course, the wands belonged to two other people! ;D

Glad you all enjoyed it -- and, revolutionaryetude, it will be quite something once they both get it together . . . at the same time.

And Hogwarts Duo, I'm happy I was able to provide you with a little ADMM romantic interlude and you enjoyed the tale of the two wands so much -- there's much more to the story, of course, but we will get to it in good time.

I look forward to more reactions to this chapter! Thanks, all!

[Merriam]

MMADfan, I think you saved my life. Yes, I've had rather a rough week...JKR throwing dynamite at our ship...family drama....
But you made it all better!!! The "mated wands" idea is so wonderful--I can't wait to see Minerva's thoughts when she finally gets a chance to ponder the meaning of the words. This story reads like canon--I can totally see twins, brothers, and mated wands existing in the "real" magical world. And I have a confession to make: as much as I loved Deathly Hallows, I much prefer RaM!Albus than the real thing. And (don't kill me, JKR!) I just might enjoy RaM more than the actual book.

You really are amazing. Keep up the great (and speedy!) work.

Meri

[esoterica1693]

" “There was a time in my life when studying these two wands would have intrigued me, compellingly so. At one time, I may not have even considered you and any possible effect it might have on you....
My only temptation was to try your wand without your permission; I gave into that temptation, and I am sorry.” "

Albus, your apology would be worth a lot more if you realised you aren't just talking about her WAND!

Professor Dumbledore, let's hear it for more giving into temptation, not less. Now that she's no longer a child....

Wonderful chapter, of course.

In addition to wanting to know just what else AD knows about the wands, I am intrigued by your juxtaposition of the description of Grindelwald's defeat w/ the story of the wands. You didn't do that by accident. So I presume Albus' wand has something to do w/ his experience w/ Grindelwald, or vis versa. He said he acquired the wand decades ago, so it was definitely the one he had during the War. I'm so glad it's not the one he broke on the mission from which Min rescued him!

Did you know that Voldy's wand is yew when you wrote this? Is that relevant? We'd end up having to ponder some sort of transitive property of wand relationshps: wands(D) and (M) are mates; (Voldy) and (Harry) are brothers; are (V) and (D) also related? Since Harry's core is from D's phoenix it could get quite complex if D and V are related through a yew tree! Enough to give even Ollivander a headache!

[lansburyfan1]

I love this story. The picture frame was such a cute romantic touch.

[MMADfan]

Hi, merriam -- glad you liked the mated wands! And glad, too, that the chapter brightened your week!

Yes, esoterica1693, I was aware of the constituents of Voldy's and Harry's wands when I came up with this. The yew is significant, but not exactly in the way you have so brilliantly (and I mean that -- I'm not attempting to sound sarcastic!) laid out. In the schema I've laid out, the wood only matters if the cores match; if the cores don't match, the wood doesn't create a relationship between wands. I'm happy that people think about the story! It's great! (This was one reason I just couldn't bring myself to twist my story into being DH-compliant -- a decision I'm more happy with every day!)

And the apology was for having given into his impulse, to have taken and used something he had no right to, even if it was only for a moment. So although he did take the incident far more seriously than almost any sane person would, he did have something more in mind than mere discourtesy and disrespect for wizarding manners and etiquette.

Thanks, lansburyfan1! I'm glad you're enjoying it and that you liked the picture frame!

A new chapter will be coming up shortly! And it's a long one! ;D

Thanks to everyone for reading!

[MMADfan]

Not DH-compliant.

Posted in three parts to accommodate the length.

---

XCVII: Ever Green

Blampa quivered, bobbed, nodded, and bounced on her tip-toes in excitement when Minerva and Albus returned to Minerva’s sitting room and requested Blampa provide them with breakfast.

“Just a standard breakfast, please, Blampa,” Minerva said. “Soft-boiled eggs – no, medium-boiled for me – toast, marmalade, fruit, and tea.” She turned to Albus. “Would you prefer soft or medium eggs, Professor? And would you care for porridge? Or anything else?”

“I will have exactly what you’re having, my dear! Although some elderberry preserves wouldn’t be amiss. If possible!” He smiled genially down at the little elf as she practically hopped up and down, so thrilled was she.

“Oh,” Blampa squeaked, “it’s possible, Professor Headmaster!!! I, Blampa, make possible elderberry preserves for the Professor Headmaster and his Professor Minerva! Yes, yes!”

“Thank you, Blampa,” Minerva said.

After the house-elf Disapparated and Albus had excused himself to use the loo, Minerva waved her wand, Transfiguring the small round table by the window to be larger, more suited to breakfast for two, then moved another chair over for Albus. She waved her wand again and added cushions to the seat and back of his chair, taking the time to charm them with a floral pattern, clusters of elderberry flowers on a creamy background. Minerva had thought to use a pattern of ivy and yew, but, for a reason she couldn’t articulate, she decided against it.

When Albus returned to the sitting room, he removed the framed photograph from his pocket and held it out to Minerva.

“Thank you, Albus!” Minerva said as she took the picture from him. “It really is a wonderful gift.”

It was one of the best presents she’d ever received, Minerva thought as she looked at it, taking in the expression on Albus’s face again, how he looked on at her so fondly and how his smile deepened when her gaze met his. She remembered that she had been thrilled he had come to witness the Challenge, and how happy she had been to see that he had stayed afterward, and this joy was reflected in her expression in the photograph.

Minerva’s perspective on the photograph shifted abruptly, and for the first time, she seemed to take in the picture as a whole. Whereas before, her attention had been focussed on Albus, and then on herself, she now saw the photograph not as a picture of Albus in which she was also present, nor as a picture of herself, with Albus as onlooker, but as a photograph of them both. Of course, it had always been a photo of both of them, it was one of the things that had made it special, after all, but now she saw the picture as one of Albus and Minerva together, and in that moment, their expressions seemed to her to take on a new meaning. It looked for all the world like a photograph of a couple . . . of a couple – how dare she even think it? – of a couple in love. Or at least, of a couple who loved one another.

“Is everything all right, Minerva?” Albus asked as Minerva went quiet and seemed to look in shock at the gift he’d given her. “As I said, I can change anything you wish. . . .”

Minerva took a deep breath. No, it had just been a figment of her imagination, she thought, looking first at Albus’s moving image, and then at her own. It was a trick of the timing of the photograph, that was all.

Distracted, she looked up at Albus. “What? Um, no, no, everything is fine. I was just remembering . . . I was very pleased you had come. That’s all. I don’t want anything changed about it at all.”

She placed the picture on her desk. “I’ll put it with the others later. Breakfast should be here soon. I’m just going to use the loo. If the food arrives, feel free to start eating.”

“All right, my dear. But I would prefer to wait for you.”

“That’s fine . . .”

After Minerva had left the room, Albus went over and picked up the picture. The strangest expression had crossed Minerva’s face when she was looking at it. Was there something wrong, something he hadn’t seen? He hadn’t much practice in duplicating wizarding photographs, but after all of his work in Potions and in Transfiguration, it was a simple task for him, rather like a low-level Alchemy exercise, actually. But perhaps he had done something wrong. He was sure that Minerva had been looking at the photograph itself, not at the frame. The longer he looked at the picture, scrutinising the details, even examining each of the obscured figures moving in the shadowy background of the picture, trying to detect some aberration in the movement or in the colour, the more he was certain that the duplicate was as identical to the original as it could possibly be; there was nothing technically wrong with the photograph. Perhaps it was one of the onlookers in the background? Someone whose appearance disturbed her, perhaps? But even the people who were offering Minerva their congratulations were somewhat out-of-focus, and the few individuals in the distant background were scarcely recognisable, and he had never really looked at them before. Just as he began to examine the indistinct figures in the background, Minerva emerged from the loo.

“You really didn’t need to wait for me, Albus.”

Albus set the photograph down on the desk. “I hadn’t really noticed it had arrived, actually,” he said honestly. “I was looking at the photo again – making sure that I hadn’t made an error in its duplication.”

Minerva smiled. “It’s perfect, Albus. Perfect. And I’m glad to hear that you duplicated it rather than giving me your only copy. I’m happy you were able to find it after all these years.”

“Yes, well, I’d kept it with some other photographs, so it wasn’t difficult to track down.” He pulled out a chair for Minerva, then sat in the one she had arranged for him. “Thank you for inviting me for breakfast, Minerva. Or, I suppose, for allowing me to invite myself!”

Minerva laughed softly. “I believe you did suggest breakfast, but I am more than pleased to have you here. And it’s not as though I had to make it myself, and this is far preferable to either of us sitting in our separate corners of the castle, eating our lonely eggs and toast!”

Albus smiled at her as he placed his napkin in his lap. “It is, indeed – far preferable!”

As they ate their breakfast, Minerva asked him a question that had been rolling about just beneath the surface of her consciousness since he had told her of the relationship between their wands. “Albus, you mentioned that mated wands have not been very well studied, but you also mentioned that there were special effects associated with them. I only know a little of brother wands, are the effects similar? And if they are, what are they?”

“Hmm.” Albus swallowed a bite of toast and paused before responding. “It is surmised that the wands could not be persuaded to work against one another, although it is unknown whether the resulting side-effect of this would be the same as it is with brother wands, or whether it would be a different sort of effect altogether.” He chuckled. “A very good thing I wasn’t your Defence teacher, Minerva, or we may have had quite a time of it! But beyond that, it is believed that mated wands . . .” Albus paused as if searching for words. “Mated wands are believed to enhance the strength of any spells cast in common effort. If we were both working toward the same ends and casting spells simultaneously, the wands would . . . recognise each other and the strength with which the spell was cast would be amplified. I certainly did notice that effect when we worked on the wards together, on those few occasions when we tested the wards together . . . perhaps I ought to have told you about the wands at that time, but I did not wish to influence your participation in the project by creating any further sense of obligation in you. Aside from that, it would not have been of any practical use for you to know of it, and would have benefited only me.”

Minerva pondered his words. She was actually grateful he hadn’t told her about their wands at the time, though not for the reasons he had articulated. As a teenager, she would have been tempted to read more into the relationship between their wands than was there, and imagine that it was somehow significant to their own relationship, and given the difficulty and pain she was already dealing with at the time, she would likely have wallowed even more in her despair over her unrequited love. It would not have been at all healthy. Bad enough that she should now, at her age, wish she had been born decades earlier, but as a teenager, she would have no doubt been convinced that fate had played a nasty joke on her and that she’d been meant to have been born many years before, to have met him and been mated to him as their wands were. . . . But that did raise the question in her mind: what did this mean, if anything, for them, and not just for their wands? It had taken so very long for Ollivander to have found the right wand for her, the wand that chose her, and even though he had not been the Ollivander to have made the wand, he clearly knew how special it was, and he had written to Albus and told him. But he had made no mention of it to her at the time . . . . Of course, she had been sniffling and snuffling in his shop just minutes before he had presented her with the wand, hardly an impressive sight, she was sure. She had been just a crying child to him.

“Albus, I’ve been thinking . . . it took so long for a wand to choose me, and considering that witches and wizards can use almost any wand to some degree, it seems very odd that another wand did not choose me first. Or at least perform well enough that we might have stopped after a while and just . . . settled for one that didn’t blow things up when I waved it.”

Albus laughed. “No Ollivander would ever let you ‘settle’ for a wand, Minerva.” He looked at her fondly. “You should know that. . . . How many wands do you think you went through?”

“We arrived at his shop when he opened at eight-thirty. When we left, it was almost lunchtime.”

“Oh, my dear! No wonder you were in tears!”

“I don’t believe Ollivander was particularly happy, either. At about ten, he locked the door and put up a closed sign. Everyone had gotten their Hogwarts letters the day before, and there was a regular trickle of customers. After being interrupted several times in his search for the correct wand for me, he became frustrated and just closed up, said everyone could come back later. That was one of the awful things. Five or six other children had come in and they received their wands in minutes, and we just tried one after the other . . . and they were all disasters. But today, I can pick up most any wand and get it to behave for me, at least for simple spells.”

“Well, you are now a fully qualified witch, Minerva – more than that, you are a Transfiguration Mistress! I would hope you could perform basic spells with most any wand. You were only eleven and not yet trained.”

“Still . . . there must be a reason for it.” She pulled her wand from her pocket again and looked at it. “That this wand chose me . . . and you possess its mate. It just seems . . . it should mean something, I guess.” Minerva shrugged.

“It does, Minerva. It means that the quality of our magic is similar. It is that simple.”

“Surely not, Albus!” Minerva looked at him disbelievingly.

Albus laughed. “My, Minerva! You asked me, and now you don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that . . . it is just . . . our magic is nothing alike. You are very powerful, Albus. Sometimes I think you overestimate me, but even if you were not overestimating me, you must still see that your statement is absurd. You are so much more powerful than I, I doubt the difference could even be quantified!”

Albus shook his head, still smiling. “You mistook my words. I said nothing about our relative magical strength, merely that the quality of our magic is similar. You are very accomplished with Transfiguration, you were able to become an Animagus after a truly remarkably short time of study, you have a magical signature that is somewhat similar to mine . . . no, not similar, precisely . . . how to explain this. . . . Our magic resonates well together, Minerva. It is as though . . . as though each of us were playing an instrument in the same key, if you understand what I mean by that. Our magic is very easily harmonised. The wands are an indication of this resonance and harmony.”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, yes, I see that . . . and I understand what you mean by that. I have often thought . . . .” Minerva fought a blush that was creeping upon her.

