Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore adjusted the paisley ascot around his neck for the third time and smoothed the front of his silk waistcoat.

He was out of sorts, had been all morning, and the constricting Muggle clothes weren't helping affairs.

Quite aside from the discomfort, Muggle attire didn't give one much room for expression, but the thistle pinned to the lapel of his black velvet morning coat picked up the purples of the waistcoat nicely and spiced things up a bit.

Most of the other men, including the groom, were in sober greys, but Elphinstone's tie was a lovely copper and blue stripe, in a nod to his old school house. Truth be told, Albus had always preferred Ravenclaw colours over Gryffindor's red and gold, which had never suited his auburn hair and pale complexion, a situation not much improved by the white mane that now engulfed his head.

Minerva was lovely in understated ivory silk, with a restrained dusting of lace at the neck and cuffs. She wore no veil, only a small spray of baby's breath — the mundane variety, not the kind that actually breathed — to adorn her elegant chignon.

"Ready?" he asked her, sounding more chipper than he felt.

"As I'll ever be," she replied, and took the elbow he offered.

The organist began the hymn, playing at a stately pace, the notes echoing through the small kirk, and Albus and Minerva began their walk.

Two men waited near the altar: one a Muggle, old but still straight and proud despite the walking stick that helped support his thin frame; the other a wizard, less old, but still grey-haired and -bearded, and far plumper than his companion. He was grinning like the Kneazle who had caught the Snidget.

Looking at Elphinstone Urquart's smiling face, a wave of hatred passed through Albus.

Fleeting as it was, it took him aback, this sudden animosity towards a man he'd known and respected for nearly fifty years, and he wondered whence it had come. Perhaps he was running a fever. He had to prevent himself from checking his brow for perspiration.

Minerva squeezed his elbow, and he looked over at her. She was flushed with happiness and fresh and pretty as the spring, as he supposed all brides were meant to be, even those on the wrong side of forty.

The thought hit him with the force of a curse.

I love her.

Only his long experience as a teacher and sometime diplomat kept him from gasping aloud with the shock of it. Instead, he took a deep breath. She glanced at him, and he suspected that the smile he returned didn't quite reach his eyes. She beamed back, then turned her eyes to the man she loved.

Albus was glad for her, truly he was. If anyone deserved the comforts of a loving — though much belated — union, it was Minerva McGonagall.

And yet …

He would rather be anywhere than in this old stone church in the upper reaches of Caithness. Even Nurmengard would be preferable.

Jealousy was not something he had experienced in his long life. Envy, yes. Longing, certainly. But not this, this strange, hot, tight sensation that burned somewhere beneath his sternum. He resisted adjusting his tie again.

Interesting.

Albus's curious mind palpated the idea of loving — of being in love with — his old friend, then filed it away for later examination. Highly inappropriate, he thought, to be considering it while he walked her down the aisle to meet the groom who'd been waiting patiently for her to make up her mind for twenty years.

And then they were there.

Minerva released Albus's arm and turned to her father, who kissed her forehead and murmured a blessing over his only daughter, then crutched to his seat next to Minerva's mother. Minerva joined hands with Elphinstone, and together they faced the minister to be joined until death did them part.

Three days later, Albus sat by the fire in his quarters, a dram of Ogden's best steaming in the glass in front of him, and considered what had happened to him. Or what had been happening to him for some time, unappreciated until now.

It was a considerable problem, and not one he'd ever expected to confront. He didn't fall in love. Not since Gellert, anyway — if love that had been — and certainly not with witches.

And absolutely not with witches he'd taught and who worked for him. (Although, he allowed, "worked for" might be a bit of a misnomer. She ran the school more alongside him than under him, taking care of the administrative tasks he loathed with an adroitness and efficiency that left him somewhat in her power.)

Was this, in fact, love? Or had he, in his mind, warped his friendship with Minerva into something it wasn't? Loneliness had never been a problem. He had several close friends — Minerva included — and many interesting acquaintances, and his disastrous youth had, he supposed, quelled any desire for another romance. It simply wasn't for him. Or he wasn't for it.

Instead, he'd devoted himself to scholarship, and it had fulfilled him. Armando's offer of a job at Hogwarts had been an unlooked-for blessing, the thing he hadn't known he'd needed. Teaching and guiding young witches and wizards had been the best course his life could take. For a long time, it was enough. It was fine. But now, fine seemed anaemic. Fine wasn't good.

When had his feelings for Minerva tipped over from the warm, challenging friendship it had long been to this almost farcical — and surely one-sided — longing for more? His inopportune realisation in the church had hit like a Zeusian thunderbolt, but no doubt these feelings had been building for years. He simply hadn't recognised them for what they were.

His heart didn't beat faster when she came into the room. That was a cliché she would have ridiculed. Besides, they'd been friends too long for her presence to stir any physical longings in him, even if he'd been in the habit of having such reactions. But when she was with him, it was as if the air were more alive, somehow. As if he were more alive.

No, Albus didn't doubt he was in love with Minerva McGonagall.

And he could never tell her.

He had kept himself even busier than usual since the wedding, avoiding spending too much time in the castle, the better to ignore its creeping emptiness.

Of course, it was mostly empty in July anyway, but Albus normally counted on passing at least a few hours a week in Minerva's company, working over issues for the upcoming school term or just enjoying a meal, a talk, or a friendly-but-cutthroat game of chess.

When August rolled around, Albus would normally be eagerly anticipating the start of the new term and the return of the residential teachers, who usually showed up a week or so before the 29 August deadline. Anticipating Minerva, he admitted to himself.

Her presence in the castle was a comfort. When she was in residence, there was always one person he could turn to for help that was as often personal as it was professional. For a stimulating kind of companionship he enjoyed with no one else.

This summer had been duller than most, the castle itself seeming listless and stale. With Minerva and Elphinstone off on honeymoon on the Continent, Albus couldn't owl her with a request for a meeting and perhaps an informal dinner in his rooms over a decent bottle of wine and some lively talk to relieve the tedium.

And, he suspected, the castle would feel even more empty once the students returned and Minerva didn't. At least, not to her quarters in Gryffindor Tower.

Instead, she would move into a cottage in Hogsmeade. With Elphinstone. Leaving Albus alone, metaphorically if not literally.

Thank Merlin he'd persuaded her to remain his deputy. She had no intention of giving up teaching, she'd said when informing him she planned to marry Elphinstone, but she realised she could no longer be an effective Head of Gryffindor while living away, and she'd wondered aloud whether she shouldn't also give up her post as deputy as well.

He'd resigned himself to finding a replacement Head of House but he would never find a better deputy, he'd told her, even if she would henceforth be less available to him. After all, how many headmasters had at their disposal a second-in-command he could call on at any hour of the day or night? Her proximity, he said, had spoilt him, and he would learn to make do with less of her.

Less of her.

That was the awful truth, wasn't it? He now had less of Minerva. And he wasn't sure that less was better than none. Not when less hollowed his insides out, as if he'd had some vital organ torn from his body.

Well, there was nothing for it. He would file this unnerving feeling away, much as he dropped memories in the Pensieve, and get on with the business of running his school and engaging in the scholarly pursuits he'd neglected during the long war.

The thought of a little research cheered him, until he realised he wouldn't be able to run ideas by Minerva, talking them through until the wee hours when they both would retire to their rooms, exhausted but excited by the conversation. She would now depart the castle after dinner, hurrying to her marriage bed, returning in the morning for classes, unless Albus could think up some deputy-related business requiring her early or late attendance on him.

