Oh my goodness this took a long time to get right! My magical knowledge etc isn't brilliant but I've done my best trying to blend it with the more human elements.
Here we see the aftermath of the war, how it's changed both Albus and Minerva's lives and the deepening of their relationship. Note the rating change for sexual scenes. Apologies for any grammatical errors, I've read it many times but still manage to miss some.
AN: Don't own them and make no money from it.
Chapter 2 – Late-Autumn 1945
Almost a new year, Albus mused, sitting outside a cafe in a back street in Hungary. He'd always chosen to see it as something positive, a chance to start afresh and wipe away any lingering mistakes. Yet as he sat there, watching a light snowfall coat the small cobbled lane, he couldn't find any traces of hope. Surrounding him was a crippled world, the inhabitants of the city defeated and drawn; everywhere he looked people wore the face of death. Funny, how the Muggles' war so closely mirrored their own.
He had no doubts that he was moving ever closer to a one-on-one confrontation with Gellert. And he realised, quite some time ago, that Gellert had succeeded in finding the elder wand. With that thought in mind he knew he was at a disadvantage. But death didn't scare him, it never had. The recuperations of it perhaps did. What really kept him awake at night was the fear that he might still be so easily swayed by Grindelwald. That he might still have that intense hold over him as he once did as a charming young man in Godric's Hollow.
Sharp memories pricked his mind, like a snake attacking, and he closed his eyes quickly to dispel them.
He felt so very alone. The previous Christmas had come and gone without him even noticing and soon another would be upon him. He thought of Hogwarts, the new students, the celebrations. He thought of Christmas there when he'd gone to bed with an overstuffed belly and cheeks rosy from too much whisky.
He thought of Minerva. Her last Christmas at Hogwarts. She'd given him a chess piece, a very rare one, carved from Elm, a king who bore a striking resemblance to Albus himself. He remembered her smile, her skin, her scent when she'd kissed him.
Draining his coffee he left a tip and headed out into the winter street, back to the small room he was sleeping in. Tomorrow he'd search again. There were still leads to follow.
That night when he dreamt he was back in that summer night, the scent of pine surrounding him, her sweet kiss. And then things got muddled and she became Gellert, and he found himself swept away by his emotions, behaving in a way he never thought he would. He woke covered in a sheen of sweat and spent the rest of the night pouring over intelligence for clues.
Training was utterly delightful! Whereas in school it had taken a while, years even, for her to find her feet socially, here Minerva fell straight into it. She loved the discipline, the hard work, the camaraderie and sense of purpose.
As always things came so easily to her; she'd always been a skilled duellist and quickly ascended to the best in the group. Yet nobody judged her here, nobody saw it as a weakness to be good. They celebrated her.
And with that support she'd blossomed. Her Animagus training was developing at quite a rate and she was pretty sure she'd make a full transformation before the year was out. There was even talk of using her early for covert operations.
Yet what was most surprising was that she had a boyfriend. She hadn't been looking, still harbouring lingering feelings for her old Professor, but then she'd met Bryan, young like her, eager and talented like her – though not quite as good, she often teased.
It was only the early stages, they'd been on dates, had kissed a few times but nothing more. She knew he wanted to take it further, and in a way she did too. She felt she was getting too old to still be a virgin, most of her friends at school had come back that last year deflowered. She'd resolutely vowed to wait for true love. Now, it all seemed a silly nonsense. What did it matter really, whether you were in love or not, whatever love really was anyway.
She was musing on this as she skipped from the tram and headed down to the ministry entrance. She was beginning to rather enjoy being out and about in the city, even with the horrendous state it was in there was still a sense of exuberance and resistance about it – she loved that grit.
The ministry was alive with noise. Everywhere she looked people seemed to be either hugging, crying, rushing or cheering. It rather disorientated her as she landed in a heap at the foot of an elderly wizard hastily scanning the Daily Prophet.
"What's happening?" She asked, unfolding herself from the fireplace, he seemed annoyed at her question.
"Keep up young lady, he might be dead, they're saying he's dead."
"Who..." but the wizard marched away, folding the paper under his arm. Quickening her step she headed for the stand, took a paper and scanned the front page. Dark Wizard Grindelwald: Dead?
"You heard the news?" Eva asked as she walked into the office.
"Heard it, I've practically been swallowed up by it. Took me ten minutes to fight my way here."
"They're saying it was Dumbledore."
At this she stopped, gripping the paper in her hand a little tighter, she hadn't read further than the headlines before heading to her department.
"And?"
Eva was at Hogwarts too, a year above, never really had anything to do with Minerva but now she often acted as if they were best friends. The two of them, along with three others, were sharing a Victorian semi in the city.
"No word, could be dead too, was pretty horrific I think. Bit tight on details the old buggers," she indicated the corridor down to the Head Auror's office. "Would be a shame, always thought he'd be the next Headmaster."
Minerva felt her legs wobble and quickly sat back on the old couch. He couldn't be dead. He promised her they'd stay in touch and he hadn't written back yet, she'd sent two letters at the end of summer and no reply and he couldn't be dead because he promised he'd stay in touch... The futility and childishness of her reasoning seemed to dawn on her and she closed her eyes, willing the pain away.
So this was what grief felt like. A slight likening to nausea, standing on the top of a high building and looking down, a feeling of uselessness – there was nothing she could do, nothing she could change.
When she saw Bryan that night he was full of celebration. He'd wanted to go out dancing, the entire house had, so she'd been dragged out, playing the game. But as she watched him eat his dinner, laughing and joking with their friends, she quickly reached the conclusion that she had to end it with him. Because whatever game she was trying to be part of it wasn't real. The fun they had together, the pleasure of kissing and touching him, it didn't even come close to making her feel how she had last summer sitting beneath a tree with Albus. She'd tried to pretend she could be normal and fit in, but it wouldn't work, it never did. She wasn't the same. She didn't want the same as them.
She hastened to her feet, the group hardly noticed until she pushed behind Eva to get out of the booth.
"You alright Min?"
"I've got a terrible headache; I'm going to go home."
"Hang on," Bryan said draining his drink. "I'll walk you."
The others jeered, jostling his arm as he got up, swinging his coat over his shoulder. "Alone in the house hey..."
