Buttons Into Bells

“Minerva?�

The voice stirred Minerva McGonagall from her reverie and she lifted her head from the cold glass of the windowpane, heretofore unaware that she had been resting against it.

“Minerva?� Her aunt’s persistent call carried all the way up the crooked flight of stairs, down the narrow hallway, and into the small pink bedroom where Minerva sat, lost in thought.

“Minerva?� she repeated for the third time, her tone a mixture of insistence and worry. Minerva stood up, brushed invisible specks of dirt from her crisp tartan frock, and ran narrow fingers under the lower lid of her eyes to erase any trace of tears. Pushing her glasses a bit up the bridge of her nose, she cleared her throat and brushed a few flyaway strands of black hair out of her face.

Out of the pink bedroom she walked and down the narrow, musty hallway, keeping her head straight to avoid the smiling faces that beamed and waved at her from dozens of framed photographs hanging on the walls.

She stopped at the top of the crooked staircase and straightened herself, then gripped the rickety balustrade and wove her way into the sitting room, where her aunt stood, arms full of greenery. The overpowering scent of pine mixed with the odor of mildew, giving the house an altogether unpleasant musk, which settled heavily around the mismatched antique furniture. A bright fire glowed in the grate, but the heat was almost as powerful as the smell, and the dancing light of the flames cast strange shadows across the fraying striped wallpaper.

“Ah, there you are, Minerva. I was afraid you had done a Muting Charm on that bedroom!� Gladys Brauer flashed her toothy smile at Minerva, who managed to slightly twitch the corners of her mouth in response.

A silence fell on the room as Minerva realized she had nothing to say to her aunt. Though the two women were certainly not at odds, they had never managed to appreciate each other’s company; Gladys’s boisterous, emotional demeanor was often grating to Minerva, more reserved and introspective. Gladys had married Minerva’s favorite uncle, Franz, more than ten years ago, and Franz had always worked hard to bring his “two favorite girls� together, but to no avail. And now… Now his wish would never be granted…

Minerva realized that she was staring into space again, a most undesirable trait in her opinion. She was vaguely aware that her aunt was speaking, but her words came as if at the end of a very long tunnel, gradually coming nearer into focus. Minerva shook her head. “I am sorry, Aunt, is there something you need from me?�

Gladys shifted the bunch of garlands into one hand and used her now-free arm to peel away an errant green coil that had worked its way around her neck. “No, dear, I just thought you might enjoy helping me decorate. It’s so quiet and lonely in this big empty house, and we both could use a bit of Christmas cheer this year, don’t you think?�

Pursing her lips ever so slightly, Minerva managed a slight nod. She had nearly forgotten that tonight was Christmas Eve. “Yes, Aunt,� she said, holding out her arms awkwardly to receive the bundle of greenery, which Gladys cheerfully transferred. “What am I to do with this?� Minerva asked, her face the picture of bemusement.

“Oh, your uncle and I used to drape it on the mantle, dear,� replied Gladys, gesturing with a wave of her hand toward the fireplace.

Minerva walked to the mantle and dropped the coils of plants on the floor, quite unsure how to proceed. She pointed her wand at the end of the strand and muttered, “Wingardium Leviosa.� Up flew the rope of green, twisting in the air like a snake. Minerva jerked her arm to the right and the strand skidded across the mantle, rustling up a cloud of dust before coming to a stop, the end hanging limply off the side. She let her wand arm drop, not impressed with her work, but lacking the motivation to continue.

A slight chuckle came from behind Minerva, and she turned to see her aunt staring at the mantle, one chubby hand over her broad mouth. Her eyes glistened with tears, but Minerva could not tell if they were of sadness or amusement. “Have I done something wrong, Aunt?� she asked, acutely aware that her tone bordered on the accusatory.

“No, no, dear, it’s quite lovely,� replied Gladys, tucking a frazzled blond strand of hair behind her ear and pulling her wand out of the front pocket of her jumper. “It’s just… your uncle and I used to drape them like this.� With a few flicks of her wand, Gladys made the strand fall in graceful arcs, secured to the mantle with well-placed Sticking Charms. “There. Isn’t that lovely?�

Minerva nodded and another silence passed between the two women. The wind whipped through the trees outside and through a crack in the door. The whole house seemed to shudder and creak, and for a moment Minerva feared that the fire would blow out, plunging them into total darkness. She had a feeling that her aunt was on the verge of speech, but Minerva wanted desperately to avoid the conversation she knew to be imminent. As Gladys opened her mouth, Minerva spoke. “What kind of plant is this?� she asked, gesturing to the greenery.