Fawkes trilled wistfully, sensing Albus's melancholy.

"Ah, my friend," Albus said, scritching the phoenix on his plumy neck, "at least you won't leave me behind, will you?"

Fawkes chirruped and nipped at Albus's fingers.

Albus chuckled. "Quite right, quite right. I am feeling rather sorry for myself. I must endeavour to buck up."

Bucking up proved difficult, at least until term recommenced and Albus became too busy to allow his more maudlin thoughts much scope. A new spirit of hope had pervaded Hogwarts since the end of the war, and he wanted to build on it before … well, some things didn't bear thinking about right now. And he had a new staff member to train — this one with special duties only Albus could oversee.

Among the things he'd insisted Severus Snape learn was Legilimency. Snape was already a skilled Occlumens — thank Merlin, or he'd already be as dead as his erstwhile love and her husband — but he'd never focused enough on the art of mind-reading to become as adept as Albus needed him to be.

So, once the autumn term was in full swing and Severus had adjusted, more or less, to an unanticipated career as a teacher and custodian of young witches and wizards, Albus turned his attention to training him to invade minds in addition to moulding them. Unfortunate, but necessary, with what was to come.

What Albus hadn't anticipated was that Severus would quickly become good enough at Legilimency to see even that which Albus shielded most carefully.

It was with considerable shock that he realised Severus had come across his recent thoughts involving Minerva, which he had neglected to put in his Pensieve before their Legilimency session. He hadn't thought his feelings about her would interest the young man enough to pursue them down the labyrinthine corridors of Albus's mind. Not when there were so many other things for Severus to discover there.

When Albus pushed him out of his head — rather more forcefully than he'd intended — Severus sat panting on the stone floor, and, Merlin help us, smirking up at his employer and guardian.

"You love her."

"I …" A lie launched itself into Albus's mouth as he faltered, but his legendary wisdom reasserted itself in time. To deny something Severus had plainly seen would fracture the fragile trust they'd established over the past few months.

"I do," he admitted.

"Does she know?"

Albus sighed. "No. There is no reason for her to know."

He watched Severus consider what, if anything, to do with this information. Albus's mind went back a year to another meeting he'd had with Snape, who'd come to him, red-eyed and wretched, to excoriate him for failing to prevent the Potters' murder. As Albus looked at him now, he suspected Severus was also thinking of that day.

Finally, Snape gave a curt nod.

"Thank you, Severus."

Later, as Albus retrieved his memories of the last days with Gellert and Ariana and Aberforth from the Pensieve, he recalled that conversation, the one in which Snape had insisted Albus tell no one of his love for Lily Potter and his vow to protect her son.

My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you? If you insist …

Albus had kept his word. He wondered if Severus would keep his.

As term progressed, Albus and Minerva settled into a new routine, one which Albus found distinctly inferior to their old one but tolerated because there was little else he could do.

If they didn't spend as much time in one another's company as in days gone by, the time they did spend was as pleasant and stimulating as ever, and Albus did his best to enjoy it. Minerva gave no indication that she'd become aware — either through a deliberate slip of Snape's tongue or via her own well-developed instincts and her long familiarity with Albus's moods and habits — of Albus's deeper feelings.

Then, one afternoon in April, as winter was starting to release its hoary grip on Hogwarts, and the trees and flowers were bestirring themselves to bud again, he almost gave away the game.

They had wrapped up the official portion of their meeting, and Minerva had accepted the offer of a cuppa, which was delivered by the headmaster's house-elf along with some digestive biscuits. The Assam sat gently fragrant between them on the tea table in front of Albus's fire.

The talk turned to subjects of mutual interest. Transfiguration, of course, but also an intriguing Muggle novel Minerva had read, Albus's hopes for a new research project with Nicolas Flamel, and — Albus maintained a falsely pleased expression at this — Minerva and Elphinstone's plans for a summer trip to the Dordogne to visit friends.

Unwelcome images marauded through Albus's mind. Minerva and Elphinstone, walking hand-in-hand through the region's pleasant hills and valleys; stopping for impromptu picnics of strawberries, black truffles, and decadent foie gras; sampling the delightful village wines of Périgord. Albus had done many of these pleasant things with friends, but he'd never shared them with someone he loved. Someone who might take his hand or wipe a blob of jam from his beard with an affectionate laugh or lie sleepy and safe in his arms after a day of overindulgence. These were things he'd never done and never thought of doing until this very moment.

He closed his eyes.

"Albus?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

She was looking at him, a frown of concern drawing her brows together.

"Quite, quite. A little hiccup, is all. Gone now."

Recovering himself, he told her about his travels in the area, mentioning a vineyard that produced a superior sémillon and recommending a lovely inn in La Roque-Gageac.

"The perfect place for a romantic getaway," he said. "Although I'm hardly an expert."

She smiled at the remark, and the stone Albus had carried in his breast since Minerva's wedding grew heavier at the thought that she might pity him.

"More tea?" he asked, to cover his discomfort.

"Thank you, yes." Without waiting for him to play mother, she poured herself another cup and added her customary splash of milk to it.

"This is a treat," she said, stirring, then tapping her teaspoon against the side of her teacup before placing it on the saucer.

"The tea?" Albus asked.

Her lips twitched in mild amusement. "Yes, but also this. You and I having a proper conversation."

"We have conversations all the time."

The look she gave him reminded him of the way she looked at a student who had turned his matchstick into a noodle instead of a needle.

"Yes, about the school and the students and so forth, but it's been ages since we've talked as friends. I've missed it," she said.

"So have I."

Her head cocked as if she were considering a thorny academic question.

"Why haven't we?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why haven't we had a real conversation in … I don't think we've had one since before the autumn term. How can that be?"

"We've been busy, I suppose," he said. "And you no longer visit me in the evenings."

He grimaced inwardly. It had come out more plaintive than he'd intended, like a pouting child. He was about to apologise, but she cut him off.

"That is one of the disadvantages of living away from the castle." She set down her teacup. "We'll simply have to make more of an effort. You know you're always welcome at the cottage. You could come for dinner on the weekend if you like. Elph is a wonderful cook." She gave a light laugh. "Thank goodness, or else we'd starve. He won't even let me in the kitchen when he's cooking."

Albus could think of nothing he'd enjoy less than to than spend an evening as witness to Minerva's domestic bliss.

"Thank you, my dear, that would be lovely," he said. "Of course, it won't be as nice as having you to myself."

As soon as he said it, an intense desire to have an Antipodean Opaleye swallow him whole washed over him. Clearly, there was something wrong with his brain. It had somehow divorced itself from his tongue.

He searched her face for any indication she found his words peculiar, or worse, suggestive, and found none.

"You've had me to yourself for years, Albus, so no complaints about sharing me now," she said.

"No, of course not. I didn't mean to sound churlish."

"You didn't. And I do understand what you mean. This year has been something of an adjustment for both of us." She sighed. "Much as I love being with Elph, living with someone has taken some getting used to. I wasn't accustomed to sharing my private space or having to consider anyone's needs but my own."

"Don't tell me Elphinstone leaves his socks lying around?" Albus said, trying to lighten the somewhat serious turn the conversation seemed to have taken.

"No, he's quite tidy, but he does like far too many blankets on the bed. It's like sleeping in a wool cocoon in one of Pomona's hothouses. It was fine one or two days a month, but every night …"

An alarming image of Minerva cosying up in bed with Elphinstone flashed through Albus's head. He grabbed the last bikkie from the plate and shoved it into his mouth, chewing without tasting it.