He just laughed; she was already out the door.
"Wait up Min."
"You don't have to walk with me," she said, her feet crunching the ice beneath foot. "I'm fine alone."
"I know, but I want to."
"It won't mean..." she stopped as he took her arm, leaning in close and kissing her cheek and she suddenly felt entirely horrid for so quickly reaching the conclusion he wasn't worth her time. "It's cold," she said, "let's find a spot and apparate."
In her kitchen she fussed making tea whilst he played around with the muggle wireless he'd got from home, his parents were both muggles. It intrigued her. How he got to be so gifted.
"Fancy a drop of something in that?" He whispered by her ear, she hadn't even realised he was behind her, "got some whisky?"
"No, I'm fine," she focussed on stirring sugar into his drink.
He was pressed up against her, as he had been so many times before, smelling of rich cinnamon. His mouth nuzzled her ear, then the back of her neck, moving the plait of hair aside as he nibbled her skin. They'd played this game before. She twisted her neck slightly until her lips found his and suddenly they were kissing greedily, hot and leading, she blocked thoughts of love and focussed on how it made her insides catch fire. She could do this. She wanted this.
One hand reached behind to touch him and she found her hand awkwardly twisted against his side, scrunching up his shirt. His hands were exploring, they'd done that before too, skimming her body, up her hips, her waist, cupping her breasts until she moaned into his mouth. He was very handsome, she was lucky to have him.
His left hand dipped down, over her stomach, she followed its progress in her mind even as they kissed, wondering where he'd go next, what he'd do next. When his fingers reached down and pressed between her thighs she froze.
Pulling back from the kiss Bryan noted her wide eyes.
"Sorry..." he murmured, "I went too fast, I thought it was what you wanted."
"It..." She shook her head, "I'm sorry, I thought I was ready but..."
"Its fine," he was embarrassed, nervous even, he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. "Listen don't worry, we can just forget..."
"Forget it happened." She said, she remembered saying it before in other circumstances. She smiled, kissing his cheek, "I'm sorry, I'm mixed up about everything, what it means, if he's really dead."
He nodded, thinking she meant Grindelwald.
"I'll let you go to bed, your headache."
"Yes, thank you."
He squeezed her hand before he left.
A month later and she was out on a field in Poland. With just over a year in training she was joining her other trainees, supposedly only there as bystanders, as the Aurors went after what was left of Grindelwald's supporters.
He'd been in Nurmengard for weeks now. Ironically. And Albus was alive, though she had yet to receive any contact from him, not personally. She couldn't deny it stung. But then really – what was she to him? Just an ex-student. He had friends, family, that had known him for considerably longer. He was world-renowned, the most powerful wizard of all time, celebrated, decorated. She was an ex student training to be an Auror. Small, tiny, in comparison. And it was enough that he was alive and well. More than enough.
Of course nothing ever went to plan; she was quickly learning that rule. And even though they weren't meant to be physically involved things had quickly gotten out of hand. The group they'd been tracking was much larger than anticipated, and Grindelwald had taught them a thing or two. It didn't take her long to realise she would be no bystander when the fight began. And she'd be fighting to kill... or be killed.
Minerva had mused how it was like gardening, one of her mother's favourite pastimes. You think you just pull the weed up and that's it, gone. But if you pull off the head you just spread it, and five more appear in its place.
So with Grindelwald behind bars they'd been blind enough to think that was it. Of course it wasn't. He had followers willing to fight on, in his name, to try and free him. And they'd been outnumbered, though she rather suspected unprepared was closer to the mark. So here she was, numbingly cold in a field at five in the morning watching hexes fly back and forth. Testing her own abilities, watching friends fall.
Exhausted and despondent. This was her first experience of war. And a war they thought was over. Her initial joy at finding out Albus was still alive, and celebrated, quickly fading when this was thrust upon her. Everything seemed a little more real now.
She'd spotted him in their camp three days ago but he hadn't seen her. And even then he wasn't there long. He looked older. Weary. She wanted to comfort him, sit and talk as they used to in the safety of Hogwarts. He belonged there, not out here in this damp nothingness.
A flash of red skimmed past her ear and she felt an itchy burning sensation on her cheek, she fired back, mind firmly in the present, and watched her opponent fall. Just like duelling finals. She lightly touched her cheek, sticky with blood.
Striding forward, onwards, who was next? She was ready now! She caught sight of four, maybe even five, in a group – more like a gang, firing relentlessly at one spot. She ran forward, aiming herself, disarming two before she was even in sight of their target.
Dumbledore, magnificent as he stood tall, she couldn't remember him ever looking so fierce. His eyes, those soft gentle eyes, blazed with anger and focus. The two she'd hit were turned on her now and she hit one with a thud of hexes, the other quickly caught up with another one of her team.
She watched dumbstruck as Albus flew through the air, landing heavily, her heart constricted, she yelled – not a word, a strange yelp of pain as if it were she who had been hit. And then she witnessed as he took all three out with one graceful swoop of his arm before falling back upon the sodden earth.
Suddenly the war seemed to have stopped and the only sound was the buzzing in her ears.
"Albus!" She screamed, her voice sounding odd even to her own ears. For once she cursed the emerald robes which billowed around her, whipping her legs as she ran. She felt cumbersome and off-balance, a result of the constricting dress-wear and the recent fight.
It seemed to take an age to reach him, the cries of anguish and pain around her seemed somewhat muted, the only clear noise being the constant thud of her own heart pounding in her ears.
"Albus..." She was on her knees beside him, slender fingers brushing his hair back from his face, keenly aware of the blood sliding against her skin. "Albus?" More of a question this time, a pleading perhaps.
"Ah Minerva..." He breathed, a light smile already playing on his lips. "Did you see how I flew through the air?" He even chuckled.
She sat back, staring at him dumbfounded, her deep fear quickly replaced with incredulity. "Yes, I saw." Using a corner of her robes she dabbed at his cut face. "It's hardly something to celebrate."
He seemed to suddenly notice her. "My dear your face," He whispered, reaching to touch the three vicious slices along her cheek.
"Yours is worse," she bit back and he had to smile again, that sharp tongue had got her into trouble more than once as a student.
