~ 2 ~

As time passed, a truce emerged between Albus's brain and his heart. When he stopped trying to ignore his feelings for Minerva and began allowing himself to feel them, they stopped being a constant torment. In his sunnier moods, he found it amusing — if everyone only knew that the "great" Albus Dumbledore, with all his power and knowledge, had been utterly flummoxed by what was a normal part of most people's lives. People often forgot he was just a man, and, he admitted to himself, one with little experience of the tenderer emotions.

With Minerva, he tried to behave as he always had. He no longer avoided being alone with her, and when they met, he kept his demeanour warm but professional. She responded in kind, and he relaxed enough to enjoy her company once again.

When, on occasion, his deeper feelings plucked at him, he sat with them without trying to analyse them. This proved a difficult exercise for someone so used to examining every facet of each experience for what it could teach him of nature, of magic, or of himself, but it was essential if he wanted to maintain his equilibrium in the face of his apparently monumental case of delayed adolescence.

Eventually, their friendship reclaimed its normal place in his life.

Almost three years of this emotional détente passed, and then, disaster.


"Headmaster Dumbledore must come to the infirmary as soon as possible."

Governor Micawber, who had been meeting with Albus when the elf popped in, spilled his tea down the front of his yellow silk robe. Albus cleaned it up with a quick twitch of his wand.

"What has happened?" Albus asked.

The elf's spindly fingers wrung his Hogwarts-crested tea towel in agony at being unable to answer the headmaster's question. "Krebbin does not know, sir. Madam Pomfrey only says to bring the headmaster at once."

"That's all right, Krebbin. Thank you. You may tell Madam Pomfrey I'll be there directly."

Krebbin bobbed his head and Disapparated with a crack.

"Oh, dear," Micawber said. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has it well in hand," Albus said, although he had his doubts. He'd rarely been summoned urgently to the infirmary before, and when he had, it had generally meant something dreadful had befallen one or more of the castle's inhabitants.

"If there's anything else you'd like to discuss, I'm afraid we should reschedule it," he told Micawber. "I'm not certain how long I'll be detained."

"No matter, Albus, we've covered the gist of it," Micawber said, rising and collecting the bundle of parchments they had reviewed together. "I can see myself out."

"Thank you."

Albus seldom used Hogwarts's internal Floo network to travel around the castle, but the urgency of the elf's message sent him to the fireplace.

When he stepped out into the hospital wing, the sight that greeted him wasn't the catastrophe he'd feared. Only one bed was occupied, and its occupant, a small boy with his left arm wrapped in a sling, was awake and talking with the matron.

"You called for me, Madam Pomfrey?" Albus said.

She turned, and the grave expression she wore spawned a lumpen knot in his belly. She motioned him to the corner of the room so the student in the bed wouldn't overhear them.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it's about Minerva."

The lump flared into a hot coal of terror.

"She sent word from St Mungo's," Poppy said. "Elphinstone's been taken ill, and it looks serious. I thought you'd want to know right away."

He relaxed a bit, then mentally kicked himself. If Elphinstone was sick or injured, Minerva would be terribly upset.

"Thank you, Poppy. I'll go immediately."


The reception area of St Mungo's was in its usual state of subdued chaos.

A frazzled-looking woman held a laughing toddler whose head alternated between swelling to resemble a pumpkin and shrinking to the size of an apple. An elderly wizard strutted around the room like a rooster, his nose and mouth melded into a flesh-coloured beak that let out the occasional loud squawk. A young woman with a rude word emblazoned in acid-green letters across her forehead tried to hide it with her hands. The backs of said hands bore similar, but shorter, epithets.

The bored-looking Welcome Wizard straightened up when Albus approached the desk.

"Professor Dumbledore. How may I help you, sir?"

"I understand Mr Elphinstone Urquart was brought in some time ago. Can you tell me which ward he's on?"

The wizard consulted a piece of parchment.

"Urquart. Yes, here it is. Third floor, sir."

"Thank you."

The lift doors opened onto a busy corridor. Green-robed witches and wizards moved swiftly through, occasionally stopping to confer with one another. Albus flagged one of them down to ask where he might find Mr Urquart.

The Healer hesitated before answering. "He's in room 304. Professor McGonagall is with him."

When Albus opened the door to Elphinstone's room, Minerva's red-rimmed eyes and ashen face told him what the Healer hadn't.

Without thinking about it, Albus moved to Minerva and wrapped his arms around her. Over her shoulder he saw Elphinstone's still form on the bed, a sheet pulled up high on his chest, his grey beard just brushing the edge. There was no visible sign of what might have caused his death. As far as Albus knew, Urquart had been a hale and healthy wizard, with the expectation of at least a few more decades of life and love ahead of him.

Minerva wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she held.

"Thank you for coming."

"I'm so sorry, my dear. Do they know what happened?"

Minerva's eyes welled up again. "It was a Venomous Tentacula. I found him in the garden. He must have been carrying the thing when it bit him. It was lying next to him, its pot was smashed to bits. I immolated it."

