Resolving a Misunderstanding (complete)

[dmf1984]

Poor Quin; he is too wonderful to be believed. He really does love Minerva, as a friend, and as more...wouldn't take much to tip him over, would it? I'm glad they didn't act on their feelings though, since Minerva is VERY emotionally labile right now. That complication would be too painful for both of them, even if it meant temporary solace and release. Quinny needs someone too (and not just for "morning wood" )

I didn't think of Albus' ability to "become" invisible; I was more thinking of his Animagus transformation, or perhaps he went into the Heart of Hogwarts (where he can see the entire castle and campus, right?)

As much as my heart is breaking for both Albus and Minerva, you've assured us that all will be well for them in the end. NOW I'm getting worried about Quin, Johannes, Malcolm/Gertrude and Murdoch/Poppy! Have you happy assurances to give us in their tales as well? I hope so.

BTW, you still rock on a Thursday! (hee )

Hope you are well and ffnet doesn't cause too many more probs.

Only one more final to administer (chemistry) and then I can (almost) finish the fall term...*sigh*

[dianahawthorne]

I agree with the Hogwarts Duo - I think Albus was appalled at himself for letting his control slip. And poor Quin! I do think that he loves Min, and if he had been in Albus's place...

Great chapter, as always, and I was thrilled by the early update. Hope they continue! I can't wait to see Albus's thoughts on that event...

[minerva62]

Oh sweet Merlin, Quin is so absolutely wonderful...so understanding and sweet and yet so strong to resist temptation as he knows it would not do any of them good in the end....

I'm in danger to become a MMQM shipper....

Quin really deserves a fine witch who loves him as strongly as Minerva loves Albus...

And yes, I'm very curious to read about Albus' thoughts...

Thanks so much for this great and early update!

[MMADfan]

If people would like some entertainment while awaiting the next chapter of RaM (although it should be up in not very long), here's the latest little quizzie game that I have on my LJ. You might find it amusing!

Why?

1. Why did Egeria trust Albus with her daughter’s welfare?

a. Because he was a brilliant wizard and a powerful warlock.
b. Because the way in which he helped her showed that he loved her unselfishly.
c. Because he had taken a vow of celibacy when he began to teach at Hogwarts.
d. Because Egeria had been his student.

2. Why is Egeria worried about Malcolm?

a. She thinks he is addicted to illicit potions.
b. She thinks he is a Dark Wizard.
c. She thinks his hobbies are too dangerous.
d. She thinks he should settle down at his age.

3. Why did Albus leave home the first time and travel?

a. Guilt over his wife’s death and destroying another wizard’s mind.
b. His apprenticeship bored him.
c. He inherited money from his Uncle Christopher.
d. He was fleeing the Aurors.

4. Why does Minerva become angry with Professor Dumbledore at the end of her sixth year?

a. He could not avert Hagrid’s expulsion.
b. Tom Riddle is still a prefect.
c. He suspended her Animagus training.
d. He broke Hagrid’s wand.

5. Why is Albus Dumbledore invited to join the Hogwarts staff in 1937?

a. The Transfiguration teacher died.
b. The wards were disintegrating.
c. The school matron was infatuated with him.
d. No one wanted to be Dippet’s Deputy.

6. Why is Professor Dustern leaving Hogwarts?

a. Headmaster Dumbledore fired her for insubordination.
b. She does not approve of Professor Dumbledore.
c. She is marrying a Ministry bureaucrat who wants her to stay at home.
d. She wants more adventure in her life.

7. Why does Minerva use the shower in the Headmaster’s suite?

a. She went swimming with the Giant Squid.
b. She wants to shower in the same place that Albus does.
c. She spilled a caustic potion all over herself.
d. She was ordered to by Wilspy.

8. Why does Merwyn invite Albus into his study?

a. To read a letter.
b. To play chess.
c. To tell him to stop toying with his daughter’s affections.
d. To show him an ancient manuscript.

9. Why does Gertie invite Minerva to an early breakfast her first day at the Gamp Estate?

a. To warn her about Valerianna Yaxley.
b. To warn her about Francis Flint.
c. To determine her intentions toward Albus.
d. To discover whether Quin is bothering her with unwanted attentions.

10. Why did Albus choose his blue cummerbund rather than his silver belt?

a. His silver belt made his robes puff out around him like a mushroom.
b. His blue cummerbund accentuated his masculine figure.
c. His silver belt clashed with his accessories.
d. He decided not to wear his matching silver boots.

[MMADfan]

BTW, so no one is confused by the new page, I updated this morning (i.e., about 16 hours ago), and the chapter's on the previous page. (I can just see people reading the next instalment & being very confused about where Minerva is & what she's doing! haha!)

[esoterica1693]

It is so sad that Minerva thinks that her 20 yrs of loving Albus is now totally wrecked, as is their friendship--that she has lost Albus almost as completely as if he'd died.

Quin definitely wins the Saint of the Day (Year? Decade?) award. He changes all his plans, takes care of Minerva, buys her clothes, *and* manages to maintain appropriate and very loving boundaries. And even though it would be to his benefit for "Minerva + Albus" to be well and truly over, so that he could be w/ Minerva (b/c I think they'd make a great couple *if* her heart were truly free--as he said earlier, one can still have a fulfilling relationship w/ someone not your soulmate), he still wishes for what is best for Minerva, which is for Albus to come around. Oh, the genuine love that shows!

By the way, Quin, since you obviously know how to use the fellytone, my number is (1) (858-...-....) . <VBG>

Minerva sure isn't making it any easier on Quin, but her reactions are totally believable, IMO.

I sure hope he eventually finds a witch even more wonderful for him than Minerva, as a reward for his virtue and compassion. But that the two of them remain good friends as his kids go through Hogwarts.

Other reviewers have suggested that Quin needs to go and have a very firm talk w/ Albus, to put it mildly. While I don't imagine that is in MMADfan's outline, I personally wouldn't blame him if he did! Albus needs someone to knock some sense into him, even if that's at the end of a wand....and Quin is not a wizard to be trifled w/, nor whose friends should be trifled with.

It was especially dear when Quin asked if Albus had hurt her physically. Given her appearance he did really have to ask, as improbable as it may sound from a distance.

His sleeping w/ her was very sweet (and a bit risky, despite all his caveats) and his morning escape was cute. And the nightgown he bought her the next day is too funny!

I do wonder what business he'd had at the Dept of Mysteries: "But I did me business there, though it may be moot now, but . . . " What on earth could be mooted by Minerva's heartbreak? Was he perhaps doing some research into either staunching magical drains or soul mates or mated wands (has MM told him of that yet?)?

Eagerly awaiting the next update.

I always read your chapters a minimum of three times. And I normally do NOT re-read things. So yes, you definitely rock, MMADfan!

[MMADfan]

esoterica1693 said:

<snip!> I do wonder what business he'd had at the Dept of Mysteries: "But I did me business there, though it may be moot now, but . . . " What on earth could be mooted by Minerva's heartbreak? Was he perhaps doing some research into either staunching magical drains or soul mates or mated wands (has MM told him of that yet?)?

Eagerly awaiting the next update.

I always read your chapters a minimum of three times. And I normally do NOT re-read things. So yes, you definitely rock, MMADfan!

I never mentioned where in the Ministry he was going, I don't believe, but it wasn't the Dept. of Mysteries. (I'd have to go back and check "Seeking Counsel" and "His Lady's Servant" to be absolutely certain of that, but I don't think I would have done.) You might be able to figure it out from the next chapter . . .

And you have no idea how thrilling it is to know that I rock! Of course, I should be cool and nonchalant about it.

Trying very hard not to comment on any speculation about anything. However, I can say that, contrary to the suggestions offered on various sites where this story is being posted, there will be no locking-in-closets involved! LOL!

[sevherfan]

ah, MMADfan... I wish it was 10 a.m. This will probably be the last waking minute I will be able to think about non-work related stuff for the next day. But know I'll be sitting through the start of the meeting that will determine the next year of my work-life thinking: "man, I could be reading a Resolving a Misunderstanding update right now..."*

By the way, you had me begging Quin to respond with his tongue at too many points. And I kinda hate you for it after what I had previously said.


*Erm, unless you don't update tomorrow. Then I'm not really sure what happens. The universe may implode.

[esoterica1693]

mmadfan said:

I never mentioned where in the Ministry he was going, I don't believe, but it wasn't the Dept. of Mysteries. (I'd have to go back and check "Seeking Counsel" and "His Lady's Servant" to be absolutely certain of that, but I don't think I would have done.) You might be able to figure it out from the next chapter . .

I was extrapolating, obviously sloppily, from this, presuming that the "there" referred to the just-mentioned Dept of Mysteries rather than, as I now see, the broader Ministry [emphasis added]. Nevertheless, my basic question still stands....what was Quin doing at the MoM which would be rendered moot by Minerva and Albus imploding?

“An’ who would I tell? Me good friend Franky Flint?” Quin asked with a grin. “It might help him move up in the Department of Mysteries , after all!”

Minerva smiled slightly at that. “Did you see him yesterday?”

Quin shook his head. “I did not. Can’t say I missed seein’ him, either! But I did me business there, though it may be moot now, but . . . ’twas a painless visit, relatively speakin’.”

[esoterica1693]

Got a nice piece o’ cod.

But it's your codpiece, not your piece of cod, which intrigues me, Mr McAirt .....

[MMADfan]

esoterica1693 said:

Got a nice piece o’ cod.

But it's your codpiece, not your piece of cod, which intrigues me, Mr McAirt .....

I wondered if some "witty" soul would say anything about that . . . .lol (he's got plenty -- doesn't need one! heheheheh!)

[esoterica1693]

An opportunity to use "propinquity" and "codpiece" in the same thread? For someone w/ the username "esoterica" it was just too much temptation!

[MMADfan]

Note: Not DH-compliant!

Posted in three parts because of length.

Warning: There is a particular paragraph in this chapter that may cause die-hard ADMM shippers to have palpitations and vapours – and not in a good way! – just soldier on and have faith in MMADfan! ;D

CXXXVI: Comfort and Consolation

By the time Quin came back for Minerva, telling her that lunch was almost ready, she was famished. She had only eaten a little porridge that morning, not feeling hungry at all, but now, her appetite was returning again. She was glad it had, too, because lunch was delicious, the cod nicely cooked with a lovely creamy sauce that had dry yellow mustard in it, potatoes diced and cooked with butter, parsley, and fresh dill, and French beans, steamed, not boiled. Quin served a dry Riesling with the meal, and as they ate on the small balcony overlooking his garden, it felt at that moment like a true holiday to Minerva, as though she had finally escaped all of her daily cares and could block out the rest of the world. Quin apologised for the lack of dessert, but said that there were biscuits in the pantry, if she wanted. Minerva declined the biscuits, saying, perhaps later, with tea.

“That was very good, Quin. I really enjoyed it. Thank you.”

Quin beamed. “The pleasure is me own, it is, Minerva.”

“You know, oddly enough, at this moment, I feel as though I am actually on holiday. And I haven’t the sense at all that we are in the middle of London.”

