"Malcolm, what are you doing here?" Minerva asked, regaining her stern tone despite the surprise, while glaring at the spot where her brother's boots had been resting seconds earlier.
"Can't a man visit his sister anymore?" he replied with a playful smile, closing the distance with a relaxed stride.
"It's not that... I just wasn't expecting you," she admitted, adjusting her glasses.
"Well, that hurts," Malcolm placed a hand over his heart with exaggerated drama. "But if it weren't for me, you'd break all contact with the outside world. I consider it my sacred duty to keep these family ties alive before you permanently turn into a castle statue."
"I write to you regularly, Malcolm," Minerva rolled her eyes at her brother's childishness, though a spark of affection softened her expression.
"Letters are scraps of paper, Mini. It's not the same as face-to-face contact." He stepped forward and wrapped his sister in a firm hug. "We need to see each other more. If we're lucky, you visit once or twice a year; I already have enough of a hard time fighting with the kids to get them to visit their parents, I don't want to have to chase you down too. How long has it been since we had a decent family gathering? The whole family together?"
"You're exaggerating..." Minerva grumbled, though she eventually returned the embrace. "You know I have responsibilities; I can't just set them aside for a whim."
"Heh, and you can't take one afternoon for a dinner?" he mocked, pulling back to look at her.
While wizards age slowly, time spared no one. Malcolm noticed his sister's hair was growing increasingly white, a reflection of his own. Perhaps it was this awareness of time passing that fueled his urgency to gather his kin. Though, now that he noticed, despite her hair lightening, she seemed a bit more revitalized than before... perhaps even rejuvenated.
"I'll find a gap one of these days so we can chat properly..." she said quickly, wanting to return to the safety of her thoughts.
"How about right now? At The Three Broomsticks—a couple of butterbeers and a good talk between siblings," he proposed persuasively. "I've already done my research and I know you don't have classes or patrols for the next few hours." He raised his eyebrows, daring her to find a valid excuse.
Minerva looked at her desk, the piles of parchment to grade, and the pending exams to prepare. She was on the verge of a reflex "no," but something stopped her. She felt the weight in her chest, the shadow of Tom, and the stress of the past few weeks. Perhaps, just perhaps, she needed to escape from herself for a moment.
"Fine... let's go," she relented.
Malcolm blinked, genuinely surprised. He had expected to fight a war of attrition to get her out of her office, but Minerva's surrender had been almost immediate.
Soon, both left the Hogwarts grounds heading toward the village. Malcolm did all the talking, spinning anecdotes without pause, while Minerva listened in an unusual silence, allowing herself a faint, tired smile every now and then. Upon arriving at The Three Broomsticks, they headed upstairs for some privacy. Madam Rosmerta greeted them with her usual warmth and soon served two foaming tankards of butterbeer.
Malcolm continued updating her on family news: his wife's successes, his children's antics, and the directions their lives were taking. Minerva participated briefly, asking about her nephews and nieces with a genuine affection that only her family could evoke.
However, every conversation is a two-way street. Malcolm suddenly went quiet, set his tankard on the table, and fixed his eyes on his sister.
"And you, tell me... how has life really been treating you?" he asked with a newfound seriousness. "You seem distracted, Mini. As if you aren't really here. Is there something new you want to tell your favorite brother?"
"Nothing in particular..." Minerva sighed, retreating into the safe harbor of school problems. "There have been attacks at Hogwarts; I assume you've heard. Rumors fly faster than owls." She took a long sip of her butterbeer before continuing. "Albus is doing his best to contain the hysteria, but I don't know how much longer he can sustain the situation. I don't understand why he doesn't put more effort into solving it at the root; sometimes I don't know what he has planned, but I cannot allow the students to remain in danger."
She complained with a stinging sincerity, a vulnerability she only allowed herself to show before her own blood.
"Well... I've heard something. At least, for now, it's only petrified students. No one has died," Malcolm commented, following her with a drink from his own tankard.
"If someone died, I doubt Hogwarts could continue functioning. We'd be repeating the tragedy of fifty years ago," she stated, shaking her head in a gesture heavy with sorrow.
"It seems that castle attracts trouble like a magnet," Malcolm laughed, leaning back in his chair with a gaze tinged with nostalgia.
"How I wish you were wrong," Minerva replied bitterly.
"Anyway, better change the subject before we go into mourning," Malcolm said, letting out a soft laugh to lighten the mood. "What else is new? Any more recognition for your merits in Transfiguration? A promotion on the horizon? Any hobby that isn't grading parchment?"
Malcolm tossed out the questions with his usual playfulness. He knew his sister's monotonous and dedicated life all too well, so his inquiries were usually more of a private joke than real curiosity.
"Have you finally decided to retire? Is there a new man in your life?" Malcolm blurted out as the punchline to his usual teasing.
But this time, the response wasn't the usual huff of indignation or a biting remark.
Minerva turned pale, her mind going completely blank. Her knuckles turned white as her hand tightened around the handle of the tankard with such force that the glass seemed to creak under the pressure.
Malcolm witnessed the metamorphosis in real-time. His eyes widened almost as much as Minerva's, shifting from amusement to absolute shock. He sat bolt upright, leaning toward his sister with an expression of pure disbelief.
