23. ROWDIE'S SECRET

The holidays came before she knew it. All her lessons and tests were in and surely graded by now, except for her spellwork practicals. For those, she had to return to school to demonstrate for her Transfiguration, Charms, and Defensive teachers.

On the twentieth of December, Minerva Flooed back to Hogwarts. But when she arrived at her first class, Transfiguration, there was only one person in the room--her cousin Cuthbert Campbell. He was sitting in the teacher's chair leaning way back with his feet up on the desk, tapping his wand negligently against his teeth. He looked bored and out of place.

"Hello, Cousin," he said as he studied the ceiling.

"What are you doing here?"

"Now that's a nice way to greet your elders." He got up and ambled over to her. "I could say I'm your new teacher. Would you like that? Trade in that old stick-in-the-mud Tofty for a young, vibrant magus-about-town?" He gave a high-pitched giggle, an odd sound coming from such a large person.

Minerva just looked at him. She thought he was joking, but with Cuthbert you could never tell.

He chucked her under the chin, just as if she were two years old. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

She stifled the desire to stick said tongue out at him. She would not act like a infant, no matter how he treated her. "Where is everyone--Cousin Cuthbert?"

"In the Great Hall. Your teachers have a special surprise for you all." He put his wand back in its sheath, a handsome tooled leather one, and started rubbing his hands together and licking his lips.

Minerva's breath caught in her throat. What could the surprise be? Heavens forbid, they had sacked Doctor Tofty and replaced him with her odious cousin. It was a plausible enough story. Cuthbert did know a lot about magic, with all his studies abroad. Minerva thought of the old wizarding saw, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it." Hadn't she prayed often and unkindly for a new Transfiguration teacher? But Cuthbert Campbell? This would be too bad a punishment for so small a sin.

Cuthbert was rambling on in that know-it-all way of his. "…though I don't know if you want to take a chance, with that Squib's wand of yours."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Everyone knows Rowdie Flynn had all the magibility of a mountain troll."

"That's not true. Trolls don't get to go to Hogwarts."

"They do if their father has enough influence with the school. And if there's room."

"Room?" Minerva could not imagine where this conversation was leading.

"The Purple Plague of 1455 conveniently wiped out many of our dear cousin's peers, so there was plenty of space in his year, and the headmistress could afford to relax the standards."

"There's no proof of that."

"Not in the school records, no. He managed to squeak by in most of his classes. But if you look at what he took…Muggle Studies…Divination…no stretch there! And he dropped Charms and Transfiguration as soon as he got the chance. No decent O.W.L.s to speak of...except in Astronomy and Creature Care."

"How do you know all this?"

"Mother's got a thing for family history. As a Distinguished Supporter of Education, she has access to all the school records. Did you know your mum was a whiz at Muggle Studies? Not surprising since she's a Mudblood herself…"

Mudblood. From Cuthbert's sneering lips it sounded like a curse. But she let it pass because his next words were even more shocking.

"...and cousin Rowdie might as well have been one. Squib, Mudblood, Maladept, they're all one...weak, ineffectual. Anyway, when old Fergus Flynn finally realized Rowdie was a Squib, he had him Framed. He just couldn't bear the thought of the common mage finding out his son was a magical dud."

"Framed? What's that mean?"

Cuthbert's eyes gleamed. "You haven't heard of Portrait Magic, dear coz? The binding of a creature within the confines of a picture frame?"

"No..."

I learned about it from a witch in the Black Forest."

"You mean the way Rowdie and Lady Anne and all are in the Gallery at home? And those people in the pictures around the school?"

"No, that's a completely different animal. I'm talking about imprisonment of the living--rigid and involuntary—and...in oils."

"I've never heard of that."

"Not surprising really. The mechanism's been lost to us for over four hundred years. It was a closely guarded secret among a small number of wizarding families on the continent, but never written down, you ken."

Despite her reluctance feed her cousin's already overlarge ego, she had to ask, "How...how did it work?"