“Part of that is the charms on the house, to be sure. You can’t hear the traffic or any other noises from the outside, and the air is kept fresh, no automobile exhaust or anythin’ else, so it’s like breathin’ the fresh country air. And then the design o’ the house . . . ’twas for Aileen, the garden, and the sense that one could step outdoors from almost any room in the house. We had a balcony off our bedroom, too, and we’d take our morning coffee there, we would.” He pointed to another balcony across the courtyard.

“Had? You don’t use it?” Minerva asked.

Quin shook his head. “At first, I just couldn’t. I tried. But I couldn’t. And one night, just a few nights after we came back, the three of us, without her, Gertie came and found me tryin’ t’ sleep in the library on that hard leather sofa. She brought me to the room she was using, the one I use now, in fact, and she put me to bed, and then she sat with me all night. I didn’t sleep that night. ’Twas one o’ the many sleepless nights she spent with me. She is a good woman, Gertrude is, and I hope . . . it would be good if she found someone who appreciated her as she should be.”

Minerva nodded. “I would be interested, though it is none of my business, if you were to see Malcolm and Gertrude together, whether you would sense anything.”

“I don’t know. I’m not that talented, not usually. And both o’ them are hard for me t’ read, even in an ordinary sorta way.” He quirked a grin. “An’ your right: ’tisn’t any of your business, or mine. But I’m curious, too.”

Minerva smiled. “I’d say that they are very taken with each other. They seem . . . they seem to inhabit their own space together, if you know what I mean.”

Quin nodded. “That I do. But your brother, you said he moves into and out of relationships quickly.”

“Apparently so. And to such a degree that I have never known him to be in one. I doubt they would be recognisable as ‘relationships’ to me. But this is different for him, and he even acknowledges that. You know, he was wondering, not strongly, but still, he was wondering about Gertrude’s past relationships. He came to see me while Gertie was busy talking to Johannes, apparently informing him of her . . . friendship with Malcolm, so that he would not be surprised by it. And Malcolm was wondering who she may have been involved with. I didn’t think she ever was with Johannes and told him that, but I didn’t say anything about Albus.”

“As well you shouldn’t, not knowin’ the nature of their relationship or if it ever went beyond the friendship they have now, and it bein’ up to Gertrude to tell him about those things, if she wishes to,” Quin said.

Minerva held out her glass and Quin poured her the last of the wine.

“But some things he said, and that you have mentioned . . . I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but were you and Gertie ever – ”

“Me an’ Gertrude?” Quin asked astounded. “Never! Not that she isn’t a wonderful witch, and I love her, but she’s me wife’s aunt and has come to be like me own. It just, no, no, Minerva.”

“Just curious, that’s all. I hadn’t thought so,” Minerva said, “and it hadn’t seemed likely.”

“I need to be makin’ a few phone calls. I’ll be in me study. Make yourself at home, Minerva. I’ll come find you in a little while. I still need to put more potion on your hand. How’s it keepin’?”

“Very well, actually,” Minerva said, holding out her hand for his inspection. It was now healing very nicely.

“I still think one more application might be a good idea,” Quin said. “Should be good as new by tomorrow, I would think!”

“What potion is that? Something from the apothecary in Diagon Alley?” Minerva asked. She hadn’t noticed the bottle the day before, but that morning, she had caught a look at it, and it was not labelled in a way that she recognised.

“Somethin’ o’ me gran’s,” Quin replied. “She makes up potions for various ills and ailments. I don’t usually trust stuff from the apothecary as well as I do hers, although the Headache Potion I gave you is just your standard, basic potion you can get at any apothecary.”

“Oh. Does it have a name?” Minerva asked.

“I reckon it does, but I just call it ‘the healing potion.’ It’s for cuts and the like.”

“I wonder if it’s anything that Murdoch would be interested in.”

“She don’t usually share her recipes,” Quin said.

Minerva shrugged. “He does sell some potions that he doesn’t make himself, although that is his main stock, unlike some apothecaries, where almost everything comes from elsewhere. If he could be assured of its safety and efficacy, he might like to sell it. If your gran is interested.”

“Doubtful. She does make it up for sale or trade, but in small quantities. And I’m sure that Murdoch sells other potions that do the same thing, more or less.”

“Yes, but this one felt nice going on, even when it fizzed, and it didn’t smell disgusting. Some of the wound-healing potions are truly foul smelling, especially the pastes.”

“I don’t think I could use anythin’ foul smellin’ on Aine, little princess that she is!” Quin said with a laugh. “But she’s rough an’ tumble enough to need ’em, to be sure!”

Minerva took the book of myths and legends with her down to the sitting room and stretched out in the cool, clean room, opening the French door to the garden first, and enjoyed the sound of the water trickling in the nearby fountain. She was paging through the familiar story of Jason when Quin came, carrying the potion bottle, and found her.

She looked up from the book. “Finished your calls?” Minerva asked. She had never known a wizard who made so many telephone calls. It seemed very peculiar.

“Yes, for today. Doesn’t look as though the deal with the Swiss company is goin’ to go through. But it’s not a big loss. And it means less work for me, which isn’t a bad thing,” Quin said philosophically.

“I’m sorry, Quin. It’s my fault,” Minerva said, distressed.

“Not at all. I don’t think it would have worked even if I’d been there, so don’t fret yourself about it. Now, let’s see that hand.”

He dabbed some potion onto the closed, red mark on her palm, then blew a cooling breath across it. Minerva could feel some of the ache dissipate as he did.

“If your gran doesn’t want to market her potion, maybe we could market your breath, or your kisses,” Minerva said with a laugh.

Quin chuckled. “There’s a limited supply, so I save up for family and friends.”

“I do feel better, Quin. Thank you. And not just my aches and pains. I don’t know if it will last . . . it does seem to come and go, but for now, I feel better, more like myself. Not completely, but I don’t feel as utterly desperate, I suppose.”

He nodded. “I can tell. This mornin’, you were almost as distressed as you were when you arrived, not quite, but nearin’ that. I think maybe the nap helped.”

Minerva said, “I think it was you. Having you come back right when you did. I felt awful, physically and emotionally, and I hadn’t slept. Having you massage my head and shoulders as you did . . . it felt good, and I needed it. I needed the human contact, the human warmth, almost as much as the massage, I think. And it was very thoughtful of you to pick up some clothes for me as you did.”

“’Twasn’t anythin’ at all, Minerva. Just a bit o’ common sense to get you somethin’ fresh to wear.”

“But it wasn’t just that, Quin. You made me feel cared for . . . I appreciate that,” Minerva said softly.

“And that, ’tis an easy thing, love, carin’ for you.” He looked away. “I just wish things were different for you.”

“So do I.”

“I’m goin’ into the garden for a bit. You can stay here and read, though.”

Minerva shook her head. “I haven’t really been reading, just . . . perusing, I suppose. Remembering the story, not reading it. Do you mind some company?”

Quin gave her his hand and helped her from the sofa, then the two walked out into the garden. Quin was quiet, and unlike during the tour of the Gamp gardens, he didn’t describe or explain anything, though he would occasionally stop to pluck a dead blossom from a plant and banish it.

Finally, they reached a small herb garden, close to a door near the kitchen, and he said, “Just a few necessary herbs now. Used to be bigger when Aileen was alive, though nothin’ like your mother’s.”

Minerva picked a small sprig of dill and chewed it, enjoying its bright flavour, but as they walked, her mood had begun to dip again. She didn’t know what the cure would be, not unless she could roll back time and change everything she had done the day before. If she had only gone to lunch on time, none of that would have happened, and she could be at Hogwarts right now, enjoying Albus’s company. But still harbouring false hopes, hopes that would rise every time he made the slightest affectionate gesture, and she would still not realise they were false hopes, and that day would come, finally, when she found out. Perhaps it was just as well that it happened when it did. She couldn’t imagine trying to teach after having had him react to her as he did.

Her hand was resting at Quin’s elbow as they walked, and he turned to her now and touched that hand with his other.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” he asked softly.

Minerva looked up at him, at his serious blue eyes, the worry for her evident in his expression, and she shook her head.

“No, only time, I think, will help. Though I wish it were that I could go back and change what happened yesterday, I still think it would only be postponing the inevitable . . . but perhaps his rejection wouldn’t have been so dreadful under other circumstances,” Minerva said.

“I still am not understandin’ it, Minerva,” Quin said, bringing her to a bench and sitting her down. “You said yesterday that he told you that he cared for you like a granddaughter . . . but I don’t believe Dumbledore t’ be . . . how to put this . . . I think if he really did care for you like a granddaughter, all the propinquity in the world wouldn’t ha’ brought him to react as I gather from you that he did – though you were never clear on how that was, either.”

Minerva blushed. She said softly, “He was returning my kiss, and then,” she swallowed and continued in a near-whisper, “then he moved his hand around and caressed my breast. That’s when he leapt away from me.”

“I see. Somehow, I thought perhaps it was more than that.”

“No. And it was over very quickly. I had barely begun to realise that he was returning my kiss when he was halfway across the room from me, looking at me like . . . like . . . like he had never seen anything more dreadful than the sight of me.” Tears came to her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up again,” Quin said with a sigh, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I just am tryin’ to understand, is all.”

“At least you don’t see me as a granddaughter, or sister, or whatever the relationship might be,” Minerva said, resting her head against him.

Quin didn’t respond to that, but only sighed again. They sat like that for a long time, and when the sky began to darken and a wind picked up, Quin made a motion for them to go in. Just after they had entered the nearest set of doors into the hallway outside the kitchen, large, heavy raindrops began to fall.

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXXXVI: Comfort and Consolation, continued

“You don’t keep the weather out of your little bit of paradise?” Minerva said.

Quin shook his head. “And a garden wouldn’t be a garden without some weather, good and bad.” He smiled down at her. “Rather like life, Minerva, isn’t it?”

She nodded, and as she looked up at him, she wished he would be the weather in her life just then, even just a brief storm, or a short heatwave; she wanted to feel alive, and not dying inside as she did. Her eyes burned, and she rested her forehead against his chest.

“Another headache?” Quin asked, concerned. She nodded against him, and he said, “Might be the weather. Let’s go into the sitting room; I’ll rub your head again. That helped last time.”

“I’d like to take a nap, too,” Minerva said, leaning on him heavily.

“All right, now, upstairs. You all right to go upstairs, or would you prefer to nap on the sofa?”

“Upstairs.”

He led her to her room, and Minerva asked if she could have a minute. She used the loo, then took off her robes and put her new dressing gown on over her chemise. She splashed her face with cold water, then looked in the mirror. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes, one eye darker than the other and slightly swollen still, not helped in its healing with all the crying she had done in the last day. She smirked. Definitely not at her best. But it didn’t matter. No one would see her but Quin. A good thing, too, since she didn’t feel up to casting a Glamour.

Minerva reentered the bedroom, then opened the door. At the sound, Quin’s head popped out of the bedroom down the hall.

“Quin, have you anything, a salve or something, that would be all right to put on my eye?” Minerva asked.

