Love Unceasing
Minerva sat up and blew her nose. “No, Mother. It is hopeless. I simply must face that.”
“Oh, sweetness . . . does Albus know, that is, when you go back –”
“It will be awkward. But he doesn’t know precisely how I feel. The impression he has is not a positive one, but at least I was only partially humiliated, not completely.” Minerva sighed deeply.
“He has been a friend for a long time, though,” Egeria said softly. “Surely everything will eventually return to normal.”
Minerva shook her head. “I don’t think that is possible. They can only become less uncomfortable.” She looked over at her mother. “Was I that obvious, though? That you guessed? Do you think he has?”
“It doesn’t appear that he has . . . I think you would be less distraught.” At Minerva’s expression, her mother hastened to add, “I just believe that he would have handled things with some sensitivity, that you wouldn’t be feeling humiliated. Let down, perhaps, if he did not share your feelings, but not as upset as you are.”
“Oh, yes, the kind, gentle rejection,” Minerva said bitterly. “I had thought that would be the nightmare. But this is worse, by far.”
“What happened?”
“I just can’t talk about it,” Minerva said, wiping her eyes again. “But you didn’t answer my other question. Was I so obvious? I thought no one knew.”
Egeria shrugged. “I dare say it wouldn’t be obvious to most, but your father and I –”
“Dad knows?!” Minerva groaned. “Who else? Did you all sit about speculating about when I would come to my senses?”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that at all. I doubt your brothers have the faintest idea. It’s just that over the years –”
“Over the years? How long . . . ?”
“We just noticed things on occasion, that’s all, sweetness. When you came back from London that time, for example, after your friend was killed in the war.”
“But that was, that was a long time ago!” Minerva protested.
“Yes, well,” Egeria said, not wanting to delve into when she and Merwyn had begun to believe that their daughter had a crush on her Transfiguration teacher. “In any event, we did think it might be a passing phase, something of that sort. Especially when you became involved with that apothecary in Heidelberg. But then you came home, and you didn’t seem to date at all. There seemed to be no wizards in your life other than Albus Dumbledore. You still mentioned him frequently in your letters home. That is one reason I was concerned about your taking the job at Hogwarts, sweetheart. I was worried that . . . that you were only there because of your feelings for Albus. And worried that you might have your heart broken. That is the reason I tried to get you out, seeing other wizards. I was hoping that you would be able to focus on something else, someone else, so that if this moment came, it wouldn’t be a crushing blow, as it has been.”
Minerva shook her head. “I tried, Mother. Especially early on, I tried . . . but it is incurable. Even now –” Minerva’s breath hitched. “Even now, I can’t help the way I feel, and no one else will do. I wish I could just be angry with him, but I can’t be. I never told you, but Rudolf asked me to marry him, and when he did, the very first thought in my head was of Albus, and of not seeing him. I think I will die loving him,” she said softly. “And be miserable until then, because it is impossible.”
“Have you considered leaving Hogwarts now? Getting away? Going back to the Ministry? Or even just doing your own work, your own research?”
Minerva shook her head. “I can’t do that; I have made a commitment to Hogwarts and to Albus. I can’t simply abandon it all. And Head of Gryffindor . . . that is not something lightly discarded, either.”
Egeria nodded. “I thought you would say that, but you might consider it, even if not in the immediate future, then later. There are other options in life, you know, sweetness.”
Minerva sighed and nodded. She opened her mouth to reply when there was a large flash, startling both witches.
“Fawkes!” Minerva cried, astounded by the bird’s sudden fiery appearance.
The phoenix landed on the bed beside Minerva and held out his leg, offering her a large rolled parchment. As soon as Minerva took it, Fawkes trilled happily, then disappeared in the same manner in which he had appeared.
“A phoenix!” Egeria said, having regained the power of speech.
“Albus’s phoenix, in fact,” Minerva said, looking at the scroll in her hand. She was apprehensive. There was clearly more than one parchment in the letter, if that was, indeed, what Fawkes had delivered. “I hadn’t known he used him as a messenger, though.”
“Are you going to open it?”