Cuthbert walked over to a small landscape painting hanging by the door and assumed a pedagogic pose, using his wand as a pointer. "They'd choose a picture like this one, Enlarge it, and place the victim inside, artfully posed. The appropriate cant was spoken, and, voila, the poor wretch was frozen inside it. Then the picture was returned to its normal size with nobody the wiser."

"And you're saying cousin Rowdie was locked away like that."

"Yes, at his father's behest. It's like being cursed with an Eternal Sleep Spell. All growth...all decay...stopped dead, so to speak. He couldn't move or talk or scratch or… "

"Or grow old?" Minerva felt a sudden pang. Sir Nick's testimony dovetailed perfectly with the awful lecture Cuthbert was giving.

"Hmmm...yes. In fact that's what the spell was originally used for: to slow the aging process. A mage could expand his life by a third or more if he allowed himself to be Framed every night. Witches like Joan of Navarre were believed to have used it to preserve their youthful beauty. It was outlawed in Britain because there was such a great possibility of abuse. You know: Laird Auldlecher gets tired of his wife, so one morning he conveniently 'forgets' to undo the Framing Spell, and just stores Lady Auldlecher away in a back room. It could last as long as a hundred years, they say…"

Minerva heard no more. She muttered something about needing to use the toilet, and stumbled out of the room.

~*~

She arrived in the dining hall to find it transformed into an amphitheatre, with the entire school ranged in ascending rows of benches around three of its sides. Along the fourth was a line of comfortable armchairs, holding most of the staff--including a smiling--and most definitely not sacked--Doctor Tofty. There were also some mages who looked vaguely familiar, the Head Girl and Boy, and Aunt Charlamaine and Cuthbert.

Minerva found her dorm mates easily, as most of the first years were sitting on the bottom row of risers. Miss Trumulo was just introducing Cuthbert, his mother, Milady Macnair, and several other witches and wizards to the student body. They were guests of the school, representing "the Purebred Learning Advancement Group--United for Excellence," warbled Aunt Charlamaine, "a new association formed with the blessing of the Ministry of Magic, to foster increased communication between the school and the community." That explained Cuthbert's presence at Hogwarts. Minerva clapped enthusiastically at the announcement.

Professor Merrythought explained the reason for the gathering in her nasal whine. "There are lamentably few opportunities for the various class levels to demonstrate their spellwork for each other. So the teachers have decided to allow you to witness the efforts of some of our NEWT-level students so that you may gauge your own progress against theirs. Try not to be too discouraged. They are, after all, the very best the school can offer."

She called seventh year Amelia Bones to the front. The Head Girl was, as usual, impeccably dressed, her robes pressed into crisp pleats, her long hair shining. Three burly Ravenclaws rolled a large brass urn to the center of the room and Amelia directed it to stand upright. Then she waved her wand, and the urn sprouted three brass feet, complete with toes. At the command "Animato!" it launched into a tottering dance about the edge of the performance space. Everyone laughed nastily as the first years scrambled to get out of its lumbering way.

Amelia favored her audience with a rare smile and transformed the dancing metal into what looked at first like a huge, three-legged table. It was black and almost right-triangular, though its longest side curved inward towards its center. But it was altogether too tall for sitting at. And it had a row of little white blocks set into one side, which Minerva could now see were moving up and down independently of one another. Beautiful music was coming from it, although she didn't recognize the tune. There was applause at this and someone--she thought it was Hildy--whispered 'pee-yan-oh' and something about 'moonlight sun'. Everyone listened raptly for some moments. It sounded a bit sad, Minerva thought, and she wondered how the instrument worked. Some rare magical artifact, she guessed.

