Resolving a Misunderstanding

It seemed as though every time he turned around, he managed to offend Minerva, Albus thought. And it was his fault. He should have been professional from the beginning, from the moment she stepped through the doors of Hogwarts as a teacher in December. He should have met with her just as he had everyone else and treated her just as he did the rest of the staff. He never should have ignored her and given her cause to worry about their friendship. They had come so far in repairing the damage he had unintentionally done their relationship, and yet his inability to let down his guard completely . . . fearing what he might say or do . . . somehow he was going about it the wrong way.

Minerva’s concern for him shouldn’t have annoyed him the way it had, either. He had been curt with her, and then he had sat at his desk and not joined her in the sitting area, asserting his authority as Headmaster. Albus felt even worse now. He certainly didn’t want to use his status as some kind of bludgeon in his personal relationships – and he never would have imagined that he would do so, either. It hadn’t been intentional. He had simply felt uncomfortable with Minerva after he had woken as he had, especially after her repeated expressions of concern for him.

Albus sighed and gathered himself to go down to dinner. He should have set Big Ben before he lay down, but he really hadn’t believed he would fall asleep. And then when he woke up . . . he’d been having the most lovely dream. Minerva had been in it . . . they were sitting on the cliffs by her home, perched high above the ground. He was leaning against a boulder, the sun was shining, but the wind was blowing in off the sea . . . it was warm in the sunlight, and he was holding Minerva in his arms. She was leaning back . . . looking up at him and smiling. He was caressing her face, kissing her forehead, and she had just tilted her face and begun to kiss him when . . . Minerva had woken him. He was confused, thinking for a moment that he was still dreaming. Then he opened his eyes and realised that he had been dreaming and was now waking up. It had been most unusual . . . he usually was very aware of his dreaming and waking states, able to wake himself easily from any dream – or from the occasional nightmare. But this dream . . . it had seemed as real as his waking life.

Albus shook his head to himself; no doubt it was all simply the result of having been too warm while he slept. And now, of course, Minerva was worried about him. He would reassure her. And he would try not to do anything for which he would have to apologise again . . . though that seemed highly unlikely.

The door at the bottom of his stairs scraped open and the gargoyle sprang aside for him. Albus winced, remembering Minerva’s words. Minerva had been upset that he had seemed not to accept her concern. He did appreciate it. He just didn’t want her thinking of him as a weak, sickly old man. Foolish of him – it was nothing he normally worried about. But Minerva seemed to bring out all kinds of things in him . . . his desire to have her think well of him not the least of them, either, nor, unfortunately, the greatest.

When Albus reached the Great Hall, he realised he must be late, since almost everyone was already seated. He was pleased to see that Hagrid’s mood was still improved. Whatever had been the matter with the boy had apparently passed, fortunately. Minerva wasn’t there yet, but Gertrude was, deep in conversation with Hafrena MacAirt. They both looked up at him at the same time and nodded, Hafrena smiling and seeming to look at something just over his shoulder in that way she had. Albus nodded cordially at them, then took one of the few free remaining seats. It was beside Dustern, who wasn’t his usual choice of a mealtime companion, but it left a chair open to his right, and Poppy Pomfrey was sitting on the other side of that free chair. He hoped that Minerva would choose to sit beside her friend even if she were still upset with him. And it wasn’t like Minerva to hold grudges, after all.

As their supper appeared, Albus apologised to everyone for being late.

Poppy grinned at him. “If we can’t all wait two extra minutes for our food, there’s something very wrong with us, indeed!”

As Albus sipped his chilled cucumber soup, he managed civil, though sterile, conversation with Dustern, trying not to keep looking at the door, wondering when Minerva would arrive. When Minerva did enter the Great Hall, Albus saw what had been keeping her. She had changed out of her saffron and raspberry robes and donned some similar to those she wore when school was in session, though not as plain. The bodice and skirt were of tartan, and the sleeves and stand-up collar were pale grey, and there was a wide border of grey at the hem. Albus smiled as she took the chair between him and Poppy. She could have sat between Johannes and Wilhelmina, both of whom she liked.

“Freshen up before the meeting, Professor?” Albus asked with a twinkle.