Minerva nodded. She broke the seal and unrolled the letter. She scanned it, then returned to the beginning and reread it. When she turned to the second sheet, she was trembling. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she had to wipe them away in order to finish reading.
“I have to go, Mother. I have to leave.” She stood.
“Minerva, wait –”
“I cannot wait. I have to leave now,” Minerva said urgently.
“Minerva, your nightgown may not be the best thing to be wearing if you are going to Apparate to the Hogwarts gates.”
Minerva looked down at herself, confused, then she tore the thin nightgown off, pulling it over her head. She opened her wardrobe, found some knickers, then a set of dark green robes, a bit heavy for that time of year, but Minerva wasn’t concerned with that. She didn’t bother with stockings, but shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed the parchments, picked up her wand, then turned to her mother.
“Good bye, Mother!” And she Apparated to the Hogwarts gates.
As Minerva walked up the drive to the castle as quickly as she was able, wishing she had a broom with her, she tried not to think, but the words of Albus’s letter echoed in her head. The letter had been written with purple ink, likely the ink that she had given him weeks before.
“Hogwarts
“16 August 1957
“Dear Minerva,
“It is difficult for me to know what to say or where to begin. Please know that I never intended to hurt you, never, my dearest, rather to cut off my wand hand than to cause you pain.
“My previous apology to you was incomplete and perhaps misleading. I apologise for having offended you with word or deed. Please know that nothing you did, other than be your warm, wonderful self, elicited my reaction to you, and it was horror at my own behaviour that brought about my apology and my subsequent departure from your presence. You did nothing, my dear, nothing that could offend me or cause me any grief.
“In my previous letter, I said that a wizard’s physical reactions are not always in accord with his feelings. I said this in order that you might not feel uncomfortable in my presence and fear how I might behave toward you in the future. Those words, those infelicitous words, were not the full truth. The full truth is that my actions were in accord with my feelings. They were not the mere product of propinquity. I did forget myself for a moment, but I did not forget whom I was with.
“I find it difficult to admit to you what my feelings are, not only because of embarrassment, but because words fail me. While you were at the Gamp Estate earlier in the summer, I found the parchments on which I had written my lists – do you remember the lists I made when I was trying to determine why you were angry with me? when you worried you did not have my respect? – as I wrote those lists, a silly bit of doggerel entered my head, a bit of whimsy, you might call it, and I penned them on the reverse side of one of the lists. Missing you later, I found them again, and that bit of foolishness, and I was moved to add to the few lines I had written the previous week. Perhaps if you were to read those lines, both the silly ones that I first wrote on that day that I discovered my neglect of you, and those expressing my feelings as I was missing your presence in the castle, you will understand what it is that I find so difficult to express to you otherwise. It is clumsy still, but perhaps it will reveal to you a reflection of a shadow of my feelings for you, my dear Minerva.”
Minerva had turned to the second sheet of parchment, her heart hammering in her chest. She noted immediately that the first lines and the subsequent ones were written in two different colours of ink, and there was another note in purple at the bottom of the page. She read the words that Albus had penned weeks before.
The first lines were in bright blue ink:
“How do I respect thee? May I count the ways?
“Sweeter than any putrid potion,
“More scintillating than Transfiguration class,
“Of greater worth than any treaty,
“Thus I respect thee.”
The next lines were in deeper blue:
“I respect thee as night respects the dawn, and day, the dusk.
“Beyond twilight’s dim reach and unto the noon-day sun,
“Thus do I respect thee.
“How do I esteem thee? Shall I count the ways?
“Unto heaven’s vast extent,
“Far beyond the reach of phoenix’ flight,
“Where no hoary mountain peak may grasp,
“Beyond summer’s heat or winter’s rime,
“Thus do I esteem thee.
“I regard thee humbly,
“As strength and will and hope,
“Undulled by care of time
“Or wear of woe, shine from thee.
“I shall esteem thee more as life falls long,
“As spark and breath, no longer strong,
“Companion sun’s borrowed light,
“Fading unto pale moon, and then to night.
“Yet my regard for thee can but wax and grow,
“An expanding passion to onward flow
“And fill my heart, my mind, my soul,
“With thoughts of thee and only thee again,
“Turning once and always unto thee,
“To find thee only ever there.
