Chapter Ten: An Interview
It had already been a trying day. Only eleven and they had to go through the hassle of leaving the castle on time which was its own problem. He had been waiting on an owl all morning that he needed to reply to—it was just his luck that it arrived at such a point that they left twenty minutes late.
Now they were sitting in some sort of waiting room on the first floor of the Daily Prophet's main building, waiting for Maximillian Woodfork to show them in. It wasn't particularly kind of him to keep them waiting. What a git.
Albus sighed and shifted in his seat.
The Daily Prophet was important. It published many different important articles that informed the whole of the wizarding community about its goings-on. He was not so ignorant that he couldn't see that—that, really, was the only thing that kept him from causing disaster. If he had less of a brain, he'd make the whole of the building rain, but as it stood, he could never justify it. Besides that, he knew that there would be hell to pay: every journalist in the wizarding world would libel his name until he was publicly ruined.
He looked next to him at the fidgeting Minerva. She did not look her best today, he had to admit. It wasn't from lack of trying—Merlin knows she could be the prettiest thing in London when she attempted it. But today, it was evident that she had not slept well, which just threw everything off. Her eyes had already been red from crying last night, they only got worse when she slept far less than she should have. Her lips were chapped, her cheeks were blotchy and she seemed have a sudden fascination with ripping apart yesterday's Daily Prophet, piece by piece. All in all, he could tell that she simply wasn't ready for this.
The man put a hand on hers. Her head flipped up, surprised. She tried to smile, but failed.
He knew that she was uncomfortable with going, but he could not have ever guessed that she'd be acting this way. If he had known…well, he would have tried to change things. Albus looked at the woman, feeling at fault for having asked her to come with him. "It will be over before you know it," he whispered.
"I know," she sighed back. "I don't know why I'm so nervous," she admitted sadly. "These sorts of things don't normally get me this anxious." She looked over as the doors opened to the outside, then back into his eyes.
Albus slid his fingers through hers in an attempt to reassure her. He knew. Oh, did he know. "Personal interviews are daunting," he swallowed. "They'll chew you up spit you out, just to be ogled by the rest of them. But I'm here with you." For a split second, he recalled a conversation that they had had not too long ago where she asked him to be her lover more than a protector. Well, it was his natural response to act as both. In any case, she needed him to some degree, whether or not she cared to admit it. "We'll do this and maybe then they'll let us be." He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it softly.
She smiled cheerlessly. "You know they won't."
He nodded his head gently. She was being realistic. "There will come a time, Min, when we're old news and we can go back to where we were. All of this will go away—" he noticed with hope the way in which her face softened at that thought, "and we can continue planning a life together, free of them. Who knows," he leaned in so that only she could possibly hear, "maybe we'll even be able to have a wedding without interference from these leeches."
The tension left her face with that last word.
She was looking forward to the wedding, or at least the idea of the wedding. He had spotted a picture book or two with ideas in her rooms: gowns, flowers, decorations, that sort of thing. The woman had yet to really discuss her plans, but he could wait. The ceremony bit would really be for her—he just wanted Minerva. So long as he could hold onto the woman, he could wait until the end of eternity.
Albus swallowed as a flash of insecurity hit him. She had made a point last night to say that he did not share important information with her. He couldn't continue living like that, keeping secrets. There were things, several things in fact, that he needed to share—least of which was the fact that he had committed heresy by telling Rudy about their affair. That needed to be taken care of quickly; possibly even after the end of their interview. She would forgive him if he told her—she may not be so kind if she were to find out from Rudy, or even Cora (who he supposed Rudy would share the secret with). She expected little out him besides love, but honesty was nearly on the same plane.
He took in a warm breath, staring into the woman's bloodshot eyes. He hated to see her cry. He hated it even more when she cried because of him.
"I love you," he whispered gently, hoping that everything he felt could possibly be conveyed by those words.
"I love you," her voice carried softly into his ears, just before that awful voice of Maximillian Woodfork cut it off: "It's been so long," the slim, angular mosquito of a man grinned, his lips curling menacingly. "How are you, Dumbledore?"
The tone in both of them shifted significantly, he noted, as they stood up to greet the conniving villain. He could feel the proverbial shield charms rise up between them. The man was glad to find his lover respond so well to the danger standing far too close to their pair: she had always been particularly adept at defending herself when she needed to, despite her quiet demeanor.
