Chapter Eight

Minerva was never quite sure how she made it back to her dormitory that night, but somehow she found herself in the round room, once again surrounded by empty beds. As she sat on her own bed, she couldn't think. It seemed to her that she had been operating on two disparate planes of existence lately: one of ecstasy, the other, despair. He had kissed her, and despite his words afterwards, she was elated. Yet he had also made it clear that he did not intend to do so again, which left her feeling empty and bereft. At least he hadn't thrown her out, and he had said he intended to continue teaching her. And at no point had he claimed he didn't want her.

As she lay down, she used some of the exercises she had learnt from him to calm...if not clear...her mind. When she felt able to make use of her reason once again, she considered what she should do next. She was quite clear on the fact that he wanted her and that it might be all too easy for her to push that desire into action. But she didn't want to make him regret whatever happened between them. She was coming to understand that she loved him, but she still didn't know if he loved her or if his actions were a result of simple desire. She knew him well enough by now to guess that although he was perfectly capable of taking what he wanted from her to satisfy his carnal urges, it would ultimately make him feel guilty to do so without loving her in return. She realised that as much as she wanted him, it was more important to her that it bring him joy.

This left her with the inescapable conclusion that she must tell him how she felt and encourage him to admit whatever feelings he had for her. If it was only lust, she would leave him be and do her best not to tease him or encourage him in any way. If it was more than that . . . well, she would have to work out with him what it meant for their relationship.

Remembering her anger at him for attempting to assume full responsibility for the kiss made her think about her own selfishness. She wanted him, and she had been willing to use her body to entice him into an action he might later have regretted. She would not make that error again, even if it turned out that he loved her.

It was a long time before she slept, and she was not distressed to find when she woke that she had missed breakfast in the Great Hall; she was not quite ready to face him again. A few of the staff were missing as well, so nobody especially remarked on Professor Dumbledore's absence, and the only person who made note of the fact that neither the Transfiguration professor nor Minerva McGonagall was at breakfast was Tom Riddle.

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Lunch passed uneventfully. Professor Dumbledore was his usual genial self and barely looked at Minerva, who did her best not to glance too often at him as she made feeble small talk with her tablemates. To her immense relief, Tom Riddle had chosen a seat far from her and appeared to be deep in conversation with Professor Slughorn.

When the appointed hour for their lesson came, Minerva's knock on Professor Dumbledore's office door was uncharacteristically timid.

"How are you, Minerva?" he asked when she entered.

"I'm contrite."

"You needn't be."

"It's kind of you to say that, sir, but I do owe you an apology. It was wrong of me to try to persuade you to do something that made you uncomfortable."

"Apology accepted. And I think we need say no more about it..."

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't think it's a good idea to ignore what happened. I think we should talk about it," she said.

He said nothing for a moment. He had expected contrition on her part, possibly embarrassment...but he hadn't expected her to want to dwell on the incident. However, he reasoned, perhaps she was right. She obviously had more to say and would not be able to move past this without discussing it.

"Very well, Minerva," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "I'm willing to hear what you have to say."

"I came to your rooms last night because I wanted to find out how you felt about me. I've had the feeling over the past weeks that you were interested in me . . . as more than just a student." she said. When she saw him grip his robes with nervous hands, she hastened to add, "Not that you ever did or said anything inappropriate. It was just a feeling I got from our interactions. I may have been mistaken, or . . ." She took a breath. "Or it may have been wishful thinking." She didn't give him time to confirm or deny her suspicions. She had to say what she needed to tell him without interruption, or she would never get through it. "Either way, though, it was wrong of me to do it that way. I should have been honest enough to talk to you about my feelings before trying to . . . to entice you to act on feelings you may or may not have."

She dipped into her reserve of courage, and said, "So I'm going to be honest with you now: I love you."

He stared at her and saw that, oddly enough, she was not blushing. "Minerva, I . . . I don't know what to say . . ." He was not entirely unprepared for a declaration of love; however, he was utterly undone with surprise at the realisation that he believed her and at the joy that suffused him suddenly.

"You could start by telling me how you feel about it," she said.

When he didn't speak, she continued, "You must know that was not easy for me. I'm aware that I am jeopardising everything I've worked for...everything we've worked for...in telling you. But I owe you the truth. I'd like it very much if you could be honest with me. Do you . . . care for me?" Her courage had failed her at the very end; she was unable to utter the word "love" in posing her question to him.

"Minerva, I'm flattered..." he began, annoyed at his inability to utter anything but a foolish cliché.

"That's not what I asked," she said.

