Author's Note:

Well, here it is (finally), the next chapter of my story. I'm sorry I've not updated this is so long! College has really sucked up my time and I haven't really had any time to write for pleasure until my break. Hopefully now that I'm on break I can update regularly before I head back to school in January.

/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva still wasn't sure exactly how she'd managed to get Albus to agree to the idea of she and their son spending a week over the summer holiday with him at his summer home but she knew better than to question such things. However she'd done it, or whatever it was in Albus that had made him see this as different from ideas with similar purpose, she knew it was best to simply be grateful. Such things did not happen often and she knew very well that it may very well be a long time—or never—before something like this occurred again.

"You really must never use this house, Albus. I swear it looks exactly as I remember it"

"You wouldn't have said that a few hours ago. I hadn't been here in the last three years until now. There was dust everywhere"

Three years. He hadn't been here at all in the past three years? It seemed amazing to Minerva, who returned to Scotland as often as her position as Deputy Headmistress allowed. It was true that she loved Hogwarts and spent more of her year there than most of the professors, even if it was partially from necessity, but she still returned home for some part of every summer. It was something she considered to be very important. Why had Albus not done the same? She knew he was a busy person—she more than anyone else knew that—but surely it must have been possible for him to slip away for at least a little while. He'd done it now. He'd not so much as suggested that they all just stay at Hogwarts together instead.

And he's always accused me of overworking myself, she thought with a snort. Albus Dumbledore was the biggest hypocrite she'd ever met in her life. He held everyone else to a decidedly different standard than he held himself to. She would never understand him. How could a man be so childish and frustrating and yet so very responsible and frustrating at the same time. It just didn't make any sense. Not really.

Why do I love you? she thought, looking at him. There were times when she really had to wonder about it, yet no matter how she wondered the feeling persisted in the same way all unstoppable forces did. She just loved him and there seemed to be no other explanation for it.

"Is Fawkes here?" asked Alan, gazing around Albus' summer home with disinterest. The beauty of the place was lost on a five year old, even one so bright as Albus and Minerva's son.

"He's upstairs, in my room. We'll take your things into your room and then I'll take you to see Fawkes. I'm sure he's missed you"
Alan eyed Albus in confusion, auburn eyebrows drawn together and his hazel eyes pinning Albus in a manner very reminiscent of his mother. "But he was in my room just last week. He sang me to sleep. Didn't you know, Albus"

"No, I didn't"

"I thought you always knew what Fawkes was up to"

Albus shook his head. "Fawkes and I share a very close connection, but the nature of phoenixes is such that he always knows what I'm up to and I only usually know the same"

"But you know everything, Albus"

Minerva could see the discomfort on Albus' face. He couldn't just let Alan think that. Minerva knew that Albus simply wasn't the kind to not correct the boy and let him think of his father the superhuman sorts of things that all young boys thought of their fathers. He was touched by his son's faith in him---he always was touched when he saw Alan thinking of him the way a son would his father---but Minerva knew Albus well enough to know that he couldn't let Alan think he was perfect. It wasn't true and Albus rarely let people labor under false assumptions. He believed that was very bad for a person.

Minerva watched uncomfortably as Albus sighed, and placed himself at eye level with his son.

"No one knows everything, Alan. Not me and not your mother, either. Nobody's perfect"

"Okay," Alan replied, nodding but Minerva could see that he didn't really believe Albus. He simply wasn't ready to believe that sort of thing, especially about Albus. He was Alan's hero. That had been part of the reason why he'd been so sure Albus was his father, because he adored him so and wanted to be just like him.

Minerva did not look forward to the day when her son figured out exactly how imperfect she and Albus were---especially when he figured out Albus wasn't perfect. No parent eve di look forward to that sort of thing, it was true, but with her son's father it was a more complicated issue. Alan was not the only person in the world who thought Albus Dumbledore was perfect. Many adult witches and wizards thought the same thing. He was the greatest sorcerer in the world, the wizard who defeated Grindelwald. He cold do no wrong. Even Minerva had labored under that same false assumption when she'd first met him. When Alan discovered his father was not perfect, Albus would be falling from a greater height than most. Minerva honestly had no idea how she would deal with that time once it came. She doubted Alan would take it as she had. When she'd finally rid herself of that delusion her love for the man had grown because she'd suddenly realized that she was in love with a man rather than some sort of god. Alan, however, would be disappointed she was sure.
"Your room is right over here," Albus said, pointing toward a room that mimicked very closely the one Alan had in his home in Scotland. "Your mother will be right next door and I will be across the hell from you just in case you need anything"

"Don't worry about me," Alan replied with a large smile, staring up proudly at his father. "I can take care of myself. Like you"

Albus smiled back at him and patted the boy on his head, proud despite of himself. Even his best efforts to distance himself from his son could not stop that, and his secret pleasure at hearing his son want to be like him stopped him from doing anything to discourage it. That was the case more often than not. It took a lot for him to do so. He simply wasn't as able to push his son away as he might have liked or even as much as he would have liked to have believed.

He wasn't perfect, after all.