"Doing well enough," he raised an eyebrow. "Minerva," he looked down at the woman, "this is Maximillian Woodfork."
She reached out her hand as though it was nothing and took the mosquito's hand, "Pleasure to meet you."
"The same to you, Miss McGonagall. You're even prettier in person than you are in your pictures," he breathed, looking the woman up and down slowly. Albus felt a rush of hatred towards the man, who knew well what he was doing. He thought he had won, but he hadn't. "Shall we get this interview started, then?" he licked his pale lips.
Minerva cleared her throat, "I think that would be best, don't you, Albus?"
A grin shifted on his face: he did so enjoy the curtness in her voice. "I think so. We need to get back to the school as soon as possible and I imagine that this will take some time."
"Very well," Maximillian nodded his head. "To my office, then." He began walking towards the door through which he entered, expected Albus and Minerva to follow him. The headmaster slid his fingers through the professor's and they proceeded as a unit. This was as close to war as they were going to get, he imagined, and it was necessary that they stick together.
After that initial door, they had but one more to go through. On the front, etched in a golden plaque was written Maximillian Woodfork, Columnist of the Year. Albus scoffed. Pride was one thing, but there was no need to flaunt one's achievements in such an arrogant fashion. He could have at least placed the plaque inside his office.
He held the door open for Minerva and then went inside himself. Albus scanned the room for anything that violated their agreement, including cameras. There was nothing to be found, except for a quill, writing on its own atop the sizable desk. Maximillian sat behind it and motioned for Minerva and Albus to sit on the door's side of it.
The columnist folded his hands together and looked at the couple once they sat. "Now, we agreed that this would be a transcribed interview with questions that would be predetermined and edited by the three of us. Do you have your copy?"
Albus nodded and handed the parchment to Woodfork. It had been checked several times before it became its final version. "Your copy, Woodfork," he said with false politeness.
He read over the paper carefully at least twice before looking up at the couple. His eyebrow rose, "You claimed," his voice practically crawled across Albus's skin, "that you had nothing to hide. Funny, isn't it, that you should not want to discuss your relationship while Miss McGonagall was at Hogwarts?"
Albus looked at Minerva, then at the quill which was scratching away. He would not be duped, not by this man. "You are in violation of our agreement, Woodfork, by asking us questions that are not on that list. Or do you deny that it is writing down every word that we are speaking?"
Woodfork cleared his throat and then raised a finger, "Ah-uh. I do reserve the right to edit this interview."
"Then kindly refrain from asking us things which are not on that list," Albus hissed.
"Very well," the mosquito shifted his back to fit the contour of his chair. He reached out and grabbed the paper, licking his lips. Woodfork was feigning control, but Albus could see that he had lost it. He did not want to play by their rules, but he damn well would. "We'll start at the top then, shall we? How long have you two been…dating?" he raised a judgmental eyebrow.
"Thirteen months," Albus bobbed his head, taking the woman's hand in his own. He looked beside himself at a blushing Minerva. Perhaps that was what made him say more than he normally would have. "I wooed her on the evening of the Ministry's 311th Annual Ball and we have been happily together ever since."
"And Miss McGonagall," the light in Woodfork's eyes lit up, "What was your response when Albus Dumbledore sought you in a romantic sense at this ball?"
Minerva glanced at Albus, her eyes lighting up for a completely different reason. "I was flattered," she smiled softly. "I of course always had great esteem for the man, him having helped me to accomplish many of the things that I've accomplished, but I never would have dreamed that he had an interest in me that went beyond my mind. Yes, I was very flattered to be approached by Albus Dumbledore," she blinked.
"Would you describe yourself as 'in love'?" his voice slithered, unfeeling through the room.
"I think I would," she whispered, her tone responsive to the reporter's. "I don't feel like that's an easy thing for a girl to admit to the rest of the world, but I am." It was a challenge for Minerva. Do your worst, I'm up to the challenge—that's what her eyes seemed to say.
"And you, Mr. Dumbledore. Would you describe yourself as 'in love'?"
Albus nodded his head before speaking full-voice, "Of course. I have been in love with Miss McGonagall for much longer than I'd care to admit. Quite possibly since the ball." Yes, it was a battlefront and they were on the attack. There was nothing for which they had reason to feel culpable.
Woodfork caught on to this. His questions grew threatening in tone. "Miss McGonagall, how long have you 'loved'"—he sneered with the word—"this man? What was the moment that you knew?"
