Moments Together
1. Confessions
Minerva McGonagall was worried sick. Albus Dumbledore, the love of her life had left to confront Grindelwald months ago. They'd been exchanging owls ever since she'd finished at Hogwarts seven years ago and had become fast friends. She'd gone into Auror training right away and had finished with top marks, especially in Defense. That had been her best subject in school, after Transfiguration. Because her Transfiguration marks had been so good, she'd been recommended for additional training to become an Animagi. She'd agreed right away, having wanted to attempt the transformation since Albus had turned into a wolf, a sleek, handsome white wolf with piercing blue eyes. It had frightened some of the students, but Minerva had been fascinated from the start. It had taken her a good two years to succeed, and that had been with Albus' help. Now, two years later, he'd been gone for six months, tracking down Grindelwald with only sporadic owls to let her know he was still alive. She'd done her part, of course. Going on assignment with other aurors, sometimes with Alastor Moody, sometimes with someone else. She never went on an assignment alone. No one did, except Albus, and that was mainly because he wasn't an Auror. He was a wizard with an overblown hero complex. Just because he was one of the most powerful wizards to be seen in ages didn't mean he had to go and seek out a cause to fight. He could have remained at Hogwarts, content to teach and pass on his knowledge to future generations of witches and wizards. No, he had to take a sabbatical to go and seek out Grindelwald. "Min? Hello?"
"Don't call me Min," she answered automatically, dragging herself from her thoughts and focusing on the person in front of her desk. "Oh, hello, Alastor."
He smiled, sitting down in the chair facing her desk. "Where were you?"
"Right here, of course," she answered acerbically. "Where else would I be?"
He snorted. "Physically, you may have been here, but your mind wasn't."
"Is there a purpose to this visit, Alastor?" she asked acidly. "Or do you only wish to annoy me?"
He shrugged. "It's quitting time. Did you want to go get something to eat?"
"No, thank you, Alastor." She smiled slightly at him.
He returned the smile and stood up. "It's all right. Maybe some other time?"
"Maybe," she answered noncommittally. "Perhaps you should try asking Poppy? She usually finishes her shift at St. Mungo's about this time."
His cheeks turned faintly rosy. "Maybe I will. Thanks for the suggestion."
"You're welcome." It was useless. He'd already left. Shaking her head, she finished packing up for the night and left the Ministry, walking to her small flat nearby rather than apparating to it. She needed the fresh air to help clear her head.
Upon reaching her flat, she disarmed the wards protecting it and entered with a sigh. The thing that hurt most about Albus being gone was that she missed him so much. Though she hadn't seen much of him after she'd finished her Animagus training, knowing where he was had been a comfort. Now that she had no idea where he was, it was as if there was a constant ache in her chest.
Minerva dropped her cloak and bag in the front hall and bent to undo her high heeled buttoned shoes. After easing her tired feet out of these and into a pair of house slippers, Minerva walked across to the kitchen and sipped a glass of water. As she stood there, she released her hair from its constricting bun and sighed as it cascaded down her back. This accomplished, she slowly climbed the narrow stairs to her bedroom.
She had expected this to provide her a little escape from the thoughts that were pulsing in her head but it didn't. She had been trying so hard not to worry too much about Albus that everything around her conjured a thought of him. The picture of the two of them on her graduation day, her chess set, the glittering cat collar he had bought for her when she learned to transform into her Animagus form. Minerva walked into her bathroom and stood before the mirror. If she looked hard enough, she could see him standing there behind her, his blue eyes shining. His hands would come to rest on her upper arms and she would turn her head to smile at him. Softly, he would plant a kiss on the top of her head and Minerva would sigh, almost purr, in contentment. One of his hands would quest down around her whisper of a waist and he would pull her back against him as his face turned down to—
Minerva caught herself dreaming and shook herself free of the reverie. Wearily, she bathed, donned her nightgown and crept gingerly into the bed, as if she were trying not to disturb the quietness in the room. The heat coming from the register near her window ruffled the curtains a bit as Minerva's head sank into the pillow and she drifted off to sleep. Her last thoughts before sleep claimed her senses were of trying to convince herself that there was nothing to be afraid of. This was a trick that Albus had taught her. When she had come to Hogwarts, little Minerva McGonagall had come from a home that was not safe. She confided in Dumbledore that she was tardy for class oftentimes because she could not sleep due to the fear that her father could somehow find her and make good on his screaming fits. Albus had comforted her and reminded her once again that she was safe. Sometimes, as a wolf, he had come up and slept at the foot of Minerva's bed in Gryffindor Tower. Her classmates thought it was bizarre that a wolf should befriend introverted, soft-spoken Minerva, but they accepted it. For the next seven years, Minerva had a protector and for those seven years, she felt safe at school. Her father died when she was a fifth year, but old fears die hard, and she still awoke frightened in the night, afraid perhaps that her father's malevolent spirit had returned to claim her. Now, her protector was gone and if the fates are cruel, he might never come back.