She held his gaze for a moment, a familiar feeling stirring in her chest as those sparkling eyes drew her in. Then too quickly she became aware of others gathering around her, medics tending to Albus, helping him up. They were separated and the moment was lost.
A week later she was back home, and it was almost Christmas. She was going back to Scotland the following morning, spend some time with her family, get some sleep, eat some decent food. The battle already seemed an age ago, her brief contact with Albus some strange dream.
The house was empty but for her and Eva, her parents were in London so she had no reason to leave.
Minerva was lying on the couch reading a book, glad of the peace and the chance to rest, when there was a knock at the door, she was about to get up when Eva swept in wearing a fabulous red dress.
"I'll get it, just Bryan." She said letting him in. "I'm almost ready, gotta get some shoes and I'm there."
The young man came in; he looked incredibly handsome Minerva thought as she slipped her glasses off and looked up at him. There had been an unspoken end to their relationship. She wondered really what it all meant. Was she such a wimp at these things? They'd never officially said it was over but he'd stopped coming over, she'd stopped arranging dates. That was it; she understood now what the term 'fizzled out' meant.
What she didn't expect was for her housemate to pick him up so quickly.
"Hi Min," he said sheepishly glancing down at where she lay.
"Hello, going to a party?"
"Yeah, wanna come, should be good, Christmas thing you know, some Muggle dance at a hall down..."
"No, it's fine; I'm going home tomorrow so I better not."
She was relieved when another knock came at the door and this time Bryan got it, she assumed it was another of their friends heading in the same direction yet she almost toppled off the couch when the tall wizard spoke.
"I'm looking for Minerva McGonagall."
"I'm right here," she said, tipping sideways completely undignified, her legs losing their way a little before her bare feet hit the floor. "I'm here," she said again, getting up just as Bryan led him down the short hall and into the lounge.
The older wizard stepped inside, quickly surveying the cosy surroundings, he was wearing a bright red travelling cloak covered in glowing golden stars and he smiled animatedly at her. "Hello Minerva. It's very good to see you."
"Hello Professor Dumbledore," she said weakly, seemingly transfixed by his gaze.
"Hey, you're... Merlin... Sir, so good to meet you." Bryan was fussing, shaking his hand like he was some kind of celebrity.
There was a clatter of heels in the kitchen and then a flurry of perfume as Eva seemed to glide into the room. "Professor, I can't believe you're here, you're so famous now and... I mean the war and what you did, we're all so..."
"Eva," Minerva snapped, embarrassed. "I thought you were going to a party..." she let the statement hang in the air, acutely aware of how glamorous her friend looked, blonde hair in loose curls, red dress, red nails, red lips, a diamond sparkling around her throat. Minerva felt positively dowdy in comparison.
"Yeah, you're right; we don't want to be late." Bryan said taking her arm, "So good to meet you sir."
"And you young man. Have a truly wonderful time, dancing is the key to happiness I'm sure."
"Thank you sir, we will." Eva said casting Minerva a 'what the hell' look before they disappeared down the stone steps and the door slammed shut leaving an odd silence in its wake.
"Well," Dumbledore said, "I certainly didn't expect to be called Professor when I saw you again."
"I'm sorry I..." she folded her hands together in front of her, twisting them uncertainly as she once did as a student. "I really never expected for you to visit, to see you again."
"Ah your letters. I'm afraid I must apologise my dear, I have them," and at that he took them from his pocket. "But my mail has been, I'm sorry to say, the least of my worries these past few months." He smiled slightly and for the first time she noticed the scar still on one cheek and the way he seemed to lean heavily on his left leg.
She moved forward without giving herself time to think about it, drawing him into a fierce hug, her petite frame almost enveloped by his voluminous cloak.
"I'm so glad you're..."
"Alive." He finished for her, chuckling as he glanced down at her, "As am I. And you too for that matter, I completely disagree with the ministry for putting such young people in that situation. I should have known though Minerva McGonagall can't be defeated that easily."
She stepped back from him, a little embarrassed and disconcerted by her sudden outpouring of affection. She never was one for silly emotional displays.
"Tea?" She asked weakly.
"That would be most welcome."
"Please, sit down." He did so, removing his cloak to reveal a rather regal looking set of robes. He noted Minerva's wide-eyed look at the brightness, "Ah, I've missed colour." He offered by way of explanation.
She poured the tea and sat beside him. "Again, I'm sorry to have been so lax with the correspondence," he said adding two lumps of sugar to his cup. "I was afraid you'd stopped writing because you thought I didn't care."
She was surprised to find her breathing had quickened a little at his words, "To be honest sir, I didn't know what to think."
"Albus."
"Mmm?"
"Call me Albus, we're not at Hogwarts now, and you're no longer my student. Unless of course you wish for me to teach you something."
She smiled, relaxing, "I'm sure there are always things to be taught. You never did explain the Patronus as communication."
"Ah," he tapped his nose, "quite a brilliant idea, but that's for another day." He keenly remembered that last afternoon by the lake with her; it had been something of a comfort in the days past. He wondered really what madness had driven him to come here, he could tie it all up in fancy pretences if he wanted to, but the reality was he knew she was attracted to him and he knew he was desperately attracted to her and that made it all very dangerous. He should have played it safe and replied by hand, not face-to-face. But then there was something about her he couldn't resist.
"Minerva, I would like nothing more than to exchange letters with you, for us to continue this friendship."
For a moment she had trouble believing it had been over a year since she'd last seen him, that she'd been just eighteen the last time she'd spoken to him by the side of the lake as she cast that first Patronus. She was now twenty. She saw herself as so much older and wiser, she'd learnt so much at the Ministry, she'd dated, had a steady boyfriend, but now she felt just like a child again lost in her emotions.
"I'd like that too."
"Good. I have brought you a gift."
"Oh," she swallowed her tea, putting her cup down.
"It is after all almost Christmas, and I realised the other day, as I lay in St. Mungo's trying to occupy my mind, that it isn't so long ago that you had a Birthday, an important one."
She smiled, "Albus, it was months ago..."
"Yes, but twenty is important, you are no longer a teenager." He produced a small box from his pocket and placed it upon the coffee table. Minerva watched as it slowly grew, no doubt enchanted to do so.
