CXV: Questionable Intentions

CXV: Questionable Intentions

Minerva woke very early Wednesday morning. The sun was just up, and her bedroom was too cold. She fumbled for her wand and closed the window, shivering and waving her wand to pull the afghan up to cover her, as well. She invoked the blanket's charm, and soon was feeling warm and cozy. Unfortunately, as cozy as she felt, she was now wide awake. Contemplating her options, she decided on a modicum of decadence. Hoping that Blampa wasn't sleeping, she called her house-elf.

Blampa appeared, seeming cheerful and quite well-awake, and she was thrilled with the idea of serving her Professor breakfast in bed. Fifteen minutes later, after a quick trip to the loo and a return to her bed to doze a bit, Minerva was presented with a tray filled with all of her breakfast favourites, a small, steaming bowl of porridge with plumped-up sultanas, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, a fried egg with wholemeal toast, and a large pot of tea.

"Thank you, Blampa! You spoil me," Minerva said, feeling better for just looking at the breakfast. She had had biscuits and tea for her supper the night before, eliciting Blampa's clucking tongue and sotto voce remarks about the inadequacy of her meal, and Minerva was now very hungry, indeed.

Blampa smiled and bounced, glowing from Minerva's praise, and promising that if Minerva wanted anything in addition, she could have it. But Minerva thought this breakfast would be more than adequate, and so Blampa popped away, happy to have been of service.

After breakfast, Minerva dressed, did her hair, and pulled her lightweight tartan cloak on over everything, then set off for her morning walk. She had expected to be the only one up, so she was startled to find Johannes just leaving the castle as she was.

"Good morning, Minerva!" he greeted her cheerfully.

"Good morning! How are you?" Minerva asked as they stepped outside together.

"I am well. I did not know you were in the castle," Johannes remarked.

"Yes, I am here for the time being," Minerva answered, not wanting to get into the details of her comings and goings. "And you?"

"I leave this afternoon for Cardiff. My friend Jack and his mother make a holiday there every year, and they have invited me. I did not know if I would go, but . . ." Johannes shrugged.

"You are up very early. I didn't think I would see anyone."

"I have work to do in the gardens before I leave, and I enjoy working in the early morning. There is something very renewing in the air," he said.

Minerva nodded. "Yes, there is. It is invigorating, certainly. And I do like to take my walks early when I can."

"Your brother has been spending a lot of time here," Johannes observed as they approached the gardens.

"Yes," Minerva said, unsure what else to say.

"He is the friend to Gertie . . ." Johannes said hesitantly.

"It appears so."

Johannes nodded, and they walked in silence to the outbuilding in which the garden tools were stored.

"I hope you have a good morning, Johannes, and if I don't see you before you leave, I hope you enjoy your holiday in Cardiff."

Johannes smiled. "I will, I am certain. Enjoy your walk, Minerva!"

Minerva walked down to the Forest, walking along the edge just inside the line of trees, until she reached the stone wall, then she turned and, this time walking a bit further into the Forest, she started back to the castle. She considered changing into her tabby form, but remembering Albus's concerns about her tarrying in the Forest in her Animagus form, she refrained until she reached the edge of the Forest again, emerging on the far side of the gardens, several hundred yards from where she had originally entered. She popped into her feline form and began picking her way across the dew-covered ground, then breaking into a sprint and racing toward the castle. Her small heart pounding, Minerva slowed as she approached the back of the castle, then trotted around to the front doors and returned to her ordinary form.

Feeling refreshed, though slightly winded, Minerva pulled open the door. Since she and Johannes had already left the castle, they were unbolted. Rather than return to her rooms, she went to the library, using her password to enter. It was eerie in a peculiarly comfortable way to be in the large, silent space, filled with books, dust motes visible floating through the air in front of the large windows. She went to the Transfiguration section and pulled out the few books that she needed to use but didn't own herself.

