~ 3 ~

February of 1989 was the wettest month Hogwarts had seen in decades. The rains were biblical, even for a region as accustomed to soggy weather as the Scottish Highlands. Widespread flooding wreaked havoc with Muggle travel, especially after the Ness viaduct collapsed, cutting off the north of the country from its south. Witches and wizards, of course, were less inconvenienced, having their own methods of transport which were unaffected by the weather. Still, everyone said, it was very wet.

It had been coming down Kneazles and Crups for days, with howling winds, and Albus was as restless and tetchy as any of the students. Not that he was the outdoorsy type, but he did like a brisk walk around the grounds before dinner when he could get one. The unrelentingly foul weather affected the other staff, too, even Pomona, whose usual cheerful demeanour had sunk into a mild gloom. At dinner, she complained about having to hold her classes in the greenhouses for the fifth day running, and snapped at Silvanus when he said she was lucky she didn't have to move the Thestrals into covered stalls.

After dinner, Albus returned to his office, intending to catch up on his perpetual backlog of correspondence, but found himself gazing out the window at a gothic sky. He wondered if he'd ever see the stars behind the clouds again.

A knock pulled him from his thoughts.

"Enter."

It was Minerva. Perhaps she'd come for a game of chess or a talk, or even some bit of school business. It wouldn't matter to Albus; the sight of her lifted his spirits, as it always did.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said.

"Never. Can I offer you something? A cup of tea or a nightcap, to chase off the doldrums of this dreary day?"

His heart sank a little when she said, "No, thank you. I won't keep you, but I wanted to let you know I'll be out of the castle this weekend. Pomona's agreed to look after Gryffindor for me."

"That's fine, of course. Are you going to see your mother?"

Minerva's father had died the past autumn, and Minerva worried about Isobel being lonely in Caithness.

"No." Her hands fussed with the edges of her robe. "Don't laugh, now, Albus, but I'm going skiing."

He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd told him she was taking up the bodhran and going on the road with the Weird Sisters.

A moment passed while he digested this information. "I see. And what has prompted this new interest in winter sport, if I may ask?"

"It isn't my interest, it's Rufus's. His family has a chalet near Champéry, and he's invited me for the weekend."

A stony dread compressed Albus's chest.

"Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you'd been seeing him."

"Yes, well. I wasn't sure I would. Be seeing him, I mean. So I didn't mention it before."

"But you are seeing him now?"

"I suppose I am."

Albus swallowed audibly.

"And is it serious?" he asked.

She shrugged. "We enjoy one another's company."

"You must enjoy it quite a bit if you're going to spend a weekend together in the Alps. It sounds very romantic."

He tried to keep his tone light but was afraid it had come off as smarmy.

Minerva didn't notice. "I don't know about that," she said, "but it will be nice to get away from this rain."

"Well."

Words seemed to be beyond him. Finally, he managed a weak, "I hope you have a good time."

"I think I will, even if I don't manage the skiing." She watched him as if waiting for him to say more. When he didn't — he couldn't — she said, "Good night, Albus." She looked at him for a moment longer, then headed for the door.

"Minerva?"

She turned back to him. "Yes?"

"Don't …"

She frowned. "Don't what?"

"Don't break a leg."

She blinked several times before answering.

"I don't intend to."


The weekend Albus passed was among the most miserable of his life. The jealousy he'd suffered during Minerva's marriage flooded back, made worse this time because it was his own bloody fault.

He'd become complacent about her. Once she'd returned to the castle and they'd re-established their former, comfortable friendship, Albus had allowed himself to fall into his old mode of near-contentment, settling for what they had rather than what he really wanted. He hadn't pursued the deeper relationship he longed for because the risk of pushing her away had seemed unbearable. So he'd simply let things go on as they always had.

Now, history was repeating itself. Minerva might once again be slipping away before his eyes, falling in love with the attractive Head of the Auror Office. Who apparently had a wealthy family and a cosy chalet in the Swiss Alps.

Albus decided he was the most foolish so-called genius ever to wield a wand. Not to mention a coward unworthy of the House of Gryffindor.

He spent Saturday attempting to read a book he'd received for Christmas and trying not to think about what Minerva might be doing. That evening, Filius came by, and Albus lost three games of chess in a row to him. Filius asked him if he was feeling all right.