Gladys cleared here throat. “Holly, dear. I fashioned it into garlands. Always considered myself to be a bit of a Herbologist, don’t you see.�

“Hmm,� Minerva hummed in assent. “It’s… nice.�

“Thank you.�

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the flames and the steady ticking of the large mahogany grandfather clock in one corner of the room. Minerva heard a dog bark in the distance and the sound of it filled her with an unexplainable melancholy.

Suddenly, a hissing noise issued from the kitchen and Gladys jumped at the sound. “Oh, that’ll be the water for the tea. Can I get you a cup?� She did not wait for an answer, and Minerva thought she saw her aunt brushing away tears as she bustled into the kitchen. Minerva wondered if she could take advantage of her aunt’s absence and sneak back into the pink bedroom, but decorum dictated otherwise, no matter how much she desired to escape the proffered Christmas cheer.

Instead, she moved to a green felt couch and sat down, surprised at its firmness. More dust flew into the air as she sat, and Minerva coughed, wondering just how long it had been since anyone had inhabited this house. She knew her aunt and uncle had not lived here the last time she had seen them—eighteen months prior at her graduation from Hogwarts—but it seemed that the house had been abandoned well before that time.

Her aunt reentered the sitting room as Minerva blew her nose on her embroidered handkerchief—a gift from her mother last Christmas. “I’m sorry for the dust, dear,� Gladys said, handing Minerva a teacup patterned with Yuletide wreaths. “No one has lived here for eight years or so, not since the war picked up and your uncle moved us to Germany. You know how he was, never content to live on the outskirts of the battle, always wanting to be near the action.� Gladys’s body shook then, and Minerva thought for a moment that she had choked on her tea, but it was actually a violent sob. Gladys trembled, rattling the cup and saucer she still held in her hands as she was wracked with tears.

Minerva stood and stepped toward her aunt. She traded her handkerchief for the cup and saucer and gave Gladys an awkward pat on the back before steering her to the green couch. Placing Gladys’s cup next to her own on a small end table, Minerva rearranged herself on the sofa and sat with some rigidity next to the still-sobbing woman. “I’m sorry,� Gladys wheezed through her tears. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I miss him so much.� Minerva said nothing in response and the wind howled again.

After an eternal minute, her crying slowed, and Gladys was able to pull herself up and lean back onto the couch. She pressed her fingers on the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry,� she repeated. “Franz loved Christmas. He would spend hours decorating this place, just reveling in the sights and sounds of the season. I used to tease him, tell him that this old living room was nothing compared to Christmas at Hogwarts. I told him about all the trees, the fairies, the lights, everything, and I promised I would take him there. We wanted to go while you were still a student—he missed you terribly when we were in Germany, you know…�

Gladys kept talking, now detailing all the particulars of Franz’s Christmas decorations, but Minerva had drifted again, her mind wandering to thoughts of her uncle. He was always laughing in her memory; that’s how she liked to remember him. He smelled of pipe tobacco and wool sweaters, and he nearly always had a smile stretched between two ruddy cheeks. He seemed so harmless and jovial, and Minerva supposed that is what made him so helpful to the resistance against the Dark wizard Grindelwald: who could have imagined such incredible magic from such a rotund and cheery man?

“… He loved you like a daughter, you know, Minerva, especially after your father died…�

Her aunt’s words again floated to her, at first barely registering, then slowly revealing themselves. After your father died… Angus McGonagall passed away suddenly one blustery May night eight years previous, leaving his wife Greta and daughter. Franz Brauer insisted his widowed sister leave Scotland, as he had, to come live with him and his wife Gladys in the charming wizard village of Borkensheim, Germany, which had yet to be touched by Grindelwald. Greta knew, however, that only a Hogwarts education would do for Minerva, so they remained in the north. But the years waned long and lonely, Greta became wrapped in her grief, and Franz was determined to have her move, even if the situation in Germany was rapidly deteriorating. So away Greta went, where Minerva could not yet follow.

Visits to Germany became more and more infrequent as Minerva was thoroughly engrossed by her studies, especially Transfiguration, taught by the esteemed Albus Dumbledore. Yet as fascinating as her time at Hogwarts was, Minerva always felt a deep sense of longing to be reunited with her family, a longing that mere days at Christmastime and Easter could not satiate.

