37. FAREWELLS

"So you're off," said a voice at the door. It was Aunt Donnie, or rather Donald Malamhìn Macnair McGonagall, Steward of Connghaill Keep and its lands, and as far as Minerva was concerned, its true Lord.

"Yes, all packed. I just need someone to Levitate my things to the kitchen hearth."

"Going to keep it legal this time, are we?" Donnie grinned. "I'll be happy to take care of it for you." She waved her wand at Minerva's trunk. It didn't budge at first. "What have you got in there--another Dreadnought?" Now she spoke sharp words of command, and the trunk jerked upward and careered out the door.

She stared at the closet, which was open--and completely empty. "You've left none of your things at all."

"Aye. I'll be going right on to school from the Gwynns'. And--I'll not be coming back after that for a good while."

"Whyever not?"

"I--I need to concentrate on my studies--more than ever now."

Donnie raised an eyebrow. "Even the most dedicated scholar needs a break now and again."

"Coming back here wouldn't be a break."

"You're afraid I'll put you to work?"

"No--I'm afraid of the memories."

"All right. Drown yourself in your studies. It's better than whisky--I suppose."

"I wouldn't know about that. But I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"I'm glad you're Laird of the Keep."

"I'm not. Only steward--and your guardian. And happy to be doing it."

"I'll never want to take the title from you."

"You're sure about that?"

"As sure as I am that my father is dead and that my mother is dead--to me."

"That's a harsh judgment."

"I can't change the way I feel." Minerva turned away. She felt that pricking behind her eyes and the constriction of her throat that portended tears. It was always this way, whenever she thought about The Stranger. Even proving her innocence and seeing patent evidence of her suffering--the bludgeoning with the bayonet, the horrible words of the Geas--Minerva could not forgive her mother's weakness. If it had been me, she thought, I would have held on. I'd not let anything keep me from facing the truth.

Donnie came up behind her, placed steadying hands on her shoulders. "I understand. She's here now you know--though not for long."

Minerva turned. "She's back from Grandmother's?"

"And she's going on to Kirk's--today."

"What? Is she not--has something happened to her?"

"Nothing bad, dearie. She's decided that she would like to be a Healer. Her mother put it into her mind, telling her that she once nursed her father--though she went no farther than that. And Magus Kirk has agreed to take her on as an apprentice. She must have talent. Ellis Kirk doesn't normally take students."

If she really is going to be a student, thought Minerva. That interfering woman, Magus Kirk, was at it again, using her status as a Healer to control her mother's life, to keep her from facing her past. And now Ma would be hidden away, ostensibly learning the Healing Arts, but little more than an inmate in that isolated place, a delicate mental patient--again--and likely forever. Maybe Ellis Kirk wanted to 'study' her, as an interesting psychomagical case to add to the others she'd researched. Minerva went cold inside. The tears dried up--or froze--on her face. She wouldn't stand for this. "Where is she now--my mother?"

"In the kitchen downstairs. She wanted to say goodbye to you, but I made excuses, knowing how you're feeling."

"I think I'll see her. It would be impolite not to."

Donnie patted her arm. "That's my girl."

Minerva followed Donnie out of the room. She heard murmurs from the denizens of the Gallery, farewells and a cheerful prognostication from Meg of Dundee, who called after her: "You'll go far, Minerva McGonagall, notwithstanding your Muggle antecedents." Word of her leaving had flown throughout the halls and out into the countryside, though no one but her aunt knew she would not be coming back. She did not turn to acknowledge the goodbyes. At the head of the stairs, she saw Rowdie Flynn. He was standing, centered in his portrait, his sword drawn. He said not a word, but raised his blade gravely in salute, then made a gracious bow. He knows how I feel, she thought. She curtseyed in return, a shy smile creeping over her lips.

When she and her aunt were halfway down the steps, a figure came hurtling up at them. It was Giggie Gwynn, her hair somewhat tamed from the haystack it had been at the wake, her hands full of something--something furry. "I wouldn't cait 'Nerva. I just shad to hoe you. Dad found a 'bandoned nest of keazle nittens at yerk westerday. He said we could teep koo." She held up two fuzzy kittens, one heavily mottled with gray flecks, and one that looked to be pure white. "Albus is mine," she said, nuzzling the white one with her cheek. You can have Specks." Giggie Gwynn thrust the spotted Kneazle at her friend. Minerva took it, though unwillingly. Surprisingly, it didn't claw or bite or spit at her, but nestled in her arms as if it trusted her utterly. She could see it was actually part cat, as it didn't have the lion-like tuft at the end of its tail. But its ears were truly outsized, just like a Kneazle's.

"Uh...thanks, Gig."

"Are you ready?"

