Continued from the previous post!
CXXIV: A Werewolf’s End, continuedMoments later, Minerva was standing in her sitting room alone. The letter from the Ministry official had been brief and to the point. Robert Pretnick had been found in his room at the Leaky Cauldron by the landlady, who was bringing him his lunch, as she did daily. There had been letters found, including one for Professor Dumbledore, and it would be released to him as soon as its contents were recorded for the purposes of their investigation. It was clear, however, that the cause of death had been a self-administered potion and had been fairly close to instantaneous.
Minerva went into her study to begin drafting letters. When Albus returned, he could duplicate them, making any changes he wanted, then sign and seal them himself. This sort of news was best coming directly from the Headmaster, and not from any proxy. Suddenly, she felt a peculiar sensation, a kind of vibration in the soles of her feet and a tickling in her palms, then it was gone. She shrugged. She must now be in charge of the wards. Not that she had much of an idea of what that meant, since she hadn’t discussed the Hogwarts wards with Albus since she was about eighteen, but, as he said, it was unlikely that anything would occur in his absence. With that thought, Minerva realised that she was completely alone in Hogwarts castle, but for the house-elves and whatever ghosts or other . . . beings might be about. But they hardly counted. It was a peculiar thought, and she felt a slight sense of anxiety, which she tamped down firmly. She sat and began the first of the letters.
-/-/-/-/-
Albus Flooed to his office. He left word with Dilys that he would be leaving the castle and that Minerva was in charge, transferred the wards to Minerva, then he tapped his fireplace to open an external Floo connection and lit a small fire, tossing a pinch of Floo-Powder into it. He bent over and put his head into the fireplace, saying, “Gamp Estate,” and prepared for the uncomfortable sensation of speaking through the Floo-Network. He had never liked doing it, but sometimes it was the most convenient way to communicate with someone, and if he wanted to be able to Floo through, he would have to call ahead.
A wrinkly grey house-elf greeted him, and Albus explained that he would like to Floo through. A few rather uncomfortable and warm moments later – he should have used a bit more Powder, he thought – and Columbine Gamp appeared.
“Please, do come through, Albus.”
With some relief, Albus withdrew his head from the fire, took a bit more Floo-Powder, and Flooed through to the Gamp parlour.
“Albus, how lovely to see you! We have missed your visits,” Columbine said warmly as he stepped out.
Albus nodded and smiled slightly. “I am sorry, Columbine, but this is unfortunately not a social call. I need to speak with Gertrude.”
“Oh, I’m afraid she’s not here. I am not entirely sure where she is, in fact. She left quite early this morning, before we were up, in fact, and left word that she wouldn’t be returning until late this evening. I am afraid that all I can recommend is that you owl her.”
“Owl her . . . yes, of course. If I am unsuccessful in reaching her, could you be sure to tell her that I was here and that it is imperative that she return to Hogwarts as soon as possible? If she doesn’t get in until late . . . just ask her to return first thing in the morning. It is rather urgent, but if she is back very late, she might as well sleep here rather than at the school,” Albus said. “But if she returns this evening or sooner, I would appreciate it if she came directly to the school.”
“I certainly will tell her. If you like, I could send her an owl for you,” Columbine offered.
“That would be most convenient and very kind of you. Please tell her just what I have said, and tell her that if I am not at Hogwarts that she should find Professor McGonagall. She will be able to tell her what has happened. Now, do you mind if I make use of your Floo?”
A few minutes later, Albus was hurrying down a corridor at the Ministry. As well-intentioned as the Ministry officials might be, he was concerned about who was going to inform Robert’s Muggle relatives and how they would do it. Unfortunately, most of the Ministry’s involvement in the Muggle world occurred when there was a magical accident that needed to be explained away. Albus wasn’t even certain who the current Muggle Liaison was, but whoever it was likely had another job at the Ministry that took priority and was more accustomed to Obliviating Muggles than offering them comfort.
