Chapter One
Twenty Years Later
A message landed on Miranda's desk, and she sighed with exasperation. Truly, the bureaucracy at the Ministry was boundless. Why she continued to work for the Department of Mysteries was beyond her. She must have suffered a moment of weakness when that sniveling, spineless Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had requested she take the post so long ago. She had agreed, though, because being the department head for brain studies gave her access to research on the brain—its power, its vast reserves, its uncharted, boundless riches, just begging to be explored. For years she had conducted studies, hired the top wizards and witches to study different parts of the brain, and mapped the interconnectedness and redundancies which sparked magic and connections and memories.
Two years ago, the present Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had asked her to leave her post to become the head of the Unspeakables division. She had graciously declined, he had tenaciously pursued, and eventually he'd won her over by promising she would still have access to the brain studies. If she had known what she was agreeing to, nothing and no one would have convinced her to leave her lab. She spent more time filling out forms and reviewing reports than she cared to entertain. Smiling bitterly, she took off her glasses, slowly rubbing the end of the earpiece over her lower lip contemplatively. She was ready for a change.
A well-known Scottish female voice interrupted her frustrated musings. "Is this a bad time, Miranda?"
Looking over at the activated fireplace, Miranda smiled at the fiery visage of the esteemed headmistress of Hogwarts.
"Not at all. Your presence is most welcome," Miranda answered as she placed her spectacles over the report she was working on.
"I wanted to update you on the latest information I received this morning on the remaining Deatheaters we have been tracking. May I come over now, or would you prefer to schedule a later time?" Minerva asked politely.
"Now is fine. Please come in and save me from this mountain of paperwork, if only for a few moments," Miranda entreated her with a smirk.
A chuckle preceded the stately woman as she walked through green flames and uttered a spell to remove the floo powder. Miranda rose, and they met in the middle for a friendly embrace. A small smile inched across Miranda's face without permission, and she gazed into twinkling emerald eyes as she squeezed Minerva's forearms affectionately.
"Miranda. It is lovely to see you," Minerva said as she moved toward the visitors' chairs in front of the ornately-carved ebony desk.
"And you. It has been too long," Miranda responded before sending a note down to the kitchens for tea. "We haven't seen each other since the Minister's Ball when you stared at Hermione Granger with so much hunger, I feared you imagined her to be the rarest of roast beefs," Miranda teased. She watched with much amusement as a flush traveled up Minerva's throat and across her pale cheeks.
"Oh, posh!" Minerva sputtered. "You are being ridiculous! I wish I had never confided in you, you insufferable woman!"
Chuckling, Miranda said, "Oh, Minerva, calm down. You know your secret is safe with me, but I do so wish you would express your feelings to her. She lights up whenever she is with you. Even when she hears your name mentioned. I should know; I've watched her at the Ministry department head meetings. Before you panic, however, I should add that she is subtle; no one who wasn't watching for her reactions would know."
"Don't tease me, Miranda. False hope could be my death knell. I couldn't survive the embarrassment if I revealed my affection and she rebuffed me," Minerva said morosely.
"Rebuffed you? Don't be absurd. She is head over heels in love with you! You can't tell me that sharing boring evenings consisting of tea and chess once a month is enough for you. At least give her the opportunity to become closer to you. Open up. Invite her to do something that you would not normally share with others. Or better yet, invite her out for Valentine's Day."
"Valentine's Day?! That's it. You're positively barmy. You must be allowing your former department to conduct studies on your addled brain," Minerva groused.
"She couldn't keep her eyes off you at the ball. And when you took her in your arms for that dance, she looked euphoric," Miranda continued, enjoying Minerva's reactions.
"Don't be daft. At most, she admires me, views me as her mentor, perhaps after so many years of boring evenings," Minerva repeated Miranda's sarcastic words, "she even thinks of me as a friend. I do not want to risk the closeness we have developed."
Miranda shook her head, thoroughly disappointed by her friend's unwillingness to take a chance. Minerva could be so immovable when her feelings were on the line. Not that Miranda was much better when she felt vulnerable. It was a miracle that they were such close friends. War had a way of removing walls, though, and forging lifelong connections.
They had saved each other's lives several times during the First Wizarding War. And even during the Second Wizarding War, they had found themselves back-to-back during several skirmishes leading up to Voldemort's defeat. Since the day Voldemort died, they had tracked many of Voldemort's followers, rounding them up one by one at a glacial pace. Only a few were still unaccounted for, and Miranda assumed Minerva's visit was about those still on the run.
