The Secret Keeper

by 1 Jagged Outlaw Queen

A story about Harry Potter, and his chosen secret keeper.

8. The Reverend's Daughter

Minerva is adding diced carrots and onions to a steaming pot of mince when the back door of the McGonagall manse opens and a young woman with the kind of singularly hard-hitting facial features that might best be described as 'hauntingly pretty' steps into the kitchen.

Quietly, the woman in her mid-twenties embraces the older gently from behind and rests her chin on her shoulder as she peers into the open pot. Inhaling deeply, she purrs with desire. "I'm thoroughly convinced this is what heaven will smell like."

Minerva squints thoughtfully. "I hope not. At the risk of sounding very un-Scottish, this is not my favorite meal."

"This, I know. Yet, for some reason, you've prepared it nearly every time you've set foot in this house for as long as I can remember."

"Because it's one of your favorites - both you and your grandfather. I wasn't expecting you to saunter in until later this evening, presumably just in time for supper."

"I switched shifts with a friend of mine. I knew you'd be here - cooking this - and I'm hungry."

Smiling ever so slightly, Minerva decodes the message being telegraphed. "I've missed you too, Logan." Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she turns her back to the counter and watches as the woman wearing surgical scrubs and expensive walking shoes reaches into her shoulder bag to fish out a hair clip, a bottle of eye drops, and the kind of small dual-compartment case meant to store contacts in.

Stepping away from the food preparation, Logan moves to the opposite side of the breakfast bar before unpinning the sizable knot of hair resting against the top of her head. Long dark auburn tresses with a healthy amount of wave - the kind that goes curly when her hair is shorter or wet – spill to her waist. Combing her fingers through the stylish mess, she pulls back the sides to keep them out of her way, secures them with the clip, and leaves the rest cascading down her back. Aware that she's being watched, she shrugs as she removes the lids of her contact case. "I should cut it. I know. I can't wear it down at work. Constantly having to put it up every day is a pain. But for some reason, I cannot bring myself to cut it. What's the point of having long hair if you keep it pinned up, held prisoner, 70% of the time?"

Minerva gestures toward her own hair. "I blame it on your grandfather and all his long-winded speeches about a woman's hair being her crowning glory. I cut eight inches off mine one time. Just once. He never uttered a word of complaint, but the look he gave me! I thought the man would weep!"

"I remember that. I remember him asking, 'What does Elphinstone think about this?' And Uncle Malcolm said, 'Please, that man couldn't care less. He would love her even if she were bald!" As she talks, Logan removes the custom contacts she uses purely for cosmetic reasons. Closing her eyes in relief, she waits a few seconds before applying eye drops. After a moment with her head tipped back to avoid dripping, she wipes moisture from the corners of both eyes. "That's better!"

Minus her contacts, it's plainly visible that the pupils of her vivid green eyes are uncommonly catlike. Without being asked, she returns her contact case to her bag, and steps to the sink to wash her hands. Guessing what's in the slightly smaller pot on the back burner, she asks, "Shall I mash the potatoes?"

"If you like."

Tilting her head toward the electric crock, Logan asks, "What's in there? Something smells bold. Either you've found a new recipe to try out with Aunt Aileen, or you're warding off evil spirits."

"Caribbean jerk chicken. You will not like it."

Logan frowns quizzically. "I saw that recipe in a magazine once. Just reading it gave me indigestion! How on earth did you find bonnet chilies in the Scottish Highlands?"

"I ordered the seeds and asked Pomona to grow them for me in one of her greenhouses. She had to wear gloves just to pick them."

Logan shakes her head. "Knowing that, you're going to eat them?"

"That's my plan."

"You may be able to transform into a cat, but your gullet has to be armor-plated! You do know that's unnatural, right?"

Minerva shrugs. "Your grandmother thought so, too."

"Where is the Reverend?"

"I haven't a clue. I told him I was coming this afternoon. He wasn't here when I arrived." She nods her head toward the kitchen door. "The door was unlocked."

Logan's eyes widen with both worry and agitation. "I've told him about that!"

"We all have."

"What is wrong with him, Minna? I know he's still sharp as a tack mentally, but he's an old man. One of these days, he's going to come home and there will be someone in here waiting for him – someone bad. That cross hanging on the living room wall won't protect him."

"No, it won't. But the one it represents will."

Logan opens her mouth, but before she can say anything else, the front door is heard opening. Thus, she switches gears and whispers, "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."

Returning to the task at hand, Minerva waits for the ensuing argument to begin, but she's taken by surprise when Logan scuttles back into the kitchen less than ten seconds later, pink in the face with mild embarrassment and places her back to the wall to the left of the kitchen archway as if she's hiding from view.

"What's wrong?" Minerva asks with quiet but immediate concern.

Logan presses a finger to her lips. "Shush!" She grins like an excited schoolgirl and then presses both hands to her mouth before daring to peek through the archway once more.

Minerva raises an eyebrow and hisses, "What's going on?"

Turning, she presses her finger to her lips once again. "Shhh! He's kissing Peg Fairley."

Annoyed, Minerva reaches out and pulls the girl farther into the kitchen. "You're sure he's not just being friendly."

"Oh yes, Minna!" Logan nods in earnest. "I'd say he's being very friendly."

Minerva scowls in uncertainty.

"Fine, don't believe me." Logan whispers with a shrug. "Go see for yourself."

The older woman almost snorts. "Well, it's hardly any better if I'm the one spying on him."

From the living room, they hear Peg's voice. "Robert, did you leave something cooking?"

A mellow baritone answers. "Nae, of course not, I…" He raises his voice, calling out, "Minerva? Ye here, lass?"

Sighing, she unties her apron, tosses it over the back of a kitchen barstool, and steps beyond the archway and through the dining room.

Logan continues to eavesdrop from the kitchen.

"Yer earlier than ah thought ye would be."

"Sorry about that. I've been here about 45 minutes. Logan arrived about five minutes ago. She's hiding out in the kitchen."

"Whut's she hidin' fir?"

"She's a wee bit uncomfortable. She saw the two of you kissing. She didn't want to intrude. Hello Mrs. Fairley."

"Hello Minerva, good to see you again. Uh… Robert, I think maybe I should go."

"Dinnae fash yerself, Peg. Minerva kens about kissin'. Ah'm quite certain Logan does as well."

"Da's right. You don't have to leave on my account. Stay for supper if you like."

Peg addresses Robert. "Have you talked to Malcolm yet?"

"Ah havnae talked tae either one of them yet."

"And he doesn't have to." Minerva interjects. "He'll be 87 years old tomorrow. Mam's been gone for a while now. If he's found someone he wants to share his time with, that's his business."

Robert McGonagall nods appreciatively to his daughter. "Ah hope yer brother takes the news half as well."

Minerva shrugs. "If he doesn't, I'll thump his head for you, Da."

Peg gasps. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

Robert chuckles. "It's nae trouble. It's a time-honored tradition in this house. We cannae get the clan together fir a meal without ane of them skelping t'other. Malcolm is usually the one on the receiving end. Minerva considers it her god-given right as an older sister tae discreetly knock him about the heid tae let him ken when he's behaving like an eejit."

Peg nervously pats her strawberry blond hair and looks from daughter to father in uncertainty. "Well… If you're sure it's no bother."

Minerva shakes her head. "What bother? It's no trouble to set an extra place at the table. Trust me, there will be more than enough food."

Robert nods his encouragement.

Referring to her son, Peg says, "I promised Jamie I would pick up Mallory from dance class this afternoon. He has to work today."

"What time does dance class end?" Robert tilts his head in curiosity.

"At 3:30."

"That's no problem." Minerva assures. "Supper's not until six."

"Goodness. The house already smells wonderful and it's not yet three. You must be planning a 12-course meal."

Minerva shakes her head. "Nothing quite that elaborate. It's Da's birthday supper, which means the traditional mince and tatties for him, Malcolm and the great grandchildren. For the more adventurous members of the crowd, I'm trying my hand at Caribbean jerk chicken… But I offer fair warning, I haven't had time to perfect the recipe. This is my first go at it."

Recovering from her moment of surprise, Logan steps into the room shaking her head. "Don't let her fool you into believing that it might be anything less than delectable… That is, if your stomach is strong enough to handle it. Minna doesn't do anything by halves. That includes her cooking. I can't eat Caribbean jerk chicken, but that doesn't mean it won't be irresistible to the right person."

"Why can't you eat it, then?"

"Bonnet chilies. But, if you happen to possess a cast iron belly, and you like your food hotter than the flames that dance upon the devil's forked tongue, it'll be the dish for you."

"That's quite a description. I might have to try it just out of curiosity. Can I bring dessert?"

Robert shakes his head. "She's already working on that too. Along with everything else, I smell chocolate baking."

Peg studies him with surprise, I smell a lot of different things that all come together brilliantly, but you can single out chocolate, and you know it's in the oven baking?"

Robert nods in absolute certainty as his daughter chuckles quietly. "Da doesn't have much of a sweet tooth… Except for when it comes to chocolate."

His gray eyes alive with hope, he questions his daughter. "Chocolate cake with that tart fruit drizzle?"

"Of course."

Peg smiles with understanding. "He's had this meal before."

"Many, many, many times." Logan declares wryly before Minerva continues with, "He asks for the same thing every year."

"Every year?" Peg raises an eyebrow.

"Every year." Minerva says simply.

Robert shrugs. "Ah ken what ah like, and she's the only ane that can do it as well as Isobel did."

Peg smiles. "Still, wouldn't you like a bit of variety every once in a while, a surprise?"

Logan shakes her head dramatically. "Sacrilege! These two hate surprises."

In unison, father and daughter both exclaim, "We do not hate surprises!"

Peg smiles when Logan completely disregards their objection, drops an affectionate arm around Robert's waist and hugs him close even as she nods conspiratorially. "Stick around long enough, they'll start finishing each other's sentences."

