Minerva's eyes blinked open. At first, in the darkness, she was unsure what had woken her, but then she heard Albus mumbling in his sleep.
She couldn't make out his words, but he seemed calm enough, not twisting or thrashing as he sometimes did in the throes of a nightmare, so she decided not to wake him and turned over to go back to sleep.
No sooner had her eyelids fluttered closed than he spoke again.
"Mi … you … no … no …"
The gasped words changed her mind about waking him, and she shook his shoulder.
"Albus."
When he didn't react, she leant over, put a palm on his face, and feathered a kiss on his lips.
He let out a sudden puff of breath.
"Minerva?"
She stroked his cheek. "You're talking in your sleep."
"Am I? I'm sorry."
"It's all right. I'm sorry to wake you. Can you go back to sleep now?"
"Mmm."
She kissed him again and smoothed the covers over his chest.
They slept peacefully after that, and Minerva woke in the morning to find Albus climbing out of bed.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning. I tried not to disturb you, but I need the loo."
"Come back to bed when you're done."
He did, and they snuggled together under the bedclothes. She yelped when he put his feet up against her legs.
"Your feet are freezing."
"It's cold this morning."
"Let's just stay here for a while, then," she said, wriggling closer and pressing her back against his chest. "We don't have any urgent plans this morning, do we?"
"No."
They fell back to sleep, Albus's arm around Minerva's chest, until Albus's stomach began to protest in a series of noisy rumbles that woke Minerva and made her giggle.
"It sounds as if someone needs breakfast," she said.
"I'm famished," Albus admitted. "Our dinner was a bit light last night."
"You should have said."
"You were sleeping so soundly. Besides, it's so nice tucked up here with you, I didn't want to end it."
She turned in his arms and pecked him on the lips. "It is lovely. But I'm hungry too, now that you mention it. Shall we get up?"
"As you wish."
The Tempus Charm Minerva cast told her they had slept until nearly ten-thirty, so they both made quick work of their morning ablutions and went down to see if they could find an early lunch.
They had to walk a while before they found a restaurant that was open. The day's chill prompted both of them to opt for a warming risotto with porcini mushrooms to start and a hearty duck ragú to follow, alongside radicchio sautéed with tangy-sweet balsamic vinegar. It was too early for wine, so they drank sparkling water and followed the meal with a pair of espressos.
When they emerged from the restaurant, a frigid wind bit at their cheeks, and Albus insisted on casting a wandless Warming Charm.
"The Muggles will notice the warm spot," Minerva whispered.
Albus looked around. "It isn't too busy right now. I think we can risk it."
The warm air that enveloped them was much more comfortable, Minerva had to admit, but she thought she saw one or two people turn to stare at them with confusion as they passed.
"Shall we investigate the Venetian Ghetto?" Albus asked.
"Let's. And will we visit the wizarding district?"
"If you like. But we'll need to do some Glamours. I'm not entirely unknown among Italy's wizarding population, I'm afraid."
"All right." Minerva looked around. It wasn't crowded, but people going about their afternoon errands dotted the street. "Where shall we do it?"
"We'll find a secluded spot."
They walked around until Albus spied an empty sottoportego, one of the many alleyways that passed under Venice's buildings to connect its maze of tiny streets.
He tugged on her arm. "In here."
They both removed their wands from the special pockets in their coats.
"Any requests? In the mood for a blonde, perhaps?" Minerva asked with an impish grin.
"Surprise me," Albus said, eyes crinkled in amusement.
Minerva thought a moment before casting.
With a few swishes of her wand, her face began to tingle.
"How do I look?" she asked when the tingle subsided.
He cocked his head as he inspected her. "Different, but still lovely. Ginger suits you. Nicely done."
She'd given herself a wavy bob with a heavy fringe, widened her face a bit, and added blue eyes, accented with freckles across her nose and cheeks.
"Now you," she said.
He echoed her wand motions, and a moment later a man with Albus's general build but an unfamiliar face stood in front of her.
He was clean-shaven, with a tanned complexion and big, dark eyes, topped off by shiny black hair with licks of grey at the temples. His nose, normally slightly crooked, was now straight. But the most surprising feature was the deep cleft in his chin.
Minerva traced it with her index finger. "Is this really your chin?" She realised she'd never seen it bare before.
"I'm afraid not." He prodded his new face with his fingers. "My own chin is quite unremarkable. I stole the idea from a photograph of a Muggle motion picture star."
"What do you know about Muggle motion pictures?"
"Very little. But I saw an advertisement posted outside a cinema in Piccadilly when I was in London a few weeks ago. The ladies that were queued up seemed to think this fellow was … how does the saying go? Quite a dish. So I thought you might enjoy it."
"Well, I prefer your real face," she said firmly. "But this one will do for a few hours."
Albus's mistake became apparent shortly after they emerged from the Campo Santi Apostali and into the busy Strada Nova.
A pair of young women coming out of a shop spied them as they passed. Squealing, the women ran up to Albus in a flutter of excited Italian chatter.
One of them dug around in her handbag and pulled out a pen. With a few insistent hand gestures, she managed to communicate that she wanted Albus to sign a slip of paper her friend had produced, seemingly out of nowhere.
The commotion attracted a small crowd of people, several of whom made their own demands for autographs. Albus obliged, signing bits of paper with a theatrical flourish, while Minerva stood back, her amusement turning to annoyance when a voluptuous young woman stood on tiptoe to kiss Albus's cheek as her companion snapped a photograph.
When the group had finally dissipated, many with longing looks back at Albus, Minerva asked, "What did you write to all those madwomen?"
"'With love, from Cary Grant.' He's the cinema actor with the cleft chin."
Minerva rolled her eyes. "You are incorrigible."
"They would have been terribly disappointed to receive an autograph from 'Albus Dumbledore'."
