A/N - thanks for the reviews and the continuing interest in this story. I think this is the penultimate part.
Part 11
The cart rolled slowly on its path, the occupants feeling every bump along the rutted track. Shifting around, trying to find a comfortable position, Albus reflected that there was nothing more frustrating than having magical modes of transport at your disposal and not being able to use them. He understood the necessity of the agreement the magical Government had come to with their muggle counterparts, but right now he wasn't particularly happy with the results. Still, however slow and painful the progress he was heading inexorably in the right direction. He was on his way home.
He glanced over at his companion. Lucretia Dragomir gave every impression of being deeply asleep, but she could just be ignoring him. Over the last two weeks he had got the impression that she had become bored by his company. It had been several days since she had made any attempt to seduce him, which meant she had probably decided that his charms were as overrated as his conversation. He didn't mind in the least.
He knew her better now. He'd seen beyond her political persona and realised she was a witch of considerable ability. Her ambition and cunning had carried her far in her chosen field, would likely carry her further yet. She would be a useful ally, but he doubted that they would ever be friends. She wasn't the worst person to spend two weeks searching the Romanian countryside with. To illustrate the point, he spent a couple of minutes compiling a list of who the worst people would be and she didn't even make the top ten.
Still, as they had pursued wisps of smoke he had found himself wishing, on more than one occasion, for a logical and insightful analysis of the situation, preferably delivered in a Scottish accent. He had also recognised that a companion who could transform into a small cat, with sharp senses would have been very useful in their investigations. But Minerva was safely back at Hogwarts – and with every excruciating second of the journey he was getting closer to her.
Their last encounter had been on his mind a great deal; there had been little else to think about and certainly nothing that had such potential to absorb him. Her behaviour was confusing and their last moments together had felt hurried and unfinished. But at the same time she had given him tantalising glimpses of what their relationship could be like – if only she overcame her fears. When he was feeling pessimistic he knew that during his absence she might have had time to retreat, to regret what she'd said. Since his arrival here he had been unable to contact anyone, so he had no way of knowing what was on her mind. But still he hoped.
Until the moment she had asked him to spend the night with her he hadn't been certain that what he was loosely terming his 'strategy' was having any effect at all. Faced with her fears he had realised that the only thing he could do was ensure she saw beyond his public persona and understand who he really was. But that wasn't exactly easy to accomplish – especially when his heart told him to press ahead, to confront the issue and find a solution to it. He thought he could probably convince her if he really put his mind to it, the passion in the few kisses they had shared had told him more than she realised about the war raging inside her. But it wasn't his decision to make, there would be no Dumbledore riding to the rescue this time.
It wasn't as if he didn't have other things to worry about. The threat that had brought him to Romania had proven elusive, but very real – they even had a body to prove it. He suspected that this was unlikely to be the last death, which raised another point. Was it right of him to involve Minerva more closely in his world? If the darkness were coming, as he feared it was, then it would be safer for her not to be close to him. But it was too late for that; whatever they had done to keep their marriage a secret might not be enough. She was already in harms way and he had placed her there. Knowing that, how in good conscience could he continue trying to convince her that they were meant to be together? And yet, how could he stop?
Finally they reached Bucharest and he was able to dispense with rustic modes of transport. Lucretia was more than capable of dealing with the authorities in Romania, at some point he knew he would have to speak to the Ministry himself, but it would wait, it would all wait. The only thing he was interested in was getting back to Hogwarts and Minerva.
As he walked from Hogsmeade to the school he felt as though he were breathing easily for the first time in weeks. During his absence the fragile beginnings of spring had taken root, the trees were heavy with blossom and flowers marked the footpath. His thoughts grew fanciful and he imagined spending the summer months with Minerva, walking together in green meadows, sharing picnics and long, lazy afternoons. His footsteps sped up and he almost laughed at himself – it was not dignified for a man of his age and position to be so in love, especially when he remained uncertain of her response. But how could he help himself?
Lucretia's parting comment had left him in no doubt that she understood the reason for his hasty departure. As he bade her farewell she had said, "give my regards to Professor McGonagall. I hope she realises that she is a fortunate woman and a worthy opponent. I underestimated her, not a mistake I will make again." He didn't think it would be wise to pass on her sentiments to Minerva.