“For thus I love thee, countless ways,
“Far beyond death’s frail caul,
“Unfettered by life’s scanty bonds,
“Loving thee without beginning,
“Loving thee without ending,
“With all I am and have to give.
“Thus do I love thee and thee alone,
“My life, my hope, my dearest one.
“I have loved and will love others, Minerva, but never as I love you. I cannot help myself. I know that our friendship must suffice, and so it will. But forgive me if I cannot always mask my feelings, for I am not always as strong as I wish; I find that I cannot bring myself to sacrifice what we do have simply by reason of what cannot be. Yet I will make that sacrifice, if you wish it, and I will not burden you with my grief at losing the friendship we have. Please forgive me for the hurt I caused you, but it was only an attempt to protect you from myself, and also, I admit, to protect myself from your inevitable rejection.
“Although your kindness may move you to show me compassion, please do not pity me, Minerva, or humour an old wizard. I could not bear it. Yet if, by some slim and barely conceivable chance, you should return these feelings in truth, then I will be the most fortunate of wizards, the most blessed of men, and I will hold you and love you, and treasure you and cherish you, for as long as you will permit me. Forgive me if my admissions embarrass or offend you, my dearest Minerva, but I needed to tell you, and perhaps you also needed to know, that what occurred between us, what I did, meant something to me beyond the physical, and that you are more precious to me than I can ever express.
“I am sorry I have hurt you.
“I love you.
“Yours,
“Albus”
Minerva pushed open the heavy oak door and entered the castle. She took the stairs two at a time, breathed the password to the gargoyle, then popped into her tabby form and raced up the moving spiral staircase. Reentering her ordinary form, she did not bother to knock, but opened the door to the office. It was empty, and she crossed to the brass stairs and trotted up them. She reached the door to his sitting room, and she knocked, but then opened it without pausing for a response.
Albus was standing in the centre of the room, completely still. The curtains were closed, and in the low lamplight, his robes shone and sparkled, but Minerva scarcely noticed his clothing. She held up the parchments.
“You wrote this,” she said.
Albus nodded, his face ashen.
Minerva took a step toward him. “Why? Why did you not tell me? Why did you instead say what you did?”
Albus swallowed. “I had no hope that you would, or could, accept it. I did not wish to burden you,” Albus said, his voice a near-whisper. “And I did not want your pity for an old fool, a wizard overreaching, entering his dotage . . .”
Minerva shook her head, confused, and tears swam in her eyes. “An old fool? The only foolishness was in not revealing the truth. And it was not yours alone.”
“Not . . . not mine alone?” he asked, uncertain what he was hearing.
“Not yours alone. Although I did try, but it seemed that every effort was met with ambiguity, at best, and rejection, at worst.” Tears flowed down her face. “I told you I love you. Why did you not believe me? Or what did you believe me to be saying? I tried, I did . . . I thought if you might be coming to feel the same, my own . . . my own vulnerability would allow you the occasion to tell me. At least to hint to me . . . and I would see a loving gesture, a romantic one, and would have no idea whether it meant what I thought it did or if it was the product of my own wishful thinking. And you kept turning from me . . . turning away, sometimes even acting as though you didn’t care about me at all.”
“You mean that you . . . you can’t mean that you welcome my feelings? That you . . .” Albus asked, his voice constricted.
“Why would you think that I wouldn’t?” She took another step toward him. “I don’t understand.”
Albus sighed. “I can see myself. I know that I am past my best years, that I have nothing to offer, that it would be unfair to attempt to sway you to feel anything for me beyond friendly affection, even if it weren’t pathetic enough to think I could court you, or any witch.”
Minerva felt as though her mouth was hanging open. “I must have lost your train of thought. It sounded as though you were saying you have nothing to offer and that, that you oughtn’t court any witch, let alone me.”
Albus nodded.
Minerva shook her head. “You are a fool, then, Albus!” she chided gently. “How could you believe such a thing? Even if I were only shallow enough to look at you as the Headmaster of Hogwarts and hero of the wizarding world, that would be sufficient to give you legitimacy as a suitor. But I know you, Albus. I know you and I love you, as I have said to you, as I have tried to show you. Why would you think that – I don’t understand. Why would I not welcome your attentions? . . . Is it your age?”
