Sorry this has taken me so long to write - I found this chapter VERY hard! I blame the release of information from Pottermore - it's totally thrown me - especially her birth date suddenly going forward 10 years! Anyhow, here it is, finally...
The Undoing – chapter 4
August 1947
Rushing from one department to the other with stack upon stack of orders needing to be signed seemed to be the instruction of the day for Minerva. Her feet ached and her mind whirled with information. She was bored, she couldn't escape that, and she longed to be free of the ministry, that much was clear. But where to go was less so.
Sagging against the wall of the lift she took a moment to groan in exhaustion and frustration, it was after seven, she wanted to go home and take a bath then work on her latest paper. She'd managed to get two published in the past three months, she was finally getting noticed in the world of Transfiguration and she so wanted to pursue it. At Hogwarts it had been easy, she'd had the greatest mentor of course and had excelled and won several accolades. Transferring that recognition outside of the school grounds was a little more difficult and she was yet to find her particular niche area on which to focus.
The lift doors opened and she stood straight again, lifting her head to greet whoever joined her. Her eyes sparkled and a broad smile spread across her face as Albus entered, he returned the smile, holding his hand out to her, "My dear Miss McGonagall," he said shaking her hand, "so good to see you again, I read your latest piece, most interesting."
She wondered at the seriousness of his tone until she spotted an attractive witch entering the lift behind him.
"Minerva, this is Madam Bones. Judith, Minerva was my most, and remains, talented Transfiguration student."
"Yes, I do believe we've met once or twice." The witch smiled kindly before moving to stand beside Dumbledore.
Minerva stepped over to the other side of the lift, out of their space, but watched them from the corner of her eye. Judith was whispering something to him and he chuckled, the way she'd heard him do it a hundred times before. But it wasn't until Madam Bone's hand lingered on his arm a second too long that a spasm of jealousy hit. She tightened her hold on her robe, scrunching the material between her fingers.
When the lift abruptly stopped she lurched forward, which she never did, always the image of upright poise.
"Miss McGonagall, are you alright?" Albus enquired.
"Perfectly," she said, shooting him a sharp look before exiting the lift.
That night she organised an abrupt dinner with George and was in the middle of dressing for it when Albus arrived at her flat. She let him in, grudgingly, and he followed her to the bedroom where she continued to dress.
"You look beautiful," he said, taking a seat on her bed, "that look suits you." He noted the muggle dress, black of course, the way she'd curled her hair and was putting earrings on.
"Thank you, I have a date." She said with a hint of venom to her words.
"Oh?" He almost sounded hurt and she regretted it.
"Well, dinner, just with a friend." She reassured, looking at him for the first time since he'd arrived.
"Good, I keep saying you need to get out with friends."
She shrugged, defensive again, "And I am, I felt the need to have a drink and dance tonight."
"With this muggle boy you've struck up a friendship with?"
"A-ha," she nodded, slipping heels on and turning to face him. "Will I pass?"
"Every time," he said softly.
"Funny you have a free evening to come and visit." She said, hands on hips. "Getting hold of you recently has proven difficult, you're ever elusive."
"My apologies, things have been hectic."
"They always are." She huffed.
"Minerva," he leant forward, reaching for her hand, "you do realise that Madam Bones is just a friend."
"Is she? I remember hearing rumours that she was once more than that."
He narrowed his eyes, why was she doing this, why pushing now? "Yes," he said, "she was, at one time."
"Your lover?" She whispered, incredulous, she'd only been teasing.
"Yes, I'm only human Minerva, never been celibate."
She felt tears pricking her eyes yet she couldn't understand why.
"My darling," he squeezed her hand, "you're the one."
"For now!" She shot back.
"Minerva, what's wrong, you've been like this for a while now. What have I done?"
He was so calm, so gentle with her. She pulled her hand back, covering her face, "Nothing ,you've done nothing." She groaned. "Maybe that's the problem, I don't know."
"How?"
"Because you're always like this, you're always so... placid and patient. Argue with me for Merlin's sake! Show me you care, that I matter, that there's some passion here."
He held her gaze, eyes clear and soft, as if he implicitly understood her outburst.
"Oh forget it, forget I said anything, what does it matter."
She was searching for her one and only evening bag, tripping in the heels she hardly ever wore.
"Alright," he said and stood. "I hope you have a lovely evening my dear."
She was on her knees searching for her bag under the bed; she watched his robes sweep out of the door and sat back, staring at the door after him. "Albus!" She called, getting up and dashing out in the lounge. "I'm sorry."
He'd stopped by the window, arms folded, "You have a wonderful view here Minerva," he said without turning around. "You chose well."
"Thank you," she stuttered.