"I wonder who they thought I was. No one important, obviously."
"I wonder," said Albus. "If this Cary Grant fellow has a wife, I may have just got him into trouble, strolling through Venice with a beautiful woman."
She returned his smile with a smirk. "So you like this look, do you?"
"You are very pretty as a ginger, but you are loveliest in your natural state. And I do prefer your real hair. I don't care much for these modern coiffures," he said, gesturing vaguely at her head.
Minerva shrugged. "I thought I'd try out a shorter style. If you don't like it, though, I shan't make a real change."
"Good. And I will keep my beard when we've finished with our sightseeing. Although I suppose I should make some alterations now so we don't cause a scene everywhere we go. My Glamour must have been a little more accurate than I quite intended."
They went into a smaller side street where Albus found a dark spot between two buildings and slipped in. When he reappeared, his hair was sandy blond and his complexion fairer than before.
"How is this?" he asked.
"Somewhat less likely to attract attention."
They returned to the Strada Nova, and a short, chilly walk brought them to the city's Cannaregio district. After crossing over a small bridge, they reached the Sottoportego de Ghetto Nuovo.
From the sottoportego, they emerged into a large, airy square. Despite the cold, people stood conversing in casual groups under the trees, and a group of children played Muggle football, their joyous shouts billowing white puffs of breath into the air around them.
Minerva had spent some time in the ghetto with her father during their trip; Thorfinn was interested in the interactions between its Jewish and wizarding populations, crowded into the same district as they were, and had taken his children with him to meet with rabbis from the ghetto's five synagogues to learn about Muggle religious and cultural traditions.
Albus had never visited them, so Minerva suggested they look in, beginning with the oldest, the Great German Synagogue, known in Italian as the Scuola Grande Tedesca.
"This is it?" Albus asked when they approached an unprepossessing building that fronted the square. "It doesn't look like a religious building."
Remembering what she'd learned on her previous visit, Minerva told him, "The Jewish community was limited to living in this little corner of the city, so they could only build up, not out, and all the synagogues were built atop existing structures—shops and homes and such. They were expected to keep a discreet profile, so they aren't decorated on the exterior."
She pointed to the top floor of the building, which sported five tall, arched windows.
"That's the synagogue, up there."
The interior belied the plain outside of the building. After going up three flights of stairs, they emerged into an asymmetrical room as ornate as any of the churches they had seen. Carved pews lined the walls, and above them soared a lovely oval gallery and mosaic ceiling.
Albus began to remove his hat, but Minerva put a hand on his arm, stopping him.
"One keeps one's head covered in a synagogue," she whispered. Albus glanced around at the few other men there. They all wore hats or yarmulkes, so he left his homburg where it was.
He gestured at an ornately carved, gold-encrusted structure.
"Is that the altar?" he asked.
"No, that's the ark where the sacred Torah scrolls are kept," Minerva said.
"As in, the Ark of the Covenant?"
"Exactly."
A gilded pediment topped the ark, backed by deep red damask. On the interior of the ark's doors, lines of Hebrew were inscribed in lustrous nacre.
At the other end of the room was the bimah, also gilded, supported by slender Corinthian columns.
A narrow band of crimson ran under the gallery, and against it there was a gold inscription.
"It's a shame I don't read Hebrew," Albus said. "I should like to know what it says."
"I think it's the Ten Commandments," Minerva whispered. "The laws given to Moses at Mount Sinai."
"Thou shalt not kill, and so forth."
"Yes."
He turned to her with a wry smile. "Do you know them all?"
"Not as well as I know Gamp's Law and its exceptions, but I could probably bring them to mind if I tried. Do you know them?"
Albus smiled and looked to the ceiling in thought.
"Let's see," he said, "no killing, no stealing, no worshipping false gods …"
"Those are the easy ones," Minerva goaded.
"No adultery …"
"Another easy one, I should hope."
Albus chuckled. "There's one about honouring one's mother and father, I think."
"Yes."
Albus thought. "Isn't there one about not taking the Lord's name in vain?"
"There is."
"How many are we up to?"
"Six."
Albus's brows drew together in concentration. Then he shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't recall the others."
"No graven images, keep the sabbath, and no coveting," Minerva said, counting them off on her fingers.
"Well, at least we know them between the two of us," Albus said.
"That's only nine. We forgot the last one."
"And what is that?"
Minerva thought for a few moments before hitting on it. "No bearing false witness."
"Ah, yes. A rather important one. Dante put it lower than violence in the Inferno. If I remember rightly, liars were engulfed in individual flames for all eternity."
"I read the Divine Comedy, but I don't remember which circle of Hell is which. Only that they're all rather nasty."
"I was fascinated with the Divine Comedy as a youth," Albus said. "Our copy was the edition with the Doré illustrations, and I found the punishments especially memorable."
"As Doré no doubt meant you to," Minerva said. "I seem to recall that Dante put a lot of his own enemies in his Hell."
"He did. He always struck me as a poet with a particular gift for retribution."
"I suppose that's one way to deal with one's adversaries."
As they descended the stairs back down to the square, Minerva wondered if Albus had ever lied to her. He'd certainly withheld things, but had he ever lied? Would he? Surely not about anything important, she decided.
He was secretive, she knew that about him, and she didn't like it, but she accepted it. It wasn't surprising, given his childhood and youth, she supposed. It pleased her to think that he'd opened up to her, and, of course, he'd shared with her his biggest secret, the one he was most ashamed of.
Back out in the bright, cold winter day, Albus took her arm, and they strolled through the square. "Were you raised with any religious tradition growing up?" he asked.