Two hours later, Minerva headed back to her rooms. She had taken notes using the parchment and quill that she had borrowed from the librarian's desk, but brought one of the books back with her. She wanted to copy a few of the pages, and she had some specially Charmed parchment in her study that would hold the copies indefinitely. She saw no one and had the peculiar and uneasy sense that she was entirely alone in the castle, which was, of course, foolishness. Even if Johannes were still in the gardens, he wouldn't be leaving until the afternoon. She presumed that at the very least, Gertrude was present at the school, as Albus wouldn't leave without passing the wards to someone, and as Johannes was resuming his holiday that afternoon, one or the other of them would have to stay. Of course, Albus could pass the wards to her. But she hadn't seen him since the previous morning, and although he could pass them to her without being in her presence, she doubted that he would do so without informing her first, unless there were an emergency, and she hadn't felt anything that indicated she now held the wards. So either Albus or Gertrude had to be at the school.

Thinking of Albus, though, depressed Minerva. He hadn't come by to see her at all the previous day after meeting her at her door. But he had been angry with her, and she with him. She wasn't angry with him any longer, just vaguely upset that he had scolded her as he had. Minerva sighed deeply. She should apologise, she decided. Again, not for what she said, but for the fact that she had not considered the possibility that she would not be returning to the castle. She was simply unused to having to think of those things. She had lived alone in London, never having to let anyone know of her comings and goings, and she could always Floo to her flat, no matter what the hour. But Hogwarts had no open Floo connections to the outside. The Headmaster could open one for his own use, or for someone else, but what was she to have done? Floo-called and asked the portraits to wake the Headmaster and tell him that she wanted to Floo back to the castle? That would be ridiculous. Albus wasn't a porter, at the beck-and-call of any staff who wanted to Floo back to the castle in the middle of the night – or any other time of day. Perhaps she should have Floo-called, anyway, and left a message with the headmaster portraits. But that sounded just as absurd. She could see herself, head in Quin's Floo, shouting to get the portraits' attention, and trying to get them to realise that she was speaking to them and wanted to leave a message for the Headmaster.

No, she had done what had been reasonable under the circumstances. The only other alternative would have been to Floo to the Hog's Head and keep Quin from his rest as he walked her up to the gates and then hurried back to the seedy pub to Floo home before it closed at two – or he would have had to have spent the night at the castle, which would have been awkward for him, to say the least, particularly given that he had early business at the Ministry. And she would have had to have found a room for him. Minerva shook her head. She simply would have to tell Albus that if she was out in the evenings during the summer, she might not return until the next day. It would be different during the school year, of course. She would plan her departure – and her alcohol consumption – so that even if she did have an evening off and spent it with friends, or with Melina and Brennan or other family, she could return to the castle that night. Minerva didn't anticipate being able to have many evenings out, however, not as Head of Gryffindor.

Albus had been unreasonable, Minerva concluded once again. He had treated her differently from any other staff member, and it was unfair of him. She entered her rooms and put her tartan cloak away in the wardrobe, then returned to her sitting room. Having suitably depressed herself with thoughts of Albus and his irrational behaviour, she no longer had any desire to make the copies from the book she had brought back from the library. Instead, she sat down on the sofa and picked up the next letter in the correspondence from Albus. This one was from not long after the war had ended. It was brief, asking how she was, telling her that he would be in London on the coming Friday and would like to take her to dinner. She couldn't remember whether she had accepted on that specific occasion, although it was likely. It was rare that he would ask her to lunch or dinner and she would not accept, and then, only when she had other plans. And often, he wouldn't write in advance, but would appear in the Department and ask for her. Occasionally, he would have to wait a short time while she finished some work, but when she had, he would take her to lunch or for a cup of tea. Sometimes, he would wait longer than they were able to spend together, just having a quick cup of tea in the Ministry canteen because she was particularly busy that day.

Minerva read through more letters, tears occasionally filling her eyes as she read some particularly sweet phrase or was reminded of an occasion when they had seen each other and they had had an especially nice time. She had so hoped that when she came to teach at Hogwarts, their time together would be even better and that they would become closer, but each time that she believed that was happening, something else would occur, and their relationship would become strained again. At least this time, she had not left him with any doubt about her feelings. She had promised Albus that she would tell him when he upset her, and she certainly had done that. But he hadn't apologised. Of course, she hadn't really given Albus the opportunity to apologise. She had been too upset, and had needed to get into her rooms, away from him.

