Minerva blinked against the blinding sun. She pulled her hair out of her face, sat up, and glanced around. There was nothing to remind her of the previous night except for her red, sensitive hands and the fact that she was in Professor Dumbledore's room.

She saw that he had fallen asleep in the chair next to the couch, his auburn hair falling in his eyes. Minerva slowly reached out and let her fingers touch his face. "I love you, Professor Dumbledore," she whispered.

Minerva looked down at the book resting on his lap. She gently took it from him and opened it to the first page. She gasped.

It was her. The drawing was unmistakably Minerva. In it, she was leaning over her work, the sun casting exquisite shadows about her.

She turned the page. She was sitting on the edge of the lake, a flower in her hand, gazing up at the stars. Lightly sketched in behind her was Professor Dumbledore himself, longing so clear in his eyes. Minerva brushed it with the tips of her fingers.

She turned through page after page, finding absolutely incredible drawing after drawing. One even portrayed one of her rare smiles. Minerva felt extremely connected with the drawings. She felt they captured her better than a mirror ever could. It was as if Professor Dumbledore could see right into her. It was a beautiful feeling.

The last sketch made Minerva's heart rise to her throat. It was last night, as she slept. Dumbledore had shown everything exactly as it had been: Minerva's hands looking raw and tender, her ebony hair falling over her shoulders and arms, the gently curve of her breasts, her confusion and grief. Sketched in lightly was a hand cupping her face. She looked quickly at Professor Dumbledore's hands and recognized the drawn one as his. Under the drawing were the words:

I will never leave you, though you do not know I am there.

My love always, my Minerva.

Albus Dumbledore

Minerva silently closed the book. Tears ran down her cheeks. She had never imagined that he, Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in centuries, could love her as she loved him. Minerva put her face in her hands. She did not know what to do.

She considered waking him up, but he looked utterly exhausted. She knew that he was the only person she could talk to about what had happened.

Minerva opened the book again. She turned to the next blank page.

I will never leave you; I have always known you are there.

My love forever and always.

Minerva McGonagall