I know there's a lot of new Minerva information come out over the past few days because of Pottermore but I'm choosing to stick with what I'd originally planned for this story. I love JK but will always stand by ADMM forever!
AN: As always the character aren't mine, I make no money and I'm just playing.
The Undoing – chapter 3
Summer 1946
Sunday afternoon and she was making tea. The house was solemn and when she glanced out to the city streets she thought they looked so too. Having spent the majority of the day catching up on the news, both wizarding and muggle, she felt wholly sombre and full of melancholy.
It wasn't often Minerva McGonagall cried but as she'd read more and more snippets of information about what was done in the name of war she found the tears came silently.
She turned on the cold water tap in the kitchen and hastily splashed her face, ridding all evidence of her emotions. On the stairs she heard giggling and then heavy footsteps and a slammed door as Eva and Bryan came down and into the small kitchen. They'd spent the day in her bedroom, Minerva needn't guess what they'd been doing and as much as she wished them every happiness she was insanely jealous at the ease they could have in their relationship. Knowing now just how good it felt made it even more difficult to be without.
It had been nine days since she'd last seen Albus and she felt the absence ever more keenly listening to her friends enjoying the fruits of love. They had recently become engaged, despite the apparent awkwardness at the start of the relationship, and Minerva realised that soon she'd be looking for a new place to live. Newlyweds would want privacy and no doubt soon children would follow. She didn't mind that so much, it would be nice to have her own place.
"We're off to the pub for the afternoon, have a late lunch; do you want to join us?" Eva asked merrily as she put her shoes on.
"No, I'm fine thank you."
She watched as Bryan slipped his fiancée's coat over her shoulders and kissed her cheek as he did so. A stab of jealousy passed fleetingly through her chest and was quickly ridded, she didn't want Bryan, she'd made that choice.
"I think I'll just have a quiet day." She busied herself with the tea, pouring a cup and adding lemon.
No sooner had the front door closed than there was a knock at the back one. She was just nibbling on a piece of shortbread and felt annoyed at the interruption. Brushing her hands on her skirt she opened it, stepping back at first with a flood of joy quickly replaced with frustration.
"Oh," she said haughtily. "So you've remembered where I live."
Albus couldn't help the tight smile that took hold, "Hello Minerva, very good to see you too."
"I suppose you ought to come in." She stepped back, allowing him access then let the door fall heavily shut behind them.
"I'm in trouble."
"Whatever gives you that idea?" She said, facing him, arms folded.
He lay his hat down on the table, "My dear, I'm sorry for my absence."
"Don't 'dear' me, and is there something wrong with your owl?"
He shook his head; she never did make things easy. "The wizarding council have had be intensely busy, you must realise this is..."
"An unprecedented time, yes I know. And I don't care who has had you busy, you do not ignore me."
He stifled a laugh, now would not be the time to tell her how glorious she was when in the full flow of anger. Instead he leant back against the table.
"Once again, I apologise. I shall never do it again."
"Hmm," she huffed, then unfolded her arms and turned back to the stairs. "Well come on then."
He stared at her retreating back, "Where are we going?" But followed anyway.
In her bedroom he sat on the edge of the bed, not quite following her train of thought yet.
"It's just selfish," she continued, unbuttoning her blouse. "There really is no excuse for lack of communication." She tossed the shirt over her desk. "Especially when I'm... I mean, I think you see me as your... goodness, I don't know what to call it. I certainly don't want to be just seen as your lover," she pulled the zip down on her skirt. "That implies you only want me for one thing."
"Indeed."
The skirt pooled at her ankles and she stepped out of it.
"Minerva?" He queried, confused, "are you still angry with me?"
"Furious of course!"
"Then what..." He indicated her now half-naked state.
"I haven't seen you for over a week, I may be angry but knowing you you'll be disappearing again soon and a girl needs her pleasures. So, stop sitting there and get undressed."
"Minerva McGonagall you are the most confounding woman I have ever met."
Her first smile. "Good." She threw her bra at him, "Now hurry up!"
Later he slept. And as she watched him she felt slightly guilty for her earlier tirade, wondering how long it had been since he had been able to sleep peacefully.
Sliding out from his arms she tiptoed out of the room and downstairs. She would make something for them to eat, open a bottle of wine and then wake him. She prepared fresh bread and fruit, cheese and splurged a little by putting chocolate on the tray too – for his sweet tooth.
"Dinner for your boyfriend?" She heard a voice come from the dark lounge area.
Pulling her robe tighter around her she went in, Eva was laying on the couch in the dark.
"I didn't realise you were home." She said nervously.
"Obviously, I had a headache, came home early. Imagine my surprise when I hear no other than the great Albus Dumbledore moaning and groaning in your bedroom."
Oh god, in her haste she'd forgotten the privacy charm.
"Eva," she said quickly, "please, no one can know."
"I'm not surprised, that old man..." she glanced at Minerva, "I mean ew it's just..."
"No it isn't." She felt defiant now. "We're in love and it works and we're... just please, nobody can know. There are so many reasons nobody can know."
Eva shrugged, "Look Min, we've hardly ever really got on, two different types I guess. But I don't intend to start blabbing about your sex-life," she shot her a slightly disgusted look at that. "Just, well, Bryan and I we're gonna be married soon and..."
"I'll be gone by then; I've already started looking for somewhere."
"Thanks." She got up, pausing to stop right by the younger girl. "You do know what you're getting into with him don't you?" She asked lowly.
Minerva wasn't entirely sure what weight the question held – did she mean emotionally or something more serious or dark? Nevertheless she nodded, "Of course, he's a good man."
"That he might very well be, the best, but can he give you a life together?" She left the question hanging. "I'm going to take a bath and go to bed."
