Heylo everyone. Thank you SOOOOO much for the responses! They made me happy! yay. I hope this chapter will leave you as satisfied as the last one.

Not that it matters, but in my personal opinion, this chapter is one of the best (yes, I know what will happen at the end of the story) and I luv it to death. Which brings up another good point…if I'm not on time with the next post (2 weeks from now) then you may strike me down. I already have 4 pages written and have fallen in love with the storyline all over again…so the only reason that I won't finish writing the chapter is if the computer crashes or there is a life crisis among my family.

Good luck!


Chapter Four: Glass Jar

She was really quite surprised at how easily a smile rolled off her lips. For the first time in months she didn't have to force herself to make a friendly gesture; to grin was second nature, at least in his presence. Minerva could completely blame it on the man, Albus, for he was really quite charming. He knew what to say and when to speak it. What made it better was the fact that he meant nothing by it. Minerva had no need to worry about him thinking less than honorable thoughts, thereby securing a comfort that hadn't been there with so many other men.

They'd spent the day chatting with one another, covering anything that held no importance whatsoever. Babbling, that's what they'd been doing. He spoke, then she spoke, and later they laughed. There was no reason to the drivel that had been verbalized, but it proved for good conversation.

"I hate raisins," he said completely out of the blue while they were sitting underneath one of the many willow trees by the lake.

Minerva blinked for a fair few seconds, considering the operative response. Then she just shook her head and responded with a completely straight face. "Did you shove too many of them up your nose when you were a child? Suffer much brain damage?"

"I resent that!" He stuck his tongue out at the woman. "I'll have you know that the Daily Prophet has elected me the most intelligent man on the planet."

She raised an eyebrow while a smile played at her lips. "And you competed with how many people? Two? Three?"

"Think about Minerva…t-h-e p-l-a-n-e-t," he spelled it out.

"I can spell too," she looked at him innocently, "B-r-a-g-g-e-r."

"I resent that also," he leaned back against the tree, suddenly becoming less happy. "I do not brag…in fact, I don't even want all of these titles. Do you have any idea what it's like to have everyone know you? My life's ambition at this point is simply to get to the supermarket without being pointed at."

The woman nodded slowly, suddenly serious because of his depressing remark. Though he was brilliant, charismatic, and certainly humorous, it wasn't right for people to treat him in such a way. "That isn't right," she said gently, "you're a person just like the rest of them."

The man nodded. "I feel like I'm an animal at the London Zoo."

No, certainly no one deserved to be treated like an animal. "I'm sorry, Albus," she looked at him reassuringly, "But that's the price you pay for being brilliant. You know you deserve all of this recognition, though you don't want it." It's what she'd always told herself; people were just drawn to people who had something more to them. "That's what happens when you stand out."

He stared at her, maybe a little bit surprised. "And I suppose you know what it's like to stand out?"

Minerva nodded her head. Yes, she did as a matter of fact…she'd stood out her entire life and it was only getting worse with time.

Albus stared for a few seconds; tick, tock, tick, tock. "Are you…treated like that at the department?"

She blinked, knowing she had no reason at all to lie. "I get stared at fairly often. It makes sense, I suppose." Minerva shrugged. "I'm a twenty-four year old working in a department where the usual minimum entrance age is thirty-five. I stick out like a sore thumb."

The man bobbed his head slowly, maybe understanding her reasonably quiet nature a little better. "But you're probably the only thing worthy of looking at in that place. People in our line of work typically worry more about the craft than their appearances…you just happen to be naturally pretty."

A blush crept on her cheeks. He had said that intentionally earlier in the day, attempting to get some sort of flirtatious response. The man had not succeeded, though it was not from lack of intrigue on Minerva's part. While it was true that she had not ever been given such a response by someone interesting like Albus, things like that were said quite often to her at work.

There was only one major irregularity to her working where she did; her age. For a male, this would not be such a problem, considering the majority of the department is male. However, for Minerva, this was a hurdle in her life that was hard to get past. The men looked at her often, usually lusting for something that they would never get. Only the truly bold and desperate ones ever said anything to her, but they were the crowd that usually pushed her over the cliff.

Minerva had always been beautiful and there was no other way to say it. Blessed with dark hair, a fair complexion, moon-like eyes, and high cheek bones, she'd always held the eye of onlookers. She was—in appearance—the epitome of female attraction to male lust.

However, she'd found over the years that attraction did not make relationships. If anything, it ruined them because in the end, all that there stood was that animal lust. And it only took one time to realize that there may be more animal than lover in that sort of relationship. The yelling, harsh words, and beating was not for her. No man ought to be worth that.

But Minerva still looked and hoped that there could be someone out there. After all, the life's ambition of all women was to fall in love, marry, and have children. Well, perhaps that was not even quite Minerva's life's ambition; she merely wanted someone to love. There was no place in her life for children and that would never change.

