Resolving a Misunderstanding

Minerva awoke and immediately rolled from her bed and headed for the bathroom, stripping off her nightgown as she went. After a quick shower, she selected her tartan and grey robes. She hoped that they were something that Albus liked. She would have to ask him whether there were any robes of hers that he found ugly, as she did his grey, ruffled ones. Those looked like one of her grandmother’s dressing gowns. If her grandmother had the bad taste to wear something that ugly.

As she put her hair up in a French twist, Minerva thought that she really oughtn’t have said what she had about those robes, but he had been wearing them in public. She couldn’t let him go out looking like that. If it were just that they weren’t to her taste, that would be something entirely different, but she was sure that no one who saw Albus in those robes could help but notice how ugly they were. She wouldn’t even dress a child in something with such a big floppy collar.

She wondered about jewellery, almost selecting her silver jonquils, but she remembered that the last time she had worn them was the night she had stayed at Quin’s and had returned the next morning to doppelganger-Albus. It was highly unlikely that seeing the jewellery on her would incite a reappearance of the doppelganger, she thought with a smile, but there was no point in reminding either of them of that occasion. Instead, she chose the amber necklace she had bought for herself when she was living in Germany. As she fastened it around her neck, Minerva thought that it must have been jealousy that had caused Albus to be so cold to her that morning she returned from Quin’s. He had wanted to apologise, though – that very day, even – but events had conspired to prevent his letter from reaching her and then to prevent him from apologising in person, and then the next day . . . Minerva sighed. Now she understood the horror on his face better. He had believed that he had overstepped some invisible line he had drawn for himself, and that he had mistreated her and she would be upset with him for that. So when she left the castle, Albus no doubt believed it was because of what he had done, and that she had been unable to accept his apology.

Minerva had found the crumpled letter the previous day. She had thought to destroy it, but then instead, she had smoothed it out, though she had not reread it – it was too soon for that – and she had put it away with all of his other letters. Someday she might want to read it again, as a part of her history with Albus. Even that letter, as devastating as it had been, had played a role in their overcoming their misunderstanding and becoming . . . whatever it was they were becoming. Minerva still didn’t know. A couple, at any rate. She wondered whether he had kept the letter that he had originally written to apologise for taking her to task for not returning to the school until morning. She would ask. If he had it, she would like to read it and keep it with the others.

It was eight o’clock when she stepped into her sitting room. Minerva still loved the furniture and the colours. It was hard to believe that the wizard who had orchestrated the decoration of her rooms was the same one who thought the grey ruffled robes were in any way sartorially acceptable. She laughed to herself. Perhaps they were some kind of peculiar penance for him.

Albus had done so many wonderful things for her yesterday; having him to breakfast prepared and served by her Hogwarts house-elf seemed puny in comparison. He had done such lovely little things for her all summer, when doppelganger-Albus hadn’t interfered. The special torte from Madam Puddifoot’s . . . the huge vase of flowers he had brought with him to breakfast that first time . . . the fresh flowers awaiting her when she had returned from her parents . . . the picnic overlooking Hogwarts . . . the rose for her hair. She couldn’t think of how she had repaid him at all – of course, she had celebrated his birthday with him. And given him those robes he looked so wonderful in. Minerva chuckled, thinking of how Wilspy had left him only those robes to wear. The ways of house-elves were mysterious, but it had been nice that Albus had been wearing them that night when she had come back to the school. Still, she would have to think of nice things to do for him, too, though they would, of necessity, be somewhat different from his gestures toward her. Perhaps one of the things she could do would be to convince him that she would never shy from his touch in some kind of disgust. Surely, he must be able to see how much she enjoyed his kisses and what few caresses he had bestowed on her.

Minerva shook her head. Quin was probably right: his time with Valerianna Yaxley must have something to do with this peculiar attitude. It was one thing to worry about the age difference between them before she had demonstrated her interest in him, but for Albus to worry that she would dislike the “reality” of his touch, as he had put it, that was something entirely different. For such a normally confident and powerful wizard, it was sad to see. She would have to do all she could to ensure he realised how very attractive she found him.

Minerva hoped that Albus would be on time that morning – she didn’t think he would be late if he could help it, but he might oversleep if he were very tired. Time would go very slowly until he arrived, though. She sighed and tried to relax on the settee, imagining Albus, in his tower above her, getting ready for their breakfast together.

Albus rose shortly before seven-thirty, accepting his first cup of tea from Wilspy and sitting on the edge of his bed, sipping it. He was looking forward to breakfast with Minerva, but he was nervous, too. The previous afternoon as he had waited for Minerva to return from Hogsmeade, he had been nervous, as well, but he had busied himself in his office and with the arrangements for their evening out. There was no reason to believe that Minerva wouldn’t enjoy going to a concert and then to dinner, and little that could go wrong, really, but he had been slightly worried, nonetheless. This morning, though, he was even more nervous than he had been while waiting for Minerva the day before.

Albus was not generally prone to nervousness. He did worry about things, of course, but this general, vague nervousness was unusual for him. He wondered briefly if it indicated that there was something wrong with him courting Minerva if it engendered such nervousness in him, but he quickly dismissed that notion. If there were anything wrong with his courting her, his nervousness was no barometer of it, he was sure. No, his nervousness stemmed from his uncertainty about how Minerva would feel about him today, how he should behave around her, what he should say and what he should do. He had been nervous before Minerva returned from Hogsmeade, he reminded himself, and the evening had turned out quite well despite that.

