Heart's Desire | Harry Potter for Grown-Ups

Act III

14 August 1995

Dear Amelia,

I'm writing to express my thanks for your efforts with the Wizengamot on Harry Potter's behalf. Albus tells me you made every effort to ensure that that farce of a hearing proceeded fairly and according to established Magical Law, despite the Minister's obvious bias.

As Mr Potter is in my House, I feel very much in loco parentis to him, and I was tremendously relieved to hear of his acquittal. I can assure you that, contrary to Fudge's mischaracterisation of the boy, he is a fine young man, and an honest one. Dumbledore believes that he saw You-Know-Who come back, and for what it's worth, so do I.

Quite aside from troubling recent events, I trust that this letter finds you well and happy.

It really has been far too long.

Warmest regards,

Minerva

14 August 1995

Dear Minerva,

Fair is my job.

Fuck You-Know-Who.

Dinner Saturday?

Yours always,

Amelia

They met for dinner at Atalanta in Diagon Alley.

Amelia had suggested the restaurant, new, noisy, and frequented almost entirely by witches, if the innuendo in the Daily Prophet's gossip column was to be believed.

Minerva recognised it as a test, but she found she was weary of tests. By god, she'd spent enough of her life on them. Let someone else worry about the answers for once. She was fagged out.

Their conversation revolved primarily around the Ministry and its failure to appreciate the changing Dark Lord situation.

"I envy you, Minerva," Amelia said.

"Why?"

"You killed one of those bastards during the last war. Wish I'd had the chance."

"Be careful what you wish for, Amelia. It's no great pleasure to kill," Minerva said softly.

Killing Domnall Rowle had been surprisingly easy, given the situation, although, as she told Amelia, Minerva had taken no pleasure in the act. Her soul had long since been weighed and measured, and she no longer worried over each decision and what it meant. She could not shed her destiny, whatever it might be, but she could apply her own version of efficacious grace.

Minerva reached out a hand and covered Amelia's with it. "I'm sorry," she said. "They never discovered who killed Edgar and his family, did they?"

"No," said Amelia. "Damn," she said, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. "It's been fourteen bloody years. About time I stopped crying over it."

"I don't think so," said Minerva. "There are some hurts one never gets over."

After a few moments of silence, Amelia brusquely changed the subject to Quidditch, and the rest of the meal progressed comfortably.

When the coffee had been drunk and the bill paid, the two witches stepped out into the warm August evening.

Amelia offered Minerva her hand, and she took it. She didn't release it once the requisite moments had passed, but instead clasped it more tightly.