"And I know he wants me to take an interest in the garden he's started, but you know how herbology has always bored me," she continued. "Whenever he's talking about some new cultivar, my mind seems to want to focus on Gamp's third law or Quidditch, or…" She threw her hands up in resignation. "I feel dreadfully guilty about it. He's such a dear, and he does love the garden. And I just … don't." She smoothed her hands over her skirt. "Anyway, it's all fine. I'm sure I'm no perfect Hufflepuff to live with. We're working around our respective crotchets and quibbles."

"I'm very glad," Albus said. He hesitated a moment before asking, "And are you happy, Minerva?"

Her smile enveloped him in a warmth he found disturbing.

"Very. I am so fortunate."

"Elphinstone is fortunate as well," Albus said softly.

She put her hand over his. "Thank you for saying so."

The gesture surprised him. Both of them were physically reserved people and didn't touch often. Of course, they had done over the years, but these were generally obligatory social niceties rather than spontaneous expressions of affection. A hand on an arm to get one or the other's attention; a quick cheek-kiss under the mistletoe at the staff Christmas party; even a few dances at various functions they'd been obliged to attend as headmaster and deputy. And none had had any effect on him beyond what might have been expected in context. But this touch sent a frisson of physical awareness through him that wasn't entirely pleasant, although it wasn't unpleasant, either. The simple fact of it left him blinking and wordless.

Thankfully, Minerva didn't seem to notice. She said something about the lateness of the hour and the need to collect some marking from her office, and wished him a pleasant afternoon, then headed home to her fortunate husband.

When she was gone, Albus looked at the hand she'd touched. Her fingers had been chilled, but they seemed to have left behind some heat that still breathed across his skin, a trace of her that remained behind.

His.

Chapter Text

As time passed, a truce emerged between Albus's brain and his heart. When he stopped trying to ignore his feelings for Minerva and began allowing himself to feel them, they stopped being a constant torment. In his sunnier moods, he found it amusing — if everyone only knew that the "great" Albus Dumbledore, with all his power and knowledge, had been utterly flummoxed by what was a normal part of most people's lives. People often forgot he was just a man, and, he admitted to himself, one with little experience of the tenderer emotions.

With Minerva, he tried to behave as he always had. He no longer avoided being alone with her, and when they met, he kept his demeanour warm but professional. She responded in kind, and he relaxed enough to enjoy her company once again.

When, on occasion, his deeper feelings plucked at him, he sat with them without trying to analyse them. This proved a difficult exercise for someone so used to examining every facet of each experience for what it could teach him of nature, of magic, or of himself, but it was essential if he wanted to maintain his equilibrium in the face of his apparently monumental case of delayed adolescence.

Eventually, their friendship reclaimed its normal place in his life.

Almost three years of this emotional détente passed, and then, disaster.

"Headmaster Dumbledore must come to the infirmary as soon as possible."

Governor Micawber, who had been meeting with Albus when the elf popped in, spilled his tea down the front of his yellow silk robe. Albus cleaned it up with a quick twitch of his wand.

"What has happened?" Albus asked.

The elf's spindly fingers wrung his Hogwarts-crested tea towel in agony at being unable to answer the headmaster's question. "Krebbin does not know, sir. Madam Pomfrey only says to bring the headmaster at once."

"That's all right, Krebbin. Thank you. You may tell Madam Pomfrey I'll be there directly."

Krebbin bobbed his head and Disapparated with a crack.

"Oh, dear," Micawber said. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has it well in hand," Albus said, although he had his doubts. He'd rarely been summoned urgently to the infirmary before, and when he had, it had generally meant something dreadful had befallen one or more of the castle's inhabitants.

"If there's anything else you'd like to discuss, I'm afraid we should reschedule it," he told Micawber. "I'm not certain how long I'll be detained."

"No matter, Albus, we've covered the gist of it," Micawber said, rising and collecting the bundle of parchments they had reviewed together. "I can see myself out."

"Thank you."

Albus seldom used Hogwarts's internal Floo network to travel around the castle, but the urgency of the elf's message sent him to the fireplace.

When he stepped out into the hospital wing, the sight that greeted him wasn't the catastrophe he'd feared. Only one bed was occupied, and its occupant, a small boy with his left arm wrapped in a sling, was awake and talking with the matron.

"You called for me, Madam Pomfrey?" Albus said.

She turned, and the grave expression she wore spawned a lumpen knot in his belly. She motioned him to the corner of the room so the student in the bed wouldn't overhear them.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it's about Minerva."

The lump flared into a hot coal of terror.

"She sent word from St Mungo's," Poppy said. "Elphinstone's been taken ill, and it looks serious. I thought you'd want to know right away."

He relaxed a bit, then mentally kicked himself. If Elphinstone was sick or injured, Minerva would be terribly upset.

"Thank you, Poppy. I'll go immediately."

The reception area of St Mungo's was in its usual state of subdued chaos.

A frazzled-looking woman held a laughing toddler whose head alternated between swelling to resemble a pumpkin and shrinking to the size of an apple. An elderly wizard strutted around the room like a rooster, his nose and mouth melded into a flesh-coloured beak that let out the occasional loud squawk. A young woman with a rude word emblazoned in acid-green letters across her forehead tried to hide it with her hands. The backs of said hands bore similar, but shorter, epithets.

The bored-looking Welcome Wizard straightened up when Albus approached the desk.

"Professor Dumbledore. How may I help you, sir?"

"I understand Mr Elphinstone Urquart was brought in some time ago. Can you tell me which ward he's on?"

The wizard consulted a piece of parchment.

"Urquart. Yes, here it is. Third floor, sir."

"Thank you."

The lift doors opened onto a busy corridor. Green-robed witches and wizards moved swiftly through, occasionally stopping to confer with one another. Albus flagged one of them down to ask where he might find Mr Urquart.

The Healer hesitated before answering. "He's in room 304. Professor McGonagall is with him."

When Albus opened the door to Elphinstone's room, Minerva's red-rimmed eyes and ashen face told him what the Healer hadn't.

Without thinking about it, Albus moved to Minerva and wrapped his arms around her. Over her shoulder he saw Elphinstone's still form on the bed, a sheet pulled up high on his chest, his grey beard just brushing the edge. There was no visible sign of what might have caused his death. As far as Albus knew, Urquart had been a hale and healthy wizard, with the expectation of at least a few more decades of life and love ahead of him.

Minerva wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she held.

"Thank you for coming."

"I'm so sorry, my dear. Do they know what happened?"

Minerva's eyes welled up again. "It was a Venomous Tentacula. I found him in the garden. He must have been carrying the thing when it bit him. It was lying next to him, its pot was smashed to bits. I immolated it."

She sniffled and blew her nose into the handkerchief. "They said it probably wouldn't have killed him, but it bit him right in the neck." She looked over at Elphinstone's body. "He was still breathing when I got him here, but there was nothing they could — oh, damn." Tears had overspilled her eyes to roll down her pale cheeks.

She swiped her sleeve across her face. "Poor Pomona will be wretched. She gave him the seedlings, but she mustn't blame herself. He knew how to handle the Tentacula, it was just rotten luck that he …"

Her thin frame jerked as the sobs began in earnest. She clutched at the lapel of Albus's robe as if it were a Portkey to a place where Venomous Tentaculas didn't exist and her husband still did. Albus stayed quiet, letting her cry against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. When she'd wept herself dry, he pulled a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and gently blotted the tears from her cheeks. He handed it to her.

"Thank you." She looked at the damp handkerchief as if examining it. "I expect I'll be needing a lot of these."

