Resolving a Misunderstanding

Albus held Minerva’s chair for her as she sat at the small, round dining table. They had had their “snuggle” on the sofa while they awaited their dinner, which Minerva had requested especially for them. She hoped that Albus would like it. As long as she had known him, and as many meals they had shared, she was still not entirely sure what foods he enjoyed.

“It smells delicious, Minerva,” Albus said as he sat down.

“It’s paella, a fish paella. And we have a salad with olives, tomatoes, basil, and aged goat cheese,” Minerva explained. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Very much! It is certainly something I don’t often have,” Albus replied as he poured their wine. “I had paella for the first time in Valencia when I was a young man, and I enjoyed it so much, I ate it every day for a week! Different sorts, of course. Chicken, pork, shellfish – I do believe my hosts found me quite amusing.”

Minerva laughed and handed him his plate. “There is more here if you like.”

As they ate, Albus said, “You promised to tell me more about your conversation with Malcolm this morning. I gather it left you somewhat . . . unsettled.”

Minerva sighed and set down her fork. Malcolm had come to see her before lunch. He had, indeed, noticed the reversed laces on her bodice the previous night. Minerva wasn’t sure what Malcolm had found most disturbing – possibly because he wasn’t certain either. Minerva didn’t dance around the issue with Malcolm. As soon as the door was closed behind her brother, she said that he had likely noticed that she and Albus were more than just friends.

“And precisely when were you going to tell me that, little sister? I told you about Trudie and me and you said not one word to me about you and Dumbledore – and you two have clearly a much longer relationship than mine with Trudie,” he had said. Minerva thought he sounded injured.

She shook her head. “You don’t understand, Malcolm –”

“What, that you and the Headmaster of Hogwarts are shtupping?” Minerva had never heard the term before, but she knew immediately what he was saying, and it angered her, but before she got another word out of her mouth, Malcolm continued. “Is that why you were so eager to take this job, then? To make it easier for the two of you? And how long has this been going on? Years? Does anyone know of it? Or is it just your little secret? Gertrude wouldn’t tell me a thing – just kept saying, ‘speak with your sister’! Wouldn’t even give a hint of what she might know or guess!”

He flung himself into a chair next to the fireplace.

Minerva took a deep breath. She really did not want to get into an argument with Malcolm.

“First, there was nothing to inform you of when you came and you told me about you and Gertrude, and that is why I didn’t say anything to you. This is a . . . a new phase of our relationship. I had already decided to talk to you about it, but hadn’t had an opportunity. And we are not as far along in it as you seem to believe – and I do wish you wouldn’t use crude language when discussing it, in any case. How would you feel if I spoke that way of you and Gertrude and your intimate relationship?” Minerva asked, sitting down in the chair across from him.

“Oh . . . all right. I just thought . . . it seemed . . .” Malcolm made a rueful expression. “Sorry. Got the wrong end of the stick there. But when I saw your robes, all done up backwards . . .”

“Yes, and you went with that and didn’t think about any other indications of what our relationship might be like. Not very clever of you, Malcolm,” Minerva chided, knowing that Malcolm prided himself on his powers of observation.

Malcolm shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking particularly rationally about it.” He looked at Minerva thoughtfully. “I am sure there are a great many things I don’t need to remind you of, little sister – peculiarities, you might call them, of this relationship of yours.”

“No, you don’t. And I wouldn’t listen, anyway. I have been in love with Albus for a long time, Malcolm. I already set myself a great many obstacles to overcome, and those that I didn’t set and that weren’t already there by nature, Albus added to. And he is sensitive enough about certain issues, such as his age and the fact that I was his student, without having you bring them up. So don’t. With him or with me,” Minerva said sternly.

“As I said, I didn’t think I needed to mention them . . . however,” Malcolm said, looking more uncomfortable than Minerva had ever seen him, “I do feel I have a duty to point something out, or at least to ask you if you are fully aware of . . . Dumbledore’s past.”

“What do you mean?” Minerva asked sharply.

