A/N - I have to confess, I was more than a little tempted toconclude this story here. It fits (more or less) with cannon as far as we know it and would be a great set up for a long, deep friendship. But the romantic in me protested.

Part 9

It was almost dawn. The rain was falling heavily against the windows of the house, which was itself almost as dark and murky as the early Edinburgh morning.

In the study the embers of a fire flickered in the grate, casting shadows across the face of the woman curled into a high-backed chair. There was a tray of food close at hand, but the meal had scarcely been touched. In fact it was unclear if the women sitting gazing into the dying flames was even aware that it had been placed before her.

Minerva didn't know what she was doing here, she couldn't really explain the impulse that had carried her to this place when she had fled from Hogwarts. The old house in the heart of Scotland's capital had been her childhood home. But she never came here now, unless she had to – the empty, silent rooms held few happy memories for her.

She had been an only child, her parents had not exactly been in the first flush of youth when she was born – and she had never been entirely clear that her conception wasn't an accident. They had not been cruel; just too absorbed by their studies to make room for her in their lives. They had both been so serious, leaving little time for childishness, for silly, joyful games, for being young. Early on she had learnt that her best chance to gain the approval of her parents was by being studious and quiet – and so, throughout her childhood, she had been studious and quiet.

She'd had no friends of her own age until she went away to school – having lived exclusively with adults. In this house she had learnt the basics of transfiguration and of charms, not to mention more about potions than she ever wanted to know, but almost nothing about love and loving. Learning had been the religion here; it had been placed above love, above friendship, above caring. She could still remember the consternation that greeted the news that the daughter and granddaughter of noted Ravenclaws had been sorted into Gryffindor. Bravery and loyalty were, after all, emotions – they were things you felt, they couldn't be taught. It had made her a stranger in her own family – something that not even her academic brilliance had ever entirely dispelled.

So she'd come here, to this dark and gloomy house where she had spent a gloomy and neglected childhood. A place that matched her mood.

She was still wearing the dress robes she'd worn to the ball – in her headlong flight there had been no time for a change of clothes. A tartan blanket was draped around her shoulders – but she didn't really remember how it had got there. Perhaps one of the house elves? Her abrupt arrival had thrown them into a flurry of activity – no doubt they were cooking and cleaning in case she was staying for longer than a few hours. She hadn't told them that she had no idea what she was going to do, where she was going to go.

Albus loved her. It was incredibly difficult to get her mind to move beyond that amazing, dizzying revelation and she clutched it as a drowning man clutches at the hope of rescue.

She loved him back. It had been creeping up on her for weeks, perhaps even for years. The wonder was that it had taken her so long to see it. She thought back to the day she had offered to marry him, now she understood that it had been an offer made out of love.

But it was no good – nothing could come of it, there would be no relationship beyond friendship, no love affair. Loving him did not change the fact that she simply did not trust herself.

Unbidden her mind returned to those painful final months with Porus, when she had tried everything to make him remember that once he had said he loved her. How desperate she had been, how humiliated, how unhappy. She'd hated herself for needing him so much, for not being able to go a single day without speaking to him when he seemed to find even the most basic of conversations with her a chore. She had loathed the way she had clung to him as he had tried to pull away.

She had promised herself once it was finally over and done with, that she would never allow herself to lose her identity to that extent again. She would never betray herself, never again be so desperate for one persons love, that she would cease to think about who she was and what she needed. But she understood the weakness now, knew that she had it in her. The little girl who had grown up without her parents' unconditional love, had grown into a woman so desperate for love that when it came her way she would do almost anything to keep it.

She wouldn't allow herself to do that again, she wouldn't risk the descent into that madness – not even for Albus.

The Seer of Islay had awoken to a vision. He knew that Minerva McGonagall would come to him that day, that her arrival would bring distress. He had acted upon the knowledge – sending an owl to her husband immediately. However, he wished he had paid more attention to her demeanour in the vision, since he had clearly failed to notice just how terrifying she was when angry. Now, as they stood on the cliff top, her wand pointing at him, her arm completely steady as she repeated her demand, he was very aware of both her power and her steely determination. He had no doubt that she was capable of inflicting all the pain and discomfort that she threatened. Where was Dumbledore?

The soft pop of an apparition answered his question and he opened his mouth to greet the new arrival, only to shut it abruptly without uttering a sound. It was abundantly clear that Albus Dumbledore wasn't even remotely interested in him – his gaze was fixed on the woman beside him as she demanded, once again, that the marriage bond be dissolved.

For the first time since Minerva had fled from him the evening before, Albus was able to breathe easily. She was here, before him – safe and sound; although her anger was palpable and he was very glad that he was not the subject of it. He had scarcely slept last night, waiting up to see if she would return. Only in the very early hours of the morning had he fallen asleep, determined that if she did not appear by lunch he would search for her.

The message from the Seer had made the search unnecessary, but there was still the matter of why she had run away from him in the first place. Now he knew he also had to deal with her desire to end the marriage. There was no doubt that if she insisted he would agree to the dissolution – he could do nothing else, the idea of forcing her to remain married to him was repulsive. If he had done something wrong he wanted the chance to redeem himself; but he wanted to understand first.

He breathed her name and although when she heard him her head snapped around, her arm and the wand she held did not waver. "If you want to end our marriage don't you think you should at least discuss it with me first?"

"How did you know I was here Albus?" He didn't have to answer that, her gaze returned to the Seer, "the genuine article," she commented dryly.

"Minerva," he drew her attention back to him, "tell me what's going on?"

