A/N - disclaimer etc. in part 1. Thanks for the reviews and for sticking with this.

Repentance – part 9

He was indescribably weary; his body and his mind longed for rest – but even in sleep there was precious little peace to be had. The Ministry, The Order, The School – they all demanded his attention; leaving him certain that none of them were getting the amount of his time they needed. It had been years since there had been anything at all left over for him.

His friendship with Minerva had been his respite and his solace. With it now lying in tatters he was bereft of the one thing he had treasured – and he had no one to blame but himself. He had given her the power to determine their future and whatever happened he would respect her decision. He could only hope that she realised what it had cost him to place his peace of mind in her hands.

But he was not a saint and these past, lonely weeks his curiosity had got the better of him. Though it was far too late in the day, he had made discrete enquiries into Minerva's private life. His enquiries had borne fruit and he was relatively certain of the identities of the men who had wanted to marry her. They were both well-known, both distinguished in their respective fields and both younger than he by many years. He was astonished that she had turned down their proposals and bewildered that both of the relationships had passed him by – not least since there had been no secrecy; just the discretion he had come to expect from his Deputy.

Unfortunately the source of his information was Alastor Moody and his old friend and colleague was far too astute not to put two and two together. It had taken Alastor no time at all to demand the whole story and having heard it; his verdict was that Albus was an idiot. There were times when Albus feared he was right.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Alastor had been all too blunt as to why Minerva's social life had failed to attract his notice for all these years. "Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you've always believed that because you caused the damage, only you can repair it. You've never really accepted that she's OK - because she didn't come running to you to put her back together again. Well, if you know anything at all about Minerva, you know that she could never have allowed that to happen. She would never have come anywhere near you unless she thought she was at least mostly healed."

Alastor's verdict on the whole situation had been particularly damning, "you're both as bad as each other – too much pride by half." Which would have been insufferable – if Albus hadn't come to the uncomfortable realisation that every single word he'd uttered was true.

It was impossible not to remember her return to Hogwarts. To recall how Headmaster Dippet had been desperate to find a suitable replacement for their DADA teacher – who had been suddenly taken ill just a few months into the new school year. Someone from Beauxbatons had suggested Minerva and Armando had been surprisingly reluctant to consider her a viable candidate. Albus had not been convinced by his excuse that he was concerned by her relative youth and finally he had persuaded the Headmaster to confess that he was worried by who her father had been, by his connection to Grindelwald.

Once he knew what the problem was it was relatively easy to find a solution. Albus had, discretely, ensured Alastor was able to put the headmaster's mind at rest – without revealing anything about what Minerva had done during the war. And after that there had been no resistance. In fact, Armando had been astute enough to realise that if one of the Ministry's top aurors was prepared to vouch for her, then Minerva's war record must have been something very special indeed.

Only when the battle was won, only when the appointment – temporary at first - had been offered and accepted did he stop to think about what it would mean for him to have Minerva at Hogwarts.

For days he had vacillated between excitement and despondency. At times he had been almost giddy at the thought of being able to see her again, to get to know her as a colleague without the shadow of war between them. But then, inevitably he would remember what had happened, all that she had been through – and he would wonder if she would ever be able to look at him and not be reminded of Grindelwald, her father and that terrible, dark time.

In his more positive moods he had intended to tell her the truth about their last night. He wouldn't blurt it out, like a gibbering fool, he would find an appropriate way to share the memory, to ask for her forgiveness. But, when he wasn't feeling so optimistic he had wondered if it wouldn't be better to leave the past buried. It had been a decade after all – in all likelihood they had both changed; war, death, destruction and a lengthy separation had surely burned their attraction away.

In the end it had been Minerva herself who had determined his course. When she'd stepped out of the carriage in front of the school, she had looked around her – as though she was checking the reality against her recollections, finally her gaze had come to rest upon the small group of teachers waiting to welcome her. It was as well that the Headmaster had taken over the job of introductions – because for a long, lovely moment speech had been beyond Albus and all he could think about were his memories of the warmth of her skin and the silkiness of the hair that was now neatly contained in a bun.

He had just about recovered when Armando stopped before him and said, "I'm sure you remember Professor Dumbledore from your own school days." He could have cursed his superior for the oh so untimely reminder of their massive age difference. But his irritation had faded when he looked at her – the additional years suited her, lending her a confidence that promised to mature into elegance. She was too pale, but what struck him most of all was the wariness in her eyes. He'd almost gasped as the guilt hit him like a physical blow – he had helped do this to her. But Minerva had looked back at him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line, as though she knew only too well what he had been thinking. Her voice had been clipped as she said,

"Of course, it's good to see you again Professor."

In the weeks that followed it became clear that Minerva had developed a protective shell that kept most people at arms length. Her new colleagues were favourably impressed with her teaching skills, particularly her ability to quell a particularly challenging 7th year class. But they had also learnt that she was reserved and did not easily reciprocate their friendly overtures. She was perfectly polite, but somewhat distant and while the young girl Albus remembered from her year at the school had never been exactly gregarious she had certainly been more social than she was now. The change was another of the things he had held himself responsible for.