“I think so, half a tick.” He disappeared again, and Minerva went back into the bedroom and lay down to wait for him.

Quin arrived with a small tin in his hand. “I think this will be fine for it, though I wouldn’t want to get it directly in your eye. Comfrey and a few other nice herbs, and nothin’ foul-smelling,” he said with a grin.

Minerva tried to return his smile, but her mood had darkened again. Quin dipped his index finger into the salve and gently spread it under her eye in a very thin application. Then he did the same to a spot on her jaw near her left ear where she had a bruise.

“Any other bruises?” Quin asked.

As Minerva listened to the rain lashing against the window panes, she lay back and closed her eyes, every now and then indicating a new spot for Quin to apply the salve. Her forearms had several bruises, and she had a few on her legs, as well. When she indicated a rather large bruise on the side of her thigh, though, Quin paused.

“That is a large bruise. Perhaps you would prefer to do it yourself,” he said softly, holding out the tin to her.

Minerva nodded and put two fingers in the salve. She applied it in a circular motion, just as Quin had applied it to the other places.

“It doesn’t feel the same as when you do it,” she said.

“The intent matters, Minerva, it helps the potion along to intend it to heal. ’Tis magic, you know,” he said with a smile.

“Perhaps I don’t care enough, or it doesn’t work as well when you apply it to yourself,” Minerva said.

“Any others?” Quin asked.

“There’s one on my left hip, but it’s not bad, and when I took my bath last night, I noticed a bruise under my left arm, on my rib cage,” she said.

“Ah, well, I’ll leave the salve with you, now. You can get them later.”

Minerva nodded.

“Now for that headache. Would you like to lie down?” Quin asked.

Minerva lay down on her stomach and Quin arranged the pillows and her head so that she was comfortable. First removing her hairpins, he began by massaging her scalp, then working at the base of her skull. From there, he moved aside her dressing gown to reach her neck and her shoulders. She wasn’t as sore as she had been the first time, and Minerva sighed and relaxed as his fingers kneaded her muscles. Quin indicated that she should roll over, and when she did, and she looked up at him, he gently brushed her eyelids, closing her eyes, and he began to press and massage her forehead and her cheeks, then, lastly, her jaw muscles, which were still tight.

“Better?” he asked softly.

Minerva nodded, not saying anything, and she reached up and caressed his face. Quin parted his lips as though to speak, but did not.

“There is another bruise you might take care of for me,” Minerva said softly. She opened her dressing gown and indicated an area on her chest, just below her left shoulder.

“Your left side seems to have had the worst of it,” Quin observed, Summoning the small tin of salve.

He moved aside the chemise just enough to apply the salve, using gentle circular motions of his fingertips. Minerva closed her eyes and sighed. She heard him put the lid back on the tin, and she opened her eyes again.

“I should go . . . let you take a nap now,” Quin said.

Minerva shook her head. “Please don’t . . . could you, would you put some on the other bruises? The one on my side is sore when I breathe.”

“Minerva . . .” Quin looked away, and he slowly took the lid from the salve again as Minerva opened her dressing gown. “Where?” he asked softly.

Minerva turned onto her right side and raised her chemise. She heard Quin’s intake of breath as he saw the bruise.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’ before?” he asked. “You may have a cracked rib.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s just a bruise. When I was running, I tumbled into a ditch, but I didn’t stop, I just kept going. And that was after I had already picked up that thorn. It was as though I had gone mad, Quin. And now I feel as though I’m returning to myself, though painfully.”

Quin applied the salve to the bruise, then moved the dressing gown aside further. “Would you like me to do the other, now?”

“Yes, please,” Minerva said softly.

Rather than lower her knickers to access the bruise on her left hip, Quin pushed the fabric up from the leg, and when he couldn’t reach the entire bruise, he simply slipped his fingers beneath.

Minerva reached over and moved the waistband lower for him, and she could feel his hesitation before he resumed applying the salve.

“Minerva, I have to go,” he said softly.

She took his wrist. “Don’t. Not yet. Stay a while. Please.”

“Minerva . . .”

Quin closed his eyes and let out a breath, but he removed his shoes and lay down beside her on his left side, one hand gently resting on her arm. Minerva moved closer and put her arm around him.

“I feel much better. The salve is very good. And my headache is gone,” she said.

“I am glad I was able to help.”

She rubbed his back with one hand, sighing against him and moving closer.

“Minerva, this isn’t a good idea right now.” Minerva could feel him swallow.

“It’s nice though.”

“Too nice. I am only human,” he answered.

She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, but he had an expression on his face that she could not read. Minerva slid up and kissed him lightly.

“Thank you, Quin,” she breathed, before kissing him again.

He opened his eyes. “I should go now.” He shifted and pulled his arm away.

“Do you want to go? Or do you only think you should?” Minerva asked.

“I don’t think you understand, Minerva,” he answered.

“What? That you do like it when I do this?” she asked, kissing him again lightly and caressing his cheek.

“No . . . that I do like it, but that . . . we shouldn’t. I cannot take advantage of you. And . . .”

“You would not be. And what else is there?”

“Minerva, I have said before that I play the part of a flirt very well, but I don’t simply bed women every time the spirit – or something more corporeal – moves me,” Quin said.

“And that’s how you see this, just . . . ‘bedding’ me?” Minerva asked.

“O’ course not. It might even be easier if I did. Though it still wouldn’t be the right time for it,” he answered.

Minerva looked at him for a moment, then she kissed him again. “You don’t fly across the room when I do that,” she observed.

“Oh, Minerva . . .” Quin said with a groan. “Don’t you see – ”

His words were cut off by her lips on his, and as she kissed him, his hand crept back around her, and he pulled her to him. He deepened the kiss and rolled her onto her back, kissing her still. Minerva put one arm around him and brought her other hand between them and began to unbutton his shirt. Quin broke the kiss and buried his head in the pillow beside her, fighting to control his breathing. Her fingers found something suspended from a chain around his neck. A ring. Minerva caressed his cheek.

“What is this?” she whispered.

“Me ring. Me weddin’ ring. Time to take it off, everyone said, for years. Finally, I did. But I couldn’t remove it completely, I couldn’t,” Quin answered.

“I see.” She put her arms around him and held him tightly. After a few moments, she said, “It wasn’t anyone else’s business how long you chose to wear it. No one should have said anything.”

She felt Quin shrug. Minerva held him there, her arms around him, rubbing his back lightly. Finally she turned her head and kissed his head. “What do you say to a nap now?” she said softly.

Quin nodded and rolled aside, off of her. “Sorry. Sorry if I hurt you, if I was too heavy.”

“No, no, not at all.” She tucked the ring back inside his shirt. “Let’s just rest here a while. I think I could sleep. I feel better now that you have tended to my bruises, and I think I will sleep.”

Quin nodded. He made a few gestures, moving the covers from where they were bunched beneath them and bringing them up to cover them. He rolled over on his back.

“Hope you don’t mind. Can’t nap with braces on,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Of course.” Minerva turned over onto her left side, away from him. She could feel him shrugging off his braces, and then his trousers. “It is good to be able to lie on my left side again without it hurting so much,” she said lightly.

“I’m glad you feel better,” Quin answered. He rolled back over and held her, her back to his chest. “Sleep now, love.” He kissed the back of her head. “Just sleep and dream pleasant dreams.”

When she woke up, Minerva was lying across Quin’s chest, and he was asleep. The rain had subsided to a mere pattering against the windows. Looking at Quin, watching him sleep, Minerva thought back on their first meeting, and how she hadn’t known what to think of him, this apparently wild Irishman, a heavy brogue coming and going as he tweaked the snobs at the dining table, and his humour and his honesty with her. She remembered his stiffness when he believed she thought he was a bad father, and when she practically accused him of being a thief, and she remembered, too, his quick forgiveness. Quin was a warm, open-hearted man, and he hadn’t let his own personal loss keep him from being so, nor had it kept him from being a good father or a successful businessman, though he had clearly been devastated by the untimely, violent death of his young, beloved wife.

Minerva brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly when his blue eyes opened and looked up at her.

“’S’alright,” Quin answered with a barely stifled yawn. “Still rainin’, is it?”

“Yes, but not as hard.”

“Mmm.” Quin closed his eyes again. “Don’t usually nap durin’ the day, between work an’ the kids. Feels quite the luxury.”

Minerva lay back against him, placing her head on his chest again. “It does feel like a luxury today. I can barely remember the last time I woke up in someone’s arms.”

Quin chuckled. “My, your memory is sufferin’, then, Minerva, if this mornin’ is that removed from your mind – or it was so entirely unmemorable as to have already faded away!”

Minerva smiled. “No, you know what I mean. Other than here, with you.”

“Ah. Well, that’s reassurin’, now,” Quin said with a laugh. “As for me, ’twould have been with Gertrude, back when she was stayin’ after Aileen died, but we weren’t in bed. Poor witch was sittin’ up with me in the library one night, and I fell asleep on her. I doubt she slept a wink, herself. So that was the last time, unless you count when me kiddums climb into bed with me after a nightmare, or durin’ a thunderstorm. But that’s different.”

Minerva nodded. “It is.” She let out a breath and relaxed against him.

“How’re you feelin’?” Quin asked.

“Not too bad,” Minerva said. “Can’t you tell?”

“I can tell that you aren’t utterly miserable . . . but if I keep up talkin’ about it, you will be, no doubt.”

Minerva nodded. “If I can keep from thinking, it’s not as bad. Still . . . empty, but not as painful.”

“I wish I’d been there, wish I could understand it,” Quin said softly.

“There’s nothing to understand. Whatever I didn’t understand was made clear in his letter. He will never allow it to happen again. He didn’t intend it. I am in his care, and safe from him,” Minerva said, choking slightly at her last words.

Quin ran his fingers through her hair, but found no words of comfort for her.

Finally, Quin said, “What about some tea, now, love, and some of those biscuits?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Quin swung out of bed, pulled on his trousers quickly, then his shoes, as Minerva watched.

“I may make some eggs and toast, too, if you’d like some.”

“I am a little hungry, I suppose. I could eat an egg,” Minerva replied.

“Good, then. I’ll see you back downstairs.” He paused and bent over her, and for a moment, Minerva thought he was going to kiss her, but he straightened and said, “Your eye is much better. Don’t look like you were in a fist fight anymore!”

Minerva gave a half-smile. “Well, that’s a good thing, I would say.”

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXXXVI: Comfort and Consolation, continued

A few minutes later, Minerva walked into the kitchen, where Quin was busily frying eggs and sausages. She sat and watched him, protested the amount that he served her, and then ate it all, anyway.

Minerva poured them each a second cup of tea and said, “I don’t know what it is about your cooking, Quin, but I’ll think I won’t be able to eat a thing, and then I do.”

Quin smiled. “’Tis the smell of the food cookin’. Gets your appetite whetted.”

“Whatever it is, thank you, again, for feeding me.”

“Can’t let you go hungry!” Quin said with a laugh. “Now, what would you like to do tonight?” There’s a wireless programme I listen to sometimes in the evenings. A Muggle programme, but ’tis amusin’.”

