Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[MMADfan]

CXVIII: Head of Gryffindor

Minerva could tell that Gertrude was trying to give the appearance of energy as they walked back to her new rooms, but on the climb up the stairs from the second floor to the seventh, she seemed to get winded. Minerva stopped on the landing at the fifth floor.

“I’m not sure I’m used to these stairs, yet,” Minerva said. “I’d like to catch my breath a bit.”

Gertrude quirked a brief smile and said, “You mean you’re stopping for the old lady.”

“You’re hardly old, Gertrude,” Minerva replied. The witch was somewhere in her early sixties, Minerva believed. “But I have noticed you are somewhat tired today. And it is true that I am not yet used to climbing all the way to the seventh floor to my rooms yet.”

Gertrude’s cheek twitched in a semblance of a smile, and she began to climb the stairs again. Minerva didn’t say anything and tried not to watch the Arithmancy teacher. When they reached Minerva’s rooms, she almost hesitated to give her password in her normal tone, but Gertrude had done so at her rooms when she had been present, so Minerva uttered her new password, “protinus,” normally and the portrait clicked her door open.

“Have a seat, Gertrude. Would you like anything to drink? Tea?” Minerva asked.

“No, thank you, Minerva. My, this is a nice room.” She sat on the sofa and ran her hand over the fabric. “I like your Scottish theme – but he didn’t overdo it,” Gertrude said with a grin.

Minerva sat in the armchair next to her guest. “No, he didn’t. I was a little worried he might make everything tartan – and not matching tartans, either – so I was pleased.”

“So, do I get the grand tour?” Gertrude asked brightly.

“Of course – but if you’d like to rest a moment first – ”

“It’s only a few rooms, Minerva. I’m hardly likely to fall over in exhaustion,” Gertrude responded with a short laugh.

Minerva bit back her concern. It really wasn’t any of her business why Gertie was so tired, and if she wasn’t going to say anything, it would be impolite to press her about it, so she simply stood.

“Well, as you can see, this is my sitting room. I have a rather nice view of the grounds from here, and an even better one from my study, which is through here.” Minerva led her guest into the other room.

“No variation on red and gold?” Gertrude asked.

Minerva shrugged. “There’s some in the chair coverings, but I’m actually glad he chose these colours. I think that red could be distracting in the study. This is more restful, I think, more conducive to working.”

Gertrude nodded. “Which of your fireplaces is on the internal Floo-Network,” she asked, “this one or the one in the sitting room?”

Minerva stopped, mouth open for a moment. “You know, I am not sure. I don’t know if either of them is.”

“You’re a Head of House. One of them must be. You should be able to Floo to your office, the Hospital Wing, and to the Headmaster’s office, at the very least. It was the fireplace in the sitting room when Wilhelmina was here, but I don’t know whether Albus might not have changed that when he moved everything else around.”

The older witch looked around the study. “No pot of Floo-Powder here.”

They went back out to the sitting room. “None here, either,” Minerva said.

“Call your house-elf. Get some Floo-Powder. We’ll try them out,” Gertrude suggested.

“But . . . it may not be connected to my new office. Albus never mentioned the Floo-Network. Perhaps he forgot about it. It might still be connected to Wilhelmina’s office.”

“Worse that can happen is that we’ll bounce back here if that’s the case, or possibly land in the Headmaster’s office. Of course, then we’d have to walk all the way back here, either way,” Gertrude said. “And I doubt he forgot to connect it up. He probably just forgot to mention it to you. Where did your old Floo lead?”

“Nowhere, as far as I know. I didn’t think it was connected.” Minerva thought of all the months of trekking up and down all those flights of stairs. “I could have been on the Floo-Network?”

“You probably were – at least to your office. Of course, your office was quite close to your rooms, so it’s possible he didn’t connect you up to it. It should be quite convenient for you now, though, with your office and classroom down on the first floor and your rooms all the way up here.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t have got me to breakfast any faster, or lunch and dinner.”

Gertrude shrugged. “I’ve never done it, but I know that some folk have their Floos connected to the antechamber off the Great Hall to save them the walk. Slughorn does. Don’t have to be a Head of House for that, though. You should have said something.” Gertrude shook her head. “Albus, Albus, Albus! We may love him, but sometimes he is rather . . . oblivious. Very thoughtful most of the time, and then other times . . .” Gertrude shrugged again.

Minerva smiled. Somehow, Gertrude’s casual words about loving Albus warmed her heart. Just a few weeks ago, they would have triggered a fit of jealousy. But Gertrude recognised that Minerva loved Albus and, although Gertrude couldn’t know the extent of her feelings for her former teacher, the older witch seemed very matter-of-fact about it.

“I know – it took him until last month to explain to me why I was given that old classroom and not the one in which he taught. He had no clue that I might have . . . expected that one and been disappointed by the one I was given. And yet his reasons for doing it were actually quite considerate.” Minerva looked around. “There’s no hurry in sorting out the Floo-Network. I can ask him about it tonight. Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour?”

Gertrude agreed to that, and the two witches stuck their heads into the tiny kitchen, then Minerva brought her to see the bedroom. She was glad she hadn’t taken out her “shrine” yet. Perhaps she should wait until she was sure that everyone who wanted to see her new rooms had done so before she put her little photograph of Albus back on her bedside table. That might seem . . . like obsessive hero-worship to any other staff members who saw it. Just as Dustern had implied earlier.

Gertrude duly admired Minerva’s bedroom, looking out each of the windows. “You do have a very nice view from up here, Minerva. Mine isn’t bad, of course, but as I’m only on the second floor, and you are practically in the Tower, you have more of a vista. I like the furniture and the draperies, too. Much better than the moth-eaten, Doxie-ridden stuff that was in here before.”

“Doxies?” Minerva asked, slightly alarmed.

“Not literally, Minerva – although knowing Wilhelmina, she would likely have given them to Hagrid to keep as pets rather than pests!” she answered with a smile. “Ah, you have a copy of the photograph from your Challenge. Albus has one, too, you know. Keeps it in his study with the others.”

“Albus gave this one to me,” Minerva said. “He made me a copy of his.” He kept it in his study and Gertrude had seen it there? He had sounded as though he weren’t quite sure where to find it when he had promised her a copy of it.

“That’s good. I wouldn’t have thought he’d give away his only copy of it. He should give you the one of the school Quidditch match, too. I always thought that was a rather nice one, and you might like having it.”

“Quidditch match?” She had never played Quidditch in school.

“Mmm . . . young Carson Murphy is in it, of course, zooming through the photo, but you are there, cheering your friend on, front and centre. Quite a nice picture of you, in fact. And of Mr Murphy, of course. Then there’s the one from . . . I don’t know what, exactly. A party or a ball. You’re standing with young Alastor and some other wizards whom I didn’t recognise. Must have been taken sometime shortly after the war, I would think. Alastor’s leg was already gone, but I know that Albus has had the picture for some years, so it isn’t recent.”

“Oh. Well, it was good of him to make me a copy of this one. I had wanted a picture of him, you see,” Minerva said, regretting her words immediately. But Gertrude didn’t seem to think anything odd about them.

“I see. He’s not in the other photographs. No doubt that’s why he chose this one of you both together. It’s a very good one of you, Minerva. You look so exhilarated and happy, and the photograph seems to project that.”

Minerva didn’t know what to say in response to that comment, so she just led Gertrude to her bathroom, expecting Gertrude just to poke her head in, remark on how nice it was, and then leave it at that. Instead, Gertrude walked in and looked approvingly at the shower and the bathtub, then looked over the tiles.

“So these are the tiles. Your rooms were ready last summer, after the warding, and for the next . . . two or three months, it must have been, Albus was finding pictures and Transfiguring tiles. I don’t think it would have taken him so long normally, but he was so busy at the time, trying to teach and run the school simultaneously, as well as keep up with his other obligations, that he could only do a few at a time. I think he really enjoyed it. It was nice to see him doing something that was fun for him,” Gertrude said, looking over at Minerva.

They went back out to the sitting room and Gertrude sank gratefully into the sofa. “You know, if it’s no trouble, I would appreciate that cup of tea now.”

“Of course! Blampa!” Minerva called. When the house-elf appeared, Minerva said, “Tea for our guest, Blampa. And a pot of Floo-Powder.” She didn’t know when she’d use it, but at least she would be prepared.

“Yes, ma’am, Professor Minerva!” Blampa cast a side-long look at Gertrude, then added boldly, “I, Blampa, brings you and Professor Gamp nice pot of tea!”

After the elf disappeared, Gertrude chuckled. “Subverting the Hogwarts house-elves, are we, Minerva?”

“Just one. Fortunately, she has decided that Wilspy is the model of a good house-elf and I think that has helped. When I first started here, her cringing and whinging were enough to drive me mad.”

Gertrude stifled a yawn, and Minerva thought that she looked just as pale as she had earlier in the afternoon.

“Are you all right, Gertrude? I really don’t mean to fuss, but you don’t seem yourself today.”

“Just overdoing it, Minerva. And I was up very late working in the Headmaster’s office, trying to make up for the fact that I had abandoned him the day before. But I saw that you had been helping him, and I was pleased with that.”

A pot of Floo-Powder appeared on the mantle, and the tea arrived, complete with a plate of ginger newts. Minerva poured for them.

Gertrude sipped her hot tea and sighed. “I am out of shape, Minerva. Completely. Not at all fit. And at my age, it’s an embarrassment.”

“You? I wouldn’t have said that. You always seem to be quite energetic, and during that walk we took out to the hill fort, you seemed quite . . . fit, then. That’s why I must admit I am concerned. You don’t seem yourself. I worried that someone in your family was ill, or that you yourself were.”

Gertie smiled slightly. “I don’t mean physically unfit. I mean magically. Doing Arithmancy, even advanced Arithmancy, only requires a constant low level of magical concentration, and often not even that. I use a few spells here and there, of course, Summon my bath towels or banish my breakfast dishes, but I lack daily magical exercise of any meaningful sort. I am afraid that I have overdone it these past few days – foolish pride, I suppose – and I’m somewhat depleted.”

“Oh . . . I see.” Her mother, saying that Merwyn thought he could go weeks on end without lifting his wand and then perform series of archaic spells for hours at a time without depleting himself, and that was just foolishness, had given Minerva’s grumbling father a set of magical exercises to do every day. Minerva’s own work and, indeed, her nature, called for her to perform quite a bit of magic on a daily basis. Minerva asked curiously, “So . . . you’ve been doing more magic than usual?”

Gertie gave a barked laugh. “That is an understatement, Minerva. The Apparitions alone . . . and then not getting enough sleep last night. Then the warding is always taxing – I was relieved I didn’t have to cast a Petrificus on Dustern. Casting the Silencio was embarrassingly taxing.”

“You did it quite well, though.” Minerva hadn’t noticed anything other than the swiftness and efficacy of the spell; Gertie’s fatigue had become evident a few minutes later, though.

“Oh, I’m not . . . untalented, I suppose one could say. Nor lacking innate power. I have just become a rather staid old Hogwarts teacher who doesn’t use her magic enough.”

Minerva fought a blush. Had Gertrude overheard her conversation with Malcolm? Surely if she had, Gertrude would recognise that she had just been joking, teasing her brother.

“I don’t think of you as a staid old teacher,” Minerva said quickly. “Far from it. I may . . . I may not have understood you well, not that I claim to now, of course, but I never thought you were staid. Although . . . you do dress more plainly than I think you could.”

“Mmm. We already have Slytherins with style in the castle. Ones who pull it off better than I do, for that matter. It is nice to give the students a different image of what a Slytherin might be, don’t you think? Besides, when I first began teaching, it wasn’t long after Reginald died. It didn’t feel as though it had been long, anyway. I was not particularly concerned with what I looked like. It became a habit. And now I’m too old to be worried about such things.”

Minerva actually laughed at that. “I am sorry, Gertrude, I shouldn’t laugh, but you are so much younger than my parents, and I don’t yet see them as old.”

“Mmm. I don’t usually think of myself that way, either. But today, I feel older than Albus. Well,” Gertrude said with a smile, “given that wizard’s energy and approach to life, I usually feel older than Albus!”

Minerva returned her smile. “I wish you would tell him that. I am becoming rather weary of hearing him describe himself as an old codger. I don’t know when it started, but lately, every time he turns around, he’s saying something of that sort. He never used to. My protests must be beginning to sound disingenuous, I’ve repeated myself so often. Perhaps if he heard it from someone else . . .”

“I think Albus has just been going through a difficult time – not as difficult as some in his life, of course; I don’t mean to imply that at all – and he’s been working too hard. But there have been quite a few changes for him to deal with, and that might account for some of it.”

Minerva nodded. Of course. Becoming Headmaster, then continuing to teach for a year before she joined the faculty, and now all of the changes to the staff, one of them because the Defence teacher had been bitten by a werewolf . . . and he still sat on the Wizengamot and consulted for the Ministry on international issues. Albus was tired, over-taxed, and that no doubt made him feel older. Not to mention that he really hadn’t had a holiday yet that summer. He hadn’t even been able to come to lunch at the house, he was so overworked. It was good that he had taken the time to come to dinner the night before. And he had been so surprised that she had known it was his birthday. She remembered the tears in his eyes when he saw the cake and its candles.

“I had him to dinner last night. An early dinner, because I knew he had to be up early for the warding, and he seemed tired then.”

“Very nice, Minerva,” Gertrude said with an approving nod. “And I know that he enjoyed himself. He said something this morning to that effect, though he didn’t have an opportunity to elaborate. Did you know . . . that it was his birthday yesterday?”

“Yes, in fact – quite surprised him,” Minerva said, pleased.

“He doesn’t usually celebrate, though sometimes if I am here, I try to do a little something, though he always protests. Or he meets his brother for dinner. I thought he might do that this year, in fact. I’m glad he was with you, though. I am sure he enjoyed himself much more.”

“Oh. You do celebrate his birthday with him, then?” Minerva didn’t know how she felt about that. Albus had said it was the nicest birthday he’d had in a long time, and he behaved almost as though he’d never seen a birthday cake before.

“I wouldn’t say that. If he doesn’t go to his brother’s, though, he has dinner in the staff room with us and I try to make sure they serve trifle or some other dessert he enjoys. I have had him around to tea a few times, too, but nothing fancy. I do give him a little present, of course. Usually something like handkerchiefs or such. I did give him a Charmed beard comb once. Didn’t occur to me that he probably just uses his wand. He claims to use it. I’m afraid I rather lack imagination in that area. I thought I’d give him his present last night, but he never got in. Well, obviously he did, but he came by his backstair, apparently, and so I didn’t see him. Left it on his desk. It was still there when we left this afternoon.”

“He’s been very busy – ” Minerva said, feeling much better now that she knew that Albus had not exaggerated and her celebration really had been special to him.

“Oh, I know that. And it isn’t much, anyway. But he always claims no one ever gives him socks, so as a sort of joke this year, I gave him six pair in six different colours. I was just looking forward to his reaction.” Gertrude grinned. “I hope he doesn’t plan on making them mix-and-match!”

Minerva chuckled. “He might, you never know.”

“So . . . I suppose I should go. You had wanted to look at the Gryffindor book before your installation. I will be there, ready to congratulate the most recent Head of Gryffindor. But if I am going to congratulate you without falling over – which would be highly embarrassing – I think I should go take a nap.” Gertrude rose. “Thank you for your hospitality, Minerva. I wish you many years of happiness in these rooms.”

Minerva blushed. “Thank you, Gertrude. I will see you this evening, then.”