The woman blinked to herself, wondering for only a second. Albus was into his eighties and he certainly had no children. How could that possibly be? He was definitely a handsome man and obviously intelligent, so why did he lack a family? The man had mentioned earlier that many people knew him, but that couldn't stop him from having children and/or a wife. If anything, his status should have given him thousands of women to choose for a lover…yet there was no Mrs. Albus Dumbledore. Maybe he was one of those people out there who was destined to be alone, merely because there was no one worthy.

She mouthed the word slowly to herself. "Wor-thy."

"Life is too short to start broken," he said gently into her ear. "You'd finish as a crumb of what you were."

She looked up at him with big eyes. She knew he could see very clearly her every emotion, thought, and dream, but she didn't care. He'd just said something that was very dear to her. And had he said it at a more emotional moment, it wouldn't have surprised her at all if he'd brought tears to her eyes.

Albus knew her without knowing…then again, perhaps he did know. The man thought like she did. He dwelled on things more than he ought to, thought about what he could and shouldn't have done. Albus knew what it was like to allow regrets to chip at the soul.

"I feel so very small already," she shook her head, "like a rock at the bottom of the ocean."

His eyes grew wide in the seconds that passed, as if she'd…well, he looked almost as if his heart had just been broken. Then he snapped out of it, almost as quickly as it had come. The man shook his head gently. "What is so wonderful about the ocean anyhow? It's just another place for someone to get lost."

"Anywhere is a place to get lost, Albus," she whispered gently. She believed what she said, too. There was nowhere on the Earth that one could not get lost; the entire world was a void.

He seemed to think about her statement for a fair few seconds before nodding his head smoothly. "I suppose." The man turned from her and stared out at the lake, glimmering in the afternoon sun. "You feel lost, don't you?" he asked gently.

Minerva nodded her head, completely forgetting that he was no longer looking at her. "My—my mother died about two months ago," she whispered. The words were falling out of her mouth, but she heard them as if someone else were speaking. Up until that point, she hadn't said anything to anyone about her mom. "And to be completely honest," she continued, "I don't know what to do with myself."

The man glanced back at her again, keeping his eyes on the woman. "I'm sorry…about your mother," he pushed the words.

The woman shrugged. What was the point of apologies anyhow? There wasn't anything that anyone could do about what had happened. "It's all right," she said, "She'd been ill for almost a month before she died. I'd rather her have left than been in pain."

"That's wise of you," he nodded. "There isn't anything to gain by being greedy…especially when you're talking about the ones you love."

She nodded her head slowly. Love; such a wonderfully horrid word. It covered a great many number of sins: greed, jealousy, spite, regret. But nothing compared to the pain that came when it was all over—in any sense. In truth, Minerva willed herself to be greedy in those last fleeting moments where a connection still stood; if she could have, the woman would have captured love and placed it in a jar.

She would sit and stare at the glass, watching love's embodiment flutter around. It would attempt to get out, hit every wall as hard as possible, creating a mere 'tink' to the human ear. Then the personification would just give up at ever being released, drifting to the bottom of the jar, slowly becoming sadness. Some dream indeed; Minerva would have killed the very thing that she wanted to keep.

Perhaps that was why she had never tried to capture love; for fear of sadness. At least the way that things stood between her and her mother, Minerva could move on and remember happy times. If love were still in her possession, she was sure that sadness would have taken its place.

Minerva looked at him and blinked. She did not know what she wanted to say to him for she didn't understand herself. What came out of her mouth, however, surprised the both of them. She didn't know that such wit was in her. "Greed is the beggars only hope."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked softly.

The woman shrugged. No…yes…no. She didn't know what she believed. She'd read what she spoke somewhere, it had just been buried deep in her mind. The subject matter simply matched what was on her mind at the moment, thereby flowing out of her mouth. "I must," she whispered, "I don't believe I would have said it otherwise."

Albus nodded his head. "Greed is inside every human, no matter how good they may be; what decides that person's worth is whether or not they use it. It's wrong, Minerva," he added gently, "to use greed on those who love you."


Albus stared across the lake, not for the first or last time that day. The lights were glimmering as they always did in the evening. He knew she was awake, thinking about her day. After all, how could she not? All the man could think of was the woman.

He could not help himself; for whatever reason, Albus was very much taken with her. It wasn't just her eyes, though they certainly held a part in it. The attraction that he was beginning to feel reached deeper than physical appearances and went to what she had to say. Minerva was the kind of being that he would have fallen in love with when he was younger, merely because she thought of everything so…differently.

"If you were to pick an ideal spot to fall in love, where would it be, Minerva?" Albus asked gently. He didn't ask to prod, but merely to understand the woman better. All women loved to fall in love and it had been his experience that the right scenery was ideal. After all, had it not been his first thought when he saw Minerva drifting on the boat that Hermit Lake would be a perfect place to have her—he didn't even know how old she was at the time—fall in love with him?