"I just have one more thing to do." She handed the kitten to Donnie, who took it with a nod and rested it against her chest. It mewed and squirmed a bit, then kneaded and finally settled into the folds of her tartan. For some reason, Minerva felt compelled to give it a little stroke, to reassure it. There was a sound of commotion overhead.

"Those blasted owls," said Donnie cheerfully. "It's been over a week and they're still coming with flowers and baskets of fruit. And of course, they all have to be first in line lest their gift rot before they get to present it to the steward of the Keep." Minerva frowned at this, but Donnie just breezed on. "Now don't you two leave before I get back." And she turned on her heel and strode off to the office, one hand holding the kitten lightly to her breast.

Minerva turned to her friend. "Listen, Gig. It's good that you came over. I--have something I have to do, and it would help me to have a back-up, you ken?"

"You mean like a Second? You gonna have another dizard's woo-el?"

Minerva laughed in spite of herself. "Not really. Oh--it's a long story." She drew Giggie down to sit on the stairs with her. "You remember I told you how my mother tried to kill herself over the holidays."

"Who could forget it?"

"And after I got back to school, Da sent letters saying she was okay."

Gig nodded.

"Well, she wasn't. She lost her memory that night when I pushed her back off the ledge. She hit her head and--oh Gig, she doesn't remember me or Da or anything." She looked down, away from Gig's eyes, which were wide and a bit frightened. And she realized that she had unconsciously reached her hand out to the kitten in Gig's lap, had started to stroke it as it lay there. It sighed in sleep and bit her--no not 'bit'--took her finger in its tiny mouth and held it there for a few seconds. Then it rolled over and showed its sparsely furred, pinkish belly, which she could see now showed the faintest pattern of pale tan stippling. It opened one eye briefly and looked at her. The eye was blue and mischievous and reminded her of another pair of eyes. It cheered her somehow.

Gig broke into her reverie. "Why doesn't somebody tell your Ma the truth?"

"Ellis Kirk says it would about kill her to know, especially since Da is dead now. But I'm not so sure..."

"You want to tell her, don't you?"

"Yes, Gig. But I don't know how to do it and yet keep her from going crazy--if Kirk should happen to be right."

"Listen, 'Nerva, whenever I have to tell my mum something that she won't like, I sart to stay it and watch her face, you ken? And if she looks like she's setting upget, I just laugh and say it was just a joke and let her find out the truth from somebody else."

"That wouldn't work--I mean who would joke about something like this?"

Gig gnawed her lip, thinking. "I know. If she looks funny at you, you can sop and stay you didn't know what you were saying. Oh--and that you're still upset--about your father. Maybe even cly a rittle?"

"That I can do," said Minerva grimly. Weeping still came all too easily these days, so much so that she wished she could do a Corking Charm on her tear ducts--Ministry restrictions or no--but was afraid to try an unfamiliar spell like that so near her eyes.

"So what do you need me for?" asked Gig.

"Well, if I tell her, but she says she doesn't believe me, I'd want someone there who would say, 'Yes, it's all true, Mistress.' Would you do that, Gig?"

"Of course, I mean, it's the dight thing to roo--isn't it?"

"Professor Dumbledore said so himself, Gig. The truth is the important thing."

Minerva gave Albus a final pat. They got up and walked downstairs together into the kitchen. The Stranger, wearing a starched blouse and a skirt and vest in the Wallace plaid, was there talking to Goodie Gudgeon. The vest hung on her frame and the skirt looked a little on the short side. A small satchel was on the floor by the fireplace.

"Ah, Mistress McGonagall!" she cried. She nodded at Gig. "You must be her friend. Gilliain, isn't it?"

Gig nodded and made a little bob.

"I wanted to say goodbye," said Minerva.

"I heard you're leaving soon too."

"Yes, today. I'm going to stay at Gig's--Gilliain's--a while, and then I have to go back to school early. I've a deal of catching up to do. I didn't get to finish my Transfiguration exam, and there's a Potions practical yet to do."

"Who is the Potions Professor now?"

Minerva just blinked and looked at her.

The Stranger explained: "I'm sorry if I seem so inquisitive, but I've been racking my brains to try to remember some small bit of my past. Mrs. Wallace--I mean, my mother--told me I used to dream about being a doctor, and then a Healer--when they found out I was a witch--but she knew nothing of my school days. It seems that she kept a very strict boundary between the magical and the Mundane worlds."

"Our professor this year was Madam Mandragora." Minerva watched The Stranger for any sign of recognition. There was none. "Well, the new professor's name is Horace Slughorn. I think he's pretty new in the field. I only know his name because I got an owl from him last night."

"Was he wanting to set a date for your practical?"

"No. Oddly enough, he wanted to invite me to tea--with some of the other students."

"The best students, I suppose."

"I don't think so. I'm rather mediocre at Potions. Transfiguration is my best subject. You know--changing things--into other things."

