XXV: Meeting

PART FIVE

XXV: Meeting

Minerva hesitated only the barest second before rapping at the door to Albus's office. Too late to turn back now. He surely knew she was there, anyway, as the gargoyle had allowed her entry to his stairway. Although she had expected the door to open immediately, she had anticipated that it would open in its usual manner to reveal Albus sitting at his desk on the other side of the room. Instead, she almost walked into Albus as he opened the door to her himself.

"There you are, Minerva! Punctual as always! A characteristic I value highly, even if perhaps I do not always live up to my own standards in that regard. Please come in." Albus gestured to the chairs and small settee behind him. "I thought that it would be more convenient for us to go over the curriculum in my little sitting area, rather than with me behind that big old desk, since we will be handing parchments back and forth and so on." Albus hoped he wasn't rambling. He did feel somewhat awkward and thought perhaps he had startled her when he had opened the door for her. "Yes, now, I cleared this little table for our use. Please, my dear, just put your things down there. And which chair would your prefer?"

Minerva stood, just a few feet into the room, holding her sheaf of parchments and her books, and blinked at the table and chairs he had indicated. The low coffee table had been Transfigured to be slightly taller, although not as high as the desk. Albus had Transfigured the velvet upholstery on the comfortable overstuffed chairs from the garnet-colour they had been that morning to tartan. One had dark and pale greens, brown, and grey on a creamy background; the other was a red, gold, and black tartan on a pale grey background. Whatever one might say of them, they were certainly not your typical tartan, and she'd never before seen tartan velvet. Minerva decided, without very much thought, to sit in the red and gold chair. The green pattern would be easier on the eye. She felt rather confused as she deposited her parchments on the table and lowered herself into the chair. What was she to think? What was Albus doing?

"I hoped you might like that one, my dear! Very Gryffindor, I thought!" Albus sat as well, and pulled the parchments toward him. "Shall we begin by discussing the sixth-year curriculum, then?"

"Yes, Albus, that would be fine, but first –" Minerva began.

"Let's begin there, then. I assume the outline of the required spells and the order in which I found best to teach them was of some help, but you may have a question or two about that. So let's look at the broad overview of the course, then move on to the actual progression of the lessons. All right, my dear?" Albus smiled at Minerva, who had opened her mouth once or twice to interject something, but who could only nod at the Headmaster's cheery suggestion of how they should proceed.

Minerva was taken aback by the fact that he had not given her the opportunity to apologise, and that he appeared to be concerned only with lesson plans and timetables. It was as though nothing had happened that morning at all! She was sure that he had overheard what she had said; there was no way he could have avoided hearing it.

As the two discussed the sixth-year curriculum for the next hour, Minerva's mind kept turning to the question of why he hadn't allowed her to finish speaking, why he had insisted they discuss the lessons. Part of her wondered whether Albus had simply been completely unaffected by what he had overheard. She had spent the better part of the day in agony over it, but perhaps he hadn't given it another thought once he had left the hospital wing. Albus was focussed on the subject at hand, although it didn't seem as though he were trying to distance himself by concentrating on school matters. He was calling her "Minerva," and "my dear," just as usual. And he certainly would not have arranged the furniture for them to sit so closely if he had been trying to distance himself. His Headmaster's desk would have provided a more than adequate barrier between them, if he had wanted to exert his authority and emphasise the professional nature of their relationship.

Minerva found herself wondering again about Albus's attitude and purpose when she became aware that he was asking her a question that she hadn't heard. "I'm sorry, Albus. I am afraid my mind wandered a bit there. I didn't catch what you asked me."

"Well, then," said Albus with a smile, "perhaps it is time for a break. I could not help but notice that you did not eat very much of your lunch today, and I know it can be very difficult to concentrate on this sort of thing when you're hungry. Dinner's not for another hour, but we could eat something here now, and resume our discussion of the NEWT-level curriculum later. How would that be, my dear?"

"Oh, no, Albus, that's fine. We can finish discussing the curriculum now. I don't want to put you to any trouble, disrupt your plans for the evening . . . ."

"It's no trouble at all, Minerva. None whatsoever! And if that's not your stomach I hear gurgling, then it's mine, which means that at least one of us needs to eat. Let's do that now, shall we?" As he spoke, Albus gathered up the parchments into a neat pile. "Now, why don't you go wash up, and I'll call Wilspy about some dinner, shall I?"

