At the end of the evening they were alone in Albus's study, drinking tea and staring into the flames.

It had been Professor Vector who had worked out why the energy potion had not succeeded. "We were trying to achieve an impossibility," she had finished quietly. "We attempted to reverse a sacrifice. But by its very nature a sacrifice, once made, can't be taken back."

Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, had raised his head slowly. "But perhaps a greater sacrifice, another's life in sacrifice for Professor McGonagall's…"

Vector shook her own head. "It still wouldn't work, Headmaster." She sighed. "It would need more than one life – even two – for the law of voluntary sacrifice to work. Even – " she hesitated, "even your life wouldn't be sufficient."

"And I would never permit you to try it, Albus Dumbledore." Minerva was very definite on that point. "Or," she said firmly, "anyone else."

Poppy Pomfrey sobbed audibly in the nearest chair. Minerva turned to her. "I'm feeling perfectly well right now. Why can't I just continue taking the potion?"

Poppy blew her nose. "The potion is simply too strong, Minerva. It would restore your energy, yes, but your heart wouldn't withstand the shock of a second dose. Even simple energy spells would be dangerous to try on you now."

Minerva felt her own heartbeat thump against her ribs; but her voice was calm as she asked the only question left. "How long do I have, Poppy?"

The school nurse spread her hands helplessly. "I can't tell, Minerva. Right now, as you say, you are feeling fine. Until you start feeling the effects of the energy drain I can't measure the rate of loss. It could be weeks – or months – I don't know."

Albus, his tone as saddened and heavy as she had ever heard it, said, "The only thing left for us to do, it seems, is to conserve your energy as much as possible."

"If by that you are implying that I'm to give up teaching, you are greatly mistaken," she announced.

"Minerva! You are… are…" He couldn't seem to bring himself to say the word.

So she said it for him. "Dying." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes. But right now, I am fine. When I begin to feel that I am not fine, I will retire, and leave Hogwarts. But until then," her fierce expression surprised them all, "the students are to know nothing of this. Nothing. Let them believe that the spell worked. They have been through enough with this war. I will not have them put through more for – " and for the first time her voice faltered, "for me."

Albus looked ready to argue, but Poppy forestalled him. "She's made her decision, Headmaster, and as her medical advisor I'll go along with it. Provided, however, that she promises to come to the infirmary every day for me to check on her."

Minerva hated the infirmary, but she knew an ultimatum when she heard one. "I agree."

Albus shook his head, but said nothing more. The three witches prepared to leave, but Professor McGonagall was stopped near the door by a quiet low voice. "Minerva. Please, if you would… stay."

Pomfrey and Vector said nothing. They each pressed her hand as they passed her on their way out of the study.

Silence grew in the room as she stood facing Albus. Then, with a brief movement of his hand, a fire suddenly blossomed in the empty fireplace and the small table near the two comfortable chairs held a steaming pot of tea and two cups. She moved towards her accustomed seat, and he rose from behind his desk to join her.

They sat, still wrapped in silence, watching the flames as the sky in the windows lost its crimson streaks and faded inexorably into black.

She was grateful to him for the kindness of silence. She wanted these moments to last forever: the comforting warmth of the tea between her hands, the flickering glimmers of the fire, and the feeling of his presence in the chair opposite. If those three things were everything in the world, then they were enough.

But she knew, more surely now than ever before, that nothing is forever; and so was neither surprised nor regretful when he said, "Do you wish to go to the Great Hall for dinner?"

She shook her head slowly. She knew the students would be anxious about her, and she hated herself for not daring to go down; but she could not, for all her courage, face them yet. Not tonight.

Albus, as he so often did, seemed to read her mind. "One night is not so much to ask, Minerva," he said quietly. He snapped his fingers and Winky the house-elf appeared, looking expectant.

"Winky, could you please inform Professor Snape that Professor McGonagall and I will not –"

"Not Severus!" Minerva exclaimed.

Albus looked at her, puzzled.

She blushed. It all seemed faintly ridiculous, now, but she would still prefer it if someone else were to explain their combined absence to the students. 'Perhaps… Professor Vector?" Yes. Vector generally showed good sense.

His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he complied, and Winky was sent off with the altered instructions. Barely had the house-elf gone however when the low table between them shimmered and grew, suddenly sprouting golden tableware on a snowy cloth.

Minerva's eyes widened slightly when the tall floating candles appeared, giving off a gentle glow and the scent of… roses? Her mouth twitched and, looking quickly at Dumbledore, she saw the briefest glimmer of a twinkle reappear in his blue eyes. Clearly the house-elves had their own opinion of what should happen in a private dinner between the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress.