When the music ended, Amelia made the great hulk fold into itself over and over again until it was reduced to a small bag. This she levitated high up into the air over her audience. The bag upended and marbles came pelting out of it. Students within range covered their heads, but before even one could reach them, Amelia flicked her wand, and the marbles began to swell and lighten like bubbles. The bubbles began to rise, gathering together gradually into one great glittering globe. Everyone was speculating on what would happen if it should burst, and a few daring boys tried to hasten its demise by jumping up and down, jabbing at it with their wands. Amelia accio-ed the bubble to her, and when she touched it, it shrank into a small rectangular object, seen to be a deck of cards that she quickly fanned out in her hand. These she waved up and down for a bit, and they became a lacy lady's fan, much like one Jenny Blair carried in her portrait back at the Keep. A sweet smell emanated from it, it reminded Minerva of fresh-cut flowers. Amelia brought the fan demurely up to her face, gave a small curtsey, and sat down to cheers and wolf whistles.

Next Professor Merrythought asked Conall Macnair to give them all a demonstration of his powers. Conall waved his wand and produced a flock of tiny birds. Everyone clapped at this. He Accio-ed one to him, then started shooting the rest out of the air using a variety of Hexes. The birds fell one-by-one to the floor with a rhythmic plopping sound. He bowed in the direction of his Slytherin mates who were all cheering wildly. Then he released the bird he had in his hand. It made a mad dash for a window high up in the ceiling. With one spectacular Fireball, he incinerated it. The student body gasped, then clapped, except for Poppy Pomfrey, who Minerva could see was close to tears.

"Oh, grow up, Pops," grunted Mina Grubbly, who was sitting next to her. "The birds are just an illusion, like leprechaun gold."

Minerva reached over and patted Poppy's hand. "That's not quite true. But they would have dissipated in a couple of hours anyway."

"Oh, that's good--I guess," Poppy sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "But...but still...those boys...how can they relish it so?"

During their conversation, Conall had vanished all the little carcasses, and was now asking for a volunteer to help him with his next demonstration. Several eager hands shot up, but he took his time making his choice. Cuthbert, who was sitting near Conall, nudged him with his foot. Conall bent over and listened to the older wizard, nodding and grinning. Then he straightened up and said, "Would Minerva McGonagall please come forward?"

Minerva was stunned. She had no choice but to obey him. Conall continued, "You first years may be wondering how those puny spells you're learning can be useful in a fight," he said. "Well, I understand McGonagall here is pretty good at them. So let's say she's an evil archmage, bent on killing me, and I have to defend myself. All right, McGonagall, stand over there and get out your wand." There were more cheers and some snickers from the audience.

Minerva did as she was told, but with a feeling of terrible foreboding. There had been something in Cuthbert's face as he whispered his advice to Con, a look calculating and somehow cruel. The Macnairs still blamed her family for Petey's fall from grace. Could Cuthbert be daring Conall to take the Laird's ire out on her? It would be like him. She felt a rising indignance at the proposition, but fear as well. Even with witnesses present, she was sure this Head Boy was more than capable of making her suffer both pain and humiliation, and perhaps even some permanent damage, disguised as an innocent student error. She was going over in her mind the short list of spells she knew well and wondering which could be in any way effective when she heard a sharp voice behind her.

"Macnair!" All eyes including Minerva's turned towards the voice, which now became apologetic, though hardly less forceful. "Excuse me,...uh...Con... but this is hardly fair...I mean...realistic, do you think?"

She stared at the interloper. It was, of all people, Dugald Macmillan, stepping carefully down the risers with his wand drawn. The talking had stopped and everyone was looking at him, even the teachers. "I mean, don't most evil wizards have a couple of other...um...evil mates to help them out in their...er...evil doings?"

There was laughter from the students, but also sounds of agreement. Minerva saw a few of the professors nodding and grinning, and the rest of the adults at least had benign looks on their faces, except for Cuthbert, whose mouth was set in a grim line.

"It's Macmillan, isn't it?" said Con. "What's the matter? Think your girlfriend can't stand up to a little wizards' duel?"

There was more laughter at this, and Dugald blushed right to the roots of his hair, but his voice was calm. "No...um...I mean, yes, Minerva is a very capable witch, especially in Transfiguration. But it's no challenge to someone like you...I mean...one-on-one like this...with any first year."