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXVIII: Head of Gryffindor

After Minerva had let Gertrude out of her rooms, she went into her study and began to compose a letter to Quin to invite him up to see Hogwarts the next day. Now that Dustern was gone, she could likely let him in to see the Hufflepuff common room, even though James wasn’t installed yet. She would have to ask Albus about it.

Just as she was finishing her letter to Quin, a small owl came flittering against her window. With a wave of her wand, she admitted it. Fortunately, it wasn’t Bootsie – Minerva loved receiving letters from her niece, but she could do without being snapped at or clawed.

Minerva opened the small parchment.

“2 August 1957

“Dear Minerva,

“Thank you very much for the lovely birthday dinner last night. I enjoyed myself very much, and having a birthday cake was a real treat.

“I would be remiss if I neglected to thank you once more for the most beautiful robes. I think that the last time I was that amazed and thrilled with a birthday present was when I was eight and my father gave me my first broom. I do think I was more surprised by your gift, however, and certainly more touched. I look forward to wearing them and thinking of you!

“I thank you most, however, for your delightful company. It was a wonderful way to spend a relaxing evening before the rigours of the warding today.

“With my very warmest regards,
“Yours,

“Albus”

Minerva smiled. Albus wrote such sweet notes. It certainly hadn’t been necessary for him to write her a thank-you note, particularly as they were living in the same castle and he had expressed his appreciation the night before, but she was very glad that he had. They had had scarcely a moment to exchange two words that day. It was reassuring. Although he was always, as Melina said, gallant. Nonetheless, it was clear that he truly did care for her. The time he had spent on her rooms, both her current ones and her former ones, was testimony to that. And he certainly was . . . very fond of her. Minerva tried not to sigh as she thought of that phrase. It was good that he was so very fond of her. He had kissed her cheek when he left the evening before. He had kissed her cheek a few times. He certainly didn’t go about doing that with every staff member. Though, perhaps, with Gertrude . . .

Minerva felt a pang as she thought of Albus’s relationship with Gertrude. It wasn’t the same as the jealousy she had felt before, and she certainly no longer envied Gertrude. But there was still something there . . . a wistfulness. Minerva didn’t even think it had to do with Gertie as much as it had to do with her own relationship with Albus. He was fond of her. She wanted more than that. But she had always known she would never have it . . . nothing had changed, really, except for the better. They were closer friends. Yet even that thought brought a lump to her throat and a sting to her eyes, and she put down the letter from Albus, picked up the one to Quin, put it in her pocket, and turned to begin to read the Gryffindor book.

At six, Minerva went down to the staff room to join the others for a light dinner. Albus wasn’t there yet, but their meal had appeared on the table already, so Minerva assumed that either he wasn’t coming to dinner or he had informed the elves that he would be late and to serve the meal anyway. About fifteen minutes after they had started their meal and were almost ready for their dessert, Albus hustled into the room, still in black robes, but with a plain black tunic over all, rather than the Headmaster’s robe.

“I hope that you have enjoyed your dinner. I am sorry I am late, but there was something requiring my attention in London.”

Albus’s plate filled itself, and he began to eat in a way that indicated he wanted to have his dessert as soon as possible. Minerva wanted to tell him to slow down or he’d ruin his digestion, but that would be highly inappropriate, she recognised. Instead, she thought that if she asked him a question, he would have to pause to answer it.

“Business in London, Albus?” she asked. “Anything concerning the school?”

“No, no, my dear. Simply a little Wizengamot problem. One of the wizards having his case heard today protested because I was not present, despite the attendance of a legally sufficient number for a sitting of the Wizengamot. In an attempt to provide the wizard with a sense of justice being done, they informed him that they would hear his case last to give me an opportunity to attend, although they would hear it whether I was there or not. They did, however, owl me and convey his request. Since the few minor tasks I had remaining for the warding can be performed later today, or even tomorrow, I popped down there to sit and hear his case.”

“Did your presence make a difference?” Johannes asked curiously.

Albus shrugged. “It is hard to say. Perhaps his fine might have been different had I not been there, but I think the greatest difference was in his willingness to accept the verdict of the Wizengamot. He was appealing the ruling of his regional gamot, you see, and we did determine that their punishment was too severe – likely prejudiced by local personal bias against him – but his infraction was clear, and he did not even dispute the accuracy of the facts against him. I believe he felt . . . vindicated in some way.”

Dessert arrived, and Albus banished his own dinner to start on his pudding. Minerva sighed. She probably just should have let him inhale his meal, if that’s what he wanted to do; at least he would have eaten more healthy food. Conversation had been somewhat muted over dinner – it seemed that everyone was tired after the warding – and the meal was quickly over. Unable to find a plausible excuse to stop and speak with Albus and interrupt his conversation with Johannes about some trouble that Johannes needed Albus’s assistance with – something to do with the portrait network in Ravenclaw Tower – Minerva left the staff room and made the long walk up to her new quarters. She would have to remember to ask Albus about the Floo-Network. She liked staying in shape, and climbing the seven flights of stairs from the ground floor to her rooms would be a good way to do that, but it was time-consuming.

She entered her new quarters, the Knight bowing to her clankily as he opened the door to her, and walked around her suite, first going into the study, then back to the sitting room, then to her bedroom, then back to the study, where she began to pace. She was getting nervous about the installation. What if Hogwarts and Gryffindor refused her? Minerva hadn’t heard of such a thing happening in many centuries, but it was possible. In the thirteen hundreds, the selected Head of Hufflepuff had not been accepted by the Hufflepuff rolls and Hogwarts rejected her. Fortunately, there were several other Hufflepuffs on staff then – the staff was twice the size then than it was today – and they were able to easily find a replacement that was acceptable to the House. However, the witch was shunned, particularly by her fellow Hufflepuffs – not formally, of course, but people had been shocked and wondered what was wrong with her that she had not been accepted by her House rolls – and she quit a few months later, disappeared, and was reported to have died in disgrace not long afterwards.

What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she wasn’t Gryffindor enough? Seven o’clock. Only an hour . . . it felt as though it would be a century. She looked down at her robes. Perfectly nice – her pale blue robes – but perhaps she should wear something different for the installation. Show respect for it. Dress robes would be inappropriate, of course . . .

Minerva went into the bathroom and undressed, making the spontaneous decision to take a shower before she changed. It really was a lovely shower, and she experimented with the jets of water that came from the walls. She would play with them more some other time; she stepped from the shower and Summoned her towels. As she rubbed a towel over her, Minerva glanced over at the bathtub and its tiles. She didn’t even need to step closer to see the ones of her and Albus, and a sudden sense of resolution and confidence entered her. Of course she was a Gryffindor! She had done that in France, after all, terrified though she had been, Dark Wizards on her heels, but ready to remain behind so that Albus could Portkey away to safety. And there were other times, she thought, when she had displayed some Gryffindor nerve. And, occasionally, even a little Gryffindor recklessness, as when she had bolted from Gryffindor Tower to find Dumbledore during the extraordinary curfew. There was no reason for Gryffindor not to accept her.

Minerva chose her robes with the tartan bodice and skirt, with the grey collar, sleeves, and wide band of grey at the bottom of the skirt. The tartan itself had two shades of green in it, a narrow grass-green line and a more dominant forest green, and her mother had told her that it brought out the colour of her eyes. She put her hair up in a French twist rather than a tight bun, then wondered whether she should put a teaching robe on over everything. Just as she was trying to decide about that, she heard the familiar clanking and barking coming from the sitting room.

Minerva looked up at the Silent Knight, but he didn’t announce who her visitor was, so she just sighed and waved the door open with her wand. Gertrude, Wilhelmina, and Johannes stood outside.

“We have come to escort you, if we may,” Johannes said with a warm smile.

“Oh, of course! I’m glad you’re here, actually. Should I wear my teaching robes?” She noticed that the others were dressed smartly, but none of them was wearing a teaching robe over their normal attire – although Johannes was wearing deep azure robes in preference to the trousers he usually wore when working in the gardens or the greenhouses, and Gertrude’s grey robes were a pretty silvery colour rather than the dull shades she generally wore during the school year.

“No, no need for that,” Wilhelmina answered. “You look fine. Now get your book and come along!”

“A hat?”

“No – it’s ceremonial, but not formal. You are fine as you are, Minerva,” Gertrude said reassuringly.

Minerva went into the study and grabbed the Gryffindor book and rejoined the others. Johannes offered his arm, and smiling, she took it.

“Thank you all for coming to get me – I was becoming a wee bit nervous, I must confess.”

“Everyone does, Minerva. I was shaking in my boots, I must tell you. I was not even a real Ravenclaw, I feared. But once the Ravenclaw rolls accepted me, I felt every inch a member of that House,” Johannes said. “And you are already a wonderful example of Gryffindor, so you should have no fear.” He patted her hand.

“Is Professor Slughorn coming?” Minerva asked curiously. He had been at dinner; he must still be in the castle.

“We presume so,” Gertrude said.

In their friendly company, Minerva found herself in the Headmaster’s office in no time at all. Albus was present and once again wearing his Headmaster’s robe. She saw that he must have conjured a few more chairs.

“Welcome!” Albus said. “Please, take your seats. Professor McGonagall, if you would sit here,” he said, indicating a chair set slightly apart from the others, “we can begin as soon as Professor Slughorn arrives.”

That wizard did arrive just a moment later, large smile plastered on his face. Minerva thought, from the slight bloom to his cheeks and the glaze to his eyes, that he had been indulging in a glass of something after dinner. Or a few glasses of something.

Albus accepted the Gryffindor book from Minerva, and it unlatched at a touch of his index finger. He opened it to the page that listed all of the Heads of Gryffindor House. Most of the names were written in grey, but Albus’s name was in bright blue and Wilhelmina’s was in scarlet.

Albus turned to the current Head of Gryffindor and, smiling, asked her whether she was relinquishing the care and safe-keeping of her House, and if she was doing so willingly and not under any duress.

Wilhelmina affirmed both statements, then she touched the tip of her wand to her name and said, “I pass the care and safe-keeping of the House of Gryffindor to another. May all Heads of House be worthy, brave, and steadfast.”

Her name shimmered a moment, then it reappeared in the same bright blue as Albus’s. Albus lay the book to one side on the low table. Gertrude came forward with the Sorting Hat and placed it on her head.

“I remember you,” Minerva heard the Hat say. “Spirited but oh-so serious. You could have been a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but your care for knowledge and your joy in learning was eclipsed by your desire to use your knowledge for others and to put learning aside in preference for acting in the interest of those who relied upon you. Loyalty you had in great measure, and not blindly, either, but the fierceness of that loyalty was brash and bold. Your audacious heart drove your loyalty and your quest for knowledge, and that was your principle mark. And now I see you again . . . and still you are loyal and clever, but you are a Gryffindor true, and you live to put aside your fears and your needs in order to do what you believe right and in the service of those whom you love. And leadership you have, as well, in good measure. The Founder of your House would be pleased to see his children in your care.”

Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. When the Hat had begun to go on about Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, she worried again that she would not be found a worthy Gryffindor.

“Still and always a Gryffindor,” the Sorting Hat announced loudly to the assembled company.

Albus picked up the book and held it out, open, to her. He smiled gently and said softly, “Now, my dear.”

Minerva took a breath and, holding it, she reached out with her wand and touched it to the book just below Wilhelmina’s name. Her heart pounded in her chest when, at first, nothing seemed to happen, but then, with a suddenness that startled her, her name, “Minerva Morag McGonagall,” appeared in deep scarlet on the page.

As her name registered on the Gryffindor roll of Heads of the House, the Sorting Hat announced, “Gryffindor has a new Head of House!”

Minerva flushed with pleasure, and Albus took the book from her, smiling. The others clapped, and she heard Slughorn say something about “good job,” and Johannes saying, “herzlichen Glückwunsch!”

Gertrude lifted the Hat from her head and said, “Congratulations, Professor McGonagall! Your House will thrive under your care.”

Wilhelmina shook her hand and congratulated her, adding, “If there is any way that I can help you while I am here – or even after I leave – please let me know.”

Albus waved his wand and a small grey jug and seven glasses appeared. He poured them each a small amount of golden liquid. It looked like sherry, but she could see that it was something different.

After she had been given a toast, offered by Slughorn, of all people, Minerva took a sip. It was wonderful. Warming, only slightly sweet on the tip of the tongue, a complex bouquet of spice and flowers, and a smooth, dry finish.

“What is this?” she asked. She had never tasted anything quite like it.

“It is centaur mead. Its making is a secret, but they use various ingredients from the forest and, of course, honey,” Albus said with a smile. “It is somewhat rare – ”

“‘Somewhat rare!’” Slughorn exclaimed. “It is more than that. It would be no exaggeration to say that a wizard being able to lay his hands on a bottle of this is absolutely unique. Rare!”

“How did you come by it?” Minerva asked curiously.

Albus shrugged. “I did someone a favour several years ago – a centaur – he did not wish to owe me a favour in return, so he gave me this in repayment.”

“I’ve offered him a few hundred Galleons for it, and still would, even half-gone, but he won’t part with it,” Slughorn grumbled.

“It is worth far more than that, Horace, as you know,” Gertrude said, “and even if you offered what it might fetch on the open market, you know the Headmaster still wouldn’t part with it. Your grumbling about it every time he generously chooses to share it is most unseemly and detracts from our enjoyment.”

Slughorn mumbled a semblance of an apology.

“Thank you, Albus,” Minerva said. “This really is marvellous.”

“You are very welcome. A special occasion such as this deserves something special to mark it,” he answered.

“I was so nervous. I was worried that I would be rejected.”

Albus chuckled. “I understand being nervous, but there wasn’t the slightest chance you would be rejected, my dear Professor. I had complete faith in you.”

They finished sipping their centaur-made mead, and Slughorn stood, seeing there wasn’t another glass to be coming, and he congratulated Minerva warmly, telling her that he’d be happy to “show her the ropes” if she wanted – whatever that meant, and then excused himself, saying that he thought he would have an early night as he was returning to his family home in the morning.

Wilhemina took Minerva’s arm and said, “Come on, Minerva. Hagrid wants to see you. He would like to offer you his congratulations.”

“Yes, he even baked his rock cakes today,” Johannes said mirthfully. “Such a treat!”

“Lovely!” Minerva said with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, Minerva, Brutus still seems to have an appetite for them,” Wilhelmina said, smiling.

“I thought you wanted to extend his life a few months?” Gertrude joked. “Let’s go down and present Hagrid with his new Head of House, shall we?”

Johannes opened the door to the spiral staircase, and Minerva turned to Albus. “Are you coming, Professor Dumbledore?”

“No, no, my dear. I have a few things here that I need to take care of still. I hope you enjoy yourself, though!”

Minerva nodded, trying not to let her disappointment show on her face, though she didn’t know how well she succeeded.

“All right, good night, then,” she said.

Gertrude lay a hand on her back. “Come, let’s go save Brutus from Hagrid’s rock cakes, shall we, Minerva?”

Minerva smiled. “Of course.”

---

Next: “Touring Hogwarts” You-know-who – one of our favourite Irish wizards – comes for a visit! ;D

[Hogwarts Duo]

ALBUS AND MINERVA:

“Albus, Albus, Albus! We may love him, but sometimes he is rather . . . oblivious…

Truer words have never been spoken and I think they speak for all of us reading RaM. We all dearly love our RaM Albus but both he and Minerva can be a bit more than oblivious sometimes. Still, we gotta love ‘em!!! Maybe one day they’ll get their acts together and actually be on the same page…gasp.


