Chapter Twenty-One

Minerva approached Albus's office door with a new feeling: trepidation. The events of the past weeks...Tom Riddle's discovery of their affair, Aberforth Dumbledore's startling admonition about her lover, and her dawning realisation that Albus was more deeply involved in two concurrent wars than she had allowed herself to believe...had shaken her out of her complacent happiness, replacing it with a niggling anxiety she couldn't suppress.

And now this business with Albus's brother.

When she arrived at Albus's door, the trepidation had been replaced by foreboding.

Stop it, Minerva, she told herself. This nervousness was irrational. Albus is fine. We're fine.

Her worries evaporated when she saw his dear, handsome...to her, anyway...face when he opened the door.

"How is Aberforth?" Minerva asked as soon as the door was closed behind her.

"He is recovering well," answered Albus.

"I'm very glad. Can you tell me what happened?" She was unsure if it was overstepping to ask.

"His shop was blown up. It was the Blackrobes...Grindelwald's supporters."

A cold fist gripped Minerva's heart.

Blackrobes? After Albus's brother?

The sudden realisation that Albus was in real, physical danger, probably every day of his life, broke through her consciousness in a way that hadn't happened before...she hadn't let it. But now the brutal fact would not be ignored. Albus was not invincible.

"My gods! Was he badly injured?"

"A few broken bones, now mended, and some burns, which will take some time to heal, but heal they will." After a pause, he added, "I will need to look after him for a time. He has nowhere to go. The shop was his livelihood, and he lived in the flat above it."

"I'm so sorry." She moved to set her books down at the table, but Albus put a hand on her arm, stopping her.

"Why don't we move into my private quarters?"

The sense of foreboding increased. Albus sounded grave, which was understandable given what had just happened, but Minerva felt certain it was not just the attack on Aberforth that was bothering him. Nevertheless, she kept her voice steady.

"All right."

When they were seated on the settee in his sitting room, he took her hands in his. "Minerva, we cannot continue this."

She felt her heart seem to shoot upward into her throat, but she kept silent and waited for him to continue.

"It was selfish and unfair of me to embark on this relationship with you. Not just because of our positions, but because it puts you in jeopardy. I am more involved than you realise in the war...both wars...and it is unsafe for me to form close attachments with anyone. Those known to be close to me are likely to become targets, and I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of our relationship."

"I don't care about the danger..."

"But I do. I cannot do the work I must do if I am concerned about what might happen to you. I must be free to focus."

"I see. And I am a distraction," she said stonily.

"You are by far the nicest distraction I've ever had..." Albus began, but Minerva was having none of it.

"Don't patronise me, Albus. Just don't."

He looked pained as he said, "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not very good at this."

She swallowed her heart and smiled at him wanly. "Neither am I. I've never been left before. . . That is what you're trying to do, isn't it, Albus? Leave me?"

"Not leave you, Minerva. Just . . . protect you."

She was relentless in her pursuit of clarity. "By ending our relationship."

He let out a deep breath. How like Minerva to want to put concise words to it. "Yes."

"Are you doing this because of what happened to Aberforth?" she asked.

"Not precisely. I knew some time ago that we could not continue as we were. I just didn't have the courage to do what I needed to do. The attack on my brother shocked me out of my complacency, I suppose. It reminded me of what happens to people near to me."

"And what is that?" This was cruel, and she knew it. She hated herself for it.

"They suffer."

"And suppose I tell you that I will suffer more without you? Would that change anything?"

I am not begging . . . I will not beg, she told herself sternly.

"No," he answered.

She sat looking at him, her eyes clear and dry. Then she asked him the question he dreaded most...the one he had known she would ask: "Do you love me?"

He gave her the answer he had rehearsed. "I care for you, Minerva. Very deeply. That's why I have to do this."

He was somewhat surprised that she didn't call him on his perseverating. She was silent for a few more moments, then she told him, "I love you. I always will. You need to know that."

"Minerva, you are so young. I know you think you love me, but you..."

She interrupted angrily. "Don't presume to tell me how I feel, Albus. I may be young, I may be inexperienced, but I am not stupid. I know my own heart." Her face was flushed now. She added, "I am not saying I will never fall in love with anyone else."

She didn't know if she had said it to wound him.

He ignored the stab of pain her words shot through him. "Of course. I hope you do, Minerva."

Touché, she thought.

He continued: "I shall always cherish what we've had together. And I hope in time you will find someone worthy of your love. Someone who can give you everything you want."

"Oh? And what is that?" How she hated the sarcasm that had crept into her voice, but she couldn't seem to help it. It was like a toxin she had to expel from her body.

He said, "I don't know."

"But you know you can't give it to me."

Stop, Minerva. Just stop.

"I don't know much lately, it seems, Minerva," he said with a sigh so deep it seemed to rock him physically. "But I cannot continue putting you at risk...that I do know. I will not."

"And I have no say in the matter?" she asked, trying to keep the petulance out of her voice. She felt like a child arguing with a parent, and it was a feeling she loathed.

"Not in this, no. I'm sorry."

They sat for a few moments, not speaking, while her heart cracked and fractured as he watched.

"And after the war?" she asked softly. Her anger seemed to have evaporated all at once, and he desperately wanted it back. It was better...anything was better...than the pain in her voice.

"We have no way of knowing how long that will be," he answered.

"I realise that. But if I come to you when it's all over, will you see me?"

"Of course." He didn't add, If I'm still alive. "I hope always to be your friend, Minerva."

There seemed to be nothing more for either of them to say.

Minerva stood and went to the table to retrieve her books. "I'm afraid I don't feel up to our tutorial today, Professor." She took the books and turned to him. "Shall I come back on Tuesday?"

