"So as you see, the Lord has built himself a rather suitable home." Anselmus summarized as the unlikely couple found themselves in front of Minerva's rooms again.

"You are a lucky woman to get the opportunity to share them."

Minerva slightly nodded, not really knowing what to say- but apparently, no words were needed from her. With a stiff, curt bow, the fair-haired man greeted her, then turned around and left, leaving her alone.

With a deep sigh, the black-haired witch rested her right hand against the big, copper door knob- and with another sigh, she entered the room which she already started to label as "her own". It was a horrible thought that she even started to feel at home here- in the proverbial lair of the beast. She had noticed, though, while visiting various other rooms of the castle, that this particular room, appointed to her, was decorated in a much more- lighter way that the others. The emerald sheets, for example- it was almost as if it had been designed for her. She shivered at this thought. It was idiotic, of course- but still.

It was one of those curious, little things which only added to that rather alarming feeling she had. The feeling of "fitting in".

And it was so easy, so damn easy to just let go- to forget all those almost painful thoughts inside of her head and to just go with the flow. To forget about a mission she believed to be more impossible every passing day and to finally abandon that damn Gryffindor bravery nobody could possibly expect of her under these circumstances.

But she knew that all of it was rubbish.
Because despite all nearly-abandoned bravery, despite all despair, one very strong emotion remained and would always remain, and it was pride. Minerva Caitríona McGonagall was and would always be way too proud a woman to ever surrender to a regime she so absolutely disagreed with. It was just something- close to unthinkable to her.

And Minerva Caitríona McGonagall was way too proud, too, to ever acknowledge the fact that she had been too weak to do what she'd been supposed to do. To prove Albus, who'd not wanted her to go, right.

She closed her eyes and sat down at her mahogany wooden desk, leaning her head on her hands without so much as realizing it.

"Albus…"

Immediately, though, her head anxiously snapped up- looking around in a rather paranoid manner, as if expecting to see some Death Eaters jumping out of every corner. As soon as she noticed that she was alone, though, her miserable sigh repeated itself.

With an almost mechanical gesture, the woman took up the quill on the desk, taking a piece of parchment- and suddenly, words came flowing.

"Dear Albus,"

Somehow her mind went blank at this word. This word- his name- which she had not even spoken that many times during her young life. Professor Dumbledore, it had always been- but it was so much easier to think of him as "Albus" somehow.

"I know I have hurt you, on that day when I left. I have seen the tears in your eyes and I have cried myself, and yet I did not consider going back. Not because I don't value you, but simply because sometimes, duty calls and when duty calls, a woman must obey. And so I did, Albus.

I am not sorry for leaving and for accepting this mission, because I believe it is my fate and because I believe that my late parents ask this of me. But I am sorry for what I said.

Not because it hurt you, though. It was the only possible thing I could say to keep you from keeping me from going. Simply because it was a lie. I said I did not love you- well, I was lying.

Because I do love you. There- there you've got it. I have loved you since I was fourteen, to be honest, but I considered it a school girl crush and, of course, never dropped so much as a hint about it. When I saw you, there, with Alastor and Mr. Flamel, though, it all came back to me.

I do love you, Albus, and should I ever return from this alive, I'd only be too glad to share whatever life I'll have left with you.

Yours, if you will have me,

Minerva"

It was perhaps not the right kind of letter to send under the circumstances she was in, Minerva acknowledged, but it was her letter and she was determined to send it. After all, even the prospect of him actually reading it somehow seemed terribly unrealistic to her now- a fact which she considered to be a direct result of her unusual surroundings.

Was there still a world outside the castle? Hadn't she been born here- hadn't everything- Alastor, Albus, Mr Flamel- been a dream?

She felt her heart beating against the inside of her mind and it was a strange experience- yet also, in a way, a freeing one.

It brought her back to the world of the living, and when she drew a slow, prolonged breath, she could finally scold herself again for her total lack of common sense.

Of course there was a world out there. Of course she hadn't dreamt it all.

Of course Albus existed, and of course she loved him.

And yet somehow that last line was the only one she could speak without the slightest hesitation.

With a worried shake of her head, Minerva got up and grabbed the two parchments now lying on her desk. She'd finished the promised report for Alastor earlier- and it gave her a good excuse to risk her whole mission just to send to Albus the letter which had been ripening inside of her head for a few days now. After all, the risk for one or two letters was about the same- namely, a trip to the wing of the castle where Grindelwald kept his owls, and, eventually, perhaps even triumph or failure- life or death.

A/N: A damn merry Christmas to all of you!