Albus smiled, thinking of how lovely it had been to hold Minerva, knowing that he could continue to hold her and that if he let her go, he could hold her again. And he didn’t need to chide himself for it, as he had done in the past, nor for enjoying the feel of her soft, feminine curves as he held her. The night when Minerva had returned to the castle, his letter and poem in her hand, even after she had said that she loved him and he felt relief wash over him, he had worried that her feelings for him did not approach the strength of his for her: it seemed impossible to him that she could love him with the degree of ardour that he held for her. He did not disbelieve her when she said that she loved him, and there was such joy in her eyes when she looked upon him with the realisation that he loved her, that Albus could only believe that she was, indeed, in love with him, just as she said, and not merely fond of him and humouring him out of that sense of fondness. And when she told him how much she enjoyed his kisses, his heart had beat faster, both from excitement and anxiety.

Why should it cause him anxiety if she enjoyed his kisses and wanted more of them? Albus had thought that his demonstration of how the Headmaster would kiss the Head of Gryffindor was certainly a test, and not of his restraint, but of whether he could please Minerva, at least with his kisses. Oh, how he loved to kiss her, and how he loved seeing that she enjoyed it when he did!

But would she still want him to kiss her in a day or a week or a month? Albus could not help but see that she seemed to feel passionately for him, that she appeared to desire him physically, but would that outlast the first flush of happiness that she felt now? If he had ever wondered about whether Minerva had ever had a lover – and he had wondered occasionally whether any of her romances had become that intimate – he no longer did. It seemed clear that she was not inexperienced in that way. He certainly could not hold it against her, of course; she was an adult witch. It would be unreasonable of him to expect her to have remained . . . he disliked the term “pure.” Minerva was pure, certainly, in all the ways that mattered to him. But celibate, perhaps that was a better word. No, it would be unreasonable of him to expect celibacy of her, and he didn’t. If she had been romantically involved with a wizard, he could certainly understand her engaging in the intimacies that might naturally arise between a man and a woman under those circumstances. And she was independent. It was one of the things he valued in her.

Albus sighed and put down his teacup. He wouldn’t lie to himself. He was unsure whether it would have been better for him if she were inexperienced. Perhaps not so inexperienced that she might be . . . frightened by intimacy, of course. But she would now have a basis for comparison. And he very much doubted that, unless she had a peculiar fetish for ancient wizards, Minerva had ever been with a wizard as old as he. And yet so pathetically, woefully lacking in recent experience, himself, despite his age. Or even very much experience at all, really, aside from the period in his youth that he had shut off from his mind – what he could have remembered of it, anyway.

There had been Gertie, Albus reminded himself. And they had made love both tenderly and passionately, and he had believed at the time that she had enjoyed it. But even if she had . . . there was still the matter of his age. Of course, it wasn’t as though Gertrude was as old as he. She had been quite a young witch when he had first met her, and he was well past middle age at the time – he had been seventy-six, almost seventy-seven at the time, and she, only a girl of twenty. Yet they had known each other almost a quarter of a century when they first became lovers, and at that time, Gertrude was older than Minerva was now by a dozen years or so. And he had only become older in the intervening time, and no more attractive, nor more experienced. Not that he would wish to have taken lovers during those years simply to have gained skill in bed, of course. That was a ridiculous notion, and he certainly would not use women in that way. But it still meant that in the years during which he was becoming older, less attractive, and less virile, Minerva was making love to strong, attractive young men at their peak. He could scarcely imagine that she was attracted to him at all, even now, and he couldn’t think what it would be about him that attracted her. Perhaps she did feel some . . . duty or obligation to engage with him physically if they were to be romantically involved. She could surely feel the indications of his own desire. It could be that she felt she had to provide him with physical intimacy. Perhaps she wasn’t truly attracted to him at all, but it was merely out of a romantic love that she wished to make him happy.

Albus had made himself well and truly depressed by the time he stood up and went into the bathroom to take his shower. Either she truly believed she was attracted to him, but would be disgusted once she was confronted by his ancient body and his withered touch, or her desire for him was based only on her love for him and her wish for him to be happy, but not on any true physical yearning. As he showered, Albus told himself that it was all the more reason for him to maintain a chaste romance for now, and to remind Minerva that he would not hold her if she desired someone else. But at the thought of her turning from him and going to some other wizard, his stomach clenched in knots.

This was ridiculous, Albus told himself as he stood beneath the spray of warm water and began to wash. He was creating problems that were not there – not yet, anyway. He should allow himself to enjoy this time with Minerva, and to do all he could to have her enjoy it, as well. And even if he were rather pathetic in the sexual arena, he could still do what he could for her, be mindful of her and of her needs. As long as those needs didn’t involve another man. He clenched his teeth. No, even if she needed someone else, someone different, he would let her go. He didn’t think he could bear it, but he knew, too, that Minerva was honest, and if she wanted to be with someone different, she would tell him and break it off. She would not pretend to him that she still was in love with him, that he was the wizard she wanted, and then run after another wizard. Albus was absolutely certain of that much, at least. He had known Minerva for so long and knew her so well, he could trust her in that. She might still break his heart in leaving him, but she wouldn’t discard him carelessly, nor would she have an affair behind his back.