The Stranger looked cheerfully blank. "That sounds fascinating. I hope I'm good at Potions. Healer Kirk says it is a most important subject in the Healing profession. She checked my records and said my marks were decent enough." She picked up her satchel. "So now I'm off to a new adventure--a new life." she held out her hand.

Minerva took it hesitantly. "Before you go, I must tell you something."

"If you say you never want to see me again, I'll understand." A wide, perfect smile brightened The Stranger's face. Minerva winced under its radiance. "I must have been an awful bore, taking up your guest bedroom all this time. They say fish and visitors start to smell in three days, and if that's so--"

Goodie Gudgeon hastened to reassure her. "Ye've been nae tribble at aw, Mistress, nae tribble in the warld. Tell her, Minerva, tell she needna gae. She can bide sae lang as she likes--"

"But I must, Goodie dear." Iphigenia Wallace took the old housekeeper's hand. "I've a calling to pursue, for the good of Wizardkind."

"I ken that. Yer to be a Healer. That's a guid thing. Ye war aye sae guid with potions an wi the ainimals an onybody that wis ill--"

"Whatever are you talking about, Goodie?"

Goodie looked horrified at her faux pas, but Minerva intervened. "Erm--Healer Kirk told us. She--ah--said she had it from the school that you were quite the scholar--and that you helped out in the infirmary--"

The Stranger sighed. "Yet another thing I can't remember."

Goodie still looked embarrassed, and afraid she'd have another slip of the tongue, so she excused herself, pleading a need to 'see to the washing.' She kissed The Stranger lightly on the cheek, murmured a blessing in Gaelic, and Disapparated, presumably to the Undercroft.

"She's a dear," said The Stranger. "I'll miss her very much. Now, what have you to say to me, Mistress McGonagall? It must be very serious. There's a furrow on your brow as deep as Loch Ness."

"Minerva cleared her throat. "What I say may shock you, Miss Wallace, but it's true, every word." She watched The Stranger closely as her tongue poised for the message she had been rehearsing in her mind ever since she had made the decision to confront her with the truth. You were once married to Jupiter McGonagall, you were once married to Jupiter McGonagall, you were once... had been buzzing about the back of her brain throughout the conversation. Now she let her lips form the words unthinking. But, strangely, when she finished, she saw neither pain nor disdain on the Stranger's face, only puzzlement.

"So what do you think of that?" said Minerva.

"Um--I'm not sure. Did you just say I was marinated to a juice- eater Muggle on a golf ball?"

Now it was Minerva's turn to stare. The Stranger was surely mocking her. She turned to Gig who only nodded and mumbled, "That's what you said, Minerva."

Her friend's answer flustered her slightly. "You must have misunderstood. What I said was, 'You were bunch parried to moony purr mug gone in fall.' No, I mean to poop in fur pig bonnet jaw." She shook her head. Her mouth would not say what her brain meant. She tried slower, she tried to say "You're the wife of Jupiter McGonagall" but it came out: "You're--the--white--offshoot--in-- German--gobble--law."

"It sounds like you've been Confunded in some way," said Iphigenia Wallace. She dropped her satchel and looked at Minerva with some concern. "Can you write it down perhaps?"

Minerva tried. She wrote it, tried to sign it, act it out, but every time, her body would not do what her brain wanted it to. Finally, she turned to Gig. "You--tell her--please."

But Gig hesitated, wild-eyed and bewildered. "I--well--you--it's like this--um--Wiss Mollis--hore yuzzban--moo yer warried--I mean--door yaughter--oh, I'm sorry, Vinerma, I can't. What ever hoo yav--I think it bust me toncagious. Spy meech is urse than wevver."

There was a sound behind them, Aunt Donnie entering with little Specks, rooting about her breast and mewing piteously.

"You'd better get these babies off home, my girl, so they can get something to eat," she said as she pried the kitten off her sash and handed it to Minerva.

"Well," said Iphigenia, "I'll leave you two in your aunt's hands. It can't be anything too serious. A Confundus at worst, and they wear off pretty quickly. And as long as it's not a matter of life or death, I suppose I can wait for you to tell me your news. You can owl me at Kirke's." She laughed. "There must be someone around here with a twisted sense of humor. One of your school chums perhaps."

Minerva only shook her head. She could not trust herself to say another word.

Donnie gave the Stranger a quizzical look but only said, "So you're off, Miss Wallace. Got everything you need?"

Iphigenia picked up the satchel and took a handful of Floo powder from the urn on the mantel. "Yes, I seem not to have had much to begin with, but my mother loaned me this outfit. Thank you all again for your help. I'll not soon forget the McGonagall generosity." She turned to Minerva. "Your father was a wonderful man. I wish I'd got to know him better." Minerva only nodded and stared at her helplessly. Iphigenia turned and threw the powder into the fire. "The Kirke Hospice," she murmured, and disappeared in the greenish flames.