She sniffled and blew her nose into the handkerchief. "They said it probably wouldn't have killed him, but it bit him right in the neck." She looked over at Elphinstone's body. "He was still breathing when I got him here, but there was nothing they could — oh, damn." Tears had overspilled her eyes to roll down her pale cheeks.

She swiped her sleeve across her face. "Poor Pomona will be wretched. She gave him the seedlings, but she mustn't blame herself. He knew how to handle the Tentacula, it was just rotten luck that he …"

Her thin frame jerked as the sobs began in earnest. She clutched at the lapel of Albus's robe as if it were a Portkey to a place where Venomous Tentaculas didn't exist and her husband still did. Albus stayed quiet, letting her cry against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. When she'd wept herself dry, he pulled a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and gently blotted the tears from her cheeks. He handed it to her.

"Thank you." She looked at the damp handkerchief as if examining it. "I expect I'll be needing a lot of these."

"I have plenty more, whenever you require one."

There was a knock at the door, and a young man poked his head in.

"I'm sorry to intrude …"

"It's all right," Minerva said, back straightening. "Come in."

The man, who wore the saffron-yellow robe of a Healer-in-training, stepped through, closing the door gently behind him.

"You probably don't remember me," he said. "Kofi Agbeko. I'm a trainee Healer here."

"Of course I remember you, Mr Agbeko. You were in my N.E.W.T. class a few years ago. Quite adept at interspecies Transfiguration, as I recall."

"You have an excellent memory, Professor." Agbeko's tone darkened. "Please allow me to say how sorry I am for your loss."

Minerva dabbed at her eyes again. "Thank you."

"I'm here to see if there's anything you need and to help you with any arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"Yes. Er … where you'd like us to send the — Mr Urquart. Or if you don't know yet, we can keep him here until you've decided."

"I see." Minerva turned to Albus, suddenly all business. "The Urquarts have a family plot in the wizarding section of Greyfriars, but he said once he'd prefer to be next to me in Canisbay. I'll need to contact them to see if there's space."

Albus marvelled at her ability to change on a Knut from grieving widow to efficient administrator.

"Take your time, Professor," Agbeko said. "I just wanted to make sure you knew there was help if you needed it."

"That's very kind, thank you, but I think I can manage. If you'll give me a few minutes, I'll contact the funeral home and let you know where to have him sent."

Agbeko nodded. "Very good, Professor. Again, please accept my condolences."

"Thank you, Mr Agbeko."

Minerva only put up a small fight when Albus insisted on accompanying her to Grimsby & Grimsby and then to Caithness. Minerva's father greeted the news of Elphinstone's death with a stoicism Albus recognised in his daughter, patting her hand and offering words of sympathy. Minerva's mother said nothing, only held out her arms. Minerva filled them, and the pair wept together for a short time as Robert McGonagall looked on, his jaw set but his eyes moist.

Albus almost wished he hadn't come — his presence felt like an intrusion on the McGonagall family's private grief — but when Minerva finished her cry, she pulled Albus into a tight embrace.

"I don't know what I'd have done without you," she whispered.

She let him go and said to her parents, "He came to St Mungo's right away and helped me with the arrangements at the funeral home. He's been such a comfort."

"Thank you for taking care of Minerva in her hour of need," Isobel McGonagall said. She kissed Albus's cheek, making him blush.

Minerva's father took his wife's and daughter's hands. "I'd like to offer a prayer for Elphinstone." To Albus's surprise, Minerva grasped his hand. He bowed his head as Reverend McGonagall spoke.

"Almighty and ever-living God, through whose only son, Jesus Christ, we are granted everlasting life, we thank you for the life of our brother Elphinstone and the blessings you have shown him. Receive him to your bosom now and let the mercy and comfort of your grace sustain his friends and family, especially his beloved wife, Minerva, with the hope of your eternal peace. Amen."


Elphinstone was buried in the Muggle kirkyard in Canisbay, with a space reserved beside him for Minerva. Albus avoided looking at the empty plot next to the fresh grave. Minerva had asked him to come, and he stood with her, her father, mother, and brother as she bade farewell to the man she'd loved for many years and lived with for less than three. She clutched Albus's arm as she tossed a handful of dirt on the coffin.

Albus also attended the public memorial. Before his retirement, Elphinstone had been an important man, a lawyer and a high-ranking official in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it seemed everyone who had ever worked with him over his long career had turned out to pay their respects. Minerva's family didn't come, but Elphinstone's niece and nephew — his only living relatives — were there, as were Minerva's colleagues and friends. She offered dry-eyed comfort to them, as if they rather than she were the most bereaved.

After the last guest had offered tearful condolences and was seen on their way, Minerva seemed to crumple in on herself, sinking into a plush chair near the fireplace that warmed the Leaky Cauldron's magically expanded private room.

"You're exhausted."

Minerva looked up through weary eyes.

"Albus. You're still here."