"I have plenty more, whenever you require one."

There was a knock at the door, and a young man poked his head in.

"I'm sorry to intrude …"

"It's all right," Minerva said, back straightening. "Come in."

The man, who wore the saffron-yellow robe of a Healer-in-training, stepped through, closing the door gently behind him.

"You probably don't remember me," he said. "Kofi Agbeko. I'm a trainee Healer here."

"Of course I remember you, Mr Agbeko. You were in my N.E.W.T. class a few years ago. Quite adept at interspecies Transfiguration, as I recall."

"You have an excellent memory, Professor." Agbeko's tone darkened. "Please allow me to say how sorry I am for your loss."

Minerva dabbed at her eyes again. "Thank you."

"I'm here to see if there's anything you need and to help you with any arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"Yes. Er … where you'd like us to send the — Mr Urquart. Or if you don't know yet, we can keep him here until you've decided."

"I see." Minerva turned to Albus, suddenly all business. "The Urquarts have a family plot in the wizarding section of Greyfriars, but he said once he'd prefer to be next to me in Canisbay. I'll need to contact them to see if there's space."

Albus marvelled at her ability to change on a Knut from grieving widow to efficient administrator.

"Take your time, Professor," Agbeko said. "I just wanted to make sure you knew there was help if you needed it."

"That's very kind, thank you, but I think I can manage. If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll contact the funeral home and let you know where to have him sent."

Agbeko nodded. "Very good, Professor. Again, please accept my condolences."

"Thank you, Mr Agbeko."

Minerva only put up a small fight when Albus insisted on accompanying her to Grimsby & Grimsby and then to Caithness. Minerva's father greeted the news of Elphinstone's death with a stoicism Albus recognised in his daughter, patting her hand and offering words of sympathy. Minerva's mother said nothing, only held out her arms. Minerva filled them, and the pair wept together for a short time as Robert McGonagall looked on, his jaw set but his eyes moist.

Albus almost wished he hadn't come — his presence felt like an intrusion on the McGonagall family's private grief — but when Minerva finished her cry, she pulled Albus into a tight embrace.

"I don't know what I'd have done without you," she whispered.

She let him go and said to her parents, "He came to St Mungo's right away and helped me with the arrangements at the funeral home. He's been such a comfort."

"Thank you for taking care of Minerva in her hour of need," Isobel McGonagall said. She kissed Albus's cheek, making him blush.

Minerva's father took his wife's and daughter's hands. "I'd like to offer a prayer for Elphinstone." To Albus's surprise, Minerva grasped his hand. He bowed his head as Reverend McGonagall spoke.

"Almighty and ever-living God, through whose only son, Jesus Christ, we are granted everlasting life, we thank you for the life of our brother Elphinstone and the blessings you have shown him. Receive him to your bosom now and let the mercy and comfort of your grace sustain his friends and family, especially his beloved wife, Minerva, with the hope of your eternal peace. Amen."

Elphinstone was buried in the Muggle kirkyard in Canisbay, with a space reserved beside him for Minerva. Albus avoided looking at the empty plot next to the fresh grave. Minerva had asked him to come, and he stood with her, her father, mother, and brother as she bade farewell to the man she'd loved for many years and lived with for less than three. She clutched Albus's arm as she tossed a handful of dirt on the coffin.

Albus also attended the public memorial. Before his retirement, Elphinstone had been an important man, a lawyer and a high-ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it seemed everyone who had ever worked with him over his long career had turned out to pay their respects. Minerva's family didn't come, but Elphinstone's niece and nephew — his only living relatives — were there, as were Minerva's colleagues and friends. She offered dry-eyed comfort to them, as if they rather than she were the most bereaved.

After the last guest had offered tearful condolences and was seen on their way, Minerva seemed to crumple in on herself, sinking into a plush chair near the fireplace that warmed the Leaky Cauldron's magically expanded private room.

"You're exhausted."

Minerva looked up through weary eyes.

"Albus. You're still here."

"As long as you need me. Or would you rather be alone right now?"

"No. I've the rest of my life to be alone." Her lips curled in disgust. "What a self-pitying thing to say. Sorry."

"I can't think who's more entitled at the moment."

"Still …" She gestured for him to sit. "Have a drink with me."

He Summoned a bottle of Ogden's and a pair of clean glasses and poured them each a dram.

She raised her glass. "To Elph."

"To Elphinstone."

They clinked, and she downed her whisky in one swallow. Albus sipped his and watched her as she closed her eyes and put the back of her hand against her forehead.

"It really is a barbaric custom," she said after a minute.

"What is?"

"Making the bereaved host a bloody party when someone dies."

"It must have been difficult. You did admirably, my dear."

"You were a tremendous help."

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"Your presence, Albus. It means a great deal."

Her words warmed his belly more than the whisky did. Her eyes were still closed, and the combination of the liquor and the fire flickering in the grate made Albus's lids heavy. What she said next jolted him from his soporific haze.

"I loved him, you know."

The pinpricks of jealousy that used to dance under Albus's skin at the thought of her loving Elphinstone were absent, replaced by a sympathetic ache that pushed at his chest.

"Of course," he said.

"A lot of people thought I married him out of pity, or desperation, or some rubbish like that." She glanced at him. "Is that what you thought?"

"Not at all. I know you loved him. If I hadn't believed that, I would have —"

"What?"

His tongue flailed around for a moment while his brain tried to come up with an acceptable response. "I would have tried to persuade you not to do it. I don't imagine you would have been happy with a marriage of convenience."

"No. No, I wouldn't. Merlin, but I'm going to miss that man." She gestured impatiently at the whisky bottle.

Albus poured her another finger of Ogden's and continued to sip at his own.

When they'd finished their drams, Minerva stopped by the main room to thank Tom the barman for the food and drink. Albus saw her home to the cottage in Hogsmeade and, reluctantly, left her to her grief.

Several days after the memorial, Severus came to Albus's office to make his regular report on the activities of known but unindicted Death Eaters. He told Albus what he'd observed and heard during his visits to Lucius Malfoy's estate and said that there continued to be no sign of the Dark Lord emerging from wherever he might be lurking.

As usual, their conversation was stilted and uncomfortable. Albus tried to initiate some friendly, avuncular chat, but Severus's responses were so curt and sharp they might have cut glass. With a sigh, Albus dismissed him.

When Severus reached the door, he stopped and turned back. A crooked line contorted his lips into something approximating an unpleasant smile.

"By the way, congratulations."

Albus gave him a quizzical look.

"A stroke of luck for you, Minerva's husband's death," Severus said. "If you weren't such a devotee of the Light, I'd almost think you arranged it."

Albus barely prevented a burst of magic escaping and peeling the skin from the boy's ugly face.

"That is beneath you, Severus." Albus's voice might have frozen Fiendfyre.

The sneer faltered and melted into an expression Albus couldn't read. Perhaps Snape was Occluding.

"Goodnight, Headmaster."

Once the door had shut, Albus exhaled a shaky breath.

He was accustomed to Snape's animosity — the young man resented him even as he yearned for his forgiveness — but his remark had landed too close to a question Albus had been avoiding asking himself.

Kneeling by the hearth, he poked irritably at the logs in the grate. A swarm of angry sparks rose in a flurry that nearly singed his beard. He paced around his office for a few minutes before returning to his comfortable chair and sitting back to think.

He couldn't dispel the notion that his feelings for Minerva had somehow held the force of a curse which had doomed Elphinstone. Albus didn't believe in such magic, but the idea had nevertheless burrowed into his brain and plagued him with sleepless nights and bleary days since he'd stood in the hospital room consoling her.