“Yes? What have you often thought, my dear?”

“Well, you used the musical metaphor; it’s just that I’ve sometimes used the same metaphor, in my mind, when thinking of . . . of what your magic feels like to me. That’s all. I understood the metaphor.” She was not going to tell him that his magic felt to her like an orchestra playing a symphony. To the extent that she was able to sense other wizards’ or witches’ magic, when they were casting a spell, or when they were particularly physically close to her, the best she could say of any of them was that they might resemble a quartet or possibly a chamber group, but most of them felt like single instruments, sometimes out-of-tune instruments, at that.

Albus nodded. “It is a pity that it took so long for Ollivander to think of that wand, though.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “He could have spared us all a lot of grief if he had.”

Albus chuckled. “Well, it worked out well, in the end. The wand found its witch!”

“I wish I knew more about them – mated wands in general, I mean. Do you know of any books . . . ?”

“There are some books on wandlore in the library, although I doubt you will find very much about mated wands in them, aside, perhaps, for a few superstitions and myths.” Albus finished his cup of tea and poured another for each of them. Changing the subject, he said, “I presume that there will be staff returning to the castle tonight for tomorrow’s committee meeting. Do you think that I should arrange breakfast for everyone in the staff room? We don’t usually do that in the summer, even if there are several people here, but perhaps . . . do you think it would be a good idea, or do you think everyone would prefer to breakfast on their own at the time of their own choosing?”

Minerva forgot her questions about mated wands as the conversation turned to the arrival of the other staff members, the upcoming committee meeting, and the committee’s decision to try to draft a proposal that day.

“I do not think that your proposal will be incorporated, Albus. I am sorry . . . perhaps I am wrong. But I don’t want you to be disappointed if the committee’s decision is not the one you had desired.”

Albus sighed and shook his head. “Perhaps it was a foolish hope . . . perhaps Gertie was correct when she said I should have come to them with this as a decision for which I wanted their support and their suggestions on how to best carry it out. She reminded me that the school is not a democracy and that I can make unilateral decisions without being a dictator. . . . I should have thought more of Robert and his needs, and just done what I thought best for him.”

“Albus, you couldn’t do that. You had to consider what was best for the school, not simply what was best for Robert. Although I must say that I do agree with Gertrude in principle here. You cannot present every important decision to the staff for them to have the final say. You are the Headmaster, and, in most things, anyway, you should have the final say. Of course, without the staff’s full support, I doubt that you would have had very much success in this instance . . . I don’t know if there was any better way to have gone about this than the way you chose.” Minerva sighed. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think that they want to throw Professor Pretnick out on his ear, either. I think they will try to create a compromise, and since the rest of the staff agreed to abide by the decisions of the committee . . . you will have their support.”

Albus nodded sadly. “I do not relish telling Robert of the decision, though.”

“He may be pleased with it, Albus. He does not seem to believe it is advisable for him to come back as Defence teacher, anyway.”

Albus pushed back from the table and placed his napkin next to his plate. “That is his despair, speaking, Minerva. I am sure of it. If he had reason to hope for a normal life . . . I had hoped I could give that to him.”

“You did what you could, Albus. Don’t berate yourself about it. You aren’t responsible for the situation, after all. It’s nothing of your creation, and you are doing the best you can to deal with the aftermath.”

He just nodded and stood. “Well, Minerva, this has been a delightful morning, but I do need to be going, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, Albus. I’m sure we’ll see each other later. Thank you once again for the lovely gift. It is a wonderful picture, and its frame will make the others look quite plain in comparison!”

“Perhaps I might see it in its new home?” Albus suggested before realising that he was requesting entrance to Minerva’s bedroom. It sounded like a bad pick-up line.

“Well, um, I need to move things around a bit . . . I just . . . emptied my pockets last night. It’s not very neat. Um, but I suppose, if you would like . . . .” Minerva fumbled for a way in which to refuse his request; she truly did not want him to see the way that she had arrange his other picture with the dried rose on its frame and the two stones in front of it. If she couldn’t discourage him, perhaps the excuse of saying that she had just emptied her pockets might at least explain the sentimental placement of the twinned stones, but a dried rosebud did simply leap up from its place and affix itself to a picture frame all by itself.

“I am sorry, Minerva, I forgot myself. It was rude of me. I’ll just . . . let myself out.” Albus felt his cheeks grow pink; he deserved a bit of embarrassment, he thought, and to have the grace to allow his embarrassment to show. Just because he had been in her bedroom on other occasions for pragmatic reasons did not mean that he could just invite himself in whenever he wanted. What Minerva must be thinking of him at that moment, he could only imagine.

“No, Albus! Really, it’s all right – not rude at all.” Her hesitation and reluctance had clearly made him uncomfortable. He no doubt believed that she was reluctant to have him in her bedroom, and he never would have had any inappropriate intentions, Minerva was certain of that. Albus must believe her either a persnickety old maid or mistrusting of him in particular.

He had begun to back toward the door. Minerva rose from her seat and stopped him, putting a hand on his arm. “You needn’t go yet, Albus.”

Albus hesitated. “I just thought . . . I hadn’t thought . . .”

“You spent a good deal of time on the picture and the frame. It’s a natural curiosity to want to see it in place. It’s just that, well, to be honest, Albus, I don’t know as I’d want anyone to see my room at the moment. . . . I’m a bit of a secret sentimentalist.” Minerva smiled slightly and shrugged. “But that’s hardly a crime, and I suppose you know me well enough . . . come on, help me decide where to put the new picture.” She brightened with her invitation. If she didn’t make too much of a fuss, perhaps her little shrine wouldn’t strike him as anything peculiar, after all.

“It was still very forward of me, Minerva – ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Albus. We’re good friends.” Minerva paused, remembering the difference in their ages, backgrounds, and positions. “You may not be Poppy Pomfrey, but please don’t feel that you need to stand on ceremony with me. That’s not like you, anyway.”

“Perhaps not, but I hope that it’s also not like me to be rude and lacking in consideration for common decency and the feelings of others.”

“Not at all! Really, Albus! You are always a gentleman – Melina always calls you ‘gallant,’ and I couldn’t disagree with that description.”

Albus’s cheeks grew pinker. “Well, that is no doubt an exaggeration. She was always a warm-hearted girl.”

Minerva laughed. “Nonetheless, come and help me rearrange things, hmm? Unless you need to go right away.”

“All right, my dear.” Albus smiled. “Although if you would like a moment . . .”

“Oh, it’s just my silliness – just don’t laugh at my sentimentality, at least not too loudly!” Minerva smiled at him.

“I promise to restrain myself, my dear.” He chuckled. “I have my own little quirks, you know – we all do.”

Minerva picked up the photograph and looked at it again, smiling. “It really is a wonderful picture of you, Albus. Thank you!”

“I am just happy that you like it, Minerva.”

“Very much,” Minerva said as she opened the door. She wished in that moment that she were adept at wandless nonverbal charms so that she could discreetly remove the rose from its place on the picture frame, but given that it was Albus who was with her, he’d likely detect her casting the spell, in any case.

“Let me just move a few things here,” she said as she hurried over to her dressing table.

Before she scooped up the small picture of him and the round white stones, and deposited them unceremoniously on her bed, Albus caught a glimpse of the frame. He blinked, but Minerva had put the picture on her bed, face down, and tossed the stones next to it. He thought that he noticed the dried rosebud attached to the upper lefthand corner of the frame . . . but he must have been mistaken. She had simply gathered it up with the rest of the things.

---

Continued in the next post.

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post.

---

XCVII: Ever Green, continued

“Now, we need to rearrange the different photographs – this one is somewhat larger than the others. I like there to be . . . balance. I think perhaps just placing it here, on this side, and putting the others over here . . . no . . . you know, there’s another photograph somewhere . . . I never really unpacked the way I should have in December. Where would it be?” Minerva went over to her wardrobe, knelt, and dragged out a small wooden chest and set it aside, then reached into the back and pulled out a small cardboard box. She Levitated it over to her bed and replaced the wooden box back in the wardrobe.

“In here, somewhere, I have a picture of Poppy and me, taken in London when she came down for a visit last summer.”

Minerva flipped through the folded parchments, papers, and envelopes until she found the photograph, which had been tucked into a folded parchment to protect it. She drew it out and looked at it. She had been meaning to frame it and do something with it, but never took the time before she had moved from London. It had lain here in the box with assorted documents and old family letters, almost forgotten.

“I think that if I frame it, this would look nice to one side of the photograph of my parents and brothers, and I could put the picture of Melina and Murdoch next to the one of you. That would balance it quite well, don’t you think?” Minerva asked, turning to Albus. “In the meantime, I’ll just put your picture here, and the other three in a little grouping over there. And if I move some of these other things around . . . .” Minerva waved her wand, rearranging the various items on her vanity.

“That’s a nice picture of you and Poppy,” Albus said, picking it up and looking at it. Minerva was laughing, and Poppy had a puckish expression, as though pleased that she could make her friend laugh.

“Mmm. A friend from the Ministry took it – Claire Philbottom, you may know her, as she works in the Minister’s office.” Claire was an older witch who had become something of an ally to Minerva, giving her news and gossip about anything that might effect her, and even some things that wouldn’t.

“Ah, yes, Madam Philbottom. I am acquainted with her.”

“It’s a better picture of Poppy than it is of me, I’m afraid – which may be one reason I never did anything with it. I look like a braying donkey.”

Albus laughed. “You most certainly do not, Minerva! I think it is a delightful photograph of you. You look happy and full of life.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “If you say so, Albus.”

“I do,” he declared with a grin. “Now, why don’t we do something about a frame for it now – that way I can see everything in situ, so to speak.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“If you wouldn’t mind sacrificing a few of your hairpins, I think I could do something quickly for you, if you like. It wouldn’t be as ornate as the other, of course. . . .”

“Oh! That would be fine! The hairpins are charmed, though, Albus . . . that might effect the Transfiguration.”

“I’m sure it will not prove a problem.”

Albus emptied the small porcelain dish of its hairpins, drew his wand and cast several spells in quick succession. It was rather a blur to Minerva, and as he was doing it nonverbally, she wasn’t entirely sure what spells he was using – or even if he was using any actual spells at all. First, he must have removed the charm from the hairpins, and they glowed faintly, but briefly, then the hairpins seemed to gather themselves together, merge, then reform to create a simple picture frame. It was nothing Minerva couldn’t have done herself, of course, but it was a pleasure to watch him work.

“Now if I may have that bit of parchment,” Albus said, indicating the parchment in which the photograph had been enclosed.

He created a backing to hold the photograph in place in its frame and slipped the picture into its new home.

“I seem to have forgotten a small detail,” he said, frowning at his work. He waved his wand once more, and a small stand emerged from the picture-backing, creating a prop for the frame.

“Is this all right, my dear?” he asked, holding out for Minerva’s inspection.

The frame was simple, but he had put little curlicues in each of the corners, and it certainly was an improvement over having the photograph sitting in a box in her closet.

“That’s fine, Albus. I like it,” she answered with a nod. She liked the simple design, in fact, and although the picture frame he had made for the other photograph was fairly highly-decorated by comparison, the pattern was pleasing, somehow simple, natural, and ornate all at once. There was something rather Art Nouveau about it, she thought, and it was certainly an original design, not merely a copy of something remembered, or the result of happy chance, as many such Transfigurations are. But she would not have expected less of something done by Albus Dumbledore.

One more wave of his wand, and Albus sealed the Transfiguration, making it permanent, then he cast a charm to protect the photograph. He handed Minerva the finished product.

Minerva smiled. “Thank you, Albus . . . you know, I am beginning to feel quite indebted to you. I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“It is entirely my pleasure, my dear,” he said with an answering smile. “Now, let’s see how everything looks when you have it the way you want it!”

Minerva placed the photograph of herself and Poppy next to the one of her parents and brothers, then moved the picture of Melina and Murdoch to sit slightly behind and to one side of the picture of Albus and herself. She nodded.

“I think I like that. I may move things about more, but for now . . . that will do.” She moved the small porcelain dish to the back of the vanity. “Now, of course, I’ll need to go into Hogsmeade for more hairpins,” she said with a laugh.

Albus grinned. “Well, you do have a few left.” He motioned toward her hair, which Minerva had place up in a French twist that morning.

Minerva laughed again. “Thank you for your help, Albus. And your time. I know you had wanted to be on your way some time ago.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that a number of owls arrived for me while I was away yesterday, and I must deal with them before they accumulate unmanageably.”

“I could help you with that, Albus, if you’d like.”

“No, no, that’s fine, Minerva. You enjoy your day! And Gertrude will be here tomorrow. She can take on some of it, if need be.”

“Of course.” And that was more appropriate, as she was his Deputy. “Let me show you out.”

A few minutes later, Albus had left, and Minerva was standing in her bedroom looking at her dressing table. She shook her head. She liked the symmetry, but it still seemed somehow out-of-kilter to her. With a quick wave of her wand, she moved Albus’s picture to the side of the vanity closest to her bed, moved the pictures of her family to the other side, and then hesitated before moving Poppy’s photograph across the room to sit on a small plant table that had served no purpose, but which had been there when Minerva took possession of the rooms. Having done that, Minerva lovingly picked up the small framed picture of Albus that she had tossed so carelessly on the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that no damage had been done to the little rose.