"Goodnight," Minerva whispered after her.
Things suddenly felt much more difficult than they did ten minutes ago as she returned to the bedroom. But then the warmth in the room, the sound of Albus' breathing and the scent of their lovemaking still lingering in the air eased her fears. She set the tray down on her desk and perched herself on the bed next to his sleeping form.
She brushed her little finger down his forehead, along his crooked nose, and then across his lips, tickling back and forth across his bottom lip until he opened his mouth and nibbled on her finger.
"That's not very nice," she whispered.
"Neither is waking an old man."
"Don't call yourself that," she admonished, watching as he turned flat on his back, eyes still closed. "I was worried I'd worn you out."
"You did," he chuckled, "but then, I haven't slept properly for well over a month now." He reached for her hand, folding his fingers with hers. "Good afternoon my dear," he finally said, lifting her hand up and kissing the back of it.
"It's evening."
"Well then, good evening."
"Good evening," she giggled, leaning down to kiss him.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her body and keeping her tight against him.
"Fine," she drew her fingers through his beard drawing out the tangles. "And you?"
"Horribly in love."
"Horribly!" She exclaimed.
"Yes, enraptured by you." He snuggled her closer, burying his face in her neck and kissing her sweet skin. "Thank you," he finally whispered, pulling back to look at her.
"For?"
"Bringing me back to life."
"Oh... well, you're very welcome. Would you like something to eat?"
"Have you ever known me to turn down food?"
"Never. Nothing fancy," he sat up and she set the tray down on the bed next to him before returning to the desk to pour the wine.
"Looks wonderful, is that chocolate?"
"Yes, but dinner first, must do things in the right order." She said, picking up the napkins.
"Why?"
"You're like a child." She sighed.
"Come here and let me ravish you again," he proclaimed holding his arms out. She moved into them, laughing as he repeatedly kissed her stomach.
"You'll knock the tray over," she protested laughing.
"Then I'll tidy it again," he growled against her stomach causing a fresh set of giggles from her. "Oh Minerva," he stopped, holding her tight, looking up at her face.
"Yes?"
"I wish every day could be this easy."
She breathed deeply, not quite ready for the magic of the moment to be lost. "I rather think we ought to enjoy the days that are like this and remember them on lonelier ones."
"You always were incredibly smart."
"Mmm," she bent and kissed his forehead. "Shall we eat then?"
"I think I need the bathroom first. Old remember."
She slapped his arm, "You say that again and I'll..."
"I am rather tempted to find out just what you will do. However, knowing both your skill with a wand and your devious mind I shall do as you wish." He swung his legs out of the bed, wiggling his toes in the carpet. "Minerva your bed is blissful, and not just because you're in it, though that does indeed play an integral part."
"You're a terrible flirt," she smiled, "I don't think I ever realised before."
"Only with you."
"It better be," she watched as he transfigured his travelling cloak into a fluffy dressing gown. "You'll have to use the smaller bathroom downstairs, Eva is taking a bath."
"I didn't realise anyone was home."
"No," she briefly considered telling him they'd been overheard but thought against it. He had enough to worry about. "I'll check all is clear, follow me down."
She peeked around the bedroom door checking nobody else was around before he dashed down to the bathroom, she prayed none of the girls had left their stockings over the side of the sink again. Standing guard outside the bathroom door she listened to him whistling as he washed his face. He was happy.
After they sat on her bed sharing the bread, cheese and fruit.
"So, I was wondering if you were free next weekend?"
"I could be, I have to find a new place to live though."
"Oh?"
"Hmm, things are a little awkward here, what with them getting married soon. It will be for the best. I'll look for a flat."
"More privacy for us too," he said drinking his wine.
"I suppose so."
He sensed a slight tremble in her voice, "Are you really alright?" He placed his hand on her knee.
"Yes, just, with everything that's happened in the last year, sometimes it's a little overwhelming." She squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, really, so next weekend?"
"Oh yes, I have a wonderful cottage, a private place, I was thinking of taking a few days off, as I haven't in a while and I need some time before term begins. I wondered if you would agree to join me there for a couple of days."
She smiled, "Of course I would." Yet even as he leant forward to kiss her she felt the questions forming, why only two days, surely he'd be there for at least a week? Privacy again, a word she was becoming very used to. And a new term looming – she'd hardly see him for weeks at a time. Love certainly was testing.
November 1946
Thumbing the latest copy of Transfiguration Today Minerva was annoyed to find that, once again, her paper hadn't been published. With a disinterested sigh she threw the journal down onto her desk.
Suddenly, and it seemed so very sudden that she couldn't even pinpoint when it was, her life had become something of a treadmill. Life at the ministry had slowed and she now spent the majority of her days trawling through records and forming reports on the war. For someone always ready to be out in the thick of the action it had muted her zest for the job. Being an Auror had always been her goal, she'd worked damned hard at Hogwarts just for this very opportunity. Now she wondered just how big a mistake she'd made.
Leaning back in her chair she stared at the pot of pencils sitting in front of her, her mouth twitched and soon in front of her sat a baby kitten.
"Well, hello." She said, leaning forward and tickling the ginger kitten's chin. "You're a nice diversion."
"Minerva," a voice came from behind her.
She turned, ready for a reprimand. "Yes, Mr Hebblethwaite?" She asked hesitantly.
"Did you just perform a wandless transfiguration spell?"
"Yes sir. I'll change it back." And she quickly did.
"That wasn't the issue McGonagall, I'm impressed."
"It's quite simple sir, I've been working more and more on controlling my mind, discipline is the key, so my teacher keeps telling me."
He nodded, handing her a new pile of parchments. "These need going over. Perhaps you should consider a career change McGonagall; there are plenty of witches and wizards out there who would pay for a decent Transfiguration teacher."
