Resolving a Misunderstanding

The first mistake Albus had made was obvious. He had refused to speak with Minerva immediately after Carson’s funeral. “Refused” was perhaps too strong a word – he had declined to speak with her. The entire event had been stressful for him. Albus had only been released from St. Mungo’s the day before and hadn’t even been up to Apparating to Ireland, instead relying on a Ministry-issued Portkey. He had to speak with Carson’s parents and give them the letter he had helped the boy write. When Minerva had come up to him, he had told her simply that they would have to talk at some other time, that he would see her soon. Albus hadn’t stayed for the wake, leaving immediately after attending the burial and talking with the Murphys. He should have paid more attention to her then, Albus realised. She had been grieving Carson, and he should have been patient and supportive of her.

But then two days later, when he had Apparated to the McGonagall home from London, after first seeking Minerva at the Ministry, he had attempted to provide that patient support, and he had still said and done all of the wrong things, though he didn’t know what would have been the right things to say, given his own state of mind.

It started badly enough when he remarked, quite innocently, that he had first sought her at the Ministry, not realising that she was on leave. She expressed her great displeasure at having been given an enforced leave. When she had come into work on Monday morning, she was told that her job had been eliminated and that she was being reassigned. Until then, she was being given two weeks leave. They gave her absolutely no explanation.

Albus had uncomfortably explained that that had probably been his fault. He had not intended that she be put on leave for two weeks or that she be told that her current job was eliminated. But given the way the Ministry had interpreted his first request that Minerva not be given a dangerous job, it should have come as no surprise that they had handled her promotion so poorly.

“I’m afraid that’s my doing, Minerva – I don’t mean precisely that I asked them to put you on leave and eliminate your job, of course,” Albus said. As Minerva sat and glared at him, he made matters worse by adding, “Just as I didn’t intend that you be given a desk job back when you started at the Ministry.”

“That was you? You did that to me? Why? Didn’t you have any confidence in my ability, Albus?”

“Of course, I did, my dear. I just intended that you be given a job that would keep you safe, away from danger. I thought they would give you a job using your skills, but one that would keep you at the Ministry and away from any fighting –”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Albus! You never even told me – or asked me. Do you know that I have spent months and months doing almost nothing but routing requisitions for Charmed objects? The most excitement I have had is doing research on charms – research, Albus, not any spell development or testing – and even that was rare. I never complained. I felt I was contributing to the war effort, even if I believed that witches whom I had tutored were getting better jobs than I had.” Angry tears welled in Minerva’s eyes.

Albus listened patiently as Minerva continued to tell him that he had no business interfering in her life, and that it would have been better if he had simply told the Ministry not to hire her – she could have spent the last year and a half doing something that was more useful and interesting somewhere else.

Albus agreed with her, and when she had finally subsided, he said, “I should have said something to you, Minerva, and if I had had any idea what work they had given you, I would have straightened things out immediately. Which is what I just tried to do. With mixed results, obviously. They should have told you that you were being promoted and your previous work was being redistributed. I am sorry. But remember, these are the same people who sent you to France with a belled collar for a Portkey.” He smiled slightly, hoping that she could find some humour in the situation, though he wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t.

“And precisely what misunderstanding are you going to use to explain why I couldn’t visit you in St. Mungo’s? They told me no one but family, and then I saw Professor Gamp leaving with Headmaster Dippet. I stopped them, and they told me they had just been to see you. Yet when I tried on Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning, I was treated like a garden gnome the Welcome Witch was just itching to toss over a hedge.”

“I don’t know, Minerva,” Albus said wearily. “I wasn’t aware that you were trying to visit me, or I would have told them to let you see me. They were trying to keep the press away, I knew that, and others who had no genuine business with me. I am sorry. I would have been happy to see you, to know that you were well.”

“It wasn’t entirely a lost cause, anyway,” Minerva said. “At least I could see Alastor – and Philip. They hadn’t placed such restrictions on him. It was good to know that he made it back and is going to be all right.”

