"The Lost Key"
People lied all the time. Physicians told this to their patients on a good day; that was if and when they bothered to talk with them at all. They phrased it differently, of course, which is why most people failed to catch it. Her father visited nearby hospitals in Caithness and its surrounding areas on a regular basis. Of course, when the Reverend McGonagall showed up at the community hospital, he usually greeted death or consoled those who dealt with its aftermath.
Minerva spent a good deal of her life watching her father. She sat in his office while he drafted the following Sunday's sermon. It followed the same pattern of paying bills for the month: there was always the next one. Reverend McGonagall usually kept his three children out of his private domain. They weren't allowed in their parents' bedroom, and they weren't allowed in the manse study. If things got too out of hand or there was a community gathering, he escaped to the church. He allowed her in there, and he eventually bent the rules for the cat. This wasn't for her benefit; the reverend saw his furry friend, George, as one of the family. Provided the cat did his business in his litter box and didn't scratch her father's chair, they got on just fine.
There was a reason ministers survived on a scant salary. God did not provide. Her father raised his three children on almost nothing. Her mother, who never bothered with recording figures in a checkbook register, handled the money in the house. It wasn't that her father couldn't be bothered with it; he handled the church's finances without the help of a secretary or a parishioner. No, it was not faith and prayer that sustained them. The community provided their family with everything from baked goods, to non-perishable foods for the pantry, to warm blankets for the winter. He never had to bother asking for anything.
Although she loved the simple life with her religious family and the close kit community, Minerva knew she needed something more. An owl arrived one day with a job offer; a Ministry official had selected her to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She started ib August. When she first arrived to London, Minerva found the city a dirty and lonely place. Of course, she had been here for school shopping, but Diagon Alley was separate from the real world. Before she left for the big city, her father told her three things. First, she always had a place to call home. Secondly, if she doubted anyone, the rule of thumb was that a questioner should generally ask a person the same question three times to get to the truth. She found herself repeating the last bit of advice as a daily reminder: a man always started at the bottom before he had any hopes of reaching the top.
She certainly lived on the cheap. Minerva left home with little money, and though she was good at her job, things really hadn't gotten that much better. She had been in London for three months and spent most of her time sticking her nose in law books. The law library, the annex, was an impressive place. The thick volumes rarely attacked each other unless things got intense. They flew around the place and organized themselves by a complex system. The case histories enjoyed shuffling themselves out of order to confuse a scribe or make a researcher lose his or her train of thought. She had spent ten hours with the books today. The volumes and the collections never left the annex, and the place closed its doors when the last candles extinguished themselves and called it a night.
Minerva walked home alone that night. She left the Ministry of Magic sometime around nine-thirty and decided she might as well enjoy taking the visitor entrance. She was considered an employee on probation for the first ninety days, so she didn't have access to the fireplaces in the Atrium or rights to handle anything involving a case unless it was under supervision. They watched her every move. This made Minerva feel self-conscious, thankful and annoyed at the same time. At eighteen, she was fresh from her schooldays at Hogwarts, and they expected her to know nothing. She had yet to touch a real case.
She carried a couple paper grocery bags in her left hand. When she reached Number Nine, her shared flat, she placed the bags at her feet and started looking for her keys, Minerva double checked all of the usual places. It wasn't in her grey handbag, and it wasn't on her person. She and her roommate had meant to cast the Doubling Charm to create a spare key or two, but they had never seemed to get around to it.
She gave up the search and banged on the door. Nobody answered. Tired and worried, she touched the loose strands of hair at the back of her neck. She always wore her hair in a tight bun. Her roommate could arrive home anytime in the next ten minutes or the next few hours. They rarely saw each other, so it was like Minerva had her own place with a reduced rate. Her roommate let freedom go to her head because she was definitely a night owl.
"May I help you?"
Minerva nearly jumped out of her skin and knocked one of the bags over. She almost grabbed her wand, but she stopped herself because she lived among Muggles. That only led to awkward questions. As the man got closer, the almost dead streetlight flickered feebly, and she saw a man dressed in neutral colored robes and polished shoes. He offered his hand. She stood there for a awkward minute before she shook it. He had blonde hair, grey eyes, and a friendly smile. He waved his hand and gestured to the off to the right, casually mentioning that he lived three streets down in a small house on Napier Street The man introduced himself as Elphinstone Urquhart.
She stepped over the brown paper bags to stand on her doorstep. The man didn't go away and fished something out of his pocket. "I locked myself out."
"I can see that." Mr. Urquhart found whatever he was looking for. He fixed something small in the keyhole as he whistled a tune to himself. He twisted it this way and that way until it clicked. An old couple walked past them. He smiled and placed the thing in her hand; it was a hair pin. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and thanked him when he opened the door. "It works every time."