"Oh, I really don't think... I mean, I wouldn't want to leave my position here." Bored or not, Minerva never was a quitter.
"Tuition, easy way to make a little bit more. Who's your teacher by the way?"
"Sorry?"
"You said your teacher; I just wondered who you were working with. I understood your Animagus training had ended."
"It has, its erm, Professor Dumbledore sir, we share a love of transfiguration, he's always been very helpful in that area."
He nodded, clearly impressed, "Good work McGonagall, nice to see you have interests outside of here. I'll need those reports in an hour."
"Yes sir."
She returned to staring at the pencil pot, if only the publishers thought her work was as impressive.
Christmas 1946
Fidgeting again with her dress Minerva stepped out of the cubicle and waited for a gap in front of the mirror. Three older witches were applying lipstick and perfume, and she thought how beautiful they all looked, how elegant. She felt like a teenager again, hiding at the back during the Yule Ball.
When had this happened? She wondered again, after all when she'd first arrived in London and started at the ministry she'd loved it, felt revitalised and important. Now she felt lonely and increasingly depressed. She was only twenty-one for goodness sake. Though her birthday seemed too far away now.
Albus had been wonderful, it was one of the few times she'd seen him since he'd returned to school. He'd wanted her to go out, throw a party, celebrate with her family and friends. Anything extravagant. As it was she'd wanted to stay home and had promised she'd throw something together for dinner. In return he'd promised to try and apparate over, at least for a couple of hours. Yet when she'd got home, laden with ever-flowering roses – a flower she didn't even care for – she'd found her small flat transformed. The ceiling swirled and sparkled with stars and planets, candles floated throughout the lounge and kitchen, Albus had transfigured her small coffee table into an intimate dining one, her couch was gone and there was room to dance. There was sumptuous food, she assumed prepared by the house elves at Hogwarts, and chamber music filling the air. For that night she was glad he was something of a romantic even if she wasn't.
She'd gone to Scotland for the weekend and her parents had thrown a small party, her aunt throwing out irritating questions about her single status and the lack of a ring on her finger. She had to bite her tongue more than once and remind her aunt it was 1946 now, now 1846, times had changed, women needn't marry and produce children anymore. She wasn't sure any of her family agreed.
Finding a gap by the mirror she muscled herself in, returning to the task at hand. The dress wasn't too bad, Eva had helped her out with it and at first she hadn't been sure, a dark red velvet dress, fitted bodice, not too tight though, and a flared skirt. It was elegant, feminine, so not Minerva. Still, she rather admired her waist in it and she did look incredibly tall despite the flat simple shoes she wore beneath her skirt, heels made her appear almost giant-like. But her hair, taut and rigid in her usual bun. She'd long since given up trying to do something with it, and to plait it now seemed like a school-girl move.
She tried to pull some of it loose from the front so it didn't look quite so severe, but lost her temper and tugged the pins loose.
"Leave it down," a middle-aged witch said beside her. She was applying something to her cheeks. "Looks good."
"I feel too self-conscious about it," she pouted, pushing the thick strands away from her face. "It gets in the way."
"Maybe have it cut, something shorter, it's all the fashion."
"I've never really been one for fashion, I like the length."
"You're right," the lady snapped her lid down on the lipstick. "A shame to cut it. Here, let me help." And she did, taking the unruly mass and lifting it up again, away from Minerva's face but pinning it loosely at the nape of her neck, leaving a much freer style. "There, very elegant."
"Thank you so much, that seemed so easy."
The lady shrugged, "Happy to help, your dress is wonderful by the way. Have a lovely time tonight."
"Thank you, have a Merry Christmas."
And so it was with a slightly more positive outlook that Minerva finally stepped out of the bathroom and into the bustling ballroom. The ministry always threw good parties and Christmas was exceptional, extravagant and decadent. The very air smelt of chestnuts and cranberries, rich and spicy, and the room was filled with no less than six giant trees all glistening with rich rubies and glittering golds. There was a gentle snow fall coming from the vast ceiling and Minerva had to give Albus credit for the charm, though she was certain that by now she could have performed the spell equally as well. Her skills were forever improving under his tuition, shame she didn't have anything to do with them.
Taking a glass of red wine from a tray she found a spot by one of the trees at which to scan the room, taking in the chatter, the dancing, the couples. She spotted Eva and Bryan dancing and gave them a wave, Eva now in her sixth month of pregnancy moving less gracefully than usual.
She noted people from her office, old school acquaintances, members of the Wizengamot; all relaxed, all happy.
"Excuse me," a deep voice interrupted her brooding. "Terribly sorry to bother you, aren't you Minerva McGonagall?"
"Yes, I am, and you are?"
He held his hand out, "Alastor Moody," a short squat kind of man, younger than Minerva by a few years, he had careful eyes that seemed to be interrogating. "My father is here, I've heard about you from the Auror office, quote interested in that area myself, still at school now you understand but next year I plan to get in there. Wondered if maybe you had time to you know, give me a few hints."
"Hints?" She queried, turning to look at him now, intrigued by this earnest young man with the flat vowels. "Who is your father?"
"Well, he erm..." he ruffled his scruffy looking hair.
Minerva smiled, "He isn't here is he. I'm impressed, underage wizard managing to sneak in here; you have to be pretty smart to accomplish that."
"Don't get me thrown out will ya, just want to get some inside information, chat to a few pretty witches."
She laughed, "You young flirt."
"Mr Moody," Minerva looked up sharply at the familiar sound of Albus' voice. "May I ask what you're doing here?" He approached from behind the pair of them, deep emerald robes, his silver beard looking brighter than ever against them.