An hour later, Albus found himself in a small neighbourhood of recently-constructed houses. Apparently Robert had left a letter for his relatives, as well, but it hadn’t been released yet, either. Albus had extracted a promise that he would be allowed to deliver that letter when the Ministry was through with it, and no one had objected to him notifying the relatives, an unpleasant job at any time, only complicated by the fact that his relatives were Muggles.
Albus had Transfigured his robes into a fair facsimile of a dark brown Muggle suit, but he didn’t think it was his best work. At least he wasn’t walking down the Muggle street wearing ankle-length robes of copper and turquoise. He found the house and, after looking for a knocker, found a smallish black button. He pressed it and could hear the buzz of the doorbell, if the harsh sound could be said to be emanating from a bell of any kind. A moment later, and the door opened and Albus found himself looking down at a little boy with pale, straw blond hair and eyes as dark as raisins. A wizarding child, Albus thought immediately. The nephew whom Robert had wanted to help and see through Hogwarts. Albus smiled kindly down at the little boy and asked for his parents, his mum or his dad, and the lad ran off, leaving the door open and calling out for his mum.
-/-/-/-/-
Minerva was surprised by a clanking and barking from the sitting room. As she had been attempting to draft the letters, she had been distracted by occasional odd sensations that came and went. She assumed they had something to do with the wards, and she wondered how anyone managed to think with the wards doing . . . whatever it was they did. No wonder Dippet had been thrilled to hand the wards to Albus, if everyone experienced them like this. She imagined it could be worse – and during the school year, with so many people about, so much activity, so much magic in the air, it must be like having an itching jinx all the time. She couldn’t fathom that. But she hadn’t felt anything that she thought indicated that Albus was back and had regained the care of the castle wards, so she couldn’t imagine who was at her door.
As she passed through the sitting room, she looked up at the landscape above the fireplace. The Silent Knight was exiting the picture, but Fidelio was still there, barking.
“All right, Fidelio, I’m coming,” Minerva said slightly irritably.
Fidelio sat, thumping his tail madly, ears forward, looking for all the world as though he expected a treat and a scratch behind the ears. She had to have the most peculiar door wardens in the entire castle, she thought, but she had chosen to bring them with her when she moved, after all.
As she approached the door, Minerva opened it with a wave of her wand. “Gertrude!” Minerva looked behind the witch. “Is Albus with you?”
“No. I received an owl from my mother saying that the Headmaster was looking for me, and I should return to Hogwarts immediately. She also said that if he wasn’t in, I should find you. He wasn’t in.” Gertrude stepped into the sitting room as Minerva opened the door more widely to admit her.
“Oh, oh, dear,” Minerva said, looking at the witch. She had clearly been out doing something active, as she was dressed in belted grey trousers, a pale pink blouse, and stout black boots with a dusting of red earth over them, and she had a grey jacket folded over one arm. “Come in. Have a seat. Would you like some tea? A ginger newt?”
Gertrude sat on the edge of the sofa. “No, no tea. The letter said that it was urgent and you would know what it was about.”
Minerva sat down across from her. She didn’t know what to say. “Professor Dumbledore received an owl about . . . about an hour ago, now.”
Gertie waited patiently. “Yes?”
“It was from the Ministry. Um, I don’t know as there’s any easy way to say this, but Professor Pretnick was found dead in his room at the Leaky Cauldron this noon. By his own hand, they believe,” Minerva said.
“Oh.” Gertrude let out a breath and seemed to sag slightly, her eyes losing focus. “Poor man. Poor Albus. And you, how are you?” she asked, looking up.
“I’m fine, I think. I am writing some letters for Albus. I have done the one for the staff and have the one to the Board of Governors half-written.”
“I am not sure what Albus would have me do . . . he probably wanted me with him while he informed the family, as I imagine he wished to do before the Ministry could do it in their normal fashion. But perhaps I could write the letter to the families of the Hogwarts students, unless you would prefer to do that, Minerva. Or if there’s anything else?”