Gazing at the photograph that she had had for so many years, Minerva couldn’t bring herself to part with it, despite the wonderful new picture that Albus had given her. She carefully placed it on her bedside table, pausing before setting the little white stones in front of it. Now, she was pleased.

Before she left her bedroom, Minerva once again lifted Albus’s gift from her dressing table. It had been an excellent choice, she thought. It was wonderful to be able to pick it up and see Albus directing a proud and affectionate gaze at her, his blue eyes bright and warm. A few minutes later, Minerva shook herself from her reverie, reminding herself that the photograph would be there for her any time she wanted to look at it, and she stepped out into her sitting room to find the book that she had started while at the Gamps but which she had been unable to find the time for since returning to Hogwarts.

Blampa had efficiently cleared away the breakfast things, but her small round table was still a bit larger than usual, so Minerva returned it to its usual size before going into her tiny kitchen to make herself a pot of tea. Calling Blampa for tea might be more efficient, but Minerva enjoyed making her own tea, and Blampa had begun to make sure that Minerva always had fresh milk and a well-stocked tin of ginger newts in her kitchen now that they had reached their new understanding. Blampa was actually shaping up to be a fairly good house-elf, if a bit annoyingly enthusiastic about everything. But that was better than having a gloomy elf, Minerva supposed.

She brought her tea with her out to her little table, sat in the chair that Albus had vacated earlier, and read Pnin, drank tea, and munched on ginger newts for the remainder of the morning. Because Wilhelmina and Hagrid had both informed the house-elves that they would not be present for lunch today, she and Albus were going to make-do, as he had said. Likely for him, that meant lunch at his desk. After all of her ginger newts and a rather late breakfast, Minerva didn’t feel hungry, so after she reading for as long as she wanted, she decided to begin moving her things from her old Transfiguration classroom to her new one, calling Blampa to help her. When Blampa heard what Minerva wanted, she snapped her fingers and Disapparated, to reappear a few minutes later with three other house-elves.

“They’s all bored, Professor Minerva. Blampa asks if Polky, Stanga, and Kreffent can helps.”

“That would be fine. Many hands make light work!”

Blampa looked puzzled at that, but her Professor was always saying peculiar things, so she and the other house-elves Disapparated, leaving Minerva to follow in a more pedestrian manner, literally.

With the house-elves cheerful assistance, Minerva soon had all of her things moved down to the first-floor Transfiguration classroom. Deciding what to leave of Professor Dumbledore’s and what to remove was more troublesome, and then what to do with what she removed posed a question, as well. He hadn’t had time to clear out his office completely, so Minerva left her own things in boxes on the floor of the office, but had the house-elves carefully pack up everything from the classroom that she wasn’t leaving in place. She would have to ask Albus later what he would like to do with his things, and make arrangements to move into the office. If she were to become Head of Gryffindor, she would also have a study in her rooms in the Tower, so some of what she normally kept in her office she could move up there. She would have to speak with him about that soon. No doubt he hadn’t forgotten, but was just trying not to pressure her for her decision.

By the end of the afternoon, Minerva was looking forward to supper and felt warm, dusty, and sticky after arranging her new classroom, so she took a fast shower and changed her clothes before heading to the staff room. When she arrived, Hagrid and Johannes were already there, discussing an infestation of some sort, and when she sat down and joined them, she was disappointed to see the food appear on the table. That meant in all likelihood that Albus wasn’t coming to dinner that evening, although he could just be running late and had asked the house-elves to serve supper as they usually did lunch.

Despite her disappointment at Albus’s absence, Minerva enjoyed the conversation around the table. Wilhemina took a seat between Minerva and Hagrid; fortunately, Johannes steered the conversation away from any of the nauseating topics that seemed to fascinate the other two. Flitwick puffed into the staff room a few minutes after the meal appeared, asking if they would mind if he joined them. They teased him a bit about his question, telling him he was practically on the staff already, and he was already working without compensation, so the least they could do was feed him.

In a lull in the conversation, Minerva turned to Johannes. “Professor Birnbaum, do you suppose I might have a word with you after dinner? I have a few Herbology-related questions, and I thought I might pick your brain, if you don’t mind.”

Johannes laughed warmly. “Of course, Minerva! You make pick away all you like! I am always happy to discuss my subject.”

Not long after that, Albus came in and took the free seat across from Minerva.

“Busy day, Albus?” Wilhelmina asked.

“Mm, quite,” he responded, loading his plate with red cabbage, mashed potatoes, and sausages.

As he began to eat, Minerva Levitated the bowl of French beans toward him. “There are green beans, as well, Professor.”

An almost imperceptible grimace crossed Albus’s face before he smiled and took the offered bowl, helping himself to a small, one might say, minute, portion of the vegetable. He looked up to see Minerva watching him, and added one more spoonful of the beans to his plate. Minerva quirked a smile and resumed eating. He could call her “Mother McGonagall” all he wanted; Poppy had said he should eat more fruit and veg. He couldn’t eat it if it wasn’t on his plate. Whether he ate it once it was, that was up to him, but he should at least make an attempt, Minerva thought.

“Had you wanted your pudding tonight, Minerva?” Johannes asked her as he finished his meal. “I do not think that I will indulge. I was far too spoiled by my friend’s mother the last few days! English cooking may be . . . well, English cooking, but your sweets! Ah!” Johannes made a blissful expression. “Ausgezeichnet! And she insisted on a full tea every afternoon. I ate so much cream and butter, I thought I would begin to mooing!”

Minerva laughed. “No, I’m finished, as well. I have a house-elf who, for better or worse, insists on providing me with a steady supply of biscuits. And not just any biscuits, mind you,” she said as she stood up from the table, “but ‘happy-tasting’ biscuits! That is what she insists they are, and I won’t contradict her.”

“Then come for a walk with me, Minerva, and we will talk!”

Before following the Herbology teacher out of the room, Minerva stopped by Albus. “Do you suppose I could have a word, Professor? Tonight, or tomorrow morning?”

“Of course, my dear. Perhaps tomorrow morning . . . here in the staff room? Ten o’clock?”

The committee meeting was scheduled to begin at eleven o’clock and go for as long as necessary; the committee would have lunch served to them in the staff room. Albus was scheduled to answer a few final questions before the committee began its work on the proposal.

“That sounds fine. I will see you then!”

Minerva joined Johannes in the entrance hall, and they both departed the castle through the great front doors and began to stroll in the direction of the greenhouses.

“So, Minerva, you wished to poke my brain a bit in hope of extracting some information?” Johannes asked with a barely suppressed grin.

“I do, indeed. Ivy, specifically Hedera pythonica. What do you know of it?”

“A great many things, Minerva . . . if I knew whence sprung your interest, I could better respond to it.”

Minerva drew her wand from her pocket. “I always knew that my wand was of ivy, but I recently learned some other rather interesting and intriguing things about the nature of this particular wand, and learned, too, that it was not of ordinary English ivy, as I had previously believed, but of magical ivy. I became curious about it.”

Johannes held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Minerva handed him her wand. He held it in front of his face, just inches from his eyes and examined it closely. He then ran it across his palm in both directions, turning it slightly as he did so, and finally, he held it up above him, squinting at it against the backdrop of the pewter-coloured sky.

Returning the wand to Minerva, Johannes said, “Very nice specimen. And most certainly, as you say, Hedera pythonica and not common ivy. If it were not your wand, I could perform tests upon it to confirm this, but I have no doubt.”

Minerva smiled. “Thank you. And ivy?” Minerva had taken Herbology through her NEWTs, but could remember little other than the most basic facts about ivy, and nothing about magical ivy; indeed, she was unsure that she had even learned about magical ivy as a student, although its Latin name hadn’t sounded entirely unfamiliar when Albus had used it. She simply couldn’t place it in any context.

“Well, since you are asking me, I will tell you and begin at the beginning, presuming you know nothing; that way, you may learn whatever it is you are seeking. Please excuse me if I repeat what you know.”

“That’s fine. I remember little enough, anyway, and it may not be correct or relevant.”

They reached the greenhouses, but rather than go in, Johannes led Minerva to a wooden bench outside of Greenhouse Three.

“It is too warm in there for comfortable conversation. This is more pleasant.”

Johannes stretched his long legs in front of him and leaned his head back against the side of the greenhouse, lacing his fingers behind his neck, beneath his long, sandy, greying hair, and stared off into the distance.

“Efeu: Treue, Unsterblichkeit, ewiges Leben, und Liebe. So we learn in first-year Herbology when I am a boy. You know the meaning, Minerva?” he asked, not turning his head.

“Yes, of course. Ivy: fidelity, immortality, eternal life, and love.”

“Richtig. These are, of course, folk meanings, but they are not without their own truth. In this country, I teach more concretely that the ivy vine spirals about a plant, climbing it, being supported by it, embracing it. The ivy vine may appear delicate, but it is powerful; in the absence of trees, it may climb a brick wall and, in time, cause it to crumble. Ivy can reach great heights when it has a support, to the top of the tallest oak it can climb. And yet, without the tree, the ivy can content itself to creep along the earth, spreading widely and vigorously.

“Ivy is not a parasite, you know. It coexists quite peacefully with its tree. But just as ivy can crumble masonry, it can also bring destruction to the tree through its mere existence. Magical ivy, however, is different in this regard. It, too, will grow to the top-most branches of a tree. It, too, may blanket the tree entirely, its own leaves obscuring those of the tree. But magical ivy, rather than inadvertently starving its friendly host of sunlight, provides extra nutrition to the tree the more thickly it covers it. And where a mighty oak will fall when the common ivy permits strong winds to knock over the tree by growing so densely that the air can no longer move freely through the tree’s branches, magical ivy, through an as-yet unstudied mechanism, absorbs the power of the winds, allowing the tree to be buffeted, but not to fall.

“Hedera pythonica, the magical ivy, also provides a very positive protection for the tree that plays host, not merely off-setting its own potentially deleterious effects, by repelling harmful insects, beetles, and parasites that might otherwise infest the tree. And where common ivy ordinarily confines itself to deciduous trees such as the oak, the magical variety is found most often on the yew tree, which is also an evergreen, like the ivy itself.

“An interesting, though perhaps meaningless and purely coincidental, observation I have made, is that Muggle cemeteries in England often host yew trees, and in Germany, ivy is often a motif on Muggle gravestones.” Johannes shrugged. “In both the Muggle and the wizarding worlds, the two plants are associated with life, death, and immortality, yet the quality of their woods is quite different – both the yew and the magical ivy are resilient and long-lived however.

“I can tell you more of its botanical properties, if you wish, and its use in potions, but perhaps that is sufficient to your purposes? Your curiosity about your wand?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, I think so . . . essentially, I wanted to know more about magical ivy and its differences with common English ivy. Come to think of it . . . isn’t magical ivy used in a clear-seeing potion of some kind?” Minerva furrowed her brow.

“It is. Though its efficacy is debatable.” Johannes chuckled. “Personally, I believe it is ineffective when taken by anyone who is not already possessed of divination talents. It would not help someone like me, who is hopeless in that regard, to see any more in the crystal ball than he already fails to see! But I do not think that means that it is not a potent potion. It simply has to have something to work with!”

“Is it used much in other potions?”

“There are several potions of which I am aware that call for magical ivy, but it is a fairly rare plant these days, and therefore expensive and not often used if something else may be substituted. Your brother may be able to tell you more. I believe it is the leaves and berries that are the parts most often used in potions.”

“And for wandmaking?”

“I am no expert in wands, Minerva, but yours is the first wand of which I am aware that is of Hedera pythonica rather than Hedera helix, the common entwining ivy we see everywhere and which, itself, has interesting properties. You could probably find more information on the use of different woods in wandmaking in the library, if you are interested.”

---

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post.

---

XCVII: Ever Green, continued

“I think that for now, this answers all of the questions I have – if I think of any others, may I ask you?”

“Of course, Minerva.” He smiled at her. “It is pleasant to sit and talk with you. I worried some about you. Not greatly, but you seemed so . . . preoccupied these last few months. You were more serious than serious, and I worried you were unhappy. You are all right? You do not mind my saying this, I hope. . . .”

“No, no, I don’t mind. It is good of you to be concerned, but I am fine. I was under some stress; I suppose it has not gone away, but it has changed, and I am dealing with it better, I think.”

“If there is ever anything that I can do for you . . . or if you wish to speak to someone,” Johannes offered, shrugging one shoulder. “I know we do not know each other well, but Gertrude and Albus always spoke highly of you, and I would like to think I might be a friend to you for the short time I am here.”

“I do think of you as a friend, Johannes. Thank you. I will miss you when you leave, you know.”

“I will be happy for visitors, if you like to take a holiday in Germany. I will be in Dossenheim – do you know it? It is a small village, but a friend has procured for me a place with land enough for a large greenhouse, and it is close to Heidelberg. You studied there, yes?”

“Yes, I did my apprenticeship in Heidelberg, and I am familiar with Dossenheim.” She smiled. “And will you be growing any of the other sort of vine there, Johannes?” she asked, referring to the winemaking the region was so well-known for.

