Chapter Thirty-Eight

"You've always known, I think, that I am a dangerous man. And now you know that I am a foolish, wicked, and cowardly one. How can you possibly want me now that you know me?"

"Nicely done," Minerva said, peeling herself off the mat after having been knocked off her feet by the jinx she hadn't even seen coming.

She and Amelia were duelling in one of MLE's four practice rooms at the Ministry of Magic. Minerva wiped her sweaty face with the small towel Amelia had conjured and tossed to her.

"Would you mind if I begged off lunch today? I've been giving extra lessons to some of the N.E.W.T. students, and I'm terribly behind in putting together my lesson plans for the next month."

"Of course, Minerva. No worries," said Amelia. "Speaking of, though, I've been meaning to ask: Are there any seventh-years you think are worth my looking at?"

"Albus knows them better than I do, but I can think of one I'd recommend based on what I've seen of his Transfiguration work, although he's been having some difficulty lately. He's one of the school's best duellists. He won the Inter-House championship last year. I think he's already applied, though. I can ask the other professors for their thoughts, if you like."

"I would, thanks. Edgecombe's after me to recruit a few more poor sods. We've had only a single application this year, and that's a first. It's been too quiet lately. Nobody wants to be an Auror when there's nothing happening."

The two women showered in the MLE locker room and said their goodbyes, then Minerva left the Ministry via the telephone box and Apparated from the usual alleyway off Lambeth Walk to the gates of Hogwarts.

Sleep had eluded her much of the previous night. She had finally taken a half-dose of Dreamless Sleep at ten past three and nearly didn't wake in time to make her eight o'clock sparring date, at which she had performed abysmally, tired and distracted as she was.

She had lain awake most of the night, mulling over what Albus had told her, trying and failing to work out exactly how she felt about it. Perhaps it was shock preventing her from sorting her feelings...there had been so much new and painful information in Albus's monologue that she almost didn't know where to begin. The sudden sensation of being doused in cold water when he had told her about loving Gellert Grindelwald had left her slightly numb and unable to feel much of anything, at least until his anguish over his sister's death had snapped her out of it. Then her heart had quite literally ached for him, and that ache was what drove her now.

An irrational fear that he would be gone when she got to the school gripped her when she had awoken this morning. His attempt to withdraw from her had been so sudden, so unexpected; something had happened, she was certain...something that had brought up the terrible story that had come tumbling from him.

She had to see him, to reassure herself that he was all right, that he was still the man she had loved. The discovery that he was so much more damaged than she had ever imagined made her question whether he could ever truly love her, fully and unreservedly. The depth of his guilt and self-loathing might put that dream forever beyond her reach. It was not something she could fix, she knew that. Experience had taught her the hard lesson that some things were beyond even Minerva McGonagall's formidable will and extraordinary talent. The question of the hour was, then, what did she want to do?

It was just before lunchtime when she presented herself to the gargoyle guarding his office.

"The Headmaster is unavailable," the creature said.

"May I leave him a message?"

"As you wish."

She conjured a bit of parchment and a quill and jotted down a few lines to tell him she was anxious to see him and that she would be in her office most of the afternoon. The gargoyle opened its mouth, and Minerva tucked the rolled parchment inside, where it disappeared. She went to her office and tried to concentrate on lesson planning.

An hour and a half later, she was startled by the gentle pop of house-elf Apparition. The elf handed her a note, bowed quickly, and Disapparated again before she could thank him. She unfolded the note and read:

Minerva,

I am in my office, if you wish to see me.

Albus

This time, the gargoyle moved aside immediately, obviously expecting her. When she entered the office, Albus was standing behind his enormous claw-footed desk but made no move to approach her. Neither of them was certain what to say.

After a moment, he spoke.

"I must apologise to you, Minerva."

"No, you mustn't."

He stepped out from behind the desk, and, glancing at the wall from which the animated portraits of the former Heads were listening with obvious interest, he said, "Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea in my private quarters?"

"I would, thank you."

With the door from his office safely shut behind them, he said, "I'm surprised you want to see me."