Albus had cringed inwardly when she had said that he was a fool, but her other words gave him heart. “Partly my age. Primarily my age, I suppose. And yours. I know that a vital young witch needs a vital wizard.”
“I know no wizard more vital than you are, Albus,” Minerva said, taking another step toward him. “And I love you. I am in love with you.”
“You are in love with me . . . ?” Albus whispered.
“Yes! That is what I have tried to tell you,” Minerva said urgently. “I love you, I adore you, I desire you, I want no other wizard. Though I have tried, nothing ever works because no other wizard is Albus Dumbledore. I love you, Albus.”
“Oh, Minerva,” Albus sighed. He closed his eyes, then opened them. He stepped closer to her. “You are not saying this only because you don’t wish to hurt me? Out of pity? Or compassion?”
“Oh, really, Albus . . . you know me! I may have compassion, and compassion to spare for you, but do you really, truly believe that I would say that I love you, that I want you and only you, simply out of some sense of pity?” Minerva asked sadly.
“I love you, Minerva,” Albus breathed, and it seemed to Minerva that the colour returned to his cheeks with those words, and as though the stars on his robes shone more brightly. He smiled in his relief and joy. “I love you, Minerva.”
He came to her and put his arms around her. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you forever, my dearest Minerva.”
She held onto him, and it felt as though she was melting into him, as though she was whole now in a way she never had been before.
“And I love you, Albus Dumbledore. I love you, and you will find me difficult to be rid of now, so I hope you don’t think you are going to start playing hard-to-get again,” she said, smiling.
“I am right here,” Albus said with an answering smile, “very easy to get, my dear, here for you always, for as long as you want me.”
Minerva pulled back a little and looked up into his face. Although he looked better than he had when she entered the room, there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
“I see that you have not been taking very good care of yourself while I’ve been away.” She reached up and caressed his face. “Whatever will I do with you, Albus?”
There was a slight smile on Albus’s lips, and he whispered, “Perhaps kiss me?”
Eyes half-closed, Minerva reached up, pulling Albus down to her, and she kissed his lips lightly, feather touch of lip on lip, but she did not stop, kissing him softly several times, pleased when his arms held her closer as she kissed him. He returned her kisses gently until finally Minerva leaned against him and caught her breath.
“You know, Albus, I do enjoy your kisses, and you may kiss me more.” She looked up at him. “I never would have taken you for a shy wizard,” she said gently, caressing his cheek.
“I don’t want to push you, or rush you, my dear,” Albus answered, his voice low.
Minerva grinned at that. “I think I would rather enjoy it if you were to rush me. I doubt you could be fast enough, in fact.”
“I want you to be sure . . .”
“I am sure, Albus, very, very sure,” Minerva said before she kissed him again, this time, after kissing him gently as she had before, she took his lower lip between her own, and with a slight moan, she sucked it and ran her tongue over it. His answering moan encouraged her, and she deepened the kiss.
Albus finally broke away, gasping. He kissed her cheeks and her forehead, catching his breath between kisses.
“I love you, dearest Minerva, and I am serious when I say that I do not wish to rush you. I want to be certain that you are certain.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you understand?” he asked softly.
Minerva kissed him lightly. “Not entirely, but I am content.” She looked up at him, smiling. “More than content, in fact. I think I will actually sleep well tonight. And you look as though you could use some sleep, too, Albus.” She caressed his face and the dark circles beneath his eyes.
“Yes, I think I will sleep tonight.” He kissed her forehead. “But I don’t want to let go of you yet.”
“You don’t need to let go, Albus.”
“Then let’s sit down for a while, hmm?” Albus suggested, leading her over to the sofa.
Minerva curled up next to him, relaxing into his embrace, sighing in pleasure as he kissed the top of her head.
“I thought I had lost you completely,” Albus whispered after a few minutes.
“I was certain I had lost you,” Minerva said softly. “I felt as though a part of me was dying.”
“Are you all right?” Albus asked seriously. “Are you . . . well?”