“Perhaps, one day, after I have established my primary livelihood,” Johannes answered with a grin. “My friend’s cousin is an Apotheker, very successful, and he believes that his cousin will be happy to buy herbs and other potions ingredients from me.”

“Really?” Minerva asked. The world really was too small sometimes, she thought, the wizarding world in particular. “I may know this wizard. What’s his name?”

“Rudolf Brauer.”

“Rudolf . . . when you see him . . .” Minerva paused. “When you see him, will you give him my warm regards? Tell him . . . tell him just that.”

“I hear a story in the words you do not say, Minerva.”

She shrugged. “We knew each other in Heidelberg. I . . . I haven’t heard from him in a long time. I just hope he is well.”

Johannes nodded. “I will tell him this for you.” He stretched. “You know, I was going to work in the greenhouses tonight, but I think I will retire early in anticipation of that meeting tomorrow. I can look over all of the reports again, as well. Shall we walk back to the castle now?”

“Thank you, Johannes, but I think I will take a walk first. Clear my head before sleeping.”

The two stood.

“Good night, then, Minerva. I will see you in the morning!”

“Good night. Thank you for explaining Hedera pythonica to me, and for the company!”

“You are very welcome,” he responded warmly.

Minerva headed around toward the east side of the lake, strolling with no particular destination in mind. It was odd, she thought, that Albus had not told her more of the qualities of Hedera pythonica, given that it was so entwined with the yew, both literally and figuratively, and his own wand was from the yew tree around which her ivy wand had once grown. Perhaps he thought it sufficient explanation to say that the wands were mates. Still, the relationship between magical ivy and its host tree was an interesting one, and one that required more consideration, she believed.

Dusk began to fall rapidly, and Minerva turned from the lake and from her musings, and headed back to the castle, to her rooms, and to her new picture of Albus, in its frame of gold and silver with a design of climbing ivy . . . a single thornless rose in the corner.

---

Note: As always, do not take my story as your source for accurate information about the Real World; I strive for verisimilitude, and if it is also accurate, that's great. However, if you are curious about scientific, historic, cultural, or sociological details mentioned in RaM, I have no doubt that there is a wealth of accurate (and inaccurate!) information on the Web! That said, English ivy, also known as common ivy, is found on oak trees and other trees in that family, and ivy really is carved on grave markers as a symbol of immortality, and the yew is also associated with eternal life. Hope you enjoy!

Next chapter: Collision.

[Hogwarts Duo]

I do so love it when you give us shippy moments in a chapter that's not necessarily shippy!

The breakfast they shared sounded absolutely wonderful and very simplistic, just perfect to round off their morning. It was fun to watch Minerva squirm just a wee bit when she thought Albus would be in her bedroom and no doubt see her little shrine. Maybe if he had seen it, things would have taken a much different turn and he might not have left so soon! It was really sweet of him to create a frame for her other picture as well and I'm sure she'll cherish it as well, though not nearly as much as the one he created for the picture of them together...awww!

The talk Minerva had with Johannes was certainly interesting and there was one part in particular I found very ADMM'ish.

But magical ivy, rather than inadvertently starving its friendly host of sunlight, provides extra nutrition to the tree the more thickly it covers it. And where a mighty oak will fall when the common ivy permits strong winds to knock over the tree by growing so densely that the air can no longer move freely through the tree’s branches, magical ivy, through an as-yet unstudied mechanism, absorbs the power of the winds, allowing the tree to be buffeted, but not to fall.

I find this part represents our dear ADMM very well. I can definitely see Minerva as the ivy here, protecting Albus while still lending him all her strength and support. AWWWWW!

As soon as Johannes mentioned his friend's cousin being an apothecary, I had a strong feeling it would be Rudolf. That was a tense moment for me but I'm glad Minerva skimmed over that relatively quickly!

As always, you've given us a wonderful chapter and I'm left wanting MORE MORE MORE!!!! Don't make us wait too long!

Toodles,
The GLM

[Kayjay]

Heya
Sorry that I haven't reviewed the last few chapters...exam-studying, you know.

Anyway, I love the whole wand thing they have going on and I can't wait to have Minerva find out about the 'love' part in the wand mates.

I'm looking forward to the next chapters, please continue posting so fast. ;D

Big Huggles,
Kayjay

[revolutionaryetude]

OOHHH another brilliant chapter. I love how Albus and Minerva interact in this story. So close and yet so distant from each other at other times. Can't wait unitl the next update!

[Sensiblyquirky]

I love the additional information on their wands and what it is saying about their relationship...or what it should be! I hope we get any more information, especially if it leads Albus and Minerva to admitting their feelings to each other.

I, too, loved the frame and thought it was very thoughtful and lovely. Minerva was too cute when Albus wanted to see where she would put the frame. I can see perfectly how she would rush inside and quickly get her little shine out of sight...sadly of course.

Of course I'm worried now that the old beau has been mentioned, no more misunderstandings are needed!!

Looking forward to more!

Christy

[Orion's Guard]

Aww, I want Albus to someday see that picture of him with the rose. I'm not usually one for the fluffy stuff, but it's just too good here to pass up.

I really like where you're going with the wands, it's very original and I've never read one exactly like it (and I've been through quite a few stories). Thanks for writing.

[MMADfan]

Hey, there, Hogwarts Duo, Kayjay, revolutionaryetude, Sensiblyquirky, and Orion's Guard! I'm glad you all enjoyed the magical ivy so much! And the bit with Minerva and Albus & arranging the pictures, and all.

There's another chapter coming up soon -- it's a long one! "Collision"!

[MMADfan]

Note: As have I mentioned before, RaM is non-compliant with DH.

I really loved reading all your comments, especially your speculation about the wands and the magical ivy. I had fun coming up with the wand relationship, and it is actually one of the earliest elements I developed for the story, so I am pleased you like it.

This chapter is very long, so it will be posted in four parts.

Happy reading! I look forward to your reactions to this chapter!

---

XCVIII: Collision

Minerva rose early, took breakfast in her rooms – she and Albus had decided the previous day that people might prefer breakfasting at the time of their own choosing – then left for her morning walk. She encountered no one but a rather dreary looking Bloody Baron, which was somewhat unexpected, since the ghosts were rarely to be seen during the summer. She wondered idly what they did during the summer, but then, she really wasn’t entirely sure what they got up to most of the time, anyway. Peeves, of course, was a different story, and it was lovely that he began to lose his energy and his interest in harassing folk within a few days of the students leaving for the summer. He’d occasionally perk up and cause a little minor mischief, but then he would disappear again until he’d finally emerge on the first of September, thrilled and filled with renewed zest and a compelling desire to make an utter nuisance of himself.

After exercising in her Animagus form in the little knot of trees near Hagrid’s cabin, Minerva took a stroll, still in her tabby guise, down to the lake, careful to avoid the edge of the forest, as Albus had requested. She wouldn’t be overly cautious, but he was right that it was better to avoid danger than to have to deal with it once encountered. Minerva sat, front paws tucked neatly beneath her chest, and watched the ripples on the lake, becoming almost mesmerised by them. Finally, with a bit of reluctance, knowing that she had a long and possibly unpleasant meeting ahead of her, she returned to her ordinary form and headed back up to the castle. It was almost time for her meeting with Albus.

Minerva wanted to inform him that she would take the position of Head of Gryffindor House. She was worried, now more than before, that she was being asked only because she was the only Gryffindor available. It seemed that was how Wilhelmina had ended up in the position, despite the fact that she herself felt ill-suited to it. Minerva had later learned that the reason Wilhelmina had left the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match was to take care of a very ill creature Hagrid had just rescued from the forest, not because she was uninterested in the results of the game or didn’t care to be supportive of her House. Still, it had been bad timing and reinforced the image she had of being an uncaring Head of House, which Minerva no longer believed was true. She was simply better with creatures than with people, though she was a very good teacher of her subject.

Minerva believed that, in time, she could become a good Head of Gryffindor. She had an excellent role model, for one; although Albus had been very preoccupied during the last few years in which she had been a student, he had always cared about his House and his students, and they knew it. Of course, she and Albus were temperamentally quite different. She didn’t think she should force herself to behave just as Albus had, but she could still approach it with the same sort of attitude, she thought. She certainly cared about the House and students, and it was important to her to do a good job. All of that would carry her a long way, even if she were only the best candidate for the job because she was the only candidate for the job. She hoped she didn’t let down Albus – or the Gryffindors.

It was ten minutes to ten when Minerva entered the castle. It would take her almost that long to return to her rooms and walk back down to the ground floor, so she went directly to the staff room to wait for Albus. When she got there, the door was ajar and she could hear the Headmaster speaking with someone, saying something about being sorry. When the other person answered, Minerva realised that Gertrude must have returned to the school that morning. Unsure whether to enter, to knock, or to leave, Minerva stepped toward the door. Through it, she could just see Albus and Gertrude on the far side of the room; they were standing close together, and he was in partial profile, although his back was to the rest of the room, and it appeared that his left hand was on Gertrude’s arm. Gertrude was facing him, and Minerva could see the soft, caring expression on the older witch’s face. Knowing she should leave, but feeling compelled to stay, Minerva heard Albus speak again.

“You cannot know what this means to me, Gertie, my dear. Especially today. I know I do not deserve – ”

Gertrude lifted her hand to his face, quieting him. “Hush, Albus. That’s so much nonsense, and you know it. And you know I am not doing this for you alone.”

“But – ”

“No ‘buts,’ Albus,” Gertrude said softly, stroking his cheek. “After . . . everything . . . neither of us should speak of what is earned or deserved, nor of what is given or owed. The main reason I hesitated was not because of what I felt or what I wanted myself, but because I was seeking the right thing to do for you.”

“I hope this, too, is not a sacrifice for you, my dear,” Albus said hoarsely. “I would not want to think you went against your own wishes.”

Gertrude’s expression grew even fonder, Minerva thought, if that were possible. “This is what I wish, Albus. You know my wishes. . . .”

“I have not forgotten what you have told me, although I may forget other things at times. That is why I hesitated to ask so much of you . . . and though you do not want to hear me say it, I am very grateful and know well how fortunate a wizard I am,” Albus replied.

Gertrude’s hand, which had remained resting on Albus’s cheek, moved to the back of his neck; her other hand came up and settled in the middle of his back, and Albus’s arms went around Gertrude. Minerva could no longer see Gertrude’s face, as she rested her head on Albus’s shoulder, her face turned toward him and away from the world. Albus had bent his head as he had embraced the witch, and Minerva could not see his face, either. She backed up, carefully, quietly, shuffling back toward the stair. When she reached the staircase, she popped into her tabby form and raced up four flights of stairs and down the short corridor to her rooms.

Minerva almost forgot that she had to return to her ordinary form and give her password as she stood staring at the Silent Knight and his dog, who seemed particularly inquisitive about the cat looking up at him. Shaking herself, she returned to her ordinary form and whispered, “Alvarium album.”

The door clicked open and she stumbled into her sitting room. She would be late to her meeting with Albus, she thought hazily as she collapsed onto her settee.

“Blampa!” she croaked.

The elf Apparated in with a loud snick. “Yes, Professor Minerva! May I, Blampa, serve?”

“Yes,” Minerva rasped; she cleared her throat. “Could you please inform the Headmaster that I am somewhat delayed but will meet him shortly.”

“That will be all, Professor Minerva?”

Minerva nodded, and when the little house-elf still stood there, looking at her with great eyes, she said, “Yes, just go, please.”

Minerva leaned back. She had no idea what to make of what she had seen and heard. She closed her eyes; they felt hot. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She should know better than to listen at doors; an eavesdropper deserved whatever she heard and should not expect to hear anything good. Minerva let out a shaky breath. Is this how Albus had felt when he’d overheard her with Poppy that morning a few weeks before? No . . . Albus had said nothing nasty about her, she thought, remembering her own words and Poppy’s description of Albus’s expression. “Like a little boy whose pet Crup had died.”

No, this felt more as though a part of her had died, Minerva thought hazily. She drew a breath. She had to pull herself together. She still had to meet with Albus, then with the committee. She could not engage in any pitiful self-indulgence. Besides, she thought as she stood and headed to the loo, they could have been talking about a great many different things. And they embraced, but there was nothing odd in that. Albus had embraced her, after all, and she herself had embraced a good many people. But that had not been a brief embrace . . . but had it been . . . passionate? Minerva didn’t know how to characterise it – loving, certainly, on both sides, perhaps comforting . . . .

As she washed her face with cold water, Minerva reminded herself of her mantra: I do not run the school, Albus’s private life is his private life and none of my affair, Gertrude is Albus’s deputy, Gertrude is Albus’s friend, I do not run the school and Albus’s private life is none of my affair. Looking in the mirror, she decided that, although she looked slightly pale, she didn’t need a Glamour. Besides, it seemed that Albus could see through her Glamours, and he was the only one she really cared to hide from at the moment. Since that was not possible, she would simply have to behave in a businesslike manner. There was no question of her refusing to become Head of Gryffindor simply because of her feelings, her unjustified feelings, about what she had seen in the staff room a few minutes before. She should not have even been . . . spying on them. She should have either announced her presence or left immediately. Or walked in after what she’d seen . . . perhaps received an explanation of what she’d interrupted. It may have been embarrassing, for all of them, but now Minerva wished she had. Now she had no reason to even mention it to Albus without it appearing that she had been lurking in the corridor and spying on him. Which, she supposed, she had been. She had always been too curious . . . it was one of the reasons Albus thought they should have guessed early on that her Animagus would be a cat.