"I don't believe in love at first sight," she said matter-of-factly. It was almost as if she'd had practice answering the question, considering how quickly she responded. He wouldn't put it past her, either. Minerva seemed to have had plenty of chances to be with men. From what Albus could tell, she preferred to steer clear of them.

"All right," he nodded, "Fair enough. Where do you stand on love then?"

She blinked, quite unsure of how to respond—for the first time that he'd seen her. "In what sense?"

"Well," he turned his body to face her, "since you don't believe in love at first sight, I was wondering just what about love you do believe."

The woman thought about it for a fair few seconds and then looked up at him with dilated eyes. She gave the impression that she may have wanted to cry. It wouldn't have surprised Albus; from what he'd seen, there was damage that ran deeper than outer scars. "I think that it hurts people more than it helps. You're promised the world from someone and you promise it back. Then," she shook her head sadly, "it's ripped away from you…whether or not you're the one doing the ripping."

Albus stared blankly at her in those seconds that followed. The word was "ripped". God, yes…love liked to be ripped away from people. Some unknown force always seemed to tear apart lovers; it was the one unfair part of life which he could name.

"May I ask what it is that gave you this outlook?" he asked softly.

"You may ask," she whispered, "But I will not tell."

Albus thought to himself over and over again about those words. When he had been staring at the woman on the dock earlier that morning, he had been right to think what he'd thought. Not only was she lonely, but she was very broken.

Her love life seemed to be quite at a loss, but even more so, she seemed to have gone astray from lack of guidance. She'd just lost her mother and had a father only a short while in her life. Minerva mentioned her mother several times over the course of the day, revealing something quite new each time. Among the things that she had said were that she had been something of a mentor, loved Minerva, and died before her daughter was able to say that she loved her.

Ah, yes…Albus knew how Minerva felt. True, both of his parents were still alive, but that didn't mean that he hadn't gone through that sort of heartbreak. He had. It had been…horrible. He'd left his fiancée for the ministry, only for a day or two. When he came back, she was no more. Her mangled body with blue skin and a tattered dress still showed inside of his mind in times of deep thought…not because he liked to remember her that way, but because it was the last time he got to see her eyes—unmoving, cracked, and sad.

Albus shook his head slowly and turned. Then he did something that he hadn't ever done before; he walked down the stairs, through the door, and out to the dock in the evening. He wandered slowly on the wooden planks, not merely for fear of splinters. His motive, completely unknown to him, had been endorsed by Minerva. For she was something that he was not, he realized. The woman was her own.

She belonged to no one—not in shape, mind, or spirit. Though he believed in his heart that she would be better off with someone that loved her, he also knew that she would never let herself be owned. Her life belonged to only her.

Albus saw only one flaw in this, her game of life. True, Minerva denied love at first sight, but she did not deny love. She believed in the term and what it could possess. Because of that, Albus could see that she did not want only herself. Minerva McGonagall looked lonely for a reason to be—to live—merely from a lack of love. The woman needed someone, if not for anything other than to keep her company.

"Why will you not tell, my dear?" he asked. He was prodding, this time there was no denying it, but he was utterly curious. The woman had a way of making him interested, wondering about what she was thinking. It only irritated him when he couldn't get an answer from her.

"Well," she sighed. The woman blinked and then stood up from where she was sitting. "Shall we walk and talk? I can't sit still any longer."

Albus nodded. Both of them knew that she was attempting to avoid the conversation, but he decided to play along with the game. After all, they'd been sitting under the tree for nearly the entire day; his legs were beginning to cramp.

So onward they went. Albus was on one side of the woman, not planning on taking his eyes away from her. Minerva chose to avoid his eyes for a very long time, though after several minutes it seemed not only impolite, but hateful. She looked up at his tall figure as they began the first obvious turn of the lake.

He smiled gently down at her frame. Minerva was nearly a head shorter than he was, but held his attention just the same. Her braided hair had begun coming undone, thanks to the wind, flying every which way possible. The strands made her look really quite pretty as they swayed around her pale face.

"So?" he asked gently.

The woman looked at him with a sad expression, obviously not wanting to respond. "Must I answer?"

He blinked casually. "I suppose not…but I would like you to." Albus stared at her with a careful eye. What he had to say was affecting her; all he had to do was look at her subtle expression to know. "As you probably know Minerva, I'm a curious person and I like to know all about people…my friends especially."

"Friend?" she looked away from his face and towards the ground.

"Yes," he replied softly. If nothing else, she was certainly a friend of his. "I daresay you have crossed the friend threshold when one makes the other breakfast and they spend the day together, don't you?"