Minerva laughed happily. “I am perfect. I don’t believe I have ever been this well in my entire life.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t sent that letter. I could scarcely believe my eyes. And when I read your beautiful poem – no, it is beautiful, Albus! – in my haste, I almost Apparated here in my nightgown. Fortunately, my mother stopped me,” she said with a laugh, “but I will have to owl her in the morning, let her know that I am all right. I did leave rather hastily after having made an equally unexpected appearance in the library this evening.”
Albus kissed the side of her head. “You arrived and then left . . . yes, I am sure your parents will be wondering where you are.”
“Mother knows. She knows why I was upset and she knows where I went,” Minerva said.
“She knows?” Minerva could feel Albus shift uncomfortably.
Minerva nodded. “She was very understanding.”
“Egeria must be upset . . .”
“She was unhappy that I was unhappy, but I’m not unhappy now.” Minerva turned her head to look up at him, smiling, and she kissed his cheek. “Definitely not unhappy.”
“She must be angry with me,” Albus said softly.
“No . . . she doesn’t know exactly how you feel, of course, but she was convinced that you wouldn’t deliberately hurt me.”
Albus was silent for a minute, then he said, “I didn’t mean that, precisely. I meant . . . for hurting you, of course, but also . . . because of the way you feel. That I . . . they cannot be pleased with the thought of you . . . of you with me.”
“What? Why? I understand your worry, I suppose, but I had the impression that Mother thought it was fine. Or would be, if you returned my feelings. They both like you. And, well, this is embarrassing, but they had some suspicions about how I felt about you. They have for some time, apparently.”
Albus was quiet. Minerva said, “Something is wrong. What is it?”
“I doubt that I would be the first choice of a wizard to court their daughter,” Albus said softly.
“I don’t think that my parents have ever believed that they had any choice in what wizard I chose – is that what you are doing? Courting me?” Minerva asked with a smile.
“If you will allow me . . .” Albus whispered.
Minerva looked up at him with a wicked grin. “Allow it? Now that I know how you feel, I insist upon it!”
Albus couldn’t help but smile in response. “I suppose I have no choice then! I don’t want to stir your McGonagall ire!”
Minerva laughed. “No, you don’t! I think the only one of us who doesn’t have it is Morgan. He takes after the Parnovons, I think. Always wanting peace and tranquillity, no strife, just . . . maintain an even keel, that’s their motto. And Mother, I think, is typical of her Egidius relatives. Cold steel. You might not even know she is angry, and then suddenly, there she is, still cool as can be, but, oh, my! You wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her tongue – or her wand! The rest of us, though – a hot temper, but quick to forgive, as well.”
“Your father, too?” Albus asked, thinking of the scholarly wizard and trying to envision him in a rage. It was an incongruous image.
“Oh, yes.” Minerva nodded. “It does take a lot to rile him, but when he is, there’s no reasoning with him. He cools off quickly, though. Malcolm is the only one to . . . not to hold a grudge, precisely, but his anger doesn’t burn out as quickly.”
“Perhaps I should warn Gertrude about that,” Albus said with a smile.
“So you know about them, then,” Minerva said.
“Rather difficult to see them together and not notice something, but she did tell me that she and your brother are friends.” Albus smiled. “More than friends.”
“Good. It would be awkward to talk about them with you, otherwise.” Minerva looked up at him curiously. “What did you think when you found out?”
“I was surprised at the rapidity with which they apparently entered the relationship, and its extent, but I think they are actually well-suited, although I hope that your brother doesn’t hurt her. Or she, him, of course,” Albus added.
Minerva nodded. “I had the same concern. But I am happy for them. And I never would have paired them together in my mind, but seeing them together, they seem to be natural . . . they seem a unit, somehow.” She grinned. “And now that I am so happy, I want everyone else to join my happiness. Love all around, please!”
Albus smiled at her warmly. “I am very glad you are happy. And I am very glad that it is being with me that makes you so.”
“Come to think of it, I may not sleep a wink tonight, after all,” Minerva said, her brow knit.
“Why?” asked Albus with sudden concern.