Albus sighed and turned on the wall jets. It was a sigh of relief. Minerva was Minerva and would remain so. And he would do all he could to bring her pleasure and happiness for as long as she wanted him. If eventually that meant making love to her . . . not just making love as he had done with his kisses and tentative caresses, but if it meant more than that, he would try to go slowly and please her, and hope that he would not see a shadow of disgust cross her face or feel her shy from his touch. She hadn’t pulled away from his touches and kisses up till now, and he was sure that she had enjoyed it when he had kissed the nape of her neck the previous morning. But she hadn’t seen him. Still, the sensation of his lips hadn’t repulsed her, and she had seemed to enjoy the few more passionate kisses they had shared.

Albus looked down at his body as he washed. It wasn’t what it had been when he was a young man, of course, but still, at least his stomach was relatively flat, though perhaps not as taut and muscular as it had once been, even a dozen years ago. Too many years of sitting behind a desk, now that he spent most of his time at the school or the Ministry. But his legs, he thought as he soaped them, they were still muscular and fit. The many stairs at Hogwarts helped with that, although he probably didn’t walk as much as he should. His chest was more spare than it used to be, less well-muscled, but still as broad, and at least he hadn’t gone all to fat or bone. Perhaps he should be more attentive to his physical fitness. Remembering his Vitamin Potion every night would be a good start.

Washing his hair and his beard, Albus thought again about whether he might not look younger without them, but Minerva had seemed shocked when he had used the Glamour, and had said that she had always liked them. He would simply ask her what she thought, he decided. If she thought he would look younger and more attractive with short hair and a well-trimmed, short beard, then he would make the change. But it could be that she genuinely liked his hair and beard for some reason, and he wouldn’t want to do anything to make himself less attractive to her!

He put a little shampoo in his palm and washed himself; even without imagining her or what it was like to hold her, thinking about Minerva had begun to give him an erection. As he washed, he took a frank look at the growing appendage he held in his hand. It seemed the least changed of any part of him, oddly enough, and Albus knew that one reason that witches had enjoyed having him in their beds was that they found him perfectly adequate in that area. And he had known what to do with it, Albus remembered with a slight smile. Perhaps his behaviour had not been anything to be proud of, but at least he had done it well. He wondered, though, whether seeing this erection of his, now very large in his hand, whether that would seem absurd or bizarre as it emerged from his old body. The thought of Minerva seeing his erection both unnerved him and excited him. He remembered that Gertrude had liked to see him naked, that she enjoyed watching him undress and come to her, his erection already full and needy.

Albus closed his hand around his cock and remembered how Gertrude would stroke him as she pulled him to her, and he wondered whether Minerva would want to touch him there, and what her hand would feel like if she did. She had reached for him more than once, but he had never let her fingers even graze him. It was embarrassing to think that she felt his desire pressing against her as it had, and yet he hadn’t wanted to hide his desire from her, either. And how he desired her! Albus had never wanted any woman the way that he wanted Minerva, and it wasn’t just that he wanted to have sex with her, he wanted to have her love him as they made love . . . he was unsure whether that made any sense at all, but his mind was a haze as he stroked himself and thought of Minerva and of her desire and of his wish to please her. He allowed himself the release that he had been denying himself for so many months. Every time in recent months that he had felt his erection grow, he had thought of Minerva, and he had sickened himself. Even now as he let the shower rinse him clean, he felt mildly disgusted with his actions. But better to do that there in his shower than to have to struggle with unseemly desires when he was with her, Albus told himself. And he should try to rein himself in more. He shouldn’t in any way make Minerva feel that she was obligated to satisfy his physical needs.

Eventually, of course, Minerva’s own physical needs would raise the question of further intimacy. While he desired her passionately, he believed that if she wanted a chaste relationship, he could quite easily accept that. In fact, it might be a relief if she did – she couldn’t compare him negatively to other lovers if they were to remain chaste. But that in itself would be unfair to her. If she had had other lovers, then surely that indicated she had the needs of a healthy young witch, and, as he had said to her, a vital young witch needed and deserved a vital wizard.

Albus stepped out of the shower and dried himself off. He felt as though he simply kept moving in circles. The only thing to do was dress and go to breakfast and try to behave normally and not be obsessed with all of the ways in which he might fall short of what Minerva needed or deserved. If he were to think of that, he shouldn’t stop at worries over physical intimacy, but go on to worry about the normal family life that every young witch deserved and which he could not give her. He didn’t even really have a home to bring her to, just his tiny cottage on its rocky island. While he had always found it pleasing, it was not the sort of place that he would envision bringing Minerva. He wished for the first time in over two years that he had kept the other cottage rather than giving it to his brother. It was, of course, still somewhat isolated out on the Dales, but it was larger, more comfortable, and it had a certain charm to it. He had lived there for many years before coming to Hogwarts; it had been his home for decades. But he hadn’t used it very much since he began teaching, and so even aside from the fiasco with Valerianna, it made much more sense for his brother to have it. Aberforth had even connected it up to the Floo Network, something that Albus had never done, and he went home to his goats and few sheep every night. Wilspy reported that they had done a lot of work while she was with Aberforth and Albus was on his holiday. His brother was happy there and taking good care of the place. No, whether it had been an ill-considered decision or not, he had given the cottage to Aberforth and now it was his.

