Author's Notes:
I'm sorry this has taken so long but my Internet was out for about the past week and I've only just now gotten it back! Anyway, I'm sorry for the wait and hopefully it will not happen again (let's all cross our fingers, shall we?). In any event, without further ado, the chapter I am certain you have all been waiting for.
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"You're leaving then?"
Minerva nodded at him. "I'll be back in exactly two months—unless you need me back sooner?"
Albus laughed. "No, no, Minerva. Enjoy your vacation. Work can wait."
She took a quick step toward him. "Are you certain? There's an awful lot to be done for the start of a new year. I wouldn't mind cutting my vacation a little bit short if it would make things easier."
Or if it would bring her back to him sooner. She'd been growing accustomed to seeing him again and she did not want to leave him. She would miss him terribly. It was like she was sixteen again. This was stupid. It made no sense. Shouldn't a time span of over fifteen years make more of a difference with such things?
Perhaps not.
"I'm certain, Minerva."
She wished he wouldn't say that. She wished he would say he needed her to stay here the entire summer and work with him to make preparations for the coming year.
Then again she also wished he would declare his undying love for her and whisk her away into the sunset but that was not going to happen either. She needed to be realistic. Being realistic was what kept her sane.
"All right," she answered, and the corner of her mouth twitched slowly as she held in a sad smile. "I'll see you then. Goodbye, Albus."
"Goodbye, Minerva," he responded, not missing the way the corner of her mouth was moving. He moved toward her and pulled her into a quick, though slightly awkward hug. "Have fun."
He let her go and she nodded at him, then moved out of his office rather quickly. He could not blame her. He knew she was struggling with emotions of her own. She did not want to leave him just as much as he did not want her to leave.
Why were such things necessities?
Why do you never tell her that you love her? Because it's simply not a plausible thing to do, just as asking her to stay with no good reason for doing so is not plausible. Now let it go.
Yet he did not.
/E/E/E/E/E/
She was here again. She was standing not three feet in front of him and now more so than ever, he could not go to her.
Voldemort. He'd been hearing that name all summer. He'd been hearing growing whispers of the name 'Lord Voldemort' all summer. The name had been connected to horrible Muggle killings and a number of other crimes. It was a name that was beginning to spread a quiet fear amongst those it encountered.
Then the man connected to that name, the once Tom Riddle had come to Hogwarts, asking to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for reasons Albus knew were beneficial to no one but himself. Riddle had, even as a child, been insidious and not to be trusted and now . . .
Things had changed about Riddle. He had grown in many different ways. He'd grown in power, he'd changed in appearance—he seemed to be gaining everything but those things that really mattered in a person, like compassion.
He'd become far more dangerous than Albus cared for. He wished he'd kept a closer eye on the man over the years. He'd been keeping some tabs on him, of course, but up until recently Tom Riddle had all but disappeared—
And now that he'd returned as Lord Voldemort, he was in the beginnings of something that Albus could not quite determine. He did not know exactly what his undeniably talented former student was planning but whatever it was he was certain that it was was something he did not like, and it would bring misery to others.
Including Minerva. She'd been the first thing he'd thought of when his fears of a rising evil had first begun to take hold. He had to protect her from that. He loved her and he would protect her from everything he possibly could—which, unfortunately (he felt a chill in his chest at the thought), included himself. Riddle hated him. He always had, and Albus had no doubt that that hatred would continue to grow. He had never stood for Riddle and his behavior when he'd taught him, and now that his actions were becoming even more dangerous he would have to do yet more against him. Riddle would undoubtably know that—just as he undoubtably knew of Albus' rather considerable magical power, and he would act accordingly.
In the darkness that Tom Riddle would undoubtably bring, Albus knew that he would be especially targeted, as would anyone close to him. Out of his all of his enemies, of which there were more than a few, this one had begun to emerge. He could not put Minerva in a position to be hurt, simply because of him. He cared for her far too much for that.
As much as he'd missed her, as much as he wanted right now to simply take her close and never let her go—to cherish her as much as he possibly could before the darkness came, he knew that it was a selfish idea. He could put her life in danger by doing that. There were some things that were more important than the desires of one's heart.
