"Albus, I need to speak with you."

It was the first time that Minerva had spoken to him about anything other than work since the morning after they'd made love. It had been over two months since then and Albus was, at this point, so shocked to hear her say anything to him that at first he did not actually know how to respond.

He could not afford to not speak, though. If he did then she might think he was rebuking the first friendly overture she'd made in months. He could let her think that. He missed her companionship desperately. She probably hadn't forgiven him yet—perhaps she never would, but he was not beyond hope—but at least she seemed to be speaking to him. That was something.

"Of course!" he managed to force out through his surprise.

"I think we will need some privacy," she told him calmly, showing no sign of any emotion at all in her face. "When can we manage that?"

Albus glanced around him at the colleagues that surrounded them in the teacher's lounge, grading assignments and reading scholarly texts. Yes, they certainly would need some privacy. It would not due to have any of the staff finding out about what happened. The fact was that it would be absolutely scandalous. He did not need that and Minerva especially did not. As hard as this was for him he was not so daft as to think that it was not harder for her.

Unfortunately their need for privacy would postpone this talk. He had a few things he needed to take care of in the teacher's lounge and then he was needed at the Ministry. He probably would not be back until sometime late in the evening.

Quickly the idea of canceling his appearance at the Ministry came and went from his mind. This was an issue directly related to the school. He could not simple ignore or cancel it, no matter how much he wished to start on repairing his relationship with Minerva. The school came first and his problem with her were his own fault. If he'd managed to conjure up more control than an adolescent then he would not be in this situation at all. He would simply have to deal with the consequences. He'd lived more than long enough to be familiar with that concept.

"I've committed myself to an engagement at the Ministry not long from now. I'll not be back until sometime this evening, but if you're willing to talk then I would be as well."

She flinched a bit as his use of the word 'committed' and it occurred to him that he might have chosen his words more carefully. It passed from her face quickly however, and he thought it would be worse to draw attention to his word choice than to leave it alone, especially when others might overhear. Instead he simply waited for her to answer.

"That will be fine." Her words were crisp and clear, deliberately so and it was the only sign she was showing that she was feeling anything at all right now. Only someone who knew her well would even notice. "Whenever you get back, come to my office and we will talk then."

"I may be back very late," he told her, hating to say it. He didn't want her thinking he didn't want to talk with her, but he did not wish to accidentally stand her up either. That would be worse, and he knew it.

"Whenever you get back is fine. I'll wait, but we need to speak." For the first time Albus detected something new in her here. She was worried, and even scared. He was beginning to wonder what he should expect when he talked with her that night. It made sense for a person to be apprehensive about what would probably amount to a very emotional and draining conversation but he had to wonder. This did not seem like Minerva to him. There was something amiss but her walls were still up high enough that he was having a hard time guessing what.

"All right," he agreed, eyeing her carefully.

"Until then," she said, nodding and turning quickly to leave the room. The apprehension he'd seen on her face had been quite deliberately erased. It had only lasted those few seconds. She didn't want him to know about it.

Perhaps he was being absurd. She'd been avoiding him for weeks. It did not make sense that she wouldn't be apprehensive about speaking with him now after all that had happened.

Still, he wondered.

/E/E/E/E/E/

A knock sounded on Minerva's office door and she knew that the moment she'd been dreading for the past two days had come.

"Come in."

The door opened and Albus walked in, calm as he ever was. Well, not quite. He did show signs of worry, but she did not think that his worry went anywhere deep as hers did. After all, only she knew exactly what it was she needed to say.

How did one say these things? She'd never been good with words. Not the way he was at least. She could adequately express herself intellectually, of course, but it seemed that when she found herself trying to say anything deeper or tried to be sensitive to the deeper things in others she became utterly tongue tied. How did one broach a subject like this? The only way she could think of was to be blunt and straight forward, but that did not seem to be the best way. It seemed as though there had to be a way to lead into this, to prepare him.

But she sure as hell couldn't think of it.

"Hello, Minerva," he said cordially as he closed the door behind him, sparing her the trouble of being the first one to speak.

"Hello," she returned, still trying to formulate what she was going to say in her head. It wasn't going well.

"I believe you told me this morning that you wished to speak to me."

Well, he'd given her an opening. She'd might as well take it.

"Yes," she answered. She opened her mouth to say more, but found that the words would not come. She closed her mouth and thought for a second, then began again. "Sit."

Albus complied, sitting down quickly in a nearby wooden chair with a high back.

A sigh escaped Minerva's lips. She wished she were better at things like this, but she wasn't and would simply have to go on as best she could. "Listen, Albus, we both know I'm not great with words. I only know one way to say this and that's the direct way. I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath. She had to say it. She couldn't not say it. That simply wasn't an option.

"I'm pregnant," she managed, then turned quickly away, pretending that she needed something from her desk so she would not have to see the shocked look on his face and he would not see the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes.