"I'll look forward to it. if you're going to invite me to dine with you, will you permit me to arrive at five and help you put the finishing touches on supper."

"Absolutely not!" Minerva objects. "You will be our guest. We do not put guests to work."

"Well, how often do I have to return to be considered more than just a guest?"

Minerva defers to her father with a glance before answering.

Robert's eyes widen adventurously before he shrugs.

Mimicking her father's simple gesture, Minerva declares. "Mrs. Fairley, if you can make it all the way through dinner tonight and you don't run away vowing never to return, I promise, when you return for a second meal, I will consider you a member of the family and I will put you to work."

Peg laughs merrily. "You've got a deal!" Rising on tiptoe, she kisses Robert's cheek. "I've got to scoot, but I'll be back in time for supper."

He escorts her to the front door and no sooner than it closes behind her, Robert turns to his daughter. "Thank you."

Minerva simply shrugs.

"I'm afraid your brother is going to see my spending time with any woman other than your mother as an act of betrayal."

"Do you feel like you're betraying her?"

"No. I dinnae. Ah've talked to Peg about her. Peg talks to me about Francis. We're alright with it."

"Then don't worry about what Malcolm thinks. You leave him to me. I'll make him see sense."

Placing an arem around Logan's shoulders, he places the other around his daughter's waist and steps toward the kitchen. "And yer certain ye dinnae mind?"

Minerva squints. "Da, you were married for nearly 65 years. Mam passed away almost two years ago. I worry about you being here all by yourself. You're used to having someone around to spend time with. If you enjoy the company of Mrs. Fairley, I don't see a problem with that. If I did, it would be rather hypocritical of me."

Robert McGonagall raises a silver eyebrow as he hands over her apron and lowers himself onto the same kitchen barstool where she tossed it only moments before. "Oh, what makes ye say that?"

Crossing the sash around behind her back, and knotting it in front of her waist again, she shrugs as she speaks to Logan first. "You can knead dough, or you can prepare the raspberry drizzle for the cake."

Logan smiles sheepishly. "I'll take the cake. You can muscle the dough."

Minerva nods as she steps away from her quick inspection of the pots on the stove and lightly sprinkles the breakfast bar with flour. Removing the dish towel that covers a large mixing bowl filled with rising dough, she tosses it over her shoulder, and up ends the bowl. As she begins to aggressively work the mound of dough, pummeling it flat only to fold it back in on itself, she finally offers an answer for her father's question. "I kissed Laird McKinnon earlier this week."

Logan, who has just stepped into the pantry, stops, leans back, pokes her head out through the open door, and stares in excitement. "You did what?"

Minerva sighs. "Dear, don't stand there with your mouth open, and you heard me. I didn't stutter."

"How was that?"

"It was rather nice." Minerva purses her lips together in a way that immediately discourages whatever intrusive question Logan is going to ask next.

Instantly looking for an ally in her grandfather, Logan squints in response to his perfectly calm demeanor. "You don't look surprised at all."

He shrugs as he shakes his head. "Honestly, I'm a wee bit surprised that it hasnae happened sooner."

Glad to have her hands busy, Minerva is relieved not to have to look at either of them when she admits quietly. "It did. Sunday wasn't the first time."

Robert studies the set of his daughter's shoulders, registering the tension she holds in her neck. "When was that?"

"A while ago. About 13 years."

"That's a long time to wait for a second kiss."

"It couldn't be helped. It wasn't right the first time. Neither one of us had any business doing it."

Smart enough to count backward in his head and instantly know the reasons why, Robert McGonagall offers gently, "Darlin, grief can make people do both, terrific, and terrible things."

Minerva nods slowly without looking up to meet his eyes.

"I'll guess that you've been holding him captive an arm's length away ever since."

"I haven't been holding him captive."

Robert laughs gently. "Yes, ye have. It's what ye do. Ye stay in touch, ye stay close, jus' not too close."

"What else was I supposed to do? He's a friend. Would you have me banish him from my life?"

"No. Not at all. Though, it might have made things easier fir the both of ye if ye had."

"That would not have made things easier at all. I'd be short a friend. Besides, I tried."

"Ah'm sure ye did."

"It didn't work. He's… stubborn."

Robert snorts. "He's nae the only one."

She turns sharp exasperated eyes on her father. "There was nothing else to be done. It wasn't right. Phin had been dead less than a week. Riona was sick. She was dying, but she wasn't gone yet. He was still…"

Her father nods. "A married man - and ye both were out of yer minds with misery, searching for a port in the storm, a safe place where ye could both feel something – anything - other than pain."

"Da, that didn't make it right."

"No. Not remotely. But it does make it understandable. Still feel guilty?"

The short wisp of laughter that escapes Minerva is devoid of humor. "I will… probably for the rest of my life."

"I'm nae talking about the first time. I mean now. This time?"

"No. It didn't feel bad, or even wrong. It barely felt awkward. Just sort of… I don't know… Almost natural."

Placing a packet of frozen raspberries in the blender, Logan declares, "Well then, you can't let him get away; and Minna, for heaven's sake, don't make him wait 25 years, the way you did Uncle Elphinstone. First, I don't think you'll get that lucky twice. Most men don't do that. Uncle Phin was special. And, forgive me for pointing this out, but neither of you is 18. He's a muggle too. He may not have 20 years left."

"Thank you for that newsflash." Minerva declares dryly. "That thought hadn't occurred to me at all. For whatever it's worth, 20 years from now Laird McKinnon, barring accident, or illness, will be eight years younger than your grandfather is today."

Logan laughs, teasing, "Well, at least he's not four months older than Grandda."

Joining his granddaughter, Robert declares, "No, this time she's gone the other direction. This one's actually younger than her!"

Logan's eyes widen dramatically. "Oh, I hadn't thought about that!"

Minerva scoffs. "By less than four years. You don't have to make it sound as if I'm cradle-robbing."

When Logan giggles, Minerva sighs, "Why do I tell you two anything?"

---

Three hours later, Jack McGonagall wipes his wet feet on the mat and steps into the foyer of the manse with his young daughter on his hip. Pausing to hold the door open for his wife, Nina, he calls out loudly, making their arrival known over the noise of multiple voices. "Anybody home?"

Logan is the first to greet them as they step into the drawing room and she instantly reaches out for the redheaded toddler in his arms, who squeals effervescently, "Lo-lo!"

Kissing the little girl's forehead, Logan breathes in the scent of baby shampoo as she says, "Hiya Casey!" Nudging Jack affectionately, she says, "Everybody's home. Except for your dad. Why is he always the last one to arrive?"

Before Jack can answer, Kellan, their dark-haired cousin who is the same age as Jack declares archly, "Knock it off Logan! He's your father too."

Logan's gaze slides to the bottle in Kellan's hand and she wishes she could blame his sour mood on its contents. "Actually, he's not."

"He adopted you, he raised you. He gave you a last name."

"And I love him for it. That doesn't negate the fact that I've called him 'Uncle Malcom' since I first learned to talk, and if he doesn't mind my calling him that, I don't see why you should."

Jack interjects. "She has a point, Kellan."

"Sure, stick up fir her, just like always. God forbid ye should try anything original."

Jack shoves his fingers through his rain-streaked red hair. "Cousin, I just got here. We haven't even got our macks off yet. It's Grandda's birthday supper. Can we please make it tae dessert a'fore ye start antagonizin' people?"

"What antagonizing people? I'm just saying he took the stray in. She owes him a wee bit more respect, I think."

Robert McGonagall comes down the stairs dressed for dinner. "Kellan, sit up straight, lad. Stop lying aboot! Ah'll be thankin' you tae take yer feet off my sofa, and leave your cousin be. You've been here less than 20 minutes. Yer aunt has nae been cookin' for hours just fir ye tae come in here and give us all indigestion a'fore we're even seated at the table. And, ye ken full well that alcohol is nae permitted in this house. Get rid of it noo!"

He walks out of the room without a backward glance and isn't there to witness his grandson coming lazily to his feet before snapping off a stiff salute as he mutters, "Yes sir, Reverend."

No one speaks until the front door slams in his wake, and then little Casey wants to know, "Logan, why is he such a grouch-face?"

"I'm not sure pixie. I only know that he always has been."

"Maybe he needs a hug."

Jack pats his daughter's head. "He got just as many hugs as anybody else who grew up in this house darlin."

Casey shrugs. "Okay then, if hugs don't work, I'll stomp on his feets."

Logan laughs merrily. "What's this? If you can't love him into a better mood, you'll stomp him into one?"

Casey nods exuberantly as her mother adds, "Those feet may be tiny, but they are lethal."

"Oh, I see, I guess Kellan had better shape up then, huh?"

"Take me to the kitchen."

Logan smiles. "Take you to the kitchen? What am I, your personal valet?"

"Looo-gan, I don't eben know what that is. I just wanna go to the kitchen."

Nina speaks up. Born in Brooklyn, she is the only person in the house not in possession of a Scottish, or even a European accent. "Honey, say please. Don't just order Logan around."

"Pleeeease, take me to the kitchen."

Smiling at the others, Logan jets away making car engine noises with her mouth while the child in her arms laughs happily. In the dining room, they glide around Peg who just came from the kitchen and is calling over her shoulder, "How many place settings?"

Minerva thinks for a moment before answering, "Twelve at the table. Oh, and somebody needs to go up to the attic to get the second highchair and bring it down. I'm sure it'll have to be cleaned before we can put either of the little ones in it."

Robert answers his daughter. "It's not in the attic. I brought it down yesterday and cleaned it. It's folded up in the left-hand corner of the cupboard under the stairs."

Peg jokes lightheartedly. "Robert, if your family gets any bigger you are going to need a second dining table."