He twisted his head to look at her, holding his arms out, she moved into his embrace, warm and comforting, resting her head against his chest. He kissed her hair, this would be the time to end it, the moment to say it's enough; it's getting too messy and hurting you too much. But once again he found the words left him.
"I do love you," he whispered instead and she smiled up at him.
"I know, I'm sorry I've been so miserable," she shrugged, "I can't seem to figure things out at the moment."
He wanted to tell her it was part of growing up and tuck her hair behind her ear, but the image of him as a parent figure prevented him. He never wanted to become that to her. Friend, mentor, lover – how he wished it could be more.
"So, go have a lovely time, I have to get back to the ministry." He kissed her once, chastely, "And I do mean have a lovely time, no worries or thoughts about me, us."
She smiled, returning his kiss, "I always think of you."
They parted at the corner of her street.
Confused and flushed from the odd encounter with Albus Minerva arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early to find George already there. It wasn't until she saw him, dressed up in his best suit, that she realised it was their first real 'date'. In the past it had been afternoon tea or a stroll around the park. This was something formal. Something real. She wasn't sure she meant it to be a date.
"Minerva," he said joyfully, "You look wonderful."
"Thank you," she said as she reached him and oddly found herself leaning in as he kissed her cheek. "Shall we go inside?"
She ordered fish and no entree, watching as he enjoyed pate and toast. Instead she sipped a large glass of wine, funny how she'd developed a taste for wine of late.
"Tell me about your work," he said.
"Nothing much to tell, I work in an office."
"You don't enjoy it," he smiled, "not sure I would, lack of sunlight."
"Yes, and how is your training going? I rather expected you to look incredibly exhausted. From what I've heard it's quite unforgiving."
"Mmm, very. But it helps if you have a love for it, and I do." He sat back in his chair, "Tell me, were you pleased to discover I was more than just a waiter?"
"I'm hardly the type to judge on monetary value, remember my father is a minister, my mother always..." She paused, remembering how difficult her mother had found it at times, the role she played. "Well, having a Doctor around always has its advantages, but I like you for you," she smiled finishing her wine.
"And I like you too, very much."
After dinner, they walked the streets of London, the air heady in the late summer. George tucked her arm through his, keeping her close, it was the first time she could remember him touching her in an intimate way. Well, vaguely intimate.
Her head was woozy from too much wine and too little food, yet there was a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sense of rightness and pleasure at the fact that he was so very honest with her. There was no hiding, no dancing around the subject; he told her forthright that he cared for her, wanted more. They walked the streets like any young couple in love, gentlemen nodded as they passed, they were accepted and it was easy to play that role.
Pausing by the steps to her flat she let herself be drawn round to face him, leant in to his body and closed her eyes. He kissed her cheek, shyly, and she smiled at his boyish charm. Albus was sure and certain at moments like this, experience she presumed. Opening her eyes she found George's face inches from hers, nervous and unsure, so instead she kissed him. His full lips trembling beneath hers, his hand slowly creeping around her back as he held onto her.
"There," she said, "Our first kiss."
He seemed overwhelmed, his eyes shining; she remembered the first kiss with Albus, on the outskirts of the forest at Hogwarts. How it seemed the entire world had shifted in one bright second. She wondered if George felt the same now, if somehow this dark street had been turned into a majestic scene of ignited love.
"Goodnight," she said suddenly, overwhelmed herself.
"Yes, goodnight, shall I telephone?"
"Of course," she squeezed his hand before slipping away, taking her steps two at a time as she headed up to her flat.
Inside the door she sobbed, a sense of loss, that what she shared with Albus had now somehow been diminished. The brightness of their union dimming somewhat in the aftermath of kissing another.
Confused and aching she went to the bathroom to change, rinsing away her tears and the feeling of another man's lips against hers.
When she got to the bedroom her stomach lurched. There in her bed lay Albus Dumbledore, flat on his back, in a deep sleep, arms wide as if waiting for her. The guilt in her belly sank and she pulled herself together, crawling in beside him. Snuggling up beneath his arm, her head finding the nook she often lay in, she felt his arm curl around her back, hand on her waist.
"My darling," he mumbled in his sleep.
She kissed his chest, "This is a surprise."
"I've missed you," he whispered kissing her hair.
She closed her eyes, "Missed you too." And she meant it, though as she lay there desperate to sleep in his embrace she couldn't help but feel ever more confused about the life she was now living.
Late September 1947
By the end of September Minerva had surprised herself by firmly cementing her ambitions and establishing her own extra tuition sessions. She imagined it would bring in extra funds which fed directly into her next ambition – the following year she would travel – extensively. What she hadn't anticipated was the joy and fulfilment she would get from it. Being with the students, be them nervous eleven year olds with no knowledge what-so-ever or nonchalant fifteen year olds preparing for examinations. She loved being with them. Sharing her knowledge, bringing theirs along. She'd never considered teaching as having any permanent fixture in her life but recently she'd begun to reassess.