She faltered here, pausing over which truth she would share. Merlin knows, she had loved him since she was a carefree sixteen year-old. "As a friend," she spoke slowly, aware that she was being recorded and completely judged by the man, "I have loved him since I was a student. He has always been a great source of wisdom for me. As a lover, I think it would be a lie to say that it was after the ball," she nodded, certain of her choice. "I was in love by the end of the night."
Albus smiled, feeling love wash over him. She had not told the story of how he wooed her, but that didn't stop the memory from crawling through his mind. Minerva thought it romantic, magical, almost. After a dance or two and a kiss in the moonlight, both of them were swept away in each other.
"And this is for both of you," Woodfork seemed to interrupt the moment just by using his oily voice, "Do you consider yourselves "a perfect pair" as the article in the Daily Prophet suggests?"
Minerva nodded, wordlessly suggesting that Albus should begin. He blinked, then looked at the pale, bony face of the columnist. He was reminded that this was a battlefield and that getting carried away was the worst thing that they could possibly do for their reputations. "I think," he paused, "that in many ways, we are quite perfect for one another. We have similar interests and are capable of producing extraordinary work, but, I think, there are times when we are so similar that it creates the opposite effect. That is not to say that we won't work upon it, but we do have our disagreements just like any other couple."
There was a pause in the room. Minerva picked up the conversation: "I think that what Albus says is right. On paper, we do look like we are perfect for one another. But we are just people—people are not puzzle pieces meant to be fit together. I think that it is presumptuous of the world to think that. We work hard to keep a relationship worth having; it isn't an easy thing," she nodded gently.
"I see," Woodfork leaned over to make sure that the quill had kept up with Minerva's words, then leaned back into the chair. "Tell me, Miss McGonagall, do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a man so much older than you?" His words were infused with a challenge. He knew already what to expect for an answer. Ah, but Minerva would not give it to him.
"I don't see age when I look at Albus," the woman spoke matter-of-factly. "There are times when I must come to terms with the fact that he has experienced so much more than I have, at which point I cherish the fact that he can continue to be a mentor to me as well as a companion. His age means nothing to me."
And that was true, he knew. It was one of those few things that they never discussed because it simply did not matter. She saw, he supposed, only her lover.
Woodfork cleared his throat, "And Mr. Dumbledore, do you find it difficult to be in a relationship with a woman so much younger than you?"
Albus blinked with a smile. "Difficult? I revel in it," he looked at the woman with a grin. This was no news to her. Minerva winked slyly. "She's brilliant, mature and beautiful—I have no reason at all to take offense to the fact that she's young."
"Do you find her youth and positive reputation are factors in your attraction?"
He shrugged. "Of course." And that was that. There was no more to be said on that note. Everything about the woman said good things about her. Had they said bad things, well, perhaps things would not have worked out the way that they did. But certainly anything positive that went with the woman was worth noting and treasuring.
"Miss McGonagall, do you find his reputation as a great wizard daunting?" Woodfork rolled his eyes.
"Daunting? No," she shook her head. "I think it drives me to be better." Her eyes danced at the thought. She liked to improve herself. "If I feel the need to compete with a man, I'd rather it be Albus Dumbledore than anyone else. He challenges me."
"I see. Tell me, Dumbledore, do you find Miss McGonagall challenging in any way?"
He laughed at that. If only Woodfork knew. "In every way," he nodded his head. Minerva McGonagall had challenged him from the moment he first met her. If he asked, she probably could recall their first encounter, but it didn't matter so much now. He smiled softly to himself. "She goes a mile a minute and does it well the first time, every time, whatever it is."
"On that note," Woodfork raised an eyebrow, "To what lengths did you go to obtain Miss McGonagall as a staff member?"
"Interesting question," he sighed. Time for topics to change, obviously. Albus grew ever so slightly more serious, more professional. "I actually approached her on the night of the 311th Ministry Ball for the purpose of asking her to join the staff. This was the first time I suggested the idea to her, and the first time that we had exchanged words since she left Hogwarts. You see, I had been following her work until that point and thought that she would do well to take my position as transfiguration professor." Oh yes, he had certainly read every little thing she published from the time she graduated. Minerva was brilliant. "It was not a difficult decision for her, I don't think," he looked at the woman, making sure that she agreed with him. When she nodded, he proceeded, "she agreed to teach on the spot."
"So you believe that she will do well as your successor?"