Albus mumbled something vague about the weather and a headache before sending Filius on his way with reassurances that he'd be right as rain — no pun intended — come Monday.

After a Sunday in which he accomplished little in the way of work and less in the way of relaxation, he took to his bed earlier than usual. Sleep, however, did not knit up the ravelled sleeve of his cares; it didn't even have the courtesy to turn up.

His thoughts roiled with wherefores and what-ifs, and at half-past three, Albus was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He tore off the bedclothes and shoved his feet into his slippers. The February chill hit him like a scourge, so he tugged on his dressing gown and stalked to his sitting room, using his wand to raise a fire in the grate.

He plopped down in his favourite squashy chair to think.

Point the First: He loved Minerva McGonagall.

Point the Second: Minerva was newly embarked on a romantic, possibly intimate, relationship with Rufus Scrimgeour.

Point the Third: The thought of Minerva in love with someone else rendered Albus utterly unable to function as a normal adult human, much less as the headmaster of one of the world's most prestigious schools of magic.

It was obvious but terrifying.

He had to tell her.

Gods.


On Monday morning, Minerva was seated to the right of the headmaster's chair as usual, talking quietly with Pomona.

She glanced up at Albus as he took his seat and gave him a warm smile.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning." Because she'd expect it, he asked, "How was your weekend?"

"Fine, thank you." She helped herself to a scoop of porridge from the serving bowl that had appeared in front of them.

"Just … fine?"

"Mmm."

She obviously didn't want to elaborate, which could be a good or a bad sign. Either she'd had a terrible time and didn't want to talk about it, or worse, she'd had a marvellous time and didn't want to talk about it to him.

"Ah. Well. That's good, then," he said.

The look she gave him was straight from her book of professorial expressions for use with eager-but-dim students.

He didn't dare initiate any other conversation with her, so he turned to his left and spoke with Filius about the latest article on magical security spells from The Charming Times.

The clink of silverware against plates and the hubbub of conversation reached Albus's ears as if through cotton wool. He managed to drink a little tea and was pushing his eggs around on his plate when Minerva folded her napkin and rose to go. He put his hand on her arm before he could talk himself out of it.

"My dear, would you have time for a visit this evening after dinner?"

"Of course. What do you want to discuss? Should I bring the budget projections for next term?"

"No, I just fancied a chat. Why don't you come up to my sitting room rather than my office? We could have some hot cocoa and a game of chess, if you wanted."

"That sounds nice. I'll have a bit of marking to do first, so why don't we say nine o'clock?"

"Perfect."


The rest of the day passed in a blur. Albus hoped none of the letters he'd answered concerned anything important, because he couldn't remember what he'd written in response.

Dinner was torture. The house-elves served toad in the hole with roasted potatoes and mashed peas, a meal Albus had loved since childhood, but he could barely eat any of it.

During dessert, Filius looked at him with jovial grin. "Trying to reduce, Albus?" he asked.

"No, why?"

Filius glanced down at the pristine wedge of treacle tart on Albus's plate.

"You haven't touched your pudding." His brows furrowed in concern. "Are you still feeling under the weather?"

Minerva swivelled around in her chair. "Have you been unwell, Albus?"

"Not at all. I had a late tea this afternoon, and I'm afraid I overindulged in the digestive biscuits."

"If you want to postpone our chat this evening, that would be fine."

"No, no. I've been looking forward to it."

This was a lie, of course; he was dreading it like a Dementor's kiss, but his need to do something to end his current paralysis, even if opening his heart to Minerva destroyed their friendship, overcame the dread.

"Good, so have I," she said, pushing back from the table. "I'll see you soon."


The fire crackled in the grate, the cocoa steamed under its Stasis charm, and Albus paced the floor from window to settee and back again, his fingers laced behind him.

The knock, although expected, nearly stopped his heart.

He waved the door open with a bit of wandless magic.

"Come in. I've got the cocoa ready to ward off the chill."

"Lovely." Minerva went to the fireplace, turning her hands over and back to warm them. "Will this weather clear up soon, do you think?"

"I hope so. If not, we may need to cancel this Hogsmeade weekend. The path will be flooded, and I fear losing some of the younger ones to the mud."

"Hagrid's the official chaperone, but I could accompany him and cast some spells to make it passable."

"I wouldn't want you to go to the trouble." Albus gestured to the settee. "Here, come sit by me and have some cocoa."