"No, not as such," Minerva said. "We celebrate Christmas, as you saw, but that was always a cultural tradition, not a religious one. I don't think the McGonagalls were ever particularly bothered about which gods they were required to worship, or how. My mother's family were more or less the same. My father taught Einar and me the tenets of Christianity and stories from the Christian Bible as part of our history and literature education, but we were never churchgoers." She looked at Albus. "What about you? You've said you aren't sure about believing in God, but were you brought up in any religion?"
"My mother's family were Methodists, and I can recall attending services with her when I was small, but eventually we stopped going. My father was never religious, as far as I know."
"I'm not sure I know any churchgoing wizarding families," Minerva said. "Although there must be some."
"Probably more among mixed wizard and Muggle families. But wizarding folk weren't made to feel especially welcome by the Christian church after the Middle Ages."
"No," Minerva agreed. "And the International Statute of Secrecy put the nail in that coffin. My father says there are more practising Jewish wizards in Europe—in terms of actual religious belief—than there are practising Christians, for all we celebrate the Christian holidays."
"I suppose one ostracised people forges ties with another."
"Especially here, where they were forced to live literally on top of one another," Minerva said, remembering her father talking about the sixteenth-century edict that forced Venice's Jews and its magical population into this tiny, walled section of the city. After a decade, he'd said, Venice's wizards and witches had elected to extend their living space to below ground to alleviate the crowding that got worse with each passing year, as purges of both Jews and mages by the Catholic powers that ruled most of Europe escalated, and more and more refugees poured in from Spain and France.
Minerva and Albus visited the two other synagogues in the Ghetto Nuovo, the Canton, and the Scuola Italiana. The former, built only four years after the German synagogue, was not unlike its older neighbour, with its gilding and baroque style, although its traditional floor plan was much less striking than the asymmetry of the German scuola. The Canton was remarkable for its eight carved wooden panels depicting episodes from the Book of Exodus, including the Red Sea crossing, and Moses's drawing water from the rock. Wood columns, carved to resemble intertwined vines, supported the bimah, which was illuminated by a skylight.
The Scuola Italiana was different from the two previous synagogues they'd visited. It was smaller, with little gilding, and the white walls and large windows gave it an airy feeling. They explored it before going back out into the square.
It was still chilly, and Albus stopped outside a shop whose scent boasted of its dolci ebraici veneziani—kosher Venetian pastries.
"How about a spot of tea and a biscuit to warm us up?" he asked.
They went in and selected some pastries. Albus bought two espressos—there was no tea to be had—and they took their treats to a table outside the shop.
The coffee was strong and hot, warming Minerva's insides. She'd chosen three crisp, round biscuits called azime dolci. The anise flavour was pleasant, but it clashed with the espresso, so she refrained from dunking. Albus's selection was more indulgent: a curious-looking confection that was shaped rather like an alligator and filled with an almond-flavoured cream.
As they nibbled, they talked about what they'd seen.
"This section of Venice is much quieter than the rest," Minerva said.
"Yes. I imagine it was more crowded before the war. Unfortunately, the population here likely suffered the same fate as the rest of Europe's Jews."
The thought of the millions slaughtered in the Holocaust soured Minerva's appetite, and she set down her last biscuit.
"Why did no one stop it?" she wondered aloud.
Albus shook his head. After a moment, he said soberly, "It was an utter failure of humanity that such a thing could be allowed to happen. We like to think we are beyond such evil, but I'm afraid it's always around us. Prejudice and hatred provide facile answers to complex problems, and that can be very seductive. Too many people are taken in by it."
He looked off into the distance, and Minerva wondered if he was thinking of Grindelwald. Albus had told her he'd fallen in with the Dark wizard at first because he'd wanted to blame Muggles for what had happened to his family.
She put a hand over his, and he looked back at her and smiled.
"You said you spent some time here with your father."
Minerva took the hint that he wanted to change the subject.
"Yes," she said. "He thought the sequestering of the Jews and wizards here might have created some overlap between their cultures."
"And did it?"
"Well, not enough for an entire book, apparently, but he said that there were some interesting connections between one school of Jewish mysticism and the development of modern Western thaumaturgy."
Albus downed the last of his espresso. "Fascinating. What sort of connections?"
"I can't remember the details. You'll have to ask him about it when we get back."
"I shall."
After Albus took their cups and plates back into the shop, he and Minerva crossed the bridge to the larger Ghetto Vecchio. The streets were narrower and more crowded, the air above them festooned with lines of drying laundry flapping like flags between the buildings.
They stopped into a shop selling Judaica—silver menorahs both simple and ornate, beautifully illustrated Torahs, prayer shawls, and sets of kiddush cups in jewel-toned Murano glass.
When they came out, Minerva said, "Shall we brave the Sestiere degli Incantatori?"
"We may as well, since we're here."
It took them ten minutes to locate the sottoportego that hid the entrance to Venice's magical district. It was dark, dank, and uninviting. Embedded in one wall was a terracotta Chimaera head, its mouth gaping in a silent roar, displaying a set of lethal-looking teeth.
"Shall I do the honours?" Albus asked after making sure no Muggles were with them in the dark tunnel.
"Please."
He pushed back his right coat sleeve and reached into the Chimaera's mouth. His arm disappeared up to the elbow, and when he withdrew it, the mossy stone of the tunnel wall shimmered like the reflection in a clear pool.
Albus took Minerva's elbow, and they stepped through. Behind them, the stone became solid once again.
Venice's wizarding district comprised a pair of wide, cobblestone paths flanking a central canal, with a few smaller streets winding their way among the buildings. It looked very much as the rest of the city did, with one noticeable difference: the charmed sky above was and sunny and warm. The change in temperature made Minerva uncomfortably hot in her heavy winter clothes.
Before she could remove her coat, a witch came through the portal behind them.
"Scusate," the witch said, stepping around them with an annoyed expression.
