Dirty leaves sailed on the hot wind ocean, tacking and luffing up in their strange races down the side streets and alleyways of Hogsmeade. In a comfortable-looking Tudor house beside a short byway, an old, old woman sat beside the window, gazing out at the fallen leaves.

A younger woman came in, carrying a tray, and speaking. "Goodness, Professor, I don't know when I've seen such a hot day, so late in autumn! Why, they say some of the students from the school have gone swimming in the lake for a lark!"

Minerva smiled, and turned to look at her landlady, Mrs. Hudson. "You're too young to remember the first Tri-Wizard cup, when the Durmstrang students came in their sailing ship. There was a boy who swam in the lake in the middle of winter." She searched her memory. He'd been a little bit famous, that boy, and had created something of a stir, a few years later, when he'd objected at the wedding... it was no use, though. Minerva could picture his face, but couldn't remember his name.

She remembered the ship, though. Three masts, the rigging decayed and flapping in the wind. Apollo wouldn't have cared for that, she thought with a slight smile. She'd been... eight? The summer before he left. Yes, eight. They'd made the trip to Inverness, the whole family. There was a twelve-year gap between Apollo and Minerva; later, Minerva was to think that she'd been something of a surprise to her parents. Her father had business in Inverness, but Apollo was on leave. He'd carried her on his shoulders, and she remembered that; remembered being high above the crowds on the banks of Loch Ness, peering into the misty dawn, trying to see the Monster. She'd always put her hands on his chin when he carried her on his shoulders, so she didn't choke him. She remembered how prickly his chin always was.

He'd taken her sailing that day. The life vests were big, orange, and she felt like a puffer fish in one. He'd rented the little sail boat, and gone over ever inch of it before launching. "Ship-shape," he'd said, satisfied at last, as he stowed their lunch in a locker. "A place for everything, and everything in its place." It was one of their father's favorite sayings.

Tobruk was a port town, she recalled. That was why Rommel had been so desperate to take it. That was why England was so desperate to hold it. That was why Apollo had died there, along with so many other boys. Minerva shook her head slightly, watching the leaves sail along.

"Professor?" the younger woman asked, sounding concerned.

Minerva smiled at her. "Sorry," she said. "Sometimes, the past is clearer to me than the present. What was it you said?" It wasn't that her mind was weak, Minerva thought. She was as sharp as she'd ever been. It was just that there was so much more to think about, in the past. So much to consider, so much to weigh.

"I asked if that was the competition where that boy died?"

"Oh," said Minerva. "Yes. Cederic Diggory." She shook her head, and went back to looking out the window. There'd been nothing exceptional about Diggory, she thought. Loyal, brave, a good boy. She picked up the tea Mrs. Hudson had poured, and took a sip. Diggory had been involved with Miss Chang, Minerva recalled suddenly. They'd just taken up together. What a handsome couple they'd made, though, dancing together at the Yule Ball.

She'd danced with Ancelm, once. That was how things had started. They'd danced, awkwardly, self-consciously. He came from somewhere in the south, she remembered, and liked to sail. She'd leaned over the side, peering into the water for a glimpse of the merpeople, the day they'd gone sailing. She'd been so young then... as young as Miss Chang and Diggory.

Light glinted off a window across the street, throwing refracted shards. Just so, Minerva thought. Just so did the light glisten as she looked down, into the deeps. So they were swimming in the pond for a lark, were they? Well. Some things didn't change, after all.