She settled next to him, and he poured out two mugs.

"Thanks, that hits the spot," Minerva said after taking a sip. "Do I detect a hint of cinnamon?"

"Yes, and a touch of Aleppo pepper."

"Really?"

"I first had it this way in Constantinople. Or Istanbul, now, I suppose. I thought you'd enjoy it."

"I do. The spices cut the sweetness nicely."

They were quiet as they sipped their chocolate, Albus minutely aware of her throat rising and falling as she swallowed, and of her leg so close to his on the settee.

She put down her cup and exhaled, relaxing against the back of the seat. "This a pleasant way to end a long, dreary day."

"Was it dreary?"

"Mmm. Almost none of my third years managed a decent Flobberworm-to-quill Transfiguration."

"The first sentient-to-insentient Transfiguration is always difficult."

"Yes, but we've been working on it for two weeks. I had expected a few more of them to have the hang of it by now."

"Some groups seem to have more difficulty than others with some classes of spell, as I'm sure you know. I always thought there was a sort of contagion about it … the first one or two students have trouble, and before you know it, the whole class is struggling."

"It's a confidence problem," Minerva said.

"Exactly."

"Well, whatever it was, it was thoroughly disheartening."

"I'm sure it will improve soon."

"I certainly hope so." She took another sip of cocoa, holding onto the cup and warming her hands against the bowl. "Did you see Hockstetter's article in this month's Transfiguration Today?"

"Not yet."

"Don't bother. It was dreadful."

"I'm not surprised," Albus said. "I'm almost embarrassed to have been his teacher."

"Did you teach him? I'd have thought he was too old."

"He was a seventh year when I started teaching. He did his N.E.W.T. with me."

Wonderful, Albus thought. Remind her of your age.

"You obviously didn't have much influence on him," she said. "He'd never have had half the doaty ideas he's put forth if he'd had more than a year of you."

"You give me too much credit."

"Not at all. I happen to have no small opinion of my own skills — the current crop of third years notwithstanding — and I learned them all from you." She put her cup down and peered at him.

"You know, Albus, you really do look a bit peely-wally. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

He sighed. Now was clearly the time to broach the subject he wanted to talk about most and least.

He set his cocoa down and looked into his lap. "No," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I'm not."

Alarm pitched her voice an octave higher than normal. "What's wrong? Have you seen Poppy?"

"It isn't that kind of problem."

He glanced back up at her. The confusion that clouded her features was mixed with a concern that squeezed at Albus's already overtaxed heart.

"What kind is it?" she asked.

He forced himself to meet her gaze. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I've kept to myself for far too long."

The pops and crackles from the fire emphasised the long pause that followed as she waited for him to continue.

"Albus?" Her eyes searched his face for some clue about his strange behaviour.

He took a deep breath and let his heart heave itself into his mouth.

"I love you, Minerva."

No sign of shock registered on her features. "Of course. And I love you. You are my dearest friend."

To a saner man, her words would have been comforting, but the ease with which she said them made his teeth clench.

"I mean that I am in love with you."

His world collapsed with her sharp intake of breath.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his chest caught with a sob he couldn't suppress. Suddenly, he was crying. His head fell forward, his tears falling to stain the silk of his robe.

The surprise of her arms coming around him slowed but didn't stop his weeping.

"There now. It's all right," she murmured. "It's all right. Let it out."

He gave in and allowed himself to cry against her for a few minutes.

When the storm had eased, he pulled out of her embrace. "I'm so sorry." He fished his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. "I'm sure you thought you'd left adolescent drama behind when you came up here."

"Albus, look at me."

It was difficult to meet her eyes, but he did as she asked.

"You said you'd kept this secret for a long time."

"Yes."

"How long?"

"I … I first realised it shortly after you married Elphinstone."

Now shock showed in her face. "Oh, Albus."

"Please don't pity me, Minerva."

"It isn't pity, it's compassion. It must have been so difficult for you."

He dared not respond for fear of a new round of weeping, so he blew his nose and took a sip of his now-tepid cocoa.

"When you say you are in love with me," she said carefully, "what exactly does that mean?"

"Mean?"

"Yes. What does 'in love' mean to you?"

He hadn't thought about it before — he just knew it was how he felt for her — but he considered it now.

The words, as they came tumbling out of him for the first time, were a release.