Albus Dumbledore was exhausted and injured. Grindelwald had been defeated. He would never threaten innocents again. As he slowly and painfully made his way from the battlefield, Albus' thoughts immediately turned to Minerva McGonagall. Lovely, stubborn, fiery Minerva McGonagall. She of the raven hair and deep green eyes, she with the quick wit, keen intelligence, and melodious laugh, his reason for pushing forward and continuing on. If not for her, he would have gone through life ignorant of the joys of love. Now he knew, but he dare not experience it to the fullest. What would she think, after all, of a man eighty years her senior being in love with her? She wouldn't run, oh no. It was not in her nature to run, but she would most likely be disgusted and end their friendship. He could not bear to lose even that and had consequently kept his silence. He'd enjoyed the owls they'd exchanged and had regretted having to end the exchange because it was too dangerous. As he read her owls, he could almost hear her voice in his head. He would re-read every owl she'd sent him at night before going to sleep, because it was almost like being back in England.
He stumbled over a tree root, falling heavily to his knees with a grunt. Struggling to his feet, he continued onwards, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to press to his broken nose. His love for Minerva had come about gradually, developing from the guardian-type relationship they had forged when she first confessed to him why she was sometimes tardy, then into a mentor-mentored relationship as the years passed, into a deep and abiding friendship, and finally into the love that had sustained him over the past six months. His body was almost beyond endurance, though. He thought longingly of England, of the gentle, rolling hills and picture-perfect snow. Christmas was but a few days away. He would be lucky if he made it out of the forest by then. He was too weak to even Apparate a foot. He stumbled again, the loss of his glasses in the fight just adding another difficulty on top of all the others so far. He wished only to go home. He longed to see Minerva once again: to see her face light up with joy over her Christmas present.
Dizziness was rapidly overwhelming him when a beautiful arpeggio of notes broke the stillness. Looking around, confused, he could only stare at the scarlet and gold bird that flew down from a nearby tree. He automatically raised an arm and the bird landed on it, the claws of its feet digging in just enough to stabilize it. "I've read about your kind. You're a phoenix, aren't you?"
Since the bird couldn't answer verbally, it rested its head on the gash on his forehead that had been steadily bleeding. Slowly, the dizziness abated and Albus regained his sense of equilibrium. He looked up at the phoenix in wonder. "Thank you, very much. I feel better already."
The phoenix chirped a beautiful song that heartened him greatly, giving him the strength to continue on. With a flit of his wings, the phoenix moved to Albus' shoulder, occasionally chirruping a series of notes, usually when Albus felt his strength begin to wane. Finally, he felt himself pass through the Anti-Apparation wards that had surrounded the battlefield for meters. Another cluster of notes gave Albus the energy he needed to focus and Apparate.
When Albus Dumbledore's feet touched the hardwood floors of a cool, quiet flat in London, his weak muscles collapsed beneath him, despite the swan- sized bird on his shoulder. His arms shook as he tried to pull himself up off the floor and failed, resting back on the floor.