"Sir, Professor, I'm really sorry, I just wanted."
"I know what you wanted, hand it over."
For a second Alastor looked worried.
"Your drink Alastor, your drink."
He did as he was asked, "I just wanted to get started on my application."
"I know Alastor," Dumbledore's voice was low but warm, "but now is not the time nor the place. Go home before I have to take you myself."
"Yes sir, Merry Christmas sir. Miss – can I just owl you or something?"
She chuckled again, he was rather sweet really, "Of course you may."
They waited until the boy was out of earshot before Albus stood close to her, his elbow just touching hers.
"That was mean," she smiled, keeping her focus on the dance floor.
"I hope I don't have competition."
"Far too young," she admonished and he cringed inside, she was that age when he'd realised he'd fallen in love with her.
"You look very beautiful tonight my dear." He said gently, hiding his words behind his goblet and then taking a drink.
"Thank you, you know I'm not very good at these public things."
"I know you like to think you aren't, would you care to dance?"
"I think I need a couple more glasses of wine before I do, but then I might."
"You love to dance."
"I love to dance when it's just the two of us and all eyes aren't on me because I'm with the great Albus Dumbledore."
"Well, I'll do a few turns around the dance floor with other suitable ladies and then save the most important dance for you. That way no suspicion raised."
"How will I know it's the most important dance?"
"Because I'll be with you."
She smiled now, finally turning to look at him, his eyes twinkling and full of life and she felt so very in love right then she could have thrown herself into his arms and kissed him on the spot.
"Albus, you old fool!" A raucous old laugh broke their moment as a small lady, grey-haired and full figured, clamped her hand down on Albus' arm.
"Ah, my dear Bathilda. I wondered if you would indeed attend, your last letter suggested you might be tempted to winter abroad."
"Sorely tempted, but I'd miss my bed. A good bed is hard to come by."
"Very true." They exchanged a kiss before Dumbledore stood back to bring Minerva into the conversation. "Bathilda, this is an ex student of mine, highly talented, best Transfiguration student since, well, me."
"Honoured I'm sure," Bathilda said holding her hand out and warmly grasping Minerva's. "Compared to the great man himself no less and he's always so very demure about things."
Minerva laughed; she liked Ms Bagshot right away. "An honour to meet you, I've read so many of your publications."
"Ah, Bathilda has a most wonderful work coming out next year," Albus said, "I've proofread a lot of it and it's fascinating, marvellous stuff."
Minerva wondered just how many things Albus took part it, and how on earth he found the time to. She really ought to start broadening her out-of-work interests.
"Ought to be good, taken some years of research I can tell you that. Are you a writer my dear?"
Minerva sighed, "Not yet, I keep trying but none of my essays have been published just yet."
"Don't give up, you are only young and have plenty of time for such things. Speaking of which shouldn't you be dancing instead of letting this old coot bore you with his great tales."
Minerva visibly shrank at the implication, the impact of going from relaxed and very happy to be part of this conversation to suddenly feeling a withered, inexperienced fool who had no right to be in such company.
"Yes," she said shakily, "I should be dancing." She held Albus' gaze for perhaps a second too long. "So very nice to meet you Ms Bagshot, and as always, good to see you again Professor." She headed towards the drinks table with as much dignity as she could muster, and after a gulp of wine her shoulders stiffened, neck straightened, and the formidable McGonagall was coming into play.
"Oh dear, I said the wrong thing there didn't I." Bathilda said replacing Minerva at Albus' side.
"I'm sure not," Albus took a long drink from his goblet.
Bathilda turned her back on the dance floor, holding Dumbledore firmly in her gaze. "What's going on there?"
"In what sense?"
"In the biblical sense of course." She shook her head, a wry tight smile forming, "No need to tell me, I can see it in your eyes."
"See what, really Bathilda."
"Albus, I've known you since you were a child, and I've seen that particular look before." She warned, and images of him running around love struck after Gellert flashed into his mind.
He looked away, glanced at the floor, suddenly ashamed. "I know it's wrong."
"But you can't help yourself." She tutted, "Heard that before too."
"I'll end it." He said abruptly, unthinking.
"Don't do that because I've made a point, I'm not saying its wrong Albus, honestly I don't know the girl. But just be careful with her, she's young; she's obviously in love with you. Do you feel the same?"
For a moment he stared at her, uncertain of how much he should reveal. Finally, he gave a slight nod of his head.
Bathilda let out on a long, low sigh, "Well, then you're going to have to think very carefully about how you're going to bring her out into the open, because I rather think Miss McGonagall here isn't one for hiding in the shadows."
"No, no she isn't. She's a wonderfully talented witch, even if she doesn't realise it herself."
Several hours later a rather drunk Minerva McGonagall was sitting in a dark corner of the foyer with her head on her knees. No matter how she sat, or how she moved, the entire world seemed to be on a wonky axis and was constantly spinning.
"Care to dance now?"
She slowly shook her head, then instantly regretted it. "Can't," she mumbled into her knee caps.
"Minerva," Albus bent in front of her, "I've been looking for you for a while." He pushed her loose hair back from her face, "Minerva." He said, now concerned.
"I'm drunk," she slurred. "I want to die."
"No you don't, it will pass, too much Christmas punch. Come," he gripped her arms, helping her up. "I'll take you home."
"Don't want to be seen with me." She said abruptly, and he was glad of the dark quiet corner.
"No one here to see, we better not apparate, I fear for my robes if we do. And you need the air, come on."
He led her down the back corridor and out of an exit she didn't even know was there until they passed through it. The air was crisp and cutting and she was glad of it, Dumbledore shivered and pulled his robe tighter. "Did you have at travelling cloak Minerva, Minerva, look at me, did you...?"
"Don't have anything."