“Just so, Professor,” Minerva answered, tasting her soup. “I thought this more appropriate.”

“Very nice tartan.” He wished that Dustern weren’t sitting on his left. He would like to tell Minerva how lovely she had looked earlier . . . but then she might think that he thought she didn’t look nice now, and she did. The green in the tartan brought out the colour in her eyes, and the grey emphasised the healthy glow in her cheeks.

“Excuse me a moment, my dear,” Albus said a few minutes later. “If I might have a word with Poppy?” They had been discussing something to do with a party at Poppy’s grandmother’s, and Albus hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but he had exhausted all polite conversation with the current Charms professor, and he wanted to ask Poppy something while Minerva was still present.

“Of course, Professor.” Minerva looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Poppy, before you leave tomorrow, would you have time to give me a quick once-over? I think I’ve just been overextending myself lately, but it has been suggested that I may have come into contact with something at St. Mungo’s that might be contributing to my slight fatigue today. Just to be on the safe side, perhaps you wouldn’t mind . . . ?” Albus asked, smiling.

“Of course! In fact, you can stop by after supper. It won’t take long. I suspect you’re right, and you’ve just been doing too much – as usual! If that’s the case, a quick diagnostic will suffice.”

Albus hesitated. “Do you mind waiting until tomorrow? If it is not inconvenient. I have a few things I need to do this evening . . . and there’s the meeting, as well.”

“No, that’s fine. Nine o’clock, then?”

Albus agreed readily, pleased to see that Minerva was looking at him with a fond smile. At least, he thought the smile was directed at him. And it appeared to be fond. His supposition was confirmed a moment later, when he felt Minerva pat his leg under the table. With her touch, it seemed that something unknotted in his chest, and he relaxed, smiling.

“Wonderful soup, isn’t it, Minerva?” He had to say something to explain the silly grin that was spreading across his face.

“It is. Chilled soup is always refreshing at this time of year.” She looked over at him, eyes smiling warmly, a slight smile playing about her lips.

Albus had to avert his gaze consciously, lest he sit there in the Great Hall like a schoolboy with a crush, staring with obvious enthralment and open admiration at the object of his infatuation. But this was no infatuation, even if he had not long ago out-grown such short-lived passions. He would need to be careful how much of his emotion he displayed toward Minerva . . . but he wanted her to be secure in their friendship and to know that he valued her opinion, even if he was occasionally a cantankerous old codger.

His elation faded with that thought. Yes, a cantankerous old codger. Cantankerous or not, there was no denying he was an old codger. The thought normally amused Albus, but not at the moment. He was foolishly in love with a witch for whom he was far too old. . . .

He needed to take particular care of his friendship with Minerva. He was fortunate, indeed, that she wanted to spend time with him at all . . . that she seemed to genuinely enjoy it. Albus didn’t want to drive a wedge between them again, whether one like that which had separated them after Carson’s death or the one he had unintentionally created over the course of the previous term. They had spent more time together as friends when Minerva had been living in London than they had during those first months she lived there in the same castle with him. Despite this, Albus was still uncomfortable with the idea of spending very much time alone with her. But if he could discover the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, he could discover a way to spend time with her without overdoing it or revealing the depth of his feelings for her.

After dinner, Albus returned to his office to look over his notes once again. He knew what he was going to say, how he would lay out his plan and his reasoning behind it, but reading through the words on the page would help to carry him through his presentation without distraction.

An hour later, leaving the staff room after his presentation, Albus hurried out the great front doors of the castle and down the path to the gates. Madam Puddifoot’s closed at ten on Sundays. He should be able to get there before she closed if he Apparated into town. With a crack, Albus arrived in the small side alley next to Scrivenshaft’s and took off briskly down the street and around the corner to Puddifoot’s. The decor may leave something to be desired, but she did do a lovely trifle, Albus thought. But it wasn’t trifle he was after that evening. His eyes twinkled as he thought of the way that Minerva had given him her trifle that noon. It may not be her favourite pudding, but she usually ate it when it was served. It had been very kind of her to let him have it – especially after he had made a hash of the rest of his meal. Albus had been concerned what Minerva might say or do when Valerianna’s name came up in the conversation, but he needn’t have worried. He had no idea what he thought she might have said . . . it had been just a vague, formless worry.