"I remembered how, back in your second year, you had terrible trouble getting to lessons on time in the winter. You missed the warmth of your bed and wanted nothing more than to curl up in there. And every winter that passed I believe you got progressively worse."
She allowed herself a small smile, "Yes, but my discipline overshadowed my need for the warm bed."
"And every morning you sat there looking miserable yet perfectly poised and ready for work."
"So..." she asked, moving forward.
"So, open it. I think it might help."
She quickly removed the ribbon from the box and took off the lid to reveal a small white, plastic, cat. As she lifted it up the head wobbled and it meowed at her.
"Oh my goodness!"
Albus cackled with laughter, "I discovered it in a Muggle gift shop. It's a clock."
"A cat clock." She said incredulously.
"Mmm, I thought it quite fitting." He laughed again. "And I hear congratulations are in order in that particular area too."
She sat back on the couch, a wide smile on her face as she balanced the clock in her palm. "Thank you, I'm finally feeling comfortable with the transformations, no more dizzy spells."
"Good. I knew you'd perfect it. Officially registered too now I see."
"Yes." Was there anything he didn't know? "A little overwhelming. The ministry are quite keen for me to use it as a form of intelligence, but truth be told I was more interested in it from a transfiguration point of view."
He rested his hand over hers and she felt a prickle of delight shoot up her arm. "I'm very aware of that."
"Would you like a biscuit?" She suddenly said pulling her hand free.
"Of course."
She returned with a tartan tin and he grinned when he registered, "Ginger newts."
"It's entirely your fault I'm addicted."
He took two and sat back munching on them.
"So tell me my dear, are you going away for Christmas?"
"Home, I haven't seen my family in a long time."
He nodded, "And taking your boyfriend with you, I heard on the ministry grapevine..."
"No," she cut him off, "No, I don't have a boyfriend anymore."
Albus' eyes narrowed, "That young gentlemen I met tonight seemed very interested."
"I rather think he was more impressed with the glamour on offer than dowdy, cold Minerva."
"Why do you put yourself down?" He asked, suddenly serious.
She shrugged, "Easier. I read too much, and I'm not interested in their parties and frivolity, not really. I keep thinking I'm wasting my time when I'm there, thinking about the things I should be doing." She sighed, finding it difficult to fully convey her thoughts. "I just never seem to fit in."
"Maybe you haven't found the right person to enjoy those things with."
She swallowed, catching his eye.
"What I mean is you have a lot to offer Minerva, you're kind and incredibly bright," he took her hand again, "and we don't all look for the glamour, an honest heart is much more important. I think you'll be surprised to find that the young man in fact misses you and is already bored of the red dress."
Smiling she said, "I haven't seen you in so long, you've fought in the darkest most dangerous war we've ever known, and yet you come over here giving me advice on my love life?"
"All part of the service, I better be leaving you to your book anyhow." He stood up and she instantly missed him sitting by her side yet she too got up and followed him to the door. "Have a lovely Christmas Minerva."
"Thank you Albus, you too." She wondered where he was going, who he'd be with; she hoped he wouldn't be lonely. "And thank you again for my present."
"You are most welcome."
"I'll treasure it."
He nodded and with a flourish of his robes was gone.
1946
It was the end of January before she saw him again. More relaxed this time as she entered the bistro tucked away in the city. She had wondered why he'd suggested here for lunch and not one of the more fashionable places, or more popular haunts of Diagon Alley. But it became apparent when she found him surrounded by four or five wizards asking for stories and autographs.
He'd soon cleared them away though as he spotted her and stood to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks.
"Minerva, you look lovely, so glad you could meet me."
"An offer of lunch isn't something I get every day. Are they fans?" She teased.
"I'm beginning to find the whole thing incredibly tiresome."
"Don't be bashful, besides I'm sure in time it will die down, you know, ten or twelve years." She smirked.
"Isn't the snow glorious," he said watching her remove her woollen hat and scarf and shake the loose snow from her hair.
"Hmm, I'm not sure I'd use that word." She sulked sitting down.
"Cats aren't known for their love of the snow, how are you getting on with the clock?"
She ignored the jibe, "To be perfectly honest it scares me, I only have to catch it with my arm and it meows so loudly."
He laughed, pouring her a glass of wine, "I know, marvellous isn't it."
She was shaking her head as she sipped her wine, "You are the most intriguing wizard I've ever come across."
"I have to say, you intrigue me too." He clicked his glass against hers. "Shall we order?"
After lunch they took a walk through the park, she had to admire the way that even in muggle clothing he still managed to maintain the bright colours she knew him so well for, a purple umbrella, a silk suit. She felt positively drab in her black dress and burgundy coat.
He took her arm, swinging the umbrella as they headed through Hyde Park towards the river.
"Thank you for your letters by the way," she said; they'd exchanged several since Christmas, and the speed and length of his letters surprised her. She was beginning to believe he genuinely wanted to form a relationship with her.
"Mmm..." He said simply, continuing their walk.
"What's that mean?" She asked glancing up at his serene smile.
"You're not entirely sure why I write, I can sense it, you're still so unsure of yourself."
She breathed deeply; he never did play around with his words. "Well, I suppose I'm not entirely sure what I can say that holds any interest."
"Minerva, didn't we always get on so very well at Hogwarts."
"That's different and you know it, I was your student, you had a duty to talk to me, to teach me, we very rarely ventured outside the subject of education in our discussions."
He nodded; he had to agree with that. "Yes, you're right; it doesn't mean we don't have things to talk about or that I don't find you intensely interesting." Or alluring, he thought but restrained from saying. "I keep telling you how bright you are, talented, and you're a true friend Minerva. Loyal. Not once have you asked me about Grindelwald, and of all my friends, you are the only one who hasn't."
She leant in a little closer to him, feeling the cold through her coat, so that was why he liked talking to her. "I didn't feel it my place to pry. I figure if you want to talk about it with me you'll do so. If not, then that's that."
They stopped by a bench and took a seat, sitting in silence as they watched the afternoon sunlight casting shapes over the frozen water. After a while he reached over and took her hand, kissing the back of it and then laying it on the bench between them as he continued to rub her glove-covered fingers.
"War is never an easy topic, and despite everything there's so much guilt."