They spent an hour in the library listening to the wireless programme, before Quin switched to the wizarding wireless to hear the news, Minerva once again struck by how effortlessly Quin seemed to move between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Even when she had lived in London and had attended Muggle concerts and plays, those activities had required careful planning and seemed quite apart from her everyday life. For Quin, it all seemed of apiece, the Muggle and the magical. She could see why the Ministry found him disturbing. It quite upset their notions of how things should be, separating the wizarding world from that of the Muggles. Minerva thought that Quin posed little danger in creating a contagion of Muggle-loving, however; most wizards and witches, even Muggle-borns, she thought, would simply find it too taxing to move back and forth as readily as Quin did, remembering not to use magic or say the wrong things in front of Muggles. She wondered how Melina would fare, married to one. Melina already seemed to be assimilating into the Muggle world, almost alarmingly so, and she and Brennan weren’t even married yet. But some magic-Muggle marriages did work, and this one had a better chance than most, Minerva thought, since Brennan knew that Melina was a witch before he married her. So often, that was kept secret from the potential spouse until after the wedding, leading to all kinds of complications, particularly the sense that one had been lied to, betrayed, and married under false pretenses.

Remembering Melina’s approaching wedding, however, brought tears to Minerva’s eyes, as she thought of how she and Albus had planned to attend together. She couldn’t even imagine sitting with him, speaking to him in a social setting; she was certain that they would not be going to the wedding together now.

The news programme had ended, and now some innocuous music issued from the wizarding wireless. Quin was reading a peculiar pink-coloured newspaper when he looked over at her.

“What is it, Minerva?”

“Just more foolishness,” Minerva said with a sigh, wiping her tears from her eyes. “We were planning to attend Melina’s wedding together. That won’t happen now.”

Quin put down his newspaper and came over to her. “It might still. You don’t know that. I keep thinkin’ there must be another explanation for what Albus said – ”

“You wouldn’t think that if you had seen the expression on his face, Quin.” Remembering that brought fresh tears, and Minerva turned her head away, covering her eyes.

Quin sat down beside her and put an arm around her.

“You must think me tremendously weak and foolish, the way I break down every other hour,” Minerva said.

“Not at all, Minerva. You have had a difficult time of it,” he said gently.

Minerva turned back towards him and leaned on him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would be fine, Minerva, I am sure. You would hold yourself together when you had to,” he answered.

Minerva nodded. “I feel safe here with you.”

“And you are. Don’t feel you have to be any particular way with me.”

They sat like that for a while, then Quin waved his hand and turned off the wireless.

“Time for bed, I’m thinkin’,” he said softly.

Minerva nodded, and he walked her up to her bedroom. When they reached it, Minerva leaned against him and put her arms around him.

“I’m not usually so clingy,” she said apologetically.

“Didn’t think you were,” Quin said. “Independent and feisty, that’s what I usually see. And you’ll be back to yourself, I’m sure.”

Minerva didn’t say anything, but thought that she would never be herself again, not after what had happened with Albus.

“So, more Horlicks tonight? Or would you prefer something else? I have chamomile tea,” Quin offered.

“If you’re having something, I’ll have the same thing,” Minerva answered, not wanting to put him to any trouble.

Quin kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back in a bit, now.”

Minerva got ready for bed, and slipped between the sheets. Twenty minutes later, Quin returned, dressed in his pyjamas and bathrobe, a tray floating behind him.

“Tea tonight, chamomile,” Quin said as he sat down at the end of the bed. “You Transfigured the nightgown,” he observed.

“It was too heavy for August,” Minerva explained. “I would have been sweltering in it.”

Quin nodded.

Minerva sipped her tea. Finally, she asked, “Are you staying tonight?”

Quin was silent for a moment. “If you would like, Minerva, but I hadn’t planned to.”

“Oh.”

Minerva tried to make her tea last, and was disappointed when Quin finished his and sent the cup and tray back down to the kitchen.

“You can just leave your cup on the bedside table,” he said. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

He stood, then bent to kiss Minerva’s cheek. She pulled him down to sit beside her and held him. Quin put one arm loosely about her.

“Stay. Please,” she whispered.

He nodded, and when he agreed, Minerva kissed him. She felt as though life would flow back into her if she could just feel something other than the raw, aching emptiness within her. Quin returned her kiss, then broke off.

“I don’t know, Minerva – ”

“I do . . . I need you, Quin, I need you.” She rubbed his back, her hand moving down to his buttocks, the other hand reaching beneath his dressing gown and pyjama top to feel the warmth of his skin.

Quin kissed her forehead softly, lingering, then kissed her lips again. He caressed her and kissed her, gently kissing her throat, his fingers moving over her, down her body, then back up again. Minerva moved her hand lower, inching it down between them, and her heart beat faster as she found growing evidence of his desire for her. Quin passed his hand over her breast and moved down to kiss her through the thin nightgown, away from her caressing hand, then he reached beneath the sheet and stroked her leg, moving aside her nightgown as he did so. Minerva could feel the pounding of his pulse, and a thrill went through her; when his hand reached the top of her thigh, she felt his breath hitch. He paused, kissing her again, and lay his head down on her with a sigh, then, his hand still beneath her nightgown, he reached around and embraced her and held her close.

“Minerva . . . Minerva,” he said softly, “if I were to continue . . . I could make love to you so easily, all night. I would kiss you and touch you and love you, and you would feel . . . and I would try to bring you pleasure, every pleasure, but I know that the pleasure of the moment would not bring you any happiness.” He sighed and raised his head to look at her. “Go a winter, and go a summer, come to me then, when you want me, me for myself, if you ever truly want me, and you will have me, Minerva. But . . . not today.”

“Quin – ”

“Shh . . .” He rose up and kissed her lips lightly. “I would do this for you, even knowing that we have no future, if I believed that it would truly help you. But I do not. And I would come to want you and yet not have you, not really, even if you tried to make something work between us.” He looked into her eyes. “I could fall in love with you so very easily, ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis, and yet I would risk it, and my heart, if it would bring you happiness, even if I were to later lose you. But I think you would only feel more empty and alone after.” He shook his head as he saw tears well in her eyes. “Do not cry, Minerva. Not for any reason to do with me.”

Quin withdrew his arm from beneath the sheets and caressed her face, then kissed her forehead. “I will still stay, if you like.”

She shook her head wordlessly, eyes closed, but as he began to rise, she said, “No, wait. I . . . I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are the first witch since Aileen died who has stirred more in me than a vague appreciation. ’Tis good to feel somethin’ again, even if ’tisn’t meant to be any more than what it is now,” he said.

“Would it bother you to stay with me?” Minerva asked.

“’Twouldn’t trouble me,” Quin replied.

“Then do, please, do stay.”

After he had settled beside her and the lights were out, Minerva said, “I do love you, Quin. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know; it isn’t in your nature to deliberately hurt someone, particularly not someone you care about,” he answered softly. “But you don’t love me as you do him, and nowhere near it, and never would.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. Don’t be at all. Just sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. A new day.”

Minerva woke the next morning feeling better, if feeling numb could be considered an improvement over the pain of the previous two days. She got up without waking Quin and slipped into the small bathroom. She showered quickly, then dressed in her new robes. She felt they were a bit young for her, but they were pretty. First charming her shoes to match the pale yellow under robe, she then reentered the bedroom. Quin had rolled over and was now clutching another pillow in front of him. He seemed deeply asleep.

More comfortable in the house now, Minerva went down to the kitchen. After rummaging in the pantry and the kitchen, she started making a breakfast of omelettes and toast. She wished she had Quin’s skills in the kitchen and could make fresh scones or crumpets. But trying to figure out how to use his cooker was enough of a challenge first thing in the morning. She noticed the matches on the shelf near the stove and assumed they were for Mrs Manning’s use, but she just used her wand to light the gas. Deciding that Quin would have to make his own coffee if he wanted it, she found some tea and brewed a large pot.

Quin shuffled into the kitchen, still wearing his pyjamas, his dressing gown on.

“Thought you said you couldn’t cook,” he said, “but somethin’ smells good.”

“Good morning, Quin! I don’t make coffee, I’m afraid, so I left that to you. But we have omelettes with cheese and mushrooms, and I made tea, and there’s toast.”

“That’s lovely, Minerva. I’ll just have tea this mornin’, though.”

After breakfast, they spent the day much as they had the previous day, though with fewer tears and a few smiles that Quin managed to tease from her. Several owls arrived during the day, even one for her, from Poppy, filled with ordinary, everyday news, and a few hints that she and Murdoch were still seeing each other, though not daily anymore. Not a single owl from Albus, though. She considered writing him a note, but each time she picked up a pen, she had no idea what to write.

Finally, late in the afternoon, she decided on something short and professional. She couldn’t address what had happened between them or what he had said in his letter. If she were going to do that, it would have to be in person.

“16 August 1957

“Dear Albus,

“I wanted to let you know that I have been staying with a friend and I hope you haven’t been worried about me. I will return the week before school begins, although if there is anything for which I am required before then, I will, of course, return earlier.

“I hope you are well.

“Yours,

“Minerva”

She hesitated before addressing it, then she finally addressed it just to him without adding “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” to it. Even though there was nothing personal in the letter, she didn’t want it deposited in his owl box, possibly to be opened by someone else, and if he weren’t at the school, he would still receive it. Quin cheerfully brought her letter in its Muggle envelope to Diagon Alley and owled it for her, explaining that he travelled too much to have an owl, particularly in the Muggle world, though his son and daughter each had their own owls that they kept with them wherever they were staying.

“I should leave soon, Quin,” she said when he returned from the errand. “I do appreciate all you’ve done, and I’ve been very comfortable here, but you have your work and your family. I know you have talked to the children, but that is not the same thing as seeing them, and Alroy will be leaving soon for Hogwarts. I’m sure you want to make the most of this time.”

“Where will you be goin’, now?”

“Home. To the McGonagall house. To my own family.” Minerva sighed. “I doubt I can hide how I feel from them, but at least I’m not crying at the drop of a hat now.”

And so that evening after a light supper, Minerva gave Quin a kiss and said good-bye.

Before she left, Quin said to her, “Don’t forget, Minerva, that you are a beautiful, talented, desirable witch, and any wizard would be fortunate to have your love. If Dumbledore loves you and he finds you attractive, he may still come to fall in love with you one day. Don’t lose all hope, Minerva.”

“I cannot hope, Quin. The hope that arose in me when I thought Albus was returning my kiss was irrevocably shattered when he rejected me and apologised for his behaviour. I have no more hope for anything at all,” she said. “And I am sorry if I have hurt you, Quin. You were concerned about taking advantage of me, but it was I who was taking advantage of you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t concern yourself with that, love. I knew what I was gettin’ into. And you are a fine witch and a good friend. I hope we will be friends for a long time to come.”

She kissed his cheek and gave him a squeeze, then Flooed through to the McGonagall library.

---

Next: NOT “Hot-MMAD-Monkey Sex” . . . 16 August 1957.

[amy0411]

“Hot-MMAD-Monkey Sex” oooooooooooo I cant wait for the update!!!