Minerva rose from her seat in silent acquiescence, unable to argue with him. When she just stood there hesitantly, however, Albus asked with a gentle smile, "What is it, my dear? You needn't wait for an invitation, this isn't a four-star establishment, you know."

"Well, actually, Albus, I do need an invitation, unless you have a sink somewhere in your office," she responded, thinking that his words sounded familiar.

"Ah, no, my dear. Just the bathroom and the loo upstairs, if that's all right with you. I promise that I got rid of Aberforth's potion, so that won't affront you!" He grinned at her broadly.

"Your stairs –" began Minerva.

"Oh, I see. You needn't worry about those. They are charmed to recognise you now. I should have thought to do that for you as soon as you arrived at Hogwarts, but with one thing and another, the issue didn't arise until last week. I am very sorry, Minerva." Albus gazed at her seriously.

"You needn't be sorry, Albus. You are a very busy wizard, and –" Minerva began before Albus interrupted her.

"I am sorry, nonetheless, for that and a good many other things, as well. But you go wash up now, and I'll call Wilspy. Would you mind if we were to dine in my quarters? Otherwise, I can arrange things down here," Albus asked.

Minerva was almost dumbstruck. "No, no, that would be fine." She took a step or two back toward the brass staircase, then turned and started up the stairs. She hesitated almost imperceptibly when she reached the sixth step, but then proceeded the rest of the way without pausing.

Minerva had been in his private rooms before, of course, but that had been with several other teachers in early January, when Albus had invited the staff for drinks before the students returned from holiday. She was fairly sure she knew where the loo was, although she hadn't needed to use it the last time she'd been there.

Minerva crossed the Headmaster's private sitting room toward the far-left door, hoping it was the correct one. She didn't want to open the wrong door and find herself in his bedroom, or something. Minerva was unsure of how many rooms were in the Headmaster's suite, although no doubt it was more than just two or three. The level below her contained not only Albus's office, but also the large library and archive that was inherited by each Headmaster or Headmistress, each of whom would add to the collection during their tenure.

As soon as she opened it, Minerva could see that she had chosen the correct door. On the other side of the small room, a door opened onto the Headmaster's bedroom. She quickly closed that door, as well as the one behind her, and noted the presence of a third door, which she surmised must lead to his bathroom.

Minerva washed her hands and thought of Albus's final words to her. He had apologised to her. He had apologised to her. That was not at all what she had anticipated. It was she who should be apologising. It was he who was the injured party. She should be asking for his forgiveness, not hearing him say that he was sorry.

Minerva reached for one of the towels. At least he hadn't charmed these tartan, she thought. She liked tartans, but even she recognized there are limits . . . . Albus must have charmed the upholstery as part of his attempt to apologise to her. She sighed. He would have to give her the opportunity to apologise before dinner. She would make sure that she made the opportunity to apologise, and to express her regret, to him. As she dried her hands, she realised why his earlier words about not needing an invitation had sounded so familiar. He had said something similar, years ago, before they had their dinner "chez Albus." Did he remember that dinner, too, or was it simply a phrase that he used often?

Minerva had just finished drying her hands when she heard Albus's voice in the sitting room.

"Minerva?"

She emerged from the bathroom, ready with her apology, but before she could say anything, he gestured to a round table across the room. He had pulled the heavy, dark draperies closed, and the room was lit with soft candlelight from a candelabra on the table and two wall sconces. A large bouquet of various flowers was in a crystal vase at the edge furthest from her, and two chairs sat at right angles to each other, place settings in front of each.

"I hope this meets your approval."

"Yes, yes, of course it does, Albus. It's very nice." Minerva was at a loss. How could she apologise to him when he kept being, well, being so Albus?

"Wilspy had wanted to do the table, but I insisted. There does seem to be a slight delay with our meal, however. Some kind of house-elf issue in the kitchens. Wilspy assures me that she is handling it and our food will be served shortly. In the meantime, may I offer you a seat and pour you a glass of wine?" Albus pulled out a chair for Minerva to sit.

Minerva sat in the chair Albus held for her. "Thank you, Albus, but –"

"Here you go. I hope you like it," Albus said, handing her a glass of wine that seemed to have poured itself as she was sitting down at her place. "I'll have one as well, and then, perhaps, a toast?" Albus looked at her inquisitively as he took the seat next to her.

"Of course, Albus, it's just that –"

"To you, my dear Minerva, for putting up with a barmy old codger like me."