Miranda leaned forward, catching her old comrade's eyes with her own gaze. "I just want to see you happy, Minerva. We all deserve it. Especially you. You have dedicated yourself to others, given up so much. And she cares for you. At least think about it. Really think about it instead of dismissing it so easily. Promise me that, at least."
Watching Minerva's internal struggle, Miranda pushed down her natural impatience as she waited for the stubborn witch to answer.
"Very well. I will put some honest thought into it, search my soul as it were," Minerva said in a resigned voice. "Now, as for my true reason for coming here," she said as she opened a folder full of paperwork. "We have tracked Johnson and McClellen to their stronghold on Stac an Dunain, an island just north of Cape Wrath." She pointed to Northern Scotland highlands on a map she opened. "It is inaccessible by land, and one must take a boat. Potter is checking to see whether we can apparate close to where they are and use our brooms to finish the journey. I suspect he will be contacting you soon to coordinate their infiltration and capture. They are the last two Deatheaters at large. I, for one, am looking forward to closing the book on Voldemort's reign of terror, as it were."
With a shout as pain rippled through her, Miranda fell off her chair. Another sharp pain lanced through her, and she raised her hand to her jaw, expecting to feel blood or swelling or more pain. When she felt nothing, she lowered her hand to her ribs, from where the first sharp pain had emanated. The pain lessened, and she raised confused eyes to Minerva, who crouched next to her. "I'm fine." She accepted Minerva's help to rise, and they sat in silence as Miranda regained her equilibrium.
"I haven't seen that happen to you in years," Minerva said softly.
"It wasn't the same," Miranda murmured as she took stock of what had just occurred. "It felt if as someone had punched me in the ribs and then across the jaw. In the past, such occurrences felt like falling or tripping or just general klutziness."
"And you've never found out why this keeps happening?" Minerva asked with a concerned voice.
"No. I've spent my life researching this connection, but it remains a mystery," Miranda answered.
"And of course you have not shared this with anyone else," Minerva said acerbically.
"Don't be ridiculous. I would be locked up in St. Mungo's, and my former subordinates would take great pleasure in studying me," Miranda scoffed.
"Well, if it is still occurring after all these years, then the connection remains. You share a bond with someone."
"I know where you are going with this, Minerva, and I assure you it is nothing like the connection Voldemort and Potter had shared. This is much different. And before you say it, I know what it feels like to have my mind invaded. We were both trained to detect such invasions and to protect ourselves from it. This feels much different," Miranda said as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. The pain had subsided, but the memory of those few painful moments stayed with her. She had seen a fist, felt it hitting her flesh, experienced the fear.
"Are you all right, Miranda?" Minerva asked softly.
"Yes," Miranda agreed while staring at the map. They allowed silence to blanket them for a few minutes while Miranda studied the map once more. "I suppose," Miranda said without looking up, "that you want to be part of the team sent for Johnson and McClellen."
"I do," Minerva affirmed softly.
Heaving a sigh, Miranda nodded slightly. "Very well. I will be in contact with you after I speak with Potter." She looked up. "Is he still close with Hermione?"
"Very," Minerva answered cautiously, causing Miranda to smirk.
"Hmm. Interesting. And the third of the Golden Trio? Weasley? If I remember correctly, he is also an Auror with Potter," Miranda continued as she leaned back and steepled her fingers together in front of her.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Miranda! What are you getting at? Yes, the three are still as thick as thieves. Ronald and Harry were each other's best man at their weddings, and Hermione was beautiful as a bridesmaid at each affair," Minerva said.
"No doubt she would look even more beautiful as your bride," Miranda stated, a wicked gleam in her eye.
With a bark of laughter, Minerva rose. "And with that last thought, I will take my leave." Before she stepped into the green flames, Minerva eyed Miranda and said softly, "You deserve to be happy, too."
"And yet all I attract are men who cheat on me and resent the number of hours I dedicate to my job. I think not," Miranda sadly. She had married twice, and both had found other beds to warm. The first one died during the second war, and the second moved in with his lover and started a family. They have two children, and by all accounts are very happy."
"Don't give up, my dear. I still believe there is someone waiting in the wings for you. It may not be a man, though."
Smiling slightly, Miranda answered, "Man or woman, I haven't given up, Minerva. I live on hope." She watched her closest friend leave, sparing another minute to think of that elusive presence she always felt around her. Wondering if it was somehow connected to her earlier episode. Wondering if perhaps that was the person waiting in the wings.