"Wait... Mini?! Are you serious?!" he asked, his voice hitching with wonder.
"No! No... of course not..." she replied immediately, but her tone was a discordant note, a denial so rushed and unlike her usual firmness that it gave her away more than if she had confirmed it herself.
"I can't believe it! Hahaha!" Malcolm couldn't contain a laugh of pure happiness. "Finally, Mini. It was about time."
"Be quiet, Malcolm. It isn't what you think," Minerva hissed, though her voice lacked its customary authority.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this!" he exclaimed, taking a large gulp of butterbeer with gleaming eyes. "Seriously, sis, it makes me so happy. It was about time you let your life move forward."
"Malcolm, I'm serious! You are misinterpreting everything..." Minerva tried to regain her stern tone, desperate to halt her brother's assumptions, which were drifting dangerously far from the grim reality.
"I'm not misinterpreting anything, Mini," he countered with a warm, comforting smile. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. It's human, it's natural, and what's happening is wonderful."
"Malcolm!" she shouted, on the verge of fury. She couldn't stand her brother treating a matter that was destroying her inside with such lightness—or worse, such solemnity.
"Minerva, listen," Malcolm adopted a slower, more serious tone. "Urquart was a great man; I know that better than anyone. But that was a long time ago. I'm sure he, more than anyone, would have wanted you to find happiness again."
Minerva was left speechless. She wanted to keep denying it, wanted to scream that there was no love or overcome mourning in this, but a carnal confusion she didn't know how to process. However, her brother's sympathetic and sincere gaze hurt her more than any mockery. He had spent years asking her to rethink her life, gently reminding her that her period of mourning should have concluded.
"Please, Mini... we aren't children anymore. You can't keep hiding like this," Malcolm added, convinced his sister's reluctance was simple shyness or modesty.
"Seriously... Malcolm... it's not what you think," she repeated. This time there was no fire or energy in her words; it was a listless response, tinged with deep sadness.
"Alright, tell me. I'm all ears," he said, reaching out to cover his sister's hand in a gesture of absolute trust. "Tell me... who is the man who managed to break your iron shell?"
"He hasn't broken anything..." Minerva grumbled at the metaphor, feeling a sting of irony as she remembered how, in effect, her defenses had been demolished.
"Aha! So you confirm there is a man!" he exclaimed in a triumphant, playful tone.
"Malcolm!" she growled at the dialectical trap.
"Okay, okay, sorry. I'm just excited," he laughed, unable to help himself. "I really thought I'd never see this day. Now, tell me: who is it? A colleague? Someone I know?"
"No, Malcolm. It's no one..." (Minerva)
"Why the insistence on hiding it? Come on, it's a happy moment. I'm your brother; I have a right to know. If you're going to start a relationship, I want to know who the lucky man is so we don't look ridiculous the next time I run into him." (Malcolm)
"Don't worry, you aren't going to meet him. There is nothing between us." Minerva took a bitter sip, feeling the weight of every word as she tried to close the subject. "He is just... an acquaintance."
"An 'acquaintance' shouldn't have the power to make my sister hide behind so many walls," Malcolm laughed, though his gaze became more penetrating. "That's not how you act, Mini. Tell me, what is going on between you two that makes you feel the need to hide it so deeply?"
"I don't want to talk about this. It doesn't matter," Minerva stated, standing up with the rigidity of a statue. "It was good to see you again, Malcolm, but I have responsibilities to attend to."
Before she could take a step, Malcolm caught her hand. It wasn't a violent tug, but a firm gesture full of compassion that forced her to stop.
"Minerva... what is really going on? You aren't the type to run away," he said softly. "I know you're trying to bury something, but don't you think that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me?"
Minerva looked into her brother's honest eyes and felt her armor fragmenting. In that moment, she wasn't the Transfiguration expert or the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts; she was simply a woman overwhelmed by a secret. She realized her meager Occlumency was useless against someone who had known her mannerisms since childhood.
"Sit down and let's talk. No matter what you say, I'm going to help you," Malcolm added with a small laugh. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to decide to move on? I've always wanted you to be happy, so don't try to hide it anymore."
Minerva couldn't pull away, even though her brother's pressure was minimal. A part of her wanted to flee and forget, but another, more human and exhausted part, desperately needed to unburden herself. Finally, she returned to her seat, her shoulders dropping as her gaze drifted into the void.
"We will only... talk about this now, and we will never mention it again," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the bottom of her tankard. "And it's only to vent. Nothing more."
"Good," he nodded confidently. "Now tell me, who is this gentleman who has managed to make you act like a girl again? It really surprises me; I haven't seen you like this since... well, perhaps never."
"I haven't been very focused these days," she confessed with a pang of shame, recognizing her own weakness.
"Well, maybe that's a good thing. They say love makes you regain a child's innocence," Malcolm laughed. "Besides, now I understand why you look so radiant, as if you were a few years younger..."
"Please... don't call it love," she whispered, feeling nauseous at the attempt to associate that sacred feeling with the carnal and confusing intensity of that night—and yet, she truly had felt much more alive and young since then.