Voices rang out loudly through Minerva's summer home. Though he figured largely in the voices' discussion, an infant with the beginnings of a head of auburn hair ignored them. Occasionally he would seem to notice his name amongst the racket, but his attention to that was fleeting. He would quickly return to examining his surroundings, a large room where many of his toys resided.

Meanwhile the voices kept arguing.

"You haven't seen him since the day he was born!"

"That can't be helped!"

"He's your son, Albus! You could at least make an effort to see him!"

Albus' head, sitting in Minerva's fire, held a look of bitterness. "He doesn't know that."

Minerva looked at him as though she just might breath fire, but she kept her voice even. "You know that, and I know that. Albus, do you have any idea how much he's grown in four months?"

"I imagine he's grown as is normal for children of that age."

"Since you're obviously familiar with how much that is, then, you know how much you're missing by not seeing him. Stop by, Albus, just for a day. I don't want you to be a stranger to him and I know you don't want that either."

"What reason would I have to come? We must practice discretion! People must not look at this and see the truth," Albus argued.

"You're worried people will know? Who would see to know? Albus, just apparate over here and no one will know. Even if they do, we are friends. It is not unusual for friends to make social calls on one another."

Albus' face turned contemplative and Minerva knew he was looking for things that neither of them could see. He wanted to make sure their was nothing small but obvious in their possible actions that an observant person would see and interpret correctly. He was not finding them, however, and the determination he'd had to stay steadfast in his decision to stay away from Minerva's summer home and their new baby was wavering. He wanted to see his son very badly.

"You know I'm right, Albus. Just one visit. It will make you feel better."

"I can't help but think that engaging in such small visits and other family niceties will be our undoing."

"We're not talking about family niceties. This would be a visit to a friend who just happens to have a very young son," Minerva pushed.

"We can't be certain people will see it that way."

"If people see it at all."

If Minerva hadn't known him so well, she almost would have called the look Albus gave her patronizing. "The British magical community is very close knit. You can't possibly think that people won't notice I've gone to see you."

"People have their own lives to live. It's very possible as far as I'm concerned."

"Some of their lives include pelting me with owls and requests. My absence will be noticed, I'm sure."

Minerva sighed. She really wanted to insult him right now. Perhaps call him arrogant and stupid. Even as upset as she was with him over his insistence that he could not see his own son, she knew that was inaccurate and held her tongue. She knew where all of this was coming from. Albus loved Alan just as much as she. She simply had to remember that.

"Fine," she said, her voice biting. "But how the hell do they know where you've gone? And even if they do know, it still looks like nothing."

"I can't Minerva, I'm sorry. I'll see him when you come back to the castle for the school year. I'll speak with you then."

She couldn't have just lost this argument again. She just couldn't have. She'd promised herself—and Alan, though he did not understand—that she would not let this conversation end without Albus giving.

He was beginning to pull his head from the fire. She had to stop him.

"Albus, wait."

He quit moving and looked back up at her.

"Would it look any better if I perhaps came to the castle and brought him with? I do work there."

"Minerva—"

She held up a hand and stopped. "Albus, I have to do something. He may never know you're his father, but that doesn't mean you should be a stranger to him. You're my best friend, I think that even just based on that he should be familiar with you."

"And?"

Damn. How did he always know when she left something out? Sometimes she wished he wasn't so damn perceptive. There were things she would love to simply keep to herself, but he always knew. He'd known she was in love with him and he knew now that there was more to this than she was saying.

"And I just don't want to fight about this again, and we will if you don't see him. We've been fighting all summer, and I'd really rather we just stop."

"As would I," Albus agreed, and he suddenly looked very tired. It broke Minerva's heart. The entire situation did. "But I can't be certain this is a good idea. I won't sacrifice Alan for my own selfish desires."

"And I would do that?" Minerva's voice was menacing and dangerous. It actually made Albus mad that she would take what he said that way. He didn't mean that and she should damn well know it.

"I did not say that and you know it."

"Then trust my judgement. I'll come to the castle and then you can see your son."

"Have you been listening to a word I've said? This could be a horribly bad idea!"

"I think the fact that you're telling me it 'could' be a bad idea speaks for itself. You're being overcautious. I agree that we have to be careful, but if we're too careful then we will be robbing all three of us of half of the things that matter in life."

"You're being overly dramatic."

"I don't think so. I've sacrificed his ever having any knowledge of his father and any prospect of a romantic relationship which I have fantasized about since I was a teenager, all for the sake of keeping him safe. I'm willing to do everything necessary to keep him safe, but not the things that are unnecessary. It just makes the price to high. This is unnecessary."