GERTIE’S ADMISSION OF PHOTOS: Well, the cat is out of the proverbial bag now and I am loving it. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fan of Gertie Gamp, but I do appreciate her gestures in this chapter. The way she casually let it slip that Albus has more a photo collection of Minerva was very nice indeed. I’m sure it will give Minerva more to think on when she really stops to think of what it is she was told. Not only does Minerva have a shrine to Albus, but he has a collection of photos of her…awww. That’s so sweet and romantic, in its own way.

ALBUS' LETTER: Albus writes the sweetest letters to Minerva when he lets his guard down and tries to express his true gratitude for the times they spend together. I wish he’d do more of that and less worrying about his age and how Minerva could never love him, etc. Still, I am very glad Minerva is keeping all his letters in her box and that one day they might be able to read through them together. How sweet!

SORTING HAT: I do believe our dear Sorting Hat has Minerva’s temperament and zest for life pegged perfectly. I have always loved reading various takes on Minerva’s sorting, as well as some other HP characters, and you certainly didn’t disappoint me with this one. I think it was perfect, though not exactly a sorting, as an affirmation of her House.

As always, you’ve done a phenomenal job of describing everything in detail and drawing me into the RaM universe. It’s such a lovely place to visit…frequently…and I look forward to each and every update. The amount of detail and backstory that you’ve created is unsurpassed and I find myself sitting back in awe at the wonderfully crafted story that is RaM!

Cheers,
GLM

[stefdarlin]

mmadfan said:

“I remember you,” Minerva heard the Hat say. “Spirited but oh-so serious. You could have been a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but your care for knowledge and your joy in learning was eclipsed by your desire to use your knowledge for others and to put learning aside in preference for acting in the interest of those who relied upon you. Loyalty you had in great measure, and not blindly, either, but the fierceness of that loyalty was brash and bold. Your audacious heart drove your loyalty and your quest for knowledge, and that was your principle mark. And now I see you again . . . and still you are loyal and clever, but you are a Gryffindor true, and you live to put aside your fears and your needs in order to do what you believe right and in the service of those whom you love. And leadership you have, as well, in good measure. The Founder of your House would be pleased to see his children in your care.”

This is a wonderful description of Minerva. Very accurate and I loved it. When her name was placed on the roll in the Gryffindor Book I cringed inwardly a little that her middle name was there but I suppose it needed to be.

I also loved the bit about her "playing" with the shower taps. ;D I look forward to more info in that area.

I was glad that Gertie explained about not using magic much and that was the reason she was tired. I was surprised that she did give us that much information. And it was nice for Minerva to find out Albus has more than one picture of her. I found the conversation between Minerva and Gertie to be very friendly, more so than I thought it would be and this was a very pleasant surprise. I am glad they are getting a bit closer for I feel this may help Minerva is her quest to find Albus' heart. Or in them finally being on the same page.

Last, Albus' letter is very endearing. You can tell he was not worrying about being too guarded and perhaps he had been in just a bit of a hurry because he had to get to the Wizengamot, therefore his true affection shines through. YAY! ;D

As always I am looking forward to more and thank you for the frequent updates!

Wishing you a glorious Fall day~~

Stef =o)

[dianahawthorne]

I loved Albus's letter - very sweet, kind, and endearing! Also, Albus has his own little Minerva shrine... that might be why Gertie let it slip when she viewed Min's Albus shrine...

I can't wait until the next chapter, and I was very pleased for the early update!

[minerva62]

How wonderful to return from a weekend trip to find two great updates!

I like the way you described both Minerva's and Albus' feelings and thoughts after the birthday dinner.

And Minerva falling asleep cuddled in Albus' robes...that was sooo sweet...and yet sad...sniff...

And her dream...I hope there will be more occasions when Wilspy will wish them sweet dreams... ;D

I also like the description of the 'Heart of Hogwarts' and the image of the castle. A very visionary idea of yours how they do the warding...

Albus' offering of the precious centaur mead shows again how dear and special Minerva is to him as it is her special day...

I am looking very much forward to the next chapter with Quin...I guess Minerva will talk with him about the birthday dinner, and maybe he can reassure her some more about Albus' feelings or at least see it from a man's point of view...Maybe he drops some of his famous hints in Albus' presence...Maybe he could do some divination with Albus, but that would be too easy, wouldn't it? ;D

Keep on the brilliant work!

[esoterica1693]

Thanks for the detailed explanation of the magic and wards. You really have thought all of this out--as much as Jo did, maybe even more. <g>
- - - -
That time w/ Gertie was just filled w/ useful information, if Minerva will but let herself absorb it!

First, there's no way Gertie and Albus are romantically involved at present, and little chance they have been in the past. IMHO. Even given that Gertie admits she's not an inspired gift-giver in general, you don't give a long-term cherished lover w/ a quirky personality things like handkerchiefs or a beard comb. And she admits she doesn't know enough about his morning and evening grooming routine to know exactly how he detangles his beard, and simply has his word that he uses her comb. If they routinely spent nights together and/or shagged each other silly at all hours <g> she'd certainly have seen him detangle his beard at least <i>once</i>....Nor do you leave your birthday gift for him on his *desk,* and nor does he simply leave it there untouched all the next day. Plus, I would think if she'd been involved w/ him that way for any length of time, her dress sense would have brightened, since he's a bit of a clothes-horse himself (thought to self: are men referred to as 'clothes-horses'?). Not in the sense of trying to impress him, but simply by a sort of osmosis--if I'm with someone who pays attention to that sort of thing, I'm going to (do a back-somersault and) pay more attention to it myself. No, they are not romantically involved now, and I seriously doubt they have been.

Second, Gertie does seem to know, at the very least, that Albus is extremely fond of Minerva, and maybe she knows it's more than that. It doesn't seem like something he'd confide in even her, but she is a very observant, perceptive, Slytherin who's known him extremely well and lived alongside him for decades and has discussed his romantic life w/ him in the past--she could well have figured it out. He has his own Minerva-shrine <awwwww! dearest Albus!!!! you're being so bold to have all those photos out!> and Gertie knows about it. And presumes that Minerva does too? I do wonder if it's being around Minerva that is part of what is giving Albus 'a difficult time' and whether Gertie knows it--I suspect the answer to both is 'yes' but maybe that's just wishful thinking.

The letter was very sweet, as was the mead, and both also speak of his affection for her, but I think it's the chat w/ Gertie that Minerva needs to reflect on the most!

Hopefully Quin will help her interpret lots of things. You've spoiled us w/ these fast and excellent chapters, so now I really can't wait for the next one. Especially since it features the long-awaited tour w/ everyone's favourite Irish wizard!

[Orion's Guard]

I don't think we got any surprising information about Gertrude and Albus, I think it was quite obvious that they are not romantically involved. I would like some more background on why Gertrude is feeling so drained.

I was also interested in seeing what happens when the teachers fortify the wards, but it makes more curious about what Minerva did exactly when she was working with him as a student.

I look forward to seeing Quin again, though it seems weird for him to get such an extensive tour through the castle, especially having never attended. Other students generally don't have access to common rooms other than their own, and he won't be as familiar to the castle as someone who attended. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing anyone could arrange, but then Minerva isn't just anyone.

Minerva's little fantasy made me a bit happy...

As for my previous review about the banner, you were right; it was the one from Obliging Minerva. I actually like the one in your signature, Maggie looks funny, but it's a real scene between the two of them and that makes it better. Oddly, I don't usually pay much attention to banners and such.

And I don't know what I'm going to do when you finish this story, it's been like 6 month I've been reading and I'm going to be having some major withdraw. Okay, I won't think about it.

[minerva62]

bogus7 said:

And I don't know what I'm going to do when you finish this story, it's been like 6 month I've been reading and I'm going to be having some major withdraw.

Well, there simply mustn't be an end, must there?? ;D

After Albus and Minerva will have come together, which will take probably some more months, thinking that this story started in February 2007 and has described until now nearly one month in their lives (July), there will be time for lots of lemons.... ;D

[Kayjay]

Study Break!!!

Thanks for a wonderful update. Albus' note was beautiful and I hope he hits 'rock-bottom' soon, so they may finally get what each means to the other...and I mean precisely.

I love Gertie, I hope she's just so tired because she's been galivanting about with Malcolm the whole week.

Can't wait for the next encounter between Albus and Quin. Quin is so cool, he might just manage to drop a hint or two.

Huggles,
Kayjay

[MMADfan]

Note: Thanks very much for all your comments about the last chapter. Yup, Gertie let a few hints drop when when she told about the photos Albus keeps in his study desk drawer, and certainly when she let Minerva know how much effort he put into creating the tiles for her! ;D

Posted in two parts because of length.

CXIX: Touring Hogwarts

Minerva stretched in bed and rolled over. She had closed the draperies the night before, and she had slept heavily. She could tell that it was daylight out, but she had no sense of the time. Groping for her wand, her hand touched the warm stone of the evil eye. A shiver went through her, then she found her wand and cast a Tempus. She was relieved to see that it was only seven o’clock and that she hadn’t slept too late. There were things that she needed to do that day, and she didn’t want to feel rushed from the moment she got up.

After a quick shower and a cup of tea, Minerva left, dressed in her mossy green robes, her lightweight tartan cape around her. She hadn’t had her walk in a few days, not since before she had returned from her parents, and she was looking forward to taking a turn through the grounds on her first morning as Gryffindor Head of House.

The little celebration down at Hagrid’s had been quite festive. Much to Minerva’s surprise, Hafrena MacAirt and Lillian Evandras had returned to the school for the evening just to attend Hagrid’s party in her honour. Professor Evandras said that she extended Nathaniel’s apologies for not attending, but that he offered his congratulations, as well. Minerva blinked a moment, trying to think who Nathaniel could be when she remembered that it was Professor Herder’s given name. Minerva had a nice time, but she found herself continually turning around and finding herself missing Albus’s presence.

When she walked back up from Hagrid’s hut with Gertrude, she looked reflexively up at the Headmaster’s Tower. The lights in his office were out, but there was a dim glow coming from the level of his suite above the office. Minerva’s heart clenched. It was increasingly difficult to go any length of time without seeing him, hearing his voice, feeling his touch, even in passing. It had been good to see him at her installation, of course, but he hadn’t said a personal word to her, it seemed, and he hadn’t touched her once, not even a casual brush of hands when they passed the book back and forth.

If Gertrude noticed Minerva’s subdued mood, she said nothing, and the two witches returned to the castle with the hush of the dark night around them. When they reached the second floor, Gertrude offered to walk her all the way to her new quarters, but Minerva demurred.

“Good night, then, Minerva.” Gertrude reached out and touched her arm. “We are all very proud of you, you know. Albus, too.”

Minerva nodded. “Thank you.” If Albus was proud of her, why had he never uttered his congratulations? She shouldn’t focus on that, especially as he had brought out his special mead, but she wished he had congratulated her . . . and come down to Hagrid’s with everyone else.

Gertrude looked at her a moment. “He’s very busy, but he is happy you are Head of Gryffindor, you know.”

“Who is?” Minerva asked, pretending that she had no idea what Gertrude was talking about.

Gertrude quirked a slight smile. “I may see you tomorrow, but I may not. I will be leaving the castle for a while again. But if you need me, I am just an owl away.”

Minerva was surprised by her offer, but nodded. “Thank you.”

She was even more surprised a moment later when Gertrude leaned forward and quickly brushed her lips against her cheek.

“Good night, Minerva. Sleep well.”

Minerva had slept well. It had been late when she had gone to bed, and the stress of the last few days had tired her, so she barely remembered laying her head on her pillow.

Minerva went downstairs to the ground floor and left the castle. It was still cool, but the sun was bright, and she was looking forward to getting some fresh air and possibly even exercising in her Animagus form. As she stepped through the doors, she saw a familiar figure in grey several yards away, headed around toward the back of the castle.

“Albus!” she called out.

He turned and smiled to see her. “Good morning, Professor!”

“Good morning! I’m out for my walk,” Minerva said, pleased to see him.

“Yes, I thought I would get a little exercise this morning, myself. I am hoping that today will be uneventful, but in case it is not, I thought I would take advantage of the early hour.”

“I was sorry to hear that you had to go into London yesterday, on top of everything else you had to do.”

Albus shrugged. “It didn’t take very long, and I was able to return to the castle in time for dinner, so I didn’t mind.” He smiled brightly at her. “I hope you have a good walk, my dear. Perhaps I will see you later in the day.”

Minerva was so surprised, she didn’t say anything, but only nodded, even her gesture likely lost on the Headmaster as he turned and headed quickly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. It wasn’t as though he was required to take his walk with her, she thought, but he had seemed so . . . peculiar. She hoped he didn’t view her as just one more obligation, but it certainly felt that way at the moment. Now that she was Head of House, had their relationship changed? Or was it her birthday celebration the day before? He had thanked her very nicely, and Gertrude had said that he had enjoyed himself.

Minerva sighed. She hadn’t even had a chance to ask him about the Hufflepuff common room. Perhaps she could at lunch, but she would have to send Quin his owl soon so that he could make plans for the day. Well, if it wasn’t available, it wasn’t available. It wasn’t as though everyone received a tour of the House common rooms, anyway.

A half hour later, Minerva dragged herself back up the many stairs to her quarters. She had tried to put Albus out of her mind, but she didn’t seem able to do that, and the walk she had looked forward to had become a chore. When she reached her rooms, she automatically called Blampa and asked for breakfast. When the house-elf asked what she would like, Minerva just shrugged and told her to bring the usual. Minerva picked at the fruit, ate part of the boiled egg, and nibbled a piece of wholemeal toast. If she hadn’t promised Quin that she would owl him and give him a tour that day, she would have just packed it in and gone back to bed.

After considering calling Blampa to owl her note for her, Minerva pushed away from the table and left her quarters, thankful that at least the owlery wasn’t as far now as it had been. She sent the letter off with a big Tawny Owl and returned to her quarters. Determined to do something with her morning other than mope, she went into her study and set to work. An hour and a half later, the Tawny Owl she had sent with Quin’s letter was back with his reply. He would arrive at approximately two o’clock, he told her, and was looking forward to the tour.

Minerva went down to lunch early, hoping to catch Albus and ask him about the Hufflepuff common room and let him know that they would be having a visitor in the castle. Luck was with her this time, and shortly after she arrived in the staff room, Albus himself walked in, dressed in sky blue robes with silver trim. Minerva smiled. He looked better than he had that morning. His grey robes were really rather ugly, though she would never tell him that, and the cut of them had gone out of style at least fifty years before, with the large, floppy rounded collar and the self-ruffle at the bottom and on the sleeves.

“Professor Dumbledore, a word, if I may,” Minerva said.

“Of course, my dear! How may I help you? Did you have a nice morning?” Albus smiled congenially at her.

“It was fine,” Minerva said, somewhat curtly. “I wanted to ask you about this earlier, but I didn’t seem to be able to catch you. Quin is coming for his tour of Hogwarts this afternoon. I don’t know whether I may show him the Hufflepuff common room or not.”

“Ah, yes! Quin. Very good, my dear. This is a fine opportunity. And the temporary password to Hufflepuff is ‘key lime pie.’ Have you ever had that, my dear? No? Marvellous stuff.”

Albus sat down at the table, and Minerva sat beside him. She didn’t particularly want to discuss the virtues of key lime pie at the moment.

“When is he arriving?” Albus asked.

“Two o’clock, he believes. I had the impression he was busy this morning, though he didn’t say,” Minerva answered.

“And, um, would he be staying for dinner?” Albus asked tentatively.

“I hadn’t planned on it, and I doubt he had, either. I thought I would just offer him a cuppa in my rooms afterwards.” Minerva was just about to ask Albus if he wanted to join them for tea when he interrupted her.