“Yes, Auror Frankel . . . I saw him before he left St. Mungo’s and thanked him for bringing you to France. And that is one reason I am here today, Minerva. I want to thank you. I am indebted to you. You were remarkable. Absolutely remarkable. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Albus,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry I was upset about the job . . . I’m sure you meant well, and I appreciate that. I am more angry with the Ministry. They seem able to take anything and make a mess of it. It’s a wonder that we are able to make any progress at all against Grindelwald.”

“You’ve only experienced the most bureaucratic aspects of the Ministry. Most of the front-line Aurors are exceptional, and there are a lot of wizards and witches who are working in parallel with the Ministry, doing whatever they are able to do on their own. There is a great deal more competence than you have seen.”

“I hope so.” Minerva sighed and looked at him appraisingly. “Are you fully recovered, Albus?”

“Yes. I tire a little more easily than usual, but I Apparated to London this morning and then up here – my first Apparitions since I was released from St. Mungo’s.”

Minerva was silent for a moment. “I am glad you are doing well, Albus. I was terribly worried about you. When I saw you at Carson’s funeral, I wanted to know how you were. You still looked so pale . . .”

“I know. And I’m sorry if I seemed rude, but I had to see the Murphys, and I was not looking forward to that.”

“I see. I understand. That must have been difficult.”

Albus said, “It wasn’t just that I wanted to tell them of their son’s last hours.” He swallowed and forced himself to maintain his emotional control. “He had written a letter for them. I had helped him write it. I delivered it and told them what a wonderful young man they had raised.”

Minerva nodded. The thought of young, vital Carson now cold and dead in the ground still caused a lump in her throat.

“And I also have one for you, Minerva,” Albus said softly.

“One what?”

“A letter. From Carson. He was very weak. It was the last thing he did.” Albus took the folded paper from one of his pockets. He had cleaned the blood from it, but hadn’t changed it otherwise. “I had to write it down for him. He would have said more, I think, but he could barely speak. I’m afraid I wasn’t in very good shape, either, so if there’s anything that’s illegible . . .”

Minerva took the letter from his hand and looked at it apprehensively before unfolding it and reading it.

“My Fair Minerva,

“Thank you for spending time with me, especially in London. It was very nice to see you there.

“You are a good person, Minerva, and I am thankful I was able to know you. When I was with you, I was more myself than I am with anyone else. Time spent with you always left me feeling warm and good.

“You are meant for someone special, Minerva. I hope you find him. I will see my Gram soon, and I will ask her.

“Please take care of Professor Dumbledore for me when you see him. He will feel responsible for what has happened.

“Thank you, my Fair Minerva,
“Love always,

“Carson.”

Minerva’s eyes filled with tears and the words swam in front of her. She stood and turned away from Albus, looking out the front window at the cold, hard winter’s day. That was so like Carson, asking her to take care of Professor Dumbledore, thinking of someone other than himself even when on the edge of death. Minerva blinked and took a deep, calming breath, trying to drive her sadness away for the moment. She could cry later and remember how kind and sweet and energetic Carson had been. Now, she had to do as Carson had asked.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Albus. I’m sure it meant a lot to Carson, and it means a lot to me, as well. It must have been quite difficult for you . . . writing the letters, staying with him as he died, all alone there, and injured yourself.” She sat down across from him.

“It is a war, Minerva. This happens. But you are right. It was not easy to watch a boy I knew and loved die, unable to do anything for him and knowing that his death was my fault.”

“Albus, you said that before, but it was not your fault. You did not kill him. You didn’t blow up the jeep or push him into the explosion. You were injured yourself.”

“I might as well have pushed him into the explosion, though, Minerva.” He shook his head. “I told his parents that he died a hero. And he did. He saved my life, Minerva, but only at the expense of his own. When the jeep exploded, he turned to me, shielding me with his own body and pushing me to the ground, out of the way of the flying shrapnel. If he hadn’t done that, he would likely have walked away with only a few scratches and bruises. A piece of metal went right through his chest, Minerva. It would have hit me. It should have. I brought those boys there, and Alastor lost his leg and Carson lost his life. And it wasn’t even a battle. Do you understand what I am saying? Carson died for nothing.”