[MMADfan]

amy0411 said:

“Hot-MMAD-Monkey Sex” oooooooooooo I cant wait for the update!!!

LOL!

You did notice the large, capitalised, bolded "NOT" before that tongue-in-cheek title, didn't you? ;D

[Hogwarts Duo]

This is such a sad chapter, though I realize that there must be a little rain before the flowers can bloom. Hopefully, Albus and Minerva will soon be on the same wavelength and we'll see happier days!

She nodded, and as she looked up at him, she wished he would be the weather in her life just then, even just a brief storm, or a short heatwave; she wanted to feel alive, and not dying inside as she did.

This is such a sad sentiment and no doubt born from her grief at her apparent loss of Albus. While under other circumstances, it might be wonderful and even enjoyable for Minerva to entertain such notions of herself with Quin, I believe she’s speaking out of grief here and nothing more. I don’t think she could so easily discard her love and devotion for Albus for a heatwave with Quin.

I have to admit to being a little disturbed with the number of times Minerva makes passes at Quin, tempting him to indulge her in her grief stricken state and to make her feel alive. I do admire the man for having the willpower to continuously say no…to a degree. The kissing scenes were uncomfortable to read, since Quin is obviously not Albus and to be fair, Albus is no Quin…haha.

“Do you want to go? Or do you only think you should?” Minerva asked.

Call me silly…go ahead, I give you permission…but for some reason when I read that sentence, it reminded me of Gertie’s parting comment to Albus when she asked him about it getting harder sometimes to leave. I can’t remember the exact quote but it was after he’d commented on her looking nice in trousers, etc. I can’t put my finger on it…maybe it’s just the phrasing that reminded me of that. Oh well…

[He paused, kissing her again, and lay his head down on her with a sigh, then, his hand still beneath her nightgown, he reached around and embraced her and held her close.

Again, this reminded me of something from an earlier chapter, when we first learn about Albus and Gertie’s past together. It caused me to remember him coming to her and embracing her on the couch that first night and her holding him as he softly cried. Not necessarily the same thing happening here, but my mind immediately flashed to that scene.

The letter that Minerva sent to Albus at the end of this chapter was so terribly cold and heartbreaking. Very matter of fact and it lacked the warmth and happiness of all her other letters to him. Still, I'm glad she sent him something to letl him know she was okay, despite not being in the castle. I'm sure that will alleviate at lease a small portion of his fears.

Overall, this was a very emotional chapter for many reasons. I’m very glad that Minerva is going to distance herself form Quin for a bit and sort through her feelings. I think it will be good for her to go home and perhaps speak to her parents, who seem to have some ideas about their little girl and the object of her desires. LOL. And I’m hoping we also get to see what’s going through Albus’ mind during her time away from Hogwarts. I’m sure none of this has been easy on him since he no doubt blames himself for what happened. Poor guy!!

Thanks for the quick update!!!

Cheers,
The GLM

[dmf1984]

mmadfan said:

amy0411 said:

“Hot-MMAD-Monkey Sex” oooooooooooo I cant wait for the update!!!

LOL!

You did notice the large, capitalised, bolded "NOT" before that tongue-in-cheek title, didn't you? ;D

Hey! Woooooooot, you used my chapter title! Yay!

OK, I know it's not real, but indulge my fantasy, and I'm a happy girl.

Heh.

Di

[dianahawthorne]

Poor Quin! He was so good to Minerva, but I feel bad for him! Unrequited love is awful! I feel so bad for everyone - and I'm dying to find out Albus's thoughts on the kisses. Please update soon - great job, as always!

[esoterica1693]

Oh, Quin is too good to be true. <g> If there was a queue for him some chapters back, it's grown much longer now. (Even longer than the checkout queue at Borders today, where I did all my Christmas shopping in one swell foop. I haven't seen such a long line since picking up DH at midnight in July. But the line for Quin would be longer, I'm sure!) I hope you fix him up w/ someone worthy of him by the time you're done your series of ADMM stories!

I don't know how he managed to stop himself when he did--he is a very strong wizard in so many ways! And I'm glad that Minerva did apologize at the end.

IIRC from your comments we will now cut over to Albus and see how he's faring, which I'm very anxious to do, but it will also be interesting to see what Merwyn and Egeria make of Minerva upon her return.

I half-hope that Albus was worrying himself sick about Minerva's well-being until he got her note. Perhaps he had heard thru the grapevine that tabby!Min ran into the FF absolutely out of her mind and *hasn't been seen since.* That would have served him right--although he would of course attribute it to her being so repulsed by him, not to being heartbroken....gah!

Eagerly awaiting the next chapter(s).

[Merriam]

Ooooohhhhh, goodness . . . I see what you mean when you said that we would need to hold onto our hope! If I didn't know your preference for happy endings, I would swear we were headed for permanent estrangement. Albus is being, not obtuse precisely, but far too caught up in his own perceived repulsiveness to even consider ameliorating the tensions between them. I am really glad that Quin was so strong in resisting Minerva's advances--I think that would have been a definite end to any possibility of a romantic relationship between Minerva and Albus . . . ever. It feels that way right now, in fact, though I know the "sun must rise" at some point.

I think I remember you mentioning something about there being only a few more chapters until we reach the end. (Was that . . . two chapters ago)? Then you said you were several thousand words up. So we MUST be getting close (er, close-er?). You don't have to answer or anything, but have you finished writing the ending? Or are there a few more chapters to go? I am having a peculiar dilemma: I can't wait until they get together, but I don't want RaM to ever end! *sniff*

I am perched on the edge of my seat. Well, I would be, but I have exams that are not particularly exciting. I look to RaM to get me through!

[esoterica1693]

I hope that when Albus and Minerva eventually get married that Quin is Minerva's Best Man. <g> Seriously, the two wouldn't be able to get together w/o him both b/c he encourages Minerva and b/c he refuses to pick her up on the rebound. If he'd been a weaker or more selfish wizard he could have tipped her over as easily as she was tipping him. While they both would have known she loved Albus more, Albus never would have learned, and the two of them would have had a decent, if not fireworks-inducing, relationship, having convinced themselves that Minerva+Albus just wasn't ever capable of happening. Surely being w/ Minerva would be no worse for Quin than being alone, b/c she does truly love him, and if she really was utterly convinced that Albus was as good as dead to her, she could have grown to love Quin quite a bit, I think. And goodness knows Albus wouldn't interfere--he'd just continue beating himself up in his tower....

So when Minerva and Albus finally get together, they will owe an incredible amount to Quin.... at the very least, his kids should get free tuition <vbg>, though of course he's so rich that wouldn't matter to him at all!

[muriel2532]

This chapter didn't cause me "to have palpitations and vapours" - but it did make me wander over to the Lemon section and re-read "Obliging Minerva". All will be well, eventually ...

The last time around I wanted to award a medal to Quin. A mere medal wouldn't be enough for the wisdom and restraint he has shown during this last chapter however. I now propose elevating Quin to knighthood. If Sir Quin keeps going on like this I will even have to suggest him for sainthood.

[MMADfan]

merriam said:

I think I remember you mentioning something about there being only a few more chapters until we reach the end. (Was that . . . two chapters ago)? Then you said you were several thousand words up. So we MUST be getting close (er, close-er?). You don't have to answer or anything, but have you finished writing the ending? Or are there a few more chapters to go? I am having a peculiar dilemma: I can't wait until they get together, but I don't want RaM to ever end! *sniff*

Well, RaM does have to come to an end, of course, but I didn't say that there were only a few more chapters until we reached the end, and by saying that I was 25 - 30K words up, I meant that is how many words I had banked, so the updates would be rapid and regular. We are nearing the end, but I can assure you that there are more chapters left than the two more that I have fully written and waiting to be posted. It's just that I'm trying to avoid commenting on people's speculations, etc., at the moment as this particular block of chapters is posted. We are, however, in the penultimate section of the story -- I have it divided into "sections" in my mind -- for example, the Gamp chapters would constitute a section, as do the Minerva's Mission chapters, and others that I see as constituting the beginning and ending of a particular mini-arc within the story. The next chapter constitutes the final chapter in the penultimate section, and then, of course, the chapter after that will be the first chapter in the final section of the story. As I've said before, I'm not getting them together and then abruptly ending the story. That would be dull and not in keeping with RaM -- and it would certianly cheat Albus and Minerva of their well-deserved happiness. Not to mention depriving them of lemonade! LOL! That would be tragic!

[MMADfan]

Note: Posted in two parts because of length.

CXXXVII: Confronting Albus

Albus sat slumped and sick, unthinking. He couldn’t get Minerva’s face from his mind, the tears in her eyes, tears that he had caused. This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid – not precisely, since he had always believed he would simply say something inappropriate, or perhaps hold her a bit too long for a friendly embrace, or that someday he wouldn’t restrain himself sufficiently and she might feel the evidence of his desire. He never dreamed he would actually kiss her as he had, let alone touch her inappropriately. He had very nearly molested her. Albus felt quite ill. He had always respected witches, their modesty, and their privacy, and he certainly wouldn’t dream of ever touching one against her will. He had felt so relieved that she hadn’t rejected his owl the previous day, nor had she instructed the Silent Knight to refuse him entry, that he simply hadn’t kept himself in check as he should have. And when she had kissed him so sweetly and he had returned her kiss, and then her lips were there, so tantalisingly close, he simply hadn’t restrained himself from kissing her. She hadn’t objected . . . she had felt so pleased that he had apologised that she had accepted his kisses. That alone would not have been so bad, if he had only stopped with that, but he hadn’t and his feelings had overwhelmed him in a most unbecoming way. He hoped that he would have stopped when he had regardless of his state of mind, but it was Minerva’s protest that had brought him back to himself.

In his haste and his blind horror at his behaviour, his feet had carried him, by dint of years’ habit, to his former rooms in Gryffindor Tower, and that was where he sat now, in the dusty, near-empty rooms. He had to gather himself together. He had a school to run, he reminded himself, but he did not stir a muscle. Finally, he shook himself and blinked. An apology. Yet another apology, and to the one whom he loved beyond all others. He would not be surprised if Minerva did not forgive him this time. By virtue of their long acquaintance and her professionalism and commitment to the school, Albus did not doubt that Minerva would continue to serve Hogwarts – and him as Headmaster, as well – but they would never have the same degree of comfort between them.

Albus rummaged around the rooms until he found some parchment, an old quill, and some black ink in an unopened bottle. He wrote the best apology he could manage, considering that he was scarcely able to think, then he gathered himself together and went to the Owlery, hoping that he would not meet Minerva on the way. There was little likelihood of seeing anyone else, since the only other member of staff still at the school was Hagrid, and he never seemed to write any letters.

After sending off the letter, Albus stood for a while, looking out over the grounds, much as he had the morning before when he had seen Minerva returning to school. He wished he hadn’t seen her, or that he had simply been sensible and returned to his office until he had regained his senses. He never should have said what he had, and if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have committed this final offense. Minerva probably thought that he saw her as he had the women he had “entertained” as a young man, but nothing could be further from the truth. Albus turned and slowly headed back down out of the Owlery, then to his backstairs and to his suite. He didn’t leave his bedroom, but pushed off his shoes and lay down on top of his bed.