He laughs. "Dinnae look at me. Ah stopped contributin' tae the population crisis decades ago. It's them that keep multiplying like randy wee bunnies."

Casey's little face lights up. "Who's gots bunnies? I want a bunny." She yells, "Da, can I have a bunny?"

Just knowing that his little girl will be talking about bunny rabbits for the next three months, Jack can be heard groaning from the hallway where he's wrestling the highchair out of storage. "Thanks Grandda!"

Trying to stifle his laughter, Robert calls out, "Sorry, my fault!"

"It's fine. Just dinnae go buyin' her any rabbits."

"Aw, Da!" Casey objects grumpily.

"What if a rabbit just happens tae come live at my house?"

Jack is heard groaning again as his daughter nods her head with enthusiasm.

Minerva sidesteps her father on her way to the dining room with a stack of plates in her arms and whispers in his ear, "You're not helping."

Casey tugs at Logan's shirt sleeve to get her attention. "Down please."

No sooner than her feet touch the floor, Casey jets across the kitchen to the playpen next to the back door. Standing on tiptoe, she reaches in and pats the head of her 13-month-old cousin. "Hey Robbie!"

In response, Robbie babbles noisily and bounces on the balls of his feet as he grips the edge of the playpen for stability.

Returning to the room for glassware, Minerva notices that the dark-haired baby boy is rather ardently gumming the side of his pen. Stopping in her tracks, she delays the pouring of drinks long enough to snag a teething ring from the freezer, quickly rinse it with cool water, and offer it to the child. "Here, lad. Chew on this instead. It's better for you."

The back door opens. Having made his way around the house with his beer bottle still in hand, Kellan eyes the boy first, and then his aunt. "It's fine. He chews on the side of the playpen all the time now. He's teething."

Minerva takes the beer bottle away from her nephew and pours it down the drain as she says, "That much is obvious, and it's not fine if he chews on the side of the pen. When was the last time you cleaned it? I know for a fact that every person in this house has touched it in the last 25 minutes. Do you have any idea how many different kinds of germs the average person carries on their hands? They're going straight into your son's mouth."

"Dae ye think there are any fewer germs on that teething ring ye just gave him?"

"I know there are. I washed it myself before I put it in the freezer a half hour ago."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. Yer mother of the year."

Minerva clenches her jaw and chooses not to respond. Instead, she asks, "Where is his mother."

"Not here." Kellan walks out of the kitchen without further comment.

Minerva stares after him annoyed but, before she can decide how best to respond, a timer chimes reminding her that she has other things to attend to. Quickly donning a mitt, she removes a tray of golden-brown yeast rolls from the oven, and dumps them straight into a basket, ready for the dining table. She turns off the timer and the oven. When she turns to pick up the glasses once again, she finds Casey sitting on top of the counter beside the breadbasket and bouncing a hot roll from one hand to the other.

Offering the slightest of smiles, she declares, "Those will be on the table in less than ten minutes."

Casey gives her an aggrieved look. "But Meena, Ah got hungries in my tummy now!"

Minerva bites the inside of her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud as a strawberry blond teenage girl walks into the room on her way to the silverware drawer. Coming up short, she asks, "Casey? What did ye just call Aunt Minerva?"

Casey frowns in confusion.

"It's alright Ellie. She means Minna."

Casey nods exuberantly. "That's what I said… Meena"

The teen shrugs and offers a smile. "Oh okay. I thought Logan was the only one who called you that."

Minerva nods. "Apparently Casey has picked it up. Do me a favor please. Take her upstairs and help her wash up. Food will be on the table shortly. I'll get the utensils."

Ellie nods agreeably. "Yes ma'am. Come on Casey, let's go."

Before she can put her small foot on the edge of the partially opened drawer she intends to use like a stepladder, Minerva closes the drawer, takes the roll away from the child, breaks it in two, and offers her half back, before lifting her and lowering her feet to the floor.

Casey leaves the room as noisily as she arrived, chatting away with Ellie.

Minerva helps herself to two fistfuls of silverware and drops it all into the pockets of her apron. When she picks up the glasses for the second time, the back door opens again and Malcolm McGonagall strides into the room, flashes a dazzling smile, and lifts half of them from her arms as he drops a brusque kiss on her cheek. "Hello sister."

Shaking her head, she smirks, "Hello brother. As usual, your timing is impeccable. All your children are here already but you don't bother to walk through the door until the moment before we sit down at the table."

"Of course not! Show up any earlier and people put ye tae work."

Stepping into the house just behind him, his wife apologizes. "I'm sorry. I've been trying to teach him better manners for years. I know you already know this but… his head is made of granite. What can I do to help?"

"You can grab the breadbasket, if you don't mind, Ailene."

"Not at all."

Minerva points for demonstrative purposes. "You see, your wife knows how it's done."

"Why do you think I married her?"

Minerva deadpans. "I know why you married her. I'm just not quite sure why she married you."

Ailene chuckles, her blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Don't ask me why, I can't remember… It was so long ago."

Malcolm rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "I come here to be abused."

Before he can step into the dining room, Minerva steps in close. Quietly, she says, "I invited a friend of Da's to join us for supper. You will be nice."

Malcolm touches his own chest, feigning offense. "I'm always nice."

Ailene rolls her eyes, laughing. "Honey, don't lie to your sister."

---

They gather around the table; fourteen people sitting down for a meal. The first ten minutes is spent in relative silence as each of them is busy arranging their own place setting to their personal liking. Robert blesses the food. The serving dishes are passed around the table. When Logan realizes that, even after more than a year of parenthood, Kellan still doesn't seem to have the knack for feeding himself and a small child simultaneously, she takes pity on him. After piling her plate high, with a double helping of mince and potatoes, she moves, swapping places with her cousin Michael, so that she can feed the baby boy.

Seated beside Robert, Peg takes a bite from her own plate. After a moment, she hides her mouth from view behind a linen napkin. "Wh… Okay, that's not boring chicken!"

Minerva looks up from her own plate with the barest hint of concern. "Too hot?"

"No! I love it. I want the recipe. But I think I will help myself to a glass of milk."

She's half out of her seat when Minerva leaves her own chair. "Sit, I'll get it. I'm closer."

When she returns from the kitchen with Peg's milk, the youngest member of the family is pushing away the spoonful of mashed potatoes Logan is offering him as he chants noisily, "Ma ma ma mam."

Understanding what he's saying, Logan asks, "Where's Mitzi?"

"Not here." Kellan says giving her the same answer he had given his aunt in the kitchen."

Spoon half-way to his mouth, the reverend clears his throat. "We're all aware of that Kellan. We have eens. "Whut we'd like tae ken is, why she isnae here with us tonight?"

Kellan shrugs. "She moved out."

"What?" The question rises collectively from nearly every person at the table. Even those who don't manage to speak wear expressions of alarm.

Kellan repeats, "She moved out."

"Why?" His cousin Cecilia, who is three years younger than him demands to know.

"She said she wanted to."

Cecilia squints. "And she just left Robbie?"

"No. Robbie went with her. I picked him up a little while ago. I knew ye all would raise a stink if he wasnae here."

Malcolm takes a sip from his water glass before asking, "Whut happened son?"

"Dinnae call me that! Ah'm not yer son. And Ah dinnae think it's any of yer business."

Malcolm sighs and shoots his sister a pointed look.

Minerva fixes her nephew with the kind of stare most people shy away from. "Where is she staying Kellan? Is she alright? Does she need anything?"

"She got an apartment. She seems okay. I have no idea what she needs."

Suppressing the urge to kick him beneath the table, Minerva lays down her fork. "When did she leave?"

"Couple of months ago." He admits, more interested in his plate than the conversation.

His aunt, Aileen, queries in shock, "And ye didnae think tae tell us lad?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Maybe because ah didnae want tae have this conversation."

Robert drops his napkin on the table and rises from his seat.

"Where are ye goin' Grandda?" Kellan demands.

Robert speaks with forced calm. "Ah'm going to phone yer wife and make certain she's alright, and I think you'd better remember who yer talkin' tae lad!"

Kellan grimaces. "Yer going tae call her now? Fir wye?"

Because she's my great grandson's mother. Because she's a member of this family."

"She's nae home."

Robert raises an eyebrow, his skepticism obvious. "Then where is she, lad?"

"She's up at the college. She said something about gettin' financial aid so she could take some eejit art class."

Robert gives his grandson a hard, disapproving look. "She's nae at the college on a Saturday night boy."

"Well, maybe she's nae, but that's what she told me."

Robert returns to his seat. "We will be discussing this further later."

Kellan mumbles under his breath, "Ah'll look forward tae it."

An unnatural hush falls over the table. While everyone else is casting about for some new topic of conversation, Jack points to his daughter's plate. "Stop picking the carrots out, jellybean. Eat them."

Casey frowns. "I don't want my carrots Da. I'm saving them for Puppy's bunny."

Nina covers her mouth with her napkin to hide the fact that she's laughing at her daughter. "Honey, he doesn't have a bunny yet, and bunnies don't eat cooked carrots. They only eat raw carrots."

Casey's scowls, her doubt plainly obvious on her little face. "Are ye sure, Mam."

"Yes. I'm sure. Now, your dad told you to eat your carrots."

Peg touches Robert's hand, wordlessly claiming his attention so she can ask discreetly, "Did she just call you 'puppy?"

Robert winks at his great granddaughter. "Aye, that she did."

"Is she trying to say something else?"

"Nae. That's whut she calls me."

"Why?"

Casey answers for herself as she reluctantly pops a baby carrot into her mouth. "Cause I want to. I love puppies."

Peg turns to Robert again, seeking confirmation.

Nodding, he smiles and shrugs before helping himself to a bite of food. "I dinnae care whut she calls me as long as she says it with love."

Peg chuckles. Okay then. I guess I've heard stranger things."