She'd been even more surprised when towards the end of the month she'd been invited to Hogwarts. Headmaster Dippet had some crackpot idea about inviting back past students who had 'over-achieved'. She wondered just what it was she had achieved since she'd left that grand school but four years ago. However, she packed her trunk and took the train along with fellow ex-students for a three-day weekend.
It felt rather odd to be back, like meeting with your very best childhood friend after years apart. A clumsy awkwardness towards the beginnings of conversation, she felt that way as she took a slow walk up the path towards the main entrance, hanging back as the rest strode forward full of chatter and pride.
They were greeted at the door by the current prefects and she remembered wearing that badge with pride. Remembered how happy she'd felt when she'd received the letter from Professor Dumbledore, her Head of House, her teacher, her mentor...
She found herself breaking into a broad smile as Headmaster Dippet clapped his hands together, excited and glad to see them, she hadn't realised how much she'd missed seeing him. He was a great man in his own right, just overshadowed by a member of his own staff.
"Minerva," he said happily, taking her arm as she reached the top of the steps. "I'm most pleased to see you of them all," he whispered by her ear.
"You're very kind," she patted his arm, genuinely happy to be there with him.
The familiar rumble of hundreds of feet pattering about as they moved from room to room, the mindless chatter, the constant rush and energy. She remembered it all. And a part of her longed for that again, life was so simple then and she was so incredibly well suited to being there in that place of magic. She could feel it in the very air surrounding her.
Shown to her lodgings she unpacked and with over an hour to go before dinner decided to walk the familiar places, she wasn't one for afternoon naps.
She traced the route to Gryffindor tower, was let in by a gracious Fat Lady and sat by the fire remembering the nights she sat there cramming information prior to exams.
Of course her travels brought her back to her favourite corridor and her most treasured room, the Transfiguration classroom. Empty when she pushed open the tall door, she felt tears prick her eyes as she slowly made her way to the desk she'd occupied for so many years. She slipped into the seat, placed her hands on the desk and remembered how she would frantically scribble down every scrap of information passed her way.
When the hidden door towards the back of the room opened she paid it no heed, keeping her eyes fixed on the desk, reading the scratches of names of comments upon its surface. Just out of her eye line she could see the tall, graceful figure move to the top desk, the scrape of the chair as it was moved and a seat taken.
"Well, isn't this odd." Albus finally said.
Now she looked up, meeting his sparkling blue eyes with a warm smile. "Hello Albus."
"Hello my darling, you look quite wonderful sitting there. I'm filled with a thousand memories."
She laughed, "As am I," she leant back in her seat, "my first spell, the first time I caught your eye and you smiled, the first time you offered me a sherbet lemon."
"Ah, well, a precious moment in any young life."
"It seems as far back as I look my life is filled with you."
He was silent at that, but kept the smile in place, "Have you been exploring?"
"Yes, and remembering. I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it."
"I know exactly of what you speak, this place," he glanced about, "makes me feel alive."
She stood then, moving up to his desk, standing in front of him at first as she used to, her hands reaching forward on the polished wood until her fingertips touched his.
"Sit next to me at dinner," he said, eyes focused on their touching fingers.
"Save me a seat." She said gently. "I have to go get myself ready for dinner, apparently Headmaster Dippet will be saying a few words of welcome, I hope I shan't be called upon to say anything."
He leant forward and squeezed her hand now, "You'll do it admirably."
"Hmm, I fear I might lose my voice."
She moved up the steps to stand behind him, overlooking the classroom, a position she hadn't taken before.
"I think you're finally finding your voice."
"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," she smiled, "but I feel I quite like this particular view." She rested her hands on his shoulders, "Be careful, I may be after your job."
He laughed as she walked away, giving him a small wave at the door before returning to her rooms to change.
The banquet was, as always, astounding and, as inelegant as it might be, she stuffed herself. Albus hadn't quite managed to seat himself beside her but she was only two seats away and he could hear her conversations and took delight in having her there alongside him.
After dessert and speeches the guests stood and took a few minutes to explain why they were there, as if proving their worth. Minerva spoke of Hogwarts and her love for it, of Transfiguration – not the ministry – and the joy and unending interest she had in it. After many requests she even displayed her Animagus skills, jumping onto the top table and sitting proudly in her feline form to the applause of the hall. Albus felt proud, immensely proud.
He took her arm as the crowds began to disperse, preventing her from leaving, "Let's take a walk." He whispered and she gave the slightest nod as he let go and allowed her to mingle with the rest.
