Repentance – part 7

Dumbledore gazed into the fire – as though the leaping and flickering flames held the answer to his dilemma, which of course they did not. His pensieve sat in the middle of his desk – but he was seriously considering putting it away again. It had been so long, what good could it do to revisit this? Surely it would only bring more damage and recriminations?

He had alerted the Order to the attacks, using a few well-placed sources at the Ministry, which meant word would have reached the proper authorities by now. He would be sent more details soon – but, in the meantime, he was contemplating telling Minerva the truth.

Her words had stung him – made him question things he had viewed as certainties for years; everything he thought he knew about her seemed to be in tatters. When she'd told him that she'd had relationships, turned down proposals of marriage his stomach had lurched in a most alarming way. He'd realised that what he viewed as one the closest friendships of his life had great gaping holes in the middle. There was, it seemed a whole area of her life he knew nothing about. She was almost a mystery to him.

But that didn't make it a good idea to tell her the truth about what had happened on that final night. In fact, it seemed to make it imperative that he kept the secret and concentrated on repairing the damage the guilt had already done. If he told her there was a very good chance she would never forgive him – but, if he did not, the rift between them would grow, he'd lose her anyway – it would just take longer.

"Headmaster?" He hadn't heard her enter, but now she stood in the doorway to his office, waiting. He should perhaps have been offended by the use of his title, rather than his name – he knew it meant that she was still angry with him. But, actually the sombre gravity of the fact that he was the Headmaster of Hogwarts leant him a courage that he desperately needed.

"It shouldn't be too much longer Minerva – then you can alert your colleagues. But, while we wait I need to discuss something else with you."

"Of course."

"Earlier this evening you said that I treat you as though you are a victim. I think you realise that for a long time I have felt guilty about what you endured while you were spying on Grindelwald. There are things that happened then that you don't know about – things that might help you to understand my behaviour. I am prepared to show you, but you need to know that what you see will cause you anger and pain."

"When I asked, you implied that it would damage something important – our friendship?"

"That is possible. So, the choice is yours, my dear. Do you want to know?"

"I think I have to." It was the answer he had been expecting, but still he felt a tremor of emotion – things would not be the same now, they would never be the same again.

"I was afraid that would be your answer." He gestured towards the pensieve and watched with something akin to helplessness as she leaned forward to view the memories he had placed there.

He knew exactly what she would see, how the scene would unfold – the only thing he did not know was how she would react. She would watch their younger selves kiss, watch the discussion that followed and their eventual progress upstairs to her bed. He'd omitted nothing; conscious that he had stolen the memories from her he'd wanted to make sure that he gave them back in their entirety. So, she would watch them make love, watch them cling together and whisper softly to one another before they fell asleep. And, she would watch him wake while she slept on - and oblivate her.

The room span alarmingly as Minerva stepped back from the pensieve. Albus reached out a hand to steady her, but she shrugged his grasp off and leant instead against the back of a chair. She took deep, steadying breaths, trying to banish the images she had just witnessed, and trying to make sense of the implications of his memories. The disbelief and confusion had been growing in her from the moment she had witnessed the end of their kiss all those years ago, from the moment his memories had diverged so dramatically from hers.

"How could you?" she hissed at last, her voice brittle and raspy.

"I had no choice, if Grindelwald had found those memories – realised we'd been intimate he'd have killed you, or used you to get to me."

"He didn't find the memories of my training." Even as she spoke she knew there were substantial differences between the two sets of memories, knew that it would have taken more skill at occulmency than she possessed to keep the images of her night with Albus at bay while Grindelwald had been making love to her.

"I did what I felt was right Minerva; what had to be done, for your safety and the success of your mission."

"And then kept the fact to yourself for twenty years." He sighed, this was exactly the reaction he had feared from her – and he couldn't blame her.

"When exactly should I have told you? After the war when you disappeared to hunt down the rest ofhis followers with Alastor? Should I have come to see you when you were teaching at Beaubaxtons? Or when you arrived here, even though practically the first thing you said to me was that you wanted to leave the war behind? Should I have dropped it into conversation over dinner, in front of the students and our colleagues? Would you have preferred I told you during a game of chess? Do you think I might have managed to beat you if I had?"

"Don't joke about this!" When she closed her eyes all she could see was their bodies wrapped together, all she could think about was the way he'd touched her, the way his hands had tangled in her hair and howshe'd known instinctively that he'd loved the feel of it on his skin. And, although she didn't want to admit it the expression on his face when he had oblivated her was just as haunting as the images of their lovemaking. "If you'd really wanted to you would have found a way to tell me, found the right moment."

"If I didn't tell you it was because I knew it would ruin our friendship – and I didn't want that to happen."

"I don't know if I'll ever forgive you for this Albus, how can I?"

"It was to save your life."

"And was that your decision to make? Did it ever occur to you that if you'd woken me and discussed the situation, I might have agreed? I might have allowed you to oblivate me?" She could see from his expression that such a thought had never crossed his mind and she shook her head, upset and angry by such a refusal to acknowledge that she'd had a right to be consulted. "You really do see us as lesser creatures, don't you? Requiring your protection, your patronage."

"That's not the way I see things – you know me better than that."

"I thought I did certainly, but it's possible I was wrong. At least I understand why you've felt guilty all these years – but it doesn't change the fact that I survived, that while my life might not be perfect it isn't the ruined, damaged thing you see it as. You may not be able to accept the person I am now – but I have, I even like her a lot of the time."

He bowed his head and she could see the misery in his eyes – knew she had been trying to cause him pain in exchange for the pain he had so recently caused her. The logical, rational voice telling her that she had to find a way to move on from this was a quiet one – swamped by powerful emotions, by the knowledge that once; if only for a night, he had wanted her.

Whatever she would have said next was lost in a screech from an owl and the insistent tapping of it's beak against the window. Dumbledore moved slowly, opening the window and retrieving the message. When he looked back at her she knew the interminable night had not yet ended.

"These are the confirmation of casualties from tonight's attacks. You should wake the other teachers and notify the students affected. Some will be reunited with their families in the next few hours, but it may take longer for some of the others and of course there will be a few who have no one to come to comfort them tonight. It might be best if they spend the remainder of their time in the hospital wing."

"Of course headmaster." She was grateful for his professional tone, but she wasn't sure how for long she would be able to emulate it – the events of the evening had just been too tumultuous. But there were students to think about; those that she was just about to break devastating news to and those who would discover what had happened to their classmates in the morning. They had to come first; her own problems would wait until she could contemplate them in private.

"Minerva," she paused at the door, his voice calling her back. Albus looked old and tired she realised – but, while on other occasions this would have caused her to be solicitous for his welfare, tonight she merely waited. "I want you to know, I am sorry."

"Are you sorry that we were lovers, that you robbed me of the memories or that you waited so long to tell me?" She caught the flash of anger in his eyes and was maliciously glad she had been able to provoke such a response from him.

"I'll never be sorry that we spent that night together." It wasn't the reaction she had been expecting and another of Alastor's lessons saved her from having to find an answer. Good strategists recognise that sometimes the only thing to do is to make a tactical retreat – so that was what she did. Turning away from him once more, she left without a backward glance.

TBC