“What? How can you say such a thing? You just said he died a hero. And he did. It may not have been a battle, but he died doing something important to him, and if what you say is accurate, then he died saving you. That certainly was not dying for nothing, Albus, and it’s an insult to his memory to say that, or even to think it.” Minerva’s voice was calm but insistent. Clearly Carson had been right; Albus did feel responsible for what happened, and he needed her to take care of him.

“I know that he was important to you, Minerva. It was clear that he loved you. I took him from you,” Albus said hoarsely.

“You are incorrect. He was important to me, a good friend. And he may have loved me. But you did not take him from me. You were with him when he was wounded and when he died. He saved your life, but you did not cause his death. And you seem to think that we were . . . involved. We weren’t, not the way you seem to think. He was a very good friend. And as his friend, I have to tell you that saving you gave his death – and his life – meaning. Do not denigrate that.”

“Minerva, Minerva.” Albus sighed. “You cannot understand. I was responsible for them, and Carson would be alive if it weren’t for me. You and he could be together in London this very day if it weren’t for his foolish actions.”

Minerva stood. “Carson’s death is sad, but it is not tragic, Albus. He saved you. He may not be here, but you are. Do not belittle the sacrifice that Carson made – it is unworthy of you both.”

“I am not belittling Carson, my dear. I am simply putting it in perspective.”

“Albus, grieve for Carson and remember him, but don’t say that you caused his death. As long as you continue to believe that, you won’t be able to appreciate his action in saving your life. It was his choice, Albus. He was a good man. Give him his due. Do not call his actions foolish.”

Albus nodded. “Yes, my dear. He was good, brave, and kind.”

“Albus . . . please tell me that you understand that his death was not your fault, and that his action in saving you was his choice, and his choice was noble and worthwhile.”

Albus sat, slouched over, and looked at his hands folded on his knees. Minerva went to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Please let me help you, Albus. Stay here a while with us. You don’t need to go back to Hogwarts right away. Mother and Dad like you; they’d be happy to have you stay. I still have a week before I have to return to the Ministry. Or I could come to Hogwarts, stay in Hogsmeade. We could talk whenever you need to. I know you feel responsible, but you need to come to accept what happened out there on that road and what Carson did –”

“I am fine, Minerva. Our views on the events may differ – but you must remember that I was present and you were not and I am the one who survived while Carson died, not you – but I am fine. I have accepted what happened. It is war. People die, the good and the bad, and even the best, like Carson.” He moved back in his chair, out of Minerva’s partial embrace. “I am fine. I have responsibilities. I do not need to talk. If you need to –”

“Obviously, both Carson and I are fools, then, because I am sure that he would agree with me, and it is his life that you are dismissing. And my offer of help –”

“Your offer is appreciated, but unnecessary. I appreciate what you did in France. You were brave, competent, efficient, and clever. And I am proud of you. But I do not need anything from you now,” Albus said softly.

Minerva stood back from him, eyes flashing. “You appreciate it. You are proud of me. But you don’t need me. I want to be a friend to you, Albus. I wish you would let me. But now I see my true value to you. You won’t talk to me, and you don’t see me as anything more than a little girl who needs protecting. No wonder I ended up a parchment-pusher in the Ministry.”

She turned and left the room hastily, not looking back. A moment later, Albus heard the front door close.

He couldn’t have handled that worse if he had set out to. When Merwyn came in, Albus could barely look up at Minerva’s father. He probably thought that Albus had said or done something terrible to his daughter. And he supposed, from Minerva’s perspective, he had. He had come to offer her comfort for her loss and had only succeeded in upsetting her. Albus was too tired and distracted to Apparate even the short distance to Hogwarts, so he reluctantly accepted Merwyn’s invitation to stay for their afternoon dinner. And when Merwyn asked that he go find Minerva and tell her that dinner would be served shortly, he agreed. It was his fault that Minerva was out in the cold, windy January weather, after all.