If it had been any other woman saying that to him, Albus would have been inclined to think that she was trying to guilt-trip him into getting what she wanted. This was Minerva, however, and Albus knew that she had neither the will nor the perception to effectively guilt-trip someone. She was too direct of a person and generally to unable to detect the emotions of others for it. It was almost too bad, because even though she wasn't trying to guilt-trip him, he was feeling guilty. She was giving up a lot here and he knew it.

Almost unwittingly, he began to reexamine his decision. It was true that someone might notice a trip such as this one and figure out what his relationship to Alan was—but that would likely mean they were putting a fair amount of effort into finding the child's father. If someone were putting that much effort into finding out, he reasoned there was little chance that he and Minerva would be able to be careful enough to keep he or she from finding out anyway. Was there really much point to denying themselves such little things?

He wanted to see his son and he wanted to see her. Having given himself a reasonably logical reason for why he shouldn't deny himself, he caved quickly to his wants.

"You're right," he told her. "The price is high enough as it is. I'll be there within the hour."

Minerva looked completely shocked by the fact that he had, in fact, finally agreed with her after an entire summer of argument. She had, apparently, expected him to stay firm in his decision and end the conversation the way all the previous ones had: with both of them feeling angry and hurt, struggling with the complex situation they found themselves in. He had not done that and for a second or two, she was pulled off balance.

She managed to recover quickly. "No, I'll come there. A little easy caution won't hurt either of us."

"I'm not certain that's a good idea. The house elves have rather large ears."

"They're bound to be loyal to you, Albus. You are Headmaster."

"Only until I die," Albus objected calmly.

Minerva looked horrified by the statement, and more than a little angry. She didn't want to hear him say that any more than she wanted to think about the possibility of that same thing happening to her little boy.

"Don't look so upset, Minerva. I'm not trying to upset you."

She found that statement to be very hollow. "Thank you," she told him stiffly.

"Don't do that. I'm not being morbid, I'm being careful. It's not as though I have a death wish."

"I know that," she spat in bad temper. "But I don't like to hear you say things like that. Can't you just let me be angry about it?"

"I think we've both been angry enough for the past few months. I'd rather you be happy to see me."

"I'll be happy to see you whether I'm mad at you or not."

Her words still had bite to them, but the implications of what she'd said hung thickly in the air for a few moments before Albus said goodbye again and pulled his head out of the fire in his office.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"He really has grown a lot."

"I told you."

"I didn't want to think about it."

Silence fell and Minerva watched Albus as he studied his son, his eyes both filled with something akin to wonder. It was heartwarming to look upon. Sometimes when they'd argued, Minerva had wondered whether he felt anything more for the boy than an obligation to protect him. Seeing the love in Albus' eyes was very reassuring.

"He has your eyes," he commented.

"They are a family trait."

"Hopefully he will continue to look like a McGonagall. It will be very awkward if too many more Dumbledore traits make themselves apparent."

They both knew he was referring to Alan's hair, already growing in to be Albus's auburn color. Silence fell again as they both quietly worried about exactly how much he would look like Albus as he aged.

"Would you care to hold him? You never did when you came to see the two of us in the hospital."

Hesitation replaced the love in his eyes and it suddenly occurred to Minerva that he might be trying to not get too close to his son. Perhaps because he was afraid of compromising himself.

"Albus?"

He looked at her then back at his son, staring at infant as the boy stared back at him and babbled. After a moment, he nodded, mostly to himself or the boy, it seemed and moved forward to pick Alan up.

Minerva watched carefully as son and father interacted for the first time. Alan stared at Albus, seemingly unsure of what to think of the stranger holding him. He quickly turned his head to look at his mother, perhaps to signal his uncertainty or to ask her what it was he should think of this new man. Minerva moved forward towards her baby and began to reassure him that the new man was no threat.

"Shh, sweetheart," she whispered quietly, smoothing his wispy hair. "This is your father."

"Minerva!"

"You are his father Albus."

"If we call me his father while he's this age then that's the label he will learn to attach to me. We can't have him calling me 'father'."

She sighed, frustrated that Albus was correct. Alan was at least one or two months ahead in his development and it was quite clear to her that he already recognized things by their labels. If she started referring to Albus as his 'father' or 'daddy' or any paternal label, that was how Alan would learn to refer to him, and quickly so.

"Albus," she corrected. "This is Albus."