Fifteen minutes later she joined him in the courtyard, the crisp evening air, the darkness split by a large glowing moon. They walked in silence, her arm hooked through his, and for a while she dreamt that was how it could be. If she weren't twenty-two and increasingly distanced from him.
Their footsteps led them back to the edge of the woodlands, the stump Albus had sat upon as he taught. She let go of his arm, moving swiftly forward and tracing her fingertips over the surface. She sat down, turning her face towards him, "Goodness, I remember it exactly."
"Some things are hard to forget," he said, remaining beneath the trees, her pale face turned towards him. "You're very beautiful my dear." He admitted and she laughed.
"Albus, I never have been. Not like the other girls, not like mother."
He knelt in front of her, his hand on her knee, "I think you are."
She covered his hand with hers, an odd feeling of finality sinking in to her bones, this was where it began, their long affair. "I haven't thought of this place in so long," she whispered.
"I think of it every day."
Leaning forward she pressed her lips earnestly against his, and when his chest brushed against hers and they melted together it was like the first time all over again and she longed to be naked and in his arms.
He breathed deeply, his hand brushing across her hair, "We shouldn't do this here, someone might see." But he continued kissing her, soft and gentle, "Ah Minerva, the star to my wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown. But I know."
She rested her hand against his cheek, "We should go to bed."
He pressed her knee, "Come to my rooms, later?"
She nodded, leaning her forehead against his, "Later."
With him it was always overwhelming, consuming. She found it like a pressure in her chest, taking over, sometimes she forgot who she was when she was with him, what she wanted. He was like a great magnetic force from which she couldn't escape. And didn't want to.
As she ran, in her feline form, through the old corridors it was the familiar heady mix of love and lust that drove her to him but by the same token a fear of that very love that made her anxious. A familiar nervous desire pounding in her chest.
She hurried into the classroom, to his office, and was instantly admitted and swept into his arms.
"I've never seen your quarters," she mumbled against his lips.
He smiled, "But your presence has been here a thousand different times," he lifted her up into his arms, not an act of chivalry or romanticism; she saw it as a sign of his power, once again taking her over.
He carried her through to his private rooms, through the small lounge, through a creaking door that led to his bedroom where it smelt of him and laid her down on his bed. A grand four-poster, draped in deep reds, candles lighting the room, she turned her head to glance around and was shocked by the small picture that stood on the side table, it was of herself, only two years ago, laughing and twirling foolishly around. She wondered just what charms were upon it so it were visible to only the two of them.
She let him undress her, watched as he shed his own clothing and covered her body with his. Kissing her from head to toe, paying attention to every inch of her skin. His kisses delicious, the way he worshipped her overwhelming, irresistible.
"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," he muttered as his kisses adorned her body. His fingertips trailing over her like velvet. Perhaps he understood on some level what she needed without her even voicing it.
When his body joined with hers she wanted to cry, to confess that she feared they were over because she was too weak and too lost to continue with it. The truth was she'd lost herself, being with him had somehow contributed to it. But in no way did she blame him. It was her fault. Her short-sightedness. She was in his shadow and as wonderful as it was to remain there bathing in the glory of his being – she needed to remember who she was.
"I do love you," she told him, her hands clamped on his shoulders, and she meant it.
He smiled, face by hers, mouth covering her skin with soft kisses, full of adoration.
She twisted them over, straddling him, leaning down and kissing him deeply, "Do you love me?" She whispered as his arms wound around her body.
"You know I do, so much it hurts."
And he was right, it did hurt. It wasn't how she'd ever imagined love to be.
Somehow when she sneaked back to her rooms hours later she knew it would be the last night she'd spend with him. Something within her had changed and in turn broken them. There was no way to return to it.
October 1947
She's not entirely sure what she expects when she invites George back to her flat just over a week later. It is her 22nd Birthday and as usual Albus wasn't free for the night, mid-week as it is, and she isn't seeing her family until the weekend and oddly she finds she has few friends she actually wishes to contact and convince to spend the night with her.
So, her immediate reaction is to contact the young man that has proved to be something of a wonderful diversion over the past few months. There's times late at night she'll lay in the darkness feeling like her brain has split in two; her life with Albus on one side, and then the easiness of her life with George on the other. And still she isn't entirely sure which she wants, or even if she cares for this muggle. Her heart still tightens just at the thought of Albus, of who he is and how much she loves him and respects him and what a friend he is to her. But then she thinks of the future and, try as she might, she can't see him there.
With George, sitting there talking to her about his day, his friends, his family, it's light and easy and clear. She knows her role in it all and can play it so easily. With Albus, she is forever the woman hiding in the background, the small inconsequential witch in the great Dumbledore shadow.