Albus went to his wardrobe and looked through his robes. He had once again managed to demoralise himself, and he was dispirited as he pulled out the sky blue robes he had worn to breakfast several weeks before, with the over-robe with its puffy, floating clouds. He should be looking forward to breakfast with Minerva even more than he had on that earlier morning, but he only felt inadequate and nervous. That was a miserable combination.

He dressed methodically, remembering that Minerva was likely looking forward to seeing him – he hoped she was, though of course, she could have had a change of heart overnight – but nonetheless, he should not arrive looking as though he were attending a funeral. He pulled on a pair of short, soft leather boots, breathing a charm as he did so, making them match the blue of his under-robe. Hat or no hat, he pondered. None. It was more modern and stylish to go without. Although it would cover some of his grey hair . . . that thought, however, made Albus chuckle at himself. He really was being ridiculous. If that were a concern, why, he could just put a sack over his head and cut a few holes so he could eat and see! He laughed to himself.

What he really needed was Fawkes. A few minutes with Fawkes, and he would be himself again, or at least he would have a brighter outlook on things. But Fawkes had taken off for a bit of adventure after delivering the letter to Paul the previous afternoon, and so he would just have to cheer himself up. He certainly did not want Minerva to think that he didn’t want to have breakfast with her. No, he did. It was an opportunity to court her, even though the invitation had been hers. Albus wished he had flowers to bring her, or something else, but he had nothing but himself. Not even sweets.

At that thought, however, he remembered the large hamper that Quin had sent him for his birthday. The hamper was charmed to keep the contents fresh for months, and it had only been a couple of weeks. Albus hurried into his study where the large basket sat beside the small desk. After looking through the various sweets, he selected a small box of truffles that looked rather nice and as though it might be something that Minerva would like. He was just about to close the lid when he saw something else: dark chocolate-covered cherries filled with cherry liqueur. That seemed even more like something that Minerva would enjoy, and he picked that up, as well.

Despite having taken his time getting ready and being preoccupied by his worries, Albus found himself ten minutes early as he stood outside Minerva’s door. He hesitated. She might still be dressing. Arriving earlier than one was expected was generally not a good idea, but to do so first thing in the morning could be quite rude. As he considered what to do during the ten minutes that remained, though, the Silent Knight spoke.

“Good morning! You are here to see my mistress? Would you prefer to be announced?” he asked.

“I am early,” Albus explained. “I thought I would come back – ”

“Nonsense! I shall announce you straightaway! My lady will be pleased with your arrival, I do believe.” Without waiting for a response from Albus, the Knight strode out of the portrait. Fidelio sat and grinned at him with a happy doggie smile, his tail thumping, a far different animal from the one who had snarled at him just a few days before.

Albus had barely time to ponder the idiosyncrasies of Minerva’s door portrait when the door opened to him. Minerva was crossing the room to him, a bright smile on her face. Her smile was infectious, and her pleasure at seeing him lifted his spirits immediately. As he stepped into the room, Minerva put her arms around him.

“I am so glad to see you! You probably think me very foolish, Albus, but I have missed you terribly, even though it’s only been a few hours since we saw each other, and I was asleep for most of them.” She settled into his embrace and sighed. “I am very glad you are a little early, too. I thought I would go mad watching the clock move more and more slowly as I waited for you!”

Albus chuckled and nuzzled her hair. “And I am very glad to see you, my dear. Especially to see you looking so happy.”

“All due to you, Albus, all due to you,” she said. She ran her hand down his back feeling the silky material of his over-robe. “And you are wearing some of my favourite robes, too. I shall quite enjoy looking at you if I can ever manage to let go of you long enough to do so.”

Albus’s heart sang. He didn’t need Fawkes to cheer him up. He had Minerva, and her embrace, her words, her mere presence were enough. He could almost forget his worries and his nervousness about being with her.

“And you are looking very pretty this morning, too. I like this grey and tartan robe. I remember you wore it to lunch the day of the staff meeting earlier this summer. I wanted to tell you then how pretty you looked in it, but sitting there with Professor Dustern on my other side, it didn’t seem appropriate.”

Minerva leaned back and smiled up at him. “Do you remember every robe I own and every time I’ve worn it?”

Albus laughed at that. “I doubt it. But I do notice when you are looking particularly lovely, although that is often, and I have enjoyed seeing you looking pretty even when I felt constrained from telling you.”

She stroked her fingers over his cheek and down over his beard. She smiled, looking into his eyes, and she said, “Will you give me a good-morning kiss, Albus? A proper good-morning kiss? I enjoyed the first one yesterday morning very much.”

Albus leaned in and kissed Minerva’s lips lightly, allowing the minty-fresh charm to tingle across his lips to her mouth. He had been going to pull back immediately, but Minerva’s hand went to the back of his neck, her fingers combed through his hair, and she prolonged the kiss, her mouth moving against his, her breath on his face, her lips meeting his again and again, and he let out a soft moan. Forgetting all of his resolve, he embraced Minerva more fully, pulling her against him.

Finally, Minerva gave him one more gentle but sensuous kiss, then rested her head against his chest. She sighed and turned her head, kissing his chest through his beard, then she said, her voice muffled as she nuzzled his beard, “I think our breakfast has arrived.”

Albus softly kissed the top of her head, then looked over it and saw that the table was laid and breakfast was served.

“Your house-elf has become quite efficient,” he remarked. “Barely a sound made.”