Albus smiled, remembering Minerva’s words about Valerianna, that she was not worth any of them spending another thought on her. Whatever Minerva might know about his humiliating association with the witch, he doubted that she held it against him. Of course, she couldn’t know the whole truth of the affair . . . unless Valerianna had said something to her, and he simply couldn’t imagine that she would have done that. Perhaps he should speak to Gertrude about Valerianna, after all, he pondered as he entered Madam Puddifoot’s.

Fifteen minutes later, Albus was whistling a funny tune from his childhood as he walked back up to the castle. His mission had been a success. Now . . . how to carry out the rest of his plan? Thinking of the cooperation he had received from the Silent Knight in the past, Albus grinned and set out for Minerva’s room, first casting a quick peek at the staff room to make sure the meeting was still in progress. He didn’t use an eavesdropping charm, merely a little spell that would tell him how many occupants were in the room. No one had left yet, fortunately!

Albus sprinted up the stairs, arriving on the fourth floor slightly winded, but in good spirits. And just as he had hoped, the Silent Knight agreed to cooperate in his “quest,” as the portrait designated it. He seemed to find Albus a most chivalrous and gallant gentleman, which Albus found amusing, considering that his efforts were by way of yet another apology to Minerva. Apologies he shouldn’t have to make because he shouldn’t be offending her. Of course, she had harped on about his health, but that had been only mildly irritating. The only insult was in his own head. Minerva had said nothing about him being an old man who had to start taking care of himself, after all. It was he who had been using and thinking the word “old,” not she.

Albus headed back up to his suite, hoping that his plan would work . . . and without him behaving like a giddy teenager with his first crush, even if he did tend to feel somewhat giddy around Minerva. Warm and friendly but . . . grandfatherly, he supposed, would have to do. He hated that notion, but it would help him to maintain control of himself if he reminded himself to behave . . . grandfatherly. Perhaps “avuncular” might be a better term to use – it was not quite so apt to make him queasy.

Minerva emerged from the staff room tired but not unhappy. It had been a productive meeting. After Albus had left, Birnbaum had been selected to chair the little committee, and Minerva thought that, although he never seemed particularly organized to her, he was fair and could be impartial in running the meetings, despite his own opinions. That was important – just as it was important for Minerva to put aside her own doubts and criticisms while doing her best to represent the Headmaster’s perspective. The committee had then determined a course of action, which parts of the proposal to examine first and which difficulties and pitfalls should be explored before moving on. Each member of the committee had been assigned one aspect of Dumbledore’s plan and a corresponding problem, and each was to be prepared to discuss them at the next meeting, which was set for eight-thirty in the morning of the sixteenth. Each staff member promised to do their best to consider all sides of everything and to withhold any conclusions until they had done so. Minerva thought that Dumbledore’s proposal would be treated as fairly as possible, as would Pretnick. Birnbaum had reminded the committee before they left never to forget the human being, Robert Pretnick, who was at the core of all of their deliberations.

Minerva was just as pleased that she had been called on to do very little except answer a few questions about the potion. Because she had read through Belby’s letter carefully, she had happily been able to answer them clearly and succinctly. She had taken many notes, however, and would have to find time the next day to meet with Albus and go over them with him.

Minerva smiled. They could meet after he had seen Poppy. She was sure he was right, and he was just overextending himself. From what Poppy had said to her on prior occasions, this was habitual with the Headmaster. Perhaps it had been silly of her to want him to have the mediwitch examine him, but she had only been concerned with his welfare. It was kind of him to humour her . . . and without it feeling as though he were merely humouring her. She would have to remember in the future that he liked a little fussing over him but not too much.

It had been a very long day, and Minerva was grateful when she reached her rooms. She gave her password hurriedly. Normally, she only had it halfway out of her mouth and the Silent Knight opened the door for her. This time, however, the Knight bowed, and the door did not even make a click. Just as Minerva was about to protest, the Silent Knight spoke.