For the next hour, he examined his conscience in excruciating detail. He was no saint, but he could honestly say he grieved Elphinstone's death. His feelings had been complicated, but his envy had managed to coexist with his regard for the man. More importantly, Elphinstone had made Minerva happy, and Albus had taken genuine pleasure in her happiness. Minerva's pain and grief hurt him as much as any of his own had ever done, and he would have given his wand hand to ease it.

When the hour was up, Albus had come to the conclusion he had never wished any evil to Elphinstone, even subconsciously. The realisation was like exhaling a breath he'd been holding. He slept well for the first time in ages.

A few days later, Minerva came to him to ask if she could move back into the castle. The Hogsmeade cottage was too empty without Elphinstone, she said.

When she had reclaimed her rooms in Gryffindor Tower — the teacher Albus had practically blackmailed into becoming Head of Gryffindor relinquished the post gratefully — he refrained from calling on her at odd hours or inviting her for a drink or a game of chess in his private quarters after dinner.

But as the months wore on, and the rawness of Minerva's grief mellowed into a more muted sort of pain, she began to call on him, and he allowed himself to relish her company without the shadow of Elphinstone's death stalking him. By the time several years had passed, he almost didn't remember she'd been married at all. Almost.

Chapter Text

February of 1989 was the wettest month Hogwarts had seen in decades. The rains were biblical, even for a region as accustomed to soggy weather as the Scottish Highlands. Widespread flooding wreaked havoc with Muggle travel, especially after the Ness viaduct collapsed, cutting off the north of the country from its south. Witches and wizards, of course, were less inconvenienced, having their own methods of transport which were unaffected by the weather. Still, everyone said, it was very wet.

It had been coming down Kneazles and Crups for days, with howling winds, and Albus was as restless and tetchy as any of the students. Not that he was the outdoorsy type, but he did like a brisk walk around the grounds before dinner when he could get one. The unrelentingly foul weather affected the other staff, too, even Pomona, whose usual cheerful demeanour had sunk into a mild gloom. At dinner, she complained about having to hold her classes in the greenhouses for the fifth day running, and snapped at Silvanus when he said she was lucky she didn't have to move the Thestrals into covered stalls.

After dinner, Albus returned to his office, intending to catch up on his perpetual backlog of correspondence, but found himself gazing out the window at a gothic sky. He wondered if he'd ever see the stars behind the clouds again.

A knock pulled him from his thoughts.

"Enter."

It was Minerva. Perhaps she'd come for a game of chess or a talk, or even some bit of school business. It wouldn't matter to Albus; the sight of her lifted his spirits, as it always did.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said.

"Never. Can I offer you something? A cup of tea or a nightcap, to chase off the doldrums of this dreary day?"

His heart sank a little when she said, "No, thank you. I won't keep you, but I wanted to let you know I'll be out of the castle this weekend. Pomona's agreed to look after Gryffindor for me."

"That's fine, of course. Are you going to see your mother?"

Minerva's father had died the past autumn, and Minerva worried about Isobel being lonely in Caithness.

"No." Her hands fussed with the edges of her robe. "Don't laugh, now, Albus, but I'm going skiing."

He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd told him she was taking up the bodhran and going on the road with the Weird Sisters.

A moment passed while he digested this information. "I see. And what has prompted this new interest in winter sport, if I may ask?"

"It isn't my interest, it's Rufus's. His family has a chalet near Champéry, and he's invited me for the weekend."

A stony dread compressed Albus's chest.

"Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you'd been seeing him."

"Yes, well. I wasn't sure I would. Be seeing him, I mean. So I didn't mention it before."

"But you are seeing him now?"

"I suppose I am."

Albus swallowed audibly.

"And is it serious?" he asked.

She shrugged. "We enjoy one another's company."

"You must enjoy it quite a bit if you're going to spend a weekend together in the Alps. It sounds very romantic."

He tried to keep his tone light but was afraid it had come off as smarmy.

Minerva didn't notice. "I don't know about that," she said, "but it will be nice to get away from this rain."

"Well."

Words seemed to be beyond him. Finally, he managed a weak, "I hope you have a good time."

"I think I will, even if I don't manage the skiing." She watched him as if waiting for him to say more. When he didn't — he couldn't — she said, "Good night, Albus." She looked at him for a moment longer, then headed for the door.

"Minerva?"

She turned back to him. "Yes?"

"Don't…"

She frowned. "Don't what?"

"Don't break a leg."

She blinked several times before answering.

"I don't intend to."

The weekend Albus passed was among the most miserable of his life. The jealousy he'd suffered during Minerva's marriage flooded back, made worse this time because it was his own bloody fault.

He'd become complacent about her. Once she'd returned to the castle and they'd re-established their former, comfortable friendship, Albus had allowed himself to fall into his old mode of near-contentment, settling for what they had rather than what he really wanted. He hadn't pursued the deeper relationship he longed for because the risk of pushing her away had seemed unbearable. So he'd simply let things go on as they always had.

Now, history was repeating itself. Minerva might once again be slipping away before his eyes, falling in love with the attractive Head of the Auror Office. Who apparently had a wealthy family and a cosy chalet in the Swiss Alps.

Albus decided he was the most foolish so-called genius ever to wield a wand. Not to mention a coward unworthy of the House of Gryffindor.

He spent Saturday attempting to read a book he'd received for Christmas and trying not to think about what Minerva might be doing. That evening, Filius came by, and Albus lost three games of chess in a row to him. Filius asked him if he was feeling all right.

Albus mumbled something vague about the weather and a headache before sending Filius on his way with reassurances that he'd be right as rain — no pun intended — come Monday.

After a Sunday in which he accomplished little in the way of work and less in the way of relaxation, he took to his bed earlier than usual. Sleep, however, did not knit up the ravelled sleeve of his cares; it didn't even have the courtesy to turn up.

His thoughts roiled with wherefores and what-ifs, and at half-past three, Albus was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He tore off the bedclothes and shoved his feet into his slippers. The February chill hit him like a scourge, so he tugged on his dressing gown and stalked to his sitting room, using his wand to raise a fire in the grate.

He plopped down in his favourite squashy chair to think.

Point the First: He loved Minerva McGonagall.

Point the Second: Minerva was newly embarked on a romantic, possibly intimate, relationship with Rufus Scrimgeour.

Point the Third: The thought of Minerva in love with someone else rendered Albus utterly unable to function as a normal adult human, much less as the headmaster of one of the world's most prestigious schools of magic.

It was obvious but terrifying.

He had to tell her.

Gods.

On Monday morning, Minerva was seated to the right of the headmaster's chair as usual, talking quietly with Pomona.

She glanced up at Albus as he took his seat and gave him a warm smile.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning." Because she'd expect it, he asked, "How was your weekend?"

"Fine, thank you." She helped herself to a scoop of porridge from the serving bowl that had appeared in front of them.

"Just … fine?"

"Mmm."

She obviously didn't want to elaborate, which could be a good or a bad sign. Either she'd had a terrible time and didn't want to talk about it, or worse, she'd had a marvellous time and didn't want to talk about it to him.

"Ah. Well. That's good, then," he said.

The look she gave him was straight from her book of professorial expressions for use with eager-but-dim students.

He didn't dare initiate any other conversation with her, so he turned to his left and spoke with Filius about the latest article on magical security spells from The Charming Times.