Most of the students had hooted at the word "boyfriend," but now they all applauded Dugald's suggestion. Yes, they seemed to be saying, let's give the Head Boy a real test of his powers.

For her part, Minerva had lost her fear and was feeling a little ticked. The big ninny! He probably got this idea from all those romantic stories Gig had told them. Well, she, mage daughter of a Highland lord, was no damsel in distress.

Conall looked back at Cuthbert, but he was still scowling at large. Getting no help there and seeing that the common will was against him, Conall muttered, "All right, what do you propose?"

"How about you against me...and the wench...and maybe one or two more…"

"Count me in," shouted a voice. Minerva looked up the risers. Magnus MacDonald was standing on the top one, waving his arms. He stumbled and tripped his way downward to hoots and catcalls and not a few curses. At one point he accidentally squashed his hand into the chest of a very large girl, who hastened his progress with a shove. He landed in a heap, grinning, between Suze and Hildy Bagshot.

"Me too."

"AND ME!"

Minerva turned again. It was Kenny Whisp, and beside him, Poppy Pomfrey. Poppy had a glare of divine wrath on her face. She looked more than ready to wreak vengeance on Con McNair for his destruction of those little birds, illusions or no. But her best spells were likely to be of the Healing variety, hardly useful in the middle of a raging battle. Minerva didn't know anything about Magnus's or Kenny's magical abilities. She could only hope that she and Dugald had a few spells between them that could fend off this formidable seventh year, who, according to reports, was studying for a record twelve E.F.T.s or T.O.A.D.s-—or whatever those seventh year tests were called.

"My dear children," wailed Professor Merrythought, who had risen and slipped between Dugald and Con. "This was not planned as a part of the day's program. You first years don't even know the rules of engagement. You might be badly…"

"It's all right, Professor," interrupted Con, now keen for the challenge. "I won't use anything over third level, I promise." His eyes were gleaming in excitement, like a cat moving in for a kill.

Shouts of encouragement rang out from the stands.

"Oh boy, a wizard's duel!"

"Come on, Professor, let 'em fight!"

"Give 'im heck, Duggie!"

"You're our man, Con!"

Quickly two competing chants started at opposite sides of the stands, resounding off the ancient wood of the dining hall walls: "SLIH! THER! IN! GO! SLIH! THER! IN! GO!" and "GRIH! FIN! DOR! GRIH! FIN! DOR!"

Miss Trumulo bounced out of her chair and joined Professor Merrythought, who looked as if she were about to cry. Her energetic presence quieted the students immediately. "I'll tell you what," she said. "Our guests have expressed an interest in seeing some of our younger students show off their own best efforts. And I happen to know that Minerva is here for a practicals test anyway. So, since you five seem eager to fight, let's have you go at it with each other. And our Head Boy can be the referee...and set the rules. How would that be?" There was a smattering of applause at this and delighted comments: "A free-for-all, hurrah!" But a few boys grumbled, "Yaaah, bunch of ickle firsties", "Can't do much damage with Leviosas and Light Spells."

Pressing her advantage, Miss Trumulo lost no time placing the five contestants about the floor. Then Con, who seemed to have calmed down a bit, announced the rules of the spell-fest. "Anyone can attack anyone at any time. Ganging up is allowed. We don't stop the contest for anything. If a student is incapacitated, she...or he... will just have to..."

"...will be magicked immediately to the Infirmary," finished Miss Trumulo.

"Yes, of course," said Conall. "Wands at the ready now...Wait for my mark." He aimed his wand toward the ceiling, and fired a concussive blast of sparks and smoke. "COMMENCE!"

Minerva had been watching Dugald out of the corner of her eye. He was likely the greatest threat. But he and the other two boys immediately closed ranks and started a three-way battle, so she turned to Poppy Pomfrey who was on her immediate right. Her dorm mate's best spells, mostly Healing and Disinfecting Charms she had taught herself, couldn't do much damage in a fight--or so Minerva thought.