The man waved her inside. Mr. Urquhart took a few steps back and gathered her bags. She insisted she didn't need the help, but he shook his head as if to say it was nothing. Minerva closed the door behind them. The only hint of Christmas decoration was a sad bunch of mistletoe that hung over the doorway. After he followed her into the organized old fashioned galley kitchen, Mr. Urquhart deposited the bags on the counter and performed a non-verbal Summoning Charm. The brass key zoomed into his open hand. Minerva took it, feeling rather stupid that the idea hadn't occurred to her while she stood out there in the cold. He helped her put away the groceries and laughed when he put the vanilla ice cream in the freezer.
"It's December. Normal people have hot chocolate or hot cocoa ." He folded the brown paper bags.
"They are not the same thing," she said, opening the cabinets and searching for the set of large mugs. She took him up on his suggestion. "Would you like some? I have a homemade cocoa mix. There's an old woman who sends the stuff out in bulk to my father's congregation.
Mr. Urquhart hesitated for a moment. He thanked her and took off his traveling cloak. He draped it over a wooden chair and scratched the fat Siamese cat that jumped on the dining room table. He was familiar with cats because he scratched it behind the ears and under the chin. "Your father's a reverend? I like this cat. They're usually not this friendly."
"Yes, he's been the vicar back home for almost twenty years. This is Simon. He's friendly with everyone." Minerva got the cat fresh water and opened the food cabinet. Simon darted over to her and chowed down on his late night dinner. She knelt down and talked to the cat and patted his head. "He was my birthday present from my brothers."
"He's got beautiful blue eyes." Mr. Urquhart watched the cat.
"He's a Siamese cat," she said. All Siamese cats had blue eyes; it was a mark of the breed. She found a saucepan and lit the gas burner with the tip of her wand. The milk warmed in no time. She lived in a Muggle flat and felt comfortable with all of the appliances. Minerva talked about her father and the community, which explained why she felt comfortable around Muggles. She poured healthy measures into the mugs and scooped heaps of whipped cream on top. She messed up and licked the leftover dollop off her finger. "Cinnamon?"
"No, thank you, I'm allergic to it." He thanked her, smiling when she added the soft peppermint stick as a final touch and sat down to join him at the table. It was five days until Christmas. "Are you going home for the holidays?"
"No. I want to work on the mock trial. I realized yesterday I was on the wrong path, so I'm back at square one. I need to draft a request for an appeal by the third of January. I have no idea what I'm doing." She stopped herself and took a drink. She'd make a second mistake tonight. She stared at the neutral colored wall. "And you're my boss. I should not have said that."
Mr. Urquhart patted her hand. "You want to hear a sad story?"
Minerva laughed. "Who says yes to that, sir?"
"It'll make you feel better, I promise." Mr. Urquhart stirred his drink with the soft peppermint stick. He gathered his thoughts for a minute and sipped his hot cocoa. "I'm not supposed to ask this of a woman; my mother would rise from her grave and give me a swift talking to."
Minerva scratched Simon behind his ears when he jumped onto her lap. He fell asleep. "She sounds nice."
"Oh, she wasn't." He laughed darkly and dismissed the past with a wave of his hand. "That's neither here nor there. How old are you?"
"Eighteen." She got to her feet, took his mug, and grabbed another round.
"Wow." This sounded like it came as something of a shock. Perhaps he had thought she was older, although Minerva couldn't figure out how the man had reached that conclusion. Whatever the case, it was obvious the visitor felt as though he had read the situation wrong. Mr. Urquhart passed his hand over his face and checked the time on his ancient pocket watch. He turned down the second cup. His attitude switched in an instant, and he sounded annoyed with himself and grabbed his traveling cloak off the chair. He started towards the door and Minerva followed him, wiping her hands hurriedly on a dishtowel. "I started at the Ministry twenty-one years ago. I-I spelt my name wrong on my first big case. It's recorded throughout the history of iTravers v. Borgin\i. You're a girl. I should go."
Mr. Urquhart said good night. When he reached the pavement, he walked back to her with a determined expression. Minerva asked him if he forgot something, but she found it difficult to finish the question because he distracted her. He stroked her face and kissed her. It was soft and slow. Minerva noticed his eyes weren't just grey. The shade was the shade, of course, but his friendly smile extended into his eyes. She saw something there. Their lips parted and he pulled her closer and kissed her deeper. It felt natural, even though he had taken her by surprise. It felt like she could do this day in and day out like it was a natural routine.
"It's not a mock trial. I stopped by to tell you I handpicked you for this case." They broke apart. Mr. Urquhart caught a strand of her dark hair and tucked it behind her ear. "This never happened. You have a good holiday. Good night."
She nodded. Minerva watched him disappear as he turned the corner. What just happened? She closed the door and scooped up the cat before he made a move for an escape. She locked the door and slid onto the floor. What did it mean? She bought her fingers to her lips, confused and lost. The farmer's son, Dougal, never kissed her like that. Mr. Urquhart smelled like a familiar aftershave, though she couldn't recall the brand. Did their kiss mean anything? She tried to keep it from her thoughts, because after all, this never happened.