As he crossed the wards that protected the castle and its grounds he noted that the tingle of magic was of a slightly different timbre. But he paid it very little heed, assuming that Armando must have strengthened the wards during his absence. His thoughts darkened for a moment at the thought of the trouble that could be coming, he would do anything he could to prevent this world from being caught up in another war – but his best efforts might not be enough. If he failed it would be back to spying, to betrayals and sacrifices, back to the violence and deception that he loathed.
He shook his head, casting aside the thoughts and concentrating instead on his destination. It was mid-afternoon; the students would be busy in lessons so it was unlikely that he would be able to see Minerva straight away. But lessons would be over soon and perhaps they would be able to have afternoon tea together.
He was smiling as he stepped through the large doors; it was good to be home. But his smile faded as he found himself face to face with four of his colleagues – the heads of the other Houses and Minerva. All of them looked sombre and he didn't even take the time to wonder how they had known of his return.
"What's going on?" He asked, looking from face to face, seeking a clue. Inevitably it was Minerva who stepped forwards. She didn't bother keeping a professional distance between them and her eyes were soft with compassion as she touched his arm.
"Albus, I am afraid I have some bad news. The Headmaster died in his sleep two nights ago."
As she entered her rooms Minerva gave a practised flick of her wand and the black robes she wore were transformed into her comfortable, familiar green ones. How she loathed funerals.
Crossing to the windows she looked outand saw that the last of the visiting dignitaries were leaving. They had given Armando a dignified send off, but she was sure that everyone had been bitterly aware that they should have been celebrating his retirement. Instead of delivering eulogies they should have been hearing how he planned to occupy his time now that he no longer had a school to run. It just wasn't fair that he had been robbed of the chance to relax and enjoy himself.
She glanced around the room; knowing she should probably start packing. With Armando's death the changes to her role had taken effect earlier than planned. She was now de facto head of Gryffindor and teaching much of the transfiguration curriculum in addition to her own subject. But, she was unsure when she would actually move to her new rooms since Albus was showing a marked reluctance to occupy the Headmaster's suite and as far as she knew was still using his old rooms and study.
Albus. She sighed, looking outside, hoping that perhaps he had decided to take a walk. But there was no sign of him. There was no point pretending that she wasn't worried about him. He had taken Armando's death harder than anyone – probably because he had not been here. If she knew anything at all about the man who, in name at least, was her husband, it was that he had the tendency to hold himself responsible for things that could not possibly be lain at his door.
Over the last two days he had evaded her attempts to talk to him, taking advantage of the fact that they both had much to do, avoiding her at meals and during the evenings. She understood that he wasn't ready to talk about this yet and she had left him in peace, left him to brood. But she wasn't sure how much longer they could go on like this, she didn't want him to deal with this on his own. There was no reason why he should have to.
Until Armando's death her greatest worry had been what Albus' return would mean for their relationship. She had been bewildered by her feelings, by her reaction to another woman's interest in him. She had been in a riot of uncertainty during his absence, her feelings chaotic and confused, her imagination conjuring up a variety of dangers for him to overcome; dark wizards, dangerous beasts – and Lucretia Dragomir's charms.
It was perfectly clear what the next step ought to be, but still her courage had failed her. She could have damned Porus for what he had done to her, but she was reluctant to concede him that much power over her. And, in truth, it was her weakness that scared her, her own capacity to lose herself in another person that made her reluctant to take the risk again. Yet, when she thought about Albus she knew that he would never use that frailty against her, that he would protect her from herself if that was what was needed. Everything about his behaviour indicated that his intended for her to make the choice herself – no matter what it cost him.
She didn't know what to think about that. Or about her growing realisation that any relationship between them would need to be finely balanced. They were complicated people who each had demons, who could cause each other great pain, but who understood the other perhaps better than they understood themselves. No one she knew, not even her own parents, had a relationship even remotely like the one she had now with Albus. She knew that greater intimacy would make the complexity even more apparent. Could she do it?