“Ah, well, then, would you care to dine with me this evening? Of course, if Quin is staying – ”

“No, he isn’t. I would love to have dinner with you,” Minerva said quickly. She would tolerate his mercurial behaviour if he did occasionally return to the warm Albus whom she needed so much. An ephemeral thought flitted through her mind that she should have more pride, but it was gone as quickly as it had arisen, and she did not reflect on it or attempt to hold on to it.

“Good, good,” Albus said with a nod. “I will let Hagrid, Wilhelmina, and Johannes know, since they will be the only staff still here this evening. They may wish to make some other plans of their own.”

“Did you know that Professor MacAirt and Professor Evandras were here last night? I understand they left again this morning, but I thought it was very kind of them. They came especially to help celebrate . . .”

“Did they? Very nice,” he said, sounding pleased. “I am glad. I am sure that you will continue to find you have many congenial colleagues, whatever their various quirks may be.”

Minerva was about to ask him why he hadn’t joined them at Hagrid’s when Slughorn entered the room. If it had been someone else, she might still have asked, but Slughorn – he hadn’t come, either, although Gertrude told Minerva that he had been informed of the occasion. “Not quite spiff enough for him, I believe,” she said, explaining Slughorn’s nonappearance. “And the drink not up to his standard, either, I imagine.” Minerva just didn’t want the man to know any more about her personal life than absolutely necessary, particularly if he couldn’t be bothered to attend a party because it was thrown in Hagrid’s cabin.

Lunch appeared on the table, and the three began to serve themselves. Johannes came in and sat down on the other side of Minerva. He had been his usual warm and friendly self the evening before, but Minerva had caught him occasionally staring off into space, apparently lost in thought.

“How are you today, Johannes?”

“I am well, thank you, Minerva. And you?”

“Quite well. I understand you were in Germany last week.”

“Yes, I was . . . I looked at the land my friend found for me,” Johannes replied.

“How was it?”

“Good . . . very good . . . but it is strange to be there, and so much has changed. Much for the better, of course. But I have no family there, and no . . . no roots. I feel they were torn out when my family was killed. And I do not know . . .” Johannes shook his head then smiled. “I will grow new roots, I suppose.”

Minerva nodded. “You have planned this for a while, after all.”

“Yes. But . . . I was thinking. Perhaps here, in this country, there would be a place for me to have a small greenhouse.” Johannes sighed. “I do not know.”

“I think you just need to think about where you will feel most comfortable in the long-term, where you can make your life. It likely won’t be easy to make a transition regardless of where you are; the problems will just be different,” Minerva said, giving him the best advice she could, not knowing precisely what was bothering him.

Hagrid and Wilhelmina wandered in just as the others were finishing their lunches, fortunately not too late to eat, however. As Minerva was leaving, Albus caught her arm, then let it go.

“I’m sorry, Minerva. I just wanted to tell you that you may come up as soon as your guest has left – if you wish.”

Minerva smiled. “I would be glad to. Perhaps, though, you might want to join us for tea.”

“I think not – although if Quin would like to speak with me, I would be happy to make time for him.”

“I will be sure that he is aware of that. Thank you. I plan on showing him the greenhouses, the Quidditch pitch, the Great Hall, the library, a few of the different classrooms, and a peek at the common rooms,” Minerva said.

“That sounds fine, my dear. Very good. May I suggest you include that Astronomy Tower and the Potions classroom in your tour?”

“Precisely my thought.”

“Minerva,” Slughorn said, “if you would like to bring him down to the Potions classroom, I would be pleased to open it for you and answer any questions your friend has.”

“Thank you . . . I don’t know when we will be there, however, and I know you were going to leave this afternoon.”

“Not until late in the afternoon. I will just be in my office. Come by any time!” Slughorn said with a bright smile.

Minerva nodded. “I appreciate that. I will see you later, then.” She turned to leave the staff room, then remembered the Floo-Network and turned back. “Oh, Professor Dumbledore, I was wondering about my Floo – ”

“Ah, yes! I am sorry, my dear! Very neglectful of me not to mention it. The Floo in your sitting room is connected to the Transfiguration classroom office, the Hospital Wing, the Gryffindor common room, and the Headmaster’s office. If you would like an additional connection, just say the word!”

“That sounds sufficient for now, thank you.” Sometime when he wasn’t as busy, she would ask him about creating a connection to the small chamber off the Great Hall.

Minerva walked up one flight to her classroom and Flooed to her sitting room. She smiled as she stepped out. This was much more convenient. Now, to busy herself until Quin arrived.

A few minutes before two, Minerva Flooed to her office, then left the castle from there. She smiled as she saw Hagrid walking up the path, Quin at his side. Even Quin looked small next to the assistant groundskeeper. She waved at them both.

“H’lo, Perfesser McGonagall! I met yer friend here, thought I’d jest walk him up fer yeh.”

“Thank you, Hagrid. How are you, Quin?”

“Fine as the day is long, love,” Quin said. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he bent and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “And you, Head of Gryffindor?”

“Well, thank you – Hagrid threw me a nice party last night.”

Hagrid beamed down at them. “Quite somethin’, i’nt she? Well, I gotta go . . . Perfesser Slughorn is over t’ cabin with Brutus. Said he’d brew him somethin’ but wanted t’ see ’im first.” Hagrid got misty-eyed. “A bit stand-offish, seems at times, but ’e’s always got time fer me Brutus. A good wizard.”

Hagrid lumbered off toward his cabin after expressing his pleasure at meeting Quin and inviting him around to see his Jarvey before he left.

“You were right, Minerva, he’s quite a likeable chap. Half giant, is he?” Quin asked.

“Yes – did I tell you that?” Minerva asked, trying to remember whether she had.

“Don’t believe you did, but ’tisn’t an easy thing to miss.”

“I suppose it’s not,” Minerva said.

She began the tour with the Great Hall. Quin was quite taken with the ceiling and gaped at it in undisguised awe. She then brought him to the Astronomy tower and explained that those classes were held at night. Then they dropped by the Ravenclaw common room and Minerva opened the common room for him to look in.

“Each House has separate dormitories for the witches and wizards,” Minerva explained, “and different ways of monitoring them. The Head of House always has rooms adjacent to the House dormitory. Hufflepuff actually has a connecting door between the common room and the Head’s suite. My rooms are just steps from the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, and technically a part of the Tower.”

When they reached the Gryffindor common room, Minerva invited him to go in and look around, then brought him up one level to show him a typical boys’ dormitory room. After they finished there, they went down to the library.

“Now I do wish I’d gone t’ school,” Quin said as he looked at row upon row of bookcases.

“Visitors sometimes come to use the library. I am sure that you could – just let me know, and I can make arrangements.”

Quin shook his head ruefully. “Haven’t time for that sort o’ thing at the moment, Minerva. But if that changes, I will take you up on your offer.”

Minerva brought him through the rest of the castle, pausing to have a peek into the Hufflepuff common room, then ending in the far dungeons at the Slytherin common room. It really was quite impressive, she thought, looking through the open door to the large room appointed in silver and green, but Minerva couldn’t imagine living so far under the castle. Under the lake, actually. Her claustrophobia wasn’t acute at the moment, but she didn’t think she could live underground like that. She would surely have nightmares.

“Professor Slughorn said he would be pleased to show you the Potions classroom himself. Let’s see if he’s back from Hagrid’s, shall we?”

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXIX: Touring Hogwarts, continued

Slughorn was awaiting them in his office when they arrived, and he showed Quin the potions ingredients, the special warded cupboard for the more dangerous ingredients, and explained what the students were taught the first year. Quin paged through the Potions textbook and raised an eyebrow, but he shrugged.

“’Spose there’s nothin’ truly harmful in this,” he said.

“Harmful?” Slughorn asked.

“I try to raise me kids with a sense o’ right an’ wrong, Professor,” Quin said. “Some o’ these potions . . . I am sure you explain their use an’ misuse, don’t you?”

“Well,” Slughorn said chuckling, “there aren’t many in the first-year curriculum that could be misused.”

“You think not? I’d have thought that a Potions Master would have more imagination than that,” Quin said in a light tone. “But ne’er mind. I’ll be sure t’ check up on me boy from time t’ time. Thank you for your trouble, Professor.” He held out his hand and Slughorn shook it.

“Not a bit of trouble, my dear man, not a bit of it! A friend of the Headmaster’s is a friend of mine, I’d like to think! And dear Gertrude, of course.” He winked at Quin. “She’s quite the witch, isn’t she? Knew each other as students of course. Had a bit of a crush on me at the time, I think.”

Minerva cringed. She could scarcely credit Slughorn’s claim. She doubted that, even as a girl, Gertrude would have such poor taste, even if Slughorn had been younger and better looking than the wizard now standing before them.

Minerva led Quin from the dungeons, declining Slughorn’s offer to watch him prepare the nostrum for Brutus, of whom he did seem genuinely fond. Minerva told Quin that he probably was also trying to keep Hagrid happy so he wouldn’t be too depressed to go into the forest and gather potions ingredients for the self-indulgent Potions teacher.

Quin smirked. “I wonder if he even realises that himself – that wizard has so many layers to him and such a well-constructed self-image, I don’t think he would even recognise when he lies to himself. Probably thinks he’s doin’ it out o’ the milk o’ human kindness.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of him then? From Gertrude?”

“Heard of him before today, but not known much of him. Shakin’ a man’s hand can be informative.”

“Really?” Minerva was now curious. “What else did you . . . divine from that?”

Quin shook his head. “Nothin’ much. Just that. I’d be very careful if I ever did a business deal with him, though, and watch to see he didn’t put his thumb on the scale. He does have professional pride. I did get that. And I think he is a . . . a careful Potions Master. He likely is only truly his ain self when he brews. Likely quite a respite for the man.” Quin chuckled.

“I can see that.” Minerva nodded. “But now, we are going back out again. I thought I’d show you the Quidditch pitch and greenhouses now, then we can go up to my rooms and have tea.”

Johannes was at work in the greenhouses, and greeted them cheerfully then gave them a tour of the main greenhouse in which the students worked. He invited them to walk through the others, as well, and at the end of their tour, Quin seemed subdued.

“Everything all right, Quin?” Minerva asked?

“Fine, love,” he answered with a warm smile. “Just thinkin’ of me Aileen and that she spent so much time in those greenhouses, happy time for her. Now the Quidditch pitch?”

After the two had taken a quick look at the Quidditch stadium, and Minerva had pointed out where the Forbidden Forest began, the two went back up to her rooms.

“Minerva, if I’d known Hogwarts professors lived so well, I might have applied for one o’ those job openings,” he joked.

Minerva laughed. “Well, these are a bit bigger because I’m Head of House, though because of the nature of the castle, if someone needs a little more room, they can ask for it and, within limits, the rooms can be reconfigured for them. And these rooms were extensively redecorated before I moved in. They hadn’t been touched in about fifty years and needed some work.”

Quin was impressed with the views she had from her windows, laughed at her postage stamp kitchen, as he called it – Minerva thought he must be referring to its size – and, like her other visitors, thought her bathroom was luxurious. He paused and looked at her tiles.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” He bent over and looked at the tiles more closely. “You and Albus?” He turned to look at her. “Is this somethin’ true?”

“Yes, but it’s a rather long story, most of which I still can’t tell anyone. But there were actual events that inspired those tiles,” Minerva said as she led him back into the sitting room for their tea.

“So it’s not only your brother who dashed about the countryside then?” Quin asked.

“It was a one-time event. I worked in an office in the Ministry during the war. That occasion was an emergency,” Minerva explained, somewhat uncomfortably.

“I see, speakin’ of your brother, though . . . Malcolm that is,” Quin said, sitting on the sofa, “he is very . . . unusual.”

“I told you that.”

Minerva called Blampa for their tea.

“You did, but, um, how to put this . . . he paid me a visit on Monday,” Quin finally said bluntly.

“He did? How did he know where you lived?” Minerva asked, puzzled. “And why?”

“I’d thought you could answer the ‘why’ for me, Minerva. And he didn’t visit me at home. I think he may be more at home in the Muggle world than he claims. He tracked me down in the city, and he, um, ‘accosted’ might be too strong a word, but he waylaid me on me way out of a meeting I had at me solicitor’s. He convinced me to join him for lunch. It was . . . peculiar.”

“Well, that is surprising. And unsettling for you, I imagine.” Minerva was both puzzled and embarrassed by her oldest brother’s unconventional behaviour.

“That it was. If I didn’t believe him when he claims to dislike the Ministry, I’d have thought he was after spyin’ on me for them, to be sure. His dislike of them is genuine, isn’t it?”

“From everything I have ever been able to tell – I very much doubt that he’s some kind of covert agent, if that’s your fear. He’s out of the country so much . . .”

Quin shrugged. “Could be doing Ministry work on his travels, too, but . . . he asked me quite a bit about me experiences in the Muggle world. As though they could be encapsulated into nice neat little lessons.”

“Mmm. He tried once to live as a Muggle, but I don’t think he really managed it. I think when he was at home, the Muggle apparatuses were inconvenient and he used magic. He worked for a few months in a Muggle bookstore, but he was fired – he says it was because he read the books too much and they thought he neglected the customers, but Murdoch said it’s more because he wasn’t good at making change and the difference kept being taken out of his pay packet.”

“He mentioned somethin’ about that,” Quin said.

Their tea arrived, and as Minerva poured and offered him a ginger newt, she hoped that they could move past the topic of her brother. She had wanted to talk to him about Albus and his behaviour over the last few days, but after Quin had taken an appreciative bite of a biscuit, he brought the conversation back around to her brother.

“Malcolm, then . . . I was confused by his intentions. Do I have anything t’ be worried about?” he asked.

“I think his dislike of the Ministry is genuine – ” Minerva began.

“That’s not what I meant, love. I meant,” Quin clarified with a blush, “d’you think he’s, um, interested in me? You know – is he, um, a confirmed bachelor an’ not just persistently unmarried?”

Minerva’s jaw dropped. Once she got over her surprise, she said, “You think he was . . . making a pass at you?” Despite her Occlumency practice, her face was aflame.

Quin shrugged. “None o’ me business how he lives his life, is how I see it, but . . . I don’t want him t’ think I’m interested in makin’ that sorta friend, if you get me meaning.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I know he found you interesting, but . . . no,” Minerva said with a shake of her head. “I don’t even think he’s interested in, well, anyone that way, male or female. Well, he’s likely had some experience, but I’ve never known him to have a special friend of either gender. Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind before – wondering about him. But I don’t think so. I could speak to him for you, if you like, tell him you’d prefer not to have him visit you.”

Quin shook his head. “No need to do that, love. He just seemed to take a lot of effort to find me, and then was more interested in me and me doin’s than I’m used to. And very interested in me relationship with Gertrude. Seemed t’ think there was somethin’ between us, based on me statement about Gertie abidin’ with me night an’ day after Aileen died. I thought he was fishin’ t’ see if we were havin’ an affair an’ if I was, um, free. ’Twas odd.”

“You got that from the situation, or did you sense something from him – like you did Slughorn?” Minerva asked.

“Can’t read Malcolm well. ’Twas confusin’ and he has a lot bubblin’ in him. Couldn’t tell anythin’ even after havin’ lunch wi’ the man an’ shakin’ his hand after.”

“Well, even if he were interested in you that way, and I really doubt that very much, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Quin,” Minerva said. “As ill-mannered and occasionally inconsiderate as he can be, I don’t believe him to be selfish or unkind, and I don’t think he would, um, try to pursue you if you clearly didn’t want that. So unless you have been, um, flirtatious and charming, you shouldn’t worry.”