“It’s just that . . . I’m a bit older than you are, remember, and I’ve heard things about Dumbledore, during the war, you see. A few rumours, you might say. But rumours with foundation. You don’t hear them any more – defeating Grindelwald does tend to make people think twice about saying anything uncomplimentary about a person.” Malcolm held up a hand, forestalling Minerva’s protest. “Please, let me finish. There were scarcely any rumours even at the time I heard them, myself, and I didn’t particularly care about them. It had just been a little talk and some chuckling among a few of the old timers. I ignored the rumours. It didn’t matter to me at all whether they were true or not. Not at that time. Now, though – after seeing the two of you together last night, I began to remember some of them. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, little sister. This wizard apparently screwed his way across half of Europe, pretty indiscriminately, too. Young, old, married, unmarried, he kept the witches entertained. He was a good-looking young man, and he traded on his looks for his keep –”

“That is ENOUGH, Malcolm Mercury McGonagall!” Minerva stood. “You just . . . just put wood in’hole, you great half-wit!” She was shaking and tears sprang to her eyes. “You don’t know anything about it – or just enough to spread nasty rumours.”

“Minerva, I am just trying to warn you. I think you ought to know . . . I don’t know what he’s been up to recently, but his behaviour as a younger wizard was pretty deplorable, as far as witches are concerned. I don’t want to see you hurt. A Fwooper doesn’t change its song.”

“Albus is not a Fwooper,” Minerva said angrily. “And that, that was . . . was an aberration. The reason you haven’t heard what he’s been up to recently is that he hasn’t been up to anything recently. Not in decades. And as far as a Fwooper not changing its song, should I go and warn Gertrude about you, my brother? You, who admit to never being able to have a relationship with a woman till now, who slept with anyone who caught your fancy?”

Malcolm’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t trade my body for – Ow!”

Minerva had whipped out her wand and now Malcolm was sporting a long, bloody gash on his cheek. He raised his hand to his face and blood leaked out between his fingers.

“Oh, my gods! Malcolm!” Minerva cried. “I am sorry –” She stood and held out her wand again. “It should have just raised a welt – here, let me –”

Malcolm looked at his sister with an arched brow, but he lowered his hand and let her cast a healing charm and another charm to clean the blood from his face, beard, and clothes.

“I didn’t see that coming, little sister,” Malcolm said with a wry smile, “though I suppose I should have.”

Minerva collapsed back into her chair. She was still upset with him, but the sight of Malcolm’s bloody face had cooled her anger quickly.

“As long as you are aware of Dumbledore’s . . . foibles, then, little sister, I shan’t say anymore. But if he treats you poorly, I had better not hear of it.”

“He hasn’t and he won’t,” Minerva said quietly. “And he is being a perfect gentleman. Too much of a gentleman, in fact. But I don’t want to talk about it. Just . . . your concern is well-meant but ill-placed, Malcolm, and certainly both poorly timed and poorly worded.”

Malcolm grinned. “Well, at least now I know where you stand, don’t I?” he asked rhetorically, raising his fingertips to touch the still slightly-pink skin where Minerva had healed the gash she had opened in his cheek. “And I suppose that you would know him better than I, at least in certain ways – no, I didn’t mean that way! Don’t get your knickers in a knot! I simply meant that I am acquainted with him through far different experiences, that’s all. I have a fair idea of his magical power, his skills, his intelligence, and I do believe that he is basically an honourable man. Very honourable, in fact. I just worried because of his . . . well, on account of your being a witch in a relationship with him, and being my sister. I’m sorry. Pax?”

Minerva twitched a small smile, but she nodded. “Yes, all right. And he is honourable. He had a very difficult period during a brief time in his youth, and if a few old wizards found only that to gossip about with you, I feel sorry for them.”

“Mm, difficult period – with his dead wife and mother, you mean?” Malcolm asked. “I never heard very much about them, but they did say he went slightly off his nut with grief. Doesn’t seem plausible to me, seeing the wizard I know. But . . .” He shrugged.

“Yes, well, this isn’t a topic for conversation, Malcolm. Just rest assured that I do know Dumbledore and more of his character than you do.”

He looked at her speculatively. “Are you happy, little sister? With Dumbledore?”

“Yes, I am. Very.” Minerva couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. “I never believed he could return my feelings. Then I hoped he might. And he does. He really does,” she ended softly.

“That’s good, then.” Malcolm nodded. “You do seem happy . . . happier. He is a lucky wizard. If he treats you right, and you are happy . . . I am pleased for you, Minerva. I hope the relationship works out well for you.”

Minerva’s anger melted away. Malcolm didn’t have the most felicitous ways of putting things – off his nut, indeed! – but she could understand his concerns. First, Malcolm had felt hurt believing that Minerva had kept her own relationship from him when he had been open with her about his with Gertrude, and then he had been concerned about her, unsure of whether Albus would treat her properly, given the little he knew about him.

They moved on to discuss the upcoming “practical interview.”