"Oh yes," Albus nodded with confidence. "She's always been gifted in transfiguration." He looked beside himself at the woman who did not care for flattery in the way that most women did. Oh, but she was reveling in it now. Or perhaps that was just esteem in her eyes. "What's more is that she has a very particular way of communicating her ideas, which makes her an excellent professor. I hired her because I thought she'd do well, and she is."
Woodfork looked between Minerva and Albus, sensing the moment that they had just had. A look of disgust filled his face. "Miss McGonagall, have you had to make any concessions to work at Hogwarts? Do you enjoy teaching?"
"Of course I enjoy teaching. I've always been…inspired, if you will, to teach." She stared at Albus with a challenging grin. That was for him. He took full credit for her interest. "I enjoy it very much. And I suppose everyone has to make concessions to some degree to be at Hogwarts. I've had to reorganize my life around the school—and Albus, for that matter—but I find it thoroughly rewarding."
"Do you still carry on your research while at Hogwarts?"
"I could if I wanted to. I've decided that I'd rather become acclimated to the school and a new lifestyle first," she smiled softly.
Woodfork looked at Albus, ready to pounce on the cord that he thought he had just hit. Both of the professors had high reputations of academic prowess. It was odd that Minerva, who was noted for her work should not be working. It would be even more of a red flag, should Albus not be working either. "And you, Headmaster? How does being in a relationship affect your research?"
"Not at all," Albus lied. "I'm just as productive now as I have ever been, when I have the interest. I'm not working on anything at the moment, but that is by choice, not because I am halted by Minerva." It was only a half lie, really. He of course had interests. He was always interested. As of late, he admitted, he perhaps was more enamored with the female anatomy than dragon's blood or transfiguration, but who was to say that that was wrong?
"I see. Does your relationship affect how you two function as educators? Are there conflicts?" he looked from one to the other, anticipation growing. He thought he knew what he was doing: stirring up some sort of disagreement.
"Two people are not always going to agree about everything," Minerva blinked coolly, "and we certainly function as different people in the classroom. There are things that we are inclined to teach in different ways, mostly because we are so different. Why, look at the animagus unit for N.E.W.T students. Being an animagus myself, my approach is quite different from Albus's; more hands-on."
"Indeed," Albus nodded his head. He recalled with a certain fondness her lessons to become an animagus; he admitted that things would have been very different, had he known how to do it himself. "And our somewhat intricate relationship as mentor/mentee, headmaster/professor and boyfriend/girlfriend naturally complicates how we interact with one another"—that was invariably true—"I don't know if there is always a moment when we agree on anything on any of those levels in relation to education, but we try to aid one another and grow as teachers."
Maximillian nodded, that look of triumph dwindling from his face, only to be replaced with utter loathing for the 'L' word. "What do you love most about each other?"
Albus knew this one. He had known it from the second he began forming a relationship with the girl. It was, perhaps, what made her special. He had met many brilliant, attractive people, but none had been given the gift that the woman beside him had. "Minerva is the most compassionate person I have ever met," he whispered, love nestled in his eyes and cheeks. "I believe that without her," he paused, begging her to remember his words, "I would be lost. She accepts my faults without question and loves me all the more for it."
Minerva squeezed his hand tightly. "I love many things about Albus," she whispered, looking at the man with passion written on her face, "but the thing that I love most—if you won't think me too shallow—is his eyes. I can see the world in them," she nodded, not taking her eyes off of her lover, "all of the love and strength…and hate and brilliance I could ever find, I see in his eyes. Even now," she paused, "he looks like he loves me."
"I do," he nodded, knowing that no words would ever be truer. Perhaps she knew that by the way he looked at her. He had no doubt that she believed him. He could have anyone if he really wanted—anyone at all. But he wanted her. He desperately wanted her because he knew that she was the one. End of story.
The two of them turned to look at Woodfork who looked down the list. He lifted his head and looked between them. "What is your relationship with Gwenella Paige?" he asked, unenthused by the lack of finality that the final question prompted.
Albus was the one to answer, knowing that he was at fault for all that had befallen them with that horrible woman. "We have no relationship with her. Everything she has claimed is a falsehood and her word should mean nothing to the general public. All she knows are things that she believes to know—not the truth."
"Thank you," Woodfork's grin dissipated completely. "It's been a pleasure to have this interview with you both," he spoke with disgust.
"Thank you," Albus nodded.