Albus didn’t know how long he lay there when Wilspy popped in.

“Afternoon nap, Professor?” Wilspy asked. “Nice holiday? No, not a nice holiday,” she said. A worried look crossed over the wizened elf’s face. “What is wrong, Master Albus?” she asked, patting his hand.

Albus shook his head. “Nothing that you can do anything about, my dear.” He looked at Wilspy, his companion of years, nurse of his childhood, and his eyes filled with tears. “Nothing anyone can do anything about.”

Wilspy brought him his post regularly, and Albus sifted through it, always glad there was nothing requiring his immediate attention. He didn’t leave his suite, and barely left his room. On those few occasions when he did leave his bedroom, it was to go into his study and sit, quill in hand, and try to think of something to write to Minerva, but he could think of nothing to say, other than to beg her forgiveness again. But she had not responded to his first letter, and according to Wilspy, Blampa had reported that her mistress was not in the castle, having left unexpectedly on Wednesday afternoon.

She had left, evidently unable to bear the thought of being alone in the castle with him, she, who had once trusted him so. And Albus could not blame her.

And so Wednesday afternoon passed, and Thursday, as well. Phineas Nigellus came into his sitting room painting late Thursday afternoon to say that he had a Floo-call from the Ministry. Albus had shuffled down and spoken briefly with Philomena Yaxley, returned from her holiday, and learned that she would be continuing as Department Head. After she had pulled her head from his Floo, he had grumbled about people who didn’t know how to pick up a quill and owl someone any longer, and went back upstairs, where he closed himself into his study to gaze at the photographs of Minerva and wonder how she would greet him the next time they saw one another. She would likely not wish to see him alone any longer.

Wilspy brought him all of his favourite foods, and when they did not entice him, she finally insisted that he at least eat some chicken soup, and, as she stood over him, watching, he ate half a bowl of soup before protesting that he could eat no more. Friday morning, she woke him at his usual hour, though he had scarcely slept, his cup of tea floating at her elbow. He drank his tea, then rolled back over and tried to pretend he was asleep, but a half hour later, the persistent little elf was there with a tray holding a small pot of tea and a bowl of creamy porridge, and she stood on his bedside table watching until he had finished it all.

“Now you shower, Master Albus. You shower, or Wilspy gives you a bath!” she threatened sternly.

And so he dragged himself from his bed and showered. He dried himself somewhat carelessly, then went back into his bedroom. He looked longingly at his bed, but he knew that returning to bed would just prolong his misery, so he opened his wardrobe to find something to wear for the day. Wilspy had apparently decided on what he should wear, however, and there was only one set of robes in his wardrobe, the robes that Minerva had given him. His bed looked even more enticing, but, feeling numb, he dressed in the starry robes and tried without success not to think of the lovely evening he had spent with Minerva, and how she had brought out a birthday cake for him, a cake with candles, and how he had wished for her love . . . tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away.

When Wilspy brought him his lunch, he asked her why she had taken all of his clothes, and she just looked at him and said that he had to wear happy robes and look nice for visitors. Albus didn’t bother protesting that he was having no visitors that day, and that the robes were no longer happy ones. He did, however, eat his entire lunch, much to Wilspy’s satisfaction.

“I’s very happy with you, Master Albus,” she said, nodding with approval at the empty plate and bowl. “Very good to eat all your lunch! Now time for work! Workie workie, no more holiday! Master Albus, you make yourself sick sitting here. I put your letters on your desk – in your office today, not in your study. Now go work, Professor!” With that, she Disapparated.

Albus sighed, but he agreed that he was doing no one any good at all hiding in his rooms, least of all, himself. He was pleased, though, that Fawkes was back, sleeping on his perch in the office. His afternoon was not as productive as usual, but there was something satisfying about trying to get himself organised again. And it was just as well, since at five-thirty, Gertrude and Malcolm arrived, Malcolm looking sunburned, but Gertrude simply glowing.

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer, Dumbledore,” Malcolm said with a grin. “But only if I can just do a one-year contract. I don’t think I can manage a longer commitment at this point. At least not for a job,” he added, casting a glance at Gertrude.

Albus agreed, and said it was perhaps most sensible to do a one-year contract, but that he needed a letter of application from him before they could finalise anything. Malcolm looked over at Gertrude, and when she nodded at him, he said he would have one ready for him on Monday.

As Malcolm rose and shook his hand, he said, “Nice robes.” He looked him over. “Special occasion today?”

Albus shook his head. “House-elf.”

Malcolm looked at him, then looked down at Gertrude, then back at Albus. “Right. House-elf.” Turning back to Gertrude, he said, “Coming, Tru-love?”

Gertrude blushed and shook her head. “I have just a little business to discuss with Albus. I’ll be along shortly. I’ll meet you in the staff room.”

As soon as he was through the door, Gertrude looked at Albus and said, “What’s wrong, Albus?”

“Nothing. I’m pleased to see that you and Malcolm – ”

“What is wrong?” Gertrude asked insistently.

“Nothing.”

“Is it to do with Minerva?”

“Why would it have anything to do with Minerva?”

“It does, then . . . what did you do? Or what did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything.”

“So what did you do?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “I’ll just talk to her, in that case. Is she here?”

Albus shook his head.

“Then you tell me what has happened, Albus. You look like hell. Have you even been eating? Or sleeping?”

“Thank you very much, Gertrude. You certainly do have a flattering way about you. No wonder young McGonagall is taken with you,” Albus said. Immediately, he grimaced, and said, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But, no, I have not been sleeping well.”

“So what happened?” Gertrude asked again.

“Why do you presume it has anything to do with Minerva?”

“And who else? Hagrid? Johannes? Who else would affect you so?”

Albus looked away. “I just did something very foolish. She has left the castle . . . so as not to be alone here with me,” he said softly.

Gertrude looked perplexed. “She left . . . so she wouldn’t have to be here alone with you? That doesn’t sound like Minerva. I would have thought . . . well, the opposite, actually.”

Albus shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Albus, we’ve been friends for many years. We have shared so much, you can tell me about this, too.”

“Not now . . . I just did something of such monumental stupidity, I cannot even describe . . . but I can’t talk about it yet.”

Gertrude sighed. “All right. Then let’s just go down to dinner, shall we?”

Albus shook his head. “No, I’d rather not. The house-elves have been bringing Hagrid his meals, since I’ve been taking mine in my rooms. You might want to fetch him this evening. He’d appreciate the company, I’m sure.”

“Albus – ”

“I have work to do.” He stood to open the door for her. “I will see you tomorrow – if you are here? Then tomorrow at lunch.”

Gertrude gave up and left, telling him that if he didn’t come to lunch on Saturday, she would send Hagrid after him.

Albus sighed and sat back down. Within minutes, Wilspy arrived with a plate of cold sliced chicken, carrot salad, and mashed potatoes with extra butter.

“You needn’t watch me eat, Wilspy,” Albus said as the house-elf took up a spot on the corner of his desk. “Unless you wish to join me.”

Wilspy nodded and snapped her fingers. A plate containing the same array of foods appeared, floating in front of her, although her potatoes had considerably less butter on them. She sat cross-legged on the corner of the desk and the two ate in companionable silence.

“Your Professor Minerva will be home soon, Professor,” Wilspy remarked as she finished her carrot salad.

Albus’s knife skidded along the plate, and a gesture from Wilspy stopped his food from flying off it.

“Professor McGonagall is gone indefinitely, Wilspy,” Albus said.

Wilspy didn’t respond, but continued eating her chicken before snapping her fingers and producing three bowls of fruit compote, a large one for Albus and two smaller ones for herself and Fawkes, who flew down from his perch to join them. Albus sighed. He was rarely not in the mood for dessert, but he didn’t think he could manage it that evening. Just as he was contemplating the fruit compote, a sturdy Post Owl flew in threw the window and, with a flourish, landed on the back of Albus’s chair and stuck out his leg.

A letter addressed directly to him, he saw immediately, in an envelope. Minerva’s hand-writing. He paid no attention as Wilspy Summoned owl treats and gave them to the bird. Minerva sending him a letter in an envelope, using a Muggle pen. She wasn’t at her parents’, then. He stared at the envelope, dreading its contents. If it held her resignation, what would he do?

“Letter from Professor’s Professor Minerva?” Wilspy asked.

“Yes.”

“You reads it through the envelope now?” the house-elf asked.

“Hmm? No, of course not.”

Albus made a slight gesture, slitting the envelope open cleanly. He withdrew the paper. Nice paper, linen perhaps, but no indication of where she wrote it, no hotel mark, and she hadn’t given a return address of any sort. The letter was brief and to the point. She did not make mention of his own note, nor of the events between them. At least Minerva had still addressed him by his given name rather than more formally, and had signed it that way, as well. That was something. She would return to Hogwarts at the same time as the rest of the faculty unless called back earlier.

Albus wished he could find a legitimate excuse to call her back earlier. He pushed his compote over to Fawkes, who trilled questioningly, but when no response was forthcoming, he happily started on his second bowl of the evening.

“From Professor’s Professor?” Wilspy asked.

“Yes. She will be gone from the school for a while.”

“Write to her. Tell her you is sad without her here. Professor’s Professor Minerva comes back home if you tell her you miss her.”

Albus shook his head. “No, she won’t. And she is not my Professor Minerva.”

“You is a silly, silly wizard,” Wilspy said, banishing the remains of their supper. “But we all loves you, don’t we, Fawkes?” she said, patting the large bird’s head before he tucked it beneath his wing and fell asleep, his stomach overwhelmed by the fruit feast. “Professor Minerva, too. You tell her to come back. She comes back, like that!” Wilspy snapped her fingers.

“I can’t, Wilspy.” He looked at her fondly. “But thank you, my dear.”

“You can, Master Albus. You be’s stubborn. You be’s always so stubborn.” Wilspy shook her head, sighed, and snapped her fingers again, this time, Disapparating.

-/-/-/-

Quin watched as the green glow faded from his fireplace. He wished he had been able to do more for Minerva. He had done all he could, perhaps even more than he should have, but that was water under the bridge. Still, there had to be something more. He went to his study and sat, staring at rows and columns of figures, but not seeing them. How could Albus have hurt her so? The wizard might be thoroughly Victorian, and perhaps it was gentlemanly on his part to take responsibility for what had happened, for what he had himself done, but to run away as he had and to allow Minerva to feel as though she had thrown herself at him like a – what was the word she had used? a harlot? – that was the worst thing he could have done. To make her feel as though her attentions were so unwanted that they were appalling, disgusting, common . . . it was hard for Quin to fathom that, and impossible to reconcile it with the image he had of Albus Dumbledore. He had always seemed courtly, and certainly kind, and most assuredly fond of Minerva.