"No travelling cloak?"
She shook her head, leaning heavily against his arm, "Want to go home, to bed."
"I know, we're going." He held her up, transfiguring his cloak into a more appropriate muggle coat and wrapping it around her arms as he led her out into the bustling city street.
"Not too far," he said sometime later, supporting her wobbling body.
"Shh, mustn't be seen with me."
"I'm helping you home Minerva, you're in no state."
"They'll all miss you, not me, nobody misses me."
"I miss you," he said lowly, as they turned into her street. "Here we are now; let's go, up the steps."
She looked up at them and felt the house tipping forward, her flat was on the top floor.
"Ohhh no, want to be sick." She turned away from him, leaning on the wall and closing her eyes.
He rubbed her back, "Minerva, I can make you a tonic inside to help. Come on." He held her arm again, leading her to the bottom step.
She lifted one foot and fell back into his chest, laughing, "Can't do it, just leave me here."
He hauled her up into his arms, her legs hung loosely over them, "Off we go, up to bed now." And he carried her inside and then up to the very top floor.
"Better?" He asked some time later as she lay back in bed.
She nodded, red-faced, eyes heavy but better focused. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, lay off the red wine next time."
"I don't drink it much," she hiccupped and groaned and pulled the bed sheets up to her chin. "Go back to the party."
"I'll stay here with you, make sure you're well."
"I'm alive aren't I."
"Well good," he sat beside her on the bed, "surely you didn't mean it, wishing you were dead. It was just the drink."
"Yes," she said slowly, leaning her head against his chest, "just drink. Are you bored with me?"
He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, "Never could be."
"Do you still love me?"
"Always." He said gently, closing his eyes.
"That woman shooed me away." She said sleepily.
"No she didn't, she didn't mean to upset you, she was trying to be friendly."
"Everyone hates me, I don't fit in, I never have."
"Minerva," he warned, "you do, you just think you don't. Have confidence in yourself. I do."
"Mmm," she was lying against him now, eyes closed, breathing slowed, dreamy. "I got drunk."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know that too."
"Make love to me."
"You wouldn't even remember it."
She smiled before she fell to sleep.
A week later, after several grovelling letters of apology, Minerva finally seemed to have shrugged off the entire incident. And when she arrived at Albus' cottage on January 2nd she felt better than she had in a while. Christmas, though usually stuffy and frustrating, had been surprisingly relaxed that year and she'd enjoyed the days with her family.
She was adamant that 1947 was going to be the year Minerva McGonagall stopped hiding in the shadows and taking dainty steps. It was time for a change.
"You have to let me win," Albus told her as they sat down to play chess that night.
"Let you win? I'm sorry, are you confusing me with some other witch?"
"Absolutely not, but I do have a rather potent memory of you that you wish to dilute."
"Ahh, you told me it was forgotten." She stressed, almost jumping out of her chair.
He laughed heartily, "It is, it is, I'm only teasing."
She slapped his hand that lay on the table, "No more, I haven't drunk since then and probably never will again."
"Oh now, come on, we're celebrating a new year." He transfigured one of his fallen chess pieces into a glass, "Here, have some Port, sip it slowly now Minerva." He mocked.
"Oh bugger off!" She replied, but did indeed sip the heavenly liquid – slowly.
"Your mood is different since I last saw you." He said carefully, keenly aware of how down she was the last time they parted. It was making his decisions regarding their relationship, which he was adamant he had to make, even more difficult. He didn't wish to hurt her. And still, despite Bathilda's warnings, he couldn't quite get to the point of dragging himself away from her.
"I've made some important decisions. I will broaden my horizons this year, I shall travel, I will get published. I'm even considering – well, I want to do more in the Transfiguration area."
He nodded, immensely pleased, "I could help you with that, I know of a few specialist Professors who would be willing to take on a new student. And some of them abroad too, you could travel."
"Thank you Albus, but I intend to do it on my own."
His smile was even broader now, "As you wish my dear."
"Check," she announced, triumphant.
"Let's see shall we," he sat back in his chair, folding his long fingers together and gazing over the top of his spectacles at the board.
"I might need more Port if you're going to take forever."
"Patience, patience." He said pushing is spectacles back up his nose.
"I'll remind you of that later." She teased, her foot finding his beneath the table.
"Careful," he chuckled, "I'm wearing my new Christmas socks."
"I just love your foreplay..." She laughed.
"Albus, are you awake?" Minerva whispered, as she closed the book she was reading from.
"Mmm, I'm listening, read some more." He mumbled.
They were snuggled up on the couch in front of the fire, the room a flickering scene of shadows, candlelight and crackling flames. Albus' arm was heavy around Minerva's waist and she knew he was close to sleep. His breathing had thickened and he was comfortably squashed into the back of the couch, holding her close to him.
She craned her neck round to look at him, "You're practically asleep. We should go to bed." She made a move to pull out of his embrace but he tugged her back.
"Stay here, read one more to me."
Sighing she opened the book again, removing the marker and steadily reading the next lines, "Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments." She dwelled on it for a moment, pausing to consider what it meant. Wedding vows of course, but the marriage of true minds, two people who were meant to be together? Two people whose minds link or complement the other? A marriage of minds suggested a likeness of thought and direction. She wondered if that was what Eva and Bryan had – though she doubted it very much, they were immensely different characters. Yet they worked, and people say opposites attract. So what is love?
"Minerva," Albus slurred, "the next line is Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove."
"Show off," she mumbled, "but despite that Shakespeare thinks my love for you will never change."
"Indeed, or be shaken by rough storms."
She glanced at the next line, "it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; I can cope with that idea." She said, thinking of her parents, after all they'd survived the shock of her mother's revelation, so out of sync with her father's stern ways. "What about this line, It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. What does that mean?"