“I am an indiscriminate flirt, Minerva, you should know that by now,” Quin said with a grin. “Not usually with folk I dislike, o’ course, and certainly I believe I am merely charming and not flirtatious with wizards, but could be he got the wrong idea somewhere. And I didn’t want t’ be unfriendly to him even on Monday, since he is your brother. But you reassure me. It wasn’t clear what he wanted from me, so that was just one possibility that occurred to me – there was one other, but, if what you say is true about him, it’s probably just as unlikely.”

“What was that?” Minerva asked.

“If he wasn’t with the Ministry and he wasn’t interested in me, I thought he might be interested in Gertrude.”

“In Gertrude?” Minerva’s eyes widened. “I highly doubt that. Even if he were interested in some witch, I doubt very much she would be his type. She’s serious, a scholar, rather a homebody, I think, and not at all adventurous or out-going. And she is certainly not, well, it’s not that she is unattractive, but she’s not flashy.”

“The Muggles call it ‘SA’ – ‘sex appeal,’” Quin said cheekily. “But Gertrude actually does have some – it’s just subtle. A wizard wonders what’s beneath that stern exterior and the dry humour and wonders if there’s simmering passion just waitin’ to be unleashed.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors, Quin,” Minerva said, becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “And whatever my brother’s preferences may be in witches – or otherwise – I think he’d be looking for something requiring less work and with no chance that the other person could develop an attachment. With his peripatetic ways, I suppose it’s even possible he takes lovers frequently, but changes them as frequently as he changes his location – which may be more frequently than he changes his socks.”

“Could be he’s lookin’ for somethin’ different, then, and he is a wizard who seems to like a challenge. Gertrude would certainly be that.” Quin shrugged. “But enough about the hypothetical love lives of others. How are you and how is your love life?”

Minerva didn’t take offense at the blunt question, merely rolling her eyes and answering, “Even more hypothetical, I’m afraid, Quin. I did try, too. Fortunately, not so obviously as to completely embarrass myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, love,” Quin said softly. “Somethin’ specific happen?”

Minerva sighed and broke a ginger newt in half. “I had him here for dinner for his birthday. He was enjoying himself. We had wine. A nice meal. He didn’t know it was a birthday dinner until I brought out his cake. I think he was genuinely touched. Then I gave him your present – he was quite pleased with it, by the way.”

“He wrote me a nice thank-you note yesterday,” Quin said.

Minerva nodded. “He really did like it. And then I gave him my present. At first, I wasn’t sure that he liked them, or what he thought, but he said the robes were beautiful, and he even tried them on. Oh, he looked so wonderful in them, Quin. It was as though he was clad in the night sky, thousands of stars visible. And he let me touch them while he was wearing them . . . but it meant nothing.” Minerva struggled against the lump in her throat. “We had even danced earlier – just very briefly, before we had our cake, but still . . . it felt romantic to me. But it was all on my side. I had made it a romantic setting and my feelings were romantic, but it was just me. When he thanked me with a kiss on the cheek, I hugged him and I . . . I told him, Quin. I told him I loved him.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “And he . . . he was surprised. He froze, then he . . . he patted my back . . . he patted my back and he said – ” Minerva choked back her tears “ – he said that he is very fond of me, too.”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry. Come here, come here, sweetheart,” Quin said, patting the sofa.

Minerva moved over and sat beside him and let him enfold her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears.

“It may not be so bleak, Minerva.”

“Yes, at least I wasn’t fool enough to say that I was in love with him,” Minerva mumbled into his shoulder.

“You know, you surprised him with the birthday dinner and the presents, then you told him you loved him. He could have just been very surprised and thought that his own imagination was workin’ overtime – ”

“Don’t make excuses for him, Quin. He is fond of me. Just as I always knew. Fond of me, Quin. It’s what you say to someone for whom you have platonic love, if you love them at all. It doesn’t even mean he loves me in any way.”

“I think he must – he does spend a lot of time with you, he spent his birthday with you and not with someone else – ”

“That’s just because he normally doesn’t celebrate it. At least not very much. He just didn’t have anything better to do, that’s all,” Minerva said, pushing away from Quin. She stood. “Did you want more tea?”

When he indicated that he did not, Minerva banished the tea things, venting her excess energy.

“I’m going to wash my face, then I’ll take you down to Hagrid’s – ”

“That would be nice, Minerva, but I would like to talk with the Headmaster first, see his office, ask him a few questions. I’m sending me boy here in less than a month, after all.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “You are not going to discuss my feelings for him, Quin, if that’s what’s in your head.”

“I wouldn’t embarrass you like that, surely you know that!”

“Of course.” Minerva sagged. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . sensitive.”

Minerva excused herself and washed her face. When she returned to the sitting room, she was surprised to find Albus there.

He smiled brightly at her. “I am sorry I am too late for tea, my dear, but I did want to stop by and say hello to your guest.”

“We were just coming to see you, Professor,” Minerva answered.

“Yes, as Quin was just saying. I thought I’d bring him through the Floo to my office, then send him back to you the same way – unless you’d like to come?”

“No need for that,” Quin said quickly. “I have taken too much of this good lady’s time this day, anyway.”

“Not at all, Quin,” Minerva said, “but you can meet me back here, if you like.”

When the two wizards had left, Minerva sat down on the sofa and stared into the empty fireplace. Quin was still trying to encourage her. But what was the point? None. None at all. Albus had practically ignored her that morning when he saw her – not that he’d intended to, of course, Minerva was sure of that. But if he were as taken with her as Quin seemed to think, wouldn’t he have wanted to walk with her a while, instead of just turning around and rushing off? Of course, if he had wanted to walk in the Forbidden Forest, it could be he preferred not to have her with him. . . . At least they were having dinner together tonight.

Minerva lay down to wait for Quin and closed her eyes.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Next: “The Tale of a Young Wizard”

The next three chapters are of a piece, so I will be updating very rapidly. I will post the first one tomorrow (7 November 2007), and will have all three posted before the end of the weekend.

[Hogwarts Duo]

I just love popping onto the board and finding a new update from you. It’s always so exciting and I devour each chapter happily.

First of all, I was not amused with the way Albus brushed Minerva aside for their morning walk. He was borderline callous and just downright rude to her. Shakes head and ponders…I’m sure he had something on his mind but he could have been a little nicer about expressing his need for some “Albus-time.” And then the lovely man comes back and redeems himself with an invitation to dinner. Wheeeee! I hope he’s nicer to her over dinner and makes up for his earlier insensitivity.

Something is up with Johannes and now I’m highly curious. I think it would be best if he stayed in the UK since he’s made a new acquaintance in Minerva’s mother. I think that would be a nice new friendship for Johannes and he’s already familiar with the country. Basically, I hope he decides to stay.

Slughorn gives me the heebie jeebies sometimes. He seems like such a lecherous old man…ewww. And for him to think Gertie had a crush on him…talk about fantasy land. LOL ;D

Malcolm and Quin??? Hmm, that’s an interesting twist, though I can’t see Malcolm being interested in Quin that way. If I had to bet, I’d say he was seeking Quin’s thoughts and feelings on Gertie rather than Quin. Maybe Quin thinks he’s so attractive and charming that everyone wants to be with him….tsk tsk.

And then Quin goes to see Albus. This should be an interesting conversation to say the least. Looking forward to the next update!!!

Toodles,
Ang the GLM

[esoterica1693]

More review later...but I must say I love Gertie in this chapter! She so knows what is up between them. Unfortunately I don't think she appreciates the distance between herself and Minerva. Though Minerva's doing MUCH better in that regard, and hopefully will continue to draw closer to her, still,... I don't think Gertie fully appreciates the distance that Minerva's jealousy and her bias against Slytherins had created ... But anyway, go Gertie, and hopefully Minerva will continue to grow in her trust and affection for her.

[minerva62]

I can't believe it...another update...We really get spoiled by you...

I got the impression that Gertie knows about Minerva's feelings for Albus, or at least has a clue...

And I sense that Malcolm is interested in Gertie...(or are you inspired by JKR's revelation? ;D)

I was so sorry for Minerva when Albus neglected her in the morning...and then the invitation to dinner...men...who can understand them?...If we were not talking about Albus I'd say that man has got a split personality...well, maybe he does, not allowing himself to love Minerva...

Will Quin get the chance to shake Albus' hand and will he be able to 'read' something out of it???

Can't wait for the dinner...

Keep spoiling us with updates...

And thank you so much for writing this brilliant story...You're a genius!

[MMADfan]

minerva62 said:

I can't believe it...another update...We really get spoiled by you...

I got the impression that Gertie knows about Minerva's feelings for Albus, or at least has a clue...

And I sense that Malcolm is interested in Gertie...(or are you inspired by JKR's revelation? ;D)

I was so sorry for Minerva when Albus neglected her in the morning...and then the invitation to dinner...men...who can understand them?...If we were not talking about Albus I'd say that man has got a split personality...well, maybe he does, not allowing himself to love Minerva...

Will Quin get the chance to shake Albus' hand and will he be able to 'read' something out of it???

Can't wait for the dinner...

Keep spoiling us with updates...

And thank you so much for writing this brilliant story...You're a genius!

Well, either I was inspired by JKR or I'm a genius . . . figure out which I'd prefer! LOL! Just kidding -- actually, this plot line has been around for many months, many, many months -- since I came up with Minerva's three brothers and wrote their character sketches way back . . . hmm . . . at the beginning of the story, actually. I've added to them now and then, of course. Nope, the only thing in RaM that has changed as the result of anything that JKR has done/said/written since I started writing RaM back at the end of January/beginning of February is Grindelwald's first name. I thought it might be an unnecessary complication to continue calling him "Gunther." Although given all the other differences between RaM and DH, I don't suppose it would have mattered all that much!

I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

Just because everyone keeps speculating about this plot point, even after goddess-knows-how-many-words ;D: Gertrude suspected Albus's feelings for Minerva years ago, became convinced of them even before Minerva came back to work at Hogwarts, and at the beginning of RaM, Gertrude knew that Minerva was very attached to Albus, but was unsure of the nature or depth of her feelings. Does that help clear things up without giving too much away?

As for Gertrude's own feelings toward Albus or Minerva, or her thoughts on the two of them, or Albus's feelings toward Gertrude . . . I'll let you keep reading. ;D Oh, and Gertrude is quite aware of Minerva's . . . distrust of her, shall we say -- as she alluded to both on the balcony and in the chapter "A Most Pleasant Disturbance," the night after Minerva's Terrible, Awful, Very Bad Day (a.k.a., "Collision").
-

[MMADfan]

Just to let you know, I'll likely update first thing in the morning, Eastern Standard Time (U.S. east coast).

The chapter is "The Tale of a Young Wizard," 3 August 1957; 1849 - 1861.

I will look forward to hearing everyone's reactions to the next few chapters, as well as this one.

I really appreciate everyone's continued enjoyment and involvement in RaM! Thanks!

[Merriam]

Yay! An update after a horrendously long and complicated calculus test!!!!

So we finally got that much-awaited tour! I am looking forward to Quin's meeting with Albus . . . will we get to eavesdrop? The fact that Quin "quickly" said that Minerva shouldn't come with him has my head spinning with all sorts of possibilities! ;D I also noticed that Quin said he wouldn't embarrass her, but he did NOT promise to keep completely silent. So I am expecting (well, hoping for) some oblique hints coming up! Maybe Quin will knock some sense into our beloved wizard.

[esoterica1693]

Oh, I knew Gertie has an idea that she isn't Min's BFF <g>--the scene coming down the ladder was proof of that. But I wasn't sure she realized just how much of a barrier there had been--how much work needs to be done to get Minerva to see her as a trustworthy friend and ally. Progress is definitely being made, though. Obviously I'm convinced that Gertie is on side for getting MM and AD together.

Quin and Malcolm--that must have been an interesting lunch! And it was surely Gertie's availability he was investigating... Quin's chitchat w/ Albus should be even more interesting. <g> Given Albus's tendency to underestimate the MacAirt "gifts" Quin might be able to pick up quite a bit of information.

If Albus wasn't off to do something dangerous or confidential in the Forest when he gave Min the cold shoulder in the a.m., I bet he was off to give himself some space to think about his feelings for her, and his body some exercise. Since it seems to have some frustrations it needs to work out. ;-)

Looking forward to what we'll learn of our dearest, if confused, Albus in a few hours.

[MMADfan]

Note: As always, non-DH-compliant! Very noncompliant!

Posted in two parts because of length.

CXX: The Tale of a Young Wizard

“So, my boy, have I been able to answer your questions? Set your mind at ease?” Albus asked.

“That you have, thank you, sir. Although I would prefer if there were a more . . . coherent approach to the ethical use of magic, but if you say that it is integrated into the individual classes, I will take you at your word.”

“It can also be encouraged through the use of the House point system and other discipline outside of the classroom. Developing a moral compass is very important for children, I agree. And I also agree that the curriculum is not explicitly designed to assist with that. But I myself was greatly influenced by one of my teachers here, my Ancient Runes teacher, Finn Futhark. Of course, I did not always listen to what he said, but later on in life, I remembered it and came to understand its truth. So another person, even a well-intentioned mentor, can only do so much, even as a role model. And I do hope we provide positive role models, although the world is not perfect, and the children must learn that, as well.”

Quin shrugged. “As you say, Professor – ”

“Albus – unless you prefer ‘Professor,’” Albus interrupted with a smile.

Quin smiled. “Very well, Albus. I do think that the staff members whom I know well, Gertrude and Minerva, would provide very positive role models. And as Head of Gryffindor, Minerva will certainly have a wide and long influence.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, for as long as she is Head of Gryffindor, generations of Gryffindors will look to her guidance. . . . You are quite . . . taken with her?”

“Taken with her?” Quin asked, feigning puzzlement. “She is a fine witch, o’ course.”

“Yes, a fine witch, with much to offer a wizard,” Albus answered. “It may be impertinent of me to say so, but if you are interested in her, there would be no better witch whom you could find.”

“Ah, I see. You are wonderin’ if I’m after takin’ her away from you and Hogwarts, now that she’s the Head of Gryffindor,” Quin said. Albus tried to interrupt, but Quin continued. “Nothin’ like it in me head, Albus. She’s yours, and the school’s. Doubt she’d leave for any cause. Besides,” Quin said with a shrug, “I’m believin’ that she has her sights set, actually, and not on me, even if I were interested in her – which I am not, not that way. O’ course, she’s a proud witch. She’d not chase a wizard, not if he didn’t give some indication that he was interested in her first.”

“So . . . she is interested in someone?” Albus asked.

Quin just shrugged again. “As I said, she’d not chase a wizard who gave every indication he wasn’t interested in her, so . . . I can’t really say.” Quin took his watch from his pocket. “’Tis gettin’ on. I told me wee beasties I’d be home for dinner tonight and spend the rest o’ the weekend with ’em, so I must soon be off, and Hagrid is still expectin’ a visit from me.”

“It was good to see you. And I do thank you again for the basket of candy. You are a very lucky man! I used to think it might be nice to own a sweets shop, but an entire factory! And you make Peppermint Pillows, my current favourite Muggle sweet.”

“Glad you liked ’em, sir. Me kids enjoy it, too,” Quin answered with a grin.

Albus stood and came around to the fireplace. With a quick jab of his wand, he lit a small fire in the fireplace, then he tapped the mantle.

“You can go through now, my boy. Just say, ‘McGonagall sitting room,’ and you’ll be there before you can blink,” Albus said.

Quin took a pinch of Floo-Powder and did as Albus told him. Indeed, he was there faster than he could blink, and he stepped out quickly. Minerva sat up and yawned.

“You’re back. Have a good talk?” she asked.

“Satisfactory, I suppose. Alroy will just have to write a lot of letters home,” Quin answered.