Minerva turned to Gig and gingerly essayed a short sentence. "I--don't know--what happened."

Gig looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it for you, 'Nerva. I think I was nust jervous, but--."

"It's all right. Now I think I understand a little better what you go through every day."

Donnie surveyed the two. "What did happen, Minerva? Or should I say, what almost happened, or didn't happen that should have?"

"I was going to tell Ma the truth."

"Greatrakes alive! You didn't!"

"No, I didn't. I mean, I couldn't. I mean I wanted to. I tried several times, but my mouth wouldn't say what I wanted it to. It kept coming out all garbled."

Gig grinned. "Actually, 'Nerva, it was kind of funny. 'Juice-eater Muggle', 'Poop in a pig's bonnet...'" She started to laugh.

"No, it wasn't. Oh, all right, it was. But I still don't understand how it happened."

"Perhaps you ate something with jimson weed in it or inhaled some Billywig powder by accident," offered Donnie.

"Or like your ma said: a Confundus--or Brelly Jains," said Gig. "Petey toosed to yalk about wanting to try that one on his buther Cronall."

"Or an Imperius Curse," said Donnie. "But those are forbidden by the Ministry, and anyway it takes too much skill for the average wizard--"

"You know what it felt like?" said Minerva. "Like the way I think a Geas would feel. I felt like my tongue was forced into patterns I didn't want it to form."

"A Jeese?" said Gig. "What's that?"

"Ancient, wandless magic--among the first spells ever used, and incredibly long-lasting."

"I've heard of those," said Donnie. "A Geas. It makes sense. It could have been cast at any time. Perhaps while you were still in school. One of your friends playing a prank. But can a Geas be made not to work until a certain amount of time has elapsed?"

"I suppose so," said Minerva, "if you word the command carefully. I mean, even Raymie Sykes could have stared me in the eyes and said, 'For ten minutes, starting at precisely--'" She glanced at the clock on the wall. "--ten-forty-five on June the seventh, nineteen thirty-seven, you will speak only gibberish,' or something like that. But I don't remember--"

Gig interrupted her excitedly. "So--this Geas--you make it up yourself? The words, I mean. And you can say it in English if you want?" Gig was always interested in any spell that didn't require the use of dead or exotic languages.

"That's right," said Minerva. "But the hard part is, you have to say the command three times in exactly the same words. And then you have to make up a punishment for disobeying the command, but you only have to say that part once. I just can't think of a time when anyone could have--"

But Donnie was muttering and shaking her head. "Exactly the same words. Three times. And a statement of the consequences for disobedience. Yes--it was just like that."

Minerva looked about her. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember back last week? When we were in the Great Hall, looking at your father's body in the coffin, she warned you not to try to tell your mother anything about her past."

"Who? Oh--Healer Doohan.

"Yes, but Healer Kirke too."

"Oh, yes. She was so stubborn about it. She kept saying--."

"Exactly. She kept saying--three times to be precise. I thought it a bit odd at the time, but didn't realize it could be an actual spell she was saying."

"But she didn't use the same words every time--"

"Oh yes, she did. You were so busy arguing with her, you didn't notice. She managed to say 'You will not tell your mother anything about her past' or some such, three times, even with you interrupting. And then, when you asked what would happen if you did tell her, she said--"

"You said it's mondless wagic," said Gig. "Does that mean anyone could spast a kell any time, even a bairnie?"

Minerva shook her head. "Healer Doohan says it takes great focus and control. The caster has to have a very clear picture in her mind of the people and results involved. Not something a child or your average mage-on-the-street could manage."

"Can it be blocked?" asked Gig.

"I'm sure it can," said Donnie. "Just run away, or put your fingers in your ears. In this case, what you can't hear, can't hurt you. Am I right, Minerva?"

"It makes sense. I'll have to remember that in case I run into Healer Kirk again," said Minerva. She shuddered. "That old hag! She's turned me into an orphan--for all practical purposes."

Donnie put her hands on her niece's shoulders, and stared into her dark eyes, which were filling with tears. "Ah, don't say that, dearie. You yet have family: me, Goodie...Gerry...Bobbie, Argus, Filch..."

"I know, Aunt Donnie, but I've no father, and no mother. Not really--almost like Cinderella--"

"Who?"

"Nobody important. Come on, Gig."

She hugged Donnie and pulled her trunk over to the fire. Gig tucked Albus under her arm, dug a handful of Floo powder out of the urn and handed some to her friend.

"You will owl us at least, won't you?" said Donnie with a wry smile.

"I will," said Minerva, as she and Specks and her trunk disappeared into the flames after her friend.