She looked at the sky and stuck her hand out, as if testing the air. With a confirmatory nod, she pulled her wand and Transfigured the heavy, black wool coat she'd been wearing into a yellow muslin cloak. With a quick shake of the cloak to air it out, she hurried away.
Minerva looked at Albus, who shrugged, and they both pulled their wands. A few simple spells later, Minerva's Muggle coat and hat became a robe of forest-green linen and a peaked witch's hat with a green feather in the brim. She felt cooler and more comfortable, and after a moment's thought, she Banished her gloves as well. She'd never liked having to wear them in Muggle London or Inverness; she felt it dulled the connection between her magic and her wand—not that she used it often when out and about among Muggles, but it made her antsy to be unable to feel the smooth alder between her fingers when she reached into her hidden pocket.
Albus had Transfigured his coat and homburg into cerulean silk robes and a matching tasselled cap. On closer inspection, Minerva saw the robe was fastened down the centre of the chest with tiny silver lions' heads. The lower half of the robes boasted a pattern of griffins in a dark-blue contrasting thread.
"Show-off," Minerva said.
"I don't want to be out of fashion amongst all these handsome Italian wizards," Albus told her. "Otherwise one might catch your eye, and you might decide to stay."
"Yes, well, I look rather dowdy next to you, so I don't think you'll have much in the way of competition for my affections."
"You could never look dowdy, my dear. You need no embellishments to be beautiful."
Albus smiled at her snort of scepticism and said, "Let's have our look around."
They walked along the canal, which was speckled with boats, many of which took the shapes of magical sea creatures. There were several mermaid-shaped ones, and boats fashioned to look like kelpies, with horse heads at the prow and webbed tails at the stern. A couple of small craft seating two or three people and decorated with painted wooden Grindylow heads skittered along, their arms and long fingers acting as oars propelling their occupants quickly through the water.
As Albus and Minerva watched, a larger boat appeared from around a bend in the canal. Rising several metres above its prow was the head of a serpent, its three horns jutting menacingly from its scaled crown. In the centre of its forehead was a magnificent red stone that glinted in the sunlight. Its powerful tail, adorned with spikes, swished through the black water, moving the boat majestically down the middle of the canal, sending smaller craft rushing out of its way.
"Obviously a very important personage," Albus said as it passed.
"Self-important, more like," Minerva sniffed.
A bridge crossed the canal, but it became apparent that most of the area's adult inhabitants didn't bother with it. Every few minutes, the air was rent by the crack of someone Apparating from one side of the canal to the other.
"That would drive me mad," Minerva remarked the fourth time she'd been startled by the sound coming from close by them.
"I imagine the people who live here are accustomed to it," Albus said.
A bookshop, the Libreria Anafesto, alongside the canal tempted them inside. Although she didn't read Italian, Minerva found it pleasant browsing the stacks and paging through some of the books. Many of them were old, works of art themselves, covered in the most colourful leathers and embossed in silver or gold, or both, and filled with lively illustrations, both moving and still.
Bright-orange velvet curtains separated a section near the back of the shop, over which hung a sign that read Avvertimento! Solo per maghi qualificati! Entra a tuo rischio.
"I think it's a warning that the books in there are dangerous," Minerva said.
Albus grinned at her. "Well, now we must go in."
"Oh, we must, must we?"
"Of course. Dangerous books are often the best books."
Minerva wasn't sure about that, but she followed as he ducked through the curtains into a cramped, gloomy room lined with cobwebbed shelves, two of which were behind metal caging bearing a sign: Non Toccare! Richiedi Assistenza.
A susurration of whispers, combined with an ominous growling, came from the cage, reinforcing the warning. Albus and Minerva moved closer to peer at the books within. Suddenly, a large tome, bound in in what looked suspiciously like human skin, jumped from its shelf, flew open, and pressed against the bars of the cage, the illustration of a Basilisk rattling and hissing at them.
"Ugh!"
Minerva jumped, and Albus grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the cage.
"Are you all right, my dear?"
"Yes, it just startled me," Minerva said. "Why on earth would anyone want such a book?"
"It might hold interesting information."
"Yes, but why put it in a book like that?"
"Presumably to ensure the reader really wanted to know what's inside."
The way some mages thought was quite alarming, in Minerva's estimation.
She would have been happy to leave right then, but Albus seemed intrigued by the books on the other shelves, so they looked around, avoiding getting too close to the cage. Unlike in the rest of the shop, the books here were in a variety of languages; along with titles in Italian, English, French, and German, there were books in Latin, Greek, Russian, and several other languages Minerva couldn't identify.
"Merlin's beard."
Albus knelt in front of a shelf and pulled out a book.
"What is it?" Minerva asked.
He held out the book, which was bound in cracked red leather, for Minerva to see.
She read the title. "Mysteria Sanguis."
Albus's eyes shone with excitement. "It's a medieval treatise on blood magic, very rare. I've been looking for it for years."
Minerva's nose wrinkled. "A book on blood magic?"
"Yes. The Ministry in Britain has prohibited most shops from selling books on the subject. They're usually only available through private channels, and I haven't found anyone with a copy of this one willing to sell or even lend it out. Even Julian has never read it."
Minerva wished that Julian Meadowes, Hogwarts's Defence master until the past November, when he'd gone mysteriously blind, had been the one to happen across this copy of the book instead of Albus. Although she tried to share Albus's opinion that the general fear of blood magic was nothing more than old superstition, the idea of it still made her shudder.
Albus, however, was obviously delighted by his find, so she reluctantly followed him to find the clerk to inquire as to the book's price.
"Fifty-two denari," said the clerk in almost accentless English when they'd found him.
"What is that in Galleons?" Albus asked Minerva, who was quicker at sums than he was.
"I don't know what the exchange rate is," she said. "Anyway, we'll need to find the bank to change some money."