"He refuses to dissolve our marriage,"

"He can't – without my agreement and I won't agree, until you explain."

"Don't you think it will be better, easier this way? We wouldn't have to tell anyone, the Governors and Armando could continue to think we are married," His heart sank, she sounded so determined, so reasonable; yet it was unlike her to act in haste and anger.

"What about our feelings?"

"Our feelings are irrelevant."

"I don't believe that, I don't think you believe it." He watched her, seeking understanding, concerned by her behaviour, but also worried about her. He had to get them both away from here, talk to her calmly and quietly – not like this. "Ask him about our wedding," he said, nodding towards the Seer. "Ask him about the light."

"Albus – you know we aren't supposed to explain," he had expected the Seer to be reluctant to share these most secret of details, especially with one as sceptical as Minerva. But, he could see that she was intrigued by what he had said, that she wanted to know. He hoped that desire was greater than her need to dissolve the marriage.

"Make an exception," his gaze burned into the Seer's, "tell her." With no further comment the Seer asked Minerva,

"What do you remember from the wedding?"

"The sea, the cliffs, the incantation, our wands touching and then the light."

"What did you see in the light?" Albus almost chuckled at her expression and he could see the Seer wince in fear. Minerva's wand was still pointing at him – perhaps this was not a good time to ask her stupid questions.

"Nothing – it was a blinding light."

"Are you sure?"

"Nothing – only Albus." She followed the looks the two men exchanged, "what? What is this about? What does the light mean?"

Albus knew she had been trying to find the answer to that question, he also knew the reason it had eluded her so far. She'd been seeking to answer the wrong question.

"The light is meaningless," the Seer said at last, with marked reluctance; "it's a mechanism, nothing more. Something that cuts away the interference and leaves only the truth, what really matters. In its wake you see what you need to. I saw your path; that one day you would both return here - although I didn't expect the return to be such a dramatic event. You saw your husband."

"And I saw you," Albus took a step towards Minerva, then another. His fingers clasped her arm – drawing the wand away from the Seer – for a moment it pointed at him but he was not afraid. He already knew that she could hurt him far more with words than with a curse. "Do you still want to end our marriage?"

"I don't know what I want."

She closed her eyes for a moment, weary and confused, her senses spinning from his proximity. When she opened them again they were alone – and the landscape had changed dramatically. The cliffs and the sea had gone, in their place were gently rolling hills and a dark forest, Albus had apparated them back to Hogwarts. She turned her head and looked at the castle, standing solidly before them, as though it had weathered storms, battles and everything in between. For all she knew it had done exactly that, would continue to stand long after they were both gone.

Albus watched her for a moment – the tiredness and strain evident on her face, he wanted to hold her, to carry her indoors, put her to bed and worry about everything else later. But he knew he could not.

"Will you explain to me what this is all about? I know that last night I may have, taken advantage of the moment – if I made you uncomfortable or…"

"You didn't. Did you mean it?"

"Of course," their eyes met and in the warmth of his gaze she could see everything he had not said. His feelings for her were tangible, a warm embrace that wrapped around her. It was unconscionable that she would hurt him – yet she had no choice.

"I was afraid of that. I can't love you back Albus, I thought if I dissolved our marriage I could run away from my feelings,"

"But it doesn't work that way. You do love me back Minerva – it isn't something you can have any control over. What you mean is, you can't allow yourself to act upon those feelings." She blinked back tears, with no intention of disputing his analysis of their situation.

"Do you always have to be so insightful, so intelligent?"

"The fact that I can diagnose the problem does not mean I have a solution to it. Will you explain it to me?"

"I'm afraid." Such simple words, such a complex set of emotions – he deserved a far better explanation. "I'm afraid that if I let myself love you, I'll lose myself, give myself away willingly. It's a weakness of mine, it's what I did with Porus, and I promised myself that I would never let it happen again."

"I'm not Porus,"

"No – you're not. You're a brilliant man, someone many people in our world look to for leadership. You're a good man, a better and a braver man than Porus. But I am the same; with the same fears, the same weaknesses. I do love you Albus, and I know that if I tell you I am too afraid to take the risk, you won't ask that I do."

The previous evening she had stepped into his arms and he had known that, by some miracle she loved him. Now, he held the same knowledge – but it was heart breaking. She was right, he couldn't make her face her fears, only she could chose to do that. And he understood why she would not.

This time the great Albus Dumbledore had no solution – there was no ancient magic that would save him, no secret plan that would rescue the damsal in distress. The monsters he faced were hers, yet this was not his fight and he had no weapons to aid her struggles.

"I want to wrap you up with love, promise you that I would never let anything so awful befall you – that I won't treat you the way he did. But, it wouldn't be enough, would it?"

"No." They stood together in silence, until at last she stretched out a hand to him; "I don't know what to do Albus. I don't know how we can go on like this."

"Do you want to dissolve our marriage?" She shook her head and he took heart from that at least. He wrapped his hand around hers, the only physical contact he would allow himself. "Then we go on as before. Our marriage is a matter of convenience, the Governors are convinced by it. We are colleagues, I hope we are friends – I will agree not to pursue a deeper relationship with you Minerva; but I refuse to give you up."

The tears that had been threatening did escape her then; there was a comfort in his pledge as well as the sense of what she was giving up, what she was asking him to give up. But he had understood – which was more than she had expected or hoped for. What he was offering her was something she didn't believe she deserved; a friendship based in love, even though they both accepted that it could go no further.

With their hands clasped together they began the walk back to the school – both knowing the road they faced was not, by any means an easy one, but that it was the one they had both chosen.

TBC