"My God, Albus, what have you been doing to your office while I was away?"
Albus was snapped quickly from the murky depths of his thoughts and longings as her clear, even voice swept through his office.
"What do you mean?" he asked, stepping closer to her, so he might see exactly what she was indicating. He thought his office looked rather neat, actually. He'd tried, admittedly somewhat hastily, to neaten his office before she returned. Obviously he had not been entirely successful, but he was somewhat amused by the fact that he had not managed to affect her reaction in the least. While his office was likely the neatest it had ever been when he personally had cleaned it, she still thought it a mess. She, and he for that matter, was far too used to the neatness (to a degree at least) which his office held while she was around to keep it in line.
"You've things springing out of your desk drawers, and there are stacks of books everywhere—don't you understand the concept of a bookshelf?"
"I do," he answered. "I was doing some research."
"And that means you couldn't put your books away?" she asked, carefully picking up a worn old book from atop one of the stacks.
"When I get involved in things I do have a tendency to forget about everything else—especially house-keeping. I'm afraid that when I start a project I generally become somewhat consumed by it."
Minerva turned back around to face him, showing him briefly an indulgent smile. "Such is the working of many great minds, I suspect." A small sigh escaped her lips—which seemed to be redder than was usual, Albus noted. Was she wearing—dare he think it of her?—lipstick? Minerva was not one who usually wore lipstick. She barely wore make-up, if she in fact wore any at all (it was hard to tell, after all), yet she did seem to be wearing a rather red, though quite attractive, shade of lipstick. He examined her face carefully. Yes, she was in fact wearing lipstick, along with some other subtle hints of color which he had never noticed before and assumed to be make-up. Why would she be doing that? Why at all and why today? To impress him? It seemed so. What an utterly enticing idea.
"How do you want these organized? By subject, title or author?"
Even as in the back of his mind, Albus continued down the train of thought that Minerva's introduction of a small thing like lipstick has caused, the rest of his mind snapped to attention. He might have had the tendency to become absorbed in something to the point that he ignored all else, but he also had a great capacity to multitask.
"Minerva, you don't have too—"
"I'm not doing this for you," she told him pointedly. "I'm doing this for me. The state of your office is driving me quietly mad."
A small smile rose to Albus' lips. That was Minerva for you. She never could stand to see anything out of place. It was nice to see that some things did not change, no matter how he worried. Minerva was still Minerva, the woman who's stolen his heart. The rise of the name and deeds of Voldemort—Tom Riddle—had cause an irrational fear in him over that. The knowledge that the world could be turned upside down the way it had with Grindelwald had made him worry in a way that even not having seen Minerva in years—and not having seen time bring any changes they might—had not.
Yet here he could plainly see that those fears—silly as he'd constantly told himself they were—were unfounded. Minerva was still Minerva—would always be Minerva—and oh, how he'd missed her.
"Are you going to answer me or will you allow your mind to continue wandering down whatever path your research no doubt started you on?"
How wrong she was about what he was thinking of. His thoughts were occupied by far more serious things than research. Tom Riddle and the name Voldemort and dark wizards and . . . her.
"I'm contemplating what the most convenient arrangement would be," he told her, not completely lying, as that was what her words had made him mind begin to contemplate.
"Well, I personally arrange mine by author—but that requires me to either know the writer of all of my books for ease of reference, or a catalogue. I do the latter. I assume, however, that you would not want to be bothered by such a thing?"
Even when she had the most practical and serious of looks on her face, Albus thought, she was a sight for sore eyes. Her face had to be the most pleasant thing he'd laid eyes on since reports of Tom's crimes had begun to trickle in during mid-July.
The rest of his mind focused, though not completely. When Minerva was around it seemed that his mind, so accustomed to doing a million and one things all at once, only wanted to focus on her.
"A catalogue would be most inconvenient," he replied. He paused for a moment, thinking of his thought processes usually unfolded when he wished to begin researching something. If the organization system could mimic his thought processes, messy as they were, to a degree then that would likely work best.