“Fear that I will wake up and this will have been a dream, that it never happened, or that you will change your mind or your feelings, or something, and that peculiar doppelganger will appear in the morning, the one who looks like Albus, but who doesn’t sound or act like him.” Minerva nodded in mock seriousness. “Yes, I believe I shall have to remain awake to ensure that the Albus-doppelganger doesn’t make an appearance and break my heart.”
Albus kissed her forehead. “He is gone for good, Minerva. Never to return. Your kisses have driven him completely away.”
“Hmmm, perhaps I ought to repeat the treatment, just to make sure,” Minerva said, smiling.
Albus bent his head and kissed her. When they finally broke their kiss, Minerva took a breath, sighed happily, then said, “So, do you think that we should continue those treatments? Indefinitely? It may be a challenge, but one that I am perfectly ready to accept. As a preventive measure, perhaps?”
“I shall demand that you do – if I may be so bold!”
“Please, be bold, Albus. Very bold.” She pulled his head down and kissed him again, turning in his arms to embrace him, lying across his lap.
“I love you, Albus, I love you so very much,” Minerva whispered as he moved to kiss her throat.
She sighed and laced her fingers through his hair. Albus moved up and kissed the side of her neck then moved to her ear. She moaned his name as he kissed her ear then whispered, “My love, my dearest love . . .”
He kissed her again, combing his fingers through her hair, then he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. Albus held her close, his breathing ragged.
“Don’t stop, please, Albus, don’t stop,” Minerva whispered.
Albus kissed her temple, then said softly. “I am not stopping . . . merely . . . pausing. For a while. I treasure you, Minerva. I wish to court you as you deserve. And I need to be sure that you are certain. And that . . . that the reality of it does not change your feelings.”
Minerva lay back in his arms and looked up at him. “You may court me as you wish and still . . . continue.”
Albus closed his eyes and kissed her forehead. “I need to give you time. I need to . . . I need to take time and know.”
Minerva sat up slightly. “You don’t believe me?” she asked, pain in her voice. “You don’t believe . . . how, why?”
“I do believe you. I believe your feelings are as you say.” Albus caressed her gently, her forehead, her cheek, her throat, her shoulder, her arm, then taking her hand and lifting it to kiss her fingers, one at a time. “And I will court you, and my love for you will never fade. But –”
“But? But what?”
Albus sighed and looked away.
“Is it . . . physical?” Minerva asked hesitantly. “If it is, we can . . . talk about it. And . . . that isn’t why I love you.” She rubbed his back, trying to think of the right words. “If you like, we could see a Healer –”
Albus chuckled unexpectedly. “No, no, it isn’t that kind of physical problem, my dear.” He hesitated, then said, some embarrassment in his voice, “It is not a functional difficulty. It is simply my . . . self.”
Minerva looked at him again, puzzled. “I don’t understand. Yourself? You haven’t taken some . . . vow, or something of that sort, have you?”
“No, not precisely . . . but I will not use you.”
“Albus, you could not use me – not in the way you are implying.” Minerva sat up beside him and touched his face. “Unless, of course, we are speaking of different things.”
“I don’t want you to feel . . . obligated in the future, or now, simply because you care for me.”
“First, I don’t simply ‘care for you,’ I love you, Albus. And I still don’t understand.” Minerva was truly confused.
“You are happy now,” Albus said, avoiding her eyes, “but it may be the first flush of your happiness that brings you to . . . to accept my touch. I do not wish to overextend your good will toward me.”
This time, it was Minerva who laughed, though not long. “My ‘good will’ toward you? That is a most peculiar way of putting it, Albus! I love you. I adore you. I desire you. Accept your touch?” Minerva raised his hand to her mouth, kissing his palm then each of his fingertips, her eyes half-closed, then, sighing, holding his hand to her cheek, she said, “I long for your touch, Albus.” She looked into his eyes. She blushed, but continued, whispering, “I long for your touch . . . everywhere.”
Minerva saw Albus’s eyes darken as his pupils dilated. She said, “I hope you don’t think . . . that there is something wrong with that, or my saying it.”