Minerva made her way back downstairs. She was only about ten minutes late, although it felt as though an eternity had passed since she had witnessed the exchange between Albus and Gertrude and their comfortable embrace. That was, perhaps, what bothered her most about it, on reflection. How very comfortable they had seemed with each other. And Minerva was well-aware that Gertrude was not a particularly physically demonstrative person, although she had greeted her own son warmly, and had even, somewhat to Minerva’s surprise, given Quin a kiss before he left. But to have been so free to give and accept the embrace from Albus, to have felt comfortable enough to place a quieting hand upon his face then leave it there . . . Minerva cleared her throat. It would not do to think about this now; she needed to have her wits about her when she spoke with Albus.

Minerva stepped into the staff room. Albus was standing, looking at some of the books in the bookcase at the far end of the room. Gertrude was still there, but was seated at the table at the other end of the room, going through a file of parchments. Gertrude looked up as Minerva entered, and smiled at her.

“Good morning, Minerva! Good to see you,” the older witch said, still smiling, as she pulled a quill toward her and wrote something on one of the parchments. She cast a blotting charm on the ink then closed up the file.

Minerva just nodded in response, giving what she knew must appear to be a stiff smile, but it was all she could manage at the moment.

Gertrude pushed the file in Albus’s direction as he turned and walked toward them both. “There you are, Albus. I will see you for lunch, then.” She stood, nodded at Minerva in a friendly manner, and left the room.

Minerva, remembering that she had been able to see and hear quite well through the partially opened door, closed it behind the older witch.

“I am sorry I am late, Professor.”

“You aren’t very late, my dear, and Gertrude and I had some business to finish up,” Albus said, picking up the folder that Gertrude had left for him. “Thank you, though, for sending your house-elf to let me know. That was quite considerate.” He smiled warmly at her.

Minerva simply nodded. “Well, to get down to our business, then – ”

“Won’t you have a seat, Minerva?” Albus asked gesturing toward the armchairs by the fireplace.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, but she pulled a chair out from the table and sat there.

Albus smiled and cocked his head, “Ah, so we are down to business, then . . . quite right.” He took the chair across from her. “You had asked to see me, Professor McGonagall?” he asked, his expression more serious.

“Yes. It is about the request you made of me a few weeks ago regarding Gryffindor House.”

“Ah, yes! I was hoping you were giving that some thought. Have you come to any conclusions, my dear?”

Minerva hesitated slightly, but knowing she really had little option, she forged ahead. “I have. I have decided to accept your offer. I will become Head of Gryffindor House, if you still wish it, and will endeavour to do my best for Gryffindor.”

“Splendid, my dear! Simply splendid! And of course I still wish it! And I know you will do very well, indeed.”

“Yes, well, it’s not as though we have other options . . . but I will try to . . . to live up to your legacy, sir.”

Albus looked at her quietly for a moment. “Minerva, it would not matter if we had a staff filled with Gryffindors, you would always be my first choice for the position. And although you say we have no other options, if you yourself do not wish to do this . . . I can find another way, I am sure. I do not wish you to feel you must do this only because either you believe yourself to be the only option or out of mere loyalty to me. I do . . . appreciate loyalty in my Heads of House, but I do not want that to be the reason you take it on if you truly do not wish to. It is a tremendous commitment, and could quickly become a burden if you were doing it for the wrong reasons.”

“No, no . . . if you were to offer it to me under other circumstances, I would want to be Head of Gryffindor very much.” For some reason, Minerva was having a difficult time meeting Albus’s gaze. “I just thought, perhaps I was not suited to it.”

“I think you will do well, and so does Gertrude. She said that to me again recently. And Wilhelmina also voiced her support for you. She said that she believes that you will always have the students’ best interests in mind and do what you must to take care of them.” Albus paused, gazing at her with a slightly concerned expression. “I hope you will be happy with this decision, Minerva. And if there is anything that I can do – ”

“There’s nothing. Nothing at the moment, Professor. Although I had begun moving into the first-floor Transfiguration classroom yesterday, and although I had the house-elves pack up anything from the classroom itself that I did not wish to keep there, I did not know what to do with the things in your office and didn’t want to disturb them.”

Albus nodded. “Thank you. I will have the office cleaned out tomorrow and have everything removed that you had packed up from the classroom.” He looked at her quizzically. “Is everything all right, my dear? You seem very . . . sober.”

“Everything is fine. There is simply a lot going on right now. A lot of changes. And the committee meeting begins in a little while.” She quirked a small grin. “That prospect is enough to make anyone sober. And don’t hurry with the office; take care of it when it is most convenient for you. I told my parents that I would be coming for my visit as soon as my business at Hogwarts was concluded. I will likely leave tomorrow, perhaps the day after. They had been expecting me Saturday, actually.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I have monopolised you, just as I feared . . . you could have gone to your parents’ this weekend instead of returning to Hogwarts with me, and simply returned for the meeting this morning.”

“I was pleased to stay . . . I enjoyed it.” Minerva’s voice came out in an unexpected rasp.

“My dear, are you certain you are all right?” There was obvious concern in his voice, and he reached across the table to touch her arm gently.

“Fine, Professor,” Minerva said, clearing her throat. “I was out in my Animagus form for a long time this morning. Perhaps the damp . . .” She trailed off.

Albus nodded. “As you so often remind me, you must take care of yourself.” He sighed and looked at the many-handed clock on the fireplace mantle. “Almost time for the meeting, but we have a few more minutes. Wilspy!” he called.

Wilspy popped in immediately. “Yes, sir, Professor Dumbledore. May I serve?”

“Yes, peppermint tea with honey for Professor McGonagall, please, and a cup of Assam with milk and sugar for me.”

“Professor – ” Minerva began to protest, vainly, as Wilspy simply popped away to retrieve tea for the two.

“Professor McGonagall,” Albus said with mock sternness, “I cannot have my Heads of House making themselves ill in the damp, chilly morning air. If you insist on running about in it, then I insist on a cup of peppermint tea for you afterward!”

Minerva smiled slightly. “All right. Thank you.”

“Speaking of Gryffindor House once more, I think it best, if you don’t mind, if you were to take up the position immediately after the warding. Wilhelmina spoke to me a few days ago and said that she would prefer that, as well. But, of course, if you’d rather not . . . .”

“That would be fine with me, too. I suppose I should speak with her about moving into the rooms in Gryffindor Tower.”

Albus nodded. “I’m sure we can work out a suitable arrangement. It would be advisable to do so before the warding, however, as we make most of the changes to the castle layout at that time, too, so if there is anything special you would like done – to have your bath and loo duplicated, for example – ”

Two cups of steaming tea appeared in front of them, and Albus took a sip of his.

“I will think about it. I would like to keep the Silent Knight and Fidelio, though, if that is possible. I’ve grown rather fond of them, odd as the Knight is.” She quirked a little grin, thinking of her peculiar pair of door wardens.

Albus smiled. “Done! We will do it on the second, when we make the other changes, all right, my dear?”

Minerva nodded. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

---

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

---

XCVIII: Collision, continued

Minerva breathed in the stimulating aroma of the peppermint tea and took a sip. Good, not too much honey. Knowing how sweet Albus liked his tea, Minerva was unsure how Wilspy would have prepared it for her, but she must have filed her preferences away in that little house-elf brain of hers. Minerva took another sip. It did seem to soothe her throat. She hadn’t even been aware that it had required soothing. It had, though, and so did she. Albus was being kind to her, as he always was, and, after all, it had been her decision to sit at the table and not more comfortably by the fireplace, but she still wished that he would say or do something special . . . something other than ordering her a cup of peppermint tea. But that was ridiculous of her, she recognised; he had just given her the most beautiful framed photograph, the frame of which he had designed and made himself; he had taken her on a picnic breakfast, then out to dinner, accompanied her to the concert, then brought her for drinks afterward. What more could she possibly expect from the man? She was being unreasonable and she knew it. But what she had seen between him and Gertie – for her, it was the stuff of nightmares. And she didn’t even really know what it was she had seen. It simply made her ill because of her fears that the two were involved somehow and that she didn’t know it.

As they drank their tea, Albus watched Minerva. He had the sense that she was unhappy about becoming Gryffindor Head – but she had declared that she wasn’t, so what could he say? If he told her he didn’t want her to take the position, that he would somehow work something else out so that she wouldn’t have to do it, she would be dreadfully hurt, he was sure, and take it as a sign that he didn’t believe her competent. He sighed softly and finished his tea. He had already told her that she didn’t have to take it and had expressed his belief that she would do a very good job; there was nothing more he could think of to say at that moment.

Minerva looked up from her tea as Albus sighed. Probably worried about the outcome of the committee meeting. At least she had forewarned him and it wouldn’t be a surprise. Although she could hardly believe it would have come as a surprise to him even if she hadn’t said anything – it certainly shouldn’t be a surprise to him. Minerva felt a momentary annoyance with the wizard sitting across from her. He was not naive, but sometimes he certainly did a good impression of it. And if he had been more reasonable from the very beginning, proposed something that the staff could have lived with – even Madam Perlecta, with her dread of werewolves, had assented to the committee’s proposal, and she had even gone and paid the poor man a brief, though kindly, visit in hospital the week before – they wouldn’t have all wasted their time in meetings, research, debate, and occasionally, cross words. He could have made it all easier on all of them. But, Minerva thought with a sigh, he had wanted their participation. He believed it valuable . . . and perhaps he was right.

“You know, more applications for Wilhelmina’s job have come in over the last several days. Would you like to pick them up sometime today? You needn’t, of course . . . I know that you will be going on holiday, and you’ve already spent more time on Hogwarts business than anyone would expect you to – ”

“I would be happy to, Professor Dumbledore. As I said before, I am very pleased to be able to help, and I promised that I would assist you with this. It is neglectful of me not to have inquired about the applications before this.”

“No, not neglectful, Minerva. I could have brought them to your attention earlier. And although there is no immediate hurry, I would like to have your recommendations by the twelfth of August so that we can interview before the children return on the first. I do realise this is your holiday, however, and if it is inconvenient – ”

“Not at all. I would not have agreed to do this if I did not believe I would be able to, and I knew I would be visiting my parents . . . I can return to the school regularly if you like, perhaps every other day, and retrieve any that have arrived.”

“No, no need for that, my dear. They tend to come in a few at a time with none at all for days. Why don’t I simply send them on to you by owl as they arrive? You can, of course, choose to review them in whatever way you find most convenient for you.”

“Very well. That would be suitable.”

“In case for some reason I am not in my office when you are able to come by for them, I will leave my applications on my desk this afternoon if I need to leave. Please feel free to come in and retrieve them.”

Minerva nodded. “I will do that, then, either this afternoon or this evening, depending on how the committee meeting proceeds.”

“Yes, the committee meeting . . . I suppose we should open the door, lest folk decide to be polite and wait out there indefinitely. But first . . . Minerva . . . is everything all right? If you are nervous about being Head of Gryffindor, I am sure that Wilhelmina will be more than happy to help you while she is still here, and you can count on me to help, too. You merely need to ask, my dear, and I will help you in whatever way I can.”

Minerva looked up from her tea. He was looking at her seriously, concerned, and perhaps even slightly confused, about her reticence. She forced herself to smile.

“Thank you, Professor. And I will be sure to call on Wilhelmina for assistance if I need it.” Seeing his expression flicker, Minerva added, “And I will ask you for advice, as well, I am sure. I am actually looking forward to it. Truly.”

Albus nodded. “That’s good to hear, Minerva. . . . Minerva, have I done anything – ”

Just then the door opened, Johannes and Filius had arrived for the meeting, and Albus was unable to complete his question. Minerva’s cool attitude disturbed him; it was one thing to be professional when discussing Hogwarts business and another to be so distant and detached. He felt as though he were watching Minerva dealing with a near-stranger, not with him. Granted, they had agreed to keep school business and their personal relationship separate, but perhaps he had said or done something that had affected their friendship. He was clueless as to what it could have been, however – unless it was his inviting himself into her bedroom the day before. She had seemed fine when he’d left, however, and even yesterday during dinner she had treated him as always. Or perhaps it was the picture itself – perhaps the effort . . . perhaps she found his gift odd, an inappropriately intimate gesture. She had accepted the offer of a photograph of her former mentor, after all, and what she had received was more than just a copy of a picture of him. Albus could feel an ache in his heart as he contemplated the possibility that his relationship with Minerva was destined to be as it was in this moment, forever. No more picnics on the mountainside, no more concerts, no more private dinners, no more walks, no more breakfasts . . . but if that was what Minerva wanted, a purely professional relationship between them, he would live with it and honour her wishes. He had no claim on her, after all, for anything more than that, and it wasn’t as though he had been a particularly good friend to her during her first several months at the castle. He had no right to anything more. It was not as though any of his gestures of friendship could be those of a suitor; no, he had no claim on her. The pain of separation from Minerva seemed almost physical, but there was a meeting to be held, and he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he had done far more difficult tasks under far more difficult circumstances than attend a meeting and answer questions when he imagined his heart was breaking.