Dumbledore could have no notion of how he had affected Minerva. If he had been so horrified by his own behaviour, he likely was simply clueless about Minerva’s feelings, or had the wrong idea, somehow. If he knew how upset Minerva was, he would want to apologise differently, Quin was sure of it. Dumbledore couldn’t know how she had reacted, how she had run into the Forbidden Forest, endangering herself, and even causing herself injury. Quin had seen how Minerva had begun to look up whenever the post arrived, and he knew she hoped for a letter from Dumbledore, until she finally wrote one of her own. He hadn’t asked her what she had written, but he had seen that it was very short, and he doubted that it contained a word about anything that she felt at all.

Quin shook his head. Minerva might not speak to him again, but he had to do something. It was intolerable to know that she suffered still, and Dumbledore was sitting there in his Headmaster’s Tower, doin’ whatever headmasters do, with nary a thought to Minerva’s broken heart nor to her belief that their friendship had ended because of her own behaviour. He stood, determined. He would do something about, that he would.

Quin went back downstairs, grabbing his short black cape along the way, took up a pinch of Floo-powder, tossed it in his fireplace, then stepped inside, pronouncing, “The Three Broomsticks.”

-/-/-/-

Her parents looked up as Minerva stepped out of the Floo and into the library.

“Minerva, sweetness! What a surprise,” her mother said.

“What brings you home, Min?” Merwyn asked.

Minerva shook her head slightly. “I simply decided to spend what is left of my holiday at home.”

Her mother looked at her closely. “Are you feeling well, Minerva?”

She nodded. “I am fine.”

“You don’t look well, sweetheart . . . have you been ill?” Egeria asked, persisting in her concern.

“I said I am fine, Mother.”

“Have you had your dinner yet, Minerva? I am sure Fwisky could find something nice for you,” her father said.

“Yes. I had dinner, thanks. I think I’ll just go up to bed.”

“Already?” her mother asked. “It’s still early.”

“I am tired, that’s all. I’ll read in bed.”

“You go on up, sweetness. I’ll be up in a little while.” Egeria squinted at her. “I know you say you are perfectly well, but indulge your old mother. I would like to just make sure of that.”

Minerva sighed, resigned. “Fine, Mother.”

Continued in the next post!

[MMADfan]

Continued from the previous post!

CXXXVII: Confronting Albus, continued

Twenty minutes later, Minerva was washed, had brushed out her hair, and had changed into her nightgown. She had been annoyed to see that the bruise on her left side, though faded and no longer nearly as sore as it had been, was still visible. Her mother would likely see that, even if she only did a diagnostic and didn’t make her undress. Who knew what else she might notice, Minerva thought with a sigh.

She put her dirty robes in the laundry, thinking that it would be nice to have her own clothes to wear, although she didn’t have very much there, and all of it was old. She would have to go shopping to find something to wear to Melina’s wedding. She had thought to wear her saffron and raspberry robes, but they were at the school.

Her mother knocked on the door. Reluctantly, Minerva called for her to enter. Egeria had her daughter sit on the edge of the bed, and she cast several diagnostic spells. When she was through, she sat down next to her and took her hand.

“Oh, sweetness, what happened to you?”

Minerva shook her head and said nothing.

“Did someone do something to you? I can see that you must have been a mass of bruises, and you even have a cracked rib that’s begun to heal on its own. Someone has been taking care of you, but whoever it was wasn’t a Healer.”

“I went to a friend. He helped me,” Minerva answered.

“To Albus?” Egeria asked.

Minerva shook her head and turned from her mother, willing her tears to stay away.

“Here, let me take care of that rib for you, sweetheart. There just move your arm aside.”

Minerva felt a tingling as her mother’s spell cast healing over her ribs. She took a deep breath, then sighed. “I hadn’t realised. It seemed better before.”

“Mmm. Now that hand.”

Minerva held out her hand. Her mother looked at it.

“I think it will do fine as it is. But what on earth did you do to it, sweetness? You had a deep cut, a puncture, well into the muscle. You are fortunate it wasn’t worse.”

“I was in my Animagus form. I . . . had a bit of an accident, and I got a thorn in my paw,” Minerva said.

“I see. And there is nothing else?” When Minerva shook her head, her mother persisted. “You are not at all yourself, Minerva. Your magic is wavering in a way I have never seen before, and you are also clearly quite melancholy.”

“I will be fine.”

“No doubt you will be, my sweetest girl, but you aren’t now.” Egeria sighed. “It is something to do with Albus, isn’t it?”

Minerva shrugged, and this time she couldn’t keep her tears back. When her mother put her arms around her, she began to sob, turning into her mother’s comforting embrace. Egeria just stroked her hair and her back and made soft, soothing sounds.

Finally, Minerva said, choking, “I’ve been a dreadful fool, Mother.”

Egeria kissed her hair. “If it’s love, then you haven’t been a fool. No one who loves is a fool. Or we all are. And it’s what makes us human, this foolishness.”

Minerva shook her head. “What could you know . . .”

“It’s all right to love him, Minerva,” her mother said softly.

Those words brought another bout of sobbing from Minerva, who had thought she hadn’t another tear left in her.

“Did you tell him? Is that it?” Egeria questioned gently.

“No . . . no, I didn’t even, I didn’t even – ” Minerva couldn’t continue.

Egeria lay back on the pillows, holding her youngest child in her arms, and tears came to her own eyes.

Finally, Minerva calmed down again, and she said, “I never even was able to tell him how I felt. I did try. I told him, on his birthday.” Minerva sniffed, and her mother gave her a handkerchief she’d had in readiness. “I should have learned from that. He said he was ‘fond’ of me, Mother. But no, I had to persist, reading every small gesture as though it had some great import.”

“His birthday was more than two weeks ago. What happened this week?”

Minerva shook her head. “It became very clear that he cares about me, but like a . . . a granddaughter. I thought it was more, but it wasn’t.”

“Oh, sweetness! He may not be able to tell you how he feels – ”

“He did,” Minerva interrupted. “He said that he never intended, well, that he didn’t – it is just too awful, Mother.”

Minerva rested in her mother’s arms, weeping softly.

“You know, Minerva,” Egeria said softly as she stroked her daughter’s hair, “Albus is from a different era than you are, different even from my own, and he was raised differently, and I can’t say that I know precisely what he feels for you, but I do know that he loves you. In many ways, he is a complicated and powerful wizard, and he has seen and done much, but at the end of the day, he is a simple wizard at heart, one who was raised with certain values and taboos. Perhaps you should simply accept that about him and remain his loyal friend, and, in time, he might come around. I believe that Albus does have very deep feelings for you, sweetness, but, out of decency and honour, he has suppressed them, and now he is having difficulty dealing with having you so close to him. Give him time, give yourself time.”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Minerva said dully. “I just can’t have any hope any longer.”

Egeria sighed and rocked Minerva in her arms, wishing she could have saved her from this pain and broken heart, that she could take it on herself and spare her daughter.

-/-/-/-/-

Not many miles from the McGonagall cliffs, a tall, dark-haired wizard stepped through the doors of the Three Broomsticks, looked up toward the Hogwarts castle, closed his eyes, and Disapparated. On arriving at the gates, he rang the Charmed bell. He didn’t have to wait long before Hagrid appeared.

“Hullo, there, Mr MacAirt,” Hagrid greeted him.

“‘Quin,’ ’tis ‘Quin’ t’ me friends. I’m here t’ see your Headmaster, Hagrid. ’Tis a matter of great importance.”

“I don’t rightly know if yeh can see ’im or not,” Hagrid answered as they walked up toward the castle.

“He’s not here?” Quin asked.

“I reckon ’e is, but I ain’t seen ’im today. ’Ere’s P’rfesser Gamp comin’ now. She’s talked to ’im.”

“Ta, Hagrid,” Quin said, then he loped off toward Gertie and Malcolm, who were just coming around from the other side of the castle.

“Malcolm,” Quin greeted the older wizard with a nod before turning to Gertrude. “Gertie, I need t’ speak t’ Dumbledore.”

“Do you? And on what matter at this time of day?” Gertie asked, eyebrow raised.

Quin looked over at Malcolm, then back at Gertrude. “’Tis a confidential one.”

Gertrude looked at him a moment then nodded briefly. She turned to Malcolm. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ll just show him in.”

Malcolm nodded, and the three went into the castle and up the stairs to the second floor.

Gertrude looked up at Malcolm and smiled. “Wait for me?”

“Always,” Malcolm said softly, caressing Gertrude’s face with his gaze before turning and heading off to her rooms.

The other two walked in the other direction, toward the gargoyle. When they reached it, Gertrude turned and looked up at Quin, who seemed grim.

“Is this about Minerva?” Gertrude asked softly.

“And what do you know of it?” Quin asked.

Gertrude shook her head slightly. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened. I only know that she left the castle.”

“Mmm. I need to speak to him.”

Gertrude hesitated only a moment, then she gave the password, “Pixie sticks.” The gargoyle moved aside and the stairway opened before them. “Is she all right, Quin?”

“Could be better. She’s at home now, with her parents,” he answered.

Gertrude nodded, Quin stepped onto the moving spiral stair, and she watched him as he began to disappear, the staircase corkscrewing upward, before the gargoyle again closed it off from her view. She hoped that Quin knew what he was doing. But Malcolm was waiting, and she turned and headed at a rapid pace toward her Gryffindor wizard.

As Quin rode the stairs up to the Headmaster’s office, he wondered what he could say to Dumbledore that would persuade him to contact Minerva and reassure her of their friendship. He still didn’t have a clear idea of what had happened between them, although Minerva was convinced that Albus must believe she had thrown herself at him and was disgusted with her as much as he was with himself. Quin couldn’t imagine that; Dumbledore might be old-fashioned and of a different era, but surely any wizard would be flattered to have Minerva express her attraction for him, even if he didn’t return the feelings, or was only reacting physically to her “propinquity.” What a word . . . Quin thought that had bothered her more than anything else Dumbledore had said, other than the suggestion that he considered her to be like a granddaughter.

Finally at the top of the stairs, he reached for the knocker, but before he could grasp it, the door opened to him. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, dressed in the robes that he had helped Minerva pick out. Quin found that surprising, almost disturbing. Here was a wizard who had caused Minerva great grief, and he was sitting there happily in his tower, wearing the luxurious robes that Minerva had given him, as though nothing at all had changed. Quin felt his anger rising, but he fought it off. Dumbledore looked surprised.

“Quin! I hope you don’t mind if I say that I am surprised to see you,” Albus said. “Did you have a concern about the school?”

“No, not about the school. About a friend, a mutual friend,” Quin responded. He waited for Albus to respond, but the older wizard only gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. Quin came around and stood in front of the desk, but he did not sit. “I’m here about Minerva, Dumbledore.”

“She is not here,” Albus answered. “Gertrude is, however, if you would care to see her before you leave.”

Quin laughed shortly. “Gettin’ rid o’ me? That’s your thought, is it? I’m not goin’ until we have talked.” He stepped closer to the desk.

“Have a seat,” Albus said.

He ignored the invitation and looked over the other wizard. “Nice robes. Special occasion? Or just a sentimental choice?” Quin said evenly.

“My choice of attire is a peculiar, and inappropriate, topic of conversation,” Albus answered.