He found her, sitting on a rather precarious looking boulder at the top of the cliff, about twenty feet above him, but hundreds of feet above the rocky ground at the base of the cliff. Albus couldn’t imagine climbing up there, and he remembered how Minerva’s grandfather had died falling from these cliffs. Heart in his mouth, he called up to her. She looked down at him and then turned away to face the ocean.

“Minerva, please come down. Carefully,” he called to her again. “I am sorry, Minerva.”

“Why don’t you come up?” she answered.

Albus looked at the sheer, rocky cliff. He couldn’t climb up there, not on such a windy day in his current condition, anyway.

“I can’t,” he yelled through the wind.

“It’s a short Apparition. There’s room here beside me.” Minerva moved over a little, making more room for him. “If you can Apparate from the Pyrenees to the Pennines, I’m sure you can make this short hop.”

Albus Apparated beside her and automatically closed his eyes. He almost never suffered from vertigo, and this was apparently one of those very rare occasions, possibly a residual side-effect of his head injury. After acclimating to the height, he very gingerly sat down next to Minerva.

“Your father sent me to get you for dinner. It will be served shortly.”

Minerva just nodded.

“So you Apparated up here,” he said, trying to sound conversational.

“No.”

“Oh.” Albus looked down at the hard, rocky ground several hundred feet below them. “You should be very careful, Minerva. These cliffs are dangerous. Collum, your grandfather, died not far from here.”

“I am very aware of that, Professor Dumbledore. I have been walking these cliffs since I was a small child. I suggested Apparition for you because I thought you would find it more convenient.” She fell silent again.

“Minerva, I am sorry. I truly am. I came here to offer you comfort and support, and instead I upset you more than I would have if I’d simply handed you Carson’s letter and left. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Professor, sometimes if you don’t know what to say, it’s best not to say anything at all. Grandmother Siofre used to tell me that. It seems apt at the moment.” Minerva gazed off into the distance, where Albus could just make out the ocean frothing under the hard January wind.

They sat in silence for a while. “Are you coming in for dinner?”

Minerva didn’t answer his question and she didn’t look at him. “You know, Professor, what Carson did, it didn’t end when he pushed you out of the way of the explosion. It didn’t even end when he died. It won’t ever end, not really. Whatever you do for the rest of your life, for good or for ill, will be thanks to Carson. Aside from your friends, colleagues, and students who will benefit from your continued life, companionship, and teaching, the wizarding world is relying on you to help bring this war to an end. I have faith that you can do this, that you are doing this. When you end this war, when you defeat Grindelwald, Carson will be there with you because he made it possible. So never again say, never even think, that Carson’s death was meaningless or his choice foolish. He may not get the recognition that he deserves for it, but he wouldn’t care about that. He would just be happy that he was able to help you to succeed and then go on to live the rest of your life. That was the way Carson was. That’s why you loved him and why his death is painful for you. But clearly I cannot help you with that.” Minerva stood. “We should go in to dinner now, Professor.”

Albus closed his eyes and Apparated to the ground below, then looked up to where Minerva was still standing, her loden cloak whipping about her, her black hair, loosed from its bun by the wind, streaming behind her as she looked out toward the ocean. She was beautiful, strong yet vulnerable, and Albus felt closer to tears than he had that whole day. In a blink of his eye, she transformed into a tabby cat, and seeming even more vulnerable than she had before, she climbed and leapt down the rocky cliff face to stand beside him. She looked up at Albus and returned to her ordinary form.

They went in to dinner and never spoke of it after that day. It was weeks before Albus saw Minerva again. At first, he had been too uncomfortable to even write her a letter, and then he was simply too busy, barely having time to eat or to sleep until that early morning in March when he brought a final end to Grindelwald.