The three of them watched as the quill continued to write and then finally stop. Woodfork removed the sheet of parchment from under the quill and placed it on his desk. "There. You don't have to worry about me now. Congratulations," he smiled wryly. "Maybe you'll allow me to cover the joyous event, whenever it goes public?"
Albus blinked. He knew already, but he found it better to play dumb than risk letting out their newest secret of engagement. "What are you referring to?"
"I think you know perfectly well," he hissed. "We'll be watching you whenever you step away from that school of yours, you can count on that." He had an angry expression upon his face, as if this was not the last battle to their war. Perhaps it wasn't.
Minerva cleared her throat. "You've gotten what you wanted. Let us be," she hissed as if she were the vilest form of cat ever seen.
"We're ready," Albus pointed a threatening finger at the man, prepared for his challenge. When a sufficient response of glaring occurred, Albus turned towards his lover. "Shall we go, Min?"
The woman nodded her head. "Yes, let's."
With that, he stood up, as did the woman and he opened the door for her. She opened the second door for him. They walked out the entrance doors to The Daily Prophet Headquarters triumphantly, hand-in-hand.
Minerva's heart beat a mile-a-minute, exhilaration flooding through her veins. God, if life with Albus could be like that every day, she'd swear her undying love to him at the Ministry right then and there. She practically jumped up and down the second that the two of them crossed the street and found an uninhabited path.
"Albus!" she laughed, wrapping her arms around the man's neck tightly. He lifted her up by the waist and swung her once in a circle, holding her closely. When he placed her on the ground, their lips met for their kiss of triumph.
She grinned up at the man, refusing to unlink her hands around his neck—he didn't mind, surely, for his fingertips rested at the very base of her back, squeezing ever so gently. "That was just…brilliant," she exhaled, eyes full of love.
His beautiful blue eyes twinkled back at her. "You were just as wonderful," he smiled. "I admit that I was worried before we went in, but you could never disappoint me. Something snapped in you—"
"The second I saw that bugger of a man I was seized with this desire just to…" she looked around for the word.
"Make him feel like the leech that he is?"
"Exactly," Minerva nodded, knowing that he felt the exact same way. "Merlin, I don't think I've ever disliked anyone so much as that man in a matter of five seconds."
Albus laughed. "Maximillian Woodfork does have that effect on people. Meeting him helps to explain why he would have written the article in the first place—let alone the fact that he listened to Gwen."
"If I wasn't so busy avoiding him, why Albus, I'd go out of my way to make his life unpleasant."
"I think you succeeded," he kissed her again. "He was none too happy when you told him to bugger off."
"Now Professor," she teased, "that sort of language really doesn't become you."
"Neither does sex talk, but I still use it in your presence," he whispered in her ear, squeezing the top of her leg for a beat.
"Mmm," she exhaled, suddenly aware of the amount of celebratory hormones that were pumping through her system. "We can apparate to my flat in London if you don't want to use it in public," she whispered, running her hand along the side of his face where his beard was least grown. She closed her eyes, embracing the feeling that was millions of stiff hairs brushing against her fingers. Like a cat? Yes. Fortunately for the man, she wasn't nearly as loud as one.
She bit her lip tauntingly as she waited for a response.
Albus nodded his head slowly. "Take me there, my dear."
He did not need to tell her twice. In less than a blink, they found their surroundings to have changed.
Minerva hardly took a glance around her flat before finding herself pressed against the nearest wall with Albus breathing warmly in her ear. The shivers of excitement ran down her spine with a vengeance and landed somewhere between her thighs, where Albus conveniently pushed with his own pelvis. She allowed the man to sink in closer to her person, shifting her legs to the side, just enough for him to lift her feet off of the ground.
Her arms wrapped around him, nails dragging with want along his shoulders while his warm lips sucked the flesh of her neck, then her shoulder and finally her collarbone. They both saw the problem: damned clothing. His head lifted up to hers, closing the gap between their hungry mouths. Merlin, that man could kiss—and he always could, for that matter. Minerva sank deeper into a sexual lull as his dexterous tongue explored her mouth, his knowledgeable lips sucked on her own, and his hands which seemed to have a mind of their own undid the buttons on her front.
By the time she opened her eyes from the kiss, she saw her naked arms and stomach, her thighs and breasts.
He lifted her head up to look at his eyes, beautiful, wonderful and excited in all their glory. Her hand shifted to cover his cheekbones and chin. She took in everything about him. She loved that nose, crooked as it was. And that beard. And that smile—Merlin, she loved that smile. Hell, she even loved those ears.