Therefore it's so easy to share dinner, to go dancing in an ordinary place with ordinary muggles and not worry about who may be watching and what might be reported back to the ministry. It's easy to laugh with him. To tell him her hopes for the future. Where she sees life going. It's easy to kiss him on the corner of her street in the darkness and to lead him back to her empty flat and her empty bed and make love to him.
What she didn't foresee was the hint of devastation that rooted deep down in her stomach. As the night rolls into morning and she's lying in his arms with his soft breath on her shoulder she realises he loves her and she's pretty sure her feelings for him are no longer just friendship. But at the same time somehow it cements the end of her first love and for that she mourns.
"You're up early," George whispers, somewhat nervous in her kitchen barefoot and in just his trousers.
"I usually am," she replies, stoic, making tea.
He steps towards her as she turns towards the fridge, meaning to draw her into a hug but she sidesteps him and awkwardly he manoeuvres back into a chair.
"Did I do something wrong here?" He asks as she passes him a cup of tea. He's forthright and she likes that because she is too.
"No," she sits across from him, trembling hands folded around her cup. "No you didn't, I just... look I wasn't expecting this to happen. I'm not quite sure how to handle it because, you see, there's..."
"There's somebody else? Is that it?" His head drops at her expression.
"We were dating for a long time and it's just," she holds her breath, willing back the sob that's formed in her chest. "I feel guilty doing this. I'm sorry," she covers her mouth, "I don't want to be some kind of cliché, I need to get my head around this. What's happening."
"Alright," he got up, tea untouched, "And, do you want me to... I mean I really like you Minerva and I want us to..." He ran a hand through his hair, "Never been in this position before, girls aren't usually... like you."
She smiled at his uncertainty; he was right, there were meant many girls out there who stood up for themselves the way she did, who had the bite that she did or the intelligence to back it up, who would casually sleep with two men at the same time and admit to it. Things had changed since the war. Women had changed.
"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "I don't mean to come across as cold. I'm just," she shrugged, "practical. Like my father I guess."
"Which isn't a bad thing."
"Not necessarily. I have to sort things out."
"With this other guy?"
She couldn't help but smirk at Albus' being referred to as a 'guy', if only he knew, he'd probably be sickened at the very thought, he was probably older than his father.
She gave a weak, "Yes."
"And then maybe we can..."
This time she smiled, his sweetness and honesty surprising her.
"Yes." She said again. Honest.
Minerva's owls that week had been consistent and persistent; so much so Albus worried the casual observer might notice their over-active correspondence. She seemed desperate to see him, and coupled with his guilt over missing her birthday they'd arranged for that weekend. At his cottage. He would be in London on Friday evening meeting with the new minister for magic; they would travel by Portkey very early Saturday morning.
There was something awkward in her greeting, a tight hug and a quick kiss to his cheek. Minerva had always been something of an enigma to most, distant and difficult to read. With him she'd always been open, close, they'd reached that stage long ago where they knew the other's thoughts without even trying.
He knew it was over. Had known it was over the last time they'd met at Hogwarts. Clinging on when the inevitable was staring him in the face was becoming something of a pattern for him, he'd done the same with Gellert – hoping against hope he wouldn't be the one who would have to take him down on the battlefield. Until he'd been, non-too-gently, pushed into it.
"Are you ready?" He asked, slightly apprehensive as he took her small hand in his.
The day was still shrouded in early morning mist, barely six a.m. as it was, and she gripped her carpet bag tightly, her nails digging into the back of her skin. For days she'd been turning this conversation over in her mind with no real idea as to how to start it or what to say. How could she find the words?
"Minerva," he said gently when she didn't reply.
She looked up at him, her usually bright and expressive eyes betraying nothing of her worry, but it was evident anyway, to him, in her very manner.
"Yes, I'm ready." She said softly.
He stroked his fingers over the back of her hand, how was he going to end it now – finally – after all these months of worrying about it? How would he find the words?
The tug at her body was sharp and volatile; she'd always preferred transportation by broom, the fresh air and thrill of the ride so much more endearing. She was still steadying her feet on the cobbled path when Albus spoke.
"Wand out Minerva!" He ordered, releasing her arm and taking out his own wand. His face had changed, eyes darkened and there was a stern aura to his mood.
She did as he asked, turning her attention fully to the cottage now, the place they'd spent many a glorious weekend in the early years of their courtship. The quaint home now seemed very dark, the front door was open and there was a strange sound coming faintly down the short path that led to the road.
Feeling her pulse quicken she pursed her lips together in an effort to keep her straggled breathing under control. Albus was already moving down the path and she silently followed, there was an odd shimmering light in front of the door – she quickly assessed it to be the magical wards, broken, as if smashed, she couldn't help but wonder how and be awed by the person who had been able to do it.