Ellie laughs. Tongue in cheek, she says. "Stick around fir a while. The night is young yet."

Peg raises an eyebrow. "What's that mean."

Jack clears his throat. "You've ken my grandda fir years. You've been a member of his congregation since afore I was her size." He points to his daughter. "Dinnae tell me ye haven't heard the rumors about whut strange people we all are."

Peg shrugs. "Of course. I have ears. People like to talk. I don't care. I like your grandfather, and I don't think any of you are strange. You all seem like a perfectly normal family to me."

Kellan scoffs. "Just wait."

This time, Minerva does kick him under the table.

---

Forty-five minutes later, Robert is objecting comically, "No candles on the cake next year, Ah think."

"Aw, fir wye, Puppy." Casey wants to know. "I like em. "They're pretty."

"Oh sure, they're bonnie alright… Until they burn the house doon. One more candle and I think we'll be in danger of setting off the smoke detectors darlin."

Peg chastises lightly. "Don't be silly Robert. You can't have birthday cake without candles."

He chuckles. "Wanna bet? Come next year. Wilnae be a candle in the house if Ah get me way."

Michael squints, "Am I hearing things, or is Grandda just this side of placing a bet."

Robert shrugs. "God will forgive me, jus' this once."

Minerva snorts with quiet amusement as she hands her father the first serving of cake, and then places two slices on Logan's dessert plate along with two small scoops of ice cream.

Noticing this, Peg whispers conspiratorially. "You have to share your secret with me."

Logan raises an eyebrow, and whispers back, "Which one? I have quite a few."

Peg chuckles. "How you eat like that, and stay so trim? You must be a slave to the gym… And if I can talk you into sharing more than one, where did you get those contacts? Your eyes are breathtaking."

Having forgotten that she already took her contacts out, Logan has to work to keep from cringing. Instead, she says, "I know where you can get some nice ones, if you're really interested. And who has time for the gym? I'm usually on my feet doing clinicals half the day, and at work all night and all weekend. However, I freely admit, I have an unfair advantage in the weight-control department."

"Oh?"

"I'm hypoglycemic. I can eat… almost anything I want… As long as it's not too spicy."

"As promised, you avoided the chicken."

Logan nods vigorously. "If I didn't know she loves me, I would think Minna was trying to kill me. She's always trying five-alarm recipes." She forks cake into her mouth, and when the baby beside her fusses noisily, she uses his spoon and scrapes a small amount of cake from the other piece on her plate and shovels it gently into his mouth.

"And cake is alright, for you? I'm not trying to be nosy, I'm just unfamiliar."

Happy with the sweet treat, Robbie reaches out for more, and Logan gently pushes his hands away. "It's diabetics who have to avoid sweets. Their bodies don't produce enough natural insulin to help them metabolize sugar properly. I'm the opposite. My body produces more insulin than I need. I manage it with diet… A wee bit more high-carbohydrate foods than is good for the average person. Plus, on the rare occasion when I'm not at work, and not dog tired from being at work, I swim."

Cecelia laments, "She was born under a lucky star. I even look at that chocolate cake, I'm going tae gain five pounds. Why couldn't we have had a run of it in the family?"

Peg squints. "But I thought Logan was the one who was adopt…" Stopping short she covers her mouth and closes her eyes in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out the way it sounded. Honestly, I didn't. I think it's wonderful. Everyone else here was born into this family. You were chosen. I think that makes you really special."

Kellan mumbles under his breath. "So does the rest of the family."

Ignoring her cousin, Logan waves Peg's discomfort aside. "It's alright. Don't feel bad. I'm used to it."

Peg chews on her lower lip. "You're sure I have not offended you… Any of you?"

Logan smiles. "Grandda, tell her it's okay."

Robbie fusses, making rude noises and reaching for Logan's fork as Robert lays his hand on Peg's.

"Peggy, me dear, dinnae fash yerself. The lass said it's fine. It's fine. Believe me, if it wasnae, she would tell ye. She's nae one for hauding her tongue."

Malcolm scowls in response to his father's mild display of affection for their guest, but before he can decide what, if anything, to say, his grand-nephew loses his patience with the chatty adults who are ignoring him, and decides that if no one is going to feed him anymore cake, he will just help himself. Stretching his tiny fingers out like the limbs of a starfish, he magically calls for the small square of chocolate cake on Logan's plate.

As the slice of cake levitates four inches into the air, moving in the baby's direction, Peg glances his way briefly, and then turns to say something to Robert, her mouth hanging open in shock when her gaze swings back around to the floating treat a second later.

Instantly on her feet, Minerva tries too late to conceal the mishap as she plucks the square of cake from mid-air. Robert reaches for Peg, who nearly overturns her chair in shock in the same moment that Kellan reaches out and smacks his young son's hand too sharply as he bellows, "No!" and sets the baby boy to wailing loudly.

Logan smacks her cousin on the back of the head hard enough to nearly knock him out of his seat and then scoops the wailing baby out of his highchair and up into her arms. "Don't you dare hit him." She cuddles the crying baby boy. "How could you? He's a baby. He doesn't know any better. It's my fault. I was busy talking. I wasn't paying attention. He just wanted more cake."

Rubbing the back of his head, Kellan glowers with hostility. "He does know better. I've told him a thousand times that he's only allowed to do that at home."

Minerva stands up and reaches out to put a calming hand on Peg's shoulder as she declares forcefully. "Logan's right, Kellan. He is not old enough to understand why it's okay at home but it's not okay to do that anywhere else. He is a baby, and there are better ways to teach than using physical punishment when he does the wrong thing."

Kellan shouts. "You'd rather I raise him the way we were all raised? Walking around pretending we were just as average as everybody else? It hasnae escaped my attention, Aunt, that ye spend as much time as you possibly can away from this place."

Malcolm shoots his nephew a look of warning and shakes his head. "Boyo, Haud yer wheests!"

Logan nods assertively. "You leave Minna alone!"

"I wilnae! What makes her think she's fit tae give me parenting advice?" Just because she spends most days tending tae children whose parents can't be bothered.'

Minerva doesn't blink. "Kellan you have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Don't Ah? How is it Aunt, that ye akways ken better than everybody else?"

The noise that comes from the back of Logan's throat is nothing short of feral as she hisses, "I told you to leave her alone!"

The air pressure in the room begins to fluctuate violently as the lights of the chandelier over the dining table begin to flicker oddly.

Robert shoots his daughter a look of warning while he holds a frightened Peg in his arms.

Malcolm and his wife both leave the table; Malcolm grabbing Kellan by the collar of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. "Outside, now boy!"

Minerva rounds the table at a trot and puts her arms around Logan as the bizarre light show intensifies. Calmly, she whispers in the girl's ear, "You're alright. So is Robbie. Take a deep breath."

When the first electric candle in the chandelier bursts, sending a small shower of broken glass to the table below, Peg screams as the rest of the family backs away from the table. When Minerva wraps one arm around both Logan and the child in her arms, and then extends her other hand, magically casting a tablecloth over the plates to protect them from further exposure to glass, Peg stops screaming and stares in blatant wonder.

Everything and everyone else in the room falls silent when the front door slams shut. In the wake of Kellan's forced departure, Peg listens to the calm voice of the only person not rendered speechless.

Patiently, Minerva repeats herself. "Logan, everything is alright. Close your eyes, take a deep breath. Get a handle on yourself before you burst every light bulb, not to mention window in the house."

Logan clings to the baby fiercely. When her eyes fly open in alarm, Peg is startled to find tears brimming there.

'Oh god! Did I hurt him?" She turns the baby this way and that in her arms searching for any sign of injury.

Minerva shakes her head. "It's alright. He's fine, but if you want him to stay that way, you've got to put a lid on this."

Logan closes her eyes again and breathes deeply.

"That's it. Good. Listen to my voice. Shut Kellan out. Close the door." Minerva turns her eyes to the ceiling as the flickering lights begin to calm. "That's it. Keep going. You've got it. Just breathe. Think… Fair winds and following seas. The sun is high, the water is blue, the sand is warm and the air smells like… what?"

With her eyes still closed, Logan answers, "Tanning oil, grilled shrimp, and tequila."

Minerva nods, the corners of her mouth barely lifting. "Okay, we're having a party on the beach and everything is perfectly fine. Not a care in this world."

"Yeah right."

"Right. Just exhale… And let him go."

It takes several long moments, but when Logan opens her eyes again, she immediately turns to face her grandfather. "I'm so sorry!" Her eyes widen at the sight of the blonde resting in his arms. "Oh Peg! I…"

Robert clears his throat. "It's alright mo leannain."

"But I…"

Robert shakes his head. "It's nae the end of the world."

"No. It certainly isn't." Minerva assures. "But you've got to stop letting him in like that. If you don't control yourself then he will... or someone else like him."

"I know, I just don't handle it so well when he turns on you."

"I don't care if he turns his venom on me. He doesn't know what he's talking about Logan. The boy doesn't have a clue."

"Why is he so angry all the time? Every time I'm around him I just wanna blow something up. Make something explode!" Logan sits down without warning, as if her legs suddenly won't support her.

Because Minerva understands that she wasn't really seeking an answer to the question she asked, she beckons everyone else back to the table. "Everybody sit, please." Lifting the baby from Logan's arms, she rocks the crying boy gently side to side.

Turning her attention back to her father and his date for the evening, she takes a deep breath and says calmly and plainly for Peg's benefit. "My mother was a witch... as such, all of her children and grandchildren are witches and wizards." She pauses to rest her hands gently on Logan's shoulders. "Logan is an empath. Although she too possesses magical ability, nearly all of her magical energy goes into harnessing her empathic ability. When she chooses to, she can maintain a barrier between her own emotions and those of others. However, she finds her cousin Kellan particularly invasive. If you tell anyone what you have witnessed here this evening, you will jeopardize not only her well-being, but all of ours, including my father's."