A grin came across her face. There were days where she wished that she hadn't fallen so hard for the man, but this was not one of them. Today, she so wonderfully and emotionally invested in Albus Dumbledore that she knew she would do anything for the man. Anything at all.
For a sweeping moment, as she used her own fingers to remove the man's clothes, button by button, she reminded herself of the moment that she had tried so hard to forget for so long. They had known that it was wrong, then, when he made love to her for the first time—for her first time. But it had been worth it. It had been worth all of the pain, all of the rule-breaking, all of the sneaking about because they were together. Separated, they were brilliant and jaw-dropping, but together…well, together they were great.
As she fell upon the floor, she embraced the feel of the cold wood and the heat of her lover's skin against her own. It was like warm water, washing over her, taunting those parts which most needed to be touched. His mouth crashed like waves against hers, then pulled hers up as tides tend to do.
She felt her spine elongate, naturally responding to the man's touch as it slid from her waist to between her legs. Her hand pressed against the wall behind her, that very one in which she had recently been pushed upon. Minerva closed her eyes, inhaling his touch, feeling it through every point of contact.
If the world could only know what they were like behind closed doors, Minerva mused to herself as a final thought, they'd know that they were just like any other couple.
The woman opened her eyes, lazily looking around her flat. It looked empty, uninhabited as it was meant to during the term. There were no dishes to be washed, no floors to be cleaned, no food to be made. There was hardly anything to eat, either, she reminded herself. Except tea, perhaps—not that it counted as food.
She rolled over on the hardwood floor, out of the warm hands of her lover who whimpered like a child without a source of heat. "Shh," she whispered with a smile. "I'm just making some tea."
"You don't have to do that," he mumbled, barely opening his relaxed mouth. "Come back. We don't get to do this very often." His glassy eyes opened, refocusing the world. "Accio Minerva," he whispered to no avail—his wand was somewhere in the pile to the left of them.
Minerva rolled her eyes. "I won't be long," she leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead, then the lips. Albus nodded his head.
"I hope you freeze," he muttered playfully as she walked robe-free to the kitchen.
She looked behind her as she walked towards the kettle. She knew what sort of response she'd get, but that didn't stop her from tackling the subject at hand: "I'm glad you can make light of that," she smiled simply. "It only took you nine years."
Minerva caught just a glance of the man as he sat up, suddenly awake at the change in tone. Well, different tone for him—it was the same for her. He panicked. That look of worry came on his face, for he thought he had said something wrong. Really, it was nothing to her now.
She poured the water into its receptacle, listening for his voice.
"I was not aware that it was something to be made light of," he said gently. They never talked about it, the accident. Minerva was not entirely sure why—she had always thought that it made him uncomfortable.
"It was nine years ago." She turned off the faucet to look at the man who, for the second time in a twelve hour span, looked guilty. "Albus," she shook her head quickly from side to side, astounded that he should be taking the subject so closely to heart still, "it's in the past. It happened. I can't change it and neither can you. All we can do is make sense of it." She nodded her head, having finished her thought and placed the kettle on the stove. When she looked back at the man, he was standing upright, a look of great esteem on his face.
"Yes?" she whispered, acutely aware of the fact that they both were defenseless, naked in every sense of the word.
He tread lightly with his words, "I was just wondering how it is that you should be the way that you are."
Minerva swallowed. A compliment, surely, but the way that it was said, well, it made the heart in her chest twinge with emotional pain. What's more is that she didn't understand where this came from. Normally she could comprehend his train-wreck of a brain, but there was no precedent for such a change in topic. The woman peered at the man before responding, "I don't understand."
Albus shrugged earnestly, "What allows you to forgive so easily, Min?"
She blinked. Things clearly just became infinitely more serious.
It was not a rare thing for Albus to speak to her like that—she knew that there were things about her personality that drew him to her. His response earlier, for example, where he claimed that her compassion was what he loved the most, came as no surprise. In a very indirect way, she had always known that he was jealous of the way that emotions flowed through her. But somehow this did not seem like the time for such discussion.
"Well," she looked into his eyes as she approached him, placing her hands upon his shoulders. "I have always been aware of my own mortality. I don't know, I suppose I was just a morbid child." Minerva blinked. Great start to explaining how she became who she was. But then again, how does one go about doing such a thing? "The things that I read—the things that I heard from my parents, being in the fields that they're in—lent me to believe that I could die at any moment. So then my question to myself was whether or not it is worth it," she paused to process, "to hate. Or fear. Or hold grudges. I don't believe it is," she whispered softly, "so I don't."