---

When Minerva stepped out of the staff room at five-thirty, she felt drained. They had finally hammered out their proposal by about three-thirty, but then they had Flitwick, who had been charged with recording everything, read the entire proposal back. This meant that at several points, one person or another had stopped him and declared that that wasn’t what they had agreed to or meant at all. This led to more discussion, occasional bickering, and more revisions. Fortunately, Flitwick’s charms did a very good job at keeping track of the discussion on one set of parchments and the committee’s proposal on another set, and so the changes, once agreed upon, were easily made. Then at five o’clock, after the new Charms teacher had duplicated the proposal so that each person had a copy, they had sent for the Headmaster. Dumbledore had come down, listened to Johannes summarise their proposal, then perused a copy of it. He graciously accepted the committee’s proposal, saying that he might make a few additions to it, but that he would inform them of any changes before the full staff meeting, scheduled for early August, at which they would present the proposal to everyone, and they would have the opportunity to respond to the changes before then.

Minerva hung about in the entry hall, watching as the committee members wandered by, drifting off to occupy themselves for the short time before dinner would be served. She wanted to catch Albus. Despite his accepting demeanor in the meeting, she was sure that he must be disappointed. Whatever she felt about anything else at the moment, she wanted to speak to him and make sure he didn’t feel he had failed Pretnick, as he had expressed the previous morning, nor that he felt that she had failed him. Finally, after it seemed that everyone else had left, Minerva was beginning to wonder if Albus had Flooed back to his office, and she was heading back toward the staff room to look for him, when Albus and Johannes emerged from the room, speaking in subdued voices.

“ . . . difficult time of year,” Birnbaum said soberly.

“Yes, it is, this one more than others, I think . . . but perhaps your idea might help,” Albus replied. “Merlin knows, I thought I had succeeded, but when I left . . .” Albus shrugged, but then saw Minerva standing near the stairs. “My dear Professor McGonagall, were you waiting for us?”

“I just thought I’d see . . . how you are.”

Albus smiled, eyes brightening. “I am fine. And you? It was a very long meeting.”

“Yes,” Johannes added, “it was. Thank you for participating, Minerva. It was most helpful.” The German Herbology teacher smiled at her warmly.

“I was glad to be of help – Professor Dumbledore, would you like to meet? About the proposal, I mean,” Minerva said, trying not to be distracted by Birnbaum’s presence.

“Perhaps later, Professor McGonagall, but at the moment, I need to be elsewhere.” He turned and looked at Birnbaum. “I told Gertrude I would fetch her for dinner.”

“Very good, Albus! I look forward to seeing you both there. Now, I need to see if the elves did as I asked today in Greenhouse two. Would you like to come with, Minerva?” he asked.

“No . . . thank you.” Minerva was not the slightest bit interested in whatever the elves might have been doing in Greenhouse two, although she recognised that Johannes was only asking for her company. “Perhaps some other time, later.”

Birnbaum nodded as Albus began up the stairs. “Yes, good. I see you later!”

Minerva turned toward the staircase as Johannes headed toward the front doors. “Albus, are you sure you don’t want to discuss it?” She heard the great oak door thunk shut behind her.

“Not at the moment, Minerva. As I said, I’m fetching Gertrude for dinner – she didn’t eat very much lunch and I don’t want her to miss her supper.” He paused, standing on the third step, looking down at Minerva. “Come with me, though? I am sure Gertie would be happy to see you. You can help me persuade her to come eat a decent supper.”

From what Minerva had observed, Gertrude never required any urging to eat, though the witch was far from plump, and Minerva certainly had no desire to see her at the moment, let alone fetch her for dinner with Albus. Still, it might be an opportunity to speak with him. . . . Perhaps he was disappointed in her, believing that she hadn’t represented him well on the committee; but she had believed she was there merely to present his position, not to advocate for it. Perhaps that was what he had wanted from her, and why he didn’t want to discuss it with her now.

As she stood there noncommittally, Albus took another step up, still looking down at her. “You needn’t, of course, Professor. We can meet more formally, if you prefer – later tonight, if you plan on leaving for your holiday tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t – I mean, I have decided to wait until Wednesday to leave.” She had just made the decision at that moment.

“Good, then . . . I do have business in London tomorrow, but I will be in the castle much of the day. I . . . I will let you know when I have returned?” Albus took another slow step up away from Minerva, seemingly reluctant to leave their conversation.

“That sounds fine. I hope you are all right, though, Albus,” Minerva said, allowing a little of her concern to creep into her voice.

Albus smiled slightly. “Yes, I am and will be fine, if you are referring to the proposal. I suppose this was not unexpected, as you reminded me yesterday.” He shrugged slightly. “Perhaps I could have been more persuasive, but I cannot second-guess everything. I appreciate your concern, though, Minerva. Thank you.”

Minerva nodded, considering asking him if he would care to join her after dinner for a leisurely stroll, not to discuss business, when he took one more step up.

“I really must be going, Minerva – as I said, you are welcome to come along!”

Minerva thought that Albus looked hopeful, but she shook her head. “No, I will see you both in the Great Hall in a little while.”

If he was disappointed, Minerva couldn’t tell, for he simply nodded, turned, and began to hurry up the stairs. She sighed and looked at the doors to the Great Hall. Dinner was being served early that evening, at six o’clock, to accommodate those who wished to stay for dinner with their colleagues, but who wanted to leave for home that evening. Nonetheless, Minerva didn’t particularly want to be the first – and only – person there waiting for it, so she decided to step outside.

As she lowered herself onto one of the stone steps that led up to the front doors, Minerva let out another sigh. She felt exhausted. The meeting had been enervating, as so many such meetings are, but more than that, she had never adequately dealt with her feelings about what she had seen that morning, and they had festered quite nicely untended. Looking back on it, aside from the fact that she had been witnessing something that she hadn’t been intended to see, Minerva found that, rationally, she had no justification for her feelings. And it wasn’t merely her mantra speaking, telling her that Albus’s life was his own and his relationship with Gertrude was none of her business. No, whether Albus and Gertrude were in some way intimately involved or not – or perhaps had been at one time in the past – truly was none of her business. Even if it were, she had no cause to complain or object – not as Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress, nor as Minerva McGonagall, friend of Albus. If it had been only a friendly embrace she witnessed – though heaven only knew why they would be embracing in the staff room on a Monday morning – she certainly had no cause to resent it. And if it were more than friendly . . . well, perhaps she might wish that Albus would tell her of his involvement with Gertrude, or that Gertrude had mentioned it when they had discussed Valerianna, but as Albus’s friend, she had no right to object if he had a relationship with a witch. As she had told herself before, Gertrude was far preferable to Valerianna. And she did seem genuinely devoted to him. . . . Despite her logical arguments to herself, Minerva still felt vaguely ill about it.

What was it they had said? Minerva had become so fixated on the embrace, she found it difficult to recall what they had been talking about. Gertrude had apparently agreed to something that Albus thought was a sacrifice for her. It could have been anything, and given the way that Albus seemed prone to carrying on as though he were responsible for everything, it could have been something quite small. But if it were something small he had thanked her for doing, what was that tender embrace for? And Minerva was back where she had begun, telling herself that it was none of her business. If she hadn’t been lurking outside the door like that, she would be perfectly happy right now – perhaps even with Albus as he retrieved Gertrude for dinner.

Minerva stretched. Albus did seem unduly worried about the witch, though. She was quite certain that Gertrude could manage to get to dinner without the Headmaster fetching her. Now she was being petty. If it had been anyone else he was fetching for dinner, she was certain that she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. In fact, if it had been anyone else who had been with him that morning in the staff room, she wouldn’t have been nearly so bothered. She may have warmed some to Gertrude during her sojourn in Cornwall, but not sufficiently to overcome a long history of repressed jealousy for the witch. Well, it wasn’t so repressed any more, Minerva thought ruefully. Perhaps it had been better left unexamined.

Still, what did she really have to be jealous of? Minerva couldn’t change the fact that they had been acquainted for more than thirty years, after all, nor the fact that they had taught side-by-side at Hogwarts for close to twenty years. And they hadn’t been mere colleagues and friends; she had been one of the very few people who knew about the wards and had worked with Albus on them. Not only that, but Gertrude would be unusual, indeed, if she weren’t grateful, even after all these years, to Albus for rescuing her son.

---

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

---

XCVIII: Collision, continued

And Minerva had her own friendship with Albus. It wasn’t as long, of course, but she had been a child when they’d met twenty years before. In that time, they had shared a good deal. And it had been she, not Gertrude, who had saved him from that filthy hole in France. And Albus had been grateful to her, even if he had been dismissive of her attempts to comfort him when he felt responsible for Carson’s death. And according to everyone – even that cow, Valerianna – he spoke of her often. He had come to her Challenge at Beauxbatons, and she had made him proud of her, to such an extent that he had asked for that photograph and had kept it all those years.

If Albus had been slightly distant with her just now, her own behaviour that morning had been far worse. What had she expected, after having treated him like a near-stranger, and him not having a clue as to why? She probably should have accompanied him to Gertrude’s rooms. At the very least, she might have learned more about what was going on, if anything, between the two. It couldn’t be anything too . . . intimate, if he had invited her along. But then, she doubted they’d fall into a passionate embrace if they had an audience, no matter who that audience was. Especially not Gertie. But not Albus, either, she thought. He was affectionate, but he didn’t seem the type to hang off of a witch he was involved with – not like Valerianna and her barnacle. Minerva chuckled. She wondered whether Valerianna had tried to keep Albus attached to her in that way, and how he had responded. Whenever she thought about the two of them together, it seemed more absurd and unlikely. Valerianna certainly must have kept up quite an act for Albus’s benefit. And Albus had been rid of her as soon as he was aware of her true character.

On the other hand, the longer that she and Albus knew each other, the closer they became. And he might not hang off her like a barnacle – which she would detest in a wizard, anyway – but he had always spoken of her fondly to others; everyone from Robert Crouch to Valerianna Yaxley had confirmed that. And when they were out in public, he treated her with respect, always introducing her when they met people he knew, and never allowing her to be left feeling like a mere accessory. He brought her flowers he had arranged himself, despite being the Headmaster of Hogwarts and a very busy wizard; he placed a single red rose in her hair and told her she was beautiful, right there on a public street. A Muggle street, but it was still in public. And he held her closely during Side-Along Apparitions. Albus was more wonderful to her than she deserved, Minerva thought, and he couldn’t be more wonderful if he were a true suitor.

Feeling more cheerful now, Minerva reminded herself of some other things they had done together recently. Of course he may have embraced Gertrude that morning, but he had held Minerva in his arms, comforting her as they sat together on his sofa. And he had kissed her on the cheek. And he walked her down his secret stair. And it had been she, and not Gertrude, whom he had brought to his special place on the mountain, the place where he had only ever brought one other person, and that had been one hundred years ago. Minerva shoved aside the thought that arose along side that one, that she was much too young for Albus, and she continued to think of all of the wonderful things he had done for her lately. By the time that Johannes returned from the greenhouses for dinner, Minerva felt quite cheerful, indeed. Whatever was going on between Gertie and Albus, Gertie didn’t have the relationship that she had with him. What they had was very special, Minerva was sure – even their wands were connected. It was a waste of time to be jealous of Gertie. Minerva would never trade places with that witch and give up what she had with Albus. She might never have the relationship with Albus that she longed for, but what they did have was wonderful.

Despite that thought, when she entered the Great Hall with Johannes, Minerva was glad to see that Gertrude hadn’t arrived yet – although that meant that Albus hadn’t either. Hafrena MacAirt was already there, standing beside the large windows and looking out at the grounds, waiting for others to arrive, and Johannes went over and began to speak quietly with the older witch. This reminded Minerva of her speculation that they might be a bit closer than most colleagues were, but although Hafrena occasionally lifted her hand and touched his arm as they spoke, Minerva saw no gestures that would indicate that they were anything more than friends.

Minerva sat down at the large round table and waited for more people to arrive. Hagrid and Wilhelmina arrived. The witch’s collar was turned in, and she looked somewhat flushed. Minerva could only imagine what they’d been doing. The two sat down at the other side of the table, both looking more cheerful than was decent. Minerva tried to catch Wilhelmina’s eye – which was difficult, given her preoccupation with Hagrid – but she finally did and indicated with a gesture to her own neck that Wilhelmina needed to straighten her clothing. The other witch blushed, but mouthed, “Thank you,” and turned her collar out, then checked the buttons on the front of her robe.

As Flitwick and a few others came in – also flushed, but apparently from indulging in a little aperitif and not from the activities in which Hagrid and Wilhelmina had evidently been engaged – Johannes and Hafrena joined them at the table. Minerva considered getting up and changing places to move closer to the others, but there were exactly ten chairs at the table, the number of staff present for dinner that evening, so she remained where she was, and as a few more people came in, the table filled around her. The others didn’t seem to notice, they were so engrossed in conversation, but it was five minutes past six before Albus and Gertrude finally appeared in the Great Hall.

“Isn’t this lovely!” Albus said brightly as he held Gertrude’s chair for her. “So pleasant to have dinner with friends, isn’t it, my dear?”