Even though she knows instinctively that it's no joke, Peg looks around the room waiting for someone, anyone to call 'gotcha.' When she turns eyes twice their normal size to Robert, he turns to his daughter. "Nice way tae ease into it, lass."

Minerva presses her lips together primly. "You tell me how to effectively sugarcoat it, and next time I will."

Peg laughs shakily. "I don't think there's a spoonful of sugar big enough to take the shock out of that particular proclamation."

Minerva nods. "Please, sit back down. Finish dessert." She passes the baby off to her father. "I'm going outside to have a word with my nephew."

Leaving through the kitchen, Minerva steps out onto the portico behind the manse. With her back to the door, she keeps one hand on the doorknob, preventing anyone else from joining the four of them.

Heatedly, Malcolm McGonagall whispers, "Well, ye have gone and doon it noo, boyo."

"Me? Ah've done it? Ah'm sick and tired of being blamed fir everything that goes wrong in this family."

Minerva softly clears her throat, affectively drawing the two men's attention away from each other. "Kellan… You are not to blame for everything that goes wrong in our family, and you're not solely to blame for this evening's calamity either."

"Oh good." Kellan snaps snidely. "Aunt Minerva is here tae be the voice of reason."

Malcolm smacks his nephew on the back of the head. "Dinnae speak tae yer aunt in that tone of voice boy."

"Ah'm also gettin' really tired of being smacked aboot the heid. Ah'm not a child!"

Aileen sighs heavily. "Then stop acting like ane. Ye ken ye cannae behave that way in front of Logan. You turned on Minerva deliberately just to provoke her. Eleven of the fourteen people sitting at that table tonight recognize that. And ten of us aren't even empathic. What's worse, you've done it in front of Peg. You've made a mess Kellan. One that will have to be cleaned up."

Malcolm turns to his sister. "Unless ye already have."

"I told her the truth."

"Minerva! Ye told her the truth? Are ye mad?"

Kellan sneers. "Barking… obviously."

Aileen shakes her head. "You two! She isn't anything of the sort. If Peg and Robert are goin' tae continue spending time together, then it was only a matter of time. She'd have tae be told one way or t'other. Ideally, she could've been introduced tae the family secret in a less dramatic way, but that's hardly Minerva's fault. She was only doing damage control. Kellan, you and Logan didnae leave her any other option."

Both men turn to glare at her.

Aileen shrugs matter of factly, undeterred by their scrutiny. "It's nae the sort of thing that can stay hidden forever. Ah'd think history would've taught the twa of ye that. If ye bring muggles into the house on a regular basis. Well, sooner or later, she was gonna start tae wonder why there's a flap in the kitchen door when Robert doesn't have a pet cat. If it weren't that, it would've been ane of 1000 other wee little things, like why the wee anes are never allowed to play unattended, even briefly, in the fenced-in backyard, just in case ane of the neighbors pops in."

Kellan crosses his arms over his chest. "What was Grandda thinking! If he just had to bring someone new home, why couldn't it have been another witch? At least then she would understand the need for secrecy!"

Malcolm grumbles, "Why did he have to bring anyone home? He's nearly 90, and she's your age." He points to his sister. "It's distasteful!"

Minerva demands quietly, "Will you two listen to yourselves? You sound like a pair of disgruntled teenagers. What's wrong with him bringing someone home? And, for the record, she's 71."

Kellan's jaw drops. "That woman is 71? Who is her plastic surgeon?"

Minerva frowns. "I'm not certain she has one. Why? Are you looking to have some work done?"

Shocked by the unexpected question, Kellan declares a little too loudly, "Of course not!"

"Then why does it matter how she looks? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Minerva…" Malcolm says drolly. "He's just shocked. Ah thought she was younger me self. Even so, Da is still too old fir her!"

"Horse feathers! He's old enough to choose his own friends, and I'm telling you both to stay out of it!"

Kellan rolls his eyes. "Give it up, Uncle. She's not going to listen. She married someone older than Grandda!"

"Yes, I did." She declares without apology. "We were both mature consenting adults, as are they, and we were happy. You both need to mind your own business and let them mind theirs."

Malcolm raises an eyebrow. "Ye really dinnae foresee any problems here."

"No, I don't - at least not any that need my personal attention. Leave their relationship to them. Before you go in there and make an utter fool of yourself, Malcolm, consider this… Longevity isn't exactly unheard of on either side of this family. He might live another 15 years! Do you want him to be alone that entire time? Because if you do, that's rather selfish of you."

"That's a bit optimistic on yer part, sister. You dinnae really think Da will live tae be 102?"

"It could happen. Uncle Sean was 99. Uncle Ian was 104, and he was doing just fine until that car accident. He didn't exactly die of natural causes. Da's healthy, why shouldn't he have someone to spend time with? And what gives any of us the right to choose who he spends that time with?"

Malcolm opens his mouth and Minerva shakes her head. "You just don't want to see him with anyone other than Mam. You're his son, not his keeper. It's none of your business. And you…" She points at Kellan. "You're only upset because you'll have to start minding your manners in her presence. I'm telling you both, I am not… No one is obliviating that woman, unless she gives us no other choice. If it comes down to it…" She points assertively at her nephew "You will do it."

Kellan scowls hideously, "Wye me?"

"Because you are at least partly to blame for this debacle. And because, Logan lacks the training to do it herself. It would not be wise to have her attempt such a thing."

"Oh, here we go! Precious Logan must be protected at all costs."

"She has been protected to the best of my ability. To the best of the ability of every adult in this family. As have you. The two of you made this mess together. if Logan cannot talk her into keeping quiet, then you're going to do your part to clean it up."

Kellan laughs darkly, feeling mean. "While we're busy letting secrets out of the closet, how about we bring another one into the light. Her father's dead. What harm can it do now?"

Squinting in confusion, Minerva breathes deeply, forcing herself not to react to her nephew's blatant attempt to bait her. "Kellan, what are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Logan, of course!"

Malcolm and Aileen wear shocked expressions to match Minerva's as she shakes her head again. "Who exactly is it that you think has died."

"I know he has. You told us yourself last spring."

For a long moment, Minerva doesn't move. She doesn't so much as blink until the penny drops and then she can't help but tremble with the force of her abrupt laughter. "Boy, are you under the impression that Albus Dumbledore was her father?"

"No. I am not under the impression…" He sneers, and Minerva finds herself glad for the rain that drowns out the sound of his rising voice. "I know."

"Well, it's hardly any of your business, and I don't know how you came to that conclusion but let me assure you, that you are quite wrong."

Certain he is being lied to, Kellan presses on belligerently, "I'm not completely daft, you know. I can read."

"I've never said otherwise."

"I've seen her birth certificate. Aunt Aileen keeps a copy of it in that drawer in her jewelry box… The one with a false bottom."

Malcolm, Alieen, and Minerva all share a quiet but pensive look as he plows on recklessly.

"He was always buying her things. Acting - well, fatherly - toward her."

Minerva inhales deeply. "He gave her a few trinkets because she expressed an interest in them. He bought her a pair of roller skates when she was seven because he hoped that after she learned to use them, she would teach him. Albus acted fatherly toward any child who showed up in his office more than twice. He was not her father."

"Then why is his name on her birth certificate?"

Minerva finally lets go of the doorknob and steps across the portico. When she is toe-to-toe with her nephew, she whispers. "Because he was a kind man who thought a gentle lie was better than the hideous truth."

"You always were willing to do his bidding, weren't you? How many secrets do you still hold for him? Exactly what is the hideous truth, Aunt?"

"Don't tell him."

Both Kellan and Minerva whirl to find Logan standing in the open kitchen door, a tense expression plainly visible on her face. "He doesn't deserve to know."

Minerva queries, "Where is Mrs. Fairley?"

"Grandda is talking to her. She's doing remarkably well, all things considered."

Minerva raises an eyebrow. "Which means what, precisely?"

Logan shrugs. "She's frightened, but she's not screaming or crying anymore. She's listening. She hasn't threatened to call the police or bolted from the house shouting."

"Yet!" Kellan snaps archly.

Feeling impatient, Logan rolls her eyes. "Give her a chance Kellan. Not everybody's first response is to yell and belittle people. It's a hard thing to come to grips with, and you haven't even given her ten minutes. Try and put yourself in her shoes - see this thing from her point of view."

"I dinnae have tae. That's whut this family has ye fir. Yer the resident empath. Your own feelings aren't enough fir ye. Ye have tae hone in on everybody else's."

"Kellan, that's quite enough!" Minerva snaps ominously.

"Well, that's whut she's doing oot here noo. Checking up on us. Making sure everyone is okay. Because she senses… Whut? Animosity? Rage? Darkness? Ugliness? Lies? Shame?"

Minerva shakes her head. "You would think that. There is no shame here, boy."

"Ah'm nae a boy!"

"Really? Well, you are most assuredly doing an excellent impersonation of one!"

"Don't tell him." Logan repeats with dead calm. "He'll only hold it against you."

Minerva's gaze slides between the two of them briefly before she turns to her brother, who shrugs in response to a question she doesn't need to voice. Turning back to Logan, she offers, "I won't tell him if you don't want me to, but you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

"Neither have you. And I won't have him treating you otherwise."

"That hardly matters. I have not kept silent all these years out of shame."

Confused, Kellan challenges hotly, "Wye then? What's the big secret? Where the devil did she come from... or maybe that is who she came from."

Minerva slaps him across the face.

Shocked, Kellan blinks, steps back, and lifts his hand to his stinging face.

"I still say don't tell him." Logan whispers; equally shocked. "Not until he decides to act like the man he claims to be, as opposed to the juvenile bully we all see standing before us tonight."

Minerva sighs deeply as she steps toward the back door.