"Lingua non sensa!" screeched Poppy.

Minerva felt her jaw go slack. She tried to articulate an "Accio wand" but couldn't get the words out of a mouth that felt like it had altogether too much tongue. Then Poppy threw her favorite "Mummy Whammy," which she'd used once before to keep Tyger from using her Healer's kit as a scratching post. It covered Minerva in bandages from head to foot, making it almost impossible to move. But Minerva concentrated hard on her articulation the way she'd so often watched Gig do, and managed after a few false starts to intone the Shallow Skinning Spell she'd seen Aunt Bobbie use on steer carcasses.

"Wiwinno! Bibbimbo! Divvvinno!," she mumbled, then took a deep breath and managed to explode out a "Dif-Fin-Do!""

This slit the bandages quite effectively, and she shook them off and dodged about, avoiding Poppy's spells while she waited for her mouth to start working reliably. Finally she got to her opponent by Transfiguring the buttons on her robe into brightly colored squash bugs, which caused the immaculate and fastidious Poppy to run shrieking from the hall.

A shout from behind her made her turn quickly. Magnus was lying on the floor, his legs flailing about in the unmistakeable throes of a Jelly-Legs hex, while Kenny floated wandless in the air. Dugald Macmillan was standing there alone. It was likely he who had shouted, as a challenge--or a warning. Apparently this self-styled Merlin was unwilling to jinx Morgan le Fay unawares.

Minerva started off attacking Dugald with the basic "Accio wand." He blocked it with a Shield spell--advanced work, she thought, with grudging admiration--and sent some kind of hex back at her. She accio-ed a nearby chair to deflect it and countered with Petey's favorite "Wingardium Leviosa," imagining, as Donnie had taught her, her opponent pinned helplessly against the ceiling.

She watched Dugald as he rose swiftly upwards, but he somehow managed to paddle a bit sideways to take refuge among the many hanging pendants of the great chandelier in the center of the hall. He was an enterprising bloke, she had to give him that. He surely knew she would not take a chance of sending a spell into all that glass while there was a possibility of unleashing sharp shards to fall among her classmates. So she just waited for the spell to subside. But as Dugald emerged from te chandelier, he put up the Shield again.

Next Minerva tried the Crying Hex, which Professor Merrythought had told them was capable of penetrating most male mages' defenses. But her aim was off and she reduced the students in the first two rows behind Dugald to tears. Then he sent several students' books flying across the room at her. This time she accioed a corner cabinet to protect herself. But this also blocked her line of sight, and at that instant, Dugald did something most surprising and unmagical. He ran forward and around it and grabbed her wand hand. She did a Leviosa on herself, and he had to let go as she escaped into the prisms of the chandelier. From its protective pale she shouted "Alohomora" and the cabinet door swung open to give Dugald a good whack in the face.

He started to swear, and it made her dare to try the Scourgifying Charm that Goodie had used on her so many times. She cast it at Dugald's mouth, and it worked! He couldn't speak for the foaming and frothing. Minerva tried to slip in an "Accio," but somehow he managed to choke out the cant for the Shield Spell. He accio-ed a cup from one of the students' hands and washed his mouth out with its contents.

Then he closed his eyes and screamed "Transparencia!" A great flash of light blinded everyone else in the room. More important, it penetrated the chandelier and bounced back and forth off the glass prisms, hitting Minerva's eyes from every possible angle. The glare made her as blind as a bat for about ten seconds. During that time, the Levitation Spell wore off. Dugald nonchalantly muttered "Accio wand," then caught it and Minerva before she could hit the ground.

During the cheering that followed, Minerva stared coldly into Dugald's eyes, as if daring him to take advantage of the situation. He let go of her and gave her back her wand to which she murmured a frigid "Ta."

