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Warning: No tasteless humour in this chapter, but if you're squeamish, you may want to skip a particular description -- you'll know it when it comes up because the character will be reluctant to discuss it.
CIII: An Evening in Hogsmeade Minerva set down her wineglass and sighed, smiling. Quin was good company. He was not Albus, but no one was. The waitress had just taken their dinner order and Quin had finished telling her about the business that had brought him to Hogsmeade. He’d even dressed in robes for the day, though he wore a white suit shirt and a dark blue tie underneath them, and his perfectly starched white cuffs with their silver cufflinks showed from beneath the sleeves of his dark grey robes.
“So, you’ll not guess who I ran into this afternoon, Minerva, right here in the heart of this grand metropolis otherwise known as Hogsmeade.”
“I suppose you will have to tell me, then, Quin. You will anyway, eventually.”
Quin raised an eyebrow. “Already she’s expectin’ me t’ be straightforward! Bored o’ me so soon, Minerva?”
“No, no, just . . . I can’t guess. Madam Puddifoot,” she said, saying the first name that came to mind.
“Not she, although I did pay a call at her establishment.” He exaggerated a shudder. “T’ think me money is invested in pink, rose, and magenta, an’ then a bit more pink. But as I was sayin’, a most illustrious personage – aside from yours truly, of course – paid a visit to Hogsmeade today. And I learned something o’ great interest from her.” His cheek twitched as he tried to keep from smiling. “It seems that the Headmaster of Hogwarts has acquired a cat. A rather disreputable-looking cat with a peculiar, but, alas, unmemorable name! Would you be knowin’ anythin’ about this creature of his? Me acquaintance seemed to think it a sign o’ the Headmaster’s growing eccentricity.”
“Really?” Minerva said drily. “And would your acquaintance happen to be Philomena Yaxley?”
“One and the same! You are brilliant, Minerva! Mmm.” He took a sip of wine. “She also believes it to be one more sign that the poor wizard – her words, not mine, Minerva! – is lonely and in need o’ company. Unfortunately, she can think o’ no one who would be suitable for such a brilliant but eccentric wizard. What d’you think, Minerva? Or d’you suppose this cat o’ his is company enough for him?”
Minerva blushed. “Well, I can see that you worked out that I was the cat. Sometimes I wonder how these people become ministers!”
“Don’t like her, Minerva? Or just her thoughts on the Headmaster of Hogwarts?”
Minerva shrugged. “She’s not the worst of the lot . . . but she seems a foolish old witch to me. You should have seen her when I walked into the castle. You would think she’d never seen a cat before.”
Quin chuckled. “Well, from her description, she was practically run over by a mangy, ill-mannered beast. Though,” he said with an impish grin, “she did say the cat looked more respectable once the Headmaster had dried it off. Still rude, though! Typical cat, she said.”
Minerva couldn’t help but laugh, remembering her morning, and she described it in great detail to Quin, omitting the minister’s discussion of Valerianna. “And then Albus invited me up for tea, but I knew I had to still be quite a fright after being drenched as I had been, so I waited until we reached his suite to retransform in the loo. And I was a fright – Minister Yaxley would likely have fainted if she’d seen me – so Albus’s house-elf had to bring me some fresh robes, and she has very odd notions of what appropriate clothing is, and brought me dress robes that were utterly ridiculous in the middle of the day in the middle of Hogwarts, so I still had to go back to my rooms and change before lunch.”
“Brought you unsuitable robes, you say? Dumbledore’s house-elf?” At Minerva’s nod, Quin said, “I imagine she thought they were quite suitable . . . for somethin’ . . . or she’d not have brought them.”
Their meal arrived, interrupting their discussion for the moment.
“Thank you for meetin’ me, Minerva. I know it was a last minute invitation, but I hadn’t been sure when I’d be up here.”
“I’ll be gone tomorrow, so your timing was fortunate – though I still could have met you, I suppose, but I would have had to have Apparated. Although we’re on the Floo-Network now, as I keep forgetting. It’s not far, though.”
“Goin’ on holiday?” Quin asked between bites of steak.
“In a manner of speaking – just going to my family’s for a week or so. I will need to return before the end of the month, but I’ll probably go back again for a while.”
“Lookin’ forward to it, are you?”
“Of course. I don’t see enough of my parents, despite being closer than I was when I lived in London, and I love our place – you’d see why if you ever visited. You should. Are you going to be available this weekend?”
“Likely be.”