"I envy you," he whispered back.
Minerva shook her head and smiled sadly. He didn't understand the curse of it. "There are days where I wish that I could hate. Really hate. Hate my parents for expecting so much of me. Hate Gwen for hurting us. Hate you for making me fall in love with you all over again. Hate myself," her voice shook, "for not being able to hate."
The man nodded slowly. She knew that he understood, but certainly he preferred to sidestep what she was trying to convey to him, both to her chagrin and happiness. The man's focused eyes stared into her expressive ones, "I think, Minerva, that you are the loveliest human I have ever met."
In spite of herself, she felt her cheeks grow warm. "Thank you," she whispered softly. He did know what to say and when, when he needed to. She would have preferred him to stay on the topic at hand, but it was beautiful of him to make her feel more normal, more human. For him, she knew it was the same: she made him feel more human. "You know that I think the same of you. How could I not?"
Albus shook his head unhappily. "I do not have the gift of forgiveness."
Her brow furrowed at this. "Of course you do," she half laughed in disbelief. He had done so many things with his life that he could never have done without a sense of forgiveness, of compassion, of love. He was brilliant, certainly, but he was impeccably human at the same time. Of course he could forgive. Minerva could never love someone who was incapable of such a basic thing.
"You…" she shook her head, looking into his pained face, searching for an appropriate response to that. He really believed that he couldn't forgive.
Well, why not put forth the thing for which he was famous? All of the world loved him because he had been kind in the aftermath of that duel in 1945. Surely that was an appropriate example of his ability to forgive. "Albus, you could have destroyed Gellert Grindewald, you could have killed him, ended the fear for thousands of us. But you didn't," she rattled her brain from side to side, "if that doesn't show forgiveness, I don't know what does."
The man seemed to shrink and then grow in less than a second in an attempt at defense. He pressed on with his words as a martyr does: with the knowledge that he knows that they're tantamount to death and ruin. "Minerva, Gellert Grindewald and I were friends."
The woman's stomach plummeted to the floor.
She stepped back from the man in shock, taking him in for what seemed like the first time. That did change things. It changed things quite a bit. Serves her right. The papers don't depict things as they really are—why should she have believed what they said about his relationship with Gellert Grindewald? "Friends?" her voice squeaked with confusion.
Albus cleared his throat, "Yes. For a short while, we were very good friends. And then Arianna died. I had to take care of the family." He looked at Minerva straight in the eye, a thing for which she was thankful. This way, she knew that it was the truth. "We stopped being friends after that. I did not see him again until that duel."
Minerva blinked, inhaling at a very slow pace the information that was being thrust into her face. So they were friends, but then stopped when Arianna died. Being the eldest, he had to take care of the family, therefore Grindewald must have become jealous for not having Albus. Friends do that.
She started and stopped several times before finally getting out the appropriate question: "Friends?"
He nodded and reiterated, "After Arianna died, we separated and became who we were going to be. It was, perhaps, an act of destiny that we should have met again when the stakes were so high. It is, also, lucky that I won. Minerva, I had no right to defeat him, no claim to supremacy. He would have killed me, had he won." It was as if he was trying to prove a point that couldn't quite be grasped. As if he was trying to justify it to himself when it needed no justification.
Gellert Grindewald had killed many—he wouldn't have stopped with Albus. Friends or no friends, it was war. Minerva computed this with sensitivity before finally stating, "Does that not prove my point? You didn't kill him. Forgiveness."
The man stood there and blinked, dumbfounded. Whatever it was that he had expected Minerva to say, that was not it. "I left him to rot to think about what he had done to the world. Is that better than killing him?"
Minerva sighed, "I think so. Not everyone would agree with me," she whispered with a nod. "But I think you made the right choice."
There was a pause before Albus nodded his head gently. He needed time to process. "I'm glad you think so," he walked towards her and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Your opinion means much, much more to me than I think you realize." The man wrapped his arms around her and hugged the woman to his chest. When he released her, he had a smile on his face again. "How did we get on this topic?"
She looked up into her head for the answer. "We were talking about compassion for some reason."
"Ah, yes," he bobbed his head up and down. "What was that you said earlier about my eyes?" The man batted them for a good measure for effect.
