"You are sharp," Elphinstone said, looking over at Minerva with admiration. "No other clerk would have noticed that mistake in the contract much less have had the nerve to go down to the courtroom and point it out in the middle of the case."

"It wasn't so much," she said, working on the filing as she talked. "I was just interested in reading it, and I saw the company was trying to hide the fact that they were stealing Mr. Maynard blind under all that legal gobbledygook, and it just so happened that the semicolon, or rather lack there of, made all the difference in the world, the difference between cheating him out of a portion of his earnings or giving him his fair cut."

"Say what you like, it was brilliant. You missed your calling as an editor. I think Drooble's solicter will certainly exercise more caution in the future over his syntax when drawing up company contracts, but your passion for grammar has made Mr. Maynard forever indebted to you, I'm sure. "

"Well, I think it's perfectly silly to invent candy that floats when you could just as easily cast a simple levitation charm, but it was Mr. Maynard's creation, and their mistake was his good fortune."

"You act glib about it all, but under your stern exterior, you hide a warm heart. I know you were going over it with a fine-tooth comb for his sake even if catching grammatical mistakes is a hobby of yours." He eyed her latest copy of Transfiguration Today. She took it to work and on her breaks, the journal soon filled up with red markings as she corrected the scholarly articles.

She glowed at his high opinion. She was becoming quite fond of him. He was not only an intelligent man but as amiable as he'd appeared at the outset, and it was pleasant whenever a good person saw good in you.

She wondered if Dougal would have been interested in hearing about the case as an almost-solicitor. It was a foolish notion as if she'd chosen him, there wouldn't be a case to discuss, and if she tried to continue a friendship, which she knew would hurt them both too much, it was a part of her life she could never discuss. Yet, entertain it, she did.

"There you go again with those sad, sad eyes. I wish you would tell me what's wrong."

He knew she wasn't letting him in when he had no qualms about sharing his inner thoughts and feelings, and she felt bad about it in a way, but she was a private person, and he was her boss. "Nothing time won't fix. I guess it's time to call it a day."

He glanced at the clock. "I guess it is. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she replied politely.

As she sorted through her mail that evening back at her flat, her heart plummeted at the sight of Dougal's script, and she somehow knew before she ever opened it. She knew it would be the last letter she would receive from him.

If Elphinstone had thought she had sad eyes at the office, he should see them now. They were so blurred with tears she could barely read, but she did.

Dear Minerva,

Summer has turned to autumn, autumn to winter, and now it's spring, and you're still not here, and you still haven't found the time to write me back. I must accept that we will never be though my treacherous heart still protests.

I'm not even sure why I'm trying to write you for a third time, unless it's because of the old adage that the third time is the charm, but I know it isn't.

And so, I guess I just want to say goodbye. I never really got to as your sudden leaving took me by surprise. So goodbye to the cleverest, strongest, kindest woman I know.

I wish you could have been mine but know that I will find comfort in the magical memories that we made together and treasure their warmth. May all your dreams come true.

God bless you and keep you,

Dougal

Minerva set the letter down and picked up her needlework. Most witches did it with magic if they engaged in the pastime at all, but Minerva preferred the Muggle way. Her father often said that hands were the devil's playthings; it was best to keep them busy.

But at the moment, it wasn't her hands that needed distracting; it was her brain. For her disloyal mind kept playing out the might-have-beens. She tried hard to let it distract her, but needlework in the Muggle fashion required dry eyes, and she had none to give. Not tonight anyway. So she pulled out her wand and set to work. After all, it was her reward for the life she'd chosen.