“I can’t think of anything. That would be fine. And perhaps you could look at what I wrote for the staff letter, too. The letters are in my study.”
The two witches went into Minerva’s study, and Gertrude read the letter.
“I think that’s fine. Anything else about what time they should come back to the school and so forth, Albus will have to add,” Gertrude said with a nod. “Why don’t I go up to his office and wait for him there and write the other letter – unless you would prefer to wait there, in which case I can work from my office.”
“No, that’s fine,” Minerva said absently with a nod and a wave of her hand. “You can Floo from here – from the sitting room. It’s connected to his office.”
Gertie nodded. “Are you sure you are all right, Minerva? You look . . . I suppose it’s natural that you don’t look like yourself after that news. But is there anything you need?”
Minerva shook her head. “No . . . it was just a very late night last night, and then this news now, and Albus – ”
“Yes?”
“Albus was upset, then he just got up and left, like that. Just . . . gone.”
“He deals best with things when he is able to do something right away, and it is unsurprising that he would be distressed. He believed that he had found something of a solution to Pretnick’s difficult situation and that Pretnick was amenable to it. It was no doubt a shock to him.”
“I know that, it’s just that – ” Minerva looked over at Gertrude. She had known him a lot longer than she had. “I don’t understand why he just left so suddenly. He seemed upset, and then he was leaving. It felt – abrupt, I suppose.”
“There are likely a number of reasons that contributed, but the overriding one was probably his desire to inform Pretnick’s relatives. They are Muggles, and the Ministry can be somewhat clumsy when dealing with Muggle relatives, from what Albus has said to me in the past. And as for any other reasons for it . . . I think he might just need time to deal with his feelings himself, even though I am sure that he knows that you care about him and you would not mind if he shared them with you. I think you could be a help to him, in fact, Minerva, but . . . Albus is complicated, as you know. If you were to ask my advice, I would say that in this instance, you might want to let him come to you. Sometimes, as I have said, you will need to tell him his own mind, but other times . . . . Just let him know that you are here to listen or to . . . to keep him company.” Gertrude put out a hand and patted Minerva’s arm. “I know that urge to want to rush in and help him for his own good, and sometimes, he does need someone to give him a good shake, metaphorically speaking, but it’s best to reserve the shaking for those moments when he really needs it, I believe. Just love him, Minerva, and all will be well. I am sure of it.”
Minerva blushed and couldn’t find any words.
Gertrude shrugged. “That’s my advice, based on my experience, anyway. I’ll be in his office if you need me for anything.”
-/-/-/-/-
Gertrude returned an hour later, once again announced by Fidelio’s cheerful barking. “I decided that I could wait for him just as well anywhere in the castle. I left word with a couple portraits that I had returned, though, in case he goes directly to his office. I thought if you would like, we could have tea and a bite to eat.”
Minerva was just as happy to have Gertrude’s company. She had finished the letters and had spent the rest of the hour trying to respond to the mundane correspondence that she had received that morning, but she was having a hard time concentrating, between the feeling that there must be something more important she could be doing and the intermittent peculiar sensations that rippled across her magic.
As they drank their tea and ate the sandwiches that Blampa provided, Minerva mentioned that she had been given the wards.
“Obviously, since I am the only person here, and the Head of Gryffindor, he would pass them to me, but we hadn’t talked about it before, and, I don’t know, have you ever held the wards?” Minerva asked.
“Only a few times. He prefers, obviously, to pass them to a Head of House, since that is the way they are structured.”
“How do you manage with the constant . . . I can’t describe it . . . it’s like bubbling or something in my magic. It’s most distracting,” Minerva said.