Minerva dropped the letters on the floor and began to weep in earnest. She Summoned the afghan from her bedroom and held it to her face, wishing that it were Albus himself, wishing that she could turn back time, wishing she had never gone to Quin's for dinner, for if she hadn't, there would have been no opportunity to disappoint Albus and to be disappointed by him. It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair.

She curled up on the sofa and tried to blank her mind and not think or feel. It was almost lunchtime. Minerva truly did not want to see anyone. She would just go down late, leave enough time to eat something, then excuse herself. Perhaps she would go back to the house that afternoon. Her mother had said to come at any time. She would just let Albus know that she would be gone and would return at the same time as the rest of the staff during the last week of August. Melina's wedding was the twenty-third. He had wanted to go with her. She could write him a letter to make arrangements and allow him the opportunity to change his plans, if he wished. Minerva didn't want Albus to feel obligated to accompany her if he preferred not to.

Wilspy still wasn't returned from Aberforth's, and Hwouly gave Albus his breakfast, which he ate little of. He had assumed that Wilspy would return Tuesday evening, but evidently, she was staying with his brother until the first full day that he had originally been scheduled to return from his holiday. She would no doubt be back sometime that day. It was just as well, Albus thought. She was always able to tell when he was distressed about something, and always insisting he eat his full breakfast on those days, whether he was hungry or not. Hwouly simply delivered the meal and left.

Albus spent a dull morning, barely cheered by Fawkes's song. He considered taking a flight with Fawkes, but he couldn't bring any enthusiasm to the idea. He remembered when he had transformed into his phoenix form when he was with Minerva. She had stroked his plumage and kissed his head and called him beautiful. He slumped lower in his chair. He had forgotten the lovely lunch they had shared in the rose garden and her encouragement to him that he transform into his Animagus form, those events overshadowed by the news of Pretnick's death.

He did go to the roof of his Tower, though, and watch as Fawkes swooped and soared. He could see someone working down in the gardens near the greenhouses. Although he couldn't see him well, he assumed that it was Johannes. Johannes had sent him a note the night before, informing the Headmaster that he would be taking a few days' holiday with his friend. Johannes had been undecided before – Albus had actually believed that he had decided against it – but his mood had been somewhat subdued since he had returned to the castle, and he must have been trying to decide whether he should go or not.

Albus thought that Johannes had had a little bit of a crush on Gertrude at one time, but he seemed to have recovered from that. He had said once, several years ago, half in jest, that no wizard could compete for a witch's attentions if Albus Dumbledore were near. As Gertrude had recently refused his courtship, Albus had found it difficult to respond lightly to the comment, but he had managed to smile and make a joke of it. Of course, if Johannes knew the truth of the matter, that no witch would really want him for himself, but would only want the wizard they thought he was, the "hero," the wizard who could bring them social standing of some kind, Johannes would no doubt feel sorry for him. Albus had believed that those days were over once the first excitement after his defeat of Grindelwald had faded, but his experience with Valerianna had taught him differently. But since Valerianna, there hadn't even been any social-climbing witches trying to lure him into a relationship. There had been a few old friends whom he had escorted casually to various Ministry functions, but one of them was Philomena Yaxley, who was firmly married and they had accompanied one another only when her husband was unavailable, and the other few . . . they were uninterested in any kind of relationship outside of attendance at whatever event he had escorted them to. Which was just as well, given their personalities – they were fine witches to spend a few hours with in a structured setting, but Albus had no interest in them beyond that, either.

Just before noon, Albus went down for lunch. He needed to see Minerva, try to make things right with her. He could understand if she remained angry with him, if she cooled their friendship, spent more time with other friends. It was to be expected, anyway. It was what he had wanted, after all . . . what he had thought he wanted, to have her spend her time with others, away from the castle. Now, though, he was conflicted. What he wanted most was to have Minerva there with him, but he could not be selfish about it. He knew where selfishness could lead, and it wasn't anywhere good. His selfishness when he was a youth had led to Dervilia's death. He had rationalised his actions to himself, justified them, and never even considered that he was being selfish and neglectful of Dervilia. Yet he had been, pursuing his apprenticeship with no true regard to Dervilia's well-being. Albus never wanted to return to that self-centred pursuit of his own goals, his own desires, with no regard for others. It had been one reason he had chosen to live a retired life for so many years.