Minerva chuckled. The air around them seemed to lighten. She recalled what she had said in the interview and raised an eyebrow challengingly, "You do think I'm shallow, don't you?"
"That's the last thing I think you are," he smiled softly. "Do you have any idea how many women were throwing themselves at my feet after that duel? Hundreds," he nodded with a mesh of pride and disgust. "Ah, but you," he tapped her on the nose, "You, Miss McGonagall, you remained aloof."
"And that makes me earnest?" she grinned with a challenge.
"You know damned well that I had to hunt you down and woo you," he said with a false seriousness. "You made me play by the rules, Miss Minnie. And I won."
"Oh, is this a game, now?" she laughed.
Albus nodded his head. "And I won."
Tweeeeet, the kettle went off. Minerva turned around to move it to another burner. Then she walked to where the cups were along with the tea bags. She hated doing things this way, but it had to be done. All she had in sight were tea bags. Minerva held her two options in her hand and then looked at Albus, who was putting his clothing back on. "Peppermint or chamomile?"
"Peppermint," he said while buttoning his outer robes from the bottom to the top.
She turned back around and placed two peppermint bags in two different mugs. They were toted over to the stove.
"I'll do that," Albus said gently as he approached her. "Get your clothes on. We had better get back to the school."
Minerva nodded her head. "Thank you," and began walking over to the pile of clothing. As she began pulling on her undergarments, Albus continued to speak to her.
"You will recall, Min, that we had a spat last night," he spoke calmly.
The woman looked up as she stepped through the first layer of coverage. "Of course," she nodded. "Why do you bring it up now?" She leaned down and grabbed her inner robes, sliding them over her head slowly to listen to his words. It was odd timing to be sure.
"The thing is, I do want to try harder to not hide things from you. So I am going to tell you something that you won't like."
Minerva stared at the man, silently. She reached down to grab her green outer robes, sliding the sleeve over her arms. She was preparing herself, naturally, for whatever it was that he thought she wouldn't like to hear. After all, he was pretty adept at knowing how she felt about certain topics. If he thought she'd be angry, she probably would be. As she began buttoning up, she spoke, not looking at the man. "Well?" she blinked.
She could hear the man clear his throat. "Can you please count to ten after I am done speaking before you respond? That way, whatever you have to say will be calm and collected."
The woman looked up at him, already perturbed at his fearfulness to say what he wanted to say. "Out with it, then."
Her back elongated for her to stand upright. She began sliding her foot into her shoe, not taking her eyes off of the man who seemed genuinely afraid. After realizing that she would not be shifting her attention elsewhere, the man began to speak. "After the article came out, I couldn't sleep. So I went to the kitchens and Rudy was there. We talked and the subject of…well, of my popularity with girls, as it were, came up," he paused as Minerva shifted her weight from one side to another. Oh yes, she knew where this was going. She waited patiently for him to continue.
"Rudy was under the impression that he had seen me…kissing a girl in my office, one he believed to be a student."
Minerva exhaled with a shudder. Oh God. Yes, this was going exactly where she thought it was.
"He accused me of having slept with Gwenella, Min."
She blinked and processed before shaking her head with wide eyes. "Gwenella?"
Albus nodded his head. "And I couldn't have him thinking that. That would be so much worse than anything we could bring upon ourselves. And he surely saw me kissing you. So I told him the truth. I told him that we had an affair and that you were the only student affair I have ever had." He paused and then added with emphasis, "I had to. But you see, the secret is safe with him. If he thought that I had slept with a student all those years ago and not mentioned it to anyone, then surely he can keep the truth to himself. He's trustworthy."
The woman paused, assuming that this was the end of it. One. I should have transfigured Gwenella when I had the chance. Two. Is Rudy trustworthy? Three. When could we have been seen kissing? Four. HAD TO? Five. Why am I just now hearing about this? Six. I've managed to not tell anyone for nine years. Seven. Why does Albus refuse to protect himself? Eight. I am very unhappy. Nine. I can't stay here and look at him. Ten. "Albus," she spoke very calmly, though her voice shook with the amount of control being applied to it, "I am going to go to the castle right now and you are not going to follow me. I do not want to see you or speak to you for at least two hours. When you see me again, I will have accepted this and we will discuss it like the adults that we are. Right now, I just want to blow up everything in my office," she nodded and then apparated without another word. She hadn't even put on both of her shoes.
R&R please :)