"This came for you," Malcom says, handing his sister the thin envelope.
Minerva recognizes the tiny, untidy writing, and she feels her heart breaking all over again. "Dougal," she whispers.
"Minnie?"
She shakes her head, tucking the letter into her coat pocket. "Thank you, Malcom," she says, forcing all the strength she can manage into the words. "I must be off now. Hogwarts-"
"Can wait. Who's it from? And why do you look like you're about to cry?"
He reaches out, making a grab for her pocket, like he wants to read her secrets himself. Minerva sidesteps, ducking out of his reach and hurrying out the door.
OoOoO
She hides away in her office, damp eyes purusing the letter once more.
Dearest Minerva,
I was not sure how to get this letter to you, as you left no forwarding address when you ran off. Luckily, your brother was still in the area.
I wanted to know that you're okay. Malcom says that you are, but I would like to hear it from you.
I have settled down now. We are expecting our first child in spring. She thinks it will be a girl, and we are still trying to choose a name.
I would be lying if I said that I don't wish it was you instead. Not a day passes without you entering mine. It's easier now, almost bearable, but I wish you had never left all the same.
Yours,
Dougal
Minerva wipes her eyes, sniffling. She tucks the letter away in her drawer.
There's a knock on the door, and Minerva tries to compose herself. "Come in."
"Thank you," Albus says, entering. "I wished to- My dear McGonagall, have you been crying?"
There's no use in denying it to Albus. He has always been able to see through people, peering past their words and actions to what's inside. She nods, trembling hands retrieving the letter from the drawer. "My brother gave me this before my return yesterday," she explains, handing it over.
Albus reads it silently, lips twisting into a sad smile. "Young love is one of life's finer agonies," he says softly, setting the letter on the desk and sitting across from her.
"Have you ever been in love?"
It seems silly to ask. Albus had been a teacher when she had first met him, devoted solely to his job. Through the years, she has never seen him show interest in a single person beyond a professional of friendly extent.
"Yes," he says, much to her surprise. "His name was Gellert."
"And what happened?"
The twinkle in his blue eyes fades ever so slightly. "A fine agony."