Albus asked the clerk to hold the book until they could change their Muggle currency.
The clerk agreed and gave them directions to the Venice branch of Argentarii, the Italian wizarding bank. The walk took only a few minutes before they crossed the bridge over the canal to a white marble edifice that looked quite like banks everywhere. Inside were the same Goblin clerks that staffed wizarding banks all over Europe, bending over their ledgers or helping clients. When Albus and Minerva's turn came, the clerk spoke no English, but Albus surprised Minerva by making his needs known in a few halting words of Gobbledegook.
Albus's eyebrows rose when the Goblin told him the exchange rate, but he removed a thick wad of Muggle lire from his billfold and handed it to the clerk, who counted back sixty silver denari to him.
After they exited the silence of the bank, Minerva said, "That seems like an awful lot of money."
"They want the equivalent of about twenty-eight Galleons for the book," Albus said sheepishly. "I changed a few extra in case we want to buy anything else while we're here."
"Twenty-eight Galleons?" It was a princely amount for a single book.
"I know it's very expensive, but I have been looking for the book for quite some time."
"It's all right, Albus. You don't have to justify it to me. After all, I did just buy a house, so I'm way ahead of you in the expensive purchases game. The amount just surprised me."
She didn't want him to feel that he needed her permission to spend money. She certainly didn't intend to ask for his when she wanted something.
They went back to the bookseller and Albus bought his book.
As they left the shop, Minerva said, "Just do me one favour."
"What is that?"
"Wait until you're home to dive into it."
He looked at her in surprise. "Of course, if that's what you wish, but will you tell me why?"
"To be honest, the subject matter makes me uncomfortable. I'd just rather not be reminded of it during out trip."
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise—"
"No, no, it's fine, truly. Besides," she said with a grin, "you still need to finish Lolita."
He returned the smile. "I do. I can't imagine how it's all going to work out for poor old Humbert."
"Humbert?"
"Humbert Humbert. He's the protagonist."
"What an odd name."
"He's an odd character."
They walked alongside the canal, enjoying the respite from the Muggle city's winter weather.
"Rather odd to think that we're under Venice," Albus said.
"Yes. But when the wizarding and Jewish population were forced into the Cannaregio, the Jews built up, so the wizards built down. Not that different from the Ministry of Magic in London, actually."
"True. But this is so much nicer than the Ministry." He gazed into the sky, which was bright blue and daubed with high, fluffy clouds. "Whoever is in charge of the sky charms does a magnificent job. Doing a single building is one thing, but an entire underground neighbourhood? That requires some real skill and power."
"You could do it," Minerva said.
"Perhaps. But I wouldn't want to be responsible for doing it every day. Although," he said, looking at the sky again, "it does give me an idea."
"What?"
"You'll see."
The mischievous glint in his eyes when he looked at her was maddening.
She tugged on his sleeve. "Tell me."
"You do make it difficult to surprise you, you know."
"Yet you manage. Now tell me what you're cooking up."
He sighed. "If you insist. I'm thinking of enchanting the ceiling of the Great Hall. Wouldn't it be nice to glance up and see the constellations at dinner?"
A smile twitched at her lips as she imagined it. "It could be lovely."
"Of course, I'll have to consult Perpetua," he said. "I'd never hear the end of it if I got something wrong."
"What's the matter, don't you remember your astronomy?" Minerva teased.
"It has been a very long time since my O.W.L." He took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "You, however, did a N.E.W.T. in Astronomy, if I recall correctly, so perhaps you could help me."
"I think I'll stick to Transfiguration and let Professor Fancourt advise you on the constellations."
It didn't take long to walk the length of the street, even with stopping to window shop whenever something interested either of them.
The street and canal ended rather abruptly, and as they watched, several boats disappeared over what looked like, but couldn't actually be, a horizon.
"Where do they come out?" Minerva wondered aloud.
"In the Lagoon," Albus said. "There's a bridge that's been charmed so the Muggles don't notice it, and the boats emerge from under it."
"How do you know that?"
"The International Confederation periodically reviews member states' anti-Muggle concealments and other measures protecting their important wizarding areas," he said. "Italy came up two years ago, and I served on the subcommittee."
"Your work on the Confederation must be interesting."
"Sometimes. But a great deal of it is just rehashing of the same old arguments about trade and the Statute of Secrecy and what we should do about wizarding governments that breech the Confederation's treaties."
"Does that happen often?"
"Occasionally. There are a few regular offenders. Turkey isn't fond of the international ban on flying carpets, for example, so they're quite lax in enforcing it, and when illegal exports start causing too many Muggle-sighting incidents, we push them to crack down, and the Greeks demand sanctions, which we never impose."
"I've never quite understood the ban myself," Minerva said. "Why ban flying carpets but not brooms, if the problem is Muggle sightings?"
"Have you ever been on one?"
"No."
"If you had, it might be clearer. Carpets are larger than brooms and fly lower and slower. Brooms also take Concealing charms much better, and it's easier for Muggles to dismiss a broom sighting as something else. It's much harder to convince oneself that a family of six riding a bright-green Axminster over Tooting Bec is a flock of starlings."
Minerva laughed.
The shadows had lengthened, and Albus used his wand to cast a quick Tempus Charm.
"It's half three," he said. "Are you ready to head back?"
"Yes, but we're not in a hurry, are we?"
"Not exactly, but I'd like to get going. I have some plans for this evening."
"What plans?"
Taking her by the shoulders with an affectionate smile, he said, "My dear, will you ever learn to trust me?"
"I do trust you," she protested. "I just like to know what I'm doing."
"At the moment, you are enjoying a honeymoon with your new husband."
"I am."
It still felt strange to hear him refer to himself as her husband.
"And he would like you to indulge him for a surprise today," he said.