"By subject, I think, would be best."
"Excellent. Now I will just have to figure out what all of these are about. I hope they all have indexes," and here she shot him a rather harsh look, as though she would blame him personally if any of his books did not possess an index. She was joking, he knew—or at least, he was fairly certain she was. It was always hard to tell with Minerva.
He caught sight of a small flicker of joking in her hazel eyes and knew he was right. Knowing the woman for years counted for something.
"If not, I should be able to tell you what each book is about with relative ease. I've read all of them at least once."
"Do you remember all of them?" Minerva asked, casting a casual look around at all of the books sitting in piles on the floor and the few of them that still remained on the bookshelves.
"Mostly," he answered with a nod.
Minerva gave a silent nod of her own in acknowledgment, then returned her attention to the books. "Well, if we're going to be completely rearranging these, then we'd might as well get the remainder of them off the shelves."
"I'll help you."
"Thank you," she said, beginning to pull novels of varying ages and subject from the shelves, on occasion pausing to glance at one. "How were these arranged before you pulled them all down anyway?"
"By however they would fit."
Minerva gave a less than lady-like snort, then continued to pull books from the shelves and into the pile in her arms. Finding she could no longer hold any more of the rather weighty object she set the pile down near her and moved over a bit to continue working. Not three books were in her arms, however, when she began to notice the annoying presence of a long arm clad in a light blue sleeve also pulling books off of the shelf.
She tried to ignore it, knowing that with both she and Albus working, the books should be coming off the shelf faster.
Not if he keeps impeding my movement, they aren't, she thought crossly as Albus arm Not if he keeps impeding my movement, they aren't, she thought crossly as Albus arm absent-mindedly blocked hers as she reached for another book.
"I swear Albus, you are more of a hindrance than a—" But she found her mouth no longer able to form words when she turned to look at him. When had they gotten so close to one another? Albus had her not quite cornered against the bookshelf with his body and she was suddenly at a loss for words.
He looked down at her, not speaking and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. He was so very close right now, barely an inch from her and was simply staring into his eyes. She could not look away—and oddly enough she did not think he could either. There was something in those brilliant blue eyes that was . . . different. There was something in them that she was certain she never seen in them before and was hesitant to put a name to.
Neither could be quite certain how long they stood like that, staring into the eyes of the other, frozen with their bodies not quite touching and their breath intermingling. Tension filled the room, making the air thick and stagnant.
Then suddenly, like a spark, they kissed. Whether it was she who kissed him, or he who kissed her, neither could say but kiss they did. Slowly at first, exploring and savoring a sudden new sensation but then with continued intensity as that first spark lit a fire with both of them.
The books Minerva had been holding slipped quietly from her arms, barely missing both his and her feet as two very ancient volume hit the floor with two soft thuds. Freed, her arms sought their way about Albus lean frame, pulling her closer to him as she found that her fantasy had suddenly become a reality.
Alerted by the sudden noise of the books dropping, the portraits of the old Headmasters and Headmistresses woke from their faked slumber and found themselves staring at the couple next to the bookshelf. They whispered quietly to themselves, rushing about in their portraits and pointing at the unusual display before them.
To caught up in one another to notice the sudden, yet surprisingly quiet, activity of the portraits that filled Albus' office, Albus pushed Minerva up against the nearly empty bookcase behind them and began trailing warm kisses down Minerva's neck. She could feel his warm breath in her ear as he pushed aside the collar of her pale green summer robes and granted himself access to her shoulder and collar bone. She exhaled slowly, a soft moan bubbling quietly though her breath and he continued on, pleased by her reaction.
As she found the sharpness of the bookshelves pressing into her back, an unpleasant distraction from what Albus was doing, Minerva managed to find the breath to suggest to Albus that they move themselves to a more comfortable location. Without a response or a single pure thought in his head, Albus lifted her silently and moved her quickly to his private chambers where he had a large bed that had been far too for far too long. His body had been aching at him to fix that for longer than he cared to think about—and so he did.