Upstairs, Minerva heard the pop of an apparition and the ensuing thud of something—or someone—falling to the floor of her front entry. She sprang from her bed, wand in hand and inched down the hall with her back flat against the wall and her heart pounding. She had been deeply asleep when the commotion occurred, and she didn't much like being awakened from her sleep. Her auror instincts kicked into over-drive when she heard what sounded like a bird coming from the bottom of the stairs, accompanied by the movement sounds of her possible attacker.
When she arrived at the edge of the stairs, she carefully peered around the corner and looked down. At the foot of the stairs was a red and orange phoenix, trilling and cooing as if to call to Minerva to come down. She peered a bit further out and recognized the singed robes of the man lying on her floor.
"Albus!" she cried, thudding down the stairs and dropping to her knees beside him. "Albus, say something!"
"Sp...Speak again, Bright Angel, for I have so missed the sound of your voice!" Albus choked. Minerva pulled him into her arms and held him close. Her wand lay forgotten at her side and the phoenix simply stood and watched, appearing quite pleased with itself.
"You're alive! If you willed it I could fly!" Minerva murmured, stroking his hair back from his face. All of this had slipped out before Minerva could put her carefully built wall against her emotions in place. Her feelings toward Albus Dumbledore had somehow changed between the end of her auror training and now. She wasn't sure how, but she knew now, as she sat on her cold floor and held him, that what she was feeling was more than just feelings of a student for a teacher. She was falling in love.
When Albus awoke the next morning, he inhaled a scent he couldn't remember. It smelled of chamomile, lavender and woman. The bed clothes around him were creamy white, as were the draperies, and a tartan throw blanket was folded neatly at the end of the bed. It only took him a moment more to remember where he was. Beside him, sitting up and slightly slumped over in sleep, was Minerva. She must have tucked him into her own bed when she finished tending his wounds. His dislocated shoulder was healed, his bumps and bruises had been cooled by a special salve that had birch bark mixed in it for pain. He didn't try to move, for fear of waking Minerva, but as usual, she was already a step ahead of him.
"You're awake," Minerva murmured. "I was wondering how long you'd sleep."
"If left to my own devices, a week. I've lost enough sleep in the last six months to last me a lifetime," Albus murmured. He pulled his arm out from beneath the covers and reached to cover Minerva's hand with his own.
"I owe you my life for what you did last night. I apologize that I seem to have put you out of a bed," Albus continued. Minerva stroked his hair again, absent-mindedly playing with the long strands.
"Nonsense. Sleep as long as you wish. We can talk more when you're well," Minerva said, gingerly getting up off the bed and going to make herself presentable before going downstairs to make breakfast.
When she arrived in the kitchen, she had to stand and take in everything that had happened in the past few hours. Poppy Pomfrey would be proud of her for nursing Albus back to health. She smiled a bit as another thought dawned on her: the man who had protected her all these years now needed protecting himself. It was strange to see him in such a vulnerable position, but for the time being, it was serving as Minerva's need to be needed, and she indulged it by cooking scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and not burning a thing: a feat she had not accomplished in years. Humming a familiar tune, she carried a tray with both her plate and one for Albus on it up the stairs. Albus, who had spent his life serving others, would be the one served today.
* * *
Albus smiled when Minerva appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of food. "Minerva, I was not aware that you cooked."
She shrugged as she walked over and set the tray on the night table. "I do not, ordinarily."
"What is the occasion, then?" he asked as she eased one of the plates from the tray and set it on the night table.
She set the tray in his lap. "I will be taking care of you, Albus, until you are feeling better."
"Minerva, there is no need for you to do so for my sake," he told her, capturing her hand before she could pull it away.
Her cheeks turned pink as she looked away. "Nonsense, Albus. You have done much for me, I would like to repay that."
"There is nothing to repay," he told her softly as she drew up a table in front of her chair beside the bed. She really was quite beautiful.
She sighed and shook her head. "Please, Albus, do not argue. I will be taking care of you and there is nothing you can say or do that will change my mind."
"Very well, Minerva," he reluctantly gave in. "I shan't object again."
She smiled, patting his hand. "Thank you, Albus, now eat."
"Yes, Mother," he teased softly, his eyes twinkling.
She shook her head and calmly began to eat the breakfast in front of her. He followed suit.