“I will tell her that the Headmaster was pleased,” Minerva said, reluctantly stepping from his warm embrace, but not entirely letting him go. “She will appreciate that. She’ll probably bounce up and down on her toes.” Minerva laughed, a light sound that brought another smile to Albus’s face. “She is actually quite cute when she does that,” she added.

Minerva stood back and looked Albus up and down. “I do love those robes. I remember when you wore them last time, how I could scarcely keep myself from staring at you, they are so attractive on you.” She looked back up and met his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my saying things like that. Perhaps it isn’t very ladylike. But you have such a fine figure,” she said with a slight blush, “and these robes certainly do allow me to appreciate it, especially with the cummerbund.”

Albus could feel the warmth rising in his own cheeks. “No, um, of course not, I don’t mind,” he said, trying to sound less embarrassed than he felt. At the same time, his heart beat faster as the confused thought went through his mind that Minerva found his figure attractive.

“I must also admit,” Minerva said, looking away quickly, then back up at him, as if embarrassed by what she was about to say, “that when you fell asleep on my couch, I took the opportunity to admire you. I never dreamed then that I would ever be able to do anything other than admire you from a distance.” She reached out and touched his shoulder then ran a hand down over his chest, all while looking into his bright blue eyes. “Or receive anything more than a brief, friendly embrace. Each time you held me, I told myself that it was the last time for a long while. And every time that you held me again, I would pray that you might begin to feel for me the way I felt for you, that you would come to love me, but then . . . we would part, and I would not know whether my hopes were foolish and in vain. It still seems incredible that you do love me. I . . . I don’t feel as though I deserve you, Albus. You are so much more than any witch could deserve, and I don’t know how I could be the one to be this lucky. You seemed so far beyond my reach. It seemed very presumptuous of me to even entertain the notion.”

“Beyond your reach? Presumptuous? I . . . I would think just the opposite,” Albus said, surprised. “You are so young, with such a bright future ahead of you, and so beautiful, and witty, and attractive . . . with so much vitality and intelligence. Surely any wizard would be thrilled and consider himself the most fortunate of men if you wanted to spend any time with him at all.”

“But you aren’t just any wizard, Albus. You are the one I love,” Minerva answered, leading him over to the breakfast table, “and you are so much more powerful than I am, and I may be bright enough, I suppose, but you are brilliant. Not to mention how very attractive you are. I am grateful, though surprised, that you are even available. I can’t believe that you aren’t already with someone, that some wonderful, warm, elegant, and very lucky witch didn’t find you before I could.”

Albus shook his head. “I think . . . I think I was waiting for you, Minerva,” he said very softly. “For years. Before I even could have had any awareness that you might exist. Even before . . . well, a very long time ago. I think that you were always the one, always. And even if you no longer loved me, or wanted me, you would still be the one. But I will never hold you too tightly, I promise you.”

Minerva put her arms around him again and said with a grin, “You could never hold me too tightly, Albus. Although if you do, all I will do is let out a little squawk. I promise you that. You will never lose my love. Never.”

Albus rested his head on hers, closing his eyes. “You do not know what you are promising, my dear. But I do love you.” He held his breath, waiting for her response.

“You have no idea how happy I feel when you tell me that you love me, Albus. As for what I know and do not know . . . I am too happy now to be upset with you for thinking as you do about that. But someday you will understand how I feel and you will believe my promise. Indeed, you will see that my promise is superfluous, as I speak only of what will be, of what must be. I will just have to be patient in the meantime.” She raised her head and looked at him, a soft smile on her face. “You do know, though, that I love you.”

“Yes,” Albus whispered, “I do know that. And I do believe it.” I believe despite myself, he thought. I believe because you look at me as you do and because your despair met mine when you fled the castle. And I believe because not to believe would be too painful. “I do believe you.” He kissed her softly on the forehead.

Minerva brought her hands to his face, caressing him gently. “I am glad of that. And now for breakfast?” she said with a smile.

Albus grinned and said, “Yes, breakfast. You did invite me to breakfast, after all. I suppose I should be a well-behaved guest and eat!”

“Only if you want to, Albus. I would not be a very good hostess if I were to force you to eat when you did not want to,” Minerva said as she sat in the chair he held for her.

“That reminds me!” Albus exclaimed. “I am a negligent guest, after all.” He reached into his pockets and drew out the two small boxes of chocolates, one in each hand. “For you, my dear. From my birthday basket. I thought these might be some that you would enjoy.”

“Thank you, Albus! But you didn’t need to bring anything – ”

“I felt badly that I didn’t have any flowers or anything else, and then I thought you might like these. Not for breakfast, obviously.”

“Chocolate liqueur cherries! I do like those, and the truffles look lovely, as well. But you mustn’t go about giving away all of your birthday sweets and not enjoy them yourself,” Minerva said.

“I have enjoyed some of them already, but there is enough there to make me quite fat and indolent, if I were to eat them as freely as I might like. And as a certain special person has told me, I must look after myself,” he said with a smile. He sat down and patted his stomach. “And now knowing that she believes that I have a fine figure, I suppose I should try to actually work on it,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Minerva laughed. “I hadn’t intended those two remarks to go together, you know, Albus. I think you look fine, and if you weren’t already very fit, you would have made yourself quite sick, the way you work so hard and neglect your health. I hope you don’t mind my fussing just a little. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“No, Mother McGonagall, I am happy to have you fuss – a little!” At her smile, he added, “As long as you don’t try to ration my sweets!”