"It means I think about you more than I do about anyone else. It means seeing you is the best part of my days. When something interesting or amusing or wonderful happens, the first thing I want to do is share it with you. When something awful happens, I need your comfort. The thought of you not being in my life is utterly unbearable. You … the fact of you … makes me want to go on. Makes me happy."

Her eyes filled, and he didn't know what that meant, so he stayed silent and waited for her to say something.

Finally, she did.

"That may be the loveliest thing anyone's ever said to me." She shook her head as if to clear it and stood. He feared she might be about to flee his rooms, but she only walked to the window and stared out at the glowering sky outside.

After a few moments, she turned back to him. "Forgive me, Albus, but I always thought you preferred men."

Ah, yes. The Thestral in the room. He'd expected her to bring it up — assuming she hadn't laughed herself breathless at his foolishness — and his answer was one he knew she'd find inadequate. But it was the only one he had.

"I don't know as I prefer anyone," he said.

"But what about —"

"Grindelwald?" he finished.

She let out a breath as if relieved he'd said it rather than she. "Yes."

"I was infatuated with him," Albus admitted. "He was brilliant and exciting. He told me I was brilliant and exciting. He made me feel he understood me, which was like a dose of Amortentia to a lonely eighteen-year-old. I thought he loved me. Of course I thought I loved him."

"Did you desire him?"

"I can't answer that with any certainty. It was a long time ago, and my feelings are so muddled up with what happened later, it may be they are too tainted for any honest reflection. But I do know I was eager to please him and flattered that he wanted me. I … I enjoyed being close to him."

"But you say you're unsure if you want anyone."

"I haven't felt … physical desire for anyone in a very long time. Possibly, I'm simply not built that way. Or maybe I haven't permitted myself to feel it. I'm not entirely certain."

She nodded slowly. "I see." She took a visible breath. "Albus, we have a problem."

"Of course. If I've made you uncomfortable, Minerva, then I'm -"

"It isn't that. The problem is that it feels right."

His head was cottony and dull. "It feels …?"

"Right, Albus. It feels right."

She couldn't possibly mean …

"The things you said about how you feel," she said, "I feel them too. It didn't occur to me that I might be in love with you because, frankly, I didn't want to be."

"That is completely understandable."

She was quiet, contemplative. He supposed he should be nervous, shaking with pent-up anxiety over what he'd just done, but somehow, he felt calmer than he had in days.

"Have I just destroyed our friendship?" he asked.

"Not at all. But you have changed it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She turned back to the window. He resisted the impulse to go to her. She was thinking, and she never appreciated being interrupted when she was deep in thought.

He stared into the fireplace, watching the flames dance and form shadows on the stone. Perspiration tickled at his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was the warmth of the fire or nerves making him sweat.

The minutes ticked onward, and he observed her. She was utterly still, utterly Minerva. Back ramrod straight, black hair confined in its tight bun, not a piece out of place, her deep-green velvet robes, flattering but not fancy, falling in a nearly straight line from shoulders to ankles. Nothing about her suggested her emotions about the seismic shift that he'd forced into their midst.

When she finally turned back to face him, he almost startled.

"It could be a disaster," she said.

"It could."

"You are my superior, and I'm next in line for your position."

"True."

"No one could ever know. If anyone suspected, it would scuttle my chances at becoming head after you. And even if it didn't, everyone would believe I'd traded my dubious favours for professional advancement."

"No one who knows you would believe that," he said.

"Perhaps not everyone, but it would be whispered about. It always is, when a woman achieves something."

He nodded in acknowledgement of this truth. "I'm not asking anything of you, Minerva. I realise I'm hardly anyone's idea of a perfect romantic partner."

"I don't need a perfect romantic partner," she said. "I don't need a romantic partner at all. In fact, it's probably best for all concerned that I don't take one."

"Not even Rufus Scrimgeour?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Rufus is neither here nor there."

"I thought you were seeing him."

"I was considering it. Switzerland convinced me that we weren't suited."

He gave her a wan smile. "I probably shouldn't tell you how much that relieves me."

She smiled back. "No, you probably shouldn't."

What she said next pulled heat into his cheeks.

"Do you desire me?"

"I … I don't know."

This rather wishy-washy response elicited a huff of frustration from her, as he should have anticipated it would.

"The best answer I can give you is that I'm not sure if I feel desire for your body, but I do feel desire for you," he said.