She sighed overdramatically. "Well, if I must, I must."
"Thank you. We'd best get moving if we want to have time for a wash-up and an early dinner."
Minerva quelled her curiosity, and they headed to the portal to Muggle Venice. Before stepping through, they both Transfigured their clothes back to the heavy winter things they'd begun the day with.
The abrupt change of temperature made Minerva shiver, even in her coat, and Albus didn't dare cast another Warming Charm with the increasing number of people about as the day waned, so they hurried out from the Sottoportego de Ghetto Nuovo.
A few blocks from their hotel, they slipped into a deserted alley to remove their Glamours. When they were both back to their normal appearances, Albus smiled.
"That's much better," he said.
"Yes, it is," she said, running her fingers across his now-bearded chin.
The sun was slipping below the horizon, framing the Rialto bridge and its environs in spectacular flames of orange light. By the time they reached the hotel, it was dark.
After a hot bath each, Albus went down to ask the concierge to recommend a restaurant for an early dinner.
A small trattoria ten minutes' walk from their hotel fit the bill, and they enjoyed a light supper of pasta and clams with a carafe of the house white wine. Dessert was a simple fregolatta, an almond crumb biscuit, to satisfy Albus's sweet tooth.
After dinner, Albus hurried Minerva back to the hotel to change.
"What am I meant to be changing into?" Minerva asked as they climbed the stairs to their room.
"If I might suggest the blue evening dress you wore on the train?" Albus said.
"So this is a formal affair?"
"Somewhat. I shall be wearing the tuxedo."
They changed quickly, and Minerva fixed her hair into a more elaborate updo than she normally bothered with. She added her grandmother's emerald earrings to complete the effect.
"You look lovely," Albus said when she emerged from the bathroom.
"Thank you. You look very handsome yourself."
As she helped him with the tie, she said, "I'll need to Transfigure something warm to wear over this gown, or I'll be freezing."
"Already taken care of, my love," Albus said. He gestured to the bed, where a silk cape lay, the blue matching the colour of Minerva's dress. When she inspected it, she found that the lining was of a darker blue velvet.
"Will that do?" Albus asked.
She fingered the soft velvet. "It's beautiful. When did you do this?"
"While you were having your bath this afternoon. I felt like playing a little, so I Transfigured it from my mackintosh."
"It's a wonderful bit of work, Albus. Thank you."
"It was fun. I'll confess I had a peek at the dress so I could match the colour. Shall we?"
They left the hotel arm in arm. Although they could see their breath in the frigid night air, Minerva was comfortable.
"Did you cast a Warming Charm?" she whispered to Albus.
"On the cloak. It should last for a few hours. I'll try to do another before we come back."
She nestled into the cloak's cosy warmth, grateful for her husband's prowess with charms.
They walked about ten minutes until they reached a small square where a crowd, everyone in evening clothes, milled about the colonnaded front of a neo-classical building. As they ascended the steps of what was clearly a theatre, Minerva noticed a golden phoenix above the entryway bearing a badge that read Gran Teatro La Fenice.
"La Fenice—the Phoenix Theatre?" she said.
"Indeed. The name is apt; the theatre has burned several times over the past two hundred years. Yet it keeps rising from the ashes. It's considered one of the most beautiful in Europe."
"And what are we going to see?"
"Tonight we hear Verdi's Il due Foscari. Nicolas recommended it."
"Then I'm sure it's wonderful, but I thought he didn't care for Verdi." Minerva remembered the old alchemist interrogating her on her musical tastes the first time she'd met him. He'd heard almost all the great European composers play or conduct their own work, and he had some very definite opinions on them.
"Verdi isn't among his favourites," said Albus, "but he likes the soprano very much. He heard her sing in concert in Ankara a few years ago. She's a Turk. He says she reminds him of the great Giuditta Pasta, whom he knew."
Minerva smirked. "Of course he did."
Albus chuckled. "Apparently, he developed quite a fancy for her after hearing her in the Norma premiere in Milan. He stood outside the stage door with flowers every night she was on for a month. Perenelle was quite cross with him."
"I imagine she was."
They joined the crowd making its way into the theatre. The foyer, with pink marble, dual staircases, and crystal chandelier was indeed beautiful. Albus left her to admire it while he checked his coat and hat, and her cloak. Minerva was glad she'd let Amelia convince her to buy the blue Muggle gown rather than Transfiguring her dress robes for the trip. Everyone around her was dressed exquisitely.
Albus returned to her side, and they went into the auditorium.
Minerva's breath caught at the splendour of its interior. It rose for five tiers above the orchestra floor, each level dripping with artwork. Not a single inch was unadorned. Gilded sculpture covered almost every surface, and frescoes depicting women and cherubim playing various instruments decorated the boxes. A trio of nereids looked down on the audience from each corner, their white plaster breasts thrust unabashedly forwards, arms entangled in gold vines. The royal box occupied three tiers against the rear wall, its ornate gilding forming a perfect frame for the wealthy and powerful to pose and preen above the masses below.
A woman in a sumptuous white-and-gold brocade gown with a full skirt and ermine stole stood in the box's centre, and even viewed from the ground, the diamond-and-sapphire necklace she wore was blinding.
Minerva's eyes were drawn further upwards. The ceiling was ringed with lace-like gold against a celestial blue. Paintings of young women circled the chandelier, the most stunning Minerva had ever seen. It hung from a gold lace medallion, its many arms seeming to melt down to hover over the stalls, bathing them in the warm electric glow of incandescent light.
Minerva didn't care for excess, but she had to admit that this was the loveliest theatre she'd ever been in. The crowd seemed to sense the special ambiance of this place; the normal hubbub of pre-performance voices was hushed, almost as if they were in church.
A liveried usher showed Minerva and Albus to their seats in the centre-right section of the orchestra.