“Hmm. Well, if my parents haven’t anything else organised, would you like to come to lunch one of those days? I’ve been thinking of having a few people up, Gertrude in particular. You could meet my family – my niece has just got engaged to a Muggle, you would like them, I think – I plan to invite a few other friends. And if not this coming week, then sometime at the beginning of August. Nothing fancy – we aren’t the Gamps.”
Quin laughed. “Oh, I do hope not, Minerva! Not to speak ill o’ the Gamps – Aileen, me wife, there was never a finer witch than she, an’ Robert, he’s a good lad, though he is a Crouch as much as a Gamp, and I love Gertrude, as you know, but the Gamps as a clan, especially some o’ the folk they have the poor taste to marry – well, let’s just say that I am lookin’ forward t’ meetin’ the McGonagalls! So, let me know if you sort somethin’ out, an’ I’ll be there.”
The meal was one of the better ones that Minerva had had at the Three Broomsticks, the wine was excellent, and Quin filled with amusing stories, so that by the time they had finished eating and Quin asked her if she wanted any pudding, she was quite relaxed.
“Something light, I suppose. That was a good meal, Quin. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome. So . . . you never did answer me question.”
“What was that?” Minerva asked, taking a last swallow of wine.
“Is the Headmaster of Hogwarts lonely and in need o’ company, or is his . . .
cat company enough?”
“Don’t be silly, Quin.”
“I wasn’t meanin’ t’ be this time, love. You’re fond o’ your Headmaster.”
“Why do you persist in calling him that tonight, Quin?” Minerva asked, changing the subject.
“’Tis what he is . . . an’ since you won’t be lettin’ me call him ‘the great Albus Dumbledore,’ I have t’ be after showin’ me respect somehow.”
“You’re not showing respect. You’re just being annoying. On purpose.”
“Sorry, love. Now back to me question.”
“What was that?”
“Ah, now, you’ll need t’ be takin’ lessons if you want t’ play that game, Minerva.” He smiled, though, and repeated himself. “You’re fond of Albus Dumbledore, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am; that is just a foolish question. Now, what about . . . custard for dessert? And coffee.”
“You don’t drink coffee, an’ you haven’t answered me question.”
“I drink coffee occasionally, you’ve seen me. And I have answered.”
“So . . . d’you think this cat o’ his might be good company for him? Or he for her?”
Minerva made a move to stand, but Quin put a hand out and placed it on her arm.
“Custard would be grand, and coffee, too,” he said softly.
Minerva clenched her jaw, but relaxed back into her seat. When she didn’t say anything until the waitress returned for their dessert order, he apologised.
“I’m sorry, Minerva. You know what I’m askin’, and I know ’tis none o’ me business, an’ I won’t ask again, but it won’t stop me worryin’ about you.”
The waitress brought their coffee. Minerva poured cream in hers, then stirred it.
“’Tisn’t idle curiosity, love. An’ I won’t ever ask about it again, if you’d rather I didn’t. . . . Though I might mention the cat,” he added with a small grin. “’Tis a cute one, an’ clever, too. Rather fond o’ her, I am. I’d hate to have the cat angry with me.”
Minerva looked up from her coffee. “The cat’s not angry with you. Really, Quin. I just . . . don’t want to talk about it as though it was the weather.”
Quin nodded. “Then we shan’t . . . an’ you can talk about it or not, as you want.”
“If I did, this wouldn’t be the time or the place. I’ve learned recently how very easy it is to overhear all kinds of things, even when the people being overheard think they are in private. So I’d just as soon not discuss such things until we aren’t in a public place. Or in Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts.”
“Ah, very well, then. I gather you’ve had some interestin’ experiences lately . . . have any you can share?”
Minerva was about to say that she didn’t when she remembered the Jarvey. She grinned. “I do, actually, but it’s something that will have to wait until we’ve left the pub. Trust me, Quin!”
He raised his eyebrows, but said seriously, “I do trust you, completely.”
Minerva reached over and rubbed his arm briefly. “Thank you for dinner, Quin; I am sorry – ”
“’Tis I who am sorry, Minerva – I sometimes am a mite too dogged. Fine in business, but with friends . . . sometimes, ’tis better to leave things be, an’ I don’t. Feel free t’ hit me over the head with a bat if do it again.”
“I don’t carry Quidditch gear with me everywhere, Quin.”
“But you’re la grande dame de la Metamorphosis! At your wandtip, ma dame, the most innocent piece o’ cutlery could become a lead-weighted bat, or worse! You could have the very plate I now eat from rise up against me! ’Tis dangerous you are, ma dame!”
Minerva laughed. “You are particularly absurd tonight, Quin!”