Her expression told him this answer was hardly more informative than his first. "Would you want to take me to bed?" she asked. "Is that going to be part of this, or is it off the table, so to speak?"

He felt his blush grow. It wasn't that he was a prude or uncomfortable with the idea of intimacy, but talking about it wasn't something a man of his generation did easily. It took him another moment to realise the implications of what she'd said.

"You mean you'd consider becoming …" He searched for the right word.

"Lovers," she supplied. "Whether or not it includes sex, that's what we'd be, is it not?"

Her pragmatism and forthrightness were a relief. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Despite all the arguments against it, I rather feel it could work."

He'd always believed it a foolish cliché found only in Knut romance novels, but Albus's heart did seem to be leaping in his chest.

It sobered a little when she said, "But you haven't answered my question."

"About … bed."

"Yes."

He rubbed his hairy chin, as he often did when confronted with a question he hadn't anticipated and for which he had no ready answer. He forced himself to consider the question of sex in the context of himself and Minerva. The specifics of the act were not a mystery to him, yet he had a hard time envisioning doing them — the things he had done with Gellert had gone everywhere but there — but thoughts of holding Minerva, of being allowed to touch her, of her arms around him, her head on his shoulder, her hands stroking his skin — these were welcome. If other activities ensued from those, it would be natural, he supposed.

He said, "I don't know how or if I would please you, but if you aren't afraid of being terribly disappointed, I would be honoured to take you to bed."

The smile that bloomed on her face made him want to sing.

"I wouldn't be disappointed," she said. "No matter what happened. Or didn't."

"You wouldn't?"

"No. I will admit, I've missed sex since Elph died, but it's more the closeness than anything else. If we find that you can't manage it or don't care for it, I can always make do with my own hand if needs must."

Albus's blush returned full force.

"I've embarrassed you," she said.

"Not at all, my dear. I'm simply not accustomed to talking about such things."

"It isn't among my usual topics of conversation, either" she said, "but I think it's best to have it all out in the open before we embark on anything."

"Quite right." He hesitated only a moment before asking, "And do you … find me desirable?"

"I do."

"I am a great deal older than you …"

"That's not exactly news to me, Albus," she said tartly. "Elph was older than I, and it was never a problem for me, in bed or anywhere else. He occasionally needed the help of a potion, but it didn't matter in the slightest."

Despite his discomfort with the topic, a small knot of anxiety released in Albus at this information. He was fairly certain his equipment was still in working order, but it had been some time since he'd had proof of it. It was a relief to know that Minerva would take any need for additional assistance in stride.

"Aside from everything else about you I find attractive, you are quite fit." Minerva continued with a smirk. "Far fitter than any centenarian with a sherbet lemon addiction has a right to be."

Albus laughed. "My dear Minerva. You are so delightfully Presbyterian."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes."

"If you find me so delightful, maybe you'd like to kiss me?"

Without waiting for an answer, she came up to him and cupped his still-hot cheek with her palm.

"Or don't you like kissing?" she whispered.

"I would like to find out."

She pressed her mouth to his.

The kiss wasn't deep, but her lips were pliant and tasted of cocoa. It was gentler than he recalled from his time with Gellert.

He forced that thought back and concentrated on Minerva and the warm, sweet moisture of her mouth.

After a few moments, she pulled back, blinking. "And?"

"I think I can say definitively that I like kissing," he said, and she laughed. He initiated the next kiss, allowing his lips to part slightly. The sensation of her tongue taking up his tentative invitation and running gently across the inside of his lower lip sent a small thrill through him, and he found his tongue responding.

His arms came around her waist and hers moved to his neck as the kiss continued.

They were closer than they'd ever been, and the experience was heady, almost overwhelming. She was pressed to him, and he inhaled her scent even as their mouths continued to explore. He relaxed and allowed himself to feel her body against his, acknowledging the terrain there, hard planes and angles relieved by soft peaks and gentle curves. Her fingers danced at the nape of his neck, sending pleasant shivers through him. The velvet sheathing her waist was soft under his palms, the nap's friction electric under his fingers as her rubbed them against it.

When they broke, he was breathless, and it pleased him to see that she had gone a bit pink in the cheeks.

Their arms were still around one another, and neither seemed eager to move. But Albus thought they'd be more comfortable on the settee, so he pulled her towards it.