* * *
Several days later, Minerva answered a knock on the door to find an unfamiliar man on the doorstep. "May I help you?"
"Miss Minerva McGonagall?" the man asked, hazel eyes bright with curiosity.
She nodded. "Yes, that would be me."
"Conner Cleas with the _Daily Prophet_," he explained, introducing himself.
She cautiously extended her hand. "Hello." He kissed the back of her hand, like a gentleman. "What brings you here Mr. Cleas?"
"There's a rumor going around that Albus Dumbledore managed to defeat Grindelwald," Conner explained, running his hand through his tousled brown hair. "I know you were working with him on something before he left. Would you happen to know where he is?"
Minerva debated her answer, not being particularly fond of reporters. Albus decided her answer for her when he appeared behind her. "Hello, who are you?"
"Conner Cleas, Professor Dumbledore," the reporter replied, recovering quickly from his shock. "I wondered if I might interview you?"
Albus glanced down at Minerva. She indicated that he answer for himself. "I do not have the time right now, Mr. Cleas. I promise that you shall have it, but not now."
"Oh." He looked disappointed, but didn't push the issue. "May I have a statement at least? Regarding Grindelwald?"
Albus' voice was sober when he answered. "Grindelwald died by my hand several weeks ago, Mr. Cleas. His shadow is gone from the wizarding world."
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Conner's smile lit up his face. "Good day to you. And you, Miss McGonagall."
"Good day, Mr. Cleas," Minerva replied, closing the door behind him.
She rested her forehead against the door. She wouldn't have Albus to herself for much longer. "Is something wrong, Minerva?"
She turned to face him. "No, no, Albus. Just tired, I suppose." She frowned at him. "Where is your walking stick?"
"My--" As she watched, his cheeks appeared to flush slightly. "Ah, yes, my walking stick."
She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. "Albus, you are not to go anywhere without it."
"I know." He looked absurdly like a repentant child, albeit a very old one with his beard and mustache.
She sighed and relented. "I will let it go this once, but please, Albus, it is for your health that I insist."
"I know, Minerva, but you must admit that it gets rather tiresome to carry that everywhere," he pointed out, looking up.
She sighed. "Yes, it can be."
Minerva continued as she switched rooms, "But you must understand that I lo—I mean, I can't have you going against your healer's wishes."
Albus smiled as he detected that Minerva had not finished what she was trying to say. Slowly, he hobbled along behind her, watching as she set the dishes to wash themselves and continued to putter in the kitchen, putting things away and such. Albus leaned on the counter with one hand and allowed himself the momentary joy of an amused smile. Finally, he shook his head and could keep quiet no longer.
"Minerva?"
"Yes?" Minerva replied, whirling to face him in surprise. She was waiting for him to say he needed something or was feeling ill.
"Come over here, please," Albus asked. Puzzled, Minerva obeyed.
"Closer," Albus said. Minerva took a few steps closer to him, her heart starting to beat faster. Slowly, Albus took his hand from the counter and wrapped both arms around her narrow waistline, pulling her still closer.
"There, that's better," Albus said, his own heartbeat becoming more pronounced as her hands came to rest on his upper arms. "Now, I don't think you were finished talking before. What did you really mean to say?" Minerva couldn't seem to speak. She was terrified. Could she really tell him? Then it dawned on her: this was just what she had been dreaming while he was away. She looked into his eyes and lightly reached to stroke his beard and long flowing hair.
"I love you, Albus," Minerva whispered. Albus' smile grew tenfold with tenderness.
"Oh, Minerva, whatever took you so long?" Albus murmured. Minerva's heart melted. Slowly, she leaned closer to his face and then hesitated.
"I don't bite, Minerva," Albus whispered. Minerva was no longer in a mood to hesitate. She covered his lips with her own and Albus tightened his hold on her, making her tingle with excitement. She continued to kiss him, both of them relishing the release of emotion accompanying their admission of love. When Minerva finally pulled back, she was lost for words.
"Minerva?" Albus murmured.
"Yes, Albus?" she replied.