“Not at all; I don’t think you have a proper appreciation for your abilities, Minerva. Well, shall we go, and you won’t be needin’ t’ keep me in suspense any longer?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” When Quin looked at her blankly, she said, “Payment for the food and service?”
“Oh, that. That’s all worked out – I own one-third o’ this modest establishment, and although I am fairly hands-off, let ’em run it as they see fit, they find it quite congenial to provide me with a meal on those rare occasions that I drop by t’ see how they are gettin’ on.”
Quin draped Minerva’s cape over her shoulders for her and she took his arm as they left the pub.
“Madam Puddifoot’s and the Three Broomsticks. Is there an establishment in Hogsmeade that you don’t have an interest in?”
“Oh, yes. The Hog’s Head. Though I did loan them money to replace their roof last year – on terms very favourable t’ them, I might add. Gringotts tends to be somewhat less than flexible with repayment terms.” Seeing the peculiar look Minerva was giving him, he said, “I don’t want t’ take everythin’ over, if that’s what you’re thinkin’ – wouldn’t be any healthier than the current situation. There are several businesses in Hogsmeade in which I have no financial interest at all.”
“No, no, that’s not what I was thinking . . . I was thinking that, well, that you must be very wealthy,” Minerva said uncomfortably; discussing another’s financial situation seemed gauche, at the very least.
Quin shrugged. “Been lucky, I s’pose.” He grinned. “’Twas one o’ the things that got Frankie goin’ after me. It’s gettin’ trickier, though. There’s all these new laws about what’s permissible and what ain’t when runnin’ a wizarding business, and they’re always changin’ the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts laws. Take, for example, your hairpins. If I bought plain old hairpins from a Muggle manufacturer, then brought ’em to me own shop an’ charmed ’em, that is permissible, provided, o’ course that there are safeguards protectin’ Muggles from the great dangers of Charmed hairpins!” he said dramatically. “Anyhow, do that, and you’re fine. Or manufacture your own hairpins an’ charm ’em. That’s fine. But manufacture hairpins and supply some to Muggles and charm some for witches, and you’re in trouble. Doesn’t matter that the charmin’ process is done in a different facility an’ there’s no minglin’ o’ goods. You’re manufacturin’ the same product for Muggles an’ wizards – or witches – and that’s a no-no. Never mind the efficiencies involved. Buyin’ the pins ready-made from Muggles is expensive, even at wholesale prices; and manufacturin’ ’em just for the wizardin’ world, there’s just not a big enough market to make it worthwhile, even if you switch over to magical manufacturin’. So now, I sell ’em to a Squib, an’ he sells ’em back t’ me. An’ that’s perfectly legal. Don’t know for how much longer. It was that or move the whole operation to Italy, but then I’d have import problems – already have enough o’ those, don’t need no more.”
“So it would make sense to invest in wizarding services, like the Broomsticks, because there’s no possibility of running afoul of the Muggle protection laws,” Minerva said thoughtfully.
“It would, but that’s not the only reason, nor the primary one, that I invest in them. As much as I carp about the state of the wizarding world and its antiquated ways and economic inefficiencies, I’m fond of it. I don’t want t’ see it collapse. That’s one reason I won’t own too much of it, either. I’m one man – can’t have too much dependent on just one man. T’ain’t healthy.” They had reached the edge of the village, and changing the subject, Quin said, “So, you were after tellin’ me somethin’ of interest that couldn’t be said in a pub.”
“Not by a respectable member of the Hogwarts staff, anyway,” Minerva said with a small chuckle. “Did you know that Gertrude’s a ‘potty girl thingy’?” At Quin’s look, Minerva laughed harder. “Our assistant groundskeeper has a new Jarvey. Some of us went and visited it this morning.” Minerva laughed again. “Oh, my, Professor Birnbaum was right – the creature can make anything sound insulting and, um, dirty.”
Quin grinned. “Gertrude went along with ye? Good for her! July is a hard month for her, the end of July, especially. So, what did the Jarvey have to say about la grande dame de la Metamorphosis?”
Minerva laughed and told Quin all about the visit to the Jarvey, including the choicest insults that she could remember.
Catching his breath from his laughter, Quin stopped and asked, “He actually said she’d ‘suckle his spigot’?”
Minerva blushed. “I told you it wasn’t polite conversation for the pub.”
“Oh, but that’s funny on other levels . . . you haven’t noticed?” Minerva looked at Quin blankly. “Your Herbology teacher has a crush on our Gertie.”