"I'm sorry we don't have a box," Albus said.
"Don't be silly. This is perfect."
A few minutes later, the conductor mounted the podium to loud applause, and the lights faded into darkness.
The opera, it turned out, was about Venice and its warring leading families. Although Minerva knew little about singing, she thought the soprano was indeed marvellous—at turns regal with passionate fury and abject with grief. At the end, when the ageing doge was stripped of the symbols of office, having lost both his beloved son and his power, Minerva was unsurprised to see Albus dabbing the tears from his eyes with his handkerchief. He'd done the same thing at the first opera they'd attended together several months ago.
The curtain's fall brought many in the audience to their feet, applause thundering through the auditorium as each singer took their bows.
When she and Albus escaped the din of the post-performance theatre, Minerva said, "That was very special. Thank you."
Albus patted her arm. "You're most welcome. I know opera isn't one of your passions, but it would be a shame to miss La Fenice."
"Opera is growing on me." She glanced at her programme. "Madam Gencer certainly pulled out all the dramatic stops."
"She did indeed. Although I thought the baritone was the most affecting."
"'Giangiacomo Guelfi'," Minerva read. "He was good. And the conductor was wonderful."
Albus nodded his agreement. "Serafin really can't be bettered on the podium, at least in the Italian repertoire."
Minerva pulled the cloak around her more tightly.
"Cold?" Albus asked.
"A bit."
He opened his arms. "Come here."
She allowed herself to be folded into his arms, enjoying his warmth, his familiar scent, and the steady beat of his heart echoing through her own body as it pressed against his. This was heaven, she thought.
He kissed the side of her head and murmured a few words. Warmth suffused her.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much, thank you," she said, marvelling yet again at his ability with wandless magic.
"If you're warm enough, shall we stroll a little?" he asked. "Perhaps take a last look at San Marco in the moonlight?"
"That sounds perfect."
The Piazza San Marco was more crowded than Minerva had expected, with chattering groups of young and old out for New Year's Eve. Every café glittered with bright lights, and orchestras of glassware clinked merrily to accompany the alcohol-fuelled laughter of revellers. Albus and Minerva walked around the square, dodging the crowd. The darkened church loomed over the debauchery like a disapproving parent, while the Doge's Palace looked almost mystical silhouetted in the moonlight against a deep black-purple sky.
"I forgot about New Year's Eve," Albus said. "Shall we join the celebrations, or would you rather go back to the hotel?"
Minerva wasn't ready to end the evening, their last in Venice. "I could be persuaded to have a glass or two of champagne."
"Your wish is my command."
They joined a group crowding a bar on the perimeter of the piazza.
"It will be midnight before we get our drinks," Minerva said.
"Hmm." Albus's hand disappeared into his coat. A moment later, the people in front of them shifted and moved away like sheep being herded by a hound, allowing Albus and Minerva to shimmy through the opening and up to the bar.
Albus placed their order, humming—something from the opera, Minerva thought. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he just smiled beatifically.
When they were back outside, champagne glasses in their hands, Minerva leaned close to him.
"What did you do?" she whispered.
"Do?"
"You did something. To make the crowd move."
He grinned at her like a little boy caught in some benign mischief. "Nothing illegal, my dear. Just a bit of a charm of my own devising."
"That's hardly fair."
"No," he agreed. "But I thought it would be all right this once. It is our last night in this lovely city, and I want to enjoy it."
Minerva didn't approve of using magic to gain even a petty advantage over Muggles, but she was grudgingly impressed, once again, by Albus's abilities. A gentle nudge of his magic, and the throng at the bar had parted for them with no more notice than they would have paid a wisp of vapour.
It was moments like these that showed his real power, she thought. He was capable of great feats of magic—making wind and rain and fire do his bidding, for example—but his more subtle charms, the ones that whispered and suggested rather than using brute magical force, were more difficult.
If Albus Dumbledore wanted to, he could turn nations to his will. A chill rushed through Minerva at the thought. She looked at him, at his dear face, with the slightly off-kilter nose, the pinked cheeks, and those twinkling, sea-blue eyes that could envelop you in their warmth or freeze you with their ice, and thanked her personal gods that he loved her and that he had long ago turned away from the pursuit of power for its own sake.
Their glasses emptied, Albus set them on a table with what seemed to be scores of other empties and dead soldiers.
"Shall we?" he said, offering his arm.
Minerva took it, and they crossed the square into the piazzetta to look at the Lagoon, with the bell tower and dome of San Giorgio making ghostly silhouettes in the distance.
"So beautiful," Minerva sighed. "The entire city is magic."
"It is, isn't it?" Albus said.
"Gondola, signori?"
One of Venice's famed boatmen had manoeuvred his craft silently up beside them.
Albus looked at Minerva, eyebrow raised.
She raised one back at him.
"Sí, grazie," he said.
The gondolier offered his arm to help each of them into the boat, and they settled on the narrow, brocaded loveseat in the centre of the gondola. Albus pulled the wool rug the boatman offered over them.
"Warm enough?" he asked Minerva.
"Yes, thanks."
From his spot behind them on the boat's stern, the gondolier asked, "Americani?" as he pushed off from the dock.
"English," said Albus, and Minerva made a face at him.
"English and Scottish," Albus corrected.
"So, where you like to go? Gran' Canal? Or little canal?"
"The smaller canals, please," Albus told the gondolier.
"More privacy," he whispered to Minerva.
Soon, they had left the Lagoon via one of the smaller waterways, passing under houses lit up for the holiday, some with balconies filled with people making merry.
The gondolier rowed them into still narrower canals, where they glided silently along, the only sound the gentle lapping of the gondolier's oar in the water.