When Minerva suggested that she might help him get in some practice, Malcolm barked a sharp laugh and said, “You know, if you had offered yesterday, I don’t know as I would have taken you up on it. I already have one . . . um, semi-skilled witch helping me. But after that slice you made in me, it might be useful. You were right quick, little sister!”

Minerva blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had done something like that – probably not since she was in school and Dumbledore had broken up her altercation with the Riddle boy before she managed to get off more than one decent hex. She’d still taught the little toe-rag a lesson, even though Dumbledore had been upset with her, warning her again not to cross the Slytherin.

Minerva grimaced and said, “I don’t make a habit of injuring others, Malcolm. I am sorry. It was very wrong of me to lose my temper so.”

Malcolm just shrugged and grinned at her. “You’re a McGonagall – and a Tyree. Grandmother Siofre would be proud. I sometimes forget that about you, little sister, you are so . . . buttoned-up and serious so much of the time. You were a proper old witch when you were just a little girl. I’ll never forget coming home when you were about . . . six? And you scolded me for the inadequacy of my cleaning charms and that I’d tracked mud into the house.” He laughed again. “I can still hear you lecturing me about the house-elves having better things to do than to clean up after an old wizard like me.” He looked at his sister fondly. “But that was back when you still loved your big brother and liked to hear his stories and songs. Then in a very short time, you became impossibly older, and my stories didn’t amuse you any longer and all you noticed about me was the mud I tracked in.”

“That’s not true, Malcolm. You’re just . . . different. And you must admit, it’s sometimes difficult to separate history from fiction in your stories. I liked to know what was what when I was younger. I still do, I suppose. But I do love you, and I know that you would do just about anything to help me, if I asked.”

“You can count on it, little sister,” Malcolm said quietly. “Anything.”

“Then I ask that you be careful with Albus during the duel. I know that he’s powerful, but no one is perfect, and I don’t know as he has as much recent practice as you’ve had, with your . . . pest eradication and such.”

Malcolm drew a small card from his sporran and handed it to Minerva.

“Malcolm M. McGonagall,” it read. “Curse-Breaker and Pest-Control Specialist, Aberdeen, Scotland, Available by Appointment.”

Minerva smiled. “Still, Albus may take it easy on you, so don’t hurt him.”

“I am sure we will both exercise some care. He’s working up the rules, so talk to him. I’ll abide by whatever he puts forward. Obviously, neither of us is interested in damaging the other,” Malcolm said. He touched his face again. “I rather doubt we’ll draw as much blood as you did today. That was some cut – practically went all the way through my cheek. You need to work on your control, I’d say, if that was only supposed to raise a welt.”

“I said I was sorry, Malcolm. I hope – well, it isn’t anything to be proud of. I’d rather you didn’t say anything about it.”

“I’ll try to remember that – now, what about this practice? Are you free tomorrow?”

Minerva hesitated. She and Albus were off for the McGonagall Cliffs in the afternoon. “In the morning, I will be. Could we meet after your meeting with the Headmaster?”

“Aye, that we could,” Malcolm agreed, sitting up straighter. “Ten o’clock, then? Gertrude set our meeting for nine. We should be done by ten. I’ll meet you out in front of the castle – or in the front hall, if the weather’s bad.”

So Minerva had agreed to meet Malcolm and help him with his preparation for his practical interview. She was sure that Albus was going to hire him, anyway, and she didn’t understand their mutual enthusiasm for this exercise – although Malcolm seemed to anticipate the duel with greater pleasure than he did the rest of the test that Albus was planning for him. He tried to find out from Minerva what was in store, and was disappointed when Minerva hadn’t a clue what Dumbledore had planned for him.

Malcolm sighed. “Gertrude seems to know, but she won’t tell me. Just tells me ‘read your application letter, Malcolm.’ She really can be infuriating. But wonderful.”

Minerva laughed. “I have often found conversations with her frustrating. But I am glad that you find her at least equally wonderful.”

“More than equally so, Minerva. She is . . . I never want her to tire of me,” Malcolm said softly. “I am afraid sometimes. I have never felt this way. I thought . . . I thought this sort of love was a myth. I thought . . . I thought there was warm, fond love. Like love of family. And that one could feel it for a woman, of course. And I believed that there was passion, sexual desire and release, something quite separate, emotionally. But I never understood this kind of love. And this need. I need her, Minerva. Without her, I think . . . I would lose myself, just be a creature who eats and sleeps and pretends to be human. I didn’t know what I was lacking until I met Trudie. She sees me. She sees me and believes in me and . . . I need her. I need to know that she is there in my world, that when the day is done, or the job over, or the week out, I can turn and she will be there for me. And I for her. I want to care for and protect her, bring her satisfaction and joy, keep her from all harm and sorrow, and soothe her hurts and grief.” He looked up at Minerva. “You understand this?”