“What?! No!” Minerva was astonished. “He couldn’t . . . they’re nothing alike! And he spends so much time with Professor MacAirt.”
“Hmm. No doubt Hafrena is one o’ the few people who has any idea, then, if you haven’t noticed. But Cousin Hafrena is just a friend, somethin’ of a mother to him, I’d say. I had Gertrude ’round for lunch, oh, a while back now. Few years ago, anyway, an’ she brought him along. Didn’t even have t’ pass him the salt before I realised he’s pinin’ for her. O’ course, he may be over it by now.” Quin looked amused.
“He must be – he’s leaving at the end of this year, returning to Germany to have his own greenhouse,” Minerva answered. “Although . . .”
“Ah, you have noticed somethin’?”
“Well, he was trying very hard to cheer her up yesterday, and when he asked if she’d meet him for breakfast this morning, he seemed disappointed when she suggested a few others might come along.”
“Mm, probably come t’ terms with it, then, but still harborin’ some feelin’s.”
“Does she know?”
“Don’t know if she does or not. We ain’t never discussed it. An’ I can’t read Gertie very well that way, but I don’t think she has feelin’s for him.” Quin shook his head. “She might, but I doubt it. And I tell you only because I trust it will go no further. ’Twas just an observation I made on one occasion; might not be anything.”
“I see . . . poor Johannes.”
“Ah, he’s not so bad off. ’Tain’t more’n a crush. Could become more, if she returned it, o’course, but it’s not a grand passion. More like a shared sense o’ loss. Sympathy turned to somethin’ else.”
Minerva was still trying to comprehend that anyone could develop a crush on the dour and plain Arithmancy teacher, let alone someone as kind, soft-spoken, and good-looking as Johannes, and wondered what this meant, if anything, about Gertrude’s relationship with Albus. People certainly were odd, she thought, but Quin’s mention of sympathy reminded her of the reason for Gertrude’s bad day.
“What do you know about Gertrude’s husband’s death, Quin?”
Quin looked at Minerva, then looked away towards the Hogwarts gates. “You really do not want to end your day thinkin’ about such things, love,” he said softly.
“I do, Quin. I inadvertently said something rude to her yesterday, not knowing it was the anniversary of his death, and I’d just as soon avoid doing something similar in the future.”
Quin was quiet for a moment, scuffing his boot in the dirt path, sending some stones skittering away. “Yesterday was only the day he was . . . attacked, I believe. Today is the day he died, in the early mornin’ hours.” Quin spoke quietly. “I don’t know all of the details, but what I do know is more than I wish to. Are you sure you want me to tell you?”
Minerva nodded, a cold sensation creeping through her, but she had asked, and now she wanted the answer.
“He was targeted, which came to be Grindelwald’s usual method of operating. No indiscriminate killin’ for him. Reginald Crouch, who was a British Ministry worker in Germany, had taken to speakin’ out against him. His talk, Grindelwald’s, was gettin’ more dangerous, Crouch thought, for the wizardin’ world and for the Muggles. Kept talkin’ about exploitin’ Muggle weaknesses to take our rightful place in the world – with him at the top, no doubt, though he wasn’t sayin’ that yet. He was gatherin’ around him powerful wizards from around Europe an’ beginnin’ t’ gain control over the runnin’s o’ the various German wizardin’ states – ’twasn’t all one country like Muggle Germany was, as you know – an’ Crouch found him dangerous an’ he didn’t hesitate to say so. Grindelwald sent him a warnin’, told him t’ join him or leave the country. He did neither, nor did he stop tellin’ anyone who would listen that Grindelwald was a dangerous wizard, not a simple academic, as he tried to portray himself t’ the world.”
“Academic?” Minerva asked, puzzled. She hadn’t heard that before.
“Mm. He had what he called an ‘elite academy’ for wizards who had finished school and who were particularly talented. Supposedly to offer an alternative to the apprentice system, but it was a trainin’ ground for Dark Arts of every sort – however magic can be twisted t’ do evil, you could learn it there. Anyway, couple weeks after the warnin’, Crouch didn’t come home one evenin’. In the early hours of the mornin’, Gertie opened the front door when the intruder wards were set off. Her husband was lyin’ there, flayed alive. No flesh on his stomach, a window carved over his still beatin’ heart, skull opened up an’ brain exposed, limbs stripped o’ skin . . . and conscious. Healers couldn’t do a thing for him. Took a day to die.” Quin spoke softly, as though regretting every word as it passed his lips.
“Oh . . . oh.” They had stopped on the path, and Minerva stood stock-still, feeling ill and trying, without success, to comprehend what Quin had told her while simultaneously trying to erase the image from her mind.