“Oh, he should have mentioned that – it’s actually worse when there is no one in the castle and nothing really happening, oddly enough. It’s like when it’s perfectly quiet at night except for one frog croaking and just as you begin to fall asleep, the frog croaks again,” Gertie said. “But you can make it less noticeable. Where is your wand?” Minerva took out her wand. “All you need to do is just touch the naked stone of the castle with the tip of your wand and hold it there for a moment or two . . . you’ll know when it’s been long enough. I’m not entirely certain how it works, but it’s like tuning a wireless, according to Johannes. The castle will . . . shift something. Albus can explain it to you, I’m sure.”
Minerva looked at Gertrude somewhat sceptically, but then put the tip of her wand on the window ledge. She didn’t feel anything and shrugged.
“Try the stone of the wall,” Gertrude suggested.
Minerva stood and touched the tip of her wand to the limestone wall next to the fireplace. She felt a peculiar rushing sensation go through her arm, then a slight vibration, then nothing at all. Minerva lowered her wand and stood attentively. No, she didn’t feel any other peculiar sensations at all.
“Better?” Gertrude asked.
“Yes, much to my surprise. It sounded very odd to me,” Minerva said with a slight smile.
“Good. Now you will only feel if something goes wrong. I am not sure how we are supposed to identify what it is, but Johannes said that once when he was holding the wards last October, there was a large explosion down in the dungeons, and he immediately knew the location of the problem and was drawn there, though he didn’t know why, and was quite startled when he arrived in the Potions classroom to find Horace on the floor with a small knot of seventh-year students trying to bring him round while a few others dealt with the fire.”
“Slughorn had an explosion in the Potions classroom?” That would be an unusual occurrence. At least for it to be a large one. Slughorn was very cautious.
“Apparently one of the seventh-year students thought he would experiment with substituting ingredients without asking Slughorn first. It was not a good idea. Demolished a bench and a cupboard, incinerated some potions ingredients – fortunately, none that were overly combustible, shall we say – and sent Horace to the infirmary for two days. He was a terrible baby about it, too.”
“What about the student?” Minerva asked.
“Oh, the student was fine. Horace looked over just as he was adding the venom or blood or whatever it was. He jumped on the student, knocking him out of the way of the explosion. The students said it seemed simultaneous. A second later, and it would have been the student, and he would have had it right in his face, not in the backside, which was Horace’s primarily affected area,” Gertie said with a slight smile.
“Slughorn jumped on the student?” Minerva said, eyes wide, trying to imagine such a thing. She didn’t think he could stir himself to cross a room at anything faster than a leisurely amble, and she would have thought he’d be the first to seek cover if he thought something was going to explode.
Gertrude smiled. “Yes, and to hear the students tell it, it was some sight. He was wearing bright yellow and orange robes that day, with a black teaching robe over them, open down the front. They said it was very amusing. Once they were certain he was going to live, of course,” she added with a chuckle.
“Of course,” Minerva said, smiling. “But still – please don’t take this the wrong way – but I still find it difficult to fathom.”
“Why? Because he’s Slughorn or because he’s Slytherin?” Gertrude asked, mirth in her eyes.
“Well, both, I suppose,” Minerva admitted. “Not really either one, just both together. And he doesn’t seem to be capable of swift locomotion, you must admit, let alone any kind of leaping about.”
Gertrude laughed out loud at that. “No, no, no ‘leaping about’ for Horace,” she said, then laughed harder. When she had some control over her laughter, she said, “It is an amusing thought, I agree, and incongruous, but he is an excellent Potions Master and he certainly takes the safety of his students seriously. He would never let harm come to them if he could help it. Surely you must appreciate that, Minerva.”
“Of course . . . I suppose it’s just the image,” Minerva said with a smile, just as amused by Gertrude’s own amusement as she was by the image of a portly Slughorn, clad in yellow, orange, and black, leaping on a student.