"How can you feel guilty?" She said gently, genuinely confused, "You should be proud, everyone is so grateful..."
"Not everyone." He said swiftly. "Not everyone thinks I'm some kind of hero, I don't blame them, I've never particularly had much time for heroes either."
She let the comment rest and for a while they sat in silence again, Albus' concentration focussed on the view, hers on the way his fingers gently lifted and caressed hers.
"You know, you have to stop doing that." She plucked up the courage to say, indicating their entwined hands.
"Sorry?"
"If we're friends, that's fine I can cope with that. But you know, there was always the hint of something more, that time..."
"I hadn't forgotten Minerva," he said quickly. "In fact, I think about that moment a little too often."
She felt her pulse quicken, hope rise.
"And?" She finally managed to croak out.
"And we're better as friends, anything else is just..." he shook his head, still not meeting her gaze. "Too complicated, too dangerous and messy. I care very deeply for you; I wouldn't want to in any way harm that."
Her hope dropped again.
He squeezed her hand, "And how is Bryan?"
"Still with Eva," she said defiantly. "And I know he isn't the one for me."
It occurred to Dumbledore that perhaps he was relying on the young Minerva a little too much. After all they'd met countless times over the past few months, had exchanged letters now on almost a daily basis. Despite the frantic nature of his life right now she was the one constant. The one normal thing – as odd as it seemed. Labels and positions were being thrust upon him at an alarming rate. It had even been suggested the current minister stand down and he take their place. Yet he refused. Of one thing he was certain, he didn't want the power. He wanted to teach. To get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. But with all that was going on it seemed unlikely he'd return that current year. September at the earliest.
"You miss it don't you," she said one spring afternoon as they sat in the park.
"Very much. Very, very much."
"I do too."
"Do you wish to return?"
She smirked, "I'm too old."
"As a teacher, perhaps, one day."
She wrinkled her nose, "I wouldn't be any good at it, I have no experience with children and very little patience."
"I think you'd be wonderful at it."
"And you think you know me," she laughed.
He smiled, "We won't be able to meet so frequently, when I'm back there."
It sounded almost illicit when he said it like that, even though all they'd ever done was eat dinner and drink coffee and talk. Talk and talk and talk. Yet she'd never spoken of it to anyone, not her family, not her friends. She wondered why.
"My nightmares are easing," he suddenly said and she turned sharply to face him.
"Oh?"
"Several months now, several attempts at removing the memories."
"Albus," she said concerned reaching for his hand.
He was shocked how just that act brought him to tears. Over the past few months he'd spoken of the duel countless times, had recounted it for several hearings and never once found himself overcome with emotions. Yet a girl he's attracted to whispers his name in concern and he breaks down in tears.
She moved closer, drawing him into an embrace, silent as his tears fell. It didn't scare her to see him cry, but it hurt, she didn't want to ever think of him as being in pain.
"I'm sorry Minerva," he whispered against her shoulder.
"Don't be." She rubbed his back soothingly. "You have nothing to apologise for."
"I don't mean to, I haven't..." he drew in a deep breath, leaning back from her.
She saw his pained expression, the furrowed brow and for the first time it struck her just how he carried the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders. She hated it for being that way. One man, however great, shouldn't have that burden.
She leant forward and chastely kissed his lips.
For a second he held her gaze, intense, eyes deep and contemplative. "Let me tell you..." He said, pulling her to him, her back to his chest.
"You don't have to..." she said gently, leaning back into his embrace.
He closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply. She felt warm against him, and whole, he'd dreamt of her so often whilst he was away – using the memory of her sweet humanity as the measure for his own. She was in a way his moral guidance, despite not even physically being there. He briefly considered revealing this to her, but it would be too much; she was too young to cope with that – the image of what he'd made her into in order to sustain him during the darkness.
"I was in love with him," he finally breathed, his words melting into the crisp afternoon air. She didn't respond and for a while he left it at that, holding her tight against him, her slim body seemed almost fragile against his, if it weren't for the fact he knew her temper – and skills with a wand – he'd have believed she was. "Does it shock you?" he finally asked, his voice croaking slightly.
"No," she said, and he wondered if that were wholly true.
"I didn't realise perhaps at the time that it was love, or something similar, some twisted version of what love is. I was only seventeen," he swallowed, kissing the top of her head suddenly and relaxing his hold a little. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't drag you into this. My memories. My mistakes."
She placed her hands on top of his where they rested on her stomach, bringing them back to clasp over each other holding her tight against him, her fingers rested gently on top of his.
"You see, my mother had just been killed... my sister, Kendra, it wasn't her fault, she had little control over her abilities."
She knew bits about this, had heard stories over the years, rumours and gossip about Dumbledore's broken family.
"I felt... well, I suppose I felt angry, the talent I had wasted as I had to stay at home and tend the family. I resented them. I resented being there. And I was angry at life, for the way my life – my family – had turned out. Somehow, I'm not saying it was logical, Merlin knows..."
He stopped, drawing in a tight ragged breath. She rubbed the back of his hand reassuringly, twisting her head to kiss his chest, she'd never done anything remotely like it before, it was a natural impulse.
He nuzzled her head again with his chin.
"And then he was there," he felt her entwine their fingers. "Offering something of life, I fell so hard, so fast... never known anything remotely like it before of course and one doesn't discuss those kinds of feelings with anyone, even if I had anyone to discuss it with. Friends never came to Godric's Hollow, Elphias off travelling – the trip we'd planned together."
He paused again, remembering the stubborn, self-important streak he had back then. A sense of deserving things to be better, for the world to bend to his will.
"Gellert offered me a way out, something to focus my resentment on. Muggles."
Again he fell silent; she rubbed one hand reassuringly up his arm.
"Once I let love control me, I lost sight of who I really was."
She sat forward now, turning to look at him, "Perhaps... but it doesn't mean love is always that way Albus." She smiled slightly at the raise of his eyebrows, "Of course I know all about love with my many experiences."
"Of course." He was grateful for her presence, the way she could lighten his mood.
"Don't you always say love is the most important thing we have?"
"Yes, and I truly believe that. But not for me, I... I don't trust myself with it."