"Of course I want to see you. I've been dying to see you all day. That's why I came. I wanted to know how you are."

"I'm fine, as you see. Largely thanks to you. I wasn't quite myself last night. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You were upset. I couldn't leave you in that state."

"Will you leave me now?"

"No."

"You should, Minerva."

Her anger flashed hot at his words. "How can you say that to me?"

"You've always known, I think, that I am a dangerous man. And now you know that I am a foolish, wicked, and cowardly one. How can you possibly want me now that you know me?"

The fire in her chest was instantly doused. He had laid himself bare to her and expected her flee from what she saw. This was not the great and powerful saviour of the wizarding world nor the brilliant mage who had dazzled an adolescent girl with his matchless intelligence and pointed kindnesses. This was a man, wretched and frightened as any who ever believed himself so sinful as to be unlovable. Dumbledore had been stripped away, leaving only Albus.

Did she love him?

"Honestly?" she said in answer to his question. "I have no idea." Then after a second, she answered her own: "But I do."

She moved swiftly to him, took his face between her palms and kissed him. He stood frozen for a few moments, then opened his lips to her, bringing his arms around her to pull her tightly to him as his fears and his shame seemed to trickle away at the sudden warmth of her breath in his mouth, replaced by his need and the desire to absorb her into himself.

His hands travelled across her back, over her shoulders, and along her arms, up to where her hands were still cupping his cheeks. He ran his palms over her face, and finally to the back of her head, where they held her fast to him, not releasing their hold until they were both gasping for breath.

Minerva's hands dropped to his chest, where she gathered the pale-green silk of his robe in her fists, pulling him down to her so that she could reach his mouth again. Her tongue found his, and she could taste tea coupled with something too sweet lingering on his breath. It was a flavour she would always thereafter associate with sex.

She kissed him greedily, trying to reach all of his mouth at once. His beard and moustache chafed at her face, but she didn't care. She had to hold him there, make him feel what she felt, know how much she loved and wanted him...Albus, not Dumbledore...even with his past dragging behind him like a dead and decaying limb.

He broke the kiss and moved his mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive flesh there, barely hearing her cry out as he marked her, not caring. He pulled at her blouse, his hands desperately seeking to uncover more of her skin...skin he had tried not to think about but had dreamt of for twelve long years...popping several of the mother-of-pearl buttons from it. His lips and tongue burnt a desperate path down the milky terrain he had exposed, traversing the bony ridges of her clavicles and sliding into the sweet valley between her breasts.

She heard a sound as if from far away and realised it was her own voice moaning and whimpering as he sucked at her, pushing her bra down to bare one breast to his frantic mouth. When he removed his other arm from behind her back to try to push the blouse from her shoulders, she stumbled clumsily backwards, and he removed his mouth to move her back until her calves hit the edge of the settee. She tumbled back onto it, reaching for him.

He came to his knees in front of her, and she leant forward to work at unfastening his over-robe. He helped her unhook it, then yanked it off, tossing it aside. Moving his hands over her legs and pushing up her skirt, he found her knickers and pressed his fingers into the damp fabric, rubbing her tender flesh through the silk until he heard her breath start to come in ragged gasps, his eyes fixed on what his hands were doing. Her fingers scrabbled at the opening to his under-robe, without success, so he reached down and opened it far enough to allow her to reach inside.

She stroked him, pausing only long enough for him to stand and pull off his shorts. Then he was tugging at her knickers, and she shifted her hips up so he could slide them from her. She tried to kick them off, giving up when they snagged and remained stubbornly stuck on the heel of her right shoe. He was trembling and moaning as she continued to touch him, and she thought he might already be close to climax. She wanted him desperately, so she pulled him closer, encouraging him to complete their union.

He knew he should wait, make sure she was satisfied before taking her, but it had been twelve years and nine months of empty wanting, and he couldn't. He lowered his head to her, moving his lips across her neck to her ear, murmuring, "Let me ... oh, let me ... Minerva ... let me ..." and without waiting for her answer, buried himself deep inside her.