Gertrude took the seat beside Minerva, and as Albus sat down next to her, dinner appeared on the table. Conversation flowed around her, and she answered a few remarks directed at her by Madam Perlecta, but Minerva felt awkward, sitting next to Gertrude after her thoughts about her, and her jealousy. The other witch didn’t help matters any, sitting almost silently beside her, pushing her peas about. Albus kept making inane, one-sided conversation until Johannes and Hafrena joined it. Their conversation seemed to Minerva to be equally inane. Madam Perlecta had given up trying to engage Minerva in conversation and had begun discussing modern book-binding with Flitwick, who seemed as knowledgeable about that as he had been about everything Minerva had heard him discuss.

“. . . and perhaps Minerva would also like to come. So, would you like to do that, Gertrude?” Minerva’s ears pricked at the mention of her name.

“I don’t know, Johannes,” Gertrude began.

Minerva looked over at the taciturn witch, typically dressed in grey and . . . more grey. She must leave her fashion sense in Cornwall, Minerva thought. And layering a charcoal grey robe over a steel grey one did nothing for the witch’s complexion.

“Oh, come, now, Gertrude! A quick turn about the gardens, a visit to the greenhouses . . . maybe a trip down to the paddock to see the Thestrals – ” Johannes suddenly hesitated mid-speech. “What I mean is, Wilhelmina said that they had foaled. But perhaps a visit to the Jarvey Hagrid found in the forest last week. He is quite amusing! He swears like a drunken Auror!” Minerva thought Johannes sounded unnaturally cheerful.

Gertrude smiled slightly. “Perhaps tomorrow, Johannes. Thank you, though.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Gertie,” Albus said. “And I’m sure Minerva would enjoy it as well.”

Much as Minerva might be intrigued by the prospect of seeing a Jarvey that swore like a drunken Auror, particularly as she wasn’t entirely sure how a drunken Auror swore, Minerva was in no mood for a friendly walk with Johannes and Gertrude.

“I don’t think so, Professor,” Minerva said, speaking more to Johannes than to Albus. “But thank you.”

Hafrena spoke up. “I would enjoy that, Johannes. Come, Gertie, let’s go visit Hagrid’s Jarvey and take a walk in the gardens. It’s a lovely evening.”

Gertrude seemed to waver a bit, but said, “I think I’ll make an early night of it, Haffie, but I appreciate the thought.”

“It is bad, then, this year, Gertie?” Johannes asked, so softly that Minerva almost couldn’t catch his words.

Gertrude nodded. “Shouldn’t be,” she said tersely.

“There is no ‘should be’ or ‘shouldn’t be,’ Gertie,” the gentle Herbology teacher responded. “But I do think you would enjoy the Jarvey.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes. She was getting sick of listening to this conversation, but the one that Flitwick and Perlecta were having was dense and boring, and she couldn’t hear enough of the conversations on the other side of the table to listen to them, let alone participate in them. No one was trying to convince her to go on a walk. She had declined and that had been that. An afterthought. That’s all she was to these people. Even if she was going to be the new Head of Gryffindor, she was still a newcomer and a youngster to these people.

Gertrude was just opening her mouth to respond to Birnbaum’s latest attempt, when Minerva jumped into the conversation.

“Although this year I find myself here at Hogwarts and not in London, I have no complaints about it.” Her statement sounded empty and foolish to her own ears. “Of course, those of you who have been here for a longer time than I have probably have a different perspective on things. But, um, it seems that the gardens are the same today as they will be tomorrow, more or less, and the Jarvey, too.” She realized then that she had no idea what the conversation had been about and no idea what to say. There was a subtext that she had missed, and she was only just now aware that she had missed it because she was no longer focussed solely on her petty annoyance at not being cajoled to come on the walk with Johannes and Hafrena – and Gertrude. A walk she didn’t even want to go on.

But Johannes took the opening that Minerva had unintentionally presented him. “We should see whether that statement has truth! Let us go for that walk and visit that Jarvey, the four of us, and do the same once more tomorrow.” Again, Minerva thought he sounded peculiarly loud. “It will cheer us all up after a long day!”

Gertrude shook her head again; this time, though, she stood. “I hope you will excuse me, but I have a headache – and I do not believe the fresh air would help,” she said, giving Johannes a sharp glance.

Johannes nodded. “All right, Gertrude. I will see you tomorrow. Perhaps we can have breakfast together?”

This time, Minerva thought the wizard sounded more tentative.

“I . . . that would be nice. Thank you. I will join you in the morning,” Gertrude responded. Johannes looked pleased, though his smile seemed to dim slightly when Gertrude continued. “Perhaps Minerva and Hafrena would also care to join us, and we could take that walk then?”

Minerva was completely uninterested in taking a walk with Gertrude. And she associated her morning walks with solitude or with Albus. She really didn’t want to begin sharing her morning constitutionals with everyone in the castle, let alone with Gertie.

“I don’t think so. Thank you for thinking of me, though.” Somehow, although Minerva hadn’t intended it so, her response sounded sarcastic, even to her own ears. She winced and tried to think of something pleasant to say to gloss over her accidental rudeness, but too late: Gertrude simply nodded and rapidly left the table and was out of the Great Hall before Minerva could even open her mouth again.

Albus, who had been quiet for some time, turned to Minerva and said, very softly, so that the others might not hear, “I do believe she was thinking of you when she asked for your company, Minerva. It sounded – ”

“I know how I sounded,” Minerva replied, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I didn’t intend it to come out quite that way, and I certainly didn’t mean to give her offense. But it’s not like her to be so sensitive – it’s not as though someone died, or something.”

Albus’s face was unreadable at that moment, but Hafrena, who was rising from the table, said, “There is no reason for you to know this, Minerva, but someone did die. Not recently perhaps, but this is the anniversary of her husband’s death, and it’s been an unusually difficult one for her. Now, Honnie,” the Divination teacher said, turning to Johannes, “I will go find her. I’ll bring her up to my rooms, and you can join us in a little while. The fresh air in the tower will be almost as good for her as that of the gardens, though I don’t boast a Jarvey!” The witch spoke lightly, but she did not wait for Johannes to respond before hurrying out of the Great Hall.

Unfortunately, as soon as Gertrude had made her rushed exit from the Hall, all other conversation had ceased, and Minerva found herself turning red. She was just wondering whether she should say anything, or whether it would be better to stay quiet lest she put her foot in her mouth again, when Flitwick spoke up.

“Gertrude lost her husband?” the small wizard asked.

“Yes,” Johannes answered. “It was, as Professor MacAirt stated, not recently, but some years are harder than others for her.” The German shrugged. “Who can say why.”

Flitwick nodded. “Yes, I understand that. My Dora died twenty years ago, and some days, it’s as though it were yesterday, and others . . . . And it’s true about the anniversaries, as well. I have noticed that a few years can go by relatively peacefully, I note the date, but am not unduly distressed by it, yet other years . . . it is as though I grieve anew.”

“Yes, I have experienced the same that you describe, Professor.” The Herbology teacher swallowed and seemed to be gathering himself. “My family . . . everyone . . . they all died the same day in 1941. And sometimes I feel that I never grieved them properly, they were all taken from me so suddenly, and all of them at once.” Tears rose in the wizard’s eyes. “And I feel guilty, having survived, almost by chance, and I feel guilty, thinking that I have grieved no single one of them properly because it was such a massive loss, and because I was also trying to escape the same fate that befell them. And there are so many anniversaries . . .” Johannes choked slightly. “How can I forget my little Clara’s birthday, even though she never celebrated even one birthday while she was alive? Or those birthdays of my parents, my brother, my dear wife.” His choke became a strangled sob.

Minerva sat and watched as Albus put his arm around Johannes and guided him from his seat. “Come, old friend. Let’s take a bit of a walk together, then you can join Hafrena and Gertrude, hmm?”

Johannes nodded, tears trickling down his face, his own grief reignited by the recalled grief of another, and allowed Albus to lead him from the room. Minerva’s own eyes were far from dry, and she was embarrassed by this until she observed Filius weeping openly and Madam Perlecta holding her napkin to her face, blowing her nose rather indelicately. Hagrid, who was sentimental, anyway, was crying great tears, and Wilhelmina, apparently unconcerned with what anyone might think of her behaviour, was wiping them away with her own napkin. The others around the table may not have been moved to tears, but they looked stricken, nonetheless.

“I am sorry,” Minerva whispered, to no one in particular. “I had no idea . . . that is . . . I knew that her husband was killed, but I just didn’t know. . . . I didn’t mean to cause her . . . or anyone . . . more pain.”

Minerva excused herself from the table as soon after that as she decently could. The others were barely talking, and it looked as though no one had the desire to finish their dinners. She certainly didn’t.

After leaving the Great Hall, Minerva stood outside the doors, at a loss for what to do. She felt the urge to do something, anything, to apologise to Gertrude. She had clearly misread everything from the time she came in and saw Gertrude and Albus together right through to the conversation in which Johannes had been trying to cajole Gertie into going for a walk with them that evening. It was the height of hubris for her to have taken offense when they hadn’t tried harder to urge her to take a walk she hadn’t wanted to go on anyway. When had she become so . . . self-absorbed?

And Gertrude . . . Gertrude had noticed that something was bothering her when she came to lunch that day a few weeks before, a Glamour covering her puffy face and red eyes. Gertrude had noticed and had invited her for a holiday in Cornwall. On the other hand, Gertrude had sat beside her that evening, clearly not herself, and Minerva had thought only of herself, of her own needs, of her own jealousy. She seemed constitutionally incapable of viewing Gertrude as an individual. Minerva knew this was not her normal way of dealing with others, and she vowed to try harder with Gertrude – not necessarily to try to become friends with her, but to truly try to see Gertrude as an individual apart from whatever prejudices had grown up around her jealousy of the witch. Her behaviour had been as poor as that of the old biddies who had been so “interested” in the McGonagall name, and what that meant about her origins, and Minerva was ashamed of herself.

On the other hand, as Professor MacAirt had said, there was no way that she could have known it was the anniversary of Gertrude’s husband’s death at the hands of Grindelwald – the older witch had never said precisely how her husband had died or when, but she had spoken of him proudly and lovingly. Yet if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with It and her jealousy of Gertrude and the witch’s friendship with Albus, there would now be no need for her to apologise. Minerva doubted she would have even bothered to eavesdrop on the two of them if she hadn’t felt so insecure, and perhaps she would have viewed the embrace as what it now apparently was: an offer of comfort, perhaps mutual comfort, but comfort between two old friends who had shared a long history. And had they ever shared more than friendship . . . Minerva didn’t know and decided not to speculate on it – not at that moment, anyway.

She still didn’t completely understand the end of the discussion she had overheard outside the staff room. That conversation hadn’t to do completely with Gertrude’s husband’s death, Minerva was sure. Although something that Gertrude had said about neither of them owing the other anything – that could have referred to Albus saving young Robert. Minerva wished she could remember it more clearly. If only Poppy were here . . . she had a small Healer’s Pensieve; not one of the rare, extremely expensive ones that could hold hours of memories, but the twenty minutes or so that this Pensieve held would be more than sufficient for her to be able to view the memory again. And this time, she’d see more, and not just from the biassed perspective from which she had first judged what she had seen. There were so many memories that she would like to view, now that she thought about it, although it was unlikely that Poppy would just hand over the Pensieve to her for her indefinite use. Even a small one like that was expensive and difficult to replace. And technically, it wasn’t Poppy’s, but the school’s. But perhaps, if she asked the right way, Poppy would loan it to her for a while. She would write to her and ask, Minerva decided. And since she’d never even told Poppy she was being considered for Head of Gryffindor, she would tell her that, as well. Suddenly, amidst all her other confused emotions of the day, Minerva felt a small spark of pride. Head of Gryffindor House. That was an achievement – and Albus had told her that even if they had a staff filled with Gryffindors, she would still be his first choice. Perhaps it was something to enjoy, or try to enjoy, on this otherwise dismal day.

She was still standing indecisively in the entry hall when Albus and Johannes came in through the great doors.

---

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

---

XCVIII: Collision, continued

“Ah, my dear! You finished your dinner, then,” Albus said, smiling.

“Yes – as much as I wanted, anyway.” She took a deep breath. “Professor Dumbledore, Albus, I am sorry. I had no idea. And regardless, I wish I had said something different or had said it in a different manner. I didn’t mean to insult Gertrude when she’s already having a bad day – or especially when she’s having a bad day, I should say. I didn’t even mean it the way it sounded.”

“I know that, Minerva. You would never intentionally hurt anyone, and I am sure that Gertrude knows that, as well. It was merely unfortunate. She has probably already forgotten it. Don’t worry yourself!” Albus’s tone was kind and his gaze warm, but Minerva was unassuaged.

“I feel badly, though. I was having a bad day – of the ordinary sort – and I just . . . ” Minerva shrugged. “I was not at my best,” she ended lamely.

“We all have days like that, my dear Minerva. Your bad day collided with her bad day . . . and I likely wasn’t much help, either.” He sighed. “That’s why I had wanted you to come with me to fetch her for dinner. I know that Gertrude enjoys your company; I had thought if I explained on the way up why it was that she was . . . in an unusual mood today, you could help us jolly her out of it. And perhaps more subtly than I’m afraid we did. I should have simply explained that when I invited you to come up with me.” He shook his head. “That I was distracted by a number of things is the only excuse I have. So you have my apology, my dear. Had I told you earlier today about how Gertrude was feeling, you never would have had the opportunity for accidental rudeness.”