She narrowed her eyes, watching his expression, the darkening of his eyes. "I don't think love was to blame. I think you fell for the wrong person, a dark, evil person who used your affection... who manipulated your affections."
He squeezed her shoulder, "I had thought of that too, believe me, I've looked at this from every angle. I just feel..."
"You can't have one bad experience and write it off forever, spend the rest of your life alone. It happened a long time ago."
"Minerva..." he kissed her forehead, "Doesn't it bother you at all?"
"That you loved a murderer, or the fact you loved a man?"
"Either."
She sighed, her shoulders slumping, "I think you have great capacity to love, and I think you were young and looking for something and he offered it. I don't think it matters who you loved, male or female; it doesn't change how I view you... or what I feel towards you..." She knew they were on dangerous territory; they hadn't spoken of their feelings towards each other, not really. Choosing to skate over the top of it instead.
Once again Albus ignored the bait, moving away from the dark reflective nature of his confession and instead smiling at her. "Ah, but then you're saying I was young and impressionable?"
She nodded, turning around now and sitting cross legged to face him.
"By that token, you aren't that much older than I was, are you not young and impressionable?"
She smirked, "Have you ever known me to be influenced by another?"
"Not yet..."
"Don't play games, and I'm hardly young, I'm twenty now Albus, not a child anymore."
"No, but I'm old enough to be..."
"My father, yes I know."
"Even a grandfather."
"My grandfather would be in his eighties now!"
"That doesn't matter, the fact is there."
"It isn't a fact. I don't see your age; I don't judge you on your age. I judge you on who you are, on the goodness you do, the strength of the relationship we have. The friendship."
He reached forward and clasped her hand, "And I have no problem being friends."
"But I shouldn't push for more..." She sighed, still niggling away at him, still searching for some kind of recognition that this could be more.
"I don't want you wasting your time, your affections, on an old fool like me. You're young and vibrant, so very bright Minerva, such a future ahead of you. Don't tie yourself to me."
"Not even if it's my decision. If I want it."
"And what about what I want?"
She couldn't argue with that, she shrugged, "Fine. I'm not going to follow you around like some love-sick puppy, moping about."
He laughed, "I've had my fair share of that!"
"Oh, with who?" She leant towards him, almost giggling, "Do tell, I hope it's somebody powerful who I know."
"I don't kiss and tell."
"Neither do I," she said pointedly.
"I know that." He said lowly.
"Do you ever think about our kiss?" She whispered.
He licked his lips, eyes sparkling, "Never."
She smiled, "Me neither."
With a chuckle he got up, "I do believe I promised you dinner." He helped her up, "And it's getting late so let's find somewhere wonderful."
"You choose."
"Lobster, I dreamt of it whilst I was away, decadent."
"Alright." She brushed her robes down, her ramrod straight poise returning as she tucked any loose hairs back into her bun. "Do I look suitable for dinner?"
"Perfectly wonderful," he took her hand and she tucked her arm through his as they walked. "Thank you Minerva, for listening."
"You're welcome, we're friends right."
"Very good friends..." his voice altered slightly, "You know I've never told..."
She squeezed his arm, "And neither will I. Whatever we discuss is between us."
"You aren't a teenager anymore are you?" He stated, glancing sideways at her.
"Took you a while to notice," she groaned just before they apparated.
"You got a visitor," Eva said as she abruptly knocked on Minerva's bedroom door.
They were still hardly talking over the whole situation with Bryan, Minerva knew they were sleeping together and yet Bryan still seemed enamoured with her, showing every sign that if she snapped her fingers he'd drop Eva so fast. None of it bothered her really. She was far past caring about, what she viewed as, trivial matters.
"It's almost one in the morning." Minerva moaned, she was lying on her bed reading.
"Guess he doesn't keep usual hours, your great Professor Dumbledore. Since when did you become best friends anyhow?"
Minerva shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, "We're not, he's helping me with my Animagus research, that's all." She offered by way of an explanation.
Eva twisted her hair around her finger, "Well, we're playing cards in the lounge so it's not exactly quiet in there, you want me to send him up?"
"No, no I'll come down to the kitchen of course."
"Suit yourself."
Minerva wasn't sure what Eva made of Dumbledore's more frequent visits to their house, but she certainly didn't want to provide her with any ammunition in the gossip department.
She padded barefoot down the stairs and into the small kitchen, the tiles cool against her feet. Albus Dumbledore seemed to fill the little kitchen with his omniscient glow, resplendent in lilac robes.
"Albus..." she breathed and his eyes twinkled in merriment.
"Hello Minerva, I think your friends were quite startled by me."
"Well, you are the celebrity now, and it is the early hours of Saturday morning."
"Ah so it is."
"Have you been drinking?" She asked with a smile, noting the red blush in his cheeks.
"Of course not, I have just attended another dull dinner and was consistently drawn into the repercussions of our recent victory and I kept thinking about the book I'd promised to bring you to help with your Animagus training. You are still writing a paper on it aren't you?"
She bit down on her lip, "Yes I am," she leant back against the counter with a smile. "And you just had to bring this now?" She turned back the front page reading the inscription, To Minerva, I'm sure you'll get more from this than I ever did! Love Albus.
He nodded happily, "I didn't necessarily want to spend an evening alone and I could think of no better person to spend the evening with, whilst in London." He sat back on one of the small wooden chairs at the table.
"Evening is over, this is night." She said bluntly, amazed by how quickly their relationship had moved forward, she was direct with him now as if he were any other man, and their flirtation was much more pronounced. She was rather enjoying it. She opened the cupboard above the sink and took out two glasses. "Can you hold your drink Professor?"
He smirked at her pointed use of the noun, "I can try; though I doubt Miss McGonagall I have the same tolerance as your Scottish blood."
She handed him a small glass of malt, she'd brought it back from home during her last visit and transfigured the bottle into a cheap vinegar-like wine they'd vowed never to drink again to put her housemates off.
"Good stuff," he commented.
"I know my whisky." She was leant back against the sink sipping her drink. He liked the way it pushed her hips forward.
"I'm sure."
They heard raucous laughter from the other room and Dumbledore glanced in their direction with a smile.
"Do you want to join them?" she said standing up and passing him, "be careful with your galleons though."
He caught her elbow, holding her still, "I'd rather it was just you and I."