Never sure of the etiquette of drinking a toast to oneself, Minerva waited until Albus began raising the glass to his lips, then she whispered, "Thank you," and took a sip of the wine. "But you're not a barmy old codger, Albus. And I need to –" Minerva made another futile attempt to apologise.

"That's kind of you to say, my dear. But I wish to apologise again for my neglect of you. As I said down in my office, I am very sorry for allowing my stairs to deposit you on my floor the way they did, and I am even more sorry for having not made time for you the way I ought – the way you deserve, my dear. And I do wish to tell you a little bit about my morning, not in order to excuse my behaviour toward you, but perhaps to explain it. May I, Minerva? Will you allow me that?" Albus was quite aware that Minerva had been trying to work her own apology into the conversation. Normally, he would find it the height of rudeness to repeatedly interrupt someone as he had been doing, but it was important for him to let her know that she was forgiven already, and that he was truly remorseful for the way he had inadvertently neglected her and taken her for granted. He was nonetheless shocked when he saw tears springing into her eyes.

"Ah! My dear, please! I will not discuss it, then, if it disturbs you so! I only wished to make some amends." Albus reached over and took her hand. "Please, Minerva. I am so sorry; I did not wish to make you cry!"

Minerva blinked, embarrassed when great tears rolled down her cheeks. "Please, Albus, don't apologise again. Please. It is torture for me to hear that, knowing how good you have been to me and how little I have appreciated it. And then, what I said this morning . . . ." Minerva had thought that she had completely cried herself out earlier in the day, but after his heartfelt apologies, thinking about what Albus had overheard brought fresh tears to her eyes.

"It's all right, Minerva. Really, my dear." Still holding her hand in one of his own, Albus reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a fresh white handkerchief and handed it to her. She took it and chuckled slightly.

"I didn't know you could own a white handkerchief, Albus," she said, trying to make a joke through her tears.

"I received several as a gift. They are very practical. Not particularly decorative, but practical," Albus replied with a slight twinkle.

"It's just, Albus . . . I can't believe I said what I did, and I would never have, and you overheard it, too. . . . what you must have thought . . . ," Minerva said, sniffling a bit into the handkerchief.

"Ah, well. I do admit to having been somewhat surprised by your particular choice of words. But I could not blame you for the sentiment behind them. I have not meant to neglect you, my dear, but I have not treated you as I ought to have done. It is no excuse, but I am afraid that it never occurred to me that my words and actions might signify something quite different to you than what I meant by them. I have felt so comfortable with you, Minerva, that I took for granted that you would understand if I were late, and not just this morning, but over the last six months, and I never dreamed that you would take it amiss or believe it showed a lack of respect for you. I am very, very sorry, my dear." He squeezed her hand gently.

Minerva wiped at her tears. "I should have been more understanding, Albus. And I was, really. But it's one thing to be understanding each time and another to think that . . . ." Minerva could not continue that thought. "I see now that I was wrong, but it felt different this morning, and . . . oh, I am so sorry, Albus!" Her tears began to flow again.

Albus got up from the table and came around to stand beside her, putting his other hand on her shoulder. "Come, now, Minerva. Let's go over to the settee while we wait for dinner, hmm?"

Albus led her gently to the small sofa. He sat close to her and put one arm around her shoulders.

"Here now, we are friends, aren't we, Minerva? Friends before all else? I am afraid I have been neither a very good Headmaster nor a very good friend lately, but perhaps you will allow me to be your friend now?"

Minerva let him draw her closer. She let out a shuddering sigh as she rested her head against his chest. One of her hands crept up to rest on his opposite shoulder. Her eyes closed, and she thought vaguely that she shouldn't allow this, that it would simply torment her later. But she indulged herself, and let herself move her face just a little closer to his beard and to his sandalwood and lemon scent. "Yes, Albus. Please."

The two simply sat there for a bit, she, close to motionless, yielding to her desire to simply breathe him in and feel his warmth and his magic flowing around her. He held her, one arm around her, and gently rubbed her back with his free hand. Ah, he thought, he must not become too used to this; he was doing this to comfort her, after all, not to cater to his own needs. But still, it was nice to hold her like this.

After a few minutes, Minerva sat up, but did not pull away from him fully. "You said that you wanted to tell me about this morning, Albus."

"Yes, I did, and I still do, but how are you feeling? Better?"