She'd loosened up considerably over the years – in fact, she'd started to relax during her first year back at the school – as though Hogwarts had worked some magic of its own on her. Her humour was somewhat spiky, her teaching manner strict but fair and at times her colleagues and even some students had been privileged to see beyond the aloof mask she presented to the world. He had learnt that she was a loyal and implacable ally; albeit with a temper that once loosed, was fearsome to behold. Her logical, controlled approach to problem solving was a valuable contrast to the workings of his own mind and there were very few people he listened to with as much attention and respect.

Until recently they had never spoken of the war, the only time they had come close to mentioning it was a few weeks after her return, when he had tentatively raised the subject, only to have her tell him firmly that she had no interest in discussing the past. Her expression had been forbidding and looking at her he had decided that it was more important to be her friend than to relive old memories that were surely better left buried. So he had let it go, and for years he had given no thought to telling her the truth. Slowly they had become friends, she had let down the protective walls she surrounded herself with and let him get close. But the shadows had lingered, waiting to engulf them – preventing their friendship from ever developing into something more.

He was roused from his meditations by a knock at his office door – a knock he recognised. Expecting that only a recalcitrant student would have brought his Deputy to his door, he bid her enter and was surprised when she was alone.

"Severus has been summoned again," she announced bluntly, hardly needing to point out that this would in all likelihood herald an attack of some sort. He looked towards the fire, making it roar and she stretched her hands out before it gratefully. "I'm worried about him Albus. I'm worried what will happen if he is made to harm someone – and I'm worried about how desperate he is to prove he really is on our side."

"My dear we have to trust in his loyalty, his judgement and what we have taught him in the last weeks." He paused for a moment, and glancing down at his hands he added quietly, "it's always the hardest part, to watch someone go into danger, knowing there is no way they can escape harm."

There was a long silence until she said, "is that why you weren't there that last morning, why you didn't say goodbye to me?" He was surprised by her question, but there was no doubt that she deserved a truthful answer.

"I was a coward – I couldn't face you knowing what I'd done, even if you didn't remember, I couldn't face the thought of what you were going to, who you were going to." She didn't reply, didn't even look at him, her gaze locked on the leaping and twisting flames. "I've regretted it ever since. That whole year, you were never far from my thoughts."

"I don't doubt that. I thought of you often too." The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't the familiar, drowsy silences that followed their chess matches, or their fireside chats.

"Minerva, there's something I should tell you." He winced inwardly as he saw her shoulders stiffen and wished he had phrased his remark differently. "It's not a secret, it's just something I've never spoken of - to anyone." She still looked wary, but he could see the curiosity in her eyes as well. "When we stormed the fortress, when I found Grindelwald, I wasn't sure I would survive our dual. He was as strong as I was; his knowledge of magic was as extensive as my own. I started to think that the only chance to defeat him would be to bring the walls down around us. But, as we duelled our thoughts became less guarded – and we both took advantage of that, each looking for a weakness in the other. His thoughts were filled of you, he didn't want to believe that you had betrayed him, he was certain that you loved him. I reacted instinctively, thinking of our night together, of my fears for you – even though I'd made Alastor promise to find you and get you to safety. He read my mind, my feelings and for the first moment his concentration slipped, it was the opening I'd been looking for. I didn't want to kill him."

"He wouldn't have shown you the same consideration," she said her voice husky with emotion. When she turned towards him he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. "I'm glad," she said savagely, the tears spilling forth, "I'm glad he knew about us before he died, I'm glad he realised that I never loved him, that I was the one who betrayed him. As angry as I am with you for what you did, if our night together saved your life, I won't be sorry that it happened."

"Minerva," now it was his voice that was husky, her words and her emotions drawing him to her side. Her reached out to touch her, fully intending to gather her into his arms and beg her forgiveness. But the fire hissed and flared and suddenly there was a face within the flames.

"Headmaster!" Severus' voice was a hoarse whisper and even as he spoke he glanced back over his shoulder as though he expected to be interrupted at any second. "He's launching an attack on some of the aurors, the Longbottoms will be targeted – I don't know who else. Help them." He was gone almost at once, leaving the two inhabitants of the room to stare at the fire in dazed shock. Albus pulled himself together almost at once,

"I must go."

He was already reaching for the floo powder when she said, "it could be a trap."

"You don't believe that my dear."

"I don't want to believe it – but it's possible. This whole situation with Severus could be an elaborate scheme, just to get to you. He," her voice shook and when normally he'd sigh at her refusal to speak Voldemort's name this time he let her weakness pass. "He knows you wouldn't turn someone away if they were trying to break free of the dark, just as he knows that if you learnt of an attack on a member of the Order you'd go to their aid."

He didn't want to heed her warning – but recent events had reminded him that he was far from infallible. He didn't often make mistakes in his judgements about others, but when he did the consequences were generally serious. His relationship with the woman standing before him was proof enough of that.

"Frank and Alice are in danger, what would you have me do?"

"I'll alert some of the others – just in case the Longbottoms aren't the only ones under attack." He couldn't quite believe it when she crossed to his side and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "Just take care – please?"

Pulling his mind away from the way her lips had felt against his cheek with some difficulty he nodded and then taking a handful of powder threw it into the fire. The last thing he saw before he disappeared into the flames was Minerva's face. The fear and worry in her eyes made him determined that he would return to her, that although their almost too intense conversation had been interrupted, it definitely wasn't finished.

TBC