Neither of them moved for a few moments. He lifted his head to look at her face. Her eyes were open, and she smiled at him. "Yes, Albus," she whispered. He kissed her mouth as he began to thrust, and she thought nothing had ever felt so good...so right...as being with this man in this way.

It wasn't long before she felt herself slide over the edge of the precipice. She made no sound as the pleasure radiated from her centre to consume her for a few delirious seconds, echoing faintly through her body even as it ebbed.

He felt as if everything else had faded away, leaving just this, just himself and this woman. The tension built within him, and the world contracted further to exist solely in their physical connection until it burst from him in a small storm of colour and light that he felt rather than saw.

When he returned to the world as it was, he was sprawled partly on top of her, and they were both panting. Her eyes were still open, and she reached up to stroke his hair, moving it tenderly away from where it hung dankly around his face, so that she could see him more clearly.

She waited for him to speak first, which, at length, he did, once their breath had slowed.

"Gods, Minerva. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be quite so ... urgent," he said.

"I'm glad you were. I was feeling a bit urgent myself."

"But did you ..." He trailed off, but she knew what he meant.

"Yes," she laughed. "You couldn't tell?"

"I suppose I was a bit preoccupied. I just couldn't wait. I was afraid I was too quick."

"No, not at all," she said. "But do you suppose we could move somewhere a bit more comfortable next time?"

He climbed laboriously off of her and helped her to her feet. With her torn blouse and dishevelled hair and her bra halfway off, she looked like the quintessential ravished woman from the cover of one of the ten-Knut novels Professor Fancourt was always confiscating from her Hufflepuff girls. He was slightly ashamed at the shiver the sight elicited in him.

He said, "Shall we retire to my bedroom? We can rest a bit, then perhaps I can show you that I am capable of taking my time with you."

"Yes, please."

She'd been in his bedroom the previous night, but she'd hardly registered anything about it. It was much larger than the one he had occupied in Gryffindor Tower, although the four-poster bed with the blue brocade hangings looked exactly as she remembered it. It was distinctly less grand than the other furniture, which she assumed came with the Headmaster's suite.

"You kept the bed," she said.

"Yes. It had some rather nice memories I wasn't quite ready to relinquish," he said, which made her smile.

They both removed the remainder of their clothes, and Albus turned down the bedclothes with a wave of his hand. When they were settled in his bed, she lay with her head on his shoulder, her hand making lazy circles on his chest.

"This is rather decadent," he said, "lying in bed with a beautiful witch on a Sunday afternoon."

"It is, isn't it? I could get used to it."

"I'm not sure how often we'll manage it."

"Mmm. We'll manage. We always did before."

"We'll still need to be careful. You may not be a student any longer, but I'm violating the morals clause of my contract nevertheless."

"Morals clause?"

"Oh, yes. Unmarried residential staff members are prohibited from engaging in sexual activity on Hogwarts's grounds."

"Really? That seems a bit antediluvian."

"Antediluvian or not, it is grounds for dismissal."

"They wouldn't dismiss the Headmaster over such a thing, though, surely."

"They might indeed. I've been Head for less than a year, remember, and you're my subordinate. Besides, there are certain governors who would love any excuse to give me the sack."

Minerva could easily guess which governors those might be. She said, "We will be careful, of course. I'm certainly not planning on telling anyone, in any event."

"Not even your father?"

"No, I hadn't planned on it. Why?"

"I just thought you were very close."

"We are, but I don't give him the details of my romantic conquests," she said with a smile. "I don't think he really wants to know."

Albus felt a morsel of relief at her answer. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Have you ever told anyone about us? About what happened when you were a student?"

"No, I haven't." She added quickly, "I'm not ashamed of it. But I thought it best not to tell anyone. It isn't anyone's business."

"No. But I should perhaps tell you, Filius knows."

Her hand stopped moving on his chest, and she shifted onto her side to look at him. "Filius? How?"

"I told him." She stiffened, and he explained about the conversation he had had with Filius after their chess game.