"I love you, too."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2:
Minerva McGonagall was worried sick. Albus Dumbledore, the love of her life had left to confront Grindelwald months ago. They'd been exchanging owls ever since she'd finished at Hogwarts seven years ago and had become fast friends. She'd gone into Auror training right away and had finished with top marks, especially in Defense. That had been her best subject in school, after Transfiguration. Because her Transfiguration marks had been so good, she'd been recommended for additional training to become an Animagi. She'd agreed right away, having wanted to attempt the transformation since Albus had turned into a wolf, a sleek, handsome white wolf with piercing blue eyes. It had frightened some of the students, but Minerva had been fascinated from the start. It had taken her a good two years to succeed, and that had been with Albus' help. Now, two years later, he'd been gone for six months, tracking down Grindelwald with only sporadic owls to let her know he was still alive. She'd done her part, of course. Going on assignment with other aurors, sometimes with Alastor Moody, sometimes with someone else. She never went on an assignment alone. No one did, except Albus, and that was mainly because he wasn't an Auror. He was a wizard with an overblown hero complex. Just because he was one of the most powerful wizards to be seen in ages didn't mean he had to go and seek out a cause to fight. He could have remained at Hogwarts, content to teach and pass on his knowledge to future generations of witches and wizards. No, he had to take a sabbatical to go and seek out Grindelwald. "Min? Hello?"
"Don't call me Min," she answered automatically, dragging herself from her thoughts and focusing on the person in front of her desk. "Oh, hello, Alastor."
He smiled, sitting down in the chair facing her desk. "Where were you?"
"Right here, of course," she answered acerbically. "Where else would I be?"
He snorted. "Physically, you may have been here, but your mind wasn't."
"Is there a purpose to this visit, Alastor?" she asked acidly. "Or do you only wish to annoy me?"
He shrugged. "It's quitting time. Did you want to go get something to eat?"
"No, thank you, Alastor." She smiled slightly at him.
He returned the smile and stood up. "It's all right. Maybe some other time?"
"Maybe," she answered noncommittally. "Perhaps you should try asking Poppy? She usually finishes her shift at St. Mungo's about this time."
His cheeks turned faintly rosy. "Maybe I will. Thanks for the suggestion."
"You're welcome." It was useless. He'd already left. Shaking her head, she finished packing up for the night and left the Ministry, walking to her small flat nearby rather than apparating to it. She needed the fresh air to help clear her head.
Upon reaching her flat, she disarmed the wards protecting it and entered with a sigh. The thing that hurt most about Albus being gone was that she missed him so much. Though she hadn't seen much of him after she'd finished her Animagus training, knowing where he was had been a comfort. Now that she had no idea where he was, it was as if there was a constant ache in her chest.
Minerva dropped her cloak and bag in the front hall and bent to undo her high heeled buttoned shoes. After easing her tired feet out of these and into a pair of house slippers, Minerva walked across to the kitchen and sipped a glass of water. As she stood there, she released her hair from its constricting bun and sighed as it cascaded down her back. This accomplished, she slowly climbed the narrow stairs to her bedroom.
She had expected this to provide her a little escape from the thoughts that were pulsing in her head but it didn't. She had been trying so hard not to worry too much about Albus that everything around her conjured a thought of him. The picture of the two of them on her graduation day, her chess set, the glittering cat collar he had bought for her when she learned to transform into her Animagus form. Minerva walked into her bathroom and stood before the mirror. If she looked hard enough, she could see him standing there behind her, his blue eyes shining. His hands would come to rest on her upper arms and she would turn her head to smile at him. Softly, he would plant a kiss on the top of her head and Minerva would sigh, almost purr, in contentment. One of his hands would quest down around her whisper of a waist and he would pull her back against him as his face turned down to—
Minerva caught herself dreaming and shook herself free of the reverie. Wearily, she bathed, donned her nightgown and crept gingerly into the bed, as if she were trying not to disturb the quietness in the room. The heat coming from the register near her window ruffled the curtains a bit as Minerva's head sank into the pillow and she drifted off to sleep. Her last thoughts before sleep claimed her senses were of trying to convince herself that there was nothing to be afraid of. This was a trick that Albus had taught her. When she had come to Hogwarts, little Minerva McGonagall had come from a home that was not safe. She confided in Dumbledore that she was tardy for class oftentimes because she could not sleep due to the fear that her father could somehow find her and make good on his screaming fits. Albus had comforted her and reminded her once again that she was safe. Sometimes, as a wolf, he had come up and slept at the foot of Minerva's bed in Gryffindor Tower. Her classmates thought it was bizarre that a wolf should befriend introverted, soft-spoken Minerva, but they accepted it. For the next seven years, Minerva had a protector and for those seven years, she felt safe at school. Her father died when she was a fifth year, but old fears die hard, and she still awoke frightened in the night, afraid perhaps that her father's malevolent spirit had returned to claim her. Now, her protector was gone and if the fates are cruel, he might never come back.