Minerva shook her head, then looked at Johannes, who was quiet, but otherwise seemed as though he had recovered from his earlier tears. “I am sorry to have raised something that required explanation from you, as well, Professor, and that caused you distress.”

“Do not think of it, Minerva. It is fine. I have shed tears before with no lasting harm!” He smiled gently. “And Albus is right. Gertrude will forget this quickly.”

“Perhaps, but I also embarrassed myself in front of several colleagues.”

“Again, that is my fault, Minerva. I should have said something to you. When I saw you this morning, though, I thought that Gertie was going to be all right today. But I’m afraid it was a only a momentary brightening in her mood and a brief respite from her sadness. And later . . . I was distracted, as I said, and I was also finding it difficult to speak to you, to know what to say – you seemed preoccupied. No doubt with your own ‘ordinary bad day.’ But I do apologise for causing your embarrassment.”

Minerva stared at Albus a moment, trying to comprehend his apologies. It was the end of a very long day, a day which, unlike those that had recently preceded it, Minerva would not care to repeat. Ever. And yet, somehow in that moment, Albus’s repeated apologies struck her as simultaneously arrogant, amusing, and charming. Only this complicated wizard could possibly manage all three at the same time with the same words. Her love of this complicated wizard caused Minerva to be more amused and charmed than annoyed, however.

“Do you believe this?” Minerva asked Johannes with a shake of her head. “I do not know how he manages, it Johannes, but he always takes the credit for other people’s poor judgment, errors, accidents, calamities, whatever it is that happens that is bad – there is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! Ready to shoulder the responsibility! I think if there were no Albus Dumbledore, we would have no more troubles in the world! It would be all sunshine and ginger newts! Why, he’s probably responsible for all sorts of things, from the declining value of the Galleon, to the invasion of Hungary, to the abolition of the Toddlers’ Truce. Don’t even ask me what that is – some Muggle thing that Melina seems to think heralds the beginning of the end of Muggle civilization!”

Minerva took a deep breath and turned to Albus. “Albus, you are a dear wizard, very dear, indeed, but sometimes you have to let other people say they were wrong without immediately jumping in and saying that you were more wrong. It can become quite tiresome. That said, thank you, and I do accept your apology – as long as you don’t repeat it.”

By the time she had finished, Johannes was grinning ear to ear, Albus was looking bemused, and Minerva herself was feeling a good deal better. As much as she felt she was right in what she had said to Albus, and in being both annoyed and amused by him, Minerva was glad that he had explained things to her. And anyone can have a distracted day, even “the great Albus Dumbledore.” She should know that about him better than anyone.

“And another thing, this whole business about jollying Gertrude out of her mood. You may mean well, but if she’s anything like me, she doesn’t want to be jollied out of it. It can be quite annoying. Not that you want to let her wallow for days on end, or something, and you certainly don’t want to behave as though you don’t care, but have you ever thought to ask the poor witch what she would like to do? Maybe she just wants to sit alone and cry. Maybe she wants to sit with others and cry. Maybe she’d like to reminisce. Maybe she’d like to keep busy. Maybe she’d like to do all of those things. I don’t know; I don’t know her well enough to know. But it seems that because I don’t know her well, it does occur to me, rather than to her oldest friends, to actually ask her what she’d like to do.” Minerva paused. The wizards seemed unoffended by her words and were listening attentively, so she continued. “What does she usually do on this day? Is it different every year, or does she have certain . . . rituals? Not literal rituals, of course, although perhaps that as well. But I know . . . there’s a certain day of the year when I take myself into town and have a Muggle meal. And it’s always the same meal, and I never really enjoy it any more than I did the first time I ate it, but I do it anyway. This was the first year I wasn’t able to do that, and it was hard. But I was busy, and I got through it all right.”

Albus nodded slowly, comprehending what Minerva was saying. “She usually spends it with her son in Amsterdam, or occasionally at her parents, and her son and his wife visit her there. She came back early because of the additional Hogwarts business . . . I am ashamed to say that until she arrived this morning wearing the locket she so seldom wears, I had forgotten the significance of the date. She never mentioned it to me when I asked her to return to the school today. All day I have been trying to make up for my insensitivity. And I suppose I must have made it worse by being even more insensitive.”

The doors behind them opened, and the remaining staff trickled out of the Great Hall. They must have found their appetites and eaten their desserts. Or at least, they had tried to behave as if they had. The three fell silent for a few moments as the rest of the staff went off to other parts of the castle. When the last one had disappeared up the stairs after a muted, “Good night,” Johannes spoke again.

“Minerva, I am going to Haffie’s – Hafrena’s – rooms, where I hope to find her with Gertrude. Would you be pleased to come with?”

“I am sure I am the last person in the world she wants to see right now,” Minerva said.

“You may be wrong, Minerva,” Albus said. “But if you get there and feel uncomfortable, or you feel that you are making her uncomfortable, you can wish her a very warm good night and make your excuses to leave. You are the only one of us who actually thought of Gertrude’s needs, whereas we were thinking of our own need to have her feel better. Quite selfish of us, really.”

Minerva hesitated, remembering how self-absorbed she had been all day and feeling somewhat hypocritical, but still recognising the sense in what Albus had said. “All right. But Johannes, if you think it would be better if I were to leave, can you say something to me – perhaps something about . . . I don’t know . . . ”

“I will tell you, and you specifically, that rosemary is for remembrance.” He quirked a smile. “If I just happen to mention it – which I may, now that it is in my mind – ignore me!”

“All right, you turn to me and say that rosemary is for remembrance, and I will graciously take my leave.” Minerva returned his smile. “Do you mind, though, if I meet you there in a few minutes? I would like a word with Professor Dumbledore – if you don’t mind, Professor?” she asked, turning to the Headmaster.

“No, I don’t mind . . .”

Johannes bounded up the steps like a lanky puppy; Minerva wondered at what point on his way up to the seventh floor his energy would begin to flag.

“Shall we go sit on the steps a bit, Minerva?”

Minerva nodded, and the two went out the front doors and settled on the steps, Albus sitting on the low wall, as he had the previous morning, and Minerva sitting on a step just above him, bringing her to eye-level with him.

“Do you mind if I indulge in a pipe, my dear?”

“Yes, I mean, no, please do.”

Minerva watched as he prepared his pipe and lit it, using a wandless, nonverbal spell to ignite the tobacco rather than the peculiar matches her father insisted were a necessary part of the pipe-smoking experience. When Albus had puffed a few times, Minerva said, “I don’t know whether to apologise to you, to thank you, to be angry with you, or to be angry with myself. I think I will begin with the apology and the thanks, which may make anything else unnecessary. I apologise for being terse with you this morning. I had a great many things on my mind and . . .” Minerva swallowed before continuing, “and I overheard you and Gertrude together in the staff room. I overheard only enough to . . . to be unable to draw conclusions. I suppose I thought . . . no, I wasn’t thinking, not really, I suppose that I felt that there was something happening of which I was unaware and ignorant. I told myself that your business with Gertrude was not mine and that I am not involved in running the school . . . but I still felt . . .” Minerva struggled for words, not wanting to say all that she had felt. “I felt left out, I suppose, and uninformed. It was childish of me. But that is why I was late. Because I had actually been early. So I apologise.”

She took a breath, grateful that Albus did not interrupt her, as he seemed to do so often lately when she tried to explain or apologise. “And I want to thank you for explaining to me this evening what was going on, and for trying to invite me to come up with you to fetch Gertrude. I think all three of us were having a bad day, perhaps. And it wasn’t helped by the committee meeting, either.”

Albus smiled slightly. “No, I suppose it wasn’t.” He looked at Minerva and continued quietly, “I don’t know particularly what you overheard this morning, but Gertrude had once again returned to school, unselfishly, simply because I asked her to. As I mentioned already, in all that has happened lately with Robert Pretnick, and the lovely time that I have spent with you, and the myriad other things that crop up on a daily basis, I had forgotten the anniversary of Reginald’s death. I remember much more clearly young Robbie’s foolishness a few days later. And yet she is never at the school during this week in July, although she always returns before the end of the month. I should have remembered the reason for this. She is perpetually putting her own needs aside for those of others. I know that this runs contrary to your view of Slytherins, Minerva, but I know that she will also be the first to admit that she is very selective about whom she chooses to care for in this way. I have been fortunate to be one of those people, despite the fact that I am not always deserving of it.”

Albus puffed on his pipe a bit, thinking. “Gertrude is one of my oldest friends, Minerva. I may not always understand the best way to help her, but I do try, just as she helps me when she believes I need it. I have lost many friends over the years . . . some to death, some to disagreements, some just to the passage of time and changes in the world. But for as long as Gertie has been my friend, she has been loyal and steadfast, and no disagreement has ever been too profound, and no changes in the world too great, for us to overcome. And believe me when I tell you that I have not always been the easiest person to have as a friend – something that perhaps you already know, in fact,” he chuckled. “But she somehow always sees me, just me, Minerva. And still she stays loyal and steadfast, whether despite that or because of it. I try to repay that loyalty in what ways I am able, but I sometimes do believe that I receive more from her than she does from me. Gertrude would likely tell you that this is not the case . . . and perhaps she would be right. But I feel it nonetheless,” he ended quietly, “and particularly on a day such as today, when she does so much for me and I don’t even notice what she’s given up to do it until after she’s done it.”

Minerva nodded. Not the answer she had expected, and certainly both more information than she had expected and less than she had wanted. But he had not chided her for listening at doors – which would have been her first reaction had a friend come to her and said something similar – and he had been unusually forthcoming, she thought.

“I see,” she said, though she didn’t really. But perhaps because there was nothing to see . . .

“Were you going to join them in the Divination Tower, Minerva?” Albus asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Yes. I think I will.” She stood. “Thank you, Albus. And next time I’m being difficult to talk to – just tell me. I might not become any easier to talk to, but at least I will be aware of why you aren’t saying anything!” Minerva grinned. “And Albus, I rather think Gertrude is loyal to you because she sees you, not despite it – and remember what I have mentioned to you before. Allow people the dignity of their choices. I am sure that Gertrude does not act blindly. I know her at least that well, I think.”

Albus smiled and nodded. “I will try to remember that, my dear. Perhaps with you by my side, I will do better.”

Minerva smiled at his words, the nicest she had heard all day. “Good night, Albus.”

He looked up at her and smiled warmly, his eyes bright. “And a very good night to you, my dear Minerva.”

Minerva’s heart, so pulled and stretched as it had been that day, felt as though it would burst at that moment. She put a hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed his cheek lightly, then, almost overcome with affection for the sweet wizard, she kissed it again before squeezing his shoulder, turning, and running up the stairs and into the castle, the aroma of his chocolatey tobacco still wafting about her.

---

Note: There’s Minerva’s day – and it’s not yet over. Return for the next chapter, “A Pleasant Disturbance,” and find out how it ends. In the meantime, I look forward to your comments!

[Hogwarts Duo]

Merlin’s beard! This isn’t a collision! It’s more like a train wreck with so many victims; it’s not even funny any longer.

I felt so horrible for Minerva in the beginning of this chapter. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must have been to witness Albus, the man she adores, in the arms of Gertie and to hear them talking so softly to one another about something private. I actually began to feel sick for her. I commend you the way you had Minerva react in the aftermath of what she witnessed. I believe she would throw up a wall between herself and Albus, despite how painful she knew that would be for herself in the long run. I could actually feel the tension and stress between them in the staff room before the meeting.

What made Minerva’s “misunderstanding” worse was that because of her wrong conclusions, she caused Albus to doubt himself and his place in Minerva’s life. The section where he’s actually listing all the things they may never do again was heart wrenching and incredibly sad. After all that he’s done for Minerva in the last few days and the way she’s eagerly responded, I’m sure it must have cracked his heart a little to know that she could seemingly give it all up so easily (though we know better because we can see Minerva’s mind).

And lastly, there’s Gertie. I haven’t been a fan of hers from the beginning of this story nor am I about to declare my unwavering support of her now. However, I do feel somewhat sorry for her in this section. Anniversaries of death dates can be incredibly hard, regardless of how many years have passed, so I found myself empathizing with her there. I cringed when Minerva lost her battle at the table and inadvertently hurt more than one colleagues feelings but given her emotional state for the entire day, I can see that as a simple mistake, for which she was very apologetic. It doesn’t, however, change the fact that she let her emotions get the better of her and in the process she even snapped at Albus, something I’m sure neither of them ever expected.

I’m very proud of Minerva for realizing how self-absorbed she’d become and how she’d let her jealousy of Gertie take over her thoughts and emotions. Minerva needs to focus more attention on the special things Albus had done and is doing for her instead of the little things he’s doing for others. It was nice to see her step into the light on that one and then to be woman enough to attempt to apologize to her rival (or so she seems to Minerva).

All in all, this was a very emotional chapter with so many highs and lows…okay…more lows than highs…but still very much like a roller coaster ride. I’ve been angry, confused, hurt, embarrassed, sympathetic, depressed, and probably a few more things all rolled into one. You’ve done an excellent job in keeping everyone in character, no matter how difficult that must have been.

Let’s hope the next chapter is a bit lighter than this one and we can move past the “Collision” and onto something happier.

Thanks for updating!
Your GLM