"He encouraged you to ...?" she asked.

"To pursue you now, yes. To be honest, I'm not sure I would have found the courage without his small but well-placed boot to my backside."

"Then I suppose I owe him a debt of gratitude."

"We both do," he said, rolling over to kiss her.

The kiss deepened and built, and his desire began to stir again at the feeling of Minerva, warm and naked, pressing up against him. She felt it too and smiled against his lips, reaching down for him.

"Again?" he asked.

"Mmm. Again and again and again ... we have a lot of time to make up for," she said. "Any objections?"

"Not a single one," he said, running a hand down her leg. She was still very aroused, and as he touched her, her breathy moans told him that he still knew what kinds of touches pleased her.

She quickly found her pleasure, crying out, "Ah, gods! Albus ... oh!" and when she stopped trembling, she pushed at him to urge him to roll over on his back. He did, and she straddled him, and he relaxed back against the mattress, content to let her take charge this time.

It was slower and tenderer this time, and their eyes met time and again as they moved together. When it was finished, she lay atop him, her head buried between his neck and chin, until the perspiration cooled on her skin and she shivered. He Summoned the bedclothes and tucked them in around her shoulders.

"Warmer now?"

"Yes. Lovely."

"Lovely doesn't begin to cover it."

At some point, she must have moved off of him, although she didn't remember doing it, because when she woke, the light was slicing through the window at a sharp angle that told her the sun was nearly setting.

Albus was snoring lightly beside her, and she leant over and kissed his lips softly.

"Albus ..."

When he didn't stir, she shook him gently by the shoulder. "Albus ... Albus?"

"Hmm ..." he sighed, opening his eyes. He smiled to see her there, leaning over him.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but it must be near dinnertime. I don't have my wand but..."

He interrupted her by pointing at the wall just to the right and above the bed. There was the antique clock she remembered from his bedroom in Gryffindor Tower.

"I forgot about your fondness for clocks," she said.

"You must admit, they can be quite useful. I'm not certain I have the strength to Accio my wand."

"Yes, well, that clock says it's ten minutes of six," she said. "We probably ought to get up so you can get to dinner on time. Charity will be expecting me, at any rate. Leg of mutton on Sundays," she added with a slight grimace.

"I wish I could ask you to stay," he said with a sigh. "But it wouldn't be prudent."

"No," she agreed. "Would you mind if I used your shower?"

"Of course not. You should find a clean towel and flannel in the bathroom cupboard. He felt a tug of regret as she got out of the bed, but it was ameliorated by the agreeable sight of her crossing the bedroom, the lengthening shadows of early evening dancing across the curves and planes of her nude body. A body, he noted, that had lost the adolescent roundness he remembered, and had settled into an angular womanhood he decided he found pleasing.

Feeling his eyes on her, she smiled to herself.

She found her knickers by the settee but had to retrieve her wand from her cloak pocket to Accio the buttons that were missing from her blouse. She took them to the bedroom to re-attach them to the garment.

After a quick wash, she dried her hair and conjured a comb, deftly working through the snarls with the help of a Detangling Charm, as Albus showered. He emerged, and she was waiting with a towel, which she had warmed with her wand.

"Thank you, my love," he said. Looking at her intently for a moment, he asked, "Do they hurt?" running his fingers gently over the small, reddish reminders of his ardour that ran from just under her jawline to where her neck met her shoulders.

"No, not at all."

"Shall I heal them?"

She debated with herself for a moment, then handed him her wand. "Please," she said.

He pointed the wand at her neck and said, "Curo Contusionem." She felt a brief warmth, and when she inspected herself in the mirror, the marks were gone.

"Thank you," she said as he returned her wand. He leant into her and kissed the spots where the marks had been.

When they were both dressed, he said, "I'm not sure when..." but she stopped him.

"Let's just go on as we have been, Albus. No pressure, no worries. And on Saturday," she said with a wry smile, "we can ... play chess."

Of the many coded phrases that eventually became part of the private lexicon Albus and Minerva would build in their years together, "playing chess" was by far the most pleasant.