Albus Dumbledore was exhausted and injured. Grindelwald had been defeated. He would never threaten innocents again. As he slowly and painfully made his way from the battlefield, Albus' thoughts immediately turned to Minerva McGonagall. Lovely, stubborn, fiery Minerva McGonagall. She of the raven hair and deep green eyes, she with the quick wit, keen intelligence, and melodious laugh, his reason for pushing forward and continuing on. If not for her, he would have gone through life ignorant of the joys of love. Now he knew, but he dare not experience it to the fullest. What would she think, after all, of a man eighty years her senior being in love with her? She wouldn't run, oh no. It was not in her nature to run, but she would most likely be disgusted and end their friendship. He could not bear to lose even that and had consequently kept his silence. He'd enjoyed the owls they'd exchanged and had regretted having to end the exchange because it was too dangerous. As he read her owls, he could almost hear her voice in his head. He would re-read every owl she'd sent him at night before going to sleep, because it was almost like being back in England.
He stumbled over a tree root, falling heavily to his knees with a grunt. Struggling to his feet, he continued onwards, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to press to his broken nose. His love for Minerva had come about gradually, developing from the guardian-type relationship they had forged when she first confessed to him why she was sometimes tardy, then into a mentor-mentored relationship as the years passed, into a deep and abiding friendship, and finally into the love that had sustained him over the past six months. His body was almost beyond endurance, though. He thought longingly of England, of the gentle, rolling hills and picture-perfect snow. Christmas was but a few days away. He would be lucky if he made it out of the forest by then. He was too weak to even Apparate a foot. He stumbled again, the loss of his glasses in the fight just adding another difficulty on top of all the others so far. He wished only to go home. He longed to see Minerva once again: to see her face light up with joy over her Christmas present.
Dizziness was rapidly overwhelming him when a beautiful arpeggio of notes broke the stillness. Looking around, confused, he could only stare at the scarlet and gold bird that flew down from a nearby tree. He automatically raised an arm and the bird landed on it, the claws of its feet digging in just enough to stabilize it. "I've read about your kind. You're a phoenix, aren't you?"
Since the bird couldn't answer verbally, it rested its head on the gash on his forehead that had been steadily bleeding. Slowly, the dizziness abated and Albus regained his sense of equilibrium. He looked up at the phoenix in wonder. "Thank you, very much. I feel better already."
The phoenix chirped a beautiful song that heartened him greatly, giving him the strength to continue on. With a flit of his wings, the phoenix moved to Albus' shoulder, occasionally chirruping a series of notes, usually when Albus felt his strength begin to wane. Finally, he felt himself pass through the Anti-Apparation wards that had surrounded the battlefield for meters. Another cluster of notes gave Albus the energy he needed to focus and Apparate.
When Albus Dumbledore's feet touched the hardwood floors of a cool, quiet flat in London, his weak muscles collapsed beneath him, despite the swan- sized bird on his shoulder. His arms shook as he tried to pull himself up off the floor and failed, resting back on the floor.