The clink of silverware against plates and the hubbub of conversation reached Albus's ears as if through cotton wool. He managed to drink a little tea and was pushing his eggs around on his plate when Minerva folded her napkin and rose to go. He put his hand on her arm before he could talk himself out of it.

"My dear, would you have time for a visit this evening after dinner?"

"Of course. What do you want to discuss? Should I bring the budget projections for next term?"

"No, I just fancied a chat. Why don't you come up to my sitting room rather than my office? We could have some hot cocoa and a game of chess, if you wanted."

"That sounds nice. I'll have a bit of marking to do first, so why don't we say nine o'clock?"

"Perfect."

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Albus hoped none of the letters he'd answered concerned anything important, because he couldn't remember what he'd written in response.

Dinner was torture. The house-elves served toad in the hole with roasted potatoes and mashed peas, a meal Albus had loved since childhood, but he could barely eat any of it.

During dessert, Filius looked at him with jovial grin. "Trying to reduce, Albus?" he asked.

"No, why?"

Filius glanced down at the pristine wedge of treacle tart on Albus's plate.

"You haven't touched your pudding." His brows furrowed in concern. "Are you still feeling under the weather?"

Minerva swivelled around in her chair. "Have you been unwell, Albus?"

"Not at all. I had a late tea this afternoon, and I'm afraid I overindulged in the digestive biscuits."

"If you want to postpone our chat this evening, that would be fine."

"No, no. I've been looking forward to it."

This was a lie, of course; he was dreading it like a Dementor's kiss, but his need to do something to end his current paralysis, even if opening his heart to Minerva destroyed their friendship, overcame the dread.

"Good, so have I," she said, pushing back from the table. "I'll see you soon."

The fire crackled in the grate, the cocoa steamed under its Stasis charm, and Albus paced the floor from window to settee and back again, his fingers laced behind him.

The knock, although expected, nearly stopped his heart.

He waved the door open with a bit of wandless magic.

"Come in. I've got the cocoa ready to ward off the chill."

"Lovely." Minerva went to the fireplace, turning her hands over and back to warm them. "Will this weather clear up soon, do you think?"

"I hope so. If not, we may need to cancel this Hogsmeade weekend. The path will be flooded, and I fear losing some of the younger ones to the mud."

"Hagrid's the official chaperone, but I could accompany him and cast some spells to make it passable."

"I wouldn't want you to go to the trouble." Albus gestured to the settee. "Here, come sit by me and have some cocoa."

She settled next to him, and he poured out two mugs.

"Thanks, that hits the spot," Minerva said after taking a sip. "Do I detect a hint of cinnamon?"

"Yes, and a touch of Aleppo pepper."

"Really?"

"I first had it this way in Constantinople. Or Istanbul, now, I suppose. I thought you'd enjoy it."

"I do. The spices cut the sweetness nicely."

They were quiet as they sipped their chocolate, Albus minutely aware of her throat rising and falling as she swallowed, and of her leg so close to his on the settee.

She put down her cup and exhaled, relaxing against the back of the seat. "This a pleasant way to end a long, dreary day."

"Was it dreary?"

"Mmm. Almost none of my third years managed a decent Flobberworm-to-quill Transfiguration."

"The first sentient-to-insentient Transfiguration is always difficult."

"Yes, but we've been working on it for two weeks. I had expected a few more of them to have the hang of it by now."

"Some groups seem to have more difficulty than others with some classes of spell, as I'm sure you know. I always thought there was a sort of contagion about it … the first one or two students have trouble, and before you know it, the whole class is struggling."

"It's a confidence problem," Minerva said.

"Exactly."

"Well, whatever it was, it was thoroughly disheartening."

"I'm sure it will improve soon."

"I certainly hope so." She took another sip of cocoa, holding onto the cup and warming her hands against the bowl. "Did you see Hockstetter's article in this month's Transfiguration Today?"

"Not yet."

"Don't bother. It was dreadful."

"I'm not surprised," Albus said. "I'm almost embarrassed to have been his teacher."

"Did you teach him? I'd have thought he was too old."

"He was a seventh year when I started teaching. He did his N.E.W.T. with me."

Wonderful, Albus thought. Remind her of your age.

"You obviously didn't have much influence on him," she said. "He'd never have had half the doaty ideas he's put forth if he'd had more than a year of you."

"You give me too much credit."

"Not at all. I happen to have no small opinion of my own skills — the current crop of third years notwithstanding — and I learned them all from you." She put her cup down and peered at him.

"You know, Albus, you really do look a bit peely-wally. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

He sighed. Now was clearly the time to broach the subject he wanted to talk about most and least.

He set his cocoa down and looked into his lap. "No," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I'm not."

Alarm pitched her voice an octave higher than normal. "What's wrong? Have you seen Poppy?"

"It isn't that kind of problem."

He glanced back up at her. The confusion that clouded her features was mixed with a concern that squeezed at Albus's already overtaxed heart.

"What kind is it?" she asked.

He forced himself to meet her gaze. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I've kept to myself for far too long."

The pops and crackles from the fire emphasised the long pause that followed as she waited for him to continue.

"Albus?" Her eyes searched his face for some clue about his strange behaviour.

He took a deep breath and let his heart heave itself into his mouth.

"I love you, Minerva."

No sign of shock registered on her features. "Of course. And I love you. You are my dearest friend."

To a saner man, her words would have been comforting, but the ease with which she said them made his teeth clench.

"I mean that I am in love with you."

His world collapsed with her sharp intake of breath.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his chest caught with a sob he couldn't suppress. Suddenly, he was crying. His head fell forward, his tears falling to stain the silk of his robe.

The surprise of her arms coming around him slowed but didn't stop his weeping.

"There now. It's all right," she murmured. "It's all right. Let it out."

He gave in and allowed himself to cry against her for a few minutes.

When the storm had eased, he pulled out of her embrace. "I'm so sorry." He fished his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. "I'm sure you thought you'd left adolescent drama behind when you came up here."

"Albus, look at me."

It was difficult to meet her eyes, but he did as she asked.

"You said you'd kept this secret for a long time."

"Yes."

"How long?"

"I … I first realised it shortly after you married Elphinstone."

Now shock showed in her face. "Oh, Albus."

"Please don't pity me, Minerva."

"It isn't pity, it's compassion. It must have been so difficult for you."

He dared not respond for fear of a new round of weeping, so he blew his nose and took a sip of his now-tepid cocoa.

"When you say you are in love with me," she said carefully, "what exactly does that mean?"

"Mean?"

"Yes. What does 'in love' mean to you?"

He hadn't thought about it before — he just knew it was how he felt for her — but he considered it now.

The words, as they came tumbling out of him for the first time, were a release.

"It means I think about you more than I do about anyone else. It means seeing you is the best part of my days. When something interesting or amusing or wonderful happens, the first thing I want to do is share it with you. When something awful happens, I need your comfort. The thought of you not being in my life is utterly unbearable. You … the fact of you … makes me want to go on. Makes me happy."

Her eyes filled, and he didn't know what that meant, so he stayed silent and waited for her to say something.

Finally, she did.

"That may be the loveliest thing anyone's ever said to me." She shook her head as if to clear it and stood. He feared she might be about to flee his rooms, but she only walked to the window and stared out at the glowering sky outside.

After a few moments, she turned back to him. "Forgive me, Albus, but I always thought you preferred men."

Ah, yes. The Thestral in the room. He'd expected her to bring it up — assuming she hadn't laughed herself breathless at his foolishness — and his answer was one he knew she'd find inadequate. But it was the only one he had.

"I don't know as I prefer anyone," he said.