The tip of Albus' wand blinkered in the dark hall – the very hall they'd once made love in against the wall, she remembered where and when exactly but banished it from her mind. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Albus as her foot crushed down on a shard of glass, ignoring the sliver of pain it caused she followed Albus' gaze and stepped back when she noted a large splatter of blood along the wall. But whose? His cottage was private, safe and secure. Who could have breeched that? Who would have dared?
Moving closer to him he whipped his head back to look at her, eyes sharp and burning, a foreboding energy emanating from him. He'd forgotten she was there; he didn't want her there, not now. Not to see this.
He glanced upstairs to where the low noise was coming from; he recognised it now, the strangled moans, lack of energy forming some kind of whimpering cry signalling deep, immense pain.
Quickly assessing the downstairs rooms he felt no presence but theirs.
"Minerva, remain down here, keep your guard up." He spoke quickly but she noted a slight softness creep into his eyes as he looked at her, fear perhaps, fear and concern for her wellbeing.
She watched his back as he headed upstairs and again glanced at the wall, a long line of blood streaked up one side, as if from a slashed throat she thought. She closed her eyes picturing it then found her Gryffindor strength again and continued down the hall. The lounge was almost unrecognisable; Albus' belongings covered the floor, furniture ruined, purposefully torn apart. A dull thud came from upstairs and she glanced at the ceiling but was met with silence.
Moving back out to the hall she looked up the stairs, heart hammering, blood pulsing to a deafening beat in her ear. She stepped forward, hand reaching for the stair rail.
A flash of red made her turn, quick, defensive.
In the door was tall slim figure, dark of face, wand pointed toward her.
She turned her body in order to face the intruder head on, wand out; she quickly masked the slight shaking of her wrist.
"Who are you?" She said firmly and the figure stepped forward, head held high.
"Well, Minerva, been a long time hasn't it."
She'd recognise the clipped tone anywhere and now his face, changed but recognisable. "Tom," she whispered.
He lowered his wand slightly, keeping her firmly in his eye line. She was about his height, she remembered facing him once on the duelling field but their paths had rarely crossed.
He smiled, odd, almost a snarl though clearly meant to put her at ease, "Long time since we've faced each other like this, do you remember how I wonder." He spoke eloquently, as if weighing her up, as if trying to charm her.
She returned his gesture with a half smile and a nod, "I remember Tom, how much you liked to win."
"And you bested me but twice I recall." He smiled again, a show of teeth this time, a defiant chin as pride filled his face. "Why are you here?" He demanded, his voice suddenly changing, eyes taking on a flash of red, she almost thought she saw his face alter – just slightly – an odd snake-like appearance.
She thought fast, she couldn't say she was with Albus, didn't want him discovered, she'd rather die before giving him up. In fact as she stood there she fully expected death to be but seconds away.
"The ministry sent me," she said sternly, feeling a line of sweat trickle down her back. "Something had occurred," she jerked her chin in the direction of the blood. "Obviously."
"Ah yes, a little diversion." He sneered, licked his lips, "Such a grey job Minerva, for a witch of your talents, you could join me you know, escape the box in which you exist."
"Join what exactly?" She held her wand tight, felt the magic right there pulsing in her arm.
A pin-prick of pain shot through her forehead followed by a rush of heat, her free hand reached up to her temple before she fully registered what was happening. She blocked his probing, feeling it like fingernails closing around her mind, tight and sharp. Drawing her thoughts as one might draw blood.
"One shouldn't lie Minerva, it only angers me and I would so like to utilise talents such as yours."
She wondered what he'd seen, how much he knew, her feelings for Albus – had she buried them well, did he see it as friendship or more?
"But I see your alliance is with Dumbledore," he almost spat the word, "Foolish, he's an old man now and as much as you respect him – as do I – the world has to change."
He levelled his wand at her, "Perhaps a warning, a sign for him." She felt a sharp line be drawn down her cheek, and the warm, sticky sensation of blood trickling. How had he done that? "Too easy, let's get him here shall we, let him watch as his protégée falls apart."
"Expelliarmus!" Was roared from somewhere high behind Minerva, she felt herself fall forward, her knees whack the floor as a crescendo of colour hit above her. Tom's snarling as he moved forward, kicking her out of the way.
She crawled to the side, daring to lean back against the wall and look up. Albus magnificent at the top of the stairs, his wand locked with Tom's. She couldn't look away from them, the expression on Tom's face, so malevolent and powerful. Albus raised his free hand and knocked Tom backwards and she took the opportunity to get to her feet, positioning herself back slightly, hidden by the door frame as she too raised her wand and shot 'Stupefy' at Tom.
He repelled her and she hid back behind the wall as his curse crumbled the plaster. She heard him laugh and her own anger boiled, she stepped out again, ready to fight.
"Tom," she heard Dumbledore say, stepping carefully down the stairs. "This is foolish, if you want me then let's get it over with."
"Ah, but there is your failing you see, I don't just want to kill you, I want to defeat you, to make you suffer in any way I can. And if taking out a side-player like this," he jerked his head towards Minerva, "then so be it."
She stepped forward, she could feel the heat emanating from Tom's body he was so close, she was terrified but she continued forward, wand held high. "I made my choice a long time ago," she said confidently. "Imperio," she cast.
"Protego," he screamed before she even had chance to think and she flew back, her head thudding against the door to the kitchen. It slid open and she fell back, flat on the floor, looking up at an old man fixed to the ceiling, eyes frozen open. The urge to vomit swelled in her stomach.
Pulling herself up she caught a glimpse of Tom's face by the door, Albus coming down, Tom seemingly frozen to the spot as he stared at her.
"Nice to see you again Minerva," he said, then turned his attention back to Albus. "Until next time." He nodded and then shot out, "Incendio!" before disappearing in a wave of black.
Albus formed an orb of water around the flames, recoiling back as the heat swept forward.
The cottage was suddenly silent again. She flopped backwards, head against the wall, listening to the steady drip of something – water perhaps. For a few seconds she was alone, lost in her thoughts of what had just occurred.
Then Albus was beside her, sitting her up, attentive, concerned. "We're alright now," he assured and she realised the wards were back up. "Get you out of here, did he hurt you, Minerva, did he hurt you?"
She finally looked into his face and was shocked by the fear present – it hadn't been there when he was fighting Tom, it was the fear of losing her, of her being injured and him powerless to stop it.
"I'm fine," she assured him, covering his shaking hand. "Really Albus I'm fine, just a little shocked, the adrenalin you know." She shook her head, "I thought my reflexes were quicker."
"He's grown immensely powerful." He was dabbing at the cut on her face with his robes, his eyes still dark and wide.
"How did he get in?"
"I would believe that my unsuspecting gardener had something to do with it, I should have warned him..." he glanced upwards and Minerva remembered the old man. It was then she realised the dripping was of blood, not water, coming from the man.
"Upstairs?" She whispered, focusing her attention back on Albus.
He shook his head once, "You don't want to know."
"Albus?" Her voice was firm; she had to know in order to fight.
"His wife," he croaked out, shaking his head again, "I can only assume she came looking for him, a good witch, I taught her many years ago." His eyes watered a little and Minerva touched his cheek, she couldn't help but picture the wife in a similar position to her husband, the thud she'd heard earlier the result of Albus releasing the bonds.
"I'll contact the ministry," he said, stroking her hair back, "thank Merlin you're..." but then he looked away, pulled himself to his feet and helped her up.
"I'll contact them," she said, "I think Tom may have been looking for something, you might want to check."
"Thank you my dear but you should leave, our being here would be difficult to explain don't you think."
Reluctantly she nodded, "I know you're right but I..." she held his hand tight, "I don't want to leave you."
"I'll come to your flat as soon as I can."
Flooded afresh with affection for him she leant forward and kissed him firmly on the lips. He helped to her feet and within seconds she had apparated and was back in her small and lonely flat.
It was the early hours of Sunday morning before Albus returned to London. In the darkness he chose to walk, unaffected by the autumn chill, unseen by the few who were still about in the capital.
By the time he reached Minerva's small flat, tucked away on a forgetful street, he was clear about two things; firstly that Tom Riddle was going to become a great, dark force; secondly, that he had to end his relationship with Minerva.
In regards to both he had little idea of quite how to tackle them.
He found Minerva asleep on her couch, wrapped in several blankets. He had barely taken a step across the room before she sat bolt upright, wand out.
"It's me Minerva, just me."
Her hair was stuck up, coming loose from her plait, yet despite her ruffled appearance her eyes were bright and fierce. She lowered her wand, "Hello."
"Hello," he smiled, "I sometimes forget about your reflexes." He moved to sit beside her, "Sorry I've been so long."
"What happened? Where's Tom?"
"I don't know yet, I intend to find out. Minerva," he placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in next to him. "I'm afraid I need to ask you to keep this to yourself, about our Mr Riddle. The ministry don't know it was him."
"Why not? Why hide him?"
"I need to deal with this my way, I need to discover as much as possible. The minister's interference... I work best alone."
"You just think you do," she pouted, always Albus in his ivory tower, the keeper of the information, but her argument was silent – he was Albus Dumbledore and she trusted him implicitly and whatever he thought right would inevitably be so.
They sat in silence for a while, in each other's embrace but perhaps never further away.
"I don't want you in danger," he finally whispered, his chin resting on her hair. "Being with me, any link to me, does that."
She didn't respond, what was the point. He was right, yes, but it didn't matter to her, it had never been an issue. Yet here he was giving her a way out, easy escape. He pulled her tighter against him, his hand tight around her upper arm, his thumb stroking back and forth reassuringly, encouragingly.
She wasn't aware of how long they sat there, silent and reflective. The events of the past day turning over in her mind; two deaths, two innocent people gone, and here he was giving her a way out of it all.
"I want to fight," she said lowly. "Whatever happens, I'd always stand by your side."
"I know that Minerva, let's hope the moment never comes. I want you to try and forget..." he paused, breathed deeply. "I mean, try and move on."
"From you?" She asked, voice trembling.
He was silent again, let his head fall back and closed his eyes.
She finally spoke, "This is hard to say," she could hardly hear her own voice and already her eyes felt tight. She swallowed, knitting her hands together in her lap. "I don't know what to do Albus, how to do this. You see, you're my best friend, the best friend I've ever..." She covered her mouth in a bid to calm the oddly sharp sob, awkward there in the silent room, she turned her gaze away from him.
Albus breathed deeply, there was tight knot forming in his chest, this was inevitable he'd always known that. And really he'd been meaning to do the right thing for months and call it off with her; none of it was fair on her. Now, in amidst his own pain at the thought of losing her, he pushed it aside and did the only thing that came natural. To offer comfort.
He reached forward and patted her leg, leaving his hand on her knee, "It's alright Minerva, you don't have to feel bad..."
"But I do," she spluttered, looking at him again, "I feel... this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do and I don't want to do it really Albus, I..." She was crying again, the pressure of trying to control her tears and appear stoic causing odd hiccups in the back of her throat.
His arms were still around her shoulders and gently he brought her head to rest on his chest, letting her cry it out. He wiped at his own face, removing the evidence of his heartbreak so she'd never know.
"I'll always be your friend." He finally said.
She nodded, still leaning against him, snuffling into the handkerchief he'd handed her, "I so wanted it to work. When this first started, I was so foolish to think it would..." She shrugged, "I don't know, I guess I thought it would be easy, that love would be enough. Because I really do love you, absolutely, and I'd do anything..."
"Shh, my darling," he kissed her head. "I don't want you to change who you are to fit around me, to fit in with me. None of this has been fair on you, I haven't."
"But you're such a good person," she was sat up again, beside him on the couch. "You are, so honourable, my mentor since I can remember."
He smiled, "Well, at least I've done something right, because you've grown into a fine young woman."
"Thank you," she sighed heavily, covering her face, "Oh god, you know what really scares me, I'm so afraid I'll never have this again. Never feel this way again about a man, so intense, so well-suited. I'm so relaxed with you," she looked up at him, leaning her elbows on her knees as she did so, "We don't even have to try, it just works."
"I know."
"What if I can't... never find that again."
"My dear Minerva," he took hold of her hand, "you will always be loved, and I have no doubt you'll be incredibly happy. But you're right, you're right to end this because it isn't fair to keep... I want you to have more. A family, a real husband who is there each and every day to support you, not someone who is putting your life in danger simply by acquaintance. What happened with Tom – if he'd hurt you I would never forgive myself. I've made enough mistakes, hurt enough of the people I love, if you were to suffer because of me."
She folded her fingers with his, snuffling again, "So, where do we go from here?"
"As I said, I will always be your friend and support you in whatever you do; I hope we can still have that."
"Of course, Merlin of course," she threw her arms around him, holding him tight to her. "I still need to see you, talk to you; you can visit whenever in London."
"I won't intrude."
"It won't be, I promise."
He was silent for a moment, all these promises of keeping-in-touch, of love and friendship overriding ill feeling and those clumsy overtures of failure that remained after relationships end. He'd been there before; he had yet to find an ex-lover who he had been able to keep a tight friendship with.
"Minerva, this boy you've been seeing."
She pulled back slightly, reserved now, "George."
"I think you care for him."
She was slow to respond, she didn't want to hurt him anymore but something in his eyes seemed to draw honesty from her and she knew really, deep down, that he would never judge.
"I do, I think... I think maybe there could really be something there. That I at least should give it a chance."
"I think so too, and rest assured I am very happy for you. I want nothing but for you to be happy."
She was crying again, silent tears slipping down her pale face, "I'm so sorry Albus."
"Don't be, this is the right thing to do."
They embraced again, her chin on his shoulder, he closed his eyes, savouring the moment, relaying to memory every inch of the moment – the warmth of her body against his, her fragrance, the softness of her hair.
"I love you," she blubbed into his shoulder.
"I know, and I love you too Minerva, very much."