The big redhead was declared the winner to rousing applause and received a package of Drooble's Rainbow Gum, a roll of hardly-used parchment, and a coupon for a ten sickles' worth of free stuff at Diagon Alley, which the teachers had scrounged up among themselves as a grand prize. But Miss Trumulo also praised Minerva's spellwork and said her teachers all agreed that she had passed her practicals.

As they were leaving, Doctor Tofty accosted her. "That reversal of the Beetle to Button Transfiguration was first-rate, young lady, though I don't remember teaching you the Squash Bug Variation. How ever did you manage it? You won't be learning 'animative transformations' until third year."

"Actually, Doctor Tofty, I don't think I actually brought the bugs to life. I was hoping they would give Poppy the collywobbles whether they were dead or alive. It appears I was right."

"Clever girl! I'll look forward to testing you in your Transfiguration O.W.L. in fifth year."

"What do you mean, Doctor Tofty?"

"Oh, you weren't here for the announcement, were you? I've received a most generous offer to join the O.W.L. Examining Board, starting after the holidays. Now don't be disappointed. I'm sure the Headmaster will find an adequate replacement."

Minerva Flooed home feeling grim. That flame-headed MacMillstone had shown her up, and there was more than a chance that her hateful cousin would replace Tofty as her Transfiguration teacher next term. But worst of all, Cuthbert had reminded her of the mystery eating at her vitals: the possibility that her favorite relative, Rowdie Flynn, was a Squib, or at the very least, a Maladept. Had he really been Framed by his father? Was that the real reason why he left the Magicosm? Not, as he said, to help out Muggle-kind, but because he was embarrassed about his magical inadequacy. She had to know—she would know—tonight.

~*~

She waited until everyone had gone to bed, then she lit a candle and tiptoed out of her room. She surveyed the gallery. Her paltry Muggle light would not illuminate the ceiling, nor would it reach across the empty expanse beyond the balustrade that ringed the gallery, to the side where her most ancient relatives held sway.

She was not much interested in Auld Fearghas and his immediate family, ranged along the wall by her parents' bedroom. They seemed too stodgy, too far in the past—and they spent most of their time sleeping. The contingent nearest her own room were lively: always laughing, gaming, and insulting each other in the most creative ways. But now all the portraits were quiet. They were framed with curtains, and for the most part the curtains were tightly closed. But Rowdie Flynn's, at the head of the wide stairs, were not. And he was awake, sitting—sprawling rather, but attractive for all that--with a cup in his hand, his legs splayed, his hair mussed, his collar rakishly askew.

"Hello, young Minerva," he said, with a slur in his voice. "Young ladies ought not to be up so late. One never knows what terrors might be stalking a haunted castle after midnight."

"Is the castle haunted, Sir?"

"Well, of course. What do you think we are?" He gestured about him. "Spirits, indeed, though passed into the tranquil sea of the Beyond, with but a ripple, a wavelet of our essential being lapping at the shores of your world through these convenient portals. But please—call me Rowdie."

Minerva frowned at this.

"Or if you must, 'Cousin.' But what brings you out at this time of night in bare feet, clutching a feeble Muggle light source in your fair hand?"

"I'm not allowed to use my Lumos out of school unsupervised, as you surely know, Sir...Cousin. The Statute says…"

"Oh aye, the Statute of Secrecy. That was after my time, you know." He drank deeply from his cup. "Don't know how you bear it, not being to do magic whenever you want."

"Well...you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Do magic. After you went with the Muggles, I mean."

"That was different. It was my free choice. But even in school, no one told me I had to hide my Charms from Muggles or anyone else. I could light my way with magic, accio a cup of wine, call a miscreant out to a wizard's duel any time I liked."

"I was in a wizards' duel today—in school."

"Really? You won, of course."

"No, I came in second."

"But you don't look injured. Or dead."

"We don't learn harmful spells in first year."

"Hmmm—sounds rather boring, if I do say so."

"Was there lots of dueling--when you were alive?"

