The silence stretched between them, thick as a storm ready to break.
Minerva didn't move.
Neither did he.
Albus stood as though turned to stone, his hands braced on the desk, fingers white from the force of his grip. His eyes—blue, unbearably blue—were locked on hers, unguarded in a way she had never seen before.
She had expected hesitation. Deflection.
She had not expected this.
The sheer rawness of him.
"Minerva." His voice was rough, like he had been holding back too much for too long. "What are we doing?"
She inhaled sharply. "You tell me, Albus."
A humorless laugh escaped him, but there was no amusement in it—only something jagged, something aching.
"I've spent years convincing myself I could live with only your friendship," he admitted, shaking his head. "And yet, the mere thought of you marrying another man—of him touching you, kissing you—" He broke off, jaw tightening. "I felt like I was being torn apart."
Her breath caught.
"Then why?" she whispered. "Why did you tell me to say yes?"
He flinched.
"I thought it would be the right thing to do." He ran a hand through his auburn hair, looking utterly wrecked. "I thought—Minerva, I have nothing to offer you."
Her brows furrowed. "Nothing—?"
"You deserve more than this," he interrupted, voice low and fervent. "More than waiting for a man too much of a coward to say what he feels."
Her heart was pounding now, fast and unrelenting.
"Then say it, Albus."
His breath hitched.
"Say it," she repeated, stepping toward him. "Tell me how you feel."
He swallowed hard. "You already know."
"I want to hear it from you."
She was close now—so close she could see the way his pulse fluttered at his throat, the way his fingers curled against his palms like he was fighting himself.
His eyes searched hers, desperate, as though waiting for her to stop him.
But she wouldn't.
She never would.
"I love you."
The words were barely a breath, but they sent a shiver through her, as if her body had been waiting a lifetime to hear them.
But it wasn't enough.
It couldn't be enough—not after so many years of restraint, of longing.
"You don't get to say that now," she said, voice shaking. "Not after you tried to let me go. Not after you stood there and told me to say yes to another man."
He closed his eyes, pained. "Minerva—"
"Do you know what that felt like?" she whispered. "To stand in front of you, to ask you, and hear you—" Her breath broke. "You nearly let me go."
"I thought I had to."
"Why?"
His eyes opened. There was something dark there, something old and wounded.
"You know why."
Her throat tightened.
"Him."
The unspoken name lay between them like a ghost.
Gellert Grindelwald.
His past. His mistake. His burden.
And hers too—because for years, she had feared she could never measure up to a love that had once burned the world.
Minerva exhaled shakily, bracing herself. "Do you still love him?"
Albus went very still.
The pause was brief—but she felt it, the weight of it, the depth of the answer he was about to give.
And when he spoke, it was quiet. Absolute.
"No."
The word sent relief crashing through her, so sharp it nearly hurt.
Albus took a slow step closer.
"The Mirror of Erised," he said suddenly.
She blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
He swallowed hard, his gaze searching hers. "Do you know what I used to see?"
Her lips parted, but she did not answer.
"I saw him." His voice was steady, though his fingers trembled. "I saw the life we could have had, had we not been foolish. Had I not been blind."
She felt something cold curl inside her. She had always feared this.
"But I do not see him anymore," Albus whispered.
Her breath stilled.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand, fingers ghosting over her jaw, his touch hesitant, reverent.
"I see you, Minerva."
The words shattered something inside her.
Albus exhaled unsteadily, his hand cupping her face now, thumb brushing against her cheek as though trying to memorize her.
"You have been in my heart longer than I have been willing to admit," he murmured. "And I was terrified, Minerva. Terrified of ruining what we have. Of losing you to my own selfishness."
She let out a soft, broken laugh. "You almost lost me because of it."
His grip on her tightened slightly, as if the thought alone was unbearable.
"I know," he admitted, voice rough. "And I will never make that mistake again."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them was thick, heavy with everything unsaid—everything they had spent years holding back.
Minerva inhaled, trying to steady herself. "Albus—"
But she never finished.
Because in one swift, desperate motion, he closed the distance.
His lips crashed against hers, fierce and unrelenting, his hands threading through her hair as though he was afraid she would disappear.
And gods help her—she melted.
Every ounce of restraint she had clung to for years snapped like a bowstring.
Her hands tangled in his robes, pulling him closer, deeper, her body pressing against his like she could mold herself into him.
Albus groaned, the sound reverberating through her chest as his arms wrapped around her, his kiss deepening.
He tasted like honeyed tea and firewhisky and something uniquely him—something warm and familiar and devastating all at once.
She was drowning in him.
And she never wanted to come up for air.
He broke away just enough to whisper her name against her lips, his voice hoarse, almost reverent.
"Minerva…"
She responded by pulling him back down, her fingers threading into his hair, her lips parting beneath his.
He growled softly at that, his hands gripping her hips, pressing her firmly against the desk.
Her breath hitched.
"Albus," she gasped, and the sound of her name on his lips nearly undid him.
His forehead pressed against hers, his breaths ragged. "Tell me to stop," he whispered.
She met his gaze, her hands still tangled in his robes.
"No."
His eyes darkened.
A heartbeat.
And then—
He lifted her effortlessly, setting her atop the desk, his mouth reclaiming hers with a fervor that sent a shiver down her spine.
Their restraint was gone.
This was years of longing, of near-misses, of silence breaking apart into something raw and unstoppable.
And neither of them would hold back now.