"Having never spoken to the man directly I would never assume to be the font of all knmowledge there."
"But..."
"But, if you insist, the wandering bark is a ship, makes me think of a traveller or a person who is lost in the world. And just as sailors rely on stars for guidance so does this lost man."
"You said person."
"Person then, the lost 'person' relies on the star to guide them, to help them see the way."
"And the height?"
"Perhaps, not taking that person for granted, or he's saying that true love never takes that person for granted." He yawned, "Are you going to finish it."
She nodded, turning her attention back to the book, "Goodness my eyes are bad in this light," she squinted, "Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom." She breathed deeply, setting the book down and leaning back against him, "So, however old and wrinkly I get if you love me you'll always love me."
He kissed the back of her neck, "Absolutely, and I think you've already proven that particular point in return."
She chuckled, "I suppose so."
"And Shakespeare cannot be proven wrong, because he is, or rather was, a writer," he squeezed her stomach, "and from the beginning of time men have loved, and will continue to do so." He buried his face in her hair, "I cannot bear to move from this spot my dear."
"Alright," she blew the candle out on the coffee table. "We'll stay here."
"Thank you, you make an old man very happy."
She smiled, listening to him fall to sleep. Soon he had settled, his breathing deep and even, she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, his body warm and content against hers.
The words from the last poem scrolled through her mind, she could almost see the words scribbled in the dark air in front of her. Albus obviously knew them well, she wondered just how many females he'd read that particular sonnet with, and then quickly banished the thought. She had never been the jealous type and wouldn't start now.
Still, something about those words bothered her. She couldn't quite decide if she was Albus' star – something about that particular scenario made her smother a laugh. Indeed, as if needed anyone to be his guidance or constant, he'd been through so much, seen so much, why would he ever look to her at his 'star'? Yet turn it around, was he her star? And if that were true she couldn't help but feel that she was trailing after him, trying to keep up, lost in his shadow.
"Go to sleep," he whispered behind her, kissing her neck again.
She placed her hand over his on her stomach, and he folded their fingers together. "Thought you were asleep."
"I was, your deep thinking woke me."
She smiled, turning over in his embrace and kissing him, "Sorry."
"Now go to sleep my love." He murmured, enfolding her in his arms, and she felt happy.
February 1947
Albus' taste for all things sweet was legendary. Often he took himself on a Sunday afternoon to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, and it was here that he met with his old friend, Elphias Doge, standing to greet him with a mouth full of lemon tart.
"Not much changes," Elphias commented as he shook his friend's hand. "How are you?"
"Very well, very well, currently involved in a debate with Ivor Dillonsby over his notes on Dragon's blood." He waved his hand excitedly, "Great discoveries there, but no matter, I'm sure will sort everything out quite soon. And to what do I owe this particular visit."
Elphias shrugged, helping himself to tea, "Need a reason now do I."
"Absolutely not, but I rather sensed in your last owl there was something."
Glancing around Elphias easily summoned a privacy charm, Dumbledore smiled at the skill; he'd taught him that very spell when he was in his seventh year at Hogwarts.
"You asked me, some time ago, to keep an eye on an ex-student on yours."
"Ahh, yes, and how he is getting on?" Albus dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a lemon drop, placing one on his tongue.
"You know he's been working at Borgin and Burkes."
"Yes, rather curious, don't you think."
"For a wizard as skilled as you say it's very odd. Settling for a role as a salesman," he shook his head, "but apparently he's very – shall we say skilled – at his particular task, persuasion."
"I believe that." Was all Dumbledore said.
"Knowing your 'interest' in this young man I made it my business to pop into said shop on occasion, and I rather noticed how women were easily falling under his charming spell. In fact I'd heard rumours of his budding friendship with Hepzibah Smith, do you remember her?"
"Yes I believe so, vaguely."
"She's been found dead Albus, poison in her cocoa."
Albus grimaced, "Unfortunate to ruin such a fine beverage, what's the connection?"
"Her house elf has confessed, I'm sure you'll be receicing word of the trial in the next couple of days, this is of course all hush-hush at the moment, she was only found yesterday."
"Yes of course. So you think..."
"I'm not making any assumptions Albus, merely passing on information, you'll be at the trial, I'm sure you'll form your own conclusions."
"Thank you Elphias, I appreciate the warning."
"Glad to be of help, now I think I have time for a slice of that tart before I apparate home. Care to join me in a second slice?"
At the same time in London Minerva had braved the lingering winter weather and taken herself out for lunch, after she walked through the park and sat on a bench throwing food to the ducks.
So far she had managed to stick to her plan. She was increasingly disillusioned with life at the Ministry and felt her considerable skills, not being conceited, weren't being used.
Redoubling her efforts she had begin researching the Animagus side of transfiguration, she figured she had more knowledge and interest in that area than most, and was currently re-writing her paper on it. Determined to be printed this time she'd re-written it five times already and twice sent it to Albus to read through. Of course he'd agreed. Of course he'd been as helpful as always.
"Excuse me."
She looked up, the afternoon sunlight blocking her view somewhat. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.
"Sorry to bother you." A young man sat down beside her on the bench. "I don't mean to interrupt you."
"Can I help you?" She said abruptly.
"I erm, I'm sorry, this may seem strange."
She narrowed her eyes as she took in his appearance; he was wearing a white apron, shop worker perhaps? Chef or waiter?
"I saw you earlier, in the cafe, you were having lunch."
"Oh, yes, did I leave something behind?"
"No, no not that," he ruffled his hair and the act made her look at his face for the first time. He was very handsome, about her age, maybe a couple of years older, very nervous whatever his age.