"Indeed, we did it every chance we got—though never on Hogmanay. It was great fun."

"What did you fight about?"

"Women, mostly, and honor--and property rights."

Minerva was grown up enough to understand how two wizards could fight over a witch, and she knew that slights and insults often made them mad enough to throw the odd jinx. But—"property rights?" she asked.

"Indeed. You'd be surprised how many feuds are started over wills and boundary disputes. And, in the Highlands at least, a wizard's duel is still an acceptable way of settling matters."

"Did you really fight wizard's duels?"

"Yea, I cast the odd Jelly-Legs and Expelliarmus in my day. But all that changed when I crossed over."

"When you died you mean?"

"No, when I joined Muggledom. They don't use wands, you know, only swords."

"Which did you prefer?"

"I've never really thought about that. Each has its appeal, though swords are messier. Mmm...yes, the gore was rather attractive. In truth, there's nothing like standing triumphant on the deck of a captured galleon, its quarterdeck slippery with the blood of your foes."

"Which were you better at? Magic? Or--or--"

"Or swordplay? That's hard to say. I came late to Muggle weaponry, but after tutelage and much practice, I like to think I was able to tickle a rib with a claymore at least as well as with a wand."

But Minerva was getting impatient for the truth, and--her feet were cold. "Cousin…Ralph…why did you leave the Magicosm…really?"

"I told you, lass…"

"I know what you told me. But I heard some people say that you couldn't…I mean that you were…maybe…not so skilled…" She stared down at her freezing toes. Now that she came to it, she couldn't bring herself to make the accusation.

"What did you think? That I am a Squib?" Minerva jerked her head up suddenly. "Don't be surprised. I've heard the rumors. We here in the gallery hear everything that wells up out of the Great Hall. Why at the Reckoning the other night, there were no fewer than eleven references to my condition, as your Aunt Charlamaine so delicately puts it." He took a long drink and wiped his lips on his sleeve. The movement caused a lock of his hair to curl down over his forehead. It made him look adorable. But Minerva would not be distracted.

"Well," said Minerva, "Are you? A Squib, I mean?"

"Odds bodikins, Minerva, you remind me of the Queen of Scots herself. So forthright, so sure of herself. Not at all like other…maidens…of that time…" He took gulp of wine and stared across the gallery. "But I told you. I may not be as gifted as Auld Fearghas over there…" He gestured at a small picture of the clan founder next to the Master Bedroom door. "But I left the Magicosm to help our less gifted brethren. You can rack me, hang me, draw and quarter me...my story will not change." He finished his drink, rose and bowed, and staggered off through a door which appeared suddenly behind his chair.

Minerva stared at the empty picture frame. He hadn't really answered her question. And why not? Because of course, he was a Squib and couldn't bring himself to admit it. She pursed her lips and turned to head back to her bedroom. A floorboard squeaked loudly and a voice called out, "Who goes there?" A head poked itself through the curtain next to Rowdie's portrait. Lady Anne McCutcheon.

"Oh, it's you, the young witchling." She flung the curtains back, revealing a sumptuous feather bed, and herself in a flowing emerald green robe. "What are you doing out of bed? Is there a storm, perhaps?"

"No," said Minerva. "I was just talking to Cousin Rowdie."

"Ah, that jackanapes. Is he misbehaving again?"

"Not exactly. I had to ask him a question."

Lady Anne looked at her, her head cocked to one side. "And you want me to ask you what the question was."

"No, of course not. Well...yes...as a matter of fact. Would you please?"

"Since you ask so nicely, I will. But let the record show that I'm not really interested. So, what did you ask him?"

"I asked him if he was a Squib," Minerva muttered.

"You didn't!"

"It wasn't such a good idea, was it?"

"Let us say it lacked tact. But I grant you points for honesty. I'm all for honesty...and a good thunderstorm. What made you ask it?"

Minerva told her about the 'botched spell' revealed by Miss Trumulo's Prior Incantato. And Cuthbert's theory about his being Framed. "From the way cousin Cuthbert talked, it sounded like common knowledge..."

