Chapter Seventeen

It was Albus who spoke up the first- I knew it had to be Albus, so I waited for him. I was curious, wanted to know his ideas, his- understanding of what was happening to us before telling him- and influencing him with- mine. His words, though, were though predictable still a bit disappointing- but the confusion in his eyes was real.

"Minerva- but how- how come they never…"

I knew he'd ask this- I knew it with a certainty that could only be Anne's, for it was definitely not mine- and I also knew what I had to respond to this question. One word.

"Red."

"Blood?"

I nearly rolled my eyes. Now Albus was a dear, and a clever dear at that- but his imagination, though lovable, did tend to be a little overactive at times. Blood for heaven's sake. Though undoubtedly an integral part of both Anne's and Mark's life, it was not even close to what I, what Anne, had meant with the word.

"No, Albus, not blood. Honestly. No- in fact, I was talking about something much more rational, much more prosaic than blood. I was merely referring to- to the hair colour of the young Elizabeth Tudor."

"Hair colour? What-"

I daresay the look in my eyes was more than enough to stimulate Albus's brain- for it found its own answer to the question I had put on its own accord, a mere instant later.

"Red- of course. Red- auburn- and her eyes were dark green like- like Anne's, like yours, and her hair was red like-"

"Like Mark's."

My voice sounded hollow and surprisingly melancholy at these two words- and all of a sudden I knew, I realized, I felt to the full and utter extent the overwhelming- even to a woman like her, like me- amount of love Anne had felt for Mark- and still felt, perhaps.

It was the very same love I felt for Albus- and yet isn't it the one sole basic trait of love, that every lover thinks his feelings are unique in the world? Yes it is- and so, so did I- until I encountered Anne. The relation between Anne and me is and has always been a strange one, because we are- or were- basically the same person. We feel the same and think the same- we are the same, except for those 400-something years separating us from each other.

I don't know if that was the same for Albus and Mark- I will never know. Albus and I have always shared everything, every thought, every word, every emotion- but some things are not described easily, and there are some things which one cannot but guess.

"Minerva, how can we be sure that-"

Here, I fear, reader, must I honestly admit that I lost my patience with the man I love. My temper has always more than equalled Anne's- and my Scottish blood did not exactly do anything to soften it.

"Albus, how can we not be sure? Elizabeth is not Henry's child, Anne did not love Henry, she did cheat on him with Mark and they did get a daughter together. What is it with that ridiculously near-prudish attitude of yours, I do not get you! HONESTLY!"

I was sorry as soon as I closed my mouth again after the last, yelled, word. According to my father, that is the one thing why Albus was the only man I could ever have ended up with- he manages to make me feel sorry in the middle of a fit of anger, he manages to make me melt while burning with fury- it is just as unique as many of his other gifts, and I love him all the more for it.

I stared at my hands as he did not speak a word- but I felt his silent accusation and I knew what he wanted to say.

I merely wanted to defend Anne, you, Minerva. I merely wanted to think rationally- you are the one accusing me of being too much of a dreamer, remember? I merely wanted to help work these things out, Minerva- and what is it that I get in return?

And I- I felt guilty. I could see the truth in his unspoken words- of course I could- and apologizing, unfortunately, has never been my forte. I was not pretentious or anything, and never have been, but- I have always had troubles finding the words.

Albus, as always the darling that he truly is, found them for me, though- and as with one finger, he tilted up my chin, I could not but smile as we- in unison- spoke those four magical words.

"I am so sorry."

We were.