There was a sudden certainty to her actions that she knew she'd never felt before. Even when she was duelling, or working out a spell, however much she'd practiced and however well she knew her stuff there was always a tiny lingering doubt she might be wrong. She often questioned her own actions. But not now. This was absolute.
She slid her hand into his, grabbing the bottle of whisky with her other, and leading him to the back door. "Goodnight Albus, thank you for the book," she said loudly, her hand briefly leaving his to open the door.
He quickly caught on, "You're welcome, goodnight."
She slammed the door and then pulled him up the stairs.
The candles in her room flickered furiously as she shut and locked the door, and when she turned to face him, her wand still her hand from the Colloportus spell, it all felt decidedly unreal.
"This is my room," she said in a very quiet voice.
"Yes," he glanced round before downing his whisky. What the hell was he doing here?
"I'm sorry about the mess," she said, clearing her robes from the bed.
He was looking at the many books she had laid out on her desk and he easily slipped into her chair as he glanced at them, noting her scribbles in the margins.
"One can't help but wonder Minerva, why you're up here doing this on a Friday night whilst your friends..."
"Oh," she was smoothing out the bedclothes, "I'm not exactly popular at the moment, with the whole Bryan thing."
His eyes narrowed slightly, "You're sure there's nothing there with him."
"No," she said resolutely, her mouth dry, "You see, I keep... I keep thinking about you."
He smiled, slowly; at first she thought she'd scared him. "I keep thinking about you too."
"This is very surreal, having you sat there in my horrid little room."
"It smells of you," he said without thinking. Long nights hiding in dingy rooms he'd remembered her scent.
"I'm not sure what all this means." She said, feeling brave, the alcohol leaving a nice warm buzz along her veins.
"Me neither, would you rather I went or..."
"Or..." she smiled, stepping closer to him.
"Well," he chuckled, looking at his hands, "we could just talk."
"Yes, we could." She moved closer again, he sat up in the chair, leaning back so he could watch her a little more easily in the flickering light. "We've been talking for months now. And I do like talking to you."
"I like that too Minerva, I think of you as a dear friend."
"And I you," her leg brushed his knee now, "I remember when we were talking in the woods, sitting on the floor in the clearing, the sun was setting."
"The ground was damp from the summer rain and you smelt of lavender," he added, held by her eyes.
"You held my hand and my heart was thumping so hard in my chest I was convinced you could hear it."
"Deafened by the thumping of my own heart," he whispered.
She leant forward, aware of his hand lifting to rest against her waist, and then her eyes closed and she touched his lips and everything else faded away.
For a second they were back there, almost two years ago, with the softness of a first tentative kiss. And then he opened his mouth and deepened it and she moaned into him. She couldn't remember ever doing that before.
When his tongue touched hers her stomach swooped and she leant into his body, something akin to the first time she'd hurtled to the ground on her broom racing. She never wanted it to stop.
"Minerva," he mumbled against her lips, his kiss moving to her chin, her neck, she arched back for him, feeling his other hand now on the dip of her back.
"Yes," she whispered in return, not really a question, more of a request. Do it again, please do it over and over again.
"Minerva, Minerva..." she smiled as he said her name, hushed tones, his lips marking her, no-one would ever kiss her like this again she was sure.
He felt her tug at his arms, drawing him up to stand with her. Her hands were fast, removing his travelling cloak and pulling him back to her bed.
He held her gaze, this wouldn't go too far, he wouldn't let it, just kissing, and perhaps cuddling, that was quite safe. But Merlin she was intoxicating.
"I can't stay for long," he said awkwardly, redundantly, as his mouth quickly found hers again and before he knew it they were lying side by side on the bed wrapped around each other, engaged in what he could only conclude was quite heavy foreplay.
He'd never even taken her out on a proper date! He thought absently, he couldn't, this couldn't work, people would stare, she was too young, she was his ex-student, his friend, it was too dangerous – he would always be hunted.
He pulled back slightly, startled by his train of thoughts.
"Don't stop," she breathed, hungrily seeking his kiss, her hands fumbling with his robes as she sought his skin. "I want you to stay." She was kissing his jaw, nibbling his ear, he heard himself groan deeply when her knee nudged between his legs and he knew he had to get out of there. Make it stop. Be reasonable with her.
He sat up; she flopped down on her back, gazing up at him, eyes heavy with lust and desire. He felt his own body swimming with the same heady emotions. Her hands had succeeded in their task and he felt her delicate fingers moving up over his stomach, to his chest, opening his robes ever more as she went.
As he looked down at her, hair loose over the pillows, skin flushed, he knew there was no way he could ever leave. He quickly whispered a silencing incantation before leaning down to kiss her again.
"Minerva, you need to be sure."
"I am," she pushed her hips up towards him, "I am. I want this... you..."
She was kissing him again, soft light kisses that tickled.
He cupped her head, holding her so she couldn't continue, gazing down at her, aware of how her body was crying out for him, drawing him to her. Her hips pushed against his, her legs already parting for him. His erection was becoming painful, the way she rubbed against him.
He groaned, his chin hitting her forehead, intensely aware this was her first time. "We can't do this, it shouldn't be like this." He almost panted the words against her skin, "You should be with someone younger."
"I love you," she said eagerly, lifting her head up to seek his mouth. "I love you; I want it to be you."
When she kissed him this time there was nothing teasing or ticklish about it, she kissed him forcefully, passionately. Forcing his mouth open with hers and quickly finding his tongue with her own. When he moaned again he felt her smile slightly, she knew she had him.
"So beautiful..." he whispered reverently, his hands skimming down her body.
She rolled him onto his back, there on her small bed in the dim room. Sitting up so she could untie her night robe. She felt his eyes on her as the robe dropped down her back, then his fingertips working down her spine as the material fell away.
When she turned to him again she was naked but for her underwear, it was the first time she'd been that exposed to a man and yet she felt not one ounce of awkwardness about it.
The robe was pushed off the bed and she lay above him, pressing her body against his. As she kissed him, taking her time with it, he quickly unhooked her bra, feeling her smile as he did so, she was surprised by it. They fell back, him leaning over her now as he removed her bra and it joined her robe on the floor.