"Aye, common, there's a word. I think vulgar's nearer the mark."

"But Da...nor Goodie...has ever told me..."

"The laird of the manor does not deal in idle gossip, nor would he allow a servant to repeat such calumnies. But he has no control over his sister's tongue or her son's. And mark you: coming from that hag's's get, such a story sounds suspicious, does it not?"

Minerva felt suddenly and unaccountably ashamed of her own accusation. Lady Anne was right. Why, after all, was she taking Cuthbert's word about anything?

Lady Anne interrupted her brooding with a pointed: "So, what you really want to know is why dear Rowdie left the Magicosm."

"I guess I do."

"I'll tell you, but only if you do me a little favor."

"What's that?"

"Don't ever, ever tell him who told you."

"That's easy enough."

"Swear."

"I promise, I'll never tell. Was it pride that made him leave?"

"Not entirely. Though pride...both his and his father's...had a lot to do with it. Our cousin Rowdie left the Magicosm for love."

"Love?"

"A very improper match. He...fell in love...That's the term you moderns use, I ween...with a Muggle lass, and his father wouldn't allow them to marry. So Rowdie determined to leave Wizard-dom to be with his lady."

"That...that's just stupid."

"It's what men do."

"Is that why he wouldn't tell me? Because he was embarrassed about the reason?"

"No, he wouldn't tell you because you didn't have faith enough in him not to ask the question in the first place."

"But how can you know anything unless you ask?"

"Nice young ladies don't. But of course, that doesn't include the likes of you and me."

"How did the 'botched spell' happen, do you know?"

"It's a sordid tale, but soon told. As I said, our boy was head-over-spurs in love with a high-born Mundane beauty...named Morag, I believe. He told his father as much. When he asked leave to marry her, the old man told him that if he did, Rowdie would have to give up his wand. It was just a ploy, of course, to try to make the boy see reason. But Rowdie took him at his word and handed his wand to his father in front of the whole household. And then he just turned on his heel and left the hall. That was when the old man tried to stop him...with Rowdie's own wand. A Full Body-Bind it was. But, the wand rebelled, and stopped the spell, as wands sometimes will, when forced to go against their masters. Hence the 'botched spell.'"

"I didn't know that. You mean no one would be able to take my own wand and use it against me?"

"It takes some time for the personal bond to be forged between wand and wizard, but yes, most wands will refuse to work against their masters, especially if seriously harmful magic is intended."

"Where did it happen? Was it down there?" Minerva waved her hand toward the black void of the Great Hall below them.

"Aye. In those days there was no open gallery, the way you have it today. And the Great Hall took up the entire ground floor. Low-ceilinged it was, and laid out like a throne room, with the Laird's great chair on a dais, almost exactly underneath us."

"How do you know all this?"

"Rowdie described it once when he was three sheets to the wind. He even reenacted the confrontation scene. How he told his father he was leaving, laid his wand in the old man's lap. In fact, the reason that ceiling is open today is because of Fergus Flynn. After Rowdie left the hall unscathed, he threw down the wand, and started cursing and swearing. Then he drew his own wand and blasted a couple of holes in the ceiling before he called for some minions to chase his son down. Lady Flynn decided she liked the open look and had the rest of the ceiling taken out and the colonnade built and the railing and that curved stair."

"I like it too."

"Yes, far less oppressive to the spirit...and it allows us in the Gallery to eavesdrop on everything that goes on downstairs."

"And his father really did call in a witch to Frame him."

"Yes, Gutrune of Schwarzenwald. She was the premier exponent of all kinds of portrait magic at the time, one of the last, I believe. So, have I answered your questions to your satisfaction?"

"I'd say so...yes."

"Then good night." She pulled the curtains closed with a snap, and Minerva hurried off to bed to warm her freezing toes, wondering if her favorite ancestor would ever forgive her for distrusting him.