Silence filled the room and Minerva did her best to not look at Albus as tears began to roll silently down her cheeks. She was scared. She hated to admit it but she was. She had suddenly found herself in a very messy situation and she didn't know what to do about it. She'd been very stupid, she knew, but none of this had seemed so at the time.

That did not change the fact that it had been stupid, however. She hadn't thought at all. She'd simply gone with her instincts and those instincts had placed her in a very uncomfortable position.

At least the hardest part was over now, though. She'd told him. He knew and that, at least, made her feel a small bit less ill at ease.

She felt a presence behind her and turned to find Albus standing behind her, looking down at her with an expression of the utmost guilt and apology. It was the same look he'd been wearing that morning when he'd told her that he could not be with her. Seeing it, she found the tears slipping from her eyes even faster. He pulled her into his arms, a gesture she accepted willingly, wrapping her arms tightly about him. One hand held her to him as the other went to her hair, still in its customary bun, and began smoothing it in soothing manner.

Quietly, he told her he was sorry. He went on about the entire thing being his fault, about how he should have known better. It broke her heart. She knew what had happened. He'd gotten carried away. She had too. That happened sometimes, especially when your emotions were tied so closely to something as theirs were to each other. He loved her. She knew that. Even when she'd stormed out of his room and not spoken to him for weeks afterward, she'd known that. She'd simply been too hurt to admit it. Now she was too upset to be hurt anymore, too stretched emotionally. She'd found herself in a tight spot and she needed his emotional support. She no longer had the strength to stay mad at him, not when she knew deep down how he felt about her.

"This is my fault too," she told him, chiding. "I'm just as responsible as you are."

"But I . . ."

"You feel guilty for telling me what you did and then having me end up pregnant with your child. You feel like you should have acted differently, but it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't wanted it too."

She pulled away from him so that she could look into his eyes. He looked terribly confused. She couldn't blame him. She knew that it seemed to him as though her attitude had just made a complete 180 degree turn. Not five days ago, she'd not been speaking to him for not having acted differently.

"I'm not mad at you, Albus," she admitted. "I was, but I'm not any more. I don't have the strength to be, not with this and not when I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" he asked, bewildered. It was a shocking thing to see on Albus' face. After all, normally he understood everything. She'd never seen it not be so, but here it was. She'd confused him.

"I do," she said. "It just hurt to hear you say that. I . . . I've wanted to hear you tell me you loved me since I was sixteen years old. Not constantly since then, but that was when I first fell in love with you. Despite your noble motivations for what you did, it shattered a dream I've had for simply years. That's not an easy thing to take."

The confusion in Albus' eyes had been replaced by a deep hurt. "I'm sorry."

She smiled, at him, more tears slipping down her cheeks even as she did so. "Didn't I tell you I understood? I know why you did what you did. It . . . The more I think about I think about the idea of this child being hurt, the more I understand why we can't be together. I can't bear to risk that life just as I know you can't bear to risk mine."

"You're keeping the child then?" he asked, picking up on the implications of what she'd just said.

She found that the tears were coming faster again. "I don't have it in me to do otherwise. I can't bear the thought."

He pulled her back to him, hugging her fiercely and sharing in her pain. He still felt guilty and responsible for what had happened but he thanked the fates for the small reprieve her understanding granted him. He did not want her thinking he had done what he did to hurt her, and now he knew that she did not. They were in the same place, she and he, and only they knew it. She needed him and he her. He may have felt responsible for the situation but they were both in it.

"I will do everything I can to help you through this, Minerva, even if . . ."

"Even if it must be done in secret," she finished quietly, her faced still buried his nearly entirely grey beard.

He nodded, even though he knew she could not see it. They both knew it had to be that way. Neither of them could bear the thought of a child—their child—ending up dead because of who his or her father was. There were some things that had to take precedent. This was one of them.

"The governors won't like the idea of one of their teachers, especially one with so much power, being an unwed mother. We saw how they were when we fought to make sure you were appointed to your positions."

"I know," she agreed. "I take comfort in the fact that they would probably be even more upset if they knew who the father is."

"They could fire you," Albus pointed out, worry in his voice.

"You'll just have to convince them not to."

"What if they figure out why it is I'm fighting so hard to make sure you're not?"

Minerva's heart clenched at the thought. "We'll just have to hope they don't. What else can we do?"

"You could resign your position," Albus pointed out, hating himself for doing it. She loved this job and he knew it, but he also knew she placed the child before that.

"It would be worse if I did," she said. "Someone would find out why, and I think it would look worse for you and if I simply left without question under those circumstances. People would wonder why, and I think they would be more inclined to wonder correctly."

"You may be right," Albus agreed. "The clandestine does inspire more curiosity than those things that are out in the open."

"Exactly," she agreed. "We'll just have to hope that it's too obvious for people to think of and take seriously."

Albus sighed and kissed her dark hair, allowing himself the small sign of affection as he worried about how they would keep their secret.