“Why don’t I walk you down to Hagrid’s, then?” Minerva suggested.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Albus stood on the rooftop of his tower and looked out across the grounds, watching Minerva and Quin making their way to Hagrid’s cabin. Hagrid was working in his garden, a bottle of ale conveniently within reach. When the two reached him, Hagrid stood, seeming large to Albus even from his current vantage point. He watched the three of them speaking together, Quin, head thrown back, apparently laughing at something Hagrid said. He was a handsome, energetic wizard with so much to offer a witch, and rich as Croesus, to boot, with his own sweets factory. Albus tried to regret that Quin was not interested in Minerva, but a small selfish part of him was so glad, he could not muster any regret at all. On the other hand, it would be far worse if some unworthy wizard, one whom he didn’t like, were interested in his Minerva.

Who could the wizard be to whom Quin had alluded? Quin could be wrong, of course. He hadn’t sounded particularly certain about it. But if there were such a wizard, someone Minerva had set her hat on . . . perhaps someone in London, at the Ministry? Minerva had scarcely visited London since she began teaching. If it were someone in London, she must have given up on him. But if it were someone here at the school. Albus again ran through the list of available males. He was completely certain that it wasn’t Ogg or Pringle – she seemed to despise Pringle, and Ogg . . . that toothless old groundskeeper. Albus shuddered at the thought. And Ogg did not hold particularly enlightened views. The only men at the castle whom Albus had ever seen Minerva spend any time with at all were Hagrid and Johannes.

He furrowed his brow. Johannes was a lovely wizard, but he had taught Minerva, even though it was only briefly. Albus doubted that Johannes would consider Minerva an eligible witch, and he was leaving the school at the end of the year. Perhaps that was what discouraged Minerva. But they didn’t seem close enough for Minerva to have developed such an interest in him. On the other hand, perhaps that was the trouble. She loved him from afar. Albus’s breath hitched at that thought, and he forced himself to push aside his feelings for the moment. But she never seemed to particularly seek his company or to be nervous in his presence, both of which Albus considered the primary hallmarks of a crush.

Hagrid. That seemed even more unlikely on the surface, but they had been friends for many years. Albus watched the three small figures in the garden far below. Minerva was fond of Hagrid. She always had been. Something of a champion for him. If he had considered it before, he would have thought her feelings toward Hagrid to be more . . . maternal than anything else, despite their closeness in age.

Perhaps Quin was wrong. The young wizard hadn’t known Minerva long, after all. But Albus would watch Minerva and see if he saw any signs of unrequited love when she was near Hagrid or Johannes or any other wizards in the castle. Of course, it might not be someone at Hogwarts at all. Perhaps that was why she had come to Hogwarts in the first place, to escape her unrequited love. Albus sighed. Knowing how he felt, he did not wish Minerva to feel the same. No wonder she had resented his attempts to encourage her to view Quin as an eligible wizard if she were trying to recover from unrequited love. She no doubt was still pining for whomever the other wizard was and was not ready to consider a new relationship. Albus’s heart ached for Minerva. However much he loved her and wished she were his, he wanted her to be happy, and the thought that she was not caused him sorrow.

Albus turned and headed down the stairs to his suite. Minerva would likely be returning to the castle soon, and then coming up for dinner. He considered changing his robes, but he did not want to put on anything drab that evening, and as much as he would like to wear the robes she had given him, he thought that what he was wearing was suitable. He had come to certain conclusions that morning, and it was best just to focus on that, and on his resolve. It would likely be a very long evening, and he didn’t know how Minerva would feel at the end of it, or what she would think of him. No need to have her see him in those robes, reminding her of the nice evening they had spent together and of the . . . of the gratitude and affection that had inspired her to give them to him.

Albus went into his study and sat at the desk. It was smaller than the one in his office below, but certainly adequate for his personal use. He usually used his office for most things, anyway. Except for very personal business. Albus opened the drawer in which he kept his few most private papers. If he died tomorrow and they were found . . . Albus shook his head. Likely it would be Gertrude, as his Deputy, and she would have the good sense to dispose of things as he would have wanted. Not that he wanted anyone to see what he had written a month ago when he was missing Minerva, even Gertrude, much as he trusted her, but he could not bring himself to destroy the parchment. He left those papers in the drawer and pulled out the photographs of Minerva. Minerva as a student. Minerva as a young Ministry witch shortly after the defeat of Grindelwald. Minerva as an accomplished witch following her successful Challenge. Albus touched Minerva’s face as she turned to smile at him in the photo. So alive . . . was that when he had finally fallen in love with her? That day, was that the day that his pride in her had tipped irretrievably into what it now was? Or had it been earlier? When she rescued him a few years before that, she had been beautiful, lovely, caring, so competent, and so very brave. And then, just days later, when he had seen her at her parents’ home, there had been something so moving when he looked upon her, and as he turned away from her, he had felt it then, that hitching pain and a void in his heart. Somewhere, sometime, he had gone from loving her as a child and a student in his care, to loving her as an independent witch, and then, somehow, that love of her as an independent, adult witch had become passionate and no longer the platonic love of a mentor or of a friend. It had happened without him being entirely aware of it until it was too late. And now he could not escape it.

He closed the photographs back into his drawer. Taking off his glasses, he shut his eyes and thought about his decision. Albus was sure that it was the right one. He had been telling her for some time that he would tell her about Grindelwald’s defeat someday, a story he had shared with very few, but she deserved to know. And he had told her that he would tell her more of the story of their wands and how he had come to have his. It was all tied together, really, all of it. Minerva had great respect and affection for him. He knew she didn’t believe him infallible, and he doubted that she had thought him omnipotent and unbreakable since sometime when she was a student. Nonetheless, her view of him would change after tonight. It couldn’t help but change, and Minerva would see that the wizard whom she had come to know over these twenty years . . . what she had known of him had created a very incomplete picture.

After having read her letter to her parents, Albus began to feel uncomfortably as though Minerva had been willing to give her life for a wizard whom she scarcely knew, though she believed that she did know him and that he was deserving of her sacrifice. This feeling had crept up on him slowly, and now he could not ignore it. Albus didn’t believe that Minerva would be so shocked by what he told her that it would destroy their friendship – at least, he sincerely hoped that was not the case – but it was all bound to be new to her, and likely nothing she could ever have conceived. Still, they were growing closer, and this was all such an integral part of how he became who he was . . . she deserved to know. And if her regard for him diminished, so be it.

When he had been out that morning, exercising in his Animagus form, it had seemed so clear to him, what he should say, how he should say it, and the very fact that he should tell her at all. But now, sitting there, his back and shoulders still aching some from their unaccustomed work-out that morning, it no longer seemed so clear, and the thought of dredging up all of those memories and their attendant emotions no longer seemed so simple. But if he was to tell her any of it, he would tell her all of it, the entire bundle. Not that he would have to go into truly embarrassing detail about certain things, of course.

He stood and called Wilspy, asking her to serve their dinner ten minutes after Minerva arrived. With only slight misgivings, he also asked her to serve the left-over birthday cake for dessert. It was likely to be a late night, and the sooner they finished eating, the better, but he certainly did not want to rush through dinner, and he wanted the meal to be pleasant.

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXX: The Tale of a Young Wizard, continued

“The cake tasted just as nice the second time around,” Albus said with a smile, putting down his fork. “Now, would you like some tea or coffee or anything else, my dear?”

“Not at the moment, Albus. And you were right. The cake was very good,” Minerva agreed.

“Shall we move to the sitting area, then?” Albus asked, standing and gesturing toward the sofa and chairs arranged near the fireplace.

Minerva smiled. “That would be very nice. But you must be tired after the past few days of activity. Please feel free to tell me if you would like me to leave so that you can have an early night.”

“I am fine . . . and I don’t anticipate an early night,” Albus said. Minerva took a seat in one of the wing chairs, and he settled on the sofa. He waved a footstool over in front of Minerva and put his own feet up, as well. “You have expressed interest, at times, in certain events in my life, and when I told you about our wands, I told you that there was a longer story behind them and that I might tell it to you one day.” He tilted his head and looked at her. “Are you still interested, my dear?”

Minerva was sitting up straight, but she straightened even further. “Of course! But only if you wish, of course.”

“It is a long story, Minerva, long and involved . . . and it begins a very long time ago,” Albus said slowly. “Some of it will be difficult to tell, and some of it may be difficult for you to hear. But yes, I wish to tell you, if you wish to listen.”

Minerva nodded seriously.

Albus took off his glasses and sent them over to the side table. He looked off into the distance for a moment, and then he began. . . .

-/-/-/-

“It was a long time ago, as I said, that it all began. When I was a child, really, I suppose. I would like to be able to say with some modesty that my time as a student was unremarkable, but it was not. I excelled at whatever I put my hand, mind, and magic to. I was eager to learn, even more eager than you were – indeed, the Sorting Hat very nearly put me in Ravenclaw, but it decided, in the end, that my nature and my need were Gryffindor.

“I chafed at what I saw were restrictions on me and my progress. I found most of my teachers wanting, and believed them dull and unimaginative. Nonetheless, I wanted to please them, and please them I usually did. But I pushed every boundary and stretched it. If it weren’t for the guidance and firm hand of Professor Futhark, I might have become even more insufferable than I no doubt was. But despite my general attitude, I found myself with friends of all types, and, with a rather foolish and overblown sense of my own importance, I came to believe myself not only advanced academically but also better than my peers and their natural leader. And, I suppose, I was – academically advanced and a leader, not better than they,” he clarified.

“None of this changed the fact that when I returned home for the holidays, I returned to a small cottage in Wales where my mother spent half her days brewing simple potions for sale to local apothecaries and the other half going about to larger cottages and houses and ridding them of Doxies and garden gnomes and such. I never wanted to think about why my mother did these things, or even that she did. My school tuition was paid for by my Uncle Christopher, and he provided me with pocket money, and when Aberforth started school, he did the same for him. The summer I turned seventeen, I went to my Uncle Christopher and asked him if I could stay with him during the holidays from then on, but he told me that my place was with my mother and that she deserved more support than I had been giving her. The previous two summers, I had worked in an apothecary – cleaning, sorting, performing inventory, and occasionally preparing ingredients. I chafed at the work, believing that I could do as well brewing potions as either of the Master’s two apprentices – and I probably could have – but I needed the money, or thought I did, because Uncle Christopher’s generous allowance seemed less adequate with each passing year. And yet, despite seeing how hard my mother worked, I had not seen fit to share any of my earnings with her. I would rise early in the morning, mount my broom, and fly to the apothecary, then I would return late. My mother would always have dinner waiting for me, even if she and Aberforth had eaten hours before, and never did she have a word of reproach. She was proud of me. And, to my great shame, I was not proud of her.”

“Where was your father?” Minerva asked, interrupting.

“Ah, now that is the question. Where was Father? Where was Father . . .” Albus murmured. “Two days after my ninth birthday, he disappeared. My brother and I didn’t even know, at first. Our mother kept it from us for a few days. But finally, she sat us down and told us that she did not know where our father was, and neither did his brother Christopher nor anyone else. Father had gone to work and sometime during the day, he simply vanished. There was no trace of him anywhere. Aurors had been called in, but they found nothing, absolutely no indication of where he had gone or why, or even whether he had disappeared of his own accord or had been a victim of foul play. If he had gone of his own accord, he brought nothing with him but the clothes on his back and the few Sickles he had in his pocket when he left home for the last time.”

Minerva sat in astonishment and horror. “Did you ever find out what happened to him?”

Albus shook his head. “No, my dear. As you can imagine, I kept expecting him to walk through the door, to tell us why he had been gone . . . so long. And I made up stories for myself to explain what had happened to him, and I would tell them to myself as I lay in bed at night – in most of them, he was a hero and still alive. Gradually, I imagined him as a hero, but a dead hero, that he had died heroically and alone, and that was why we did not know where he was and why he could not return to us. But during the day, I came to blame my mother. I heard rumours that he had run off with another witch, or sometimes it was with a Muggle woman, or that he had fallen in with a bad crowd and was part of a criminal network of wizards on the Continent, or that he had simply fled to Australia to escape his dull life. And all of these stories brought me to blame my mother. And when, the summer before I started at Hogwarts, my mother moved us to Wales, near her Muggle relatives, I saw it as a betrayal of our father. I believed she should stay in Cornwall, where we lived not far from my Uncle Christopher and Aunt Beatrice, stay and wait there for my father. But the fact was, we could not afford to stay there without accepting more money from my father’s brother, and that my mother did not want to do. I think she only accepted anything from him because of us boys.

“But, as much as I disliked the fact that we moved from Cornwall to Wales, I did like coming to know my Muggle relatives better, only a few of whom knew that my mother was a witch. It was interesting to visit them. I liked them, in fact, but I . . .” Albus shook his head. “It is difficult to describe, Minerva. I was amazed at all they could do without magic, and how well they managed to live without it, but there were so many things that we in the wizarding world could do that they could not, and the world was far more open to us because of our ability to Apparate, our Healing methods were far advanced compared to those of the Muggles, and there were so many things that we simply could do with greater ease. You must remember, this was the eighteen-fifties. Much has changed in the Muggle world since then, and rapidly, much more rapidly than they have ever changed in the wizarding world. At the time, though, I viewed Muggles as primitive, and somewhat valiant in their continued efforts to live a civilised life without the benefits of magic. Gradually, as I came to know them and to learn of Muggle science and philosophy, my views changed, of course, and my measure of them became based far less on external, material characteristics, and more on the internal values of mind and spirit. I think, in retrospect, that my mother’s decision to move us was a good one for many reasons, and not the least because of my closer association with the Muggle world.”

Albus smiled. “It is funny, actually, to be telling you this. I had planned to tell you so much, and I knew that this story had its beginning many years ago, but I had not thought I would be speaking so much of my childhood. Yet I suppose that my father’s disappearance, forever mysterious and unexplained, and the changes that it brought to our lives . . . perhaps the story does begin there, after all.

“My uncle’s words did not fall on deaf ears, and I saw that I had been selfish. Between the time I started school and when I entered my final year, I had come to see my mother differently, and as I matured, I realised that she was no more responsible for my father’s disappearance than I was, and I . . . I was not, despite the fact that I had staved off my own guilt over it for years. Our father had loved us and our mother, and I do not believe that he would have left us willingly, not without at least telling us something. Not if he were able to stay or to say good-bye.

“So . . . after hearing what my uncle had to say to me, the summer I was seventeen, I worked even harder, and my employer began to allow me to brew very simple potions and not just prepare ingredients for others to use in their brewing. And every week, I came home to my mother and proudly handed her three-quarters of my earnings. At first, she protested, but she saw how important it was to me and she accepted it. I believe she spent it all on my brother – buying him new school robes and new textbooks and getting him his own broom. Aberforth always had to borrow mine, and as he wanted to try out for the Quidditch team in September and I was already on it, it would have been more difficult for us to share it,” Albus said with a chuckle. “In fact, I had thought about it, and considered quitting the team if he were selected – not because I did not want to be on the team with him, but so that he could use my broom. So I was not entirely self-centred. Indeed, one reason it was important to me to earn money, aside from my belief that I needed more money to spend on myself, was that I enjoyed being able to treat my friends. It was partly from the desire to appear to come from a more well-off situation than I actually did, but I also truly did enjoy surprising friends with little gifts or treating them to a butterbeer when we went into Hogsmeade. And, of course, I liked to be able to purchase little trinkets for Dervilia and to court her in my naive way.

