A/N: Another short chappie. Hope you enjoy it!
XLVIII: Facing Oneself
Albus hurried quickly down the hallway to the main corridor. As much as he had enjoyed having breakfast with Minerva, he didn't know what had possessed him to say some of the things he had said that morning. Even as he would vow he would be careful around Minerva, he had come out with statements that immediately raised questions about his ability to do so. It was one thing to have complimented her the way he had when he had arrived – he recognised that as a witch, Minerva probably enjoyed compliments about her appearance, even though she was by no means vain – but some of the other remarks that had come from his mouth were enough to make a grown wizard cringe. His last comment, for example. That had been entirely unnecessary. He had already apologised, and they had established that they enjoyed spending time together. There was no need to have gone on the way he had about the mistake it had been to have deprived himself of her company – let alone that he had, once again, with all the sensitivity of a marauding Hippogriff, mentioned the incident of the morning before.
It wasn't simply that he seemed unable to keep the conversation to appropriate topics, either. Albus would have appeared utterly insensitive had he not allowed Minerva to make her apology. It would have been wrong of him to have denied her that opportunity. But why did he have to say what he had? To have told her, like some first-year Hufflepuff with a bad crush on the Head Girl, that he was afraid that she hated him. Minerva had taken it well, Albus admitted. And they had been able to go on and discuss school business, as planned. She had treated him normally, and Albus had joked with her in his usual way, but that did nothing to erase the memory of his embarrassing revelation.
As he reached the gargoyle, for the first time in many, many decades, Albus felt weary and wished he could flee his life. This was worse than the embarrassing debacle a few years ago. Over the course of a long life, that incident had been nothing, really. But Albus had no idea how to deal with this on-going situation. He had known when he had hired Minerva that his feelings might be . . . susceptible to her presence in the castle. He hadn't believed it would prove to be such a difficulty, however. Indeed, it hadn't been difficult, not until he had heard those words come out of her mouth yesterday morning and realised he was in danger of losing her friendship.
Albus sat at his desk and looked at all of the parchments that he had to read through. Not now, he thought, and pushed himself away from the desk. He went up to his suite, changed into his dressing gown, and prepared the nasty potion that he had promised Aberforth he would apply to his beard weekly. He was more than a day late with it, but there was no helping that.
Albus sat on the little bench in his bathroom, beard bucket floating in front of him. At least this was an undisturbed half-hour to himself. Perhaps that was one reason he had agreed to participate in his brother's daft experiment.
He sighed. Albus now saw that he had been able to maintain his equilibrium despite Minerva's presence in the castle because he had simply not seen very much of her once term began. He had even brought her dinner in her office a few times when she had been working late, but had always declined her invitation to stay and keep her company.
He had been balanced on a pinpoint, trying to maintain an illusion of friendship with Minerva and stay in her good graces whilst at the same time behaving as though it didn't matter whether she was in the castle or in London. That was foolish of him. As he had told her when he left her rooms that morning, he had been depriving himself of her company. But now it was as though he were going to the other extreme. And it would have to stop. Surely he could find a happy medium between ignoring her – which would hurt her feelings – and behaving in the maudlin way he had this morning.
Albus shook his head, sloshing the potion and releasing more of its foul odour, despite the Charm that was supposed to contain the stench. His eyes watered, and he was happy to blame the potion's stinging fumes. Why had he said what he had about his irrational fears? He had known they were irrational even yesterday morning; he certainly knew today that there was no truth to them. Was his mawkish sentimentality a way of finding out what Minerva would say about his fear? Or a way to inveigle sympathy from her?
What really bothered him, though, was not the "foot-in-mouth disease" he seemed to have developed that morning – and knowing Minerva's generous nature as he did, Albus couldn't believe that his confessed fear would lower her esteem for him – no, what bothered him was how easily he had made the confession. Perhaps not easily, but willingly. It would have been sufficient to have told Minerva that hearing her words had hurt him in the moment and made him doubt their friendship. Instead, he had been so moved by her apology that he had revealed more than necessary. The foolishness of an old man, a greater foolishness than that of youth . . . . And then to have allowed himself the indulgence of holding her the way he did and actually telling her he liked it . . . Minerva hadn't minded only because she hadn't understood what he had meant.
Over the last dozen years or so, they had seen each other a few times a year, sometimes more frequently, sometimes less. Usually they had met casually, when he happened to be in London and she had time to join him for lunch or dinner. Occasionally, they had made special plans to meet, as when Minerva was looking for a Transfiguration Master and wanted his advice. He had also been present to lend his support when Minerva had carried out her Challenge to Madame Feuilly. Albus smiled at the memory. Although due to his own stubbornness, the incident in France had strained their relationship for a while, the two had maintained an easy, congenial relationship after she had left school.
During all that time, Albus had no difficulty maintaining his view of Minerva as a friend and former student. True, he would occasionally find himself noticing that she was an attractive woman, but he had been able to admire her in the abstract. And there was nothing wrong with caring for Minerva with the deep affection of a friend and mentor. Affection, love, was a good thing, when it was not twisted by possessiveness or any of the other human flaws that can taint relationships. The trouble was, Albus knew that what he felt was different from the affection of a friend or a mentor – and that it had been for a long time, despite his denial and self-control. It was not even as simple as being attracted to her in addition to being fond of her. Albus had occasion to meet many very attractive witches in his long life, some of whom he had liked quite a bit. But Minerva was not one of those witches.