"Yes?" She granted him a small smile now, he seemed nice, she felt sorry for his obvious discomfort. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"
"I was wondering, if you would like to take tea with me some time, or maybe just take a walk, it could be here, in the park. If you would be interested in... if you feel that wouldn't be inappropriate."
She smiled fully now, he really was very sweet and she felt instantly at ease in his presence.
"I appreciate the request, but you see I am currently," currently what – dating? Having sex? Waiting around? "In a relationship," she finally finished. "But, if not I would certainly," she smiled, briefly touching his arm, "tea would have been lovely."
"Oh, well, I'm very sorry to have troubled you."
"Don't be."
He got up, brushing his apron down, "Again, I'm sorry to have troubled you on your day off."
"Really, its fine, I'm rather flattered."
He smiled before turning away. She was rather surprised to find she watched him walk all the way back to the cafe through the park and across the road.
March 1947
"What's wrong?" Minerva asked as she came into the small lounge; he called it quaint, finding him bent by the hearth in the early hours of the morning, poking at the long-since dead fire.
"Ah, sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Albus said, surprised by her presence, perhaps a little annoyed by it.
She sank into the large squishy chair he usually sat in to read, curling her legs up beneath her.
"You didn't, I woke because I needed the loo."
He'd always liked the fact she didn't cut corners with him, straight to the point, none of this romanticism bullshit.
"So, why are you down here at gone three in the morning?"
"Needed to think. To be alone."
"Ah, so in other words piss off Minerva. I can take a hint." She uncurled her legs again, her arms wrapped around herself to keep out the cold. "You know Albus for a great wizard you have poor standards when taking care of your guests. Remember you invited me here for the weekend, not the other way around."
He huffed, standing tall and raising his hand gracefully at the fire, the blackened embers sprang back to life and he stood back marvelling at it.
"Show off," she muttered.
"Try it," he said, looking at her for the first time, he dropped his hand and it died again.
She stood beside him, "Is this the equivalent of a pissing contest?"
"You and that acerbic tongue," he shook his head, hands folded together in front of him.
For a while she watched the purple stars dancing about on his ridiculous flamboyant silver robes, why did she love him after all? He was still staring at the fire, ever the teacher, ever waiting for her to impress.
She slipped her wand out from her robes and gave it a quick swish.
"Mmm, good but still..."
"Still, I should be able to do it wandless right."
"You can. Point your mind to it."
"I should be asleep, not getting lessons."
"One of my few pleasures in life is passing on knowledge. One of the few things I can give you."
"Don't start that again."
He held his hand open and she reluctantly handed him her wand. "I feel like a child being reprimanded."
He leant over and patted her head, "There, there my dear."
"Sarcastic bastard." She chided under her breath.
He was still chuckling and holding her gaze when the fire went out, he didn't even look at it this time.
Taking a deep breath she turned to face it again, arms folded, lips pursed in annoyance and concentration. "If you wanted to be alone I would have gone home." She finally said, still concentrating on the fire, a slight curl of smoke coming from the middle.
"I don't want you to go home."
"You've been very quiet this weekend, hardly spoken to me really."
He let out a long breath; she imagined the many cogs in his brain whirring around.
"Albus."
"Thought you were concentrating."
"Don't avoid me, shall I go home?"
"No. We agreed, a few days together, it's been a while since we've been alone."
"You say it so romantically."
"You aren't the romantic type."
"Good bloody job as I haven't seen you in over a month!" A spark shot up the chimney and she felt almost gleeful.
"Getting there."
"Won't you talk to me? Tell me what's going on with you."
"Too much to tell."
She felt her shoulders slump again, "You make things so damned hard."
"I never said I'm easy, that being with me would be."
She turned to face him, "And am I with you, really?"
"Yes," he stepped closer, "Of course you are," he reached out and touched the length of hair that had fallen loose of her plait. "You Minerva are the only joy I have at the moment."
"But things are good; the fuss has died down now over Grindelwald, you're teaching again."
"Which I love, but there are other... concerns?"
"About me?"
He nodded, slightly, "Yes, at times, but others too."
"What do you worry about me?"
"Let's not..."
"Albus! What do you worry about me?"
"Are you going to light the fire?"
As soon as the words left his mouth she turned abruptly and in a flash of angry red light the fire was in full force again.
He laughed, delighted, "Well done my dear."
"You make me so bloody angry."
He stepped into her, holding her arm, "Minerva, that I love you have no doubts, but I worry for your future, I worry about what I can possibly give you beyond this. Secret meetings and brief moments, snatched moments."
"I don't mind."
"But you will." He said knowingly, which made her even madder.
"And – what else? Other worries."
"I don't think it's wise for me to share them just yet. They are only my concerns, my question marks over certain... occurrences."
"Stop talking to me like a child, tell me."
He went to sit in the chair she had left, twiddling her wand between his long fingers.
"You remember Tom Riddle?"
She screwed her nose up, "Yes, popular boy in the year below me, bit creepy."
"Why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling. Why, did you see him?"
"Several times, I have, shall we say – concerns about him. Strange things have happened; do you remember the death of Hepzibah Smith?"
She nodded, coming to sit on the floor in front of him. "It was in the Daily Prophet."
"I'm not entirely convinced by her house elf's confession." He shrugged, "I could be wrong, just an odd feeling I had during the trial."
"You think Tom's involved in some way?" Her hands were on his knees, her chin rested on top of them.
"I don't want to start rumours."
"Who am I going to tell, I only speak to you, my parents or my work colleagues. And they're reluctant."
He brushed her hair again, "You need friends Minerva; don't isolate yourself waiting around for me."
"I'm not," she hated the insinuation, as close to the mark as it was.
Leaning forward he kissed her head, "Forget I said anything about Tom, as I said, these are my concerns and I do not wish to burden you with them."