“Never – I assume you are quite capable of doing that yourself. Although I think that if you get enough sleep and eat well, perhaps you won’t feel quite as inclined to indulge,” Minerva said as she passed him a bowl of fruit.

“You actually are right about that,” Albus answered, helping himself to some of the fruit. “I do have a sweet tooth, but I find it is worse when I am overtired and I feel I need to have a little boost to get through the day. Or through a particularly trying session of the Wizengamot.”

They had a very pleasant breakfast, and Minerva told Albus more about her visit with Quin the previous day, saying that Quin had appreciated his letter and mentioning that he planned on buying a set of schoolbooks for himself. She also told him about the unusual pledge that Quin had made, and the reference to “binding his heart”; Albus looked serious for a moment as he thought about what Minerva said, but then his face softened as he smiled, saying that he knew Quin to be a gentleman, and that they should both be honoured by the pledge, and that he was pleased to know that Quin would be her friend and support if he himself were unavailable. As they chatted, Albus relaxed and enjoyed himself, forgetting his nervousness. This was Minerva, his dear Minerva, and she loved him. It had been silly to have such jitters, he thought. And she hadn’t pressed him about anything physical, but she had been demonstrative, nonetheless, still welcoming his kisses and embraces and initiating some herself.

They moved over to the sitting area, bringing their teacups with them, and she curled up on the settee next to him.

“You know, Albus, I’ve been thinking . . .”

“Yes, my dear?” he answered, taking a final sip of tea before setting down the cup and saucer on the table beside him and putting his arm around Minerva.

“If Gertrude knows now, and my parents, and if Malcolm will be teaching here this year – if he actually follows through with a written application – I think it might be wise to say something to him. I don’t know what, precisely, but it just seems that it might be odd for Gertrude, if she thinks she can’t say anything to him about it. Or she may not even realise that we are being cautious about whom we tell and mention it to him, anyway. Then he will think it strange that I haven’t said anything to him, particularly since we both obviously know about his relationship with Gertrude.”

Albus nodded. “If you would like, Minerva, you may say something to him. I think that is fine, very sensible.”

Minerva let out a breath and relaxed against him. She must have been concerned about his reaction to her suggestion, he realised. He kissed her temple.

“I do wish to be discreet, Minerva, but not completely secretive with those who are closest to us. I hope that you understand.”

“Of course,” Minerva answered. “And that’s fine. It is probably best for me to continue to behave as I always have around you when we are in public. And although I think that it would be nice if we could tell all of our friends and family right away, that can wait. I am just so happy to be with you, I sometimes wish everyone could know, that’s all.”

Albus gave her a squeeze. “And I do appreciate that, but . . . aren’t you . . . don’t you . . . that is, do you, would you be embarrassed? Particularly if it doesn’t last?” he asked quietly.

Minerva sat up and looked at him, an expression of concern on her face. “What do you mean, ‘if it doesn’t last’?” she asked. “You just told me this morning that you love me and that you always will. I feel the same. We may have problems at certain points, or disagreements, but we have only just begun to see each other and you are already concerned that it might not last? And as to being embarrassed . . . are you embarrassed, Albus? Embarrassed to be seen with me? Is that the actual problem?”

“I just . . . it is still hard for me to believe the reality of it all, I suppose. It doesn’t feel as though I deserve this happiness. I believed it all too late for me, that any time for me to have this kind of happiness had long since passed me by. And as to being embarrassed . . . I am not embarrassed the way that you might think. It is not on your account, not being with you. But – and not that I particularly care what people think, of course – people might feel sorry for you and believe me to be a foolish old man – ”

“Oh, Albus! I do wish you could see yourself as I do, and such thoughts would never enter your head. And of course you deserve this happiness!” Minerva put her arms around him and leaned against him. “You know that I love you. I feel very lucky to be with you. It is not at all foolish for you to want to be with me if you love me, too. And as to your age, you are as old as you are, with all the life lived that goes with that age, but you are far from being a decrepit old codger, as you sometimes speak of yourself.” Minerva rubbed her hand over his chest and shoulder. “You are strong, vital, attractive, and very much alive, my darling Albus. Don’t feel you can’t voice any of your worries to me, but do expect me to give you an honest response. I can understand that you might be concerned about the age difference, but my mother once said that it wasn’t the differences that mattered as much as what two people have in common and how they work out their differences.”

Albus sighed. “Thank you, my dear. I will endeavour to keep your words in mind.”

The conversation turned to other topics, then Albus finally said, “I do dislike leaving you, Minerva, and I wish we could remain here for the rest of the day, but I probably ought to get back to my office.”

“But it’s Sunday,” Minerva began, protesting.

“Yes, but I did almost no work at all last week, and it didn’t take care of itself,” Albus replied.

“Can we take a walk first, though? Spend the rest of the morning together, then work in the afternoon?” Minerva suggested. “I have some things I need to do, myself, actually, some letters to write, and I want to finish my plans for the start of the year.”

Albus nodded. “Very well!” He smiled. “You are very persuasive.”

“It didn’t take much to change your mind,” Minerva said with a smile. “Let me get my cloak, then we can go out.”