Suddenly it became a question not of whether she had the courage to overcome her fears but of whether she had the courage to live with someone whose sensitivity and intelligence were as acute as Albus'? Someone who was restraining himself from rescuing her, but who was likely to be called up on to save their world. She had not arrived at an answer to that question when Armando's death had overtaken them.
But in all her musings, in all the vacillations and contradictions of her thoughts she had not, at any point, considered how important her reaction to him hurt and unhappy would be. The truth was she loved him and she could not bear to see him sad.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts of a decision she knew she was running out of time to make. She needed to work; fortunately there was marking to be done, there was always marking to be done.
The corridors were quiet as she made her way to her classroom. The student body was understandably subdued and the teaching staff was still struggling to come to terms with their loss. Many of them had viewed Armando as a friend and while she had not been as close to him as some, Minerva couldn't help but wish she and Albus had not been deceiving him about their relationship.
She retrieved a bundle of essays from various years; she thought sleep would be slow in coming tonight and that being the case sheintended to use her insomnia productively. She had hoped to bump into Albus on her travels, but there was no sign of him. Reluctantly she conceded that since he was avoiding her, she would have to wait until he came to her. She had to trust that sooner or later he would come to her to talk, to seek comfort.
As she rounded a corner she came upon Nearly Headless Nick, drifting aimlessly along. His expression was as unhappy as everyone else's seemed to be and she wasn't surprised to learn that even the ghosts had been affected by the passing of the Headmaster.
His greeting was decidedly lacklustre, which was fine by her since she was in no mood for cheerfulness. But Sir Nicholas could be a useful source of information and she did not hesitate to ask him if he had seen the new Headmaster.
"I believe after his meeting with the Governors he went to his study, his new study I mean." Well, that was something at least, although she wasn't entirely reassured. "I believe he is still very troubled by Professor Dippet's death."
"Yes," she agreed, "I think so too. But he won't talk to me – at least not at the moment." She glanced over at her companion, realising that as Head of Gryffindor she could ask for his assistance. "Sir Nicholas, would you linger near to the Headmaster's study this evening and, should he emerge and should you have the chance to speak to him, would you tell him that you believe I am still awake?"
"Of course dear lady, you can rely on me." She watched him float away – not at all certain that it would be enough, but what else could she do?
Hours passed, it grew dark outside and her study started to feel cold. She lit a fire, summoned some tea and still there was no sign of Albus. Her marking was all but finished, she was tired and she knew that tomorrow was likely to be a long and a difficult day. But if he came looking for her, if he needed her, she wanted to be here.
She picked up her research notes and tried to concentrate on the latest findings – but the notations and formulas danced before her eyes, making no sense at all. Still she persevered, desperate for an excuse to stay awake.
And then she heard it. Her sharp senses picking up the sound of footsteps outside her door. She could scarcely breathe, terrified that it was her imagination, or even if it were Albus that he would change his mind. The silence was a long one, she dug her nails into her palm to prevent herself from going to the door and opening it. Finally she had her reward, a quiet tap on the door, so soft that had she not been listening carefully she would have missed it.
"Come in." He stepped into the room slowly, she could sense his reluctance and she was certain that one wrong word would cause him to bolt.
"Sir Nicholas said you would still be awake; waiting up for me?"
"Yes," there was no point in denying it. He looked at her properly for the first time since she had broken the news of Armando's death to him and she was almost overwhelmed by the sadness she saw in his eyes. "Come here," she said gently – surprised but relieved when he complied.
As he sat down beside her she reached for him and drew him into her arms. He tried to pull away at first, but she murmured nonsense words of comfort, rubbed soothing circles on his back and finally he relaxed into her embrace.
"It wasn't your fault," she said, stroking his hair, "you couldn't have known, none of us had any idea he was so ill."
"I should have known, I should have been here."
"And he would still have died. It's all right to mourn him, to miss him. But you shouldn't blame yourself for something you could have done nothing to prevent. He died peacefully, Albus."
"I know." They were both silent after that, she didn't know how long they stayed clasped together, drawing solace from one another. At last he pulled back and touched her cheek with trembling fingertips, "Minerva, you are my peace." At his words she closed her eyes, her lashes wet with tears. All the deliberations, all the things that she had worried about were meaningless compared to this.
"And you are mine."
TBC