Kellan roars above the sound of the pouring rain. "Seriously? Ye really are gonnae tell me?"

As she steps over the threshold, Minerva turns to face her nephew. Calm again, she declares, "I am not. It is her story and she doesn't feel like sharing it with you just now. If you'll excuse us, we're going to talk with Mrs. Fairley. Hers is, by far, the more pressing issue of the moment."

"Unbelievable! Dae ye have any idea how utterly ridiculous this all is?"

"It is nothing of the kind. If you'd like to make yourself useful, come and see to your son… or perhaps, phone your wife and make certain she is doing well. However, before you comment on the state of my house again, nephew, I wholeheartedly suggest that you get your own in order!"

Ushering Logan into the kitchen ahead of herself, Minerva terminates the conversation with the abrupt closing of the door. When she finds the dining room deserted, Minerva immediately assumes that she will find her father and Mrs. Fairley alone in his library, but before she can cross the dining room, raised voices are heard in the drawing room.

She and Logan enter the room at a trot, gently pushing passed Peg in the doorway to find Robert McGonagall standing in the center of the room and holding a wand made of elm aloft, putting it on display. Worried looks grace the faces of all the children in the room except for young Robbie, who is clinging to his great grandfather's pant leg for support and smiling up at the man as he reaches for the wand that he's only just had snatched from his chubby little fist.

Stony-faced and glowering, the patriarch of the McGonagall clan demands to know, "Which ane of ye does this infernal thing belong tae?"

He waits impatiently in the silent room for less than two seconds before demanding, "Well?"

Wide-eyed and contrite, Michael leaves the sofa and slowly rises to his feet. "It's mine Grandda."

"Suppose ye tell me wye Ah found it in yer cousin's mouth?'

Michael shrugs and immediately regrets it; wincing when his grandfather's already angry face goes a deeper shade of red. "Robbie puts everything in his mouth."

"That's not whut Ah'm askin' ye lad! And Ah think ye ken it!"

"Ah'm sorry Grandda." The dark-haired lanky boy reaches out, hoping to receive his wand while it's still intact.

"Yer 16 years old, boy. That's more than old enough fir ye tae understand. This wand is yer responsibility. Either yer man enough tae have it, or yer not. The next time Ah find it in Robbie's mouth, or anywhere else it does nae belong, Ah'll snap it in two! Is that clear?"

"Aye sir."

Robert continues to scowl another three seconds before tossing the wand in the boy's direction. When Michael catches it, his grandfather orders sternly, "Put it away, noo!" before bending at the waist and lifting young Robbie off the floor and striding from the room with the boy on his hip. Easing passed the women waiting at the door, he addresses the toddler with gruff affection. "Whut are ye tryin' tae dae laddie? Take yer own heid clean oaf yer shoulders?"

Robbie smiles. "Heid oaf?"

"Best not, me boy. That might be a tad too hard tae put right again."

He marches back through the dining room and out the kitchen door where Malcolm and Aileen are still locked in conversation with Kellan. Handing Robbie over, he turns on his heel, without a word, intent on finding a quiet place to continue his preempted conversation with Peg, until Kellan stalls him by asking, "Are ye kicking me oot Grandda?"

"Dinnae ask stupid questions, Kellan! Ye ken better! See tae yer son. He needs a proper bath. Dinnae take the lad back tae his mother tonight with food all doon his front and cake in his hair. When ye dae take him home, talk tae yer wife… and dinnae make a ruddy arse o'yerself!"

He slams the back door before Kellan can argue with him and crosses the first floor of his home with ground-eating strides. He pauses in the hall outside the drawing room long enough to declare, "Ye older anes, make yerselves useful. Go see tae the dining room and the kitchen. Dinnae leave all the work fir the adults."

Once outside his library, he waits for Peg, Minerva, and Logan to enter the room ahead of him before closing the door with a resounding click of the lock.

Frustrated, he shoves his fingers through his silvery-white mane of hair and primarily addresses his daughter.

"I dinnae ken whut's wrong wi the lot of ye! It's like ye have all taken leave of yer senses at the same bloody time! Husbands and wives livin' in different houses, family jealousy and petty squabbles, and per usual, Kellan seems tae believe it's his personal right to piss in everyone else's Cheerios." He points at Logan aggressively. "She's taking the bait, the children are leaving wands laying about fir teething toddlers to chew on, and…" He pauses just long enough to study his daughter's face for what must be the fifth or maybe the sixth time since he arrived home to find her in his kitchen this afternoon. "and you… Ah cannae recall the last time Ah saw ye with this much paint on yer face. That's nae like ye at all, Minerva!"

A slight, barely noticeable, widening of her eyes is Minerva's only physical response. Hands at her sides, she waits momentarily, making certain he is finished, not daring to interrupt him.

"Well, say something girl!"

Before she can speak, Logan takes ½ step forward. "Grandda…"

Quick as lightning, Minerva takes hold of Logan's forearm and pulls her back to her side. "Quiet girl, before you get yourself into even more trouble! He was not speaking to you." She forcefully nudges Logan in the direction of Robert's favorite leather armchair. "Go, sit down." Turning her attention back to her father, Minerva inhales deeply before speaking again. "Everyone seems to be in rare form tonight. I cannot speak for the rest of them. As for myself, it's only concealer and a faint touch of rouge to keep my face from looking completely monotone because of it. It was done, not out of vanity, but out of a desire to keep from alarming the little ones with the sight of week-old bruises that are fading slowly." She clears her throat. "Underneath all this 'paint' my face is a sickly myriad of gray, purple, yellow, and green."

Logan and Peg frown and turn her way with immediate concern visible in their eyes as Robert steps closer to Minerva and touches her right cheek with a feather-light caress, as he pulls her to the center of the room, where the glow from overhead lights is strongest. "Wye are ye bruised."

"You do know what happened at the school last weekend?"

"Aye, but ye were hurt? Ye didnae tell me that!"

She offers him a slight smile as she removes his hand from her face and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I didn't want to worry you Da. It's nothing that won't heal."

"That doesnae matter. If ye are hurt, Ah still want tae be told aboot it."

"Well, now you have been."

"Damnation Minerva! Ye dae have a talent fir putting yerself in harm's way!"

She shrugs and inhales softly. "If we only fight the fights we know we can win, there's no reason to fight. We fight the fights that need fighting?"

Robert nods in acquiescence. "Ah said that tae ye more than 50 years ago."

She nods. "It still rings true."

"Ah watched yer mother heal a number of normal childhood injuries fir the three of ye. Surely there has to be a spell to clear up contusions."

"Of course, there is. I told Madame Pomphrey not to bother. They will heal soon enough. They are only ugly, not life-threatening. As I recall, you were adamantly opposed to the idea of Mam healing our injuries magically unless they were bad enough to seriously alarm you."

"Aye, because Ah didnae want me bairns runnin' wild and free wi the notion that magic could heal every injury."

This time Minerva does laugh. "I know that Da. Madame Pomphrey did mend a few fractured ribs for me. I told her to leave my face as it was. I'm sore, but I'm a long way from done."

"What sort of spell breaks bones and inflicts bruises?"

"There are no spells for those things. Broken bones and bruises can occur because of other incantations, but there are no spells to inflict them directly. My adversary managed to get his hands on my wand, and when he couldn't use it to strike me down, he tossed it aside and decided to go for a much more personal form of assault."

Robert frowns, his normally calm gray eyes going hard as he demands, "He struck ye… physically?"

Minerva nods grimly, hating both the conversation, and the need to keep rehashing it. "Quite a few times… Until I got the upper hand."

"Where is this beast noo?"

She shrugs. "I haven't kept track of him. I assume he's in some cemetery, in the ground. If not, I'm sure he soon will be."

"He's dead then? Are ye responsible fir that?"

"I am."

Robert McGonagall sighs heavily, not at all glad that a man is dead, but pleased by his daughter's unwavering willingness to claim responsibility for her own actions. "How are ye sleepin?"

"As well as I thought I would."

"Which means whut?"

"I've certainly slept better, but then, I've survived worse. There is repair and restoration work to be done. More than enough. 1 September is going to be here before we know it. But with Dumbledore gone and a proper minister at the helm, they're all looking to me to revive the school. I cannot tell you that my sleep is entirely peaceful or without interruption, but the work does help. It provides me with a much-needed focal point."

"No one's going tae fault ye if ye need a wee break… And if they dae, ye just send them to me, lass."

Minerva laughs drolly. "A break? So I can do what? Sit at home and stew in my own juices? Nonsense, and no thank you!" She bobs her chin decisively. "I'll take the work."

"Well, dae yer old Da a favor and take a nice long kip between the last fight and the next. Yer overdue."

Minerva smiles. "From your lips to God's ears." She pats his shoulder affectionately. "Now, can we please talk about anything other than me." She turns to their dinner guest. "At present, I'm much more concerned about you, Mrs. Fairley. How are you feeling?"

Peg offers a somewhat forced smile. "Oh, I don't know. The shock is still there, it probably will be for a wee trice, but part of me also feels like I've been vindicated."

Minerva takes a seat on the library sofa. Reaching out with a welcoming manner, she invites Peg to join her. "I'm sorry but, I don't understand. Can you explain why?"

Peg chuckles softly with a trace of self-deprecation. "For my entire childhood, I thought I was surrounded by children and adults who all had very strange imaginations. My friends, cousins, classmates, they all stopped believing in anything that might even remotely be considered magical long before I ever did. They laughed at me and teased me for believing in Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny, benevolent spirits, fairies, nymphs or even the simple illusions that sideshow magicians pull off. My mother, father, grandparents, my aunts and uncles… All of them, on both sides of the family… They all insisted on going to church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday evening like clockwork. They were devout. It always struck me as odd that they could all believe wholeheartedly in an omnipotent, omni-present, loving father who created the entire universe, and everything in it, and with just three wee spoken words, 'Let it be,' but they each adamantly refused to believe in even the possibility that magic exists. I've never understood it. How can one believe in a god that knows all, sees all, and does all, but absolutely deny the existence of magic - or worse yet, if they are willing to acknowledge it at all, they will tell you that it's evil and it comes from an association with the devil. It's so strange to me that anyone anywhere can believe in one, but not the other. It's never made any sense to me. Now that I ken it's real, now that I've seen proof with my own eyes, I don't know whether I should laugh or cry."