"As long as you need me. Or would you rather be alone right now?"

"No. I've the rest of my life to be alone." Her lips curled in disgust. "What a self-pitying thing to say. Sorry."

"I can't think who's more entitled at the moment."

"Still …" She gestured for him to sit. "Have a drink with me."

He Summoned a bottle of Ogden's and a pair of clean glasses and poured them each a dram.

She raised her glass. "To Elph."

"To Elphinstone."

They clinked, and she downed her whisky in one swallow. Albus sipped his and watched her as she closed her eyes and put the back of her hand against her forehead.

"It really is a barbaric custom," she said after a minute.

"What is?"

"Making the bereaved host a bloody party when someone dies."

"It must have been difficult. You did admirably, my dear."

"You were a tremendous help."

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"Your presence, Albus. It means a great deal."

Her words warmed his belly more than the whisky did. Her eyes were still closed, and the combination of the liquor and the fire flickering in the grate made Albus's lids heavy. What she said next jolted him from his soporific haze.

"I loved him, you know."

The pinpricks of jealousy that used to dance under Albus's skin at the thought of her loving Elphinstone were absent, replaced by a sympathetic ache that pushed at his chest.

"Of course," he said.

"A lot of people thought I married him out of pity, or desperation, or some rubbish like that." She glanced at him. "Is that what you thought?"

"Not at all. I know you loved him. If I hadn't believed that, I would have —"

"What?"

His tongue flailed around for a moment while his brain tried to come up with an acceptable response. "I would have tried to persuade you not to do it. I don't imagine you would have been happy with a marriage of convenience."

"No. No, I wouldn't. Merlin, but I'm going to miss that man." She gestured impatiently at the whisky bottle.

Albus poured her another finger of Ogden's and continued to sip at his own.

When they'd finished their drams, Minerva stopped by the main room to thank Tom the barman for the food and drink. Albus saw her home to the cottage in Hogsmeade and, reluctantly, left her to her grief.


Several days after the memorial, Severus came to Albus's office to make his regular report on the activities of known but unindicted Death Eaters. He told Albus what he'd observed and heard during his visits to Lucius Malfoy's estate and said that there continued to be no sign of the Dark Lord emerging from wherever he might be lurking.

As usual, their conversation was stilted and uncomfortable. Albus tried to initiate some friendly, avuncular chat, but Severus's responses were so curt and sharp they might have cut glass. With a sigh, Albus dismissed him.

When Severus reached the door, he stopped and turned back. A crooked line contorted his lips into something approximating an unpleasant smile.

"By the way, congratulations."

Albus gave him a quizzical look.

"A stroke of luck for you, Minerva's husband's death," Severus said. "If you weren't such a devotee of the Light, I'd almost think you arranged it."

Albus barely prevented a burst of magic escaping and peeling the skin from the boy's ugly face.

"That is beneath you, Severus." Albus's voice might have frozen Fiendfyre.

The sneer faltered and melted into an expression Albus couldn't read. Perhaps Snape was Occluding.

"Goodnight, Headmaster."

Once the door had shut, Albus exhaled a shaky breath.

He was accustomed to Snape's animosity — the young man resented him even as he yearned for his forgiveness — but his remark had landed too close to a question Albus had been avoiding asking himself.

Kneeling by the hearth, he poked irritably at the logs in the grate. A swarm of angry sparks rose in a flurry that nearly singed his beard. He paced around his office for a few minutes before returning to his comfortable chair and sitting back to think.

He couldn't dispel the notion that his feelings for Minerva had somehow held the force of a curse which had doomed Elphinstone. Albus didn't believe in such magic, but the idea had nevertheless burrowed into his brain and plagued him with sleepless nights and bleary days since he'd stood in the hospital room consoling her.

For the next hour, he examined his conscience in excruciating detail. He was no saint, but he could honestly say he grieved Elphinstone's death. His feelings had been complicated, but his envy had managed to coexist with his regard for the man. More importantly, Elphinstone had made Minerva happy, and Albus had taken genuine pleasure in her happiness. Minerva's pain and grief hurt him as much as any of his own had ever done, and he would have given his wand hand to ease it.

When the hour was up, Albus had come to the conclusion he had never wished any evil to Elphinstone, even subconsciously. The realisation was like exhaling a breath he'd been holding. He slept well for the first time in ages.

A few days later, Minerva came to him to ask if she could move back into the castle. The Hogsmeade cottage was too empty without Elphinstone, she said.

When she had reclaimed her rooms in Gryffindor Tower — the teacher Albus had practically blackmailed into becoming Head of Gryffindor relinquished the post gratefully — he refrained from calling on her at odd hours or inviting her for a drink or a game of chess in his private quarters after dinner.

But as the months wore on, and the rawness of Minerva's grief mellowed into a more muted sort of pain, she began to call on him, and he allowed himself to relish her company without the shadow of Elphinstone's death stalking him. By the time several years had passed, he almost didn't remember she'd been married at all. Almost.