She bit down on her bottom lip; more and more often he was brushing her aside as a confidante.
"Do you want to continue our Chess game?" She asked, spotting the board on the coffee table.
"Not now, it's late, you should go to bed."
"Are you coming?"
"In a while." He handed her wand back to her, "Go to bed Minerva."
She stood, still annoyed with him, "Treat me as an equal Albus, you may not see me as such but I certainly don't wish to be made to feel as though I'm less." And with that she went back upstairs leaving him to his musings.
He thought how young she looked, sitting there on the bench beneath the willow in his garden the following morning. The sun just beginning to circle round and hit the back of the house full on and the last of the snow was shining, slushy now as it melted. He hated it when it melted. He loved winter in Scotland, the snow gloriously thick and the sound of children squealing in delight at it.
"This wasn't what I had in mind," He said gently as he moved to sit beside her on the bench. "Thought you'd enjoy being here for the weekend."
She remained silent, eyes closed, face raised up to absorb the warmth. She was sitting on her hands; he thought it quaint, kicking at the snow barefoot.
"I didn't mean to upset you Minerva; honestly I've never been very good at this sort of thing."
She sniggered, "This sort of thing." She glanced across at his stricken expression, "No, I don't suppose you are very good at it."
He sighed deeply, over already, before it had even begun. She surprised him by placing her hand on his leg, leaning her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes again. "Never mind, all couples argue."
"We're a couple then."
"Aren't we?"
"Yes, I suppose we are. In an unconventional sense."
She gave that a minute before commenting, "I never have been one for the conventional."
"Minerva," he said warmly, his arms circling her slight frame, "If you don't want to do this."
"I do," she sat up quickly, "It's silly, things are changing so much and I'm..." she turned on the bench, lifting one foot up and resting her chin on her knee. "I suppose I'm coming to terms with growing up, having my own home, having a job, having a relationship. I saw Eva and Bryan and just wondered..."
"What it might be like to have it. Marriage and children. And no need to hide it from the world."
"But I wouldn't swap you," she quickly said, squeezing his hand. "Us."
He smiled, though something was a little off, she was already realising how different, how difficult, a life with him would be. What chance did they possibly have for the future?
"Let's go back to bed," she finally said, getting up and tugging on his hand.
"It's not even eleven o'clock yet."
"So, we hardly made the most of last night and I have to floo home tonight." She leant in and kissed him delicately on the nose, "I hate arguing with you. Let me make it up."
"You hardly need to..." but she was half way back to the house when she took her blouse off and threw it back towards him.
He could debate the finer points of what he'd gotten himself in to later.
For a moment he froze, noticing his hand on her belly. His old hand, flecked with brown spots, her pure unblemished skin like porcelain.
"Albus," she murmured, reaching down and pushing his hand to where she needed it most.
She was soft and warm, she smelt like summer meadows and he felt his stomach lurch at the sensation. Merlin knows how much he wanted her. How he wanted to give her everything and make this last forever.
She moaned something incomprehensible and he glanced down at her, staring as if it were the first time he'd ever seen her. Torn, he felt the heady pull of desire ever driving him on – raw and immeasurable. Yet her youth once again hit him like a slap in the face. She still looked innocent, still fresh. Eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deep and laboured, there were times he couldn't quite believe he was there with her. It seemed like a separate element of his life, something he'd put in a box and cut off from all other aspects because it was too bizarre to begin to merge them. The Professor, respected, eternal academic, possibly future headmaster. The hero. The newly appointed chief of the Wizengamot. Where did she fit into all this? Could she ever really fit into it and did he even want her too?
Her thigh curling up and around his upper leg woke him from his daze. Her hips lifting up, angling towards him to guide him. The intense desire he had for her, something dark and burning deep inside unfurled itself again and drove him on and all rational thought disappeared as he sank into her, again and again.
He couldn't recall it being like that before. Almost furious in its intensity. It scared him. And not much scared him.
Afterward, when she lay on her side with her back to him he curled up against her, fearful and desperate, kissing her shoulder blades, the back of her neck, repeatedly.
"This is crazy," he breathed, hot against her skin, "crazy, we have to stop."
She turned her upper body, eyes fluttering open as she took in his expression. "Why?" She was half asleep, eyes already dreamy, limbs languid.
"You're so young, this is wrong," even then as he said the words he felt himself being drawn again into her kiss. "This is crazy, I have to stop it." He felt her mouth move beneath his, with his, her slight body turn into his embrace. "I must..." he muttered against her lips.
"Shh, everything will be fine." She soothed, guiding his head to her chest, embracing him like a child fearful after a nightmare. He fell asleep there, wrapped in her embrace.
If Minerva thought his actions odd she didn't show it, for the first time in a while she actually felt like his 'star', there as a constant, there to offer comfort.
Two days later Minerva returned to the cafe and the young muggle who'd been so earnest in his request for a date only a month before.
She ordered tea and a scone, and sat by the window, and the young man brought them over.
"Hello," he said gently, putting the pot of tea in front of her. "I worried I'd put you off visiting here."
"Not at all, you have the best scones." She smiled warmly. "Besides, I was rather, I was wondering if you'd like to take a walk later, in the park?"
Joy suffused the man's face, "I would, very much; I'm George by the way."
"Minerva," she said, holding out her hand. "I know, unusual name. Came from my Grandma."
"It's pretty. Minerva. I can probably take an hour around one if that's alright with you?"
"Fine."
Well, Albus did say she needed to make more friends.
Hope you're still enjoying this, and following it, sorry for the delay between chapters 2 and 3 but as you see I had a lot of ground to cover. Please leave me a review - I love reading them, they really encourage the writing.