Albus was distracted, his quill absently tapping against his desk. He didn't look up.
"Proposed what?"
Her stomach twisted.
She had expected him to freeze. To sense something in her voice.
Instead, he remained as he was—calm, composed. Unshaken.
The storm inside her raged harder.
"Proposed to me."
The quill stopped.
Slowly, Albus looked up, something unreadable flickering behind those blue eyes.
"Ah," he said, carefully, "a… marriage proposal."
"Yes."
The word barely made it past her lips.
Time stretched between them, thin as glass.
Then, with a forced lightness that made her ache, he said, "Then I believe congratulations are in order."
She exhaled sharply.
"I told him I needed time to think about it."
Albus leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "What's there to think about? He's a good man, Min."
She let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humour in it.
"So you believe I should say yes?"
He hesitated. For the smallest fraction of a second—so small she might have imagined it—he hesitated.
But when he spoke, his voice was steady.
"I don't see any reason not to."
The words knocked the breath from her lungs.
Of course. Of course, he would say that.
Because he had always been too careful with her. Too measured. He had kept her at arm's length so well that even now—even now—he would rather push her into the arms of another than admit what lay between them.
She turned away from him, staring out the window. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and searching. He was always watching her.
"Albus," she said, voice quieter now, "should I truly say yes?"
She did not turn.
She could not.
Because if she saw the answer in his eyes before he said it, she might not be able to breathe.
"I know that you may never see me as I see you," she said, the words trembling now. "And I know I am not Him. And only after you defeated him have we become close. But I am not a fool, Albus. At least, I think I'm not."
She closed her eyes. Inhaled.
"So, I ask you again."
Turned.
"Do you wish me to say yes to Elphinstone?"
And then—finally—she saw it.
Albus Dumbledore, the unshakable, untouchable man, looked wrecked.
His shoulders were stiff, his hands trembling where they rested on the desk.
But it was his eyes that shattered her.
Red-rimmed. Glassy. Glazed with something he was barely holding back.
She had never seen him like this.
Something cracked inside her, sharp and unbearable.
And then, in a voice that sounded utterly, utterly broken, he whispered—
"No. Minerva… please… say no."
The plea wrapped around her heart like a vice.
A thousand emotions crashed between them, thick and suffocating.
Minerva could barely breathe.
Because there it was.
The thing she had been searching for.
The thing she had ached for.
Raw. Unhidden.
Real.
Her lips parted, words on the edge of forming—
But Albus moved before she could speak.
He stood suddenly, chair scraping against the floor as he turned away, shoulders tense. A hand lifted to press against his face as if he could wipe away the way he had just broken.
"Minerva," he rasped, voice thick, "I—"
A pause. A breath.
Then, quieter.
"Do you love him?"
The words barely reached her ears, but they might as well have been a scream.
Her throat burned.
"Albus."
"Do you?"
She stared at him.
At the way, his hands had curled into fists.
On the way, his back was so rigid, as if bracing for a blow.
And for the first time in years, she did not hesitate.
"No," she whispered. "I don't."
The silence between them cracked like lightning.
Albus exhaled sharply, something breaking loose from his chest. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, knuckles white.
And when he turned back to her—his face open, vulnerable, devastated—she knew.
This was only the beginning.