"I suppose," a soft smile crossed her face. He didn't know what she was thinking, but there was something sweet about her in that moment; perhaps it was the blush that crossed her face. Albus didn't dare ask her what was in her head though, whatever was going on in her mind in that moment was meant for only her mind.

"You suppose?" he half laughed. "You suppose a lot, did you know that? I'll try one now." The woman looked at him cynically as he continued. "Do you suppose that you might tell me how you got your attitude towards love?"

"I suppose I could," she blinked innocently, "but I won't. We can save that for another day."

"All right," he nodded, "then why won't you tell me?"

There was a short silence, much to the man's surprise. He had expected a quick, snappy response from her. Alas, there was a lack of such a thing. She looked down at the rocks of the shore, round, flat, shiny, and blunt. Minerva did not look up at him when she spoke next, but rather turned her head straight to where the lake seemed to never end. "Have you ever been hurt by someone, Albus?"

"Yes." He didn't even need to think about it. He'd been hurt only one real time in his life, but that was enough to torment him for eternity.

"Then you know how painful it is to talk about things," she said calmly. Her soft gray eyes looked up at him with a sad glow. The woman's skin almost seemed to have gone even paler than what it already was. The loose hair whipped at her disheartened face.

Albus nodded. "I do; fair enough." He would have to think about her response for some time. Of course, he probably would never know what it was that gave her the opinions she had, but he could imagine it in his mind, in his own way; she'd just be crying by an open flame after someone broke her heart, unwilling to ever be her full self again. The man couldn't help but wonder if she had been chipped at by people, the way that they had spoken earlier in the day. Had it been love which undid the woman, made her opinions of life so very different from everyone else in the world?

"Why don't we move to a happier subject?" the man asked after a second or two of complete silence.

Minerva's eyes grew just a wee bit happier. She didn't like dreary conversations anymore than he did; besides that, it didn't help that the conversations had been about her. "I should like that," she whispered mildly.

He ran his hand underneath his chin thoughtfully. "Where do you stand on rain?"

"Excuse me?" she looked at him as if he were crazy.

The man shrugged. "Where do you stand on rain? Do you like it? Hate it? You see I get many different responses on this matter, mainly because of where we live." It was true…he did get many different answers. Most of the world seemed to hate rain, but there was always that special soul who found it refreshing in one way or another. Albus found it appropriate to ask the question, mainly because he was desperate for a new situation. Besides that…there was supposed to be a good shower within the next few days.

"Well," she blinked, rather taken aback by the insanely odd question, "I like it on the weekends when I'm not working."

"And why is this?"

Another blush grew on the woman's face. "There's just something about rain that is…" she glanced up at him, "You know, I really shouldn't be telling my ex-professor this."

What couldn't she tell him? "We no longer hold a teacher-student relationship; I don't think we ought to even bring it up. As far as I am concerned, we are merely friends having an adult conversation."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "All right, but you have to promise not to tell anyone important."

The man nodded. "I promise."

"Very well," she sighed. "Rain is just…" she shrugged, "erotic, I suppose."

His eyebrows rose. That was certainly not the reply he had been waiting for. He suddenly became aware of how very close he had been walking beside her; he could have reached out for her hand and neither of them would probably even notice. Albus went a little bit behind the woman for fear of reaching an awkward moment.

"Erotic, hm?" he asked gently, doing his best to avoid an image which had suddenly entered his mind. He saw her dark hair, glowing eyes, and delicate skin right next to him. Albus could see himself kissing her as the rain poured outside his home while a single candle twinkled in the background. It wouldn't have come if she had chosen a different word, but as it stood, he was unable to help himself.

"Yes, I believe that's the word." Minerva looked up at him and then back down at the floor. She had just told her Professor Dumbledore that she found rain sexually enticing; of course she could argue that it was her partner's doing for bringing up the subject. "Where do you stand on it, Albus?"

He blinked, trying to make the image disappear. "I love rain. It…it gives everything a chance for renewal."

"That's lovely," she whispered. "You think lovely thoughts."

The man nodded his head, not quite believing her statement; she had no idea what was happening with his neurons. "Thank you…but I must be inspired first." He looked down at her. Minerva, too, was staring up at him.

She was beautiful, the woman. There was just something about her that taunted him, made him want to see her smile. Maybe it was the light in her eyes, or simply her laughter. Whatever the reason, Albus was really quite sure in that moment that he had begun to fall for Minerva McGonagall…a woman almost sixty years younger than him—and beautiful to boot.

The man looked at his dark reflection, barely visible in the deep lake water. Albus sat down at the edge of the dock, same as Minerva had done earlier in the morning. Then he made a large round-about with his eyes, turning first to the sky, then to the water, and finally towards the lit house infront of him. And he wondered…just wondered what it would be like to love such a woman as her.


sighs…Thanks for reading. I hope to hear from you!