The situation with Minerva was even worse than that with Dervilia; not only did he have no claim on her time – outside of that which she owed to the school, not to him personally – but he also hadn't even the veneer of a legitimate excuse for his selfishness. He had at least had his apprenticeship before, certainly a worthy pursuit. But this selfishness, this was for Minerva, his desire for her, not for the sake of learning, or for magical power, or any of the other motivators that had driven him in the past. This was worse. And he would remind himself of that and keep himself from destroying Minerva with his selfishness. Perhaps his selfishness would not lead to her death, as it had with Dervilia, but it could injure her sense of her professional worth and personal value. Minerva had always been independent, even as a child. He could not make her feel as though she were a mere chattel, to be ordered about, every moment structured.

Albus sighed. At least she possessed sufficient independence and strength of character to have told him how wrong he was, but he could tell that she had been upset. If he continued to treat her in that way, especially when she was so desirous of his respect, Minerva might attempt to please him, to avert his displeasure, and to subjugate herself to his whims. And he could not have that. He would be sure to tell her that he had been wrong, and if he were ever that wrong in the future, she must continue to tell him, she must not permit him to believe he was right when he clearly was not.

Knowing Minerva, if he had approached her in a different manner the previous morning, she would have been happy to agree to let him know in the future if there were a possibility she would be away from the castle overnight. But even that was none of his business, not under these circumstances. He would make sure that she knew that he was aware that her personal life was none of his business and that she did not require his permission for anything.

Hagrid and Johannes arrived together, and lunch appeared on the table. Albus picked at his food and waited for Minerva. At ten after twelve, he began to grow nervous. Perhaps she wasn't well. No one had seen her since yesterday morning, after all. He hadn't, at any rate, and neither had her brother the day before. At quarter past, he ceased pushing his food about and excused himself. As he left the staff room, he heard Johannes remind him that he would be away on holiday, but Albus hurried away and up the stairs, not answering. Albus wished he could simply Floo to Minerva's rooms, but he couldn't very well appear like that, with no warning, as though he had some right to barge in whenever he felt like it. He was worried that she was unwell, but there was no cause for alarm just yet. Primarily, he wanted to see her to talk to her and to apologise.

The trip to Gryffindor Tower had never seemed so long, but he finally found himself in front of the Silent Knight again. This time, he was determined that if the Knight didn't allow him entrance, he would use his Headmaster's password and open the door himself.

The Knight loosened his sword in its sheath, but did not draw it fully.

"I have come to see Professor McGonagall. Please let her know that I am here," Albus requested.

The Knight raised his visor, and Albus could see startling blue eyes staring from a pale face. "What business have you with my mistress?" the Knight asked.

"I wish to assure myself of her health and well-being . . . and to apologise for my unfortunate words to her," Albus replied, feeling somewhat put out and more than a little foolish for explaining his errand to a painting.

The Knight lowered his visor again. "It is a worthy purpose." He looked down at the hound, which was eying Albus warily. "Fidelio, fetch our mistress." Addressing Albus again, he said, "Pardon that I do not announce you myself, but I am my lady's servant," as though that explained all.

Albus could hear the dog barking in the sitting room, and a moment later, the door was open, and he saw Minerva standing across the room, framed by the doorway to her study, the light behind her throwing her into silhouette, and he could not see her face.

"Albus?" her voice was soft.

"I . . . I came to see you." Well, that was stating the obvious, he thought. "That is, you weren't at lunch, and I was worried."

"I was just on my way," Minerva said, stepping toward him, out of the light that had blinded him.

She looked pale to him, and there was a stillness about her and in her magic, as though her life's energies had been dampened.

"May I come in?" Albus asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Minerva replied, looking around her. "I am sorry for the untidy state of my rooms. I was . . . tired."