Minerva was touched by the concern in his face. "Much; thank you," she said softly. She did not rest her head against him again, although she would have liked to, but leaned back against the couch, grateful for the warmth of his arm still around her.

"Well, Minerva, in retrospect, I suppose it was all rather funny, although it didn't feel that way at the time. And I don't want you to feel badly about everything again, but I really had thought that our meeting would be the highpoint of my day, especially after the way it started."

Minerva swallowed past a lump in her throat when he mentioned the meeting with her, and that he had been looking forward to it, but she just nodded to him to continue.

Albus began telling her about the urgent owl he had received so early that morning and had just reached the point in his story where he had Apparated to Doncaster, when their meal and Wilspy popped into the room.

"Dinner, Professor, Professor Minerva," said Wilspy. "May I get the Professor and his Professor Minerva anything else?"

"No, thank you, Wilspy. Dessert, when we're ready, of course, but I will call you if we have any other requests," replied Albus.

Minerva had straightened up completely when Wilspy popped in, and now she stood and walked over to the table where their meal sat steaming on plates and in tureens. As she saw their contents, tears welled up in her eyes again.

"A very good friend once told me that spinach is revitalising," Albus said softly. "I couldn't decide on shepherd's pie or roast beef, so I asked for both."

In addition to those dishes, there were mashed potatoes and gravy, and carrots that swam in butter. Soup plates at each place held vegetable soup.

"We have shared many meals together, Minerva," Albus said very softly, "and I am grateful for them all, but especially for our first, that one we shared in my office so many years ago, because it introduced me to a wonderful person whom I am now lucky enough to call 'friend,' and for the dinner 'chez Albus,' because you helped me more than you could ever have known that night." Albus stopped, feeling somewhat awkward.

Minerva blew her nose on Albus's handkerchief. "This is the most wonderful . . . . Thank you, Albus."

They sat again at the table. After tasting her soup, Minerva realised that she was famished. Albus smiled to see her eat with such an appetite. After they had started on the shepherd's pie, creamed spinach, roast beef, and the other dishes, Minerva asked him about what had happened in Doncaster, and Albus finished his story.

"Well, it is quite understandable that you would be running late, then," Minerva said. "But what was all that about your beard?"

Albus explained how Gertie had found him soaking his beard in Aberforth's latest putrid potion, giving a detailed verbal picture of his state at the time. Minerva put down her fork and began laughing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Albus! I shouldn't laugh. That must have been quite awful for you," Minerva said, still chuckling.

"Oh, it wasn't so bad. I'll admit, I was a wee bit embarrassed at the time, especially since I hadn't been expecting her – I remembered that you were coming, Minerva, but thought that you would probably just settle down with a book and wait for me; I'm sorry about that."

"Don't worry, Albus. And although I don't want you to, well, take me for granted, I promise that if you are late for our meetings in the future, I will assume that you have a good reason for it and remember what you said about feeling comfortable with me – so I will make myself comfortable in return. Although . . . it would be nice if you could be on time occasionally, Albus."

"I will do my best, truly. And when I am late in the future, for no doubt it will happen again, even with the best of intentions, I promise that I will try to apologise immediately and not seem as though I take your time for granted."

"Thank you, Albus. That means a lot to me."

"But you must promise me something, as well, Minerva. Please promise me that if I am causing you hurt feelings, you will not try to hide it from me. It was dreadful for me to realise that I had been causing you pain and hadn't known it."

Minerva hesitated. "I cannot promise that, Albus. But," she said in response to his distressed expression, "I will try in the future to express myself before I become as distressed as I did this morning. Despite what you heard this morning, you know that I don't usually wear my feelings plainly. It is my nature to keep them to myself. Particularly . . . well, you have been honest with me, Albus: particularly any feelings that I might consider unseemly or weak. Unfortunately, it can be easier for me to become angry than to express any kind of hurt feelings. But, in terms of our relationship, I will try never again to allow anything of that sort to fester until I become so angry, Albus."

"Very well; thank you, Minerva." Albus fiddled with his napkin. He wished he could take her hand again. The moment was past for that. Just then, Wilspy appeared.

"May I speak with the Professor, please, Professor?" Wilspy asked, bouncing somewhat agitatedly. Minerva assumed that she was speaking both about and to Albus.

"Of course, Wilspy," he replied.

Wilspy looked at him, then looked at Minerva, then looked back at him and said, "Wilspy needs to speak with the Professor, now, please." Minerva thought she'd never heard Wilspy sound quite so house-elfish as she did at that moment.