"But what about —"

"Grindelwald?" he finished.

She let out a breath as if relieved he'd said it rather than she. "Yes."

"I was infatuated with him," Albus admitted. "He was brilliant and exciting. He told me I was brilliant and exciting. He made me feel he understood me, which was like a dose of Amortentia to a lonely eighteen-year-old. I thought he loved me. Of course I thought I loved him."

"Did you desire him?"

"I can't answer that with any certainty. It was a long time ago, and my feelings are so muddled up with what happened later, it may be they are too tainted for any honest reflection. But I do know I was eager to please him and flattered that he wanted me. I … I enjoyed being close to him."

"But you say you're unsure if you want anyone."

"I haven't felt … physical desire for anyone in a very long time. Possibly, I'm simply not built that way. Or maybe I haven't permitted myself to feel it. I'm not entirely certain."

She nodded slowly. "I see." She took a visible breath. "Albus, we have a problem."

"Of course. If I've made you uncomfortable, Minerva, then I'm —"

"It isn't that. The problem is that it feels right."

His head was cottony and dull. "It feels …?"

"Right, Albus. It feels right."

She couldn't possibly mean …

"The things you said about how you feel," she said, "I feel them too. It didn't occur to me that I might be in love with you because, frankly, I didn't want to be."

"That is completely understandable."

She was quiet, contemplative. He supposed he should be nervous, shaking with pent-up anxiety over what he'd just done, but somehow, he felt calmer than he had in days.

"Have I just destroyed our friendship?" he asked.

"Not at all. But you have changed it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She turned back to the window. He resisted the impulse to go to her. She was thinking, and she never appreciated being interrupted when she was deep in thought.

He stared into the fireplace, watching the flames dance and form shadows on the stone. Perspiration tickled at his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was the warmth of the fire or nerves making him sweat.

The minutes ticked onward, and he observed her. She was utterly still, utterly Minerva. Back ramrod straight, black hair confined in its tight bun, not a piece out of place, her deep-green velvet robes, flattering but not fancy, falling in a nearly straight line from shoulders to ankles. Nothing about her suggested her emotions about the seismic shift that he'd forced into their midst.

When she finally turned back to face him, he almost startled.

"It could be a disaster," she said.

"It could."

"You are my superior, and I'm next in line for your position."

"True."

"No one could ever know. If anyone suspected, it would scuttle my chances at becoming head after you. And even if it didn't, everyone would believe I'd traded my dubious favours for professional advancement."

"No one who knows you would believe that," he said.

"Perhaps not everyone, but it would be whispered about. It always is, when a woman achieves something."

He nodded in acknowledgement of this truth. "I'm not asking anything of you, Minerva. I realise I'm hardly anyone's idea of a perfect romantic partner."

"I don't need a perfect romantic partner," she said. "I don't need a romantic partner at all. In fact, it's probably best for all concerned that I don't take one."

"Not even Rufus Scrimgeour?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Rufus is neither here nor there."

"I thought you were seeing him."

"I was considering it. Switzerland convinced me that we weren't suited."

He gave her a wan smile. "I probably shouldn't tell you how much that relieves me."

She smiled back. "No, you probably shouldn't."

What she said next pulled heat into his cheeks.

"Do you desire me?"

"I … I don't know."

This rather wishy-washy response elicited a huff of frustration from her, as he should have anticipated it would.

"The best answer I can give you is that I'm not sure if I feel desire for your body, but I do feel desire for you," he said.

Her expression told him this answer was hardly more informative than his first. "Would you want to take me to bed?" she asked. "Is that going to be part of this, or is it off the table, so to speak?"

He felt his blush grow. It wasn't that he was a prude or uncomfortable with the idea of intimacy, but talking about it wasn't something a man of his generation did easily. It took him another moment to realise the implications of what she'd said.

"You mean you'd consider becoming …" He searched for the right word.

"Lovers," she supplied. "Whether or not it includes sex, that's what we'd be, is it not?"

Her pragmatism and forthrightness were a relief. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Despite all the arguments against it, I rather feel it could work."

He'd always believed it a foolish cliché found only in Knut romance novels, but Albus's heart did seem to be leaping in his chest.

It sobered a little when she said, "But you haven't answered my question."

"About … bed."

"Yes."

He rubbed his hairy chin, as he often did when confronted with a question he hadn't anticipated and for which he had no ready answer. He forced himself to consider the question of sex in the context of himself and Minerva. The specifics of the act were not a mystery to him, yet he had a hard time envisioning doing them — the things he had done with Gellert had gone everywhere but there — but thoughts of holding Minerva, of being allowed to touch her, of her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, her hands stroking his skin — these were welcome. If other activities ensued from those, it would be natural, he supposed.

He said, "I don't know how or if I would please you, but if you aren't afraid of being terribly disappointed, I would be honoured to take you to bed."

The smile that bloomed on her face made him want to sing.

"I wouldn't be disappointed," she said. "No matter what happened. Or didn't."

"You wouldn't?"

"No. I will admit, I've missed sex since Elph died, but it's more the closeness than anything else. If we find that you can't manage it or don't care for it, I can always make do with my own hand if needs must."

Albus's blush returned full force.

"I've embarrassed you," she said.

"Not at all, my dear. I'm simply not accustomed to talking about such things."

"It isn't among my usual topics of conversation, either" she said, "but I think it's best to have it all out in the open before we embark on anything."

"Quite right." He hesitated only a moment before asking, "And do you … find me desirable?"

"I do."

"I am a great deal older than you …"

"That's not exactly news to me, Albus," she said tartly. "Elph was older than I, and it was never a problem for me, in bed or anywhere else. He occasionally needed the help of a potion, but it didn't matter in the slightest."

Despite his discomfort with the topic, a small knot of anxiety released in Albus at this information. He was fairly certain his equipment was still in working order, but it had been some time since he'd had proof of it. It was a relief to know that Minerva would take any need for additional assistance in stride.

"Aside from everything else about you I find attractive, you are quite fit." Minerva continued with a smirk. "Far fitter than any centenarian with a sherbet lemon addiction has a right to be."

Albus laughed. "My dear Minerva. You are so delightfully Presbyterian."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes."

"If you find me so delightful, maybe you'd like to kiss me?"

Without waiting for an answer, she came up to him and cupped his still-hot cheek with her palm.

"Or don't you like kissing?" she whispered.

"I would like to find out."

She pressed her mouth to his.

The kiss wasn't deep, but her lips were pliant and tasted of cocoa. It was gentler than he recalled from his time with Gellert.

He forced that thought back and concentrated on Minerva and the warm, sweet moisture of her mouth.

After a few moments, she pulled back, blinking. "And?"

"I think I can say definitively that I like kissing," he said, and she laughed. He initiated the next kiss, allowing his lips to part slightly. The sensation of her tongue taking up his tentative invitation and running gently across the inside of his lower lip sent a small thrill through him, and he found his tongue responding.

His arms came around her waist and hers moved to his neck as the kiss continued.

They were closer than they'd ever been, and the experience was heady, almost overwhelming. She was pressed to him, and he inhaled her scent even as their mouths continued to explore. He relaxed and allowed himself to feel her body against his, acknowledging the terrain there, hard planes and angles relieved by soft peaks and gentle curves. Her fingers danced at the nape of his neck, sending pleasant shivers through him. The velvet sheathing her waist was soft under his palms, the nap's friction electric under his fingers as her rubbed them against it.

When they broke, he was breathless, and it pleased him to see that she had gone a bit pink in the cheeks.