“I think it entirely appropriate, given the source of your attire.” At Albus’s raised eyebrows, Quin said, “Gift from Minerva, weren’t they? For your birthday?”

“What has this to do with anything?” Albus asked, rising and stepping around the desk. He wasn’t as tall as Quin, but he could draw upon his magic, and he appeared to loom over the man.

Quin wasn’t flustered, though, and said, “Minerva, Dumbledore. Me visit is about Minerva, that fine witch.” He could feel Dumbledore’s magic rippling against him. The wizard was growing angry, or irritated, at least, and given the control that Quin believed the wizard had over his power and his emotions, this encouraged him rather than frightened him. “Minerva came to see me a few days ago.”

“Did she,” Albus said coolly, his voice not betraying any interest or even vague curiosity, let alone any concern at all.

“Would it interest you in the slightest to learn that she was in quite a state when she appeared on me doorstep?” Quin asked. “Or,” he continued as Albus stepped away from him and turned toward the window, “that she was greatly distressed? No . . . I see that it doesn’t interest you at all. And I imagine, then, that you would not be at all concerned to learn that your Transfiguration Mistress, your friend of many years, was not merely distressed, but that she was injured?” At that, Albus’s head turned slightly, betraying his surprise.

“Injured?” Albus asked softly.

“I thought she’d been beat up, t’ be honest. And I wasn’t sure that ’twasn’t someone she knew who done it, if you take me meanin’,” Quin said. “Bruised all over, she was, and bloody. A right mess.”

“Is she all right?” Albus asked, worry finally evident in his tone.

“She will be, and she is better. But she came t’ me, Professor,” Quin said, following the Headmaster to the window. “She came t’ me because she felt she had nowhere else.”

Albus said nothing at first, then he asked, looking out the window and not at Quin, “What is it you want to say to me? That she left the castle on my account? I know that. And I regret it.”

“You ‘regret it’?” Quin asked angrily. “Do you know what she believes? What she said t’ me? She said that you must think her a common harlot. And that wasn’t the least o’ the things she said. You may think that whatever apology you extended to her was sufficient, but it was not. It simply increased her distress, it did.”

When Albus simply bent his head and didn’t respond, Quin took his arm and began to turn him, saying, “Are you listenin’ man? Wait! The devil!” Quin’s eyes grew round. “Dumbledore – you . . . you, oh, gods!” Quin gripped the Headmaster’s arm more tightly, staring at him. “Ya lyin’ son of a – ya didn’t mean any of it! Ya bleedin’ eejit! D’ya know what ya done t’ that poor girl? She t’inks she’s no better than a Knockturn Alley floozy in your eyes! She damn near killt herself t’rowin’ herself t’rough that Forest, and ’twas all a pack o’ lies! If I had me cup here, ’twouldn’t be split, ’twould be shattered! Ya love her, yer feckin’ in love wit’ her, and ya made her believe ya were just reactin’ t’ her ‘propinquity’! Propinquity! Could ya come up wit’ any other worse word fer sayin’ she meant nothin’ to ya?”

Quin let go of Albus with a shove. He was shaking, but trying to regain control of himself. “You have no idea, none . . . what you’ve done . . . what you drove her to,” Quin said, anger still in his voice.

“It’s none of your affair,” Albus said hoarsely.

“None o’ me affair, is it? None o’ me affair? You most certainly are mistaken,” Quin said, softly, but fiercely, his anger rising again, “She is me friend, and she came t’ me, hurtin’. I t’ought . . . I t’ought ya just couldn’t understand, but now I see ya here, dressed in robes she gave ya, pretty as ya please, and I find ’tisn’t ya didn’t understand, but yer so caught up in yer own miserable feelin’s ya cannot see beyond yer own nose, ya daft man! And that is whole-makin’ truth!”

Quin stepped away from Albus, looking at him as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but gathering himself together and regaining his composure.

“I was always told that ‘Gryffindor’ meant ‘brave,’ an’ don’t tell me I’m wrong.” Quin shook his head and turned, going toward the door. He turned back. “I will tell you this, Dumbledore: you tell Minerva how you feel – and I mean all of it – or I will. And you can set your imagination to how that might sound. I give you one day. Twenty-four hours. Count ’em, Dumbledore.” Quin walked to the door, put his hand to the handle, then paused. “You are a great wizard and a greater man, Dumbledore. I ain’t denyin’ that. But you are a great fool, as well. Tell her. Or I do, an’ the devil take ya.”

Quin opened the door and left, closing it behind him with a gentle click. Albus sank into the nearest chair. He should have controlled himself more, taken his emotions in hand. The boy was a MacAirt, after all. Cormac Quinlivan MacAirt. His emotions were so close to the surface, as soon as Quin touched him, they must have started screaming at him.

Albus sat. He had believed he felt miserable enough before, now he was in shock. He would have to tell her. Why would Minerva think that she was . . . what Quin had said? Whatever it was that Minerva felt or thought, though, Albus had no doubt that Quin would follow through and tell Minerva exactly what he had felt coming from him. And it would do no good to him to tell her himself after that event, and it would be worse to deny it. He couldn’t deny it. Denying it was what had brought him to such a pass, after all.

In the midst of his shock and his embarrassment, though, Albus felt a peculiar sense of relief. It would soon be over, this terrible state he was in. Minerva would know. Whether it would make her feel better about their relationship or worse, Albus had no idea. But at least she would no longer think of herself as a Knockturn Alley floozy. That was awful. And Quin had said she had injured herself. He wished he knew that she really was well. But Quin wouldn’t have left her if she weren’t. Or she was no longer with Quin.

Albus stood and made his way slowly up to his suite and into his study. He removed the photographs of Minerva from their drawer, then he pulled out the parchments that he had put in the drawer with them. Albus sat at the desk and began to write. The truth. The truth to mend the lies. Whatever else the letter might do, that much he had to accomplish. When he was through, he took one of the parchments he had taken from the drawer, wrote a note at the bottom of it, and rolled up his letter with that parchment. He sealed it with purple wax, then he called Wilspy.

“Yes, Professor?” Wilspy said, popping in.

“I have a letter here. It needs to be owled immediately.”

“To Professor’s Professor Minerva?”

Albus cringed at the appellation, but nodded.

“Then no owl,” Wilspy said with some determination, and the house-elf called for Fawkes. “We send your letter with Fawkes-the-phoenix. Professor’s Minerva gets it quick quick!”

“I – ” But Albus didn’t get any protest out of his mouth before Wilspy had told the phoenix to bring Professor’s letter to Professor’s Minerva, and Fawkes was off in a bright flash of flame.

---

Next: Still NOT “Hot-MMAD-Monkey Sex”! 16 August 1957.

[Hogwarts Duo]

Yay…another update. I do so love to wake up on a Saturday morning and find a brand new, shiny chapter to read…wheeee!

Instead of calling this chapter “Confronting Albus,” perhaps we should rename it, “Help From All Sides!” It seems everyone is working, though individually to bring our dear Albus and Minerva together at long last.

Wilspy: Bless her little house elf heart. She’s doing wonders for taking excellent care of Albus, just as Quin cared for Minerva…well in her own way of course. She’s making sure he eats, sleeps, showers, focuses on other things and most importantly she is staying positive, even when he is not. I think it was incredibly ingenious of her to remove all of Albus’ clothing except the robes he received from Minerva for his birthday and of course I do love to hear her refer to Minerva as the “Professor’s Professor Minerva.” Awwwww! And then, at the end of the chapter, she takes matters into her own hands and sees that Fawkes is sent with the letter, obviously knowing that he is not going to make a mistake with the delivery of the letter and that it would make a better impression.

One question…did Wilspy have some insight into the fact that Albus would have visitors that particular day? I ask because of this sentence:

When Wilspy brought him his lunch, he asked her why she had taken all of his clothes, and she just looked at him and said that he had to wear happy robes and look nice for visitors.

And then there’s Gertie. She seems genuinely concerned for both Albus and Minerva. I had to laugh lightly, though probably not appropriately, at her questioning of Albus. It was as if she could read his mood, and being friends and a little more for decades would give her that insight, and she correctly guessed that it all stemmed from his relationship with Minerva. I think the part that struck me especially was that she senses something drastic happened, then when it was confirmed that it wasn’t Minerva’s fault, she threatened to get the answers from Minerva. That certainly is a switch from the beginning of the story…at least in my mind when we saw Gertie as something of a threat and a sore spot in Minerva’s universe.

We also have Quin, trying in his own way to bring them together. I can’t say I enjoyed his rant against Albus and at times I felt he was being a bit unfair. Sure, he’d witnessed Minerva at her worse and most desperate and had taken care of her out of love and friendship. However, he only knew the bits that Minerva had shared with him and she didn’t have the entire story to tell. He also had no way of knowing just how much Albus was punishing himself, worrying, longing for Minerva, and the things he’s had to deal with thanks to Valerianna’s parting shots. I understand his desire to see that Albus made amends and to stop Minerva’s pain and suffering but what he didn’t realize was that Albus was hurting just as much, if not more only in a different way and to judge him based solely on the particular robes he was wearing at the time of Quin’s unannounced visit was unfair. He jumped to the conclusion that Albus was feeling much happier and better than he was in reality, which in turn only further irritated him.

I think he truly meant well but his vitriolic manner with Albus inflicted more pain upon the already suffering man. I don’t think he intended to hurt Albus, only shock him into realizing the ramifications of his actions. And in the end, his ultimatum should work at flushing Albus out of hiding and force him to tell Minerva the absolute and completely honest truth about his feelings. Yay for that!!

And finally we have Fawkes. No doubt a loyal and trusted familiar. I’m sure he’ll waste no time at all in delivering the owl to Minerva, instilling her with hope and perhaps some answers.

Hoping to see another update soon!!!

The GLM

[dianahawthorne]

How on EARTH could Albus blame himself? And how could he think Minerva didn't want him to return her kiss? Oh, well, Quin sorted that problem out! Go Quin! This was such a fabulous chapter - I can't wait for the next one! I do wish that Albus had delivered the letter to Minerva himself, but Fawkes is almost as good! I love Wilspy - she definitely rocks! And I'm glad Malcolm's going to be the DADA professor! Great chapter, as always, and I am anxiously awaiting the next one!

[Orion's Guard]

So I'm going away on a cruise next week for Christmas and I wasn't going to read any more of your updates until after then (saving them for when I had no internet on the boat, also figuring that you'd be taking a holiday break). So much for that plan.

Quin's reactions to Minerva are honorable, and I'm glad she was able to go to someone like him. He took care of her in a way she most desperately needed. I'm glad she left, because it was starting to feel a bit odd that Quin's kids weren't with him, and now Minerva's at home with her parents for some childhood comforting.

I was also a bit iffy about Quin going to Albus and making him feel worse, but the moment of realization was funny and well written. The fact that Albus was so upset that Quin was able to read him shows how much everything was really affecting him. It seems a bit cowardly to me at first for Albus to be telling Minerva everything in a letter, but he doesn't know where she is and Fawkes' delivery is a nice personal touch (even if it was Wilspy's idea).