And then two months ago, fate determined that longing would never be quenched, as Minerva’s world was rent apart. Though her mother remained alive, she was hiding in Germany, marked by Grindelwald’s secret army as a member of the resistance. And her Uncle Franz, having narrowly escaped imprisonment in Nurmengard, met a fate much worse at the hands of Grindelwald himself, if the rumors were to be believed. So Minerva and Gladys, the only extant members of the Brauer-McGonagall clan were shunted together in a musty safe house, neither really at home…

“… Anyway, no need to wallow in self-pity, dear, now is there?� Gladys finished her soliloquy with one final blow on the handkerchief, which she handed back to Minerva, who gingerly took it by a corner and sat it on the table next to her discarded teacup. “Yes, we must move on. That’s what your uncle would do. Move on. Unless,� she paused, looking sideways at her niece. “Unless you would like to say something? I’ve a ready ear, dear.�

Minerva blanched at the thought of “opening up� to her aunt. Her emotions were not for public consumption. She shook her head. “No, Aunt, I would rather retire to my room. I feel a bit under the weather. Please excuse me.�

She stood up quickly from the green sofa as Gladys said, hesitating, “Oh. Oh, all right. I wouldn’t want to keep you.�

Minerva, her back to her aunt, closed her eyes and pursed her lips at the hesitation in Gladys’s voice. She inhaled slowly, her nostrils flaring, and turned to her aunt. “Is there something else I can help you with? More garlands that need to be hung, perhaps?� She hoped Gladys missed the sarcasm that dripped menacingly from her words, as it was nearly unintentional.

“Well, there is one thing…� Gladys began, looking up at Minerva from her position on the hard, dusty couch.

She looked almost childlike as she beamed up at Minerva, her round eyes still marked with the redness of just-shed tears, her eyebrows arched nervously, pleadingly. Minerva felt something inside her soften for the briefest of instants as she looked down at her aunt. They were burdened by the same grief, after all, and it was the least Minerva could do to humor her, give her company during these terrible holidays. She made no response to her aunt, but her continued presence signaled assent.

“Your uncle loved Christmas, as I’ve already said, you know. The tree was his favorite.� Minerva’s eyes darted to the corner of the room where the great Scots Pine stood, quite unadorned. Minerva thought lovingly of the trees in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, which would now surely be up, glittering with live fairies, garlands of red and silver, candles… The longing for Christmases past haunted her, filled her with an emptiness akin to the branches of the pine that now stood ignored in the corner.

Gladys continued: “I’m not much for Transfiguration, you know, and your uncle was so good at it.� That was an understatement: Franz Brauer was one of the handful of registered Animagi of the twentieth century, a fact that had rarely left Minerva’s mind since his death. “Anyway, he loved taking our everyday things ‘round the house and turning them into decorations. Spoons into candles, apples into baubles, that sort of thing. ‘Take the ordinary and make it extraordinary,’ he would say…�

She trailed off, and Minerva was certain another fit of sobs was sure to follow and she braced herself for impact. Gladys managed to stem the tide, however, and pulled herself up off the couch, moving wordlessly to a large oak armoire along the wall. Rummaging for a few seconds, she finally emerged with a small silver box, which glinted in the firelight as she presented it to Minerva. Minerva had to admire its beauty; it was engraved with the tiniest of lines, swirls, and loops, all coming together in a flourish to entwine around the letters F and G. “A wedding present from your mother,� Gladys said by way of explanation, her keen eyes studying Minerva’s face. Minerva struggled to remain impassive, though she felt her throat constrict.

Minerva still clutched the box as Gladys tapped her wand lightly on the lid. It swung open, falling backwards onto its hinges, and Minerva felt her face automatically constrict into a frown as she beheld the contents. She did not know what she had been expecting, but certainly not buttons, just ordinary buttons…

“Buttons into bells,� Gladys said softly, and sorrow seemed to etch itself into every line on her careworn face. “That was his favorite.� She traced a hand idly through the layers of buttons, her eyes still misty. “Minerva,� she said distantly, as if through a thick fog, “I know you were… disappointed at your uncle’s death. I know you were hoping to teach with him at Wasserschloss in Düsseldorf when it reopened. I know you were hoping he would show you how to become an Animagus.� She paused, her fingers still sifting through red, silver, green. She turned her eyes from the buttons to her niece, and her voice was firmer this time: “I know you think it should have been me who died, not Franz.�

The accusation hung heavily in the air as Gladys’s fingers stopped moving. Minerva gripped the sides of the silver box, her palms sweating against the cool metal. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest, and she found herself again at a lack for words. Was that true? Could she honestly say she wished it had been Gladys, not Franz? Minerva blinked uncontrollably behind her black spectacles, but Gladys’s stare was unchanging.

“Aunt,� she began in an uncommonly faltering tone, “that is not true. I would never wish you harm.� She felt the box slipping in her sweaty palms, and it all of a sudden seemed heavy, though it weighed no more than a pound.

“Well,� said Gladys, brushing aside the tension, “that is certainly good to hear.� Her misty-eyed stare was gone in an instant, and she tapped the lid of the silver box, which slammed shut.