"Excuse us a moment, please, Minerva," said Albus as he led the diminutive house-elf out of the room.

He came back a few minutes later, chuckling. "Am I right in understanding that you know a house-elf by the name of 'Blampa'?"

"Yes, she was the one assigned to me when I arrived here. Why? What is it?"

"It seems that Blampa was quite put out that you are having a private dinner with me and that she was not asked to serve. That was the first problem in the kitchens tonight. Wilspy did finally convince her that if the private dinner was being held in your rooms, then Blampa would have been asked to serve and that she wasn't being dishonoured. However, she has thrown quite a little house-elfish fit regarding the desert." Albus laughed, taking off his glasses and putting them on the table by his place. "I had asked for chocolate biscuits and caramel custard. There has been a bit of a struggle over these items, however, since Blampa insists that you cannot have dessert without – "

"Ginger newts," completed Minerva. At his quizzical expression, she said, "I have been trying to get used to Blampa, and in my effort to get her not to be the typical cringing house-elf everyone else – except you, Albus – seems to appreciate, I have been telling her whenever she does something that particularly pleases me. She brought me some ginger newts, and I told her that whenever she brought me biscuits, she was to include some ginger newts, if possible. It seems that she decided providing me with ginger newts is now part of her mission in life."

Albus chuckled again. "Yes, well, I told Wilspy just to bring both kinds of biscuits up with the caramel custard. It will all be too much for us to eat, anyway."

A few minutes later, their dessert appeared on the table, along with a pot of peppermint tea. As they finished their meal, Minerva thought how much better she felt, and how well the day was ending, despite its rather dreadful start. She sighed to herself; she would still have to deal with her underlying problem, she knew, or this would happen again, but not for any reason that Albus could control.

"Are you all right, my dear?" asked Albus. "You're very quiet."

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little tired, I think."

"It has been a long day for both of us. I think that we should wait to discuss the seventh-year curriculum. There are some other school-related issues that I wanted to talk with you about, as well, some things I would value your opinion on, but nothing that needs to be resolved tonight. Why don't we just sit, sip some cognac, and then have an early night?" Albus felt himself begin to flush, wondering if his final suggestion sounded as, well, suggestive to Minerva as it did to him. "We can meet tomorrow," he continued hurriedly. "Perhaps after breakfast. Unless you would care to make it a breakfast meeting? We would have more time."

"That sounds fine, Albus. I would like that, actually, although I would prefer it if we waited until after breakfast to talk Hogwarts business. I think I need my morning tea first." Minerva hoped that hadn't sounded like a rejection of his proposal to share breakfast together. She really should avoid such things, but he was a friend, and she would just have to deal with her own internal conflicts without doing anything to injure their friendship. And friends sometimes ate breakfast together.

"Yes, that is fine," Albus replied hesitantly.

"Since Blampa feels neglected, would you care to meet me in my quarters for breakfast? Unless that would be inconvenient." Minerva hesitated, herself. "Or we could have breakfast in my office, if you would prefer."

"That would be lovely, Professor McGonagall," Albus replied with a smile. "And we needn't meet in your office. At what time should I arrive for breakfast?"

Minerva and Albus made arrangements for him to come by her rooms at eight o'clock the next morning, then he fetched two snifters and a very nice old brandy, and they relaxed on his sofa talking until her yawns became contagious and he sent her off with his sincere promise that he would be on time for breakfast the next morning. He walked her down the stairs to his office.

As Albus opened the door at the top of the moving staircase, Minerva stopped him. "Thank you, Albus. This has been a lovely evening. I was a bit worried when I arrived and you wouldn't let me apologise; the events of the morning had weighed so heavily on me that I could scarcely think of anything else. I certainly didn't expect the day to end so happily. Thank you."

Albus reached out and took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Thank you, Minerva. Our meeting truly was the highpoint of my day." He bent quickly over her hand, raising it to his mouth and brushing his lips against her knuckles, then he straightened and smiled at her. "Good night, my dear."

"Good night, Albus." For a brief moment, Minerva thought that Albus was leaning forward, that he might kiss her cheek, but it was a trick of the light. After a final fond glance at him, Minerva turned and rode the spiral staircase down to the gargoyle, and walked back to her rooms. She would call Blampa as soon as she got there, she decided, and arrange for breakfast. Minerva was a much happier woman than she had been in a very long time.