“And there, then, was Dervilia. I already told you of that, of how my apprenticeship was more important to me than the life of my wife and my unborn child . . . it was not truly more important to me, of course, but I only discovered that after I had lost them. I was foolish. I should have either accepted my mother’s offer of a house-elf, or insisted that we live in Wales near my mother and her family, or that she live with one of her relatives while I was away, despite the fact that they were all Muggles. Instead, I did as she wanted – believing that it was the least I could do for her and that I was being unselfish by doing so – and we moved to a small cottage that had belonged to her grandparents, but which had been empty for several months by the time we married. I assuaged my conscience by telling myself that she was in her own country, that she was near her family, that her older sister visited her regularly. . . . But it did not change the fact that I left her for days at a time and that she was alone when she died and . . .” Albus closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “She was a pretty girl . . . I called her my ray of sunshine because her hair was like golden fire and her laughter was like light. I did love her . . . but not enough. And I was young, too young. I believed I knew what was right and wrong and what my priorities should be and how a wizard should live his life and support his family, but I was . . . I was too young and too impressed with myself. Father . . . Father used to tell me as a child that the world did not revolve around me, yet for far too long, I behaved as though it did.

“And you know that after Dervilia died, I discovered my friend’s fiancee being attacked and savaged, and that I destroyed her attacker just as thoroughly as if I had killed him, his mind gone. Uncle Christopher gave me the wise advice to take some time and learn about the world and to . . . to get outside of myself for a while.”

Albus sighed and closed his eyes a moment. Minerva, who had been listening attentively, looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“You needn’t tell me everything tonight . . . if you are tired, if it is too difficult . . .”

Albus opened his eyes and looked over at Minerva, and he smiled, almost in relief. “No, I wish to continue. I haven’t even really begun, my dear. But it is thirsty work. Perhaps some tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please, whatever you would like,” Minerva agreed.

---

Next: “The Sorrows of a Young Wizard” 3 August 1957; 1860 - 1866.
I look forward to everyone’s reactions!

[dianahawthorne]

Oh, poor Albus! But he was very selfish in regards to Dervilia. On another note, however, how could Albus be so oblivious to Minerva's feelings - especially after Quin's talk with him? I liked how Quin tried to make Albus understand that Min loved him. I hope you post the next chapter soon! Great job, as always!

[Hogwarts Duo]

True to your word, I see we have a quick update. Yay!

The conversation between Quin and Albus was very interesting. I was afraid that Quin was going to reveal just a bit too much, betraying Minerva’s confidence in the meantime. That would have been extremely bad…for him. I can only imagine how angry Minerva would have been if Quin had been careless when speaking with Albus about her personal life…no matter the outcome of the revelations.

But she never seemed to particularly seek his company or to be nervous in his presence, both of which Albus considered the primary hallmarks of a crush.

GASP!!! The man had the key right there in his hand and he tossed it aside because he didn’t think it fit the keyhole…HEADtoDESK! If only he’d stop and think of how nervous Minerva gets around him and how she’s always looking for an excuse to be in his presence, he’d have his answer to the question of who holds Minerva’s heart. Guess what they say is true…Love really is BLIND!

However much he loved her and wished she were his, he wanted her to be happy, and the thought that she was not caused him sorrow.

Oh if only he knew that his sorrow and her sorrow were so intimately connected and that all he needed to do to make her the happiest woman in the world was the same thing that would make him the happiest man in the world. Tsk Tsk. Guess the course of true love doesn’t run smoothly after all, though with these two, I’m surprised they’re even on the same quidditch pitch!

Albus’ childhood sounded so sad, especially with the disappearance of his father. I’m very glad to know that he loved Albus’ mother and the boys so there was very little chance that he’d run off with another witch. Somehow, that makes his disappearance a little easier to bear, knowing he hadn’t just abandoned them.

I’m glad Christopher and Beatrice were able to help the family for a while and that he was able to guide Albus so he’d see that he wasn’t being fair to his mother. That’s an important lesson to learn for any child.

I’m very much looking forward to reading more of Albus’ story and seeing Minerva’s reactions to the things he shares with her. I highly doubt that anything he tells her with turn her against or away from him, but I can see how Albus might fear that response from her. It can’t be easy telling one’s life story to someone when you have no idea how they’ll respond.

Looking forward to the next installment!!!! ;D

The GLM

[minerva62]

Oh, I love this update, but I need more!!!! Please!!!!

I like Quin's remarks about Minerva to Albus, but as Hogwarts Duo said, Albus holds the key in his hands and is so blind! I really wonder what it will take to open his eyes......

The story of Albus' life sounds very interesting...I am anxious to learn more...

[Kayjay]

My second to last exam is behind me now (English linguistics, literature and didactics) and it went VERY well. So on that high I read your last two chapters. As always, I'm impressed!

I love that Albus decided to tell Minerva about his past and opening up to her so much. I hope her reactions will convince him that he is actually the wizard she has set her sights on...

And again: I just LOVE Quin *sigh* and I knew he would be dropping some helpful hints.

Looking very much forward to more of Albus' life story (and not that twisted thing JK threw at us), but my last exam is on Friday and that's the subject I'm worst at... :/

After that I'll have all the time in the world (at least until Febuary when I start teaching).

Huggles,
Kayjay

[esoterica1693]

Reviewing this chapter in reverse chron order...

Poor Albus, growing up w/o a father and not ever knowing what happened to him, even over 100 yrs later. And Aberforth, too--he must have been just a toddler and so didn't even know their father at all, really. At least their uncle seems to have been generous, kind and wise.

You don't mention Albus's father's profession...

It is duly noted that Albus first grew up in Cornwall, and that's where his father's family was (is?), and Gertie lives in Cornwall.....hmmm......rarely are there mere coincences in the RAMverse...

Albus missing Quin's point and wondering if Min is interested in Hagrid, of all people....argh! He really does have to get over his inferiority complex (which I presume we're about to learn lots more about)! He also needs to accept that it's okay for a teacher to date a former student so long as it's clearly post-school. I note that he assumes Johannes would automatically rule Minerva out for that reason...and while I don't think J is interested in her, that shows how firmly Albus is committed to that idea...

I hope that once he's done laying out all his dirtiest laundry for Minerva, and says something to her about how he felt uncomfortable w/ the idea she'd been willing to lay down her life for him w/o truly knowing him, that she does another even clearer blurt--about how she'd give him her entire heart and life in that instant if he'd but ask!

[esoterica1693]

Oh, and re the letter that Albus has in his personal desk that he hopes no one ever sees...

Not that he wanted anyone to see what he had written two months ago when he was missing Minerva, even Gertrude, much as he trusted her, but he could not bring himself to destroy the parchment.

Do you really mean *2 months ago*? He was all missing Minerva by 3 June? It was only around 3 weeks ago she was off at the Gamps....

[MMADfan]

Note: Not DH-compliant!

I enjoyed reading everyone’s comments on the last chapter. I look forward to reading everyone’s thoughts on this and the next chapter, especially. And enthusiastic reviews have encouraged me to update a little earlier than I was going to! ;D There may be a little bit of a breather after this block of chapters is up, though, so don't get too spoiled!

Posted in two parts because of length.

CXXI: The Sorrows of a Young Wizard

Albus called for peppermint tea, and when it had come and they were both sitting comfortably with their teacups, he picked up his story again.

“I left Britain and began my travels in France. I had a mind to find another Master eventually and begin my apprenticeship again. My Potions Master had been good enough to let me go, despite my not having completed my obligation to him, but to any other Master, it would not matter that I had completed a year and a half of an apprenticeship. I would have had to begin all over again, and as the international regulations governing the training of apprentices were not yet as advanced as they are today – and left far more to the individual countries to regulate – there was no requirement, as there is today, that a Master offer an apprentice for Mastership after a year if they had clearly attained the qualifications. So I would have had to begin an apprenticeship in Potions as a rank beginner. Transfiguration had always been a particularly fascinating Art for me, and I decided that if I found a Master, I would begin an apprenticeship in that, instead. But in the meantime, I travelled and learned all I could, particularly focussing on controlling and developing my magic as completely as possible.

“I found that I had even greater magical reserves than I had known, and I learned to tap into them and harness them. Eventually, I found myself in Prussia, one of the centres of the wizarding world at the time, and met a small group of wizards who, it seemed to me at the time, were dedicated to the same quest that I was, the quest for knowledge and control and development of their magical power. Their central leader was a fine figure of a wizard, only a few years older than I, handsome, well-spoken in several languages, from an old pureblood family. He had grown up with every privilege his parents could give him, and they were many. He began his studies at Durmstrang far advanced relative to the other students, and he excelled. The Headmaster was taken with him and impressed by his achievements, and allowed him to begin the advanced courses a year early. He completed the Durmstrang equivalent of OWLs at fourteen and the school leaving exams at sixteen. Apparition was not well-regulated anywhere then, and was least regulated in the German wizarding states, and he was Apparating at fifteen. His magic matured early, and his intellect, too.

“By the time I met him, he had begun and been dismissed from three different apprenticeships. He claimed the jealousy of the Masters had led to his dismissal, and it was a credible claim. Certainly his knowledge and skill in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and the Defensive Arts were impressive, and I could easily believe that he had surpassed his Masters. Later . . . later my thoughts on that changed.

“I became great friends with Gelly, or I believed we were great friends. I admired him and felt grateful that he not only included me in his group of friends, all of whom seemed to come from far more impressive backgrounds than I, but that he counted me among his closest friends. I believed I was learning much from him . . . we would sit and talk late into the night and sometimes into the next day, and he would demonstrate spells and ask me to demonstrate what I knew, as well. I believed I had finally found someone who was brilliant and who recognised my worth. I also believed that our goals were the same: the pursuit of knowledge and control over ourselves and our magical powers.

“However, it was when we began to discuss those goals that I began to sense differences between us. At first, I dismissed the differences as inconsequential, I was so grateful to be included in this exclusive group, but then . . . we began to argue, and I worried that I was falling out of favour. I was always grateful when he would forgive me for contradicting him or challenging him when we were in the company of others, but until he forgave me, I would worry and . . . mourn the loss of his favour. And then his forgiveness would come, and his sun would shine upon me again, and I would again feel as though I was in the company of brilliance and that my own brilliance was greater as a consequence. In my youthful enthusiasm, I thought that this was the pinnacle of wizarding life – a life of intellect and magical exercise. My uncle had been sending me money, irregularly, but enough to permit me to live as I did . . . and Gelly had invited me to live with him in his house, and it spared me the embarrassment, as I saw it, of staying in the small, dingy room above the Muntere Kobold. After a time, though, the allowance from home became smaller and my uncle wrote me and said that if I was going to stay in one place for a while, I should find a job.

“I had resigned myself to working to earn my keep and began to look for a job, but even those jobs that had seemed promising . . . the offer would be withdrawn, or after a day, my employer would discover that he did not need me and I would lose the job. After this happened a few times, I learned that Gelly had been obstructing my ability to get and retain work. He explained that it was for my own good, that I didn’t need a job when I was his friend and that working only distracted me. We argued again, and I gave in for a time . . . but it was the beginning for me to begin seeing Gelly in a new light. I listened more closely to what he was saying and to his political and social views, and with shock and even sorrow, I realised that this wizard whom I had idolised so thoroughly, his goals were not the same as mine. I wished to increase my knowledge, my power, and my self-control for myself, and he . . . his ends went beyond that. He had often said it, but I had never really heard him, even when I argued with him about it. He believed that the reason to learn to control magic and to control oneself was so that one could more effectively control others. I had mistaken his tolerance for Muggle-borns for a generally enlightened attitude, but now I recognised that it was simply because he valued power above all else, and he wanted to control wizards with power. His attitude toward witches had always puzzled me . . . he seemed to believe that their power could never match the innate power of wizards and that witches were not to be trusted. I have always liked and respected witches. In addition to my mother, there had been many witches who had nurtured my development, my Great-aunt Sarah, Aunt Beatrice, Professor Terwilliger, who had been my Transfiguration teacher, and, of course, Dervilia . . . she had been a talented and brilliant witch.” Albus sighed. “I should have encouraged her to do an apprenticeship, but if it was difficult for a married wizard to find a Master who would take him on, it was even more difficult for a married witch, and I did not think it worth her trouble and the inevitable rejections she would suffer until she found someone who would take her.”

Albus poured himself more tea and reflected a moment.

“Finally, one day, we had an argument, and Gelly . . . he scoffed at me. He said that knowledge and power were wasted on me if I did not see how they could be used. And he demonstrated quite thoroughly how well he had learned to use his magic. We duelled, and when I woke up, hours later, I was lying in the mud, my bag beside me, far from his house and nowhere near any wizarding folk. I was injured and humiliated, but I still felt an immense sense of relief and freedom. I hadn’t realised how he had taken over and dominated my life until I was free of him. It had only been a matter of months that I had been in Gelly’s company, but I felt as though my life had been taken and now had been returned to me.

“I travelled west again, leaving the German-speaking wizarding world behind and entering France. When I had passed through France before, I had heard rumours of a powerful but humble wizard and his equally impressive wife. I decided to seek them out.” He quirked a grin. “At that moment, ‘humble’ sounded wonderful to me. It took some time, but I found Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel living quiet lives in a small village outside of Paris. Truly wonderful people, Minerva. And despite my lingering arrogance, they were good to me, eventually even taking me into their home, and Nicolas began to teach me something of Alchemy, an Art that had always fascinated me, and one that was obscure and esoteric and that seemed to promise great power. Merely the thought of learning something unknown to most wizards and witches . . . it was thrilling to me. At the time that I met the Flamels, I had been gone from home for two years, six months of which had been spent – or wasted – in the company of Gelly. I learned a great deal from Nicolas, and from Perenelle, as well, but I was impatient. I wanted to learn more and learn it faster. I chafed at the pace and at the menial tasks which Nicolas would set for me each day before he would teach me . . . or watch me as he allowed me to experiment. I came to feel he was holding me back, and there was such a promise of greater knowledge just out of reach. I wanted that knowledge and power. I had forgotten the fear I had for the power I had exercised when I destroyed the wizard’s mind, and forgot that I had left home in search of self-mastery.

“I tried to argue with Nicolas, but, maddeningly, he would listen to me calmly, whether I tried cool logic or I shouted and ranted at him, yet without responding to my complaints. One evening, though, after I had angrily and unjustly accused him of deliberately keeping me from certain knowledge because he was afraid that I would surpass him, he lifted one finger, and I was Silenced. He told me that yes, he was afraid, he was afraid for me. He said that I had great potential, and it wasn’t just magical or intellectual potential, but that I persistently turned away from the one area in which my greatest potential lay, and that he could not help me with that, that only I could.

“As soon as I left his presence, I regained my voice. I went to Perenelle, to whom I had often complained. I believed I had an ally, or, at least, a sympathetic ear, in her. And she listened to me, and she was sympathetic, but she said that Nicolas was right and that I needed to develop myself more before I could advance in Alchemy, that my very impatience was a sign that I was not prepared for further study.

“I became very discouraged, but through Nicolas, I found a Potions Master who would allow me to begin an apprenticeship and who promised me that he would offer me for Mastership as soon as he believed I was ready without even requiring a full year’s service. Eight months later, I was a Potions Master. Nicolas himself offered me for a Transfiguration Mastery, and I was accepted without ever having to serve a traditional apprenticeship, my time with Nicolas being substituted. So despite not being willing to allow me access to the most esoteric areas of Alchemy, Nicolas did help me, and I was grateful. However, my gratitude was tinged with resentment for what he would not give me. One last time, I begged him to teach me more . . . he lit a small blue fire, tossed some peculiar mixture of powders into it, and multicoloured smoke rose in the room. My mind grew lax and all I could see was the smoke and Nicolas’s deep brown eyes. I scarcely remember what he did then, but it was a manner of Legilimency or divination that I had never experienced or heard of before. When it was over, Nicolas told me that I was unready, and I would remain unready until I recognised that. He said that I had great potential, potential to be many things, but that I had to choose a path, that I had to find my path or set my foot upon one that found me. I felt he spoke in riddles and that I had already chosen a path, a path of learning and the life of the mind and magic. And my resentment was not diminished, but neither was my love for him and his wife.