Minerva jumped. “Aunt,� she said, unwilling to accept that the moment could pass so swiftly, “Aunt Gladys, part of what you said was true. I did hope my uncle could secure me a professorship. I did hope he could help me become an Animagus. But I never, I would never blame you for his death, and I am not sorry you are alive.�

“Well,� repeated Gladys, but she said no more, only shuffled back to the armoire and replaced the box on its shelf. She waved her wand at the rickety end table and the teacups and saucers flew into the air, Gladys shepherding them back to the kitchen.

Minerva remained motionless, alone with the bare Christmas tree and the storm buffeting the windowpanes. She expected Gladys to reenter the room, expected some sort of closure, but neither came. Minerva felt a chill run down her spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Was she… angry at her aunt’s words? Regretful? Accepting?

She took another survey of the room and tried to appreciate her aunt’s handiwork. A bright red poinsettia stood on a table by the door and a large wreath hung on the wall above the sofa—Minerva hadn’t noticed either. She spun in place, slowly taking in all the little details of the room, the trappings of the season brought in by Gladys to give the all-important Christmas cheer. Who was she, Minerva, to ruin that cheer, to unravel the fraying threads that her aunt clung to? Who was she, Minerva, to pretend that her uncle’s death was devastating for she alone?

Minerva again felt something stir within her and she moved automatically toward the armoire, her hands finding the box of their own accord. She carried it to the mantle and tapped the lid with her wand. It sprung open and she silently, wordlessly, lifted dozens of buttons into the air. They danced across the musty room as she flicked her wand toward the Christmas tree. Then, one by one, she transfigured them. Large bells, small bells, silver, gold, and more twisted into being and landed gracefully in the evergreen boughs. They jingled ever so softly as they hung, though there was no breeze in the room.

She lost count of buttons and minutes alike as she worked, and only when the box was empty did Minerva step back to admire her creation. Though she detested excessive sentimentality, she could not quell the feeling that rose up inside her as she stared at the tree and the hundreds of bells glinting in the firelight. She quavered on the spot for a moment when a noise at the kitchen door made her turn. Gladys stood there, dabbing her eyes with a fresh handkerchief. “It’s beautiful,� she said as she moved toward the tree, finding Minerva’s empty hand and gripping it tightly. All Minerva could do was nod as silent tears spilled from her eyes.

The two women stood together for a long while before Gladys squeezed Minerva’s hand. “I am glad you are here with me,� she whispered. Minerva squeezed back, then released her aunt’s hand and returned to the silver box on the mantle. She was about to raise her wand to the lid when something caught her eye: a small loop of thread along the side of the velvet-lined bottom. She stowed her wand in her sleeve and used her free hand to pull at the thread. As she pulled, the entire base of the box came up, revealing a hidden layer of folded-up sheets of parchment.

She picked up the first piece, distractedly handing the box to her aunt. Her hands shook—a rare occurrence indeed—as she unfolded the paper and began to read aloud:

“My dearest Minerva: There are some secrets that should not be taken to the grave, but rather passed down through generations. The history of the Brauer Animagi is long indeed, and though you are a McGonagall in name, you are no less my daughter in spirit. Therefore, it is to you I leave these notes, scribbles, and diagrams. If you are reading this, then a most unfortunate event has occurred. I can only apologize for not being able to help you in person—or in animal!—with this difficult transformation, but that you will succeed I am decidedly sure. Give my love to Greta and Gladys, and may these brief words be enough to comfort you until we meet again. All my love, Uncle Franz.�

Minerva clutched the letter tightly in her hands and took the stack of parchment her aunt held up. She rifled through the sheaths, poring over the complex instructions and drawings, taking in the very essence of her uncle’s words. She was in a state beyond grief now, a state where grief would be forever mingled with gratitude and potent longing. She pressed the papers tightly to her, and looked to her aunt. Gladys seemed also to be shifting through several emotions, as her face alternately flushed with happiness, pride, and bittersweet sorrow.

Minerva desired nothing more than to dash up the crooked staircase to the pink bedroom, but she felt compelled to stay with her aunt in the living room for just a few moments more as they both digested the enormity of the situation. Minerva stuttered, unsure how to best express herself: “I… My…� She grasped wildly for words to convey her apologies, her love, her gratitude… “Thank you,� she finally whispered.

Gladys nodded and enveloped Minerva in her strong arms. Though the younger woman usually sought to avoid such embraces, she for once pushed aside her strictures and gave in, breathing deeply as Gladys tightened the hug, now relishing the scent of pine that filled her nose.

As they broke apart, Minerva once again adjusted her glasses and smoothed the pleats of her dress, and her hands flew automatically to find and punish any stray hairs. Gladys let out a soft chuckle and smiled at her niece. “Whatever helps you find that Christmas cheer, dear.�

And they turned in tandem to look again at the silver bells dancing on the tree.