But, she reminded herself as a delicious spread suddenly apparated on the golden plates, this night was not a beginning, but instead – a farewell. Who knew how soon the end would come? It was now only certain that it would end.

The thought gave her a strange, fate-filled courage. She picked up her knife and fork, and said calmly, "By the way, Albus, I do love you."

He choked on his first mouthful.

**

Downstairs in the Great Hall several students were doing likewise.

Minerva McGonagall was correct in many of the characteristics she had imputed to Professor Vector. The Arithmancy professor was respectful of the privacy of others, would never dream of gossiping with students, and was scrupulously honest.

Unfortunately Minerva had forgotten one thing in making her selection – Professor Vector was also a spectacularly bad liar. And since she now believed there was a romantic relationship between the two teachers upstairs, and she also knew Minerva wished to keep secret her actual state of health, the resultant announcement was filled with enough hesitations, stammers, and blushes to start a thousand rumours – all with the same conclusion.

Severus Snape watched with some amusement as the rumours visibly took hold, and the Great Hall broke into riot.

Many of the students were cheering. Loudly. Making their approval very definitely known. Professor Flitwick rose and walked over to them, and they took to their seats quickly… but the large smiles did not fade.

Others were cradling their heads in their hands, looking as if they were in definite need of a Cheering Charm, should Professor Flitwick care to notice. Some were shuddering.

And the conversations were all on the same topic. If the opportunity had arisen, Snape mused, he would have bet a month's supply of coffee on it. He sat, alone among his glum colleagues, with a slight smile on his face.

He was Potions Master at this school. And he was not giving up. There was an antidote for Minerva McGonagall somewhere, and he would find it. Even if it killed him.

Finally it happened. A sixth year Hufflepuff leapt up from his chair and howled.

"They're in love with each other? Fine! They've been seeing each other for years? Fine! They're up there right now snogging each other senseless? Fine! But I don't want to talk about it! I especially don't want to talk about it over dinner!"

In the sudden shocked silence a strange new sound began. Something similar to a rusty saw biting through dead wood.

Professor Snape was laughing. He laughed until tears started to form in his eyes.

Suddenly afraid, the students fell silent, finishing their food with amazing rapidity.

Still chuckling, oblivious of the angry stares of his colleagues, Snape wiped his eyes with a corner of his napkin.

It might be Gryffindor bravery to be calm in the face of impending death, but Slytherin House preferred to use their cunning to find a way to avoid the necessity. And had he known how events were to unfold, he would have laughed harder. But his laughter would have been edged with wonder, and with pride.

**

Albus swallowed, with some difficulty.

"I felt you should know that," she finished, and began cutting up her meat.

His hand over hers stopped her. She looked up into eyes that held no twinkle, but seemed instead bluer and deeper than the lake outside.

"Minerva…" he began. Suddenly the table between them disappeared, and both were standing. He held both her hands in his.

"I was looking forward to that meal, Albus," she protested.

"I'll bring it back directly," he promised. He drew her closer. "Did you mean…"

"What I said?" she finished. Her head tilted upwards in challenge. "Yes. I love you, Albus Dumbledore."

"Minerva…" He spilled out her name with the breath he had been holding. "I love you, Minerva McGonagall."

She felt a sudden shiver of delight, everything else forgotten in the wonder of hearing him say those words. Her eyes were wide.

His own breath caught again, at the sight of her well-loved face, so close to his. And she loved him. She was his, as he had always been hers. And… he was going to lose her. Without thinking further he moved forward.

She was in his arms, held tightly. Her own arms reached up to clasp him close. And they stayed there, together; then her head came up from where it was buried in his shoulder. She smiled at him.

"I'm glad that is settled," she said primly.

"As am I."

His hand came up to whisk away the single tear which had fallen on her cheek.

"Are you hungry, Minerva?"

"Ravenous, Albus."

"Shall we dine?"

"What a splendid suggestion." And with a wave of his hand, the table reappeared, and they seated themselves. After a minute. Or two.

**

Suddenly it seemed as if a dam had burst. Dinner took hours, and seemed to fly by, each bite interspersed with laughter and conversation. Luckily the plates were self-warming, or the dinner would have been spoiled by the storm of do-you-remember's that had struck them both.

They didn't discuss the past few days – or the future.

In the middle of laughing at Minerva's acidly observed narration of the Weasley twins' final farewell to the school the table between them shrank in size, and they found themselves seated again on the two comfortable chairs by the glowing coals of the fire.

Minerva snorted. "Have you ever thought the house-elves watch you too closely?" she enquired.

He chuckled. "I believe that might be Winky's doing. She's very zealous."