Upstairs, Minerva heard the pop of an apparition and the ensuing thud of something—or someone—falling to the floor of her front entry. She sprang from her bed, wand in hand and inched down the hall with her back flat against the wall and her heart pounding. She had been deeply asleep when the commotion occurred, and she didn't much like being awakened from her sleep. Her auror instincts kicked into over-drive when she heard what sounded like a bird coming from the bottom of the stairs, accompanied by the movement sounds of her possible attacker.
When she arrived at the edge of the stairs, she carefully peered around the corner and looked down. At the foot of the stairs was a red and orange phoenix, trilling and cooing as if to call to Minerva to come down. She peered a bit further out and recognized the singed robes of the man lying on her floor.
"Albus!" she cried, thudding down the stairs and dropping to her knees beside him. "Albus, say something!"
"Sp...Speak again, Bright Angel, for I have so missed the sound of your voice!" Albus choked. Minerva pulled him into her arms and held him close. Her wand lay forgotten at her side and the phoenix simply stood and watched, appearing quite pleased with itself.
"You're alive! If you willed it I could fly!" Minerva murmured, stroking his hair back from his face. All of this had slipped out before Minerva could put her carefully built wall against her emotions in place. Her feelings toward Albus Dumbledore had somehow changed between the end of her auror training and now. She wasn't sure how, but she knew now, as she sat on her cold floor and held him, that what she was feeling was more than just feelings of a student for a teacher. She was falling in love.
When Albus awoke the next morning, he inhaled a scent he couldn't remember. It smelled of chamomile, lavender and woman. The bed clothes around him were creamy white, as were the draperies, and a tartan throw blanket was folded neatly at the end of the bed. It only took him a moment more to remember where he was. Beside him, sitting up and slightly slumped over in sleep, was Minerva. She must have tucked him into her own bed when she finished tending his wounds. His dislocated shoulder was healed, his bumps and bruises had been cooled by a special salve that had birch bark mixed in it for pain. He didn't try to move, for fear of waking Minerva, but as usual, she was already a step ahead of him.
"You're awake," Minerva murmured. "I was wondering how long you'd sleep."
"If left to my own devices, a week. I've lost enough sleep in the last six months to last me a lifetime," Albus murmured. He pulled his arm out from beneath the covers and reached to cover Minerva's hand with his own.
"I owe you my life for what you did last night. I apologize that I seem to have put you out of a bed," Albus continued. Minerva stroked his hair again, absent-mindedly playing with the long strands.
"Nonsense. Sleep as long as you wish. We can talk more when you're well," Minerva said, gingerly getting up off the bed and going to make herself presentable before going downstairs to make breakfast.
When she arrived in the kitchen, she had to stand and take in everything that had happened in the past few hours. Poppy Pomfrey would be proud of her for nursing Albus back to health. She smiled a bit as another thought dawned on her: the man who had protected her all these years now needed protecting himself. It was strange to see him in such a vulnerable position, but for the time being, it was serving as Minerva's need to be needed, and she indulged it by cooking scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and not burning a thing: a feat she had not accomplished in years. Humming a familiar tune, she carried a tray with both her plate and one for Albus on it up the stairs. Albus, who had spent his life serving others, would be the one served today.
* * *
Albus smiled when Minerva appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of food. "Minerva, I was not aware that you cooked."
She shrugged as she walked over and set the tray on the night table. "I do not, ordinarily."
"What is the occasion, then?" he asked as she eased one of the plates from the tray and set it on the night table.
She set the tray in his lap. "I will be taking care of you, Albus, until you are feeling better."
"Minerva, there is no need for you to do so for my sake," he told her, capturing her hand before she could pull it away.
Her cheeks turned pink as she looked away. "Nonsense, Albus. You have done much for me, I would like to repay that."
"There is nothing to repay," he told her softly as she drew up a table in front of her chair beside the bed. She really was quite beautiful.
She sighed and shook her head. "Please, Albus, do not argue. I will be taking care of you and there is nothing you can say or do that will change my mind."
"Very well, Minerva," he reluctantly gave in. "I shan't object again."
She smiled, patting his hand. "Thank you, Albus, now eat."
"Yes, Mother," he teased softly, his eyes twinkling.
She shook her head and calmly began to eat the breakfast in front of her. He followed suit.