"Either one is acceptable. You can even do both. The one thing you can never ever do is tell anyone what you witnessed here tonight!"

"But, why not? Yeah, it's a wee bit scary, but it's so incredibly wonderful!"

Shaking her head, Logan kneels before Peg and takes both of her hands. "You said it yourself. "As a child, you were laughed at and teased by people who thought you should be ready to give up such beliefs. Minna told you, we're all witches and wizards here - except for Grandda – and I'm an empath. That means I can feel what other people are feeling. I use up nearly all my magical ability when I come here to visit, just trying to keep a barrier between my own feelings and those of the people who I love. It's not always a gift, knowing what every single person around me is feeling. No one can lie to me, and believe me, sometimes I wish they could. Minna and Grandda are exceptionally good at keeping their feelings to themselves, or at least keeping them held very tightly under wraps. I spend a lot of time wishing other people were half as good at it. Without my barrier, I would go mad, and I mean that literally. It is not a figure of speech. Without it, I'd know what people halfway across this city are feeling every moment of the day, not to mention the people right here in this room. Every sorrow, every joy, every hurt, every angry moment, every jealousy. Nothing would be secret for any of you. For the sake of my relationship with the people currently in this house, I work very hard at keeping my nose, and my empathic abilities, out of their business. However, I can tell you, without hesitation, that the majority of people in this world are afraid, sometimes even terrified, of things they don't understand. Most people don't understand magic, not real magic. It scares them. The reason people like stage magicians is because most of them understand that it's only slight of hand. It's only an illusion. They know it's not real, and therefore, it's no threat to them. People who are overtaken by their fears are dangerous, because when they are afraid, they behave like ignorant panicked animals. If you expose us…"

Peg nods. "How many different witch trials have there been throughout history?"

Logan nods. "More than you know. Too many to count. But honestly, it's not the thought of being hunted, or even being condemned that scares me. It's the thought of being enslaved that makes me lay awake at night. Yes, there are those who would hunt us. There are those who would execute us. There are also those who would capture us and use us for their own self-serving means. Witches and wizards cannot fix every problem. We cannot grant every wish. No offense, but you muggles have way too many problems and wishes for us to ever fix or fulfill them all."

"Muggles?"

That's the word European witches and wizards use to describe or refer to non-magic people. It's not meant to be unkind or derogatory. It's just a word."

Peg nods in acceptance even as she squints curiously. "Are there less friendly sounding words?"

Logan chuckles softly. "Yes, there are, but those words are never spoken in this house."

Robert speaks up. "Peg, you cannot tell anyone what you witnessed here tonight, ever. Not the least of the reasons why is because, if you do, my granddaughter will not only be hunted by people without magic. She will also be hunted by those with it. There are people on both sides of that particular divide who would love to get their hands on her. There's a reason she lays awake at night fearing enslavement. She, above most other beings, knows all too well what dark and ugly lengths people will go to in order to get what they want, and by people, I mean all people; magical or otherwise."

Suddenly worried, Peg turns to Logan. "You have to fear your own people? That's just… wrong!"

Logan shrugs. "Have you never feared your own people?"

Peg nods. "Point taken… Except, with all the power you have, shouldn't witches and wizards be different than us?"

Logan chuckles. "Don't put us too far up there on that lofty pedestal you're raising. Good and bad are flip sides of the same coin. There are dark muggles. There are dark wizards also. I should know." I'm alive today because of one of the best witches to ever draw breath, and because of one of the darkest wizards."

Peg's eyes widen noticeably, and her gaze flits to the faces of all three people in the library before returning to Logan. "I'm not quite sure how to interpret that, but if you mean that the way I think you do, that seems like a very unlikely union."

Minerva smirks, her lips pursed together tightly. "And that… Is the kindest way I've ever heard it phrased."

After a momentary pause, Logan continues. "There may be a few dark wizards out there who have met me. They may know I exist, but they don't know my name, and they don't know what I can do. When I was a child, this family worked very hard to keep that from happening. That's why I grew up with Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Aileen. When I was little, before I could control my empathic abilities, I needed a place where I could be sheltered… Away from most people. They live on a farm. Their nearest neighbor is 16 miles away. I'm the oldest living of all the cousins, so for a few years, it was just me and them out there on the farm. That was probably a good thing. Even happy children can have volatile emotions. I was a bit of a handful… To tell the truth, I still am. Today, keeping my capabilities under wraps is my responsibility. I don't want to be taken hostage and used like some magical human lie detector for anybody else's glory, and I don't want that to happen to any of the people I love. I live a large portion of my life in your world. I'm a surgical nurse. And sometimes, if I have a patient who is too scared or too young to be comfortable with what is happening to them medically, I use my empathic abilities to help them, but always discreetly. Always secretly. Discussing this with anyone would put us all in terrible danger. Even my grandfather. There are those in this world, magical or not, who consider witchcraft to be the work of the devil, and they would hold him guilty by association. If you care for him at all, this must remain our secret. You cannot tell your best friend. You cannot tell your kids." Logan starts to say something else, but she stops and chuckles softly. "This has to be the only time in history when it actually would be safe to discuss this with your minister, but no one else in the church knows. No one. Not the associate pastor, not the congregation. Not even our mailman knows. It is never discussed outside of this house. In fact, depending on who's visiting, sometimes it isn't even discussed inside this house."

Wide-eyed, Peg turns to Robert. "Every person in this house right now, except for you and me, all of them?"

Robert nods. "All of them."

So, that's all that's needed, just one parent who is magical?"

He shakes his head. "It's rare, but sometimes having two parents who are magical is nae guarantee. Isa was powerful. She passed it doon to the lot of them."

"That must've been intriguing. I can only imagine… It had to be hard for you both."

"Ah didnae ken at the start. Isobel chose tae set aside her magic tae be wi me. After Minerva was born, she didnae have a choice. She had tae tell me." The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly, a brief attempt at a smile. "Even fae her cradle, the girl was makin' things happen."

Peg's gaze briefly flits to Minerva before returning to Robert. "Isobel dinnae tell ye afore ye were married?"

"Ah'm glad she didnae. If she had, ah probably would've missed oot on all of this. Ah dinnae want tae picture meself wit any family other than the one ah 'ave."

Peg fidgets uncomfortably, an unspoken question burning in her eyes.

Logan gently squeezes both of her hands. "Just ask."

"I'm not sure I should. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

Logan smiles and whispers conspiratorially. "We're already uncomfortable. All of us, including you. The only way it's going to get any better is if we talk. Clear the air."

Peg chuckles nervously. "Oh right, I guess you would know."

Logan laughs softly. "I don't need to be an empath to know that. All that's needed is a good pair of eyes."

"I know it's been years, but every now and then the church gossips drag it back up again. People don't like to let sleeping things lie undisturbed for too long. So, well… Was there really a hiking accident… Or was that just…"

Robert clears his throat and shakes his head as he struggles to keep his expression neutral. "Robert junior, Kellan's father, he was…"

Peg rushes in, "I shouldn't have asked. You do not have to tell me."

"He was murdered."

Two tears instantly spill from Peg's eyes and slide unchecked down her face. "Oh Robert. I'm so terribly sorry. What, who, why, how… Never mind. Ye don't have to say. I'm sorry."

"There's nae a reason fir ye to be sorry Peg, dear. Ye had nae a'thing tae dae with it. Rob was killed by a couple of steamin' death eaters on weekend holiday."

She scowls at the unfamiliar term. "Death eaters."

Robert nods. "Bad wizards. Dark as they come. Nasty little roustabout followers of Lord Voldemort - a bad seed who thought that wizard-kind should rule by right."

Peg shudders visibly.

"See, there 'ave been two wizard wars in recent history. The first one, when Lord Voldemort rose to power was 1970 to 1981. They took Robert from us in '79. Along with a lot of other good people. Voldemort… he didnae care whether people were magical or not. If they didnae follow him, they died. And some of them, like Rob, died fir no reason other than malicious sport… Bored, drunken death eaters with nothing better tae dae than destroy people's lives. In late October of 81, Voldemort was seriously injured. He crept away tae lay low in some dark hole. He gathered his strength and bided his time. Last weekend, he struck again. He and his followers attacked the school where Minerva teaches. He is no more. He has gone fa this life, but we 'ave lost things that will never return."

Peg frowns. "But you told me she teaches children."

"Aye, that she does. Magical children."

"Well, Ah don't care if they are magical! What kind of monster would attack a school full of wee little ones? Robert that's horrific!"

"It most certainly was." Minerva deadpans.

Peg's gaze swivels around to her. "That's why you are bruised. That's why your father asked about your makeup, and why you mentioned broken bones. You fought dark wizards… Last weekend?"

"I did."

"And people don't even know about it?"

"People can't know about it. Our secret is paramount."

Peg stalls for a moment until an alarming thought occurs to her. Wide-eyed, she looks around the room. "So, what happens now? What happens to me? You must have ways of keeping this quiet. You have to have if you can keep an entire population from knowing about a wizard war?"

Minerva nods. "We do. The International Statute of Wizard Secrecy demands that we take action to protect ourselves. However, my father seems to be rather fond of you. I'd rather not act if I don't have to. There is a very select group of people, an elite number of trusted muggle allies who do know our secret. We'd like to count you among them."

