Chapter Eleven: Clarity
On the bright side, she left him hopeful. She could have said that it was over, that he had broken her heart and he would never get it back, but she didn't. She could have blown up at him—Merlin knows he had half expected it after what happened last night—but she didn't. She could have put him in a body-bind and left him to rot in her flat, but she didn't. Minerva McGonagall did what few people were capable of doing: she showed mercy.
Albus blinked as he stared at the spot where the woman disapparated, her right shoe laying sadly on the floor. He picked it up carefully and exhaled with a frown.
He felt like a liar.
Maybe that's what he was. He could be honest, brutally honest if he wanted to be, but somehow it was always easier to not mention the truth. The truth hurt. And it wasn't just him that was hurt by it—it was everyone.
There were so many truths to be told; told to Minerva, the staff, the world. His fiancée was the only one that would get her due, though. It wasn't that she could take it and the rest couldn't—it was that she was taking him on and the rest of the world couldn't. She didn't have to know all of his flaws, but Merlin knows there were some that he had to tell her.
Albus swallowed with a dry mouth.
It was strange for her to mention Gellert in that context. It began an odd conversation, granted, but she never brought his supposed enemy up in conversation. Unlike all of the other silly girls, she seemed to already know that the thought gave him pain. Why mention him?
Life was funny sometimes.
Now she knew what few people knew: they were friends, once.
Albus didn't blink as his vision went out of focus. He saw in his mind London, ruined by the muggle war, entrenched with rubble and metal. He smelled the hot air, infused with dust and God knows what else. His feet sunk into the mud.
He saw Gellert, wild with power.
They were not evenly matched when Albus apparated feet behind Grindewald. It was cheating. Cowardly, almost. But he could never win by the rules: Gellert had the Elder Wand, the Deathstick. He never saw defeat coming.
Albus threw the final spell. It wasn't crafty or ingenious. No, it was stuff that first years learned. Sometimes simplicity was best. Petrificus totalus: Grindewald fell face-first onto the mud.
Had Albus been more vengeful, he could have left Gellert to suffocate, but he wasn't and he didn't. No, he flipped the man over, his angular nose facing the gray sky and his eyes watering.
Expelliarmus.
The wand flew to Albus' hand, free of its previous owner: it was his. He ran his thumb along the edges of the Elder Wand. Once upon a time, he would have given anything for it. Now that he knew loss and pain, it hardly seemed a fit reward. He would rather have kept his sister.
Without pause, he chose to sit next to his old friend, beaten and straight as a board. He knew people would come. The sparks had stopped flying. The blasts had ended. Surely someone would come to see who their leader would be: Albus or Gellert.
Albus exhaled and looked beside him. He would never seek out his enemy again, not after this. This would be the last time he had a chance to speak to Gellert Grindewald, the man who was responsible for changing Albus's life. He swallowed. "Was it worth it for you?"
Of course there was no response. How could there be?
His eyes said it all. They had the look of defeat in them, of sadness. Yes, Albus supposed that it had been worth it to Gellert to make it to the top like that. "The problem with you, Gellert, is that your vision of 'the greater good' is one where you are the greatest. You have everything because you want nothing worth having. Even when you lose, you really lose nothing," he paused, vulnerable as men are during wartime. "I suppose I should thank you."
That was all he could manage to say to Gellert. He could never communicate the pain he felt for being selfish. For taking away a life. For wanting others to lose their loved ones. Experience now told him that there was nothing worse.
He killed his sweet sister. No matter how much he told himself that it wasn't true, that it was Gellert, he knew. Albus instigated that duel with his fellow power-hungry teenager. What difference did it make if it was his spell or Gellert's that rebounded onto Arianna? None. Either way, she was gone. He was to blame.
On the other hand, he tried to look at the effect her death had on him. Had she never gone, he would have stayed the same. He would be with Gellert, not against him, ruling over the world. Albus knew that in some strange way, Arianna's death was tantamount to the survival of millions of muggles. Maybe that was worth her sacrifice. Maybe.
Albus looked down at his supposed enemy who was staring straight at him. His last words to him came in a whisper: "For the greater good." With that, he stood up. Yellow sparks were sent into the sky with his new wand. All he could do was press onward.
And the same was true in this situation with Minerva. He had to push forward, had to take on the burden he had made for himself. She would forgive him. In time, she would perhaps see that it was a necessity to tell Rudy. Perhaps she even saw it now. She would not have reacted the way that she had if she lacked understanding.
She wouldn't leave him.
Albus' stomach turned as a moment of clarity came and went: she would only leave him if he forced her. He wondered for one painful second just how strong an enchantment love could be.
Minerva was not a quiet crier. She never had been.
It became worse when there was anger. Discontent. Confusion. Betrayal. There was really no name to give it. The tears came harder, heavier and hotter than they had even with the article—that was only a month ago, she reminded herself. That didn't help. Imagine, a month ago, none of this existed.
She covered her mouth to stifle the noise, curling her head into her knees. It just made her abdomen shake harder, aching from the control applied to it. She forced herself to rock against the door of her office in attempt to quell the noise. When that didn't work, she bit into her forearm, allowing her hot breath to be drowned by her sleeve.
Through blurry eyes, she looked at her office—no, no, his office. It had been his first. What malevolent god had it been who decided that she should get his office? There were others.
Her jaw shook as she attempted to breathe, boiling tears leaking down the side of her face. What was it that Rudy had seen? Was it just a kiss? Or was it something more than a kiss? Did she have her arms wrapped around him? What time of day was it? Surely he wouldn't have been out in the evening and seeing such things. Had it even been her?
Minerva shooed the idea from her head. No, Albus wouldn't have done that. It was her and only her. For Merlin's sake, what other student would have been stupid enough to do what she had done?
Her throat clenched tightly, pushing the pain up and into her eyes. "Stupid," she squeaked. She felt absolutely idiotic for holding on to this for so long. Nine years she had spent, holding on to this secret, this thing that Albus just threw out the first chance he got. She had done it for his sake—not hers. He would have been ruined if she told the world about their affair. She would have received sympathy. The only thing that ever stopped her from telling anyone was love. And there he was, just tossing it aside.
She shook; violently, uncontrollably, wildly back and forth her body pulsed.
Love was not meant to do this to a person. Love was meant to be constant, unchanging, fearless in all its ventures. And yet, here was her love, the only man she had ever deigned to envision a future with, hurting her. It wasn't that he told Rudy—it wasn't that he had told at all—it was that she had allowed this secret, this thing to tear her apart for years and it was for nothing. He could never guess the hurt that she felt inside whenever she went to his classroom at the end of her seventh year, or when she looked at the acknowledgements at the end of his papers, or every time someone suggested that she would never find someone worth having if she didn't look. If they had only known.
If they could only have guessed that in the very office she sat, she made love to her professor. It wasn't once. Wasn't twice. It was more than that. Really, the number didn't matter. It was the experience that mattered. She fell in love with her professor. True love lasts a lifetime.
She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to put pressure upon the wound.
"Professor," a feminine voice came from the other side of the door.
Minerva was too numb to jump when the voice was followed by a knock. Then another. She didn't move.
"Minerva, I know you're in there," Cora said gently. "You're not well. Let me in."
Had she been in a better state, she may have laughed at the irony of Cora wanting to offer emotional support to Minerva. Unfortunately she could barely get out a word, much less a laugh.
She wiped the lingering tears from her eyes and stood up to open the door. Minerva twisted the key that was still in the keyhole and watched her hand as it turned the knob. When the door creaked open, her red eyes met the flying instructor's. She didn't say a word: if she opened her mouth, all that would come out would be squeaks and tears, anyhow.
"What—Minerva?" Cora was shocked in the same way Minerva had been to see the Head of Ravenclaw crying in the owlery. When was that? Two weeks ago? My how quickly things changed.
Two weeks ago she had been at her parent's house. She lied to them, too. Point blank, Minerva told them that the insinuations in the Daily Prophet were ridiculous. Merlin, she had lied to them over and over and over again about this.
The tears burst forth again, erupting from deep down in her stomach and rising with amazing speed through her throat and out her tear ducts. She tried to breathe it back, but it only made her shake harder, more violently. Her voice carried with every hard-earned breath. Minerva sunk back against the wall and onto the cold stone floor. What was the point in keeping it together? Cora had already broken that block of ice in their relationship.
Cora sat next to Minerva after shutting the door. Her arms reached out and pulled the young woman into an embrace.
If there had been any restraints on Minerva's behavior before Cora's entrance, there certainly weren't any now. She shook. And groaned. And wailed. And choked.
Betrayed. Totally and utterly betrayed by the man that she loved. They had a deal: everything would be alright if they could just keep their secret a secret. If it wouldn't be kept, then there would be consequences. Damn right. Not many things could turn Minerva into such a basket-case, but clearly this was one of them.
Betrayed. He said he had to tell Rudy the truth. What was at stake? What had he said? Gwenella would have been the supposed lover. Fine. That wasn't right. He had to tell. Then why was it that this couldn't have happened years ago? Why did she have to carry it with her?
Betrayed. She betrayed her parents by not telling them. They were the dearest things she had in her life and she never told them the truth. They would have understood. They loved Albus. Who wouldn't?
Betrayed. Had Rudy told Cora?
Minerva's breaths grew even again as she inhaled through her nostrils and exhaled through her mouth. She noted how strangely adept Cora seemed to be at this sort of thing—Minerva never would have expected the woman to be good at comforting others.
The room was silent for the first time in an hour. The tears were gone. Minerva had no strength to continue.
"Do you want to talk?" Cora asked gently.
She inhaled deeply and exhaled, "Yes." With what little strength was left in her body, she sat herself up and leaned her head against the wall to stare at the stone ceiling. There was that one brick that was darker than the rest in the center of the room. She wondered how intentional that had been. Surely that was purposeful.
Exhausted, her head slunk down to look at Cora. To hell with it. If Rudy knew, Cora either already knew or deserved to know. "Albus told Rudy something…private," she whispered the word, "about a month ago. We had agreed," her voice cracked, "to never tell anyone. That's why I'm upset."
Cora blinked. "He betrayed your trust," she simplified.
Minerva nodded her head gently, her eyes beginning to water. "He betrayed the whole bloody relationship," she whispered as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Did Rudy tell you?"
"If he did I didn't think it important enough to remember," Cora shrugged.
In a whisper both for privacy's sake and for the sake of Minerva's overwhelmed throat, she admitted unhappily, "You wouldn't forget this sort of thing. I don't suppose anyone would." She blinked and processed what Cora's statement meant. "I'm glad he didn't tell you. I can tell you, now." Yes, to hell with it. It didn't matter anymore. Albus had told. Why shouldn't she? Why should she not be freed from this weight on her shoulders?
Cora shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want to be in the middle of the spat you're having. If Rudy does…"
Minerva shook her head violently. She would not take no for an answer. That's all the world seemed to have to offer her. Every attempt she made to make good of a situation, things turned out terribly. Anytime she had come close to happiness, the world took it away. By Merlin's beard, Minerva was going to make even the playing field. She was going to give herself someone to talk to. She was going to spite Albus. She was going to bring ruin upon herself, not wait for it. "Listen to me!" she yelled like a child throwing a tantrum.
The flying instructor grew still as the room echoed with Minerva's voice.
She blinked, her clammy eyes refusing to let another tear go. She even swallowed down the cry emerging in the back of her throat. "Cora," her voice shook, "Albus and I had an affair while I was a student."
Cora blinked, dumbfounded to the nth degree.
Minerva knew what the Ravenclaw Head was thinking. She simply went on with it. There was no point in waiting for questions. "At the start of my seventh year, I asked Albus to help me become an animagus. We decided to set aside time in the evenings for instruction," Minerva swallowed. Looking back, none of it was quite right. "By early October we were great friends. I of course had always had a school girl crush on him. Most girls did, mind you," Minerva pointed a finger at Cora whose expression had become one of eagerness. "But something…changed," she shrugged. "Albus gave me a beautiful birthday gift."
Minerva reached around her neck and unclasped the locket, handing it over to Cora who examined its beauty. Nothing came from the flying instructor's mouth. No doubt this was a lot of information to be given at once.
"I couldn't"—she inhaled as she computed her response—"help but start to believe that he saw me differently than the other girls." She paused. What came next? "Nothing happened between us for another month or so, though I will admit the tension was rising and we both knew it. I look back on it and think it was a game—who would break first?" She swallowed down saliva and shrugged, "It was mutual. After my first successful transformation, he kissed me."
The woman closed her eyes and recalled that first kiss. It hadn't been clumsy like so many of the others she had encountered. This wasn't a boy. This was a man; one who wanted her, one who had fought valiantly to stop himself from encountering scandal by being with her. "Of course we both were scandalized after it happened," she whispered with a mixture of regret and embarrassment. "He apologized emphatically. I think he thought I was going to tell someone." She chuckled gently to herself. "He didn't count on me being embarrassed, too."
Cora's professorial expression was daunting. It was no surprise that she should be judging everything Minerva said in the negative light. Minerva didn't expect anyone to see it as she saw it. He was her first lover. Right or wrong, that was the truth of it and that would always resonate with her.
"We kissed many times after that. I was certain I had fallen in love for the first time. And then," she blinked, "Albus had a brief moment of conscience. After a Hogsmeade visit, he asked me into his office." Minerva swallowed as she reminded herself that it had been this very room. "Albus told me that it had to end. That it wasn't right. Which was the truth," she nodded with the wisdom of time. "I took it graciously and left his office a little broken-hearted, but I understood." The woman paused as she saw herself walking down the corridor, shivering and then looking back at the open office door. "On my way back to the Gryffindor common room I realized that my coat was missing. I had left it in his office by accident. I went back," she swallowed. "And we made love."
The memory was worse, clearer, when she was in the office. Minerva could see herself being swept away by a kiss, by his hands, his hot breath. The aftermath left her next to a fire with a man who, for the first time in his life, was not sure what to do next. "We began a very calculated affair. I used my animagus form to get around the castle after hours. It really was a brilliant plan. No one would have known if they weren't looking for it. But I suppose someone did," Minerva sighed. "The Headmaster found out. Rather than sacking Albus, he offered him an ultimatum: stop the affair or leave Hogwarts." Her eyes began to water at the thought. It was the right choice, but that didn't make it hurt less. "Of course he chose the school," she whispered.
"And so I was heartbroken. I had not expected a future," she shook her head slowly. "Not then. I was put out by how short it was. Just a month. And I was hopelessly in love, but unable to tell anyone. You're the first person I've told. Ever." Minerva inhaled and released with a sense of freedom. "That last year was difficult for me, as you can imagine. I suppose it was difficult for Albus, too. I spent several days in the hospital wing after going hypothermic—I've been told that Albus rarely left my side." Minerva exhaled. He did care for her, that was certain.
"I didn't find that out until recently. It may have meant something to me, to know then," she swallowed. "At the end of the year, after we had been released from Hogwarts, Albus asked me to come back. We were free to do as we pleased and he wanted me." Minerva paused and shut her eyes for a second too long. She could remember that look on his face. "I was too proud to say yes. He tried to give me back the locket. I told him no to that, too. We didn't see each other for a very long time after that.
"When he sought me out at that Ministry party seven and a half years later, it was as if no time had passed. There were things we needed to discuss, to be sure, but I still loved him. So here I am now."
Cora exhaled emphatically, blinking in order to accept all that had been thrust down her throat. It was a lot to chew. She bit her lip and nodded her head slowly. "That's quite an account," she said slowly. "Not anything I'd expect from either of you. Not what I'd expect from Armando, either."
Minerva bobbed her head, "That's why we got away with it, I suppose. No one would believe it."
The Ravenclaw Head nodded her head slowly. "And the reason that you're out of sorts is because Albus told Rudy about this?"
"Yes," she swallowed. "I don't know how much he revealed. That's not really the point. It's that he said something when I was sworn to secrecy, when I've kept this, this thing inside of me for all of these years." The tears had started again. The romance was gone and the reality had found its way back into her mind: she was offended; deeply offended. "I gave up so much to protect him," she whimpered.
"That can't have been easy for you," Cora shrugged. She paused as Minerva fought back the impulse to begin crying again. She put her hand on Minerva's. "And I see why you would have done it: love makes you do crazy things, even hurt yourself for the good of your partner. But I have found that with time," she added hopefully, "these fights, these squabbles, are in some way tantamount to success or ruin. Without them, you would never know if you're really meant to be together. It's what makes the good times that much better."
Minerva blinked, feeling both reassured and all the more insecure. She reminded herself of the way she had seen Cora acting in the owlery. After that day, things for she and Rudy seemed to improve tenfold. Hope existed. Moreover, Minerva thought with some insight into this: it had never quite occurred to her that Cora loved Rudy. True enough, they were a couple, but they never seemed 'in love'. They were. Just ten to fifteen years past the stage that she and Albus were. By then, maybe the little things weren't so little anymore. They were the things that made one cry in places alone. "Cora, what had you been fighting about that day I saw you? Was it anything like this?" she whispered.
She shook her head from side to side. "My son. We were fighting about my son."
Even through blurred eyes, Minerva was struck with the penetrating brown of the flying instructor's eyes. No, that was neither a small thing nor expected. "You have a son?"
Cora nodded her head. "He goes to a muggle school to learn his maths and English. He wouldn't get on here, I promise. Or at least that's what I think," she sighed. "Rudy wants him to come here. We've been fighting about this all year."
Minerva rubbed her eyes until they were raw. So Cora and Rudy had a son. Yes. That made perfect sense. In the way that Minerva had not known that they were married, she would not have known that they had a child. What's more is that suddenly all of Cora's out-of-character behavior on that day was explained. "How old is he?" she asked delicately.
"Sergius is nine."
"Sergius," Minerva mouthed. "That's a nice name," she nodded gently. And she meant it, too. It was a very nice name. "He's at a muggle boarding school?"
The flying instructor bobbed her head with a frown, "He hates it. And I can't blame him for it. He knows he's different," Cora blinked. "He doesn't like it. I've come to the realization that maybe Rudy is right. Maybe we ought to look into him coming here and staying. Rudy is in the process of asking Albus."
The woman inhaled deeply. The immediate cause for this was the mention of her lover's name. The secondary cause was the realization that while she was worried about school girl secrets, the rest of the world was caught in other, more important cross-fires. How did her feelings hold up against the happiness of a family? How did her feelings hold up against the success of the school? Besides that, having told someone her secret seemed to lift all of that tension from her body. It would serve no one for her to feel anger towards Albus.
"I hope that goes well," Minerva nodded slowly. A genuinely compassionate smile came upon her face. "If you wish, I can discuss it with him."
Cora shook her head gently, "I think you've got your own problems to deal with."
Minerva nodded in gratitude. Cora really was a pleasant person once she decided to befriend you. "Thank you."
The room went silent, but warmly so. Minerva's thoughts drifted back to her problem, which suddenly seemed so much less important; perspective changed things. Rudy wouldn't tell anyone. He hadn't even told his wife. No problem existed on that front. As for Albus sharing in the first place? That was wrong of him, but perhaps he did have to do it. Had Minerva been in a similar situation, she may have told. Of course she would never blurt out such vital information, but had she been pressed, been accused of a different affair, she probably would have set her accuser straight. And perhaps…perhaps she had no right to blame him for her keeping the secret to herself. She bound herself to silence. To love. He couldn't be blamed for that. "Cora?" Minerva blinked.
"Yes?"
"Why don't you tell people that you and Rudy are married?"
Cora let out a sigh before responding. She knew that her words would speak to the younger woman. She knew that they were true of Minerva and Albus, at least to some degree. Cora also knew that they held some clear relevance to the transfiguration professor's sadness. She turned and looked at Minerva with a shrug, "Because then he would define me in the eyes of everyone else."
Minerva nodded her head slowly and whispered, "Thank you."
There comes a certain clarity when the worst could happen in any given situation. One sees what they could have done better and what they could have done worse. What really matters. What is worth having and worth throwing into the fire. Albus did not think that Minerva would leave him—he wasn't that insecure. He did have some doubt about their relationship, however. He was trying to tell her everything, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that she never knew what she was getting herself into when she started seeing him. He was defective. It wasn't kind to ask her to take him. Still.
Albus blinked.
He was happy with her. He always had been happy with her. No one but that girl could make him feel good. Not about himself. She believed in him. Truly believed in everything that everyone thought he was: good, intelligent, powerful. She didn't know how dark he truly was, not inside his mind. But she was the light.
Albus inhaled slowly. She would not leave him. Minerva loved him too much. She was attached to him. Or was that being too arrogant? He did have the tendency to be too prideful. He shook his head violently from side to side. If there was one thing he deserved, it would be happiness with the only woman he had ever loved.
He had always loved her. Always. Maybe it hadn't always been romantic, but there was affection from the very first class he had with the girl. She knew too much for her own good about transfiguration, even then. It made sense, of course: she was a McGonagall.
A soft grin slid across his face.
And then there was the first time they made love. He remembered it all. He remembered it well.
It's amazing, the imprint moments of ignorance (or stupidity) leave, Albus mused. It wasn't planned. Frankly, the opposite was planned: he had made up his mind to never see her again, not like that. He couldn't be seen kissing a student. What's more is that she understood. She didn't like it, but she understood.
Sitting at his desk, he watched her leave. She turned her back and walked out of the room. Albus couldn't help himself but stare—not in a sexual way. He was struck with the realization that she was dearer to him than he could have imagined. It wasn't sexual. It was affection. It was love.
His heart would heal, he told himself. It was for the best, for him to stop it before they did something unthinkable. Something unimaginable, even. That was a lie. He had imagined it. And he felt ashamed for it. She was a student. He was a teacher.
And then…Minerva came back. Forgot her coat, of all things.
Yes. He made the move. It was wrong, terribly, unforgivably wrong, but he did it. Albus kissed her. Nothing feels so good at taking back what you've let go, so her lips were softer than they had ever been, her mouth hungrier than before.
There was no thought there except 'don't think about it'.
The rest was primal desire. Don't think. Just do.
With her legs wrapped around his waist, he took her to the only cushioned area in his office: the settee. Through the charmed wall and down the stairs as she kissed him madly on the neck and the ears, he rushed. He placed her on the cushions, sliding himself on top of her. They were still fully clothed, but there was no doubt where it could go. Where it would go.
She wasn't fearful about it. True to form, she attacked the situation directly. Minerva was the one to push his robes off. He countered by sliding hers off. The thought of her young skin still gave him tingles of desire. All he had earned were her arms thus far, but he fully appreciated the way that they tangled themselves around his neck, how they reached under his clothing to touch his skin. He could still feel her hands scratching against his back.
It was a slow process, making love. Nothing was rushed that first time. Maybe there was something instinctual in it: he did not know until after that she had never been with anyone. She couldn't hide it, of course, and he had not thought. The blood was cleaned up easily enough while she sat on top of the cushions, naked, her arms wrapped around her knees.
Reality set in as she looked at him, perhaps realizing what had just happened on a practical level. It was hitting him hard then, too. Not only had he just made love to a student: he took her virginity, too. Shameful.
He didn't know what to say. He wasn't angry, not with her. He was angry with himself. He had fallen in love with a student and he couldn't fix it. What was done, was done.
Minerva was the one to break the silence. She cried. She cried loudly. But he held her, wrapped his arms around her soft skin as she buried her head in his chest. He didn't suppose anything could ever remove that memory of her shaking against him from his mind. Sense-memory.
"Minerva, I love you." Those were the words that finally came. He meant them. Nothing but love could have made him do that. Lust was one thing, but love was another. This was love. He did not regret being with her because it was her. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that she was a student. That was the fatal flaw to their relationship.
His words only made her start sobbing again. The trouble was that Minerva knew it was the truth. She also saw the end, just as he saw the end—at least he hoped she had.
Shameful as it had been to make love to the woman, it was even more shameful, what went through his mind as he held her. He couldn't keep her. He knew that. Albus calculated how long it could possibly last. Maybe two months. Already he was considering how it would end. Before it even really began, he was wondering how it would end. Who would come to their senses first?
Albus blinked to himself outside Minerva's office. Where it all started. Where it ended. Where he proposed.
It was sobering to realize that one can lose everything that one holds dear in a matter of a few hours, a few seconds, even.
He knocked.
Minerva opened the door with a warm smile on her face, "Professor Dumbledore."
The man nodded, "Professor McGonagall. May I come in?"
She shook her head gently. "I'm just leaving. To dinner?"
He blinked, surprised. "I was under the impression that we were meant to talk about some things that were said earlier."
"I understand why you said what you said," she claimed gently. "And I also understand that you did not have to confess. For that, I suppose I can't complain," the woman nodded. She had given this thought. Much thought, indeed. "I've told Cora everything about what we were and what we are. If you're willing to accept this, then I suggest that we don't talk about it again." The woman stared at him with cool, stoical anticipation.
Well that was a surprise. All of it. No discussion. Just acceptance. Albus blinked. She was too quick to forgive, sometimes. "What we were and what we are?"
Minerva nodded and responded curtly, "There are now five people in this world that know about you and me. The truth. Armando, Cora, Rudy, you, and me. I think we're all trustworthy people, don't you?"
He didn't know what to say. He started and stopped several times before finally saying, "Yes. I do."
"Then let's keep the secret between us."
Albus cleared his throat. "You're taking this much better than I thought you would."
She bobbed her head slowly. "I don't profess to understand you, Albus. But I do understand that you would do anything to protect me. It's damn frustrating," her mouth twitched ever so slightly, "but there are worse things to have in a lover."
A grin crept across his face. "I don't deserve you."
The woman gave a quick chuckle and grabbed his hand as she walked in the direction of the Great Hall. She held it until they were outside the doors.
R&R Please.