Albus cleared his throat. “No.” He shook his head. “No, but . . . but I look at you, and I see such beauty, such youth, such vibrancy, and . . . you have to understand, I believe what you say, but I also know that I am far from being an attractive, vital, young wizard –”
Minerva interrupted him. “You are attractive and you are vital. As for being young, that you are not young is hardly news to me, Albus. I am in love with you. Who you are now and everything that you have become over the course of your life.” She looked at him, tracing his features with her finger and her eye. “You are so utterly attractive, it astounds me that you could believe otherwise. I know you to be modest, but this . . . this is beyond modesty.”
“I just . . . I . . . do you mind terribly if we just enjoy this time together right now? Could we talk about this later?” he asked, a pained expression on his face. He said softly, “I don’t want to avoid speaking about it altogether, I don’t think we could do that, but it is such a relief, I am so glad to have you here, to know that I can love you, that I can say it to you . . . I love you, Minerva . . .”
Minerva nodded and kissed him softly. “Hold me, Albus. Hold me.”
Minerva rested in his arms, holding him herself, one hand rubbing his chest and shoulder, reassuring herself of his solidity, his presence, his reality. She watched as the stars twinkled in response to her passing touch.
“You are wearing the robes I gave you. Did you put them on thinking I would return tonight, hoping I would?” she asked.
“Alas, no. I wish I had. But I admit that I did not dare have any hope that you would accept my feelings, or even forgive me for my behaviour. No, I am wearing these because Wilspy insisted. She left me no robes but these this morning, and I was so . . . so very unhappy, I just put them on without protest. It actually made me feel worse, remembering that happy evening, remembering the cake, and my wish . . .”
“What did you wish? Oh, wait, they say it’s bad luck to reveal your wish. It might not come true,” she said with a teasing smile.
Albus smiled at her. “It already has. It already had. I just didn’t know it.” He kissed her forehead softly and whispered, “I wished that you would love me.”
“Yes, that wish came true a very long time ago,” Minerva said quietly.
“A long time ago?”
Minerva shrugged. “It didn’t suddenly happen this summer,” she said noncommittally. “But I saw you as unattainable and any wish for the future as unrealistic and impossible.”
“I feel now as though I have always been in love with you, Minerva . . . as you are now, of course, not, um . . .”
“I know what you mean,” Minerva said. “You needn’t explain. I could never not love you, never not fall in love with you. If ever I hadn’t met you, I would have spent my life looking for you, seeking you, and only you, and no one else would have ever suited me, and I would search until I found you, and if I did not, I would die knowing that I had not found you and I would seek you in the beyond, never ceasing until I found you.”
Albus’s eyes filled with tears and he held her close. As his tears overflowed, he whispered, “My love, my remarkable, most wonderful . . . my dearest Minerva.” He swallowed, trying to stop his tears. “I love you more than I imagined it possible to love one person. And I will do all I can to keep you and protect you, to protect your feelings, your life, your well-being.”
Minerva kissed him and he responded. The kiss grew in passion, and Minerva held him more tightly, her fists gripping his robes, trying to pull him closer; she caressed his face, his shoulder, his chest. She moaned and gasped. Albus kissed her cheek and held her to him, murmuring of his love and running his hand over her side and back up to her breast, where he paused.
“Albus . . . please, Albus, please . . .”
Albus gently caressed her. “My sweet darling, my dearest . . .”
Caressing her still, he placed light kisses over her face, then kissed her throat several times softly, and Minerva moaned again. Albus, his breathing ragged, pulled her against him once more, cradling her to his chest, and Minerva tried to catch her own breath.
They sat together like that for a few minutes, then Albus drew back and looked at her. “I believe you are falling asleep, my dear. Perhaps it is time for me to walk you to your rooms.”
“No, please, Albus, not yet . . . I can’t leave you yet,” Minerva said pleadingly.
“All right, then, not yet . . . not yet.”
He held her, running his fingers through her hair, watching her face as his own eyes grew heavy. When Minerva’s breathing became soft and regular, Albus kissed her forehead and watched her a while longer. When finally he was unable to stay awake himself, he drew out his wand and cast a spell on the couch, enlarging it so the he could lie back fully with Minerva in his arms, his legs stretched out comfortably, then he Summoned a light blanket from the bedroom and covered them both. He rested his head on a cushion, and she rested across him, and they slept until long after dawn, dreaming of love, and of each other, which was the same thing.