Suddenly the house elf in question appeared, carrying a tray on which rested a teapot and other necessities. She quietly laid them onto the small table and curtsied, holding the tray in front of her. "Winky very happy to be serving Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall," she said. Then she smiled demurely. "And Winky not be watching for the rest of the night."

With that announcement, the house elf disappeared, but her smile seemed to linger behind her. Professor McGonagall blushed slightly.

"She's also very observant," she murmured.

"Yes," Albus said as he began to pour the tea. "I tried to free her, like Dobby, but then I made the mistake of asking her what she wanted to do with her life, and promising to help her gain it. As a result I have my own personal house elf." He handed her a cup, but she placed it back on the table. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't particularly feel like tea at the moment. Do you?"

He frowned slightly. "Well, I – "

He didn't get a chance to make his views known as with a wave of her hand the table disappeared entirely. She stood up.

"Minerva?" He knew it was late, but he still did not want her to go.

"Hush, Albus," she commanded quietly. With one quick step she was next to his chair. She knelt in front of him, and took a deep breath.

He watched her, puzzled. But a part of him was mesmerized by the picture she made. Minerva McGonagall in a gown of burgundy and gold, her beloved face gently shadowed by flickering candlelight and the glowing embers of fire. He could have watched her thus for a thousand years and not tired of the vision.

Then Minerva's hand came up to rest at the back of his neck, and she moved closer still, until her lips rested softly against his own.

Albus could not stop himself from responding from her gentle kiss, nor could he prevent his hands from going to her waist and drawing her ever closer. He was suddenly helpless against this need to feel Minerva, warm and soft and responsive, against him… until they were pressed completely together, his arms around her tightly, her hands in his hair. And the kiss stopped being gentle, and warmed, deepened, into something more passionate, and even more compelling.

That small moan she made, and Albus felt something deep inside himself respond with a sudden intense hunger. He wanted… how he wanted…

He broke off the kiss, even though every part of him cried out against it. Her eyes were hazed and confused. "Albus?" she questioned, through lips swollen from his kiss. He tried to remember how to breathe. "Albus, did you not want to kiss me?"

"Minerva." He whispered her name. "I could kiss you forever, and never tire of it. But I think we must…" He did not want to stop, did not want even to think about letting her go, but he knew he must.

"Albus." Her hand came to gently rest against his face, caressing his cheek. "My dear, we don't have forever anymore. We must take the moments we have, instead."

His arms around her tightened in his sudden fear. He would lose her. Very soon. Albus buried his face in Minerva's neck, concentrating on the wonderful scent of her skin, trying not to think of a future without her in it.

Minerva allowed it for a moment, then gently broke away. With difficulty he forced himself to let her go. She stood in front of him, holding out her hands. Albus stood and took them in his own. Such small delicate hands resting in his. Small, delicate, capable, and powerful hands, just as Minerva McGonagall herself was. A mass of contradictions resulting in his greatest friend… and only love.

"One night," her voice was very low, "one night is not so much to ask, is it, Albus?"

His eyes widened at the implications of her question.

"Minerva… Beloved," his voice was as low as hers had been. "I love you. There is no need…"

A small smile crossed Minerva's face as she shook her head. "You misunderstood. I am not asking you if you have need. I am asking you for this night. For I… have need."

"I wouldn't dishonour you, Minerva."

"There is no dishonour in this, Albus Dumbledore. And we are both old enough to know our own minds." She let go of his hands and moved a step away. "I am asking you, this night, to be my love."

On legs that seemed suddenly to belong to someone else, Albus moved towards her. "Minerva McGonagall, I will… be your love. Not just for this night, but for all time."

They moved together into the bedroom, and this time when the kiss began there was no desire - or move - on either part to stop it.

**

Later they lay underneath the covers on his bed, cradling each other. The room was candlelit and silent, save for the sound of their breathing, and the slow ticking of the metronome of the talisman Poppy had inadvertently left in the room. Albus glared at it, and lifted his hand to translocate it back to the infirmary.

Minerva, guessing his intention, laid her hand on his arm. "Don't," she said quietly.

"We don't need it here. We know what it is telling us."

"It's a good reminder, my Albus." Her eyes were very serious as she looked into his. "It tells us we must make good use of the time we have left."

His arm came down to tighten around her. "I have loved you, my Minerva, even before I knew you. I have loved you, and waited for you, my entire life. And whatever time that thing tells us we have, that will never change."

And then, finally, the tears came from her for the time she could not share with him. And as he held Minerva to him, as her sobbing died into sleep, Albus held back his own pain. There would be a time for that; for now, he was hers, and she his, and that was all, he told himself fiercely, all that mattered.

Eventually, tangled in one another, they both slept.