“My lady, the lord of this castle has set for me a mission which, as your humble servant and mere chattel, I would loathe refuse, as the lord’s quest is noble and most worthy. He begs that you attend him this night and is most anxious for your gracious presence!” The knight bowed again stiffly.

“The Headmaster wishes to see me?” Minerva asked, puzzled.

“Yes, my lady, Master Dumbledore has requested your attendance this evening in his high tower.”

“And if I want to enter my rooms? You are not supposed to lock me out, you know.”

“Yes, my lady.” The Knight nodded, resigned, and the door clicked open. “I have failed in my mission,” he said with a dolorous sigh.

“No, you haven’t. I simply wish to put my parchments away. I will go directly to the Headmaster’s Tower after I drop my things off and use the loo. All right with you?”

The Knight nodded.

“For a Silent Knight, you have certainly been talkative recently . . . too bad you won’t see fit to announce my visitors, like a normal portrait,” Minerva grumbled as she entered her sitting room.

“I am not a normal portrait. I am your servant, my lady!”

“Hmpf!”

But Minerva was good as her word, and five minutes later, she was on her way up to Albus’s office. She had left her notes behind in her rooms, however. She had told him they could wait to discuss the meeting until tomorrow, and wait they would, no matter what his “quest” was! And why did she have to have such a peculiar door portrait?

Minerva reached Dumbledore’s office, but it was dark but for the moonlight, and the portraits were snoring. He must be in his quarters. She went up the spiral brass stairs, warm light coming from the open sitting room door illuminating her way. Minerva smiled as she reached the top of the stairs: Albus was sitting in a wingback chair on the far side of the room, his feet up, and was just putting his book down as she entered.

“Minerva! Thank you so much for coming. I presume that your portrait passed on my message?”

“I’m not entirely sure what message you gave him, Albus, but if it had to do with ‘missions,’ ‘quests,’ and your ‘high tower,’ he did!” Minerva said with a laugh.

Albus chuckled and stood. “No, my dear, I did not use those particular words, but he achieved the purpose I set for him, so that’s all to the good!”

“I was quite puzzled by his behaviour, as he delivered his message before he would open my door for me, but he did open it in the end.”

“Please, have a seat, Minerva!” Albus said, gesturing at the sofa. “I will join you.”

Albus sat in the armchair beside the sofa. “How was the meeting?”

So that’s what this was about! “I said that we should wait until tomorrow to discuss the meeting, Albus, and I think – ”

“I think that is a fine idea, as well, my dear. I simply was asking in general terms!” He smiled, eyes twinkling.

“Oh! Oh . . . it was fine.” Minerva was suspicious. Surely he didn’t call her up here just to ask her about the meeting in “general terms.”

“Good! Not too stressful, then? I thought that after your meeting, you might be a little peckish.” Albus made a gesture and a silver-domed plate flew across the room and landed on the low table in front of them. “Now, the Hogwarts house-elves are very accomplished at all types of confections, my dear, but sometimes it is fun to have something a little different . . . and I owe you a dessert from this noon.”

“Don’t be silly, Albus! You don’t owe me anything!”

“Humour me, just this once, Minerva?”

Minerva smiled. “All right – I’ll make an exception, just this once!”

“Go on, you can remove the cover!”

Shaking her head and chuckling, hoping he hadn’t replaced her trifle with yet more trifle, Minerva raised the lid and uncovered a most scrumptious looking torte. It was chocolate, so dark it was almost black, in many thin layers, with different shades of creamy icing between them, one thick layer of cherries and heavy whipped cream in the middle, and more cherries on top. Minerva’s mouth began to water.

“It looks delicious!”

“Try it, my dear! I did not get it for you to admire it from afar!” Albus grinned.

Minerva picked up the single fork. “Albus, you have to eat some of it, too. This is far too much for me, and I can’t just sit here and eat it in front of you.”

Albus did not need any further persuading, and conjured his own fork.

“You first, though,” he said, urging her to try the cake.

Minerva tried to get both cake and some of the cherries onto her fork. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she tasted it. “Mmm. Oh, Albus, this is divine.” The icings were buttery and not too sweet, and the chocolate . . . it must have been Honeydukes finest dark chocolate that had gone into the making of this cake. Some of the layers had been soaked in cherry brandy, as well. All-in-all, eating this torte was a heady experience.