* * *
Several days later, Minerva answered a knock on the door to find an unfamiliar man on the doorstep. "May I help you?"
"Miss Minerva McGonagall?" the man asked, hazel eyes bright with curiosity.
She nodded. "Yes, that would be me."
"Conner Cleas with the _Daily Prophet_," he explained, introducing himself.
She cautiously extended her hand. "Hello." He kissed the back of her hand, like a gentleman. "What brings you here Mr. Cleas?"
"There's a rumor going around that Albus Dumbledore managed to defeat Grindelwald," Conner explained, running his hand through his tousled brown hair. "I know you were working with him on something before he left. Would you happen to know where he is?"
Minerva debated her answer, not being particularly fond of reporters. Albus decided her answer for her when he appeared behind her. "Hello, who are you?"
"Conner Cleas, Professor Dumbledore," the reporter replied, recovering quickly from his shock. "I wondered if I might interview you?"
Albus glanced down at Minerva. She indicated that he answer for himself. "I do not have the time right now, Mr. Cleas. I promise that you shall have it, but not now."
"Oh." He looked disappointed, but didn't push the issue. "May I have a statement at least? Regarding Grindelwald?"
Albus' voice was sober when he answered. "Grindelwald died by my hand several weeks ago, Mr. Cleas. His shadow is gone from the wizarding world."
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Conner's smile lit up his face. "Good day to you. And you, Miss McGonagall."
"Good day, Mr. Cleas," Minerva replied, closing the door behind him.
She rested her forehead against the door. She wouldn't have Albus to herself for much longer. "Is something wrong, Minerva?"
She turned to face him. "No, no, Albus. Just tired, I suppose." She frowned at him. "Where is your walking stick?"
"My--" As she watched, his cheeks appeared to flush slightly. "Ah, yes, my walking stick."
She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. "Albus, you are not to go anywhere without it."
"I know." He looked absurdly like a repentant child, albeit a very old one with his beard and mustache.
She sighed and relented. "I will let it go this once, but please, Albus, it is for your health that I insist."
"I know, Minerva, but you must admit that it gets rather tiresome to carry that everywhere," he pointed out, looking up.
She sighed. "Yes, it can be."
Minerva continued as she switched rooms, "But you must understand that I lo—I mean, I can't have you going against your healer's wishes."
Albus smiled as he detected that Minerva had not finished what she was trying to say. Slowly, he hobbled along behind her, watching as she set the dishes to wash themselves and continued to putter in the kitchen, putting things away and such. Albus leaned on the counter with one hand and allowed himself the momentary joy of an amused smile. Finally, he shook his head and could keep quiet no longer.
"Minerva?"
"Yes?" Minerva replied, whirling to face him in surprise. She was waiting for him to say he needed something or was feeling ill.
"Come over here, please," Albus asked. Puzzled, Minerva obeyed.
"Closer," Albus said. Minerva took a few steps closer to him, her heart starting to beat faster. Slowly, Albus took his hand from the counter and wrapped both arms around her narrow waistline, pulling her still closer.
"There, that's better," Albus said, his own heartbeat becoming more pronounced as her hands came to rest on his upper arms. "Now, I don't think you were finished talking before. What did you really mean to say?" Minerva couldn't seem to speak. She was terrified. Could she really tell him? Then it dawned on her: this was just what she had been dreaming while he was away. She looked into his eyes and lightly reached to stroke his beard and long flowing hair.
"I love you, Albus," Minerva whispered. Albus' smile grew tenfold with tenderness.
"Oh, Minerva, whatever took you so long?" Albus murmured. Minerva's heart melted. Slowly, she leaned closer to his face and then hesitated.
"I don't bite, Minerva," Albus whispered. Minerva was no longer in a mood to hesitate. She covered his lips with her own and Albus tightened his hold on her, making her tingle with excitement. She continued to kiss him, both of them relishing the release of emotion accompanying their admission of love. When Minerva finally pulled back, she was lost for words.
"Minerva?" Albus murmured.
"Yes, Albus?" she replied.
"I love you, too."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2:
