Minerva was released from St Mungo's after ten days. She was still terribly weak, but each day she grew a bit stronger, and Healer Pye sent her home with some vitamin potions and instructions to try to do a little more physical activity every day.

Her frailty was humiliating. Albus had to carry her as they Flooed back to the Hogwarts infirmary, and she could not manage the walk all the way to her office to use the magical door that led to her quarters. Poppy Levitated a chair, and Albus pushed her through the halls, Katherine McGonagall's shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the autumn chill. She was thankful that the students were in class and few were around to see her in this state.

When they arrived in her quarters, she was stunned by the number of cards and vases of flowers that occupied every flat surface of her sitting room.

"What is all this?" she asked.

"Just expressions of concern from your students and the staff."

"But so many!" she said with genuine surprise.

"Don't you know how much people love you?"

She couldn't answer for the sudden tears choking off her voice. Albus helped her out of the chair and held her for a moment. He then handed her a handkerchief to dry her eyes and nose and helped her onto the settee by the fireplace, sitting down next to her.

"It's nice to be home," she said with a sigh. "I can't imagine how much work I have waiting for me, though."

"Don't worry, my love. Filius, Horace, Pomona, and I took care of most of it between us. Your N.E.W.T. students may need to do some catching up, but other than that, you should find things more or less in order."

"Thank you."

He kissed her forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything for the moment. Just rest and get your strength back."

She was surprised to find that he had brought some of his work to her quarters and intended to sleep there until she was fully recovered; they did not normally spend nights together while the students were in residence.

It was during one of these nights that she found out about the blood transfusion. Neither the Healers nor Poppy had mentioned it to her, at Albus's request. He said Minerva had enough to think about without adding a fresh worry into the mix. Poppy disagreed—she knew Minerva would be livid if she found out something was being kept from her—but didn't feel entitled to object too strenuously.

Minerva itched to give her magic a workout. Pye had forbidden her from doing any until she was stronger, and she had pestered both Poppy and Albus about it for days. At her daily check-up one afternoon a few days after she'd returned to Hogwarts, Poppy finally gave her blessing and spent a watchful half hour with Minerva as she Levitated this and that, grinning like any first-year.

"I think that's enough for now," Poppy said. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. Levitation is hardly strenuous."

"Not usually, but your body has been through a lot. It takes time to regain your strength, both physical and magical. You know that."

"I suppose so," said Minerva. "Thank you for indulging me today. I feel much more myself."

"Good," said Poppy as she finished making her notes. She embraced Minerva at the door. "I know you won't pay any attention if I tell you no more magic today, but at least promise me you'll wait until Albus is with you to try any more."

"Witch's honour," said Minerva, returning Poppy's hug. "Thank you."

When Albus came through the door that evening, he found Minerva grinning like a woman with a secret.

"Well, it's nice to be greeted with such a smile," he said, kissing her. "I would hope it's the joy of seeing me, but somehow, I suspect there's a bit more to it."

"Of course I'm glad to see you, but you're correct, there is an additional reason for my smile this evening."

"Oh?"

"Watch." She withdrew her wand from her pocket and pointed it at Albus.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The end of his beard rose to stick out at a ninety-degree angle.

"Well! I take it Poppy gave you the go-ahead to use your magic again. That must feel good."

"It does."

She pointed her wand at him again, saying, "Finite," and his beard floated back down again to rest in its usual position against his chin.

"Did you eat?" he asked.

"Yes, Quinsy brought me a tray about an hour ago. But I didn't eat the pudding. I thought we could have it together."

"A lovely idea. Although I'll admit that I did sample the trifle in the Great Hall."

"No matter," she said. "I'm sure you won't object to an extra sweet."

"I shall force myself for you, my love."

When they had finished their chocolate mousse, Minerva called her house-elf to clear away the meal.

Once Quinsy had popped out, leaving the table clean, Minerva took her wand from her pocket.

"Poppy said I might try some more magic as long as you were with me."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Albus asked, a crease of worry forming between his brows.

"I'm aching for it. You have no idea how frustrating it is not to use magic."

"All right, but don't try too much all at once. I don't want you to tire yourself."

Minerva raised her wand and Levitated various objects. When she had exhausted the possibilities on her mantel, she said, "See? No trouble at all. I'm going to move on to a few Transfigurations now. Nothing too challenging, don't worry!" she added when she saw Albus's look of concern.

She fixed her wand on the salt cellar that sat on the table.

"Mutatio Poculum."

The cellar instantly became a teacup. Minerva's smile broadened, and she went on to change the teacup into a candleholder, the candleholder into a napkin, the napkin into a pillow, and finally, the pillow into a copy of War and Peace, which was, perhaps, a bit more strenuous than she should have attempted, but she couldn't help herself. She had always liked to show off for Albus. Quickly Transfiguring the tome back into the salt cellar it had originally been, she looked up at Albus with a grin.

"See? No trouble at—what's the matter?"

He had a queer look on his face.

"Nothing, my dear, nothing. Can you do that again? Transfigure the salt cellar?"

"Of course. What do you want me to make of it?"

"Anything at all."

She looked at him for another moment, trying to determine what he was thinking, then gave up, turned her wand back at the cellar, and, concentrating, said, "Mutatio Citream."

A miniature, potted lemon tree, ripe with tiny fruit, sat where the cellar had been. It was a nice—no, an amazing—bit of Transfiguration, but Albus didn't say a word.

She looked back at him. He had a stunned expression on his face.

"Albus, what's the matter? You're frightening me."

He seemed to come back to himself at that and grasped her hand reassuringly.

"Nothing's the matter, my dear. It's just that when you did the Transfiguration … I felt it."

"Of course you did. It's a difficult spell, so you felt the magic in the air."

"No. I mean, I felt it … inside. In my magic," he said, thumping his chest.

One could always feel strong magic when a forceful spell passed close by, and a talented or well-trained witch or wizard could sense the powerful magical signature of another if he or she were paying attention, but those were passive sensations, like a soft breeze whispering across one's cheek or the vibration of a bass drum being played at close range. This had been different. Active. Albus had felt oddly pushed and pulled by the flow of Minerva's magic, felt it not on his skin or in his head, but somewhere deeper inside him—felt it within his soul, if he had one. Or perhaps in his blood.

"I don't understand," Minerva said.

"Neither do I, not completely." He took her hand again and drew her towards the settee. "Sit down, Minerva. I need to discuss something with you, but promise you'll hear me out before you say anything."

Her brows knit together in anxiety, and he said, "Don't worry, my sweet, it's nothing terrible, but you may find it surprising, is all. All right?"

She nodded, and he began. He told her about the desperate hours he, Poppy, and the Healers had spent while she hovered at the border between life and death; he told her of Poppy's quest to find something that would help her friend, and of Healer Martel's experiences with Muggle medicine. He explained about the transfusion—what he understood of it—and how they had decided to take the chance to save her life. When he finished, she was pensive.

"So I have your blood in me."

"Yes."

"You used Dark magic to save my life?"

"No," he said too loudly. "Not Dark. I know blood is usually only used in Dark rituals, but this wasn't a ritual, and there was no magic involved, except my love and desire to see you well again."

"Albus—"

"I believe, I firmly believe, Minerva, that intent matters when determining if a spell is Dark or Light. My intent—our intent—was only to help you."

"But what about the spells people have used to try to bring back the dead?" Her fingers twisted at her wedding ring in agitation. "Surely the intent is benign, but the results are terribly, terribly Dark. What have you done?" she wailed.

"It isn't the same!" he cried. "You weren't dead—we weren't trying to cheat Death or reanimate someone who had passed beyond the Veil—we were only trying to prevent it. Just like any other form of medicine."

She turned away, and he pressed on. "Minerva, please, listen: transfusion has been used in Muggle medicine for almost a hundred years, according to Poppy. It's worked miracles for them, and the only reason we haven't used it is because of superstition."

"No," she said forcefully, turning back to face him. "Muggles don't have magic. Of course exchanging blood has no magical effect on them. Our magic is intimately connected to our blood. You know that."

"Yes, but we don't understand how, do we? Who's to say if exchanging blood between magical beings is bad, good, or indifferent? In this case, it saved your life, so I cannot believe it was a bad thing. It was risky, I'm aware of that, but I took the risk because I couldn't bear to lose you, whatever the effects. Please understand that, Minerva. Please."

The tears that glistened in his eyes were matched by her own. "I know that," she said. "I do. I just don't know what to think, how to feel about it."

"I know it must be difficult. And I'm sorry we couldn't consult you before doing it. I understand that you might feel … violated."

"It isn't that," she said, reaching for his hands. "I know that whatever you did, you did for me. I'm just concerned about what it means. What effect it will have."

"I think, my love, we may just have discovered one of the side-effects."

"You feeling my magic."

"Yes. Perhaps the exchange of blood has bound us in some way, even without a ritual. More than we had been before. Bound our magic."

"It's strange that the effect should be on you, though, isn't it?"

"We don't know that it is only on me," he said. "I didn't notice anything when you cast the Levitation charms. That's among the simplest of spells and doesn't require much magical energy. It was only when you began doing Transfigurations that I felt something, and it was strongest when you Transfigured the lemon tree. That was an advanced bit of magic. You haven't felt anything unusual in your magic over the past few days?"

"No, I've noticed nothing, but then, I haven't been casting any spells until today."

"I haven't cast any particularly difficult spells recently, at least, not when I've been close to you. It may be that proximity makes a difference."

He withdrew his wand from his pocket and went over to the table. "May I?" he asked, gesturing at the lemon tree she had Transfigured."

"Please." She came to stand next to him.

He fixed his wand on the tree and, without uttering any incantation at all, Transfigured it into a blue budgerigar in an ornate brass cage. When he turned to Minerva, her eyes were wide.

"Did you feel that?"

"Yes," she whispered. "It was like … like ice and fire, both together, running through my magic."

"I'm sorry. I should have used a simpler spell. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No, it didn't hurt at all. It was just odd. Try something easier now. I want to see how that feels."

He changed a bowl of Coul Blush apples into a stack of parchment.

"How was that?" he asked.

"Not as strong, definitely, but still there. Levitate it," she ordered.

He did so.

"Nothing," she said.

"Intriguing," he said. "But that's enough for tonight. I don't want to tire you. We can investigate this phenomenon further later. At the moment, I don't think it's anything we need worry about. It seems benign."

"But what if there are other effects?"

"Then we'll worry about them when they arise. But now," he said putting his hands on her shoulders, "rest."

She allowed him to manoeuvre her into her bedroom and went into the bathroom to clean her teeth and get ready for the night.

Albus sat on the edge of the bed with a weary sigh and bent to remove his boots. He was relieved that she now knew about the transfusion—he had been dreading telling her and hadn't quite worked out how to bring it up—and that the only effect thus far seemed harmless. Of course, as she had said, they might discover further effects later, but he hadn't the energy to worry about it. For now, the fact that Minerva was alive and getting stronger was enough.

When she emerged from the bathroom, he went to take his turn, and as he passed her, she stopped him, putting her palms on his chest. "I never thanked you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For saving my life."

"I didn't. That was Poppy and the others."

"But you made the decision. You gave me your blood."

He said softly, "I would give you my life."

"I know," she said, and pulled him down to kiss him. "I love you."

"And I love you."

Later, when they were both settled in her bed, she pondered the blood bond that had apparently been created between them and wondered if either of them would ever have cause to regret it.