She waved her wand and the papers strewn on the floor by the sofa gathered themselves together and deposited themselves in a small wooden chest that sat on her coffee table. Albus thought they appeared to be letters, and some, at least, seemed to be ones he had sent Minerva, but she waved her wand again, and the lid settled on top of the box, removing them from his view.

He stepped further into the room. "I was concerned," he repeated. "That is to say, you weren't at meals yesterday, and again . . . lunch. Not that you need to attend meals if you do not wish to."

"I was coming down for lunch," Minerva said, still standing in the middle of the room. "Although now, I wonder whether I might not be too late."

"Johannes and Hagrid were still eating when I left," Albus said, looking at her with concern. "Are you well?" He was worried. She seemed oddly drained.

"Yes, of course. I am fine. You need not be concerned for my welfare," she said somewhat stiffly.

Albus swallowed. "I could not help myself, particularly after my abominable behaviour yesterday morning. I had no right whatsoever to speak to you as I did, and I cannot adequately express . . ." Breathing seemed difficult at that moment. "I cannot adequately express how very sorry I am."

Minerva looked at him silently, then gestured to the sofa. "Please, have a seat, if you would like."

Albus nodded, and Minerva waved her wand to close the door behind him. Albus sat at one end of the couch, and she at the other.

"I wanted to apologise . . . I tried . . . I wanted to apologise yesterday," Albus began. He could not help himself. "Why did you refuse my owl?" He sounded pathetic to his own ears.

"Your owl?" asked Minerva, genuinely puzzled. She shook her head. "I didn't refuse your owl, or anyone else's."

"But it returned to me, my letter to you unopened and unread," Albus said.

"I don't understand . . . when did you send it?"

"Yesterday afternoon, after you were not at lunch."

"I fell asleep, I napped and slept heavily after taking a Headache Potion, then later, I took a bath. It could have tried to get my attention either when I was asleep or in the bath. My windows were all closed up. I didn't notice any owl."

Albus let out a sigh of relief, and he could feel himself relax, much of his tension draining from him. "I wanted to apologise then. And when I thought you had refused my letter, I came down to apologise in person, but your portrait would not admit me or even announce me."

"Really?" Minerva asked, surprised. "When was this?"

"Before dinner, about five o'clock, I would say."

"I may have still been in the bath then . . . but you say he would not announce you at all?"

Albus shook his head. "I thought . . . it seemed he had orders not to allow me entry and he took exception to my presence."

"Really? I did tell him I didn't want to be disturbed, that I wanted to be alone, but that was in the morning." Minerva shrugged. "He must have taken my request very literally."

Albus nodded. He didn't want to tell her that the Knight had drawn his sword against him, that he had been chased off by a mere portrait; it seemed ridiculous now.

"I am sorry, though, Minerva, for everything that I said and for the way that I said it. There was nothing in what you said to me that was invalid. And you have every right to leave the castle and to do as you wish with your time, and I have no call to place any restrictions on you, either as Headmaster or as your friend. Especially not as your friend. I will understand if you find it difficult to forgive me, particularly as this is not the first occasion on which I have had to apologise for truly poor behaviour toward you. But I do beg your forgiveness."

Tears brimming in her eyes, Minerva reached out and placed a hand on his. "Do not. Of course I forgive you. I . . . I do not understand why you said what you did, but of course I forgive you." She blinked, and a few tears trickled down her cheeks. Albus reached out and wiped them away with his fingertips and a slight nonverbal spell.

"I said those things because I am a fool, Minerva. And I hadn't slept well, and I had wondered where you were, although I had no cause to wonder, nor to worry. It was purely selfish of me. And I will endeavour not to be so selfish in the future. But if I am, I expect you to continue to tell me when I am being selfish and wrong. This may sound insincere after my words of yesterday, but I prize your friendship, and I prize your independence, and I do not want to lose the first nor for you to lose the second."