Their arms were still around one another, and neither seemed eager to move. But Albus thought they'd be more comfortable on the settee, so he pulled her towards it.

They sat, without releasing one another. "You are possibly the most extraordinary person I've ever known," he said.

"Hardly."

"The fact that you're still here is proof of it," he insisted. "Most women, when confronted with a so-called 'confirmed bachelor' of over a hundred with little in the way of romantic experience would run screaming from the room."

"Your kissing skills aren't so poor as all that, Albus. Please, don't stop."

"You are —"

"I mean, don't stop kissing."

He grinned at her. "You mean, stop talking nonsense."

"Precisely."

The kissing proceeded apace, and she moved her warm palms to rest against his chest. It gave Albus the courage to allow his hands to roam — over her shoulders, her arms, her cheeks, and, daringly, the sides of her chest. The small mew that escaped her told him she approved of his efforts. Or at least, he hoped that's what it meant.

He endeavoured to elicit more sounds and let his palms come up to cup her breasts. Her nipples made themselves known to him, hardening under her bodice. When he moved his thumbs across them, her breathing grew heavy. She nipped gently at his lips, then soothed them with soft kisses that moved from his mouth to his cheeks, and then over his closed eyelids.

He had never been touched like this. His adolescent explorations with Gellert had been hard and fast, borne of a need to capture the quicksilver moment of erotic discovery. This was very different. It was erotic in its own way, but there was no desperation in the way he touched Minerva, nor in his desire to have her touch him. She simply filled his senses.

Their mouths met again, and he wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her even tighter into his embrace. He broke the kiss to move his lips down the fragrant path of her neck, moving her collar aside to run his tongue over her collarbone. He was nearly drunk with her, but her gasp sobered him slightly.

He sat back and took her hands in his, his heart still thumping madly in his chest.

"I hope I haven't overstepped."

"Not at all. That was very nice."

"It was. But as nice as this is, it's getting late. And I suppose we ought to proceed carefully."

"Yes," she agreed. "This was a lovely beginning, and much as I'd love to invite you to stay with me tonight, we ought to consider the practicalities first."

He nodded.

"I'll need to do something about contraception," she said.

The heat returned to his cheeks. "I would have thought —"

She raised an eyebrow. "That I was too old?"

"Not at all. It's just … your weekend with Rufus …"

"I made clear to him before we left that I would be staying in my own room. So there was no need for any additional precautions," she said. "Although I did lock my door."

He smiled. "I'm sure you were more than capable of defending your virtue. Even from the Head of the Auror Office."

"I don't know about 'virtue', but I would have had no compunctions about hexing him in a very sensitive spot had he behaved badly."

"I take it he was wise enough to respect your wishes."

"He was," she said. "My wishes regarding you are somewhat different, as I believe I've just demonstrated." She hesitated. "But if your wishes are not the same, I wouldn't want you to comply just to make me happy."

He took her hand. "Minerva. I have enjoyed everything we've done this evening. And I would like to continue to explore this … facet of our relationship, once we've worked out the practicalities, as you say."

She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it. "As would I." She released his hand and sat back. "I can take care of contraception. And what of the other practicalities?"

"We cannot behave any differently in public."

"I'm aware of that, Albus. I hardly intend throwing myself at you in the Great Hall."

"I'm sorry, my dear. I know you're aware of the need for discretion. It's more reminding myself not to grin at you like a fool when there are others around."

She ignored his attempt at humour. "I imagine we can avoid raising suspicions. I come to your office on a daily basis, and I've visited your quarters often enough, even when I was married to Elph. People know we're friends as well as headmaster and deputy."

"Yes. But your duties to Gryffindor preclude your spending the night here."

"You want to spend nights together?"

"Some. Don't you?"

"Of course. I wasn't sure that's what you wanted."

"I want to spend as much time with you as possible. But I don't want you to feel suffocated." He was remembering what she'd told him about the difficulties of living with Elphinstone.

"I doubt we'll have enough private time for either of us to feel suffocated. Spending some evenings together — sleeping together — would be nice. You could create a direct Floo connection between our rooms. No one would have to know where you actually spent the night."

"Yes, and I could set charms that would alert me if anyone were looking for me."

"I knew there would be benefits to a romantic liaison with a magical genius."

"Magical genius, perhaps, but not a genius in the matter of romantic liaisons."

"No one is. It's always a matter of trial and error, I think."

"I'll work on the Floo connection and the charms this week. Then perhaps I could join you in your quarters on Friday night after dinner?"

"You have a date."

Chapter Text

Epilogue

The evening had gone surprisingly smoothly thus far.

The students — and the staff — had behaved well and seemed to be enjoying themselves, and no last-minute misfortunes had thus far befallen Harry Potter. (Unless one counted his embarrassing opening dance with Miss Patil.)

Albus made his way to the side of the stage and gestured to the Weird Sisters' lead singer, who nodded his acknowledgement.

The band launched into the last tune of the night, a more sedate offering than their usual teeth-clenching fare, as Albus had arranged.

Minerva stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, eyes moving over the dancing couples, alert for any transgressions against propriety. Albus moved quietly up behind her and leant over to whisper in her ear.

"May I have the honour of a dance, Professor McGonagall?"

She turned to him with a smile. "Of course, Professor Dumbledore. It would be a pleasure."

He led her onto the floor and took her by the waist. Her hand went to his shoulder, and they began to move together.

He felt a bit like their teenaged charges. He'd been looking forward to this all evening, the rare opportunity to touch her in public. They were close but kept a respectable enough distance from one another, and his hand never strayed from its sanctioned place, but it felt forbidden — erotic, almost, to be doing this under everyone's noses.

None of the other couples paid them any attention. The remaining students swayed tiredly, worn out by the faster-paced dancing that had preceded this final number. Argus and Irma were the only other staff still on the dance floor; the rest were inching their separate ways towards the doors, eager to call it a night.

Albus had no such intentions. After the students were safely put away in their dormitories, he planned to join Minerva in her bed, as he'd been doing on weekend nights for the past five years.

Once there, he planned to make love to her, something which didn't happen every time, but which they did when the spirit moved them. It had been an all-too-rare occurrence during this hectic term.

From the beginning of their physical relationship, she'd been both patient and forthright in showing him what she enjoyed, and he'd been happy to find he could please her, even if it didn't always result in orgasm for him. In public, she was arch, sometimes sharp, and almost always guarded, but with him in private, she allowed herself some softness and openness, and the contrast excited him.

That was what he enjoyed most about their intimacy. Not that he didn't like the sensations of lovemaking, but unlike her, he found it difficult to let go and allow himself that vulnerability. That she could, sometimes overwhelmed him with gratitude.

Though they made love infrequently, they almost always fell asleep touching — fingers entwined or a hand on a chest. It was how he had come to think of them in private — connected, even if subtly.

Tonight, he thought as they moved around the floor, they would renew that connection more wholly. He'd stashed a potion in her bathroom earlier that day, which would ensure his body would cooperate with his plans to give himself to her as fully as he was able.

"Have you managed to enjoy yourself at all?" he asked her.

"It became more tolerable once Ludo buggered off."

"He did rather monopolise your dance card. Were you able to have a turn with anyone else?"

"Hagrid."

"And did your toes survive?"

"Barely." She squeezed his shoulder. "This is much nicer."

"I should hope so. I've been told I'm a rather good dancer."

"You are a marvellous dancer."

He pulled her a bit closer under cover of the enchanted ceiling, which had begun dimming a few minutes earlier to signal the winding down of the Yule Ball.

"It seems I've finally found the right partner."