Albus grinned and took a taste for himself. It was very good. Madam Puddifoot herself had recommended this torte, saying there wasn’t a witch in the world who liked chocolate who wouldn’t love it. The witch did have questionable taste in decorating, but her cakes and tarts were quite uniformly good. And her trifle was even better than the Hogwarts house-elves’, and that was saying something.

“Wherever did you get this, Albus?” Minerva asked after her third blissful mouthful of chocolate torte.

“Madam Puddifoot’s. She calls it ‘Deep Chocolate Enthralment.’ It was highly recommended.”

“Mmm. I shall have to rethink my decision not to frequent her establishment. I do believe I am enthralled,” Minerva joked.

Albus called Wilspy and requested a pot of peppermint tea to help wash down their dessert, and the two ate cake and sipped tea in warm, contented silence. The torte was so rich that the two of them had difficulty finishing it, but Albus gamely ate the last bite before leaning back in his chair, sighing happily, and smiling over at Minerva, who had uncharacteristically shed her shoes and curled her feet up under her. He was very glad that she felt so comfortable with him. She spent too much time being sensible, Albus thought, and needed to let herself play more. She had always been that way, though.

“We probably shouldn’t have had such a rich dessert so late at night, Albus, but it was delicious. Thank you!” Minerva set down her teacup. “I enjoyed that . . . but what made you decide to go all the way into Hogsmeade for it?”

Albus chuckled. Sensible Minerva, worrying about eating dessert too late at night! “I popped into Hogsmeade for it because I thought you would enjoy it . . . and I thought it would provide an excuse to spend time with you that didn’t involve any Hogwarts business . . . and I wanted to make sure that you know how much I appreciate you, my dear Minerva.”

Minerva blushed. “Thank you. It was lovely. And I wouldn’t mind other such non-Hogwarts excuses to spend time with me, since you continue to insist that you require one. And I do feel very appreciated.”

“I’m sorry if I was a bit curt with you this afternoon, Minerva. I do appreciate your concern for me, truly, but I just occasionally get a bit . . . crotchety, that’s all.”

Minerva snorted. “Don’t call yourself ‘crotchety,’ Albus – it makes you sound like some doddering, bad-tempered old man, and you’re not that. You were irritable. We all have a right to be irritable at times – although I was offended that you seemed to think I was being patronising. I didn’t intend to be, you know.”

Albus’s lips twitched in amusement. “Very well, my dear. I was ‘irritable.’”

“And I fussed too much . . . but I am still very glad that you will be seeing Poppy in the morning. I just want you to take good care of yourself because I – because I do. That’s all.”

“And I shall. And I shall listen to any recommendations that Poppy may have.”

“Hmpf. I notice you said you will listen to them, not that you will follow them, Albus.” But Minerva smiled.

“Yes, well, I shall do my best, my dear.”

Minerva let out a sigh. “As much as I would love to stay longer and chat, Albus, you had wanted an early night, and it’s already well past time for that.” She stood. “I ought to go. But this was lovely. Thank you!”

“Of course, my dear. Let me walk you back to your rooms.”

Minerva smiled. “No need, Albus.”

“Well, allow me to let you out my backstairs, then. It will be a bit quicker for you . . . .”

Remembering the cramped, narrow stair, Minerva almost refused Albus’s offer, but she felt as though she had gone up and down a thousand stairs that day. It would be easier and faster. “All right . . . that would be nice.”

Albus led Minerva through his bedroom to the old door that led to the hidden Headmaster’s stair. This door apparently didn’t require a password, and Albus opened it to allow Minerva to enter the landing ahead of him, then he closed the door behind them. The old stone landing was dark, one lone torch lighting itself when the Headmaster stepped out; the meagre moonlight coming through the narrow slits in the outer wall provided little illumination. Minerva suppressed a shudder. She was with Albus Dumbledore – and in the middle of Hogwarts – she couldn’t be safer, Minerva told herself.

Albus turned to the old, scarred oak door, placed his hand on it, and said, “Peppermint Pillows.” The door glowed briefly, then swung open. The torches on either side of the stairs sprang to life.