"I was so happy to be back in the castle, and to see you . . . and, to be honest, I was distressed that evening before when we parted," Minerva admitted. "It seemed as though you were belittling the precise thing which you had earlier encouraged me to do – to go out and make the most of my free time this summer. I had waited for you all afternoon, Albus, not even going to the library, thinking that you would come by to see me. Then I realised that I had only imagined that you had promised to visit, but that you hadn't definitely said that you would. And when you did finally come to see me, and I was on my way out – and I had told Gertrude I would be gone from the castle, since she was here and acting in your stead – I was very disappointed because I had wanted to see you, but it seemed to me that you hadn't really wanted to see me, and as though the invitation to dinner was an afterthought. Indeed, you described it as a whim. I felt foolish for placing so much value on our time together when you seemed to place so little on it, especially when you said what you did about not expecting me to cancel my plans."

"I did not want to seem grasping . . ." Albus said, feeling as though this half-truth was an entire lie. He swallowed, then continued, "I was disappointed, myself. I did not want to seem so to you, and that's why I said what I did."

"I don't understand it," Minerva said, confused. "Why wouldn't you want me to know you were disappointed?" She had told him that she wished that he had asked earlier; that should have indicated to him that she was disappointed, even if nothing else had.

Albus shook his head, smiling slightly. "I cannot hold you here, Minerva, despite my words of yesterday morning, and I do not wish to. I don't want to deprive you of those things and people that make you happy."

"But expressing disappointment would not have deprived me of anything," Minerva said. "We could have taken the opportunity to make other plans, at least."

"I am sorry, my dear. Did you enjoy your evening out? You seemed happy yesterday when I saw you."

"Yes, despite being unhappy when I left the castle, I tried to enjoy my evening, and, in fact, I did. We lost track of time, Albus. It got late. Quin did offer to Floo to the Hog's Head with me and walk me up to the castle, but it was already one o'clock, and he had work in the morning. That seemed selfish to me. I am sure he was already up later than he normally would be on a Monday night without having to take the time to see me home. But he didn't want me to Floo on my own."

"You needn't explain any of this," Albus said, "In fact, it occurred to me that you would Floo to the Hog's Head, and it worried me slightly."

"Oh, Albus, you needn't worry about me! Even if I had Flooed on my own, I am sure I would be fine. Although I wouldn't have wanted to Apparate, I was certainly fit enough to make it home on my own without trouble."

"Perhaps . . . but Quin was right to insist you stay. And I am sorry if it seemed I was belittling your enjoying your holiday. You should enjoy yourself and see your friends whenever you like. I mean that. Feel free to leave as you wish, my dear. And I do value our time together. I was disappointed that you were unavailable for dinner, as I said. But what is more important to me is that you are happy."

"Being with you makes me happy, Albus. Don't you see that? Can't you? Why do you think . . ." Minerva's breath hitched, and she looked away.

Albus put his hand on her arm. "What is it, Minerva?" he asked softly.

"Why do you think it has meant so much to me, spending time with you this summer, having you tell me so much about yourself? Because you are important to me, Albus, and being with you, being your friend . . . it is what matters," Minerva said softly. "And sometimes, it seems you feel the same, but other times, it's as though . . . as though I don't matter at all."

"Oh, Minerva," Albus breathed. He rubbed her arm and moved closer. "Of course you matter. If you had received my letter . . . I told you that when I count my blessings, your presence in my life is always at the beginning and the ending of that count. You matter. You matter to me, in my life, and as your own person."

Minerva blinked back tears. "You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that, Albus."

Albus touched her face. "Oh, my dear Minerva, don't cry, please. Come here . . ."

He put his arms around Minerva, and she slid closer to him and lay her head on his shoulder. Gradually, she relaxed and embraced him, sighing and relishing the pulse of his magic and the comforting sensation of his hands stroking her back. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she also didn't want to spoil that moment. Instead, she thought she would say something light.

"This is nice. But I did think that we had said that we would skip the insults next time . . . I think we should remember that in the future." Minerva felt Albus's chuckle, and a frisson passed through her. She turned her head and nestled more closely into his embrace. She restrained herself from nuzzling his neck, burying her face in his hair and beard, but she gave him a squeeze, and was pleased when his arms tightened around her. She wished they could stay like that forever.