Her silky skin filled his palms and he took his time, sliding his fingertips along her arms, her hips, her stomach, up beneath her breasts. He kissed every inch of her skin, and she lay back blissfully letting him. She'd never dwelt upon what making love would be like, but she was quite sure that this was how it should be.
Absently she thought of the book – he'd only called round to drop off a book, it was amusing, so cliché, she wondered if he'd planned for this. If he'd thought that far ahead or really did just want her company.
She felt his fingers move up behind her knees, causing her to raise her legs slightly, she closed her eyes. Head spinning with want as his mouth closed over her nipple and she pushed against him, eager for more. His hands were on her thighs, the warmth there causing his own skin to prickle with pleasure.
Oh please... she slid a hand into her hair, the other squeezing the sheets beneath her, please, please, touch me there.
At first it was a light touch, as his fingertips swept between her legs and then she felt him curl his thumbs around the top of her panties and slowly, agonisingly, draw them down off her feet. She found it slightly amusing how he followed them down to her feet, stopping to kiss her toes, her ankles, her shins.
She giggled, lifting her head and looking down at him, "Albus..."
And then his hands were there again, that sweet pressure, soft at first, testing, and then his mouth touched her and she jerked upwards and gasped tightly. His right hand slid up her stomach until he found hers, and he folded his fingers with hers, squeezing as he continued the blissful torture. It was like heat building, or winding something up until it was tight and then letting it fall back down, he did this again and again until she was panting and writhing on the bed, reaching for him, her hands on his shoulders as she drew him back up to her.
"I want to," she breathed heavily, pushing at his clothes. He helped her undress him and soon he too was naked.
When he settled between her legs, his face by hers, long slow kisses starting again, she held him tight. "I love you," she said honestly, openly.
"I love you too," and he did, he was sure of that, whatever problems it entailed he was in no doubt that he did love her. Very much. "Tell me to stop if it..." she caught his mouth in a kiss again, urging him on with her leg curling up and over his.
He moved slowly, gauging her reaction, watching her face. The way her breath hitched, the way she bit down on her lip, the tightening of her eyes as he moved deeper inside her, he was in doubt it would hurt at first. He only wanted it to be right, for her.
"Shall I stop," he asked croakily, painfully trying to stay still and hold his own desires in some kind of check.
"No..." her voice was barely a whisper.
He kissed her again, drawing her back into the intoxicating, giddy world they'd created, until her grip on him loosened and her body moved of its own accord with his. They created their own rhythm.
Later, when the house was silent and the candles almost burnt, they lay facing each other. Sleep wouldn't come and neither particularly wanted it.
It hadn't been perfect, she never expected it to be, she'd heard enough late-night dormitory stories to realise that losing one's virginity wasn't as made out in fairytales. But she was glad it was with him. He was patient and tender. Taking his time as much as possible, stopping and waiting and holding her, kissing her. But then at one point he'd climaxed and been so utterly embarrassed, she hadn't even minded, and so he'd used his mouth again and this time she did orgasm under his touch.
"How are you feeling?" He whispered, his arms tight around her waist.
She pursed her lips, contemplating, how did she feel? She stroked his shoulder, moving his beard. "I'm not entirely sure, I suppose one never really knows how it will feel. Not bad."
He smiled, "Not bad?"
"I mean, I don't feel negative, I don't feel as if I've lost something. I feel... perhaps a little overwhelmed."
He remembered that feeling, the first few times he'd had sex, not for love but desire, young lust. And not being able to classify it or deal with the emotional baggage that came with it.
"Your beard has grown longer than when you taught me."
"You don't like it?"
"It will just take some getting used to. It tickles."
"Something you can get used to?"
"Oh, most definitely."
He smiled again, kissing her nose, "You changed the subject."
"I'm no good at talking about my feelings."
"I'm hardly an expert on the matter."
"Well then, how well we fit together."
He groaned, pulling her tight against him, kissing the top of her head. "I never want to leave this room." He mumbled into her hair and his statement filled her with joy.
He rolled onto his back tugging her with him and she lay on top of him, breasts pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. "You can't, you'd be missed, I might get away with it."
"I'd miss you," he said, surprised at just how open he was with her, she did something to him, changed him in ways. He forgot about the outside world and its pressures.
"I should hope so," she replied, kissing him. "I think I'd like to try again."
"At? Oh... oh, well then..."
She laughed, "Did I shock you?"
"No, I'm just," he laughed with her, "women of my era aren't so forthright, I like it." His hands squeezed her hips as she moved, sitting up, "But then you aren't like any woman I've ever come across."
"Good."
How gracefully she moved, sitting back, leaning her head back, her long hair tumbling down her back – tangled from earlier. He wanted to lick her neck, her creamy skin, her perfectly formed breasts. She was pure and young and so not what he'd expected to happen to him at this point in life. He felt the sharp pang of guilt hit, not for the first time that night, and pushed it away, burying it deep down inside. He knew it couldn't languish there forever and soon he'd have to deal with the fact that really he shouldn't be doing this, it was unfair to her, she should have a real boyfriend, someone who would marry her and give her children and be there every single day.
Right now, he couldn't bring himself to accept that was the truth. He didn't want to because he couldn't tear himself away from her.
He heard her moan and his eyes flickered to her face, mouth slightly open, eyes closed as she moved above him, the friction between them blissful. Falling in love with her all over again he reached down between their bodies and slowly pushed himself back inside her.
This time was better. This time he had more control and she wasn't so nervous. In fact as she moved above him, changing the pace to suit her, altering the angle slightly, he couldn't help but marvel at how quickly she picked things up. She'd been the same with spells, he didn't realise it would cover every aspect of her life!
She had him calling out her name; his hands almost rough as they moved along her body, pulling her down to kiss him, to taste her.
"Oh my goodness," she said breathlessly falling on top of him. "I think it's just going to keep getting better."
He was too overcome to speak, eyes closed as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. She wiggled against him still murmuring her pleasure against his chest.
"Albus..." she finally said lifting her head up to look at him, "Didn't you think... what's wrong?"
"Nothing, that was perhaps the most perfect moment of my life."
She laughed, covering his face in kisses, "And it was only my second try."
I hope somebody out there is enjoying this - if so please leave me a review - it really encourages me to keep going!