"The International Statute of Wizard Secrecy?" Peg shakes her head in wonder. "What happens to people who accidentally become aware, but don't keep your secret? Do they… Die?"

Robert chuckles. "Good heavens, no. Usually, their memory is jus' modified. However, if that were tae happen here… Well, ye and Ah would have tae stop seeing each other. Minerva isn't eager to see that happen. She's offerin' ye a choice, Peg. Ye can be made to forget, and we'll all be safe, or ye can keep the memory of what happened at dinner and everything we've told ye since then, but the price for that is absolute silence."

"Either I forget what happened, and I never see any of you again, or I get to keep all of it, but I can never breathe a word to anyone?"

"In a nutshell." Logan chirps softly.

"Do I have to decide right now?"

"A'fore ye leave." Robert offers. "You can stay the night, and sleep on it, if ye like. Ye can 'ave me room. Ah'll take the sofa in here. It's a big decision tae 'ave tae make, and fir that, Ah apologize Peggy. Ah never wanted ye to be in this position."

Peg places her hands over her mouth and nose as if she were praying. Not really talking to anyone other than herself, she whispers, "My sister says I'm the world's biggest blabbermouth."

Minerva raises an eyebrow. "If that's true, Mrs. Fairley, then I urge you to honestly consider that when you make your choice."

Aware of Peg's indecision, Logan offers encouragement. "If it's not true, this would make an excellent opportunity to prove her wrong. You just won't ever be able to tell her that you have done it."

"I can spend this night here with you all? It won't be an imposition?"

"It's no trouble Mrs. Fairley. The truth is Da sleeps down here in the library more often than not."

Robert sighs. "We are goin' tae have tae dae some shufflin. In this rain, Ah dinnae believe a'one is goin' home tonight."

Peg frowns. "Then, me being here is a problem."

"It most certainly is not." Minerva declares. Leaving no room for argument she quickly adds, "There are half a dozen camp beds in the basement that are all serviceable. We'll put the teenagers down there. Michael, Cecilia, and Eleanor can all keep each other awake well into the night without disturbing any of us. Malcolm and Aileen can have Malcolm, and Rob's bedroom. We will put Robbie's playpen in the den. There's a sofa in there for Kellan. Jack and Nina can have my bed, and we'll bring up a camp bed for Casey. Da is in here, and you will take his bed. And that settles it."

Peg smiles with gratitude. "Thank you, but I think you have forgotten a couple of people."

Logan waves the comment aside. "No, she hasn't. Don't trouble yourself over Minna and me. We can curl up anywhere. All we need is a nice comfortable armchair in front of a firepl…."

Peg frowns quizzically when Logan's face suddenly goes blank, losing all expression. After waving a hand slowly through the air, trying to get the girl's attention, she turns to Robert. "Is she alright? What's happening?"

Robert nods without hesitation. "Lass, come back tae us."

Minerva clears her throat and says quietly but resonantly. "Logan."

After only a moment's delay, Logan inhales sharply. She squeezes Peg's hand reassuringly, coming to her feet. "It's fine, ma'am. We all have a warm place to sleep tonight." She quickly steps toward the library door. "If you all will excuse me, young Robbie needs a wee bit of help."

Peg stares after her as she trots down the hall beyond the door. "How does she…"

Calmly, Minerva calls out, "Logan?"

Confidently, Logan replies. "It's fine. I got this. I'll send up a smoke signal if I need reinforcements."

Chuckling, Robert declares, "Ah'd rather ye just give a shout, lass. Nae fires, please."

Peg laughs. "Is it always this chaotic around here?"

"No," Minerva says dryly. "It's usually worse."

"But" Robert adds comically, "Only when the bairns are home. Most days, it's peaceful. Even gets doonright borin' sometimes."

Minerva intones. "That's usually when he decides to invite us all home for dinner, and then he spends the next fortnight wondering why he did it."

"Believe it or not, Peg, they are tryin' tae restrain themselves on account of yer presence."

"Oh, Robert, go on now. They are not that bad. It's a typical family. Just with an enchanted twist."

Robert turns to his daughter. "Speakin' of family…" He steps around behind his desk and opens the top drawer before handing Minerva a hefty Manila envelope.

Turning it over in her hands, Minerva simply waits for the explanation she knows will follow.

"Yer uncle Sean's will. Give particular attention tae the list of bequests."

After the moment needed to open the envelope and riffle through the pages, Minerva reads down the short typewritten list. Lifting her gaze, she shrugs. "It all seems pretty standard to me."

Robert nods. "Ah Dinnae want the house."

"Are you certain about that?"

"Whut dae Ah need wi another house. Most of the time it's jus me here by meself. Ah'd find something smaller, except every time Ah start tae think Ah dinnae need all this room, a night like tonight happens, and ye aw wind up here wi this place burstin' at the seams. Ah can remember when yer mam and Ah were first married, rattlin' around in this place aw by ourselves, marvelin' at aw the space. We thought we had too much… And then you came along. This place didnae seem so big after aw. Especially not after yer brothers came. Nae, Ah didnae need a'other house."

"Sell it, then. If you ever decide to retire, this one reverts back to the church. You'll need somewhere to land."

Robert flashes a rarely seen full-on smile. "Ah thought Ah'd jus come and live wi ye in that bonnie wee cottage of yers that stands empty fir most of the year. Somebody ought tae live in it."

Surprise flashes in Minerva's dark eyes. "You know you're welcome… Always, but where would we hold family gatherings?"

"In the dining room, Ah suppose. Jus like we dae here. There will jus be less elbow room."

Minerva laughs. "Da, without an undetectable extension, there will be no elbow room. We'll be in each other's laps! And, the thought of you wandering through the streets of Hogsmeade, trying to figure out where to buy new reeds for your bagpipes…"

"Ah'd look a wee bit oot o'place, Ah'm sure. But it's either that or go and live wi Malcolm on the farm." Robert shakes his head. "Ah love the lad, but he's got too many bairns… And they run that house!"

Minerva stifles a chuckle. "So, sell Uncle Sean's, put the money in the bank, and stay here, until you're ready to leave."

"Ah've got me pension tae fall back on. Ah'd rather give the money tae ye three. Malcolm needs it. He's still got three more tae see aw the way through university. Kellan can have Rob's share. It's rightfully his… Except, he'll waste it, probably on liquor, and ponies, fast cars, and cheap women."

Minerva tips her head in agreement. "So, give him half his share. Let him do what he wants with it. Put the other half in a trust for Robbie to have control of once he's of age. And, you can give mine to Logan. She's got tuition bills to pay off."

"And the boat?"

Minerva squints. "The boat?"

"Whut would you like tae dae with it?"

"Do anything you want with it, Da."

"Ah'm askin' ye on account o' he left it tae ye."

Confused, Minerva turns back through the pages once again. "I missed that. Why would he? I don't sail. I haven't been sailing since…" She gestures aimlessly, casting about for the answer. "that summer he bought the boat. I must've been…"

Robert supplies the answer easily. "Nearly 20. It was right a'fore ye left tae go tae work for the DML."

She nods and repeats, "But Da, I don't sail. What on earth am I going to do with a nearly 45-year-old sailboat?"

Robert shrugs. "Dae whutever ye like wi it. It's yers."

"I can't imagine what Uncle Sean was thinking. Why didn't he leave the boat to Malcolm, or Kellan?"

"Because he loved that boat. He wouldnae want tae see it destroyed or sittin' in drydock until it rots. Kellan will enjoy the perks of bein' a boat owner, but nae the necessary responsibility that goes along with it. He will take the lass out, and if he doesnae completely trash her havin' some wild party, he'll run her aground at Duncan's Head. Malcolm will try, but he doesnae have time. He has a wife, five bairns, three of them still a'home and in school, not to mention precocious wee Casey."

"And, I've got approximately 750 returning students and an additional 300 new students arriving 1 September, all of them expecting to take shelter, and be educated, in a nearly 1500 year old castle that is currently held together with kite string and bubble gum…" Minerva cringes. "And I sound terribly ungrateful. Da, I apologize."

Robert shrugs. "At least ye heard yerself. Wi all that work to be done, there's surely goin' to come a point in time when ye need a break. If a'body can reckon out how tae fit it all in, it's ye. Ye 'ave nae the first idea jus how much ye impressed yer uncle that summer. He declared yer brothers tae be hopeless deck hands, but nae ye. 'A'least the lass kens her aft fae her bow' He told me."

"Only because he told me the difference. Beyond that, I didn't have a clue. I just did what he told me to do."

"Well, there ye 'ave it. He said ye made a first-rate skipper."

Minerva groans. "Balmy old man! When I get back to the school tomorrow, I'll have to rework my entire schedule and see if I can fit in sailing lessons… somehow!"

Robert chuckles. "That's the spirit!"

Peg comically raises an eyebrow. "You sound incredibly busy! You battle dark wizards. You are responsible for 1000 children most of the year, and now you are goin' to somehow find the time for sailing lessons just because your uncle left you his boat?"

"Well, I have to, don't I? Da's right. The boys won't properly take care of her. Besides Uncle Sean left her to me. I'm certainly not going to let her rot in drydock or sell her to some stranger who may or may not take care of her. What's the use of having a sailboat if you don't know how to sail it?"

Robert eyes his daughter speculatively.

"What?" Minerva encourages.

Oh, Ah was jus wonderin' if Laird McKinnon might be available tae lend ye a hand wi'at? Mind, he's only got the one, but, if memory serves, he's still a very capable fella."

"Da!" Minerva says with unmistakable exasperation.

"Whut?"

"I've spent half this evening telling your son and grandson to stay out of your personal life."

"So?"

"So, do me the same courtesy. I'm too old for you to start playing matchmaker!"

"Ah 'ave nae the slightest idea whut yer talkin' aboot daughter."