"What would you have me say, then?" he shouted, and she flinched. Then more quietly, but still sharply, he said, "That I care for you? All right, yes, I care for you. You have been dear to me since the first days I knew you. That I desire you? But you already knew that, I think. Do you want to hear me say that I love you? All right, then. I love you, then."

She was aware of his magic crackling around them as if they were caught between duelling bolts of lightning, and if she hadn't understood that his anger was more at himself than at her, she might have been frightened by it.

She said very softly, "It isn't a question of what I want to hear. It's a question of the truth. Is that the truth, Albus? Do you love me?"

He looked at her almost pleadingly and said, "Merlin help me, it is. It's the truth."

She was frightened by how defeated he sounded. Despite her joy at his admission, she wondered now if this was a terrible mistake. She did not want to make him miserable.

They were quiet for a few moments, then she said, "So what do you think we ought to do?"

"Do?" he asked. "Nothing, Minerva. We do nothing about it."

"Why?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound plaintive.

"Because it would be wrong."

"Why?" She headed off his anger, saying, "I'm not trying to annoy you by being obtuse, Albus, nor am I trying to change your mind, but I really would like to know what you think is wrong about two unattached adults acting on their feelings."

He almost laughed. He should have realised that if he wanted to prevail, he would need to appeal to her reason. Marshalling his arguments, he began: "First and foremost, you are my student. It would be perceived as an abuse of power."

She said, "I understand how it might be perceived, but is it really an abuse? You would not be forcing me into anything or asking for my favours in exchange for good marks. I think I've demonstrated I'm capable of earning those without resorting to prostitution."

He ignored her jibe, saying, "Then second, Minerva, is that you are not an adult."

"The law says I am and have been for the past year," she said. "Or do you not think me mature enough to know my own mind?"

"You are too mature for your years in many ways, Minerva, but not in this, I fear."

"Aren't you confusing maturity with experience, though? I haven't been in and out of love a hundred times like some of the other girls, it's true, but I would think that an argument in favour of maturity, wouldn't you?"

"Perhaps. But if you have never been in love before, how can you be sure that love is what you feel for me?"

"Everyone who has ever loved has fallen in love for a first time, isn't that so? To say that it is not love because I have not experienced it before is a paradox, Albus," she said, the ghost of a smile lurking at her mouth.

"Indeed, but that is not what I said."

"No, but it was your implication."

Merlin's balls, she's enjoying this, he thought. "Is this a forensics tournament to you, Minerva?" he asked angrily.

She was taken aback. "No, of course not," she whispered. "I'm sorry . . ."

He sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be cross. But you must understand how difficult this is for me."

"I do know that," she said, chastened. "And I don't want to make you unhappy. I never want to do that," she said softly.

He saw the tears that had gathered in her eyes, and he was overcome by the urge to touch her. He fought it and lost but settled for taking her hands in his. "You don't make me unhappy, my dear. I don't think you could ever do that. It is our circumstances that disturb me."

He led her to the chairs by the fireplace and gestured for her to sit. He took the chair next to her and said, "Quite aside from any other consideration, think about what would happen if we were to act on this and were discovered."

"I know. You would lose your position," she said.

"Certainly, and rightfully so. But I am more concerned with what it would mean for you."

"I would be expelled."

"Most likely, although I would try to prevent it. However, in the event, I doubt my opinions would carry much weight in the matter," he said with a slight smile, and she was pleased to see the twinkle reappear in his eyes at last.

"I am not willing to take that risk," he said. "Are you?"

"If you are not, it hardly matters what I am willing to do."

"Are you avoiding the question, Minerva?" he asked. "That's unlike you."

"Not avoiding. I just don't know the answer."

"Fair enough."

"So we go on as before?"

"No, not as before," he said. "You were right when you said we could not ignore it. But I think, if we are careful, we can still work together without undue risk of . . . complications."

"If I promise not to throw myself at your head," she said, smiling wanly at him.

"Quite," he said, chuckling. "But if you recall, it wasn't you who kissed me. I was the party who was unable to control myself. But I shall endeavour to do so in future if you promise to help me."

"How?"

"I'm not sure," he said with a laugh. "Perhaps you could transform yourself into a hag before we meet."

"Or a banshee...that might be easier," she said, grinning. "I already have the hair . . ."

"Yes, but that would be quite noisy, wouldn't it? I doubt we would get much done," he said.

They laughed together for a minute before he turned serious again. "No, my dear, I think you had best remain as you are."

Without meaning to, he reached out to brush a strand of her hair from her face. And without meaning to, she closed her eyes and leant into his touch.