Chapter Eighteen

We had solved our very own, private mystery- or at least that was the way we felt at that moment. We had- finally- found out about the true parentage of the woman who had been, perhaps, the greatest Tudor of them all- and yet, so we knew now, not a Tudor at all. A quite satisfactory result indeed.

And yet I was not satisfied. It took me a couple of weeks to even admit it to myself, but I was not satisfied- and neither was Albus, if the sometimes-pensive look in his usually so clear blue eyes was anything to go at. We were not satisfied- and once the euphoria of the first days after our discovery started to wear off, I found myself once more in a troubled state of mind.

What did Anne want me- want Albus- to do?

Did she want us to make our discovery public knowledge? This was definitely something we could do, I knew- him being one of the wizarding world's more renowned scholars and me being, despite my young age, respected already because of my exceptional NEWT scores. We could tell the world, and the wizarding world- being less prudish and less conventional than the muggle one- would most probably believe us as well. But was this what Anne truly wanted?

I wished I could ask her.

It was at that moment that I, for the very first time in my life, realized that I could ask Anne. That I could- or, in other words, that I didn't have to. Anne as I knew her was a part of me, after all- and thus- and this was a frustrating idea to me- the answer to all my questions had to be hidden somewhere deep inside of my own mind- since that was where Anne lived!

After muttering a curt spell so as to chase the headache I had given myself through this ponderings away, I decided to discuss this idea with Albus. His relationship to Mark was- and is- a mystery to me, just like mine with Anne was to him, and yet I knew that somehow, I had to count on it as well.

Counting on other people- trusting other people- always was a problem of mine. Giving matters out of hand was, just like trusting one's intuition, to me an absolute taboo- and yet this case was learning me- and did learn me in the end- that sometimes there simply is no other way.

And yet neither of us came with a solution. We did agree that neither Anne nor Mark probably wanted us to make the news public- seeing as how that would damage the legacy of their, so often honoured, daughter. England's noble, high Virgin Queen, with her long and respected reign and her royal disposition- the bastard daughter of a Queen nicknamed witch and her lover? Impossible.

And yet that's what she was. That's what she had been.

It was only moments later that I realized that my mind- that mind of mine, which I knew Anne lived on in- had given me some very important information indeed. I had very nearly overlooked the one, sole word- since it seemed so obvious, and since I had read it on so many occasions before. It was understandable, but not excusable- because it could prove to be very important indeed. For if Anne…

It was probable, I realized on the next moment. Very probable, even- and France, and everything- it all fit in, it all, all, all fit in, and suddenly I couldn't believe how blind I had been. If I was just a reflection, a next life, of Anne's- then why had I never asked myself that suddenly very obvious question?

"Albus, what if Anne was-"

Yet the man whom I loved surprised me- and completed my sentence for me.