Minerva lifted her head a bit and kissed his cheek. She felt him sigh slightly, and she kissed him again before sitting back a little and looking at him. His eyes met hers, and she smiled. Her smile grew as he kissed her cheek softly, the barest touch of his lips to her skin, and she couldn't help herself. She turned her head and kissed his cheek again, then, scarcely pausing, she moved her lips to his and kissed him lightly. She felt his intake of breath, but he did not release her from his arms, so she brought her lips to meet his again, and was thrilled as he responded, returning her kiss. His lips moved against hers as they renewed the kiss, and when his hand moved to her side and then touched her breast, she moaned lowly into his mouth.

But then he was gone, suddenly, and she was sitting back against the sofa. Confused, Minerva looked over to where he stood, halfway across the room.

"Gods, Minerva, I am sorry, please . . . so sorry! Propinquity – it was simply propinquity! I had no intention, never . . . never would intend such a thing. I –"

Minerva tried to interrupt him, but he continued as he began to back away toward the door, horror written on his face.

"I never would do such a thing, never – just a physical reaction. Physical – I – forgive me," Albus said.

Minerva called his name, but he opened the door and was gone.

"Stop, Albus!" It was too late, he was through the door, and the door was closed behind him, and tears streamed down her face. How could she have been so foolish! And now . . . now he was blaming himself.

Minerva pushed herself from the sofa and went to the door, looking out, but he was nowhere to be seen. She hurried to the stairs and looked down, but she could not see him or hear his footsteps. She ran down the main corridor to the narrow hall that led to his backstairs, but he was gone, not there.

Minerva raced back to her rooms and Flooed to her first floor office, then ran out and up the stairs, down the hall to the gargoyle, panting as she gave the password. She rode the stairs up, walking, as well, trying to reach his office faster. The office was empty, and she took the stairs to his suite two at a time, bursting into his sitting room. Not there. She opened his bedroom door. Not there. She tried every door in the suite, even the door to the loo, but he was nowhere. The stairs that went up. They probably led to the very top of the Headmaster's Tower. She entered the bedroom and opened the door that led to his backstairs, glancing once at the door at the top of the stairs, but it was shut, and she took the worn, narrow stone stairs up. It was evident when she reached the top of the stairs that he was not there. Minerva looked out across the grounds, and she saw not a soul stirring.

Beginning again to weep, she turned and went back down to Albus's suite. He had left, and she knew not where. Minerva kept seeing the horrified expression that had been on his face, and she felt inconsolable. She had been such an utter fool. That was where all of those unrestrained fantasies had led her. Why hadn't she controlled herself? She paid the portraits no heed as she stumbled through Albus's office, and reaching the second floor, she didn't care who saw her as she walked weeping through the castle, shuffling her way back to her rooms.

What was she to do? How could she face Albus again? He must think her completely wanton, having thrown herself at him as she had, inspiring a physical reaction in him that had clearly horrified him. She saw no one as she returned to her rooms and cast herself, sobbing now, on her couch. They had been so close and he had been so sweet in his apology, and she had ruined it, utterly ruined it, and perhaps their entire friendship, as well.

She wept, her sobs subsiding to quiet but constant tears, and wondered where Albus could have gone, how he could have seemingly vanished from the castle as he had. One of the Headmaster's passageways, perhaps, one of which she wasn't aware . . . anything to get away from her. Minerva sniffed and rolled onto her back. What should she do? She lay in a daze, not thinking, only feeling and trying not to feel, her head throbbing, her heart aching, her limbs heavy, wishing she could scream and cry and rant at the universe, but having no energy to do more than lie there and stare at the ceiling.

Minerva didn't know how long she lay there when she heard a scrabbling at her window. She turned her head and saw a small owl at her sitting room window. First, she felt for her wand, but she couldn't seem to raise the energy to cast the spell to open the window, so she forced herself to sit and then to stand and to walk over to the window, where, with a heavy sigh, she pushed down on the latch's handle and pulled the window open. The little Scops Owl flittered into the room and perched on the edge of the table. Minerva took the parchment from the bird and returned to the sofa, leaving the window open.

Sealed only with a charm, and not with wax, Minerva observed. She unrolled it. It was in black ink, and very brief.