Albus leant over and kissed her deeply, his gently probing tongue raising familiar butterflies low in her belly. She should have been self-conscious, with the boatman not three feet behind them, but she wasn't. In the darkness, Minerva felt as if she and Albus were in their own little world, one beyond time, where the only witnesses were the stars that shimmered in the clear, inky sky hanging above them.
Under cover of the rug, Minerva slid one hand up Albus's thigh. He made a faint grunt of surprise when she traced the outline of his penis with her fingers.
He retaliated by nibbling at her ear, tongue circling the delicate shell, and his teeth grazing the sensitive lobe.
Her nipples hardened under the silk of her gown. His breath was heavy and hot as she continued her gentle exploration of the organ that was now straining against his trousers.
"Wicked woman," he whispered against her ear.
"Mmm," was her only answer.
He shifted, and she recognised his murmured spell as a Notice-Me-Not Charm, followed by a Muffliato.
His lips moved to her neck, and he slipped a warm hand into the bodice of her dress to palm her breast. She couldn't prevent the sharp "oh" that escaped her when he pinched her nipple.
She let her head fall back and stretched to glimpse the gondolier. He seemed to be paying them no attention, focussed only on his rowing and avoiding hitting the walls on either side of the narrow canal.
They continued kissing and touching one another as they slipped through the dark canals. Albus moved his hand from her breast to the apex of her thighs to rub her through her gown until she was gasping and pressing her hips up into his palm. Pleasure flooded through her, and Albus cut off the cry that erupted from her with his mouth against hers.
When she had regained her breath, she redoubled her own efforts, pressing her hand against his erection and caressing the tip, until he was trembling. He emitted a slight explosion of breath just as the gondola emerged into the Lagoon, and the dampness Minerva felt a few moments later told her he had come.
It was a minute before he could compose himself enough to cast a quiet cleaning and drying charm on his trousers, while Minerva adjusted her own clothing, smoothing the skirt of her dress. After whispering a Finite, Albus spoke to the gondolier.
"Would you drop us at the Rialto, please?"
"Sí, signore. But is almost midnight. There is the fuoci d'artificio."
"Fuoci d'artificio?"
"Sí. It is …" He raised his hands in the air and made an explosive gesture. "Boom! Very beautiful. You want to see, yes?"
"Ah, fireworks," Albus said. "Yes, please."
"I take you to good spot," said the gondolier.
Boats large and small crowded the Lagoon, but the gondolier deftly manoeuvred his vessel between them, and Minerva and Albus had a good view of the island of San Giorgio Maggiore.
Church bells began to ring. It was midnight.
"Happy New Year," Albus said.
"Happy New Year, my darling."
They joined all the couples on the Lagoon kissing their welcome to 1958.
The fireworks began, coming from behind the island—a brilliant display of golds, reds, and greens that lit up the sky and fell like tiny jewels into the water.
"Did you plan this?" Minerva asked.
"I wish I could claim I did, but I didn't know about the fireworks," Albus admitted. "What a wonderful coincidence."
"It is."
The display ended in a finale of gorgeous explosions that littered the sky with embers that disappeared all too soon into the blackness of the Lagoon.
"I take you back now, yes?" the gondolier asked.
"Could you take us to the Rialto?" Albus asked.
"Sí, signore, but it cost extra."
"That will be fine."
"This is going to be very dear," Minerva whispered.
"I'd prefer to avoid the crowd in San Marco," Albus replied. "Besides, how often will we get to experience a New Year's Eve gondola ride and fireworks show in Venice?"
"Not very often, I expect," Minerva said, settling herself against his warmth, determined not to think about the expense.
The palazzi that lined the Grand Canal were still crowded with revellers enjoying the cold, clear night and the beauty of their ancient city.
"It must be wonderful to have a palazzo here," Minerva said.
"Yes, but you'd miss the Highlands," Albus said. "You don't even like London that much."
"London hasn't the charms of Venice."
"It has its own virtues, though."
"I suppose. But you're right; I am a proper Hieland lassie. But a holiday home in Venice—that could be nice."
"I'm not sure about a palazzo, but if you wanted a holiday home, we could probably manage that."
"Someday, maybe."
It would be nice to leave their regular lives behind for a few weeks during the summer holidays, Minerva thought. Somewhere they could just be themselves. Although it would be hard to find a corner of Europe, anyway, where Albus wasn't famous in wizarding circles. Constantly doing Glamours would become tiresome very quickly.
When they arrived at the Rialto stop, Albus paid the gondolier what Minerva assumed was an exorbitant amount, and he helped her out of the boat.
There were still lots of people out and about, and Minerva took Albus's arm as they walked to the hotel.
"That was the loveliest evening," she said.
"It was. Especially the last part."
"The fireworks?" she said impishly.
"That, and what happened before. You surprised me."
"You weren't too shocked, I hope."
"Not too much to enjoy it. It was rather daring of us, though."
"I doubt we're the first to engage in such activities in a gondola."
"No, but it was a first for me."
Minerva laughed. "That's good to know."
Once back in their hotel room, they readied themselves for bed. Albus slid under the bedclothes next to Minerva after casting a Warming Charm on the room.
Minerva had thought she was played out after the long day and what they had done in the gondola, but Albus's wandering hands and lips persuaded her otherwise.
They made love slowly and gently, and Minerva savoured every moment. As she lay in his arms afterwards, she marvelled yet again at the strength of her feeling for him. It had endured over the twelve years they'd been apart, despite her attempts to ignore it. She'd always thought of herself first and foremost as a rational woman, not one to pine away for any man. While she hadn't exactly pined during their years apart, Albus Dumbledore had never left her entirely. He'd got under her skin and into her heart when she'd been just eighteen, and it seemed that nothing her brain did could alter that. Now, she was glad of it. Perhaps, in this one thing, leading with her heart was the right thing to do.