“I warned you it wasn’t pretty, love.”
“No, not pretty . . . .” Remembering what Johannes had said about his family being killed, and about his baby daughter, Minerva felt sicker. “Did he always kill . . . that way?”
“Not usually, but Crouch was an example. He did have some bizarre . . . games he’d play with prisoners, though. That was later, though, after he was at open war . . . I think I preferred hearin’ about the Jarvey t’ discussin’ this, Minerva.”
“Bizarre games?”
Quin shrugged. “Liked to see folk fight. Put a wizard with no wand in a pit with a Muggle, tell ’em whoever survived could have a meal and live t’ see the next day, that sort o’ thing. He’d kill ’em both if they tried t’ be noble an’ not fight. Liked t’ poison people with slow-actin’ potions, too. If they could get the antidote, which they never could, they could live another day. But it was always an ‘obstacle course’ t’ get t’ the antidote, an’ they were usually killed by a beast or some such before they could reach it.”
“You were right; I’d rather I hadn’t heard all this, but thank you for telling me,” Minerva said softly, wondering what this meant for Albus. He had said he had been captured at the end. Obviously, he had come through it, but he hadn’t ever said how.
Quin nodded. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “this is as close to Hogwarts as I’ve been. Do I still get that tour?”
“Of course! Though I think that sometime in August would be better than tonight. Come up and spend the day. I will be able to get you into the Hufflepuff common room then, as well as the others, and we’ll have more time, too.”
“You have decided not to ask the witch who doesn’t get along with the Headmaster?”
“Dustern. And she’s professional with him. I just think it’s best not to ask any favours of her. And the new Head of Hufflepuff will be glad, I think, to give a favour to a fellow Head of House,” she said with a small smile.
“Fellow Head of House? Are you sayin’ what I think you are?”
Minerva nodded. “You are looking at the next Head of Gryffindor House. I begin in August.” She couldn’t help but grin as she shared the news.
“Well, congratulations, t’ be sure!” he said with a wide smile, shaking her hand. “I wish you had told me sooner, though – we could have eaten somewhere a little finer and celebrated properly.”
“This was lovely, Quin. And I won’t celebrate until I’m actually in the position – it’s bad luck.”
Quin laughed. “Never took you for the superstitious type, Minerva! Next thing I know, you’ll be singin’ the praises of the Art of Divination!”
Minerva laughed. “Well, not bad luck, then, but if anything happens and I’m not made Head for some reason, it will feel worse if I’ve already celebrated.”
“All right, love. But I’m pleased for you. Will you still have time for a simple Irish wizard once you have reached that exalted status, though?”
“Of course I will, Quin.” They had reached the gates and stopped there. “Thank you again for dinner. It was a lovely change. Now, when you come next, if I don’t meet you at the gates, you can ring the bell.” Minerva pointed out the rope that hung beside the gates. “It’s Charmed, and someone will come let you in. Likely Hagrid, as it’s summer. Big as a mountain, but very gentle. You’d like him, I think.”
“If he’s the one with the Jarvey, ’tis sure an’ I would,” Quin said with a grin. “But I do hope we will see each other before that.”
“I’m sure we will. If not at my parents’, then elsewhere.”
Quin took her hand, then leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You are a marvel, Minerva.” He looked at her fondly. “A marvel, you are, and if your wizard doesn’t appreciate you, he’s a fool, because he could be the luckiest son of a Crup in the wizarding world.” He held up a hand, forestalling her protests. “’Tis a discussion for another time and place, I know. Have a good time at home, Minerva, and thank you for joinin’ me this evenin’.”
“Good night, Quin.”
Quin watched her step through the gates and close them behind her. As she walked up the drive to the castle, Minerva heard a loud crack and knew that Quin had Disapparated. She looked up towards the castle and smiled when she saw the lights in the Headmaster’s tower. Quin had wished her a good time at home, but as long as Albus was at Hogwarts, this was her true home. Minerva quickened her pace.
)
I wish Minerva had been able to dine with Albus in his rooms before going to her parents house for a holiday. That would have been so sweet and cozy. Now, we have Albus taking a step or two backwards since he now thinks that Quin might possibly have his eyes on Minerva. Just when they’re making some great progress, someone shows up, whether it’s Gertie or Quin and knocks them back a few paces. 
Too bad Albus didn’t feel he could go along with Minerva to meet Quin for dinner. That might have been interesting and perhaps Quin would have had the good graces to leave them alone as he did at the ice cream shop a few chapters back. ;D
