Minerva closed the door to Albus'…her office, tears dripping from her eyes for the first time that day now that she was somewhere she had always associated with safety. She leant against the door, letting love and loss and misery rise within her and consume every logical thought in her mind. That was it. He was buried. He was gone. They were gone. There was nothing more to do now except cry for him.

Gradually, the tears stopped flowing as fiercely and she blinked the blur from her eyes, taking off her glasses and wiping them on her robes. When she put them back on she saw an envelope lying on the desk in front of her.

Cautiously, feeling somehow unauthorised, even though this was now her office, she made her way to the desk and picked up the letter. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognised the handwriting. Albus. Steeling herself, she was a Gryffindor after all, she slit the top of the envelope open and pulled out a sheet of parchment, covered in that writing that she knew too well.

She began to read…

Minerva,

If you are reading this, then it is likely that we will never meet again, and for that I am truly sorry. There are so many things I wish I had said to you, so many things that I wish had been different, between us and in everything I did. I made mistakes. I know that now. This war has taken so much from all of us, more from some than others, and if it takes me from this world I can only hope to have been a worthwhile sacrifice.

Now onto the part that is difficult. Minerva, I am writing this out of a terrible cowardice. My position as your immediate superior has always prevented me from telling you how I feel, but I think that is just an old man's excuse for lying to a woman he could never hope to claim as his for all these years. But the truth, dangerous and painful as it can be, is always preferable to a lie, I have found through many painful mistakes.

And in this matter, the truth is that I love you Minerva. I have always loved you. I have known since you joined the staff, an idealistic and brave, pigheaded and stubborn, a Gryffindor, always set to argue when you thought I was wrong. You were never afraid to tell me I was being a daft old goat and for that I thank you. There are not many with such loyalty.

I tried to ignore my feelings, convinced you would never fall for me, someone almost thirty years your superior. I have watched you over the years, always so alone, and maybe I saw a little attraction in your eyes, even as you swore you would never take a husband and that no man could ever tear you from the love you bore Hogwarts and your students.

If I am mistaken, then I apologise. If I am right, then I apologise again, for acting out of cowardice and convincing myself it was for the best. And I am sorry, if you can ever forgive me, for leaving this to you in a letter, for I know it will do you no good to dwell on the past and what might have been when I am gone.

I am leaving everything I own, save some odd things listed in my will, to you Minerva, and the school that we both love. Do with it what you will, I trust you with everything I have and everything I am. I would like to be buried at Hogwarts if that is possible, and I hope you will consent to take the position of Headmistress when I am gone. There is no other I would trust to protect the school and students like you, my love.

Eternally yours with love,

A foolish old man,

Albus

"Oh Albus," she breathed, tears flowing unstoppably from her eyes again now, this time at the loss of the possibility. She remembered all those years she had followed him, loving him at a distance, knowing he was too powerful to ever be interested in a girl like her. Always, she had hidden her love, or tried to, and yet he had loved her too. He had never told her, never even hinted at it. All the time they could have had, all the time they had known each other, and never had he let on about this. They could have had so many happy years together, but now, now all she was left with was words on parchment and a string of might-have-beens.

The envelope fluttered to the floor as she clutched the letter close to her heart, trying to absorb the words, imagine him saying them to her, whispered, loving. She couldn't do it. She had banished those thoughts so long ago, buried them so far down, that all she had left was an all encompassing idea that this was a joke. He was trying to make her feel better after his death. It was pity. That was all it could be. He could not have loved her.

Back on familiar territory, Minerva strode over to the fire. She would not be the object of Albus Dumbledore's pity. She threw the letter into the flames and watched as it curled into tiny spirals of flame. He could not love her. He did not love her.

And yet, somehow, even when she had turned away from the fire at last, she could not stop herself from taking the envelope and sliding it into her drawer, looking down as she did at the single word, the only word left of that beautifully torturous letter. Just one word left of Albus' love for her.

Minerva

A/N- What can I say? I had a reviewer who liked this pairing and got inspired. I'm sorry for the overall…not particularly cheerful-ness of this. I didn't mean for it to come out all sad…