“I need to go ahead of you again, Minerva, so that I may open the door at the bottom.”

“You know, Albus, I can just take the normal way – no need for you to go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, none at all.” Albus looked closely at her. “Nervous, Minerva?”

“Just a little.” Minerva was embarrassed to admit it. She was a grown witch! “Just a bit . . . claustrophobic, that’s all. I was thinking . . . in my Animagus form . . .”

“Mmm. Why don’t we try this? If you become too uncomfortable, you can pop right into your little tabby self, and I’ll give you a lift the rest of the way. But give it a go in your ordinary form first. You can place your hand on my shoulder. I’ll be right there ahead of you the whole way, my dear.” He smiled at her, and the torchlight flickered against his glasses. “Don’t hesitate to say if you want to stop a moment or if you want to transform, though. I don’t want you to make yourself ill after that lovely torte!”

Minerva gave a half-smile and said ruefully, “You must think me very foolish, Albus.”

“No, not in the slightest. I had some trouble with closed spaces, myself, after that business in France. It doesn’t matter what our head tells us when every sensation we have is telling us that the walls are closing in, the air’s too heavy, and such. So I understand.”

“You got over it?” Minerva asked.

“Mmhm. The business with Grindelwald a few months later gave me some rather different things to replace it with!” His voice was cheery, but Minerva ached in sympathy for whatever it was he had gone through . . . it must have been terrible, indeed.

“All right, Albus. I’m ready,” Minerva said, summoning her Gryffindor courage and inspired by Albus’s own example.

They started down the stairs, Minerva placing a tentative hand on Albus’s shoulder. Albus had left the door open behind them, and Minerva wasn’t sure whether that was better or worse than having it closed. While it opened an avenue of escape, she could feel a slight draught coming from above, and she had the irrational fear that something could surprise them from behind, and she told this to Albus.

He paused and turned on the stair, looking up into Minerva’s face. “Nothing will harm you here, Minerva,” Albus reassured her quietly. He raised a hand and caressed her arm lightly. “You will be fine. We are halfway to the seventh floor, but if you’d like to enter your Animagus form now, that would be fine with me – and you can either follow me, or I can carry you, if you prefer that.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I just thought I’d mention it. It doesn’t seem as scary now that I’ve told you.” Minerva tried to smile.

Albus nodded slightly, and the two continued down the stairs, Minerva trying not to grip his shoulder too tightly and reminding herself that she was able to breathe perfectly well. Beneath her hand, Minerva could feel the soft thrumming of Albus’s magical core, like gently lapping waves. By the time they reached the great oak door at the bottom of the steps, Minerva actually felt more like herself, but she didn’t remove her hand from Albus’s shoulder even as he opened the door.

Albus placed his hand on age-darkened oak and uttered the password. The door glowed briefly, then the narrow side corridor stretched before them. Torches lit themselves as Albus led Minerva from the stairway into the hall. Her hand slipped from his shoulder to his elbow, and, although it wasn’t strictly necessary, she held his arm as they walked down the hall to the main seventh floor corridor.

When they reached the end, Albus asked warmly, “All right, my dear?”

Minerva smiled up at him. “Very! Thank you, Albus.”

“I didn’t want to force you to do anything if it were too difficult for you, but I think I know you, Minerva, and what you are capable of. I hope it wasn’t too much for you.”

“No, it wasn’t; it really was all right. Thank you.”

Albus’s eyes smiled down at her, and he said softly. “I am always very happy to escort a beautiful witch, Minerva, through dark places or light. I will see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Minerva was glad of the flickering torchlight, for she was entirely unable to suppress her blush of pleasure. “Good night, Albus.”

“Good night, my dear.” His voice came out in a whisper.

Albus raised her hand to his lips without taking his eyes from her face, and Minerva’s breath caught. It must be the torchlight, she thought, but his expression . . . it seemed almost a reflection of her own feelings. But then he turned and was gone down the narrow corridor, headed away from her in a flurry of rose and gold, back to the secret stair, and Minerva numbly made her way to the well-lit, broad staircases that would bring her to the fourth floor and her own rooms.