Minerva smiled gently and nodded. “I understand, Malcolm. Completely.”

By the time that Albus had stopped by to bring Minerva to lunch, she and Malcolm were on good terms again and understood each other better, but Malcolm, she noticed, still gave Albus an odd look before he left, and he was clearly restraining himself from saying anything to him. She did hope that Malcolm wouldn’t discuss his concerns with Albus, and that she had allayed them sufficiently for him, but she ought to tell Albus about their talk, at least in broad outline. Besides, he had seen that she and Malcolm had had a somewhat strained discussion. She didn’t want to keep things from Albus if there wasn’t a good reason for it.

Still, as Minerva put down her fork, she had no idea where to begin. She didn’t want Albus to think that rumours about him were still circulating. She had lived in London and worked at the Ministry for over a decade, with a break of a bit more than two years during her apprenticeships. She had never heard anything about Albus’s early life during all that time, and certainly nothing that would suggest that he had . . . been profligate in his youth. She hadn’t even known that he had been married. Of course, that really did seem like ancient history. It was a pity that the rumours that seemed to have survived the longest were those of Albus’s unfortunate behaviour, and not of his sorrow and loss. At least they were rarely repeated now; Minerva doubted that Malcolm would have ever said anything to Minerva about having heard such rumours if it weren’t for the fact that she was in a relationship with Albus.

“What was it, my dear?” Albus asked. “You said you spoke to him about us . . . does he disapprove?” Now Albus stopped eating, his appetite for paella disappearing under the possibility of Minerva’s oldest brother’s censure.

“No, no – not that it is his place to approve or disapprove. No, he said, in fact, that you are a very honourable wizard. And that he is happy for me.” Minerva picked up her fork again and took another mouthful of steaming rice, vegetables, and fish. She didn’t want to upset Albus.

“Well, what is it, then?” Albus asked, perplexed.

“He was disturbed that I didn’t tell him about us when he told me that he and Gertrude were seeing each other. I had to explain, of course, that there had been nothing to tell him at the time. And he appeared to believe that we were sharing a bed. I think he thought we had a long-standing relationship. So that upset him. Not that we may have been together for a while, but that I hadn’t shared it with him sooner.”

“I see,” Albus said. He took a sip of wine. “And was that all it was?”

“Oh, we had a sibling squabble, that’s all, Albus. He is a good deal older than I and we didn’t grow up together, but he’s still my big brother, and he acts like it sometimes. And just as annoyingly,” Minerva said, trying to make light of the situation.

“He did disapprove, then. My age – or was it my position? Does he think I have taken advantage of you? Pressured you in some way?” Albus asked with concern.

Minerva shook her head. “He knows me well enough to know that would be extremely unlikely. And he didn’t express any qualms at all about your age or your position.” She speared a chunk of white fish with her fork and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly, hoping to think of how to tell Albus what Malcolm’s concerns were. She definitely did not want to bring up the details.

“What then? Is it . . . was it . . . did he mention Gertrude?” Albus asked with trepidation.

“Gertrude?” Minerva almost choked on her plaice. “No, except to say that he had asked Gertrude if she knew anything about our relationship and she kept telling him to ask me. Why? Gertrude approves, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yes, most certainly. I don’t know . . . why did you find the conversation upsetting, my dear?”

Minerva shook her head. “Oh, just the usual wizard foolishness on Malcolm’s part – he doesn’t want to see his sister hurt. I did assure him that you most certainly wouldn’t be doing any such thing.”

“I see . . .” And Albus did see now. He set down his glass, turning it slowly as he appeared to contemplate the jewel-toned wine. Finally, he said with a slight sigh, “I assume that he heard a rumour or two and extrapolated from that.”

“Malcolm knows that you are Headmaster of Hogwarts and a highly respected and respectable wizard, Albus,” Minerva said, placing her hand on his. “He just was concerned about me, that’s all. I found him over-protective, and I made sure he knew it. Don’t worry about Malcolm, really. He was just being a big brother. It’s all straightened out now.”

Albus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at Minerva and gave her a little smile. “Very well, if you say so. I suppose that we have enough to worry about without my including Malcolm’s opinion among them. If you aren’t bothered by it and have taken care of it,” he said with a nod, “then that will do for me.”

Minerva smiled. “Good. Because he’s fine with it