Later at lunch, Minerva was uncertain whether she was disappointed or not that Malcolm wasn’t present. It had seemed lately that whenever Gertrude was at a meal, Malcolm was, as well. Of course, Minerva had been gone from the castle for a while. Perhaps things had changed between the two in the meantime. But Albus had said the previous evening that Gertrude was in love with Malcolm, so any changes couldn’t be dramatic. It wasn’t as though he were a member of the staff yet, and he did have things to take care of, Minerva was sure, though she had no idea what those might be. He did have his own flat, too.

After lunch, Albus walked Minerva back to Gryffindor Tower and left her at her door.

“I look forward to seeing you at dinner, my dear,” he said. “I hope that you have a good afternoon.”

Minerva smiled. “It won’t be as nice as my morning, but I hope I will get a few things done. I feel as though I have been away for a long time.”

Albus touched her chin, tilting her face up toward him, then he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. His whisper met her lips as he said, “I had a most lovely morning, Minerva. Thank you,” then he kissed her again lightly.

He looked at her with warmth in his eyes. “I love you, my dear.”

Minerva scarcely had time to respond to his words when Albus backed away, then he smiled at her, gave her a happy wink, and was on his way, leaving Minerva feeling warm and happy.

The afternoon passed more quickly than Albus had anticipated, and he was pleased to be able to get through all of the work that had accumulated over the previous several days. He had chuckled when he read the letter that was waiting for him in the centre of his desk. He thought that Gertrude must have left it for him in the morning while he was with Minerva. This was one letter that he would have to share with Minerva. It certainly was the most interesting one he read that afternoon.

Albus met Minerva as she came down the stairs from the first floor, where she had apparently been working in her classroom office before dinner.

“How was your afternoon, my dear?” he asked as he waited for her to catch up with him.

“Productive,” she answered with a smile. “And yours?”

“The same,” he said.

“So . . . are you available this evening after dinner?”

Albus nodded. “In fact, I was rather hoping that you might join me for dessert this evening.”

“In your suite?” At his nod, Minerva smiled and said, “I believe I would enjoy that very much.”

The two entered the staff room to find Wilhelmina, Hagrid, and Gertrude already there. Johannes came through the door a few minutes later, and he quietly took the chair beside Minerva and began to help himself to some mashed potatoes. Minerva smiled at him.

“Did you just get back from Cardiff, Johannes?” she asked.

The German nodded. “It was a good week. Very pleasant. Some rain, of course, but generally nice weather.” He glanced over at Gertrude. “The company was pleasant, as well, although I am happy to be returned. Jack and his mother are good company, but five days can be a long time, and Jack’s . . . girlfriend was with us the last few days. A nice woman, but I do not know her well, and I sometimes felt as though I was intruding on their time together. I am returned a day early, in fact.”

“What of Jack’s mother?” Minerva asked, remembering that he had spoken of her several times.

Johannes shrugged one shoulder. “They have been making holiday there for many years, and she knows people there. She was not often with us. She took me with her sometimes . . . they had suggested I bring another friend, but there was no one available with whom I would care to spend such time,” he said. Minerva thought that she detected a movement of his head, as though he had been about to glance at Gertrude again, but had restrained himself.

Minerva held back a sigh. It was a pity that Johannes was unhappy about Gertrude’s relationship with Malcolm, but if they had taught side-by-side for over a decade and Gertrude still only wanted friendship with him, Minerva doubted that Malcolm’s entrance into the witch’s life had changed anything for Johannes except to make it completely clear that Gertrude would never be interested in anything more with him. She could see why, too, if Gertrude liked Malcolm, if he was her “type.” Johannes was warm, steady, highly intelligent, and quite handsome, too, with his high forehead, long, sandy hair, and grey-blue eyes, but he wasn’t at all like Malcolm temperamentally. He was certainly friendly and open, but in a much less brash manner than Malcolm was, and Johannes certainly was not prone to the kind of flamboyant story-telling that Malcolm was, let alone the kinds of activities that gave rise to Malcolm’s tales.

After dinner, which was less awkward than Minerva had feared it would be when Johannes had sat down next to her, she and Albus left the staff room together, he holding the door for her then shutting it quietly behind them. He offered his arm, which Minerva took, and the two walked up the broad staircase to the second floor. As soon as the gargoyle had admitted them to the stairway and had closed the door behind them, Albus put his arms around her as she stood on the step above him. Minerva smiled and gently touched his cheek, putting her other arm around his waist.

“You are looking very handsome this evening, Headmaster,” she said with a smile. She traced the line of his lips with one fingertip. “And very kissable.”

“Am I really?” Albus asked with a shy smile, his cheeks pink. It was both embarrassing and reassuring each time she said something like that. He looked into her eyes. In a low voice, he asked, “And how kissable would that be?”

Minerva’s answer came as her lips met his. She kissed him softly, pulling on his lips gently, then kissing first his top lip then his bottom lip, then turning her head and repeating her kisses again. She hummed in satisfaction as she took his bottom lip between her own and sucked it, tickling it with the tip of her tongue, then she parted her lips further and flicked her tongue between his lips as they arrived at the top of the stairs. She backed up, bringing Albus with her, never breaking her kiss, though now his head was above hers.

Albus opened his mouth further and tentatively met her tongue with his own; as he did so, he felt a jolt of pleasure pass through him, and he barely restrained himself from pressing Minerva hard against the door and thrusting his hips against her, displaying his desire for her. And so when Minerva pulled him closer and, on noticing his erection, she held him more tightly to her, Albus was surprised. His mind was a fog of love and desire, but he kept his hands where they were, at her back, not allowing them to roam as they wished. He broke from the kiss to draw a breath, then he let his lips press against her forehead as he struggled to remain in control of himself.