They sat, without releasing one another. "You are possibly the most extraordinary person I've ever known," he said.

"Hardly."

"The fact that you're still here is proof of it," he insisted. "Most women, when confronted with a so-called 'confirmed bachelor' of over a hundred with little in the way of romantic experience would run screaming from the room."

"Your kissing skills aren't so poor as all that, Albus. Please, don't stop."

"You are -"

"I mean, don't stop kissing."

He grinned at her. "You mean, stop talking nonsense."

"Precisely."

The kissing proceeded apace, and she moved her warm palms to rest against his chest. It gave Albus the courage to allow his hands to roam — over her shoulders, her arms, her cheeks, and, daringly, the sides of her chest. The small mew that escaped her told him she approved of his efforts. Or at least, he hoped that's what it meant.

He endeavoured to elicit more sounds and let his palms come up to cup her breasts. Her nipples made themselves known to him, hardening under her bodice. When he moved his thumbs across them, her breathing grew heavy. She nipped gently at his lips, then soothed them with soft kisses that moved from his mouth to his cheeks, and then over his closed eyelids.

He had never been touched like this. His adolescent explorations with Gellert had been hard and fast, borne of a need to capture the quicksilver moment of erotic discovery. This was very different. It was erotic in its own way, but there was no desperation in the way he touched Minerva, nor in his desire to have her touch him. She simply filled his senses.

Their mouths met again, and he wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her even tighter into his embrace. He broke the kiss to move his lips down the fragrant path of her neck, moving her collar aside to run his tongue over her collarbone. He was nearly drunk with her, but her gasp sobered him slightly.

He sat back and took her hands in his, his heart still thumping madly in his chest.

"I hope I haven't overstepped."

"Not at all. That was very nice."

"It was. But as nice as this is, it's getting late. And I suppose we ought to proceed carefully."

"Yes," she agreed. "This was a lovely beginning, and much as I'd love to invite you to stay with me tonight, we ought to consider the practicalities first."

He nodded.

"I'll need to do something about contraception," she said.

The heat returned to his cheeks. "I would have thought —"

She raised an eyebrow. "That I was too old?"

"Not at all. It's just … your weekend with Rufus …"

"I made clear to him before we left that I would be staying in my own room. So there was no need for any additional precautions," she said. "Although I did lock my door."

He smiled. "I'm sure you were more than capable of defending your virtue. Even from the Head of the Auror Office."

"I don't know about 'virtue', but I would have had no compunctions about hexing him in a very sensitive spot had he behaved badly."

"I take it he was wise enough to respect your wishes."

"He was," she said. "My wishes regarding you are somewhat different, as I believe I've just demonstrated." She hesitated. "But if your wishes are not the same, I wouldn't want you to comply just to make me happy."

He took her hand. "Minerva. I have enjoyed everything we've done this evening. And I would like to continue to explore this … facet of our relationship, once we've worked out the practicalities, as you say."

She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it. "As would I." She released his hand and sat back. "I can take care of contraception. And what of the other practicalities?"

"We cannot behave any differently in public."

"I'm aware of that, Albus. I hardly intend throwing myself at you in the Great Hall."

"I'm sorry, my dear. I know you're aware of the need for discretion. It's more reminding myself not to grin at you like a fool when there are others around."

She ignored his attempt at humour. "I imagine we can avoid raising suspicions. I come to your office on a daily basis, and I've visited your quarters often enough, even when I was married to Elph. People know we're friends as well as headmaster and deputy."

"Yes. But your duties to Gryffindor preclude your spending the night here."

"You want to spend nights together?"

"Some. Don't you?"

"Of course. I wasn't sure that's what you wanted."

"I want to spend as much time with you as possible. But I don't want you to feel suffocated." He was remembering what she'd told him about the difficulties of living with Elphinstone.

"I doubt we'll have enough private time for either of us to feel suffocated. Spending some evenings together — sleeping together — would be nice. You could create a direct Floo connection between our rooms. No one would have to know where you actually spent the night."

"Yes, and I could set charms that would alert me if anyone were looking for me."

"I knew there would be benefits to a romantic liaison with a magical genius."

"Magical genius, perhaps, but not a genius in the matter of romantic liaisons."

"No one is. It's always a matter of trial and error, I think."

"I'll work on the Floo connection and the charms this week. Then perhaps I could join you in your quarters on Friday night after dinner?"

"You have a date."