Disclaimer: All of the recognizable characters and places in this story belong to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Harry Potter fanfic, but I've had this story in my head ever since I learned of Dumbledore's death, and I finally decided to put it down in paper. It works better not on paper, but I like it well enough here anyway. Please review! It would make me super happy.
Withheld Tears
Minerva McGonagall closed the door to the headmaster's office. Though technically her own, she still thought of it as Dumbledore's—after all, it still had all of his ornaments, posters, papers, and even his smell. Minerva heavily sat down in the desk chair, and looked blankly into space, trying to clear her mind of all emotion. Before the funeral it had been easier, she realized. Before the funeral she hadn't really believed he was dead, really believed that she would never be able to talk to him again, or embrace him. No matter how hard she tried to clear her mind, she kept thinking of him. In some ways he had saved her from her high expectations, and her terror of not being able to achieve them. He had taught her so much about the world, and about herself.
The last time she had seen Albus, she hadn't known what lay ahead for them. When he had explained to her that he had to leave the school for a few hours, she had been furious with him, especially when he had refused to take her. Had she known, she would have held him tight, begged him not to leave, and she would have said the one thing that, despite the extent of their relationship, she had never said, all because she was afraid. Instead, she had just held his hands and said, "Be careful, Albus."
"Oh, Albus," she whispered softly, and tears formed in her eyes. When she had heard that Albus was dead, she had not allowed herself to cry. She had quietly taken over Dumbledore's place, not only as an authority figure at Hogwarts, but also as the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and as the leader against Voldemort that Dumbledore had been. People not close to Minerva were impressed by her leadership and, thanks to her strength, she had gained many important allies. Those close to her thought she had taken over her new responsibility too well, that she had not allowed herself to mourn. For years, the relationship between Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore had been possibly the worst-kept secret in the whole school, though they never did anything in public to show their emotions toward each other as anything more than that of close friends.
Minerva let out a sob, and buried her face in her hands. The tears flowed freely, and as she cried the portraits of the headmasters quietly disappeared, out of respect for her.
"I love you," she sobbed, tears falling faster. Her life no longer had any meaning, any purpose. The man she loved was no longer alive, and there was so much she wanted to tell him.
"I love you too, Min," a low, musical voice said softly. Minerva looked around the room, not even attempting to hide her tears, and was convinced she had imagined it when the voice said, "I always did."
"Albus?" whispered Minerva, before she spotted the portrait of Dumbledore. For the first times since his death, the portrait of Dumbledore was not sleeping. Though Albus was now awake, his face looked sad and wrinkled—for the first time, he looked old. "I'm so sorry, had I known…and Severus…"
"Minerva, it's not your fault," Dumbledore interrupted, and merely the sound of his voice brought back many memories. "You always blame yourself for what was beyond your control, but you must not blame yourself for this. And Severus…Severus is not to be blamed for carrying out my wishes."
"It's so hard not to blame him, Albus, though I know you are correct. What am I to do next?" Minerva asked, her voice hoarse from crying.
"You'll do what you must," he said. "I'm so sorry I left you with this responsibility."
"Nothing will ever be the same again, will it?" Minerva whispered, and started crying fresh tears.
"No," Albus said sadly, and a tear rolled slowly down his cheek.
"I love you," Minerva said, much louder than she intended. "I was afraid to tell you, as if saying it would make it not true"
"I know," Albus said simply. "I know you love me, you don't have to assure me of that, ever."
Minerva lay down on the couch, and closed her eyes. To speak with Albus again was like a dream come true, and she hadn't realized how much she had missed his voice.
"Min, in my desk, the top drawer, there's a package. Unless you moved it, it's still there, and it's for you," Dumbledore said. He smiled slightly as Minerva stood up and walked to his desk, took out the package, and opened it. Inside the brown paper and layers of protective cloth lay a gold band with three stones. In the middle was a diamond, and to the side of there were two, smaller, sapphires. If she squinted hard enough, McGonagall could see powerful spells for protection and good health.
"It's beautiful," she gasped.
"I intended to give it to you for your last birthday, but I too was afraid," he said regretfully. Minerva slid the ring over her ring finger, and lay back down on the couch, exhausted. The day had been emotionally wearing, as had her activities for the past few weeks. She yawned, and Albus smiled slightly, a smile lined with care and worry.
"Sleep well," he said.
"Will you be here in the morning?" Minerva asked, momentarily forgetting that he was only a picture.
"As if I could move far," he said ruefully, but when the momentary happiness slid off Minerva's face at the reminder that he was no longer living, he sighed. "I'll be here and awake by the time that you're up—I always was an earlier riser than you. And in the morning we can talk more." The face on his love lit up, and within minutes she was sleeping peacefully.
Dumbledore sighed, worried. It wasn't right that Minerva should have to bear this weight all on her own. For the past few weeks, some of the time when Minerva had thought him sleeping, he had really been watching. He knew how well she was doing at being him, but he worried that if she continued down this path, she would never be able to become her own person. Though Minerva was the closest person to him, she should not be expected to act exactly as he would have. With a shrug, Dumbledore closed his eyes—they would deal with this in the morning.