“Quite kissable, you see, Albus,” Minerva whispered. “Quite kissable.”

They stood there for a few more moments, then Albus looked down into her eyes. “I do believe I invited you for dessert, however, and this is not the most convenient or comfortable place for that.”

Minerva smiled. “Rather nice for a kiss or two, though, isn’t it?” she asked as she ran a hand up and down his back, skimming his buttocks and upper thigh.

Albus drew in a sharp breath as he felt her hand travel over him, then he swallowed and said somewhat huskily, “Yes, rather.”

He blinked. He did not want to let her go, but he took one step back. With a wave of his hand, he opened the door, which swung open just a few inches.

“After you, my dear,” he said softly, returning Minerva’s smile as she slowly let him go.

They went up the brass spiral staircase, Albus opening the door at the landing for Minerva. As they entered his sitting room, he said, “I thought that we might take our dessert elsewhere this evening, as the weather is so fine.”

He grinned at her confusion, but before she could ask why they had gone all the way up to his suite if they were having dessert elsewhere, he placed a gentle finger on her lips and said, “Follow me, then, Minerva?”

Minerva kissed his fingertip and smiled as he took her arm. “Anywhere, Albus, anywhere at all.”

Albus grinned, his eyes gleaming, “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere – always, Albus.”

He chuckled and gave her a peck on the cheek, then led her across the room to the bedroom door. Rather to Minerva’s disappointment, however, they merely passed through it quickly, though remaining there would not fit with what he had suggested about the weather.

Albus sensed some hesitation on Minerva’s part as they crossed the bedroom, but did not know what to attribute it to. Perhaps she was just nervous about the dark, narrow stairway. As he opened the door to his backstairs, he said, “We won’t be going down this time, my dear, so do not worry.” He closed the door behind them, then said, “It is just as narrow going up, but it is not quite as closed in. Would you prefer to go first or to follow me up?”

Minerva turned to him happily. “Whichever you prefer, Albus.”

“Why don’t you go first, then, and I can catch you if you trip – not that you will,” he added hastily.

Minerva just laughed and started up the stairs. When they reached the top of the tower, Minerva turned and took Albus’s hand.

“I came up here, you know, looking for you. On Wednesday. I looked everywhere for you. It was as though you had vanished. That seems so long ago now, but . . .” She trailed off and looked away, off toward the Forbidden Forest, turning from him, and he could no longer see her face.

“But it still hurts, the memory is still painful for you,” Albus said softly. Minerva did not respond, and he put a warm hand on shoulder. “I am more sorry than I can say.”

“I know that, Albus,” Minerva replied, turning her head slightly toward him. “As am I. But I wish I had found you, that I hadn’t given up looking. Perhaps I would have found you and you would not have written that apology, perhaps we could have cleared things up sooner . . .”

Albus, standing slightly behind her, pulled her to him, one hand still on her shoulder, the other holding her from the front, resting on her stomach.

“I don’t know, Minerva . . . my state of mind then . . . I was scarcely able to think. I was so convinced that I had done the unforgivable, I don’t know . . . Even if you had found me, I don’t know if I could have heard anything other than my own guilt,” he said softly. “And it is not your fault. None of it is. Truly, my sweet love. Truly.” He nuzzled her hair.

Minerva leaned back against him. “Where did you go, Albus? Where?” she asked in a whisper. “That was the most dreadful part of all, even worse than the note, or the look on your face . . . that you disappeared and I could not find you. I thought I had lost you completely.”

“As I said, I was not thinking. I simply . . . left. I found myself at my old rooms in Gryffindor Tower, the ones I had for so many years. That is where I wrote the note,” he explained. “I was not intentionally hiding from you, although I was afraid of your gaze, of your censure and your disappointment. It was simply force of habit that carried me there.”

“So close. You were so close.” Tears came to her eyes, and although Albus could not see her face, he could hear them in her voice.

“Hush, hush, my love, my darling Minerva, my dearest,” he murmured. “I am close now, closer, closer, my love.” He wrapped both arms around her and rested his head on hers, pleased when her hands came up and pulled his arms closer about her.

“Yes, yes, you are,” she said with a relieved sigh. She turned in his arms and kissed him softly on his cheek, putting her arms around his neck. “But you did say something about dessert and I’m sure you brought me up here for something other than my foolishness.”

He smiled, but said, “Not foolishness, Minerva, not if you are sad.”

“But I am not sad, not now, here with you. What a romantic idea, Albus, to take our dessert up here.”

Albus grinned happily. “I am very glad you think so, my dear. And I hope it will be more romantic in just a moment, if you would indulge me and close your eyes briefly.”

Minerva laughed, but she closed her eyes, taking the opportunity to nuzzle against his beard. She could feel his wand arm moving and his magic rippling against her as he cast several spells.

“No peeking, now!” Albus said as he felt her giggle into his beard.

“No, no peeking! But your magic is tickling quite nicely,” she said with another laugh as he cast an additional spell.

“Hmmph,” he said in mock disgust. “Here I am, expending my energy trying to create a romantic setting for you, and you’re giggling about my magic tickling you!”

Minerva just laughed harder at that and was pleased with his answering chuckle rumbling in his chest. Albus took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

“Open your eyes, Minerva, my dear,” he said softly.