"I don't think that would be wise. You are quite ready to continue your Animagus studies with Professor Falco," he said. "You should be proud of yourself, Minerva," he added.

"I am. Thank you." The anger was back, thank Merlin. She would be all right. Of course she would.

She reached the door, opened it, and before stepping through it, she turned and said, "See you in class, Professor."

When she was gone, he stood for a few seconds, not moving.

I am a damn fool.

He hadn't thought it would hurt this much.

He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to fetch a bottle of whatever was closest and get stinking drunk.

/***/

"Well, when are ye going to introduce me to this Professor Dumbledore of yours?" Thorfinn McGonagall asked his daughter as they moved into the tent that had been erected on the grounds for the leaving reception.

The lump that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in Minerva's throat since the previous Saturday jumped a little at his name. "In a bit. I thought you'd already met him, though; weren't you at Hogwarts together?" she asked.

"Oh, aye. But he was a few years behind me and in a different House. We hardly knew one another, and I'd like to meet the man properly...give him my thanks for taking such good care of my daughter. Isn't that him over there?"

"Yes, I think so." Minerva didn't move. She knew it was him, of course. She could sense him like heat, knew where he was in the room even when she wasn't looking at him.

"Well, come on, lass . . . let's go say hello." Thorfinn walked purposefully over to where Albus was talking with two parents, Minerva following along, hot panic rising in her chest with every step closer to her erstwhile lover.

When Albus spied Minerva and a man who could only be Thorfinn McGonagall heading his way, he gripped his goblet of mead a bit tighter as he continued his conversation with Mr and Mrs Vance.

The Vances politely made room for the new arrivals, and Mr Vance finished by saying, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Professor Dumbledore."

Albus responded automatically, "The pleasure was mine, Mr Vance. Both meeting you and your charming wife, and having Miss Vance as a student. If I don't see her, please wish her all the best on my behalf."

The Vances nodded their appreciation and moved off, leaving Albus, Thorfinn, and Minerva in a small, uneasy circle.

"Professor Dumbledore! I'm Thorfinn McGonagall, Minerva and Einar's father. I've been anxious to meet the man my daughter's been talking about for the past seven years," Thorfinn said, extending his hand and grinning briefly at Minerva, who returned a tight-lipped smile that didn't include her professor.

"It's an honour to meet you, sir," returned Dumbledore, taking the proffered hand and shaking it. "I have you to thank for providing me with the brightest pupil it's ever been my privilege to teach."

Minerva still didn't look at his face.

"Och, Minerva's wits are all her own doing; I just helped polish them up a bit," said McGonagall. "And I hardly know how to thank ye for all ye've done for her. Ye've gone above and beyond to help her with her studies, and I appreciate it."

It was on the tip of Albus's tongue to say it had been his pleasure, but he realised Minerva might take it to mean something he didn't intend, so he merely said, "No thanks are necessary, Mr McGonagall. Am I right in believing you tutored Minerva yourself before she came to Hogwarts?" He forced himself to glance at Minerva, who appeared to be looking right through him.

"Aye, me and her grandmother. We took it up between us to teach both children ourselves. I'm fortunate to have had the time and resources to devote to it. Not every father or mother is so lucky."

"No." Thorfinn McGonagall's awareness of his good fortune, and his refusal to take it for granted, had been passed down to his children, Albus thought. If only more pure-blood families had the McGonagalls' perspective, there would be far less strife in the wizarding world. However, he changed the subject, saying, "I believe you and I were at school together, were we not?"

"Aye, but I'm surprised ye remember. I was two years ahead o' ye, and a Ravenclaw. And not nearly as bright and popular as Albus Dumbledore."

"Wizard chess champion, weren't you?"

"Ye have a prodigious memory, Professor Dumbledore! I'm proud to say I've passed on the knack for it to both my children. But it's fortunate for Minerva she got her mother's athletic talent; I can barely mount a broom wi'out falling off," McGonagall said with a laugh. "I'm afraid Einar's inherited my lack o' talent there."

"I'm sure you underestimate him," answered Albus. "He may not follow in Minerva's footsteps in Quidditch, but it's my understanding he's quite a duellist. And of course, he's an excellent student."

"Kind of you to say so. I am proud of my boy too. I'm looking forward to having him home this summer. Especially as it looks like I'll be losing my lass to the enticements of London," McGonagall said, looking at Minerva.

"Ah, yes, her continued Animagus training," said Albus.

"Aye, and she has ye to thank for that too, I understand."

Albus bowed his head in acknowledgement, and McGonagall continued, "And now that she's been admitted to the Auror training programme, I have little hope of seeing her until Christmas, if then."

"Oh? I didn't know you'd been accepted, Minerva," Albus said, turning to her. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir. Your letter of recommendation, and Professor Merrythought's, of course, were a great help."

"You'll begin training right away?" he enquired.

"Yes, sir. With the war, I think they're quite anxious to get all the interns into the programme as soon as possible."

"Indeed." He didn't trust himself to say more. He hoped that as a trainee, Minerva would be far from the front lines of the war, but given her talent and ambition, he didn't hold out much hope that she'd stay in the relative safety of the Auror office long before being placed more directly in harm's way.

"Well, we'd best let ye go. I'm sure ye've many other families who want to shake your hand. Again, I thank ye, Professor Dumbledore," said Thorfinn.

"It was a privilege, Mr McGonagall." He turned to Minerva. "I wish you all the best, Miss McGonagall. In everything."

"Thank you, sir."

Her father shook Albus's hand again and turned to go, an affectionate hand on Minerva's arm. She pulled away and looked at Albus's face for the first time since the awkward meeting began.

"Goodbye, Professor Dumbledore."

As she walked out of the tent and his life, he wondered if he'd ever see her again.

~END OF PART I~