“I decided to leave the Flamels. I was a Master in two disciplines, and Nicolas still declined to teach me more or to supervise my own experimentation. I loved them both, but I believed they were holding me back, Nicolas in particular. My last evening in their home, Nicolas presented me with a book, a copy of Goethe’s Faust. He recommended it to me. Of course, I was familiar with the legend of Faust – who in the wizarding or Muggle worlds had not heard of the wizard who made a pact with the devil, after all? I knew why he had given it to me, but I pretended, even to myself, that I did not. I was not making a pact with the devil, after all, and there were things that I would not do in order to obtain greater knowledge. I found the gift insulting, but still I kept it and carried it with me.

“Not long after I left the Flamels, I received an owl from my brother. There was an outbreak of paralytic magical morbilliac fever, an epidemic, in fact, throughout Wales, Cornwall, and the west of England, and my mother had contracted it. This is a disease that was, and remains, fatal more often than not. I made my way home as quickly as possible, arriving the day after I received my brother’s letter. My mother was terribly ill and we had to take precautions to ensure that we would not contract it. We had to care for her using no magic, since casting spells in the presence of someone suffering from morbilliac fever opens one to infection, oneself. There was still no guarantee that one would not contract it, anyway, but my magical control at the time was sufficient that I believed it safe for me to assist in her care. One reason that morbilliac fever is so frequently fatal is that one can use no magic to care for the patient and the patient suffers as a result. Fortunately, potions could be freely used, as long as their brewing occurred elsewhere. I used all that I had taught myself, and all that I had learned from Nicolas and from my Potions Master, to brew the potions my mother required and to alter them to increase their efficacy. Slowly, she began to recover, and I adapted my potions to encourage the recovery of her magic, as well. So many who survive paralytic morbilliac fever are left with such poor control over their magic that they are magical invalids for the remainder of their lives. I was pleased with my mother’s progress, however, and hopeful for her recovery.

“Imagine my surprise when Gelly appeared on our doorstep one day, saying he had been visiting England and thought he would see if I had returned to Wales. He behaved as though nothing had occurred between us that last time we had seen each other. He was still the brilliant, powerful, and charismatic wizard he had always been, and I felt flattered that he had sought me out. He told me he had heard that I had attained two Masteries, and that I had studied with the mysterious Flamels.”

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXXI: The Sorrows of a Young Wizard, continued

Albus sighed. There was still so much to tell Minerva, and he still felt he had scarcely begun his story.

“I am sorry to say that I invited him into our house. He stayed in the local inn, but he was a regular visitor to our home. He avoided any mention of our previous disputes or even of the topics that had always given rise to our earlier arguments. I was tired from caring for my mother, my brother seemed taciturn company, at best, and spent his days . . . well, he was not of an intellectual bent, shall we say. Having Gelly visit daily was a respite for me. And my mother seemed to like him and he always treated her in a courtly manner.

“Then I learned his true purpose in visiting me. He told me he was beginning an elite academy in Berlin that would take only the most talented young wizards and teach them all Arts without dividing them into separate disciplines. He would accept any adept wizard over the age of fifteen, he said, and he wanted me to join him, to, as he put it, become his wand-hand at the academy, where he would train wizards and contribute to the ‘uplifting of wizarding society,’ as he put it.”

Minerva’s eyes widened as Albus began to speak of an “elite academy,” and Albus believed that she now knew who his friend Gelly became – who he had always been, in fact – but he continued his story without pause.

“I told him that I was flattered, as indeed I was, but that I could not possibly leave my mother, particularly at such a crucial point in her recovery. I also did not think that I wanted to fall within his orbit again, but I did not tell him that. We had had a congenial visit, and I did not want to alienate him by reminding him of our previous parting. Gelly continued to try to cajole me into leaving with him. He said that he was returning to Germany in a few days and he wanted me to join him when he did. Once more, I declined, citing my mother and her recovery. He told me that if I were ever to amount to anything, I would have to cut my ties to my family, particularly to my mother. I told him that would never happen. The next day, I returned from procuring potions ingredients to find a note on our kitchen table. It was from Gelly. He said that now that I was free, I could join him. He would be waiting for me in the bar of the Hag’s Hump. Note in hand, I raced upstairs to my mother’s bedroom. She lay peacefully in bed . . . dead.

“Certain that Gelly was responsible, I Apparated directly into the bar of the Hag’s Hump, creating quite a disturbance with my arrival. I confronted him, publicly accusing him of killing my mother and saying that I would see him answer for it. He laughed at me . . . he said that he knew he would be able to tell my true colours by my reaction to her death, that he had hoped I would join him and leave that miserable place behind. He never admitted killing her, nor did he deny it. He left before the Aurors came. When they investigated my mother’s death, they could find no cause for it, and told me that she had likely simply expired from her disease. They would not listen to me when I said that she had been recovering. They even said it may have been one of my potions that had hastened her demise, that I had wanted to be rid of her,” Albus said softly, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “There was nothing I could do, and I found myself wishing I had killed Gelly for what I believed he had done, and then glad I hadn’t, glad I had exercised the control that I had been unable to years before, but then I would excoriate myself for that very control and ask myself what kind of son I had been, inviting a viper into my mother’s home like that and then not being wizard enough to take care of him . . .”

Albus paused, not looking at Minerva, avoiding her gaze.

“Did . . . did you ever find out what really happened? How she died?” Minerva asked softly.

Albus shook his head. “No. And I have no certain evidence, no facts . . . but I feel it, I believe he was responsible for it. He denied it at the time, and he denied it again when I saw him again many years later, but then, years after that, he simply refused to speak of it, or of anything at all from our past. I did question our house-elf, Kangtin – Wilspy had returned to my Uncle Christopher’s house after Aberforth started school and Ferchil had died whilst I was away – but he knew nothing but that the wizard had Apparated to the front of the cottage, let himself in somehow, gone upstairs to see my mother, they talked for a while, then the wizard came down to the kitchen, left me the note, and departed, Disapparating.”

“I am so sorry, Albus . . . that must have been just awful for you,” Minerva said quietly, tears in her own eyes.

Albus did not respond directly to Minerva’s statement, instead, picking up his story again. “I moved through the next days, mechanically doing what needed to be done. Finally, I told my brother to finish it – sell the cottage or keep it himself. I did not care. I went to my uncle, half-expecting, even at that age, that he would have some words that would fix everything for me. But he did not; there were no such words. My soul was disturbed and my mind found no rest. Nothing had meaning any more. I left home again, this time wandering through Europe with no goal in mind, no care for anything at all. My path had been reduced to a mere track, a meandering and narrow way. I was in a wilderness and darkness and I did not care whether I ever found my way out of it.

“I avoided people and places I had come to know in my previous travels. I did not work, I barely even thought. If there was a pub in a wizarding village or neighbourhood, I would stop there a while, drinking, watching others’ lives . . . seeing respectable folk come in for their pint or their glass then going home to their families, seeing less respectable folk drinking more and taking what they could with as little effort as possible, and seeing still others who cleverly exploited both classes of people. I listened to their stories . . . their happy tales I greeted with cynicism, and I scoffed at their tales of loss. Nothing had meaning . . . my material means were meagre, and though I could now write wizarding cheques and draw on the family Gringotts account, I rarely did so. Instead, I would find others desperate for company and entertainment, and I would provide that in exchange for a meal and a bed . . . not that I put it that plainly to myself at the time. I did not reflect at all on what I was doing or on the manner in which I was living. And if I forgot where I was at times . . . I did not care. And oft, I would offer more company and more . . . entertainment . . . to a pretty witch for a particularly warm bed, and believed I was giving and taking comfort, when in actuality, I was only losing myself in a different way than through alcohol or potions.”

Albus avoided Minerva’s gaze as he thought of those long-gone days. “I became . . . dissolute and even somewhat profligate, and I thought it only right. I was unworthy of anything better, I believed, and I forgot even why I felt that way, but it seemed to be the only truth in my life. I became less and less charming company, and fewer and fewer wished to seek me for entertaining conversation or for more . . . I moved on, moving constantly, it seemed, still avoiding anyplace where I might see someone who knew me, although I doubt that most of my former acquaintances would have recognised me at that point. Even in school, I had been well-groomed and tried to dress in accordance with current fashion as far as possible on my limited budget. Now . . . my beard was unkempt, I barely concerned myself with personal hygiene, my clothes . . . I had somehow managed to lose most of my belongings one night, stolen by someone who took advantage of my state.” Albus shrugged. “I wandered like this for months . . . I am convinced that if it had continued much longer, I would have been dead within the year. However . . . one morning, I woke up in a mental fog, once more unsure of where I was, but now not even able to remember how I got there. I didn’t remember the previous night at all, and my memory of the day before was almost as hazy. I looked around me and was . . . shocked, or as shocked as I could be at that point in my life. I was certainly sickened, though that might as easily be accounted for by what I had ingested the day before as by the sight that met my eyes. I gathered my few things together, barely taking time to dress, and Apparated to the first nearby location that I could clearly call to mind, a spot by the side of the road just outside of town.”

Albus paused to rewarm his tea, seeming to do so without thought. His eyes were vacant and tired, reflecting the desperation of the events he was recounting.

Minerva rose and stopped his hand with a gentle touch from her own. “I think fresh tea would be better right now,” she said gently, and called Wilspy, asking for a fresh pot of chamomile tea, thinking its soothing properties would be welcome at that moment.

Albus sat back and smiled wanly at Minerva. “Thank you, my dear. Very thoughtful of you.”

“I find you can only rewarm tea so many times before it loses its flavour,” Minerva said matter-of-factly.

After their tea had arrived and Minerva had served them, her curiosity finally won out, and she asked, “What did you wake up to that shocked you so much, especially after all you had already gone through?”

Albus took a deep breath and let it out, and answered, though he was unable to look at her as he did so. “Well, lest you believe that I woke surrounded by dead bodies or some such thing . . . there was a tangle of naked limbs in the bed beside me. Several. And I didn’t recognise the faces of their owners. All I could think was, how had I ended up there? I, who had been the most promising student Hogwarts had seen in hundreds of years, who had thought himself so much better than his peers?

“I sat there by the side of that cold, hard road, quite sick, emotionally numb, with almost no money, hundreds of miles from home – feeling, actually, as though I had no home and nowhere to go – I sat there for a long time in the chilly early morning, with no energy to move and not enough to do myself in, either, though I thought at that moment that death would be preferable to continued existence. How had I gone from being the best and the brightest to being this debauched wreck of a wizard? As I sat there beneath a tree, in complete and utter despair, I heard people approaching. I cared not whether I was seen or not seen, and remained where I was. It was a caravan – three wagons, in fact, a few people on ponies, some on foot. They stopped there. As uninterested as I was in anything in the world but my own empty misery, I still could see that they had stopped to look at a pony, which was riderless and limping, clearly unwell. To say that I scarcely cared would be an overstatement of my concern for them and their animal. Life was misery, after all. Unrelenting misery. The men were shaking their heads, and I believed that they were going to kill the animal, put it out of its misery. Then I saw a little girl, perhaps seven or eight, her black hair in a long, thick braid down her back, her dark brown eyes large and round and filled with tears as she watched the men discussing the fate of the pony. She ran up to the poor creature and held on to it, weeping with every bit of sorrow her shuddering little body held.

“For the first time in months, I felt something other than bleak emptiness. I wanted to weep with the little girl, and I wanted to spare her the pain of losing the pony. So I rose from where I sat, knowing that I looked terrible and smelled worse, and approached the men. Using a combination of French, Italian, and German, I managed to convince them to let me prepare a potion to try to help the poor beast. They moved off the road and sat and watched me brew the potion. I used ingredients they had at hand and those that I could scavenge myself nearby, and within a few hours, I had a thick potion. Now this particular pony was unshod; it had suffered an injury to its hoof, something having been driven deep into the softer area in the centre of the foot. Now, I knew little of horses or ponies, or any Muggle animals, for that matter, but I knew a great deal about potions and a little something about Healing in general. Using only the magic that flowed through my hand as I held the beast’s leg between my own, I calmed the animal’s pain and began to clean out the infected flesh using a long, thin blade one of the men handed me. I finally found the source of the infection – a sharp metal shard – and removed it and the noxious tissue, as well. When the pus was well-drained, I packed the hoof with the potion. Normally, I would have simply sealed it off using magic, but with these Muggle Gypsies, I clearly could not do that. There was a blacksmith among them, and under my instruction, he fixed a solid plate to the hoof, holding the potion in place.

“I knew my potion would be effective, and likely within a matter of hours at the most, but lest they wonder at the speed of the pony’s recovery, I instructed them not to allow the pony to move about for at least another day, at which time they could remove the plate, clean out the potion, and allow the pony light exercise.”

Albus sighed. “To make a long story short, I stayed with these people. They invited me to share their meal, the pony recovered, the little girl held my hand and fell asleep, and for the first time in a long time, I felt some purpose and some genuine human warmth sparking in my soul. I travelled with them, and learned their ways and their language. I started to feel again. I paid my way by brewing potions and telling stories. I began to find healing by . . . helping them, by offering what small measure of healing I could give them. One night, Maria, the oldest sister of Elinor, the little girl whose tears had so moved me, came to visit me. And she stayed till morning. She often came after that, and I grew . . . quite comfortable for a while, living with the Roma, sharing their lot. But then, Maria’s brothers paid me a call one night and said that her visits would cease until I agreed to marry her. They were not angry at all, merely matter-of-fact. These people had become like a family to me, and I had begun to recover myself in their company. But two days later, I left them. I did not really belong with the Roma, and I knew it, and they knew it as well.”

---

Note: Other than the fact that I changed Grindelwald’s first name to “Gellert” from “Gunther,” as it originally was in my outline, in order to avoid confusion, RaM is, as you can see, definitely not DH-compliant. RaM!Grindelwald is a few years older than RaM!Albus; it is the opposite in DH – and, obviously, there are many other differences, as well, too many to enumerate. I think “non-DH-compliant” about covers it!

Next: “Defeating Darkness” 3 August 1957; 1866 - 1945. Darkness may seem formless, but it has many guises.

[Hogwarts Duo]

My heart is actually breaking for Albus at this point in his story. Having gone through so much in such a short period of time certainly took its toll on him and it's no wonder he slipped into such despair.

And Grindelwald leaving him in the mud, the debauched lifestyle, his redemption with the gypsies...utterly amazing. I truly believe he began his journey home, both literally and metaphorically, when he saw little Elinor crying over the pony. Out of his own sadness, he looked up and saw the saddness in an innocent child's face and knew he had to help. That's the Albus we all know and love at the most basic level of his humanity.

I think the hardest part for me to read so far was Albus participating in an orgy and waking up, not remembering any of the names or recognizing any of the faces. It just goes to show the depths to which he slipped and how far he's come on his road to redemption. And then to see him so controlled over that area of his life, especially around Minerva...impressive!

I'm very glad he is sharing all of this information with Minerva. I think it will help her better understand him as a person and why he does some things and not others. This backstory is immensely better than anything JKR could have imagined and as far as I'm concerned...this is my new canon!!!

Looking forward to the rest of Albus' story so don't make me wait too long!!!