"Dear Minerva,

"Albus"

Minerva crumpled the parchment in her hand and began to cry again. His actions not in accord with his feelings. A physical reaction only, as he had said. Propinquity. She had elicited unwanted reactions in him, and, gentleman that he was, he blamed himself. She dropped the letter to the floor and went to the window. The owl had since flown off, and Minerva looked out across the grounds. She had to get away. She had to leave. She could not bear this any longer.

Without any further reflection, Minerva left her rooms, ignoring the Knight calling out to her, and taking the stairs as fast as she was able, then she was out the doors and running across the lawns. As she ran, she entered her Animagus form, a smooth, flowing transition, and she continued sprinting on four legs out away from the castle, habit carrying her to the small stand of trees near Hagrid's hut, but she did not stop there, or even pause for breath, but continued racing onward, into the Forest, paying no heed to the sharp slapping of the underbrush against her, or the thorn that lodged in her front paw, just running, blind, falling, tumbling, leaping, into the depths of the Forest, until finally, with a howling cry, she flung herself at the base of a large, gnarled ancient tree, and collapsed.

Minerva didn't know how long she lay there, as she must have fallen into a light sleep, and she started slightly, hearing a branch crack beneath a heavy foot. More footfalls. Beasts of some sort. Large ones. She listened and sniffed. An unfamiliar musky odour met her nostrils. Her heart began to beat wildly, but she remained frozen at the base of the tree, yet ready to leap up and climb the tree, away from whatever animals lurked nearby. She heard another loud, clomping footfall, and a scuffing at the earth. Hooves, perhaps. Then she heard voices.

"It is one of them, from the place of stone," said a youthful masculine voice.

"Castle. It is called a castle," said a rougher voice. "Yes, one of them, hiding in a different form. But human. A young one, but still old enough to know the foolishness of being here, sleeping in our wood."

The footfalls came nearer, and Minerva tried not to stiffen and give away that she was awake.

"What shall we do, Father?" the younger voice said.

"Watch her. For a while. Keep others away that might think to have found their dinner. If she does not wake and leave soon . . ." The older one made a peculiar noise, like the nicker of a horse. "You will wake her. Give her a scare and chase her from the wood so she does not do such a thing again."

It sounded as though the younger one laughed at that. Minerva didn't like the thought of the two centaurs staring at her, watching her, even if they were being protective, in their own way. She heard them move off, and she stretched, as though she was just awakening. She stood, stretched again, and as nonchalantly as she could, she scratched the bark of the ancient tree, becoming suddenly painfully aware of the thorn in her front paw. Ignoring it, she turned and walked off, trying not to limp, and aware that the centaurs were following her at a distance.

She had gone quite a ways into the Forest, and Minerva was unsure where she was, but she headed toward where she believed the wall entered the Forest. Finding the wall, she turned and began to walk along it, back toward the school grounds, but then she stopped and changed her mind. She could not return to the school. Not then. What would she do? Go to dinner and pretend that everything was well? Sit there across from Albus and chat about the upcoming school year or the most recent article in Transfiguration Today? No. Minerva turned and headed along the wall away from the school until the wall became low enough to jump. Her paw was hurting quite a bit by that point, but she put it out of her mind. Instead, she leapt to the top of the wall and down again to the other side. Safely out of the Forest, at least the more dangerous part of it, Minerva transformed back to her ordinary form. She hissed a sharp intake of breath as she did so, and looked down at her left hand. It was bloody and dirty, the thorn now driven far into her palm, but she wouldn't concern herself with that now.

Where to go now? She had no money with her. Could she Apparate? Minerva thought she had calmed down enough to Apparate without Splinching, but at the thought of being calm enough to Apparate, tears rose in her eyes again. She swallowed them and willed herself to regain control of herself. Where to go? Not home, she couldn't bear the questions, and she must look quite a sight. And not to Melina's. To Quin, then. He might not be home. She had no idea what time it was. It was still daylight, but with the trees, it was difficult to tell precisely how high the sun was. It could be anywhere between late afternoon and late evening, for all she knew. But Minerva drew her wand from her pocket, held it close, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the Apparition point near Quin's house. A moment later, there was a crack as she Disapparated, and two centaurs returned to the depths of the Forest.