“I have known Horace since he was a boy, two years behind me in school here. He has always been somewhat physically indolent, and he certainly enjoys his myriad luxuries and tends to pamper himself, but when push comes to shove, he will usually do the right thing. And in this case, it was obvious and clear-cut what that was. He wouldn’t put himself in physical danger if there were some other remedy, of course – he’s no Gryffindor – but if that’s the only avenue . . .” Gertrude shrugged.
Minerva remembered what Slughorn had said about Gertrude having had a crush on him when they were in school together. That seemed even more unlikely now.
“So . . . were you two friends when you were in school?” Minerva asked.
“We were in the same House, but I would not go so far as to call us ‘friends,’ but then, I call few people that now, and although I may have been more sociable as a student, there were few whom I would have called friends, even then. Horace, though . . .” Gertrude stopped. “For some reason, he took to following me about. Rather annoying, actually. I was a prefect, and when he was made a prefect, he did whatever he could to have patrol the same evenings that I did. So I suppose he thought us to be friends.”
“He had a crush on you?” Minerva asked, trying to hide her amusement at the thought of a mini-Sluggy have a crush on young Gertie.
Gertrude shrugged. “I suppose something of the sort.” She raised an eyebrow at Minerva’s poorly suppressed grin. “It’s not as though I was completely homely as a girl, you know.”
Minerva shook her head. “I didn’t think you had been. You aren’t now. It’s the image of a young Slughorn, who, for some reason, I can only picture as a shrunken version of his current self,” she said with a little giggle, “following you about being, well, Slughorn.”
Gertrude smiled. “I’m sure you will see the same thing year after year as you teach here, students with crushes and such, and then the students grow up, and some are just like larger, older versions of their younger selves, and others change quite a bit and you wouldn’t recognise them twenty years later.”
“And what sort am I?” Minerva asked, curious, though she was fairly certain that she hadn’t changed very much, except, of course, to have grown up.
“Obviously you have matured and don’t run about doing headstrong things anymore – perhaps you actually should occasionally – but you were always bright, serious, and caring. You were sometimes even too solemn, I thought, for a Gryffindor, but I didn’t get the sense that you were unhappy. You were just very . . . intense. You still are, though a bit less so, perhaps. No, you are one who is completely recognisable, and all to the good, Minerva,” Gertrude said.
Suddenly, Minerva sat up straighter and said, “Oh! Oh! Oh, my!” She blinked.
Gertrude became alert. “What is it? Is there something wrong?”
“No . . . no, I don’t think so. I think perhaps that Albus may be back?” she answered in a questioning tone.
“You felt the wards shift back to him, then?”
“Yes, at least, I think that’s what it was. I could feel him – that is, I felt something,” Minerva said, trying to keep from blushing. “I thought it was him taking the wards back.”
Continued in the next post!
, if you would like the lime-flavored version. 
He learned his lesson. hehe. Ok, just me again.
(fans are so needy, huh?)
-- I do try to pace them, however, for a number of reasons, a few of which I will share here. 
); I very, very rarely write something and then post it after only re-reading it once for typos and continuity errors. Usually, I go through the draft at least a few times, polishing it and making sure that it not only reads well but that it conveys what I want it to convey, not just in terms of information, but also in terms of mood, atmosphere, characterization, and so forth. Some chapters undergo this process repeatedly, and often even after I have another chapter or two written, so I can go back through a few chapters at once and make them flow together and move things around if I need to. So it's not as simple as writing the chapter and then posting it. There are parts of future chapters that I have written -- in bits and pieces for the most part -- that I then go through and integrate into the appropriate chapters as they are written, always revising the old bits and making them fit into the new chapter. It's a big process. And this is a hobby, a pastime, a way of whiling away the hours in something more active than watching television and less active than a visit to the gym. I enjoy it, but if it were to become something onerous, I'm sure I would stop and find something else to do that I might find relaxing.
I hope he won't continue to do that if he starts to feel more a failure. I think the advice Gertie gave Minerva here was very appropriate and she will take it. Men! Go Gertie!