Albus banished the beard bucket and Charmed off the potion. He shed his dressing gown and stepped into the shower to rid himself of the last vestiges of the noxious concoction, although it was not strictly necessary. Would that a Charm and a shower could cleanse him of all his troubles.
Albus stood with warm water pouring over him and jetting on his body from all sides. He stretched his arms in front of him, braced himself against the shower wall, and closed his eyes. This was not merely a question of being inconveniently attracted to a very young, pleasant witch whom he had taught several years ago and with whom he now worked. With water streaming over his face and running down his hair and beard, Albus finally articulated to himself what he had known, or should have known, for a long time: he loved Minerva McGonagall. He loved her completely. Being with her made him feel more himself. And the way he loved her . . . he desired her physically, but with much more than simple physical desire.
Albus didn't even know when he had begun to love Minerva as something more than a precocious student. It wasn't as simple as pointing to the day in McTavish Street when he had realised that Minerva was an attractive young witch. She had been very dear to him before that day. Although Albus had always been scrupulously fair in class, he could admit to himself that Minerva had meant more to him than just a sweet child and exemplary student for quite some time before the warm summer's day when he had first perceived her as a desirable woman.
Albus now wondered about the truth of what he had seen that afternoon in Edinburgh. There was absolutely no doubt that he had been appalled and sickened when he realised he was becoming aroused by the sight of Minerva McGonagall. Even at the time, he hadn't understood how he could have failed to recognise her. To be sure, Minerva was not wearing school robes, but he had seen her in different clothing before, and although she usually wore her hair down at school, he had seen her when she had it pinned up, as well. There must have been some part of him that had known that he was looking at Minerva. It had not simply been a random witch on the street whom he had found enticing and who later turned out to be Minerva; it had been Minerva herself who had attracted him. Yet Albus had gone on to work with her that summer, then to teach her for another year, and had easily ignored any stray thought that might have led him to appreciate Minerva in a way unbecoming a teacher charged with her care. It truly hadn't been difficult for him; Albus had successfully fallen back into their established relationship – which was closer and more like a friendship than the typical teacher-student relationship, but not inappropriate, either.
In that moment, standing motionless in the steaming shower, a very small part of Albus selfishly wished that Minerva had disappeared from his life after she left school, that she had married and had babies and sent him photographs of her cute little offspring, then sent those offspring to Hogwarts for him to teach. He could have just remembered her as a particularly talented student whose husband was a very lucky man. He could have been a proper elderly wizard chuckling at his memories, and not this pitiable old man who longed for a young witch who seemed so close but who was completely out of reach.
The greater part of him, though, was grateful for Minerva's on-going presence in his life and glad for her friendship. Albus resolved that he would express his love as one friend to another, as a mentor for his protege. He would not fall into the pathetic role of a wizard in his dotage, making a fool of himself over a young witch. Albus most certainly didn't need friends and colleagues clucking over what they would see as a pitiful infatuation and discussing whether this was a sign that he had entered his final decline.
If Gertie agreed to his request, Albus thought as he turned off the shower, it would make the situation a little easier for him – for a while, anyway. Although there were other options available, as she had pointed out more than once, they were less agreeable to him. Still, he could not ask more of Gertie than she was willing to give. She had already been more generous than he had a right to expect.
Albus dried himself, feeling slightly better for having finally articulated what had afflicted his judgment and his behaviour, but he was still subdued. He really shouldn't feel sorry for himself; he should embrace his friendship with Minerva and be glad of it. As he padded into his bedroom to don fresh robes, there was a burst of flames in the centre of the room. Fawkes was back.
The phoenix settled at the top of the bed and cocked his head as he watched Albus dress in garnet-coloured cotton robes. As Albus sat to pull on his socks, Fawkes let out a brief trill, and Albus looked up at him and smiled.
"Where have you been, old friend? I've missed you the last day or two. I think I either need a holiday or a phoenix's song, and I haven't time for a holiday," Albus said, as the large bird fluttered closer to settle on his shoulder. "How am I supposed to put on my shoes with you sitting there, hmm?" At the look Fawkes gave him, Albus laughed. "You're right – I am a wizard, aren't I?"
Albus Charmed his shoes onto his feet, and Fawkes began to sing. Albus felt as though a great weight was being lifted from him, or as though he had just woken from a most refreshing sleep after a long and tiring day. He smiled. Yes, he would enjoy Minerva's presence in the castle. He would cherish her friendship and all of the time they were able to spend together. It was a blessing that she was here with him; even those emotions that he could not express to her were a blessing, and he could appreciate them and hold her dear in his heart, keeping his feelings close and hidden.
Much happier, Albus stood, Fawkes on his shoulder. Stroking the bird's red and gold plumage, he said, "To the office, then?"
Fawkes trilled brightly in response and, with a flash, transported them both to Albus's office – a favour rarely bestowed under such mundane circumstances. After feeding Fawkes a few treats, Albus sat down in good humour and set to work through his pile of parchments, looking forward to the next time he would see Minerva.
A/N: There may be a puzzle or two here, but as they say, good things come to those who wait, and any questions will be cleared up for patient readers! Still to come: Minerva's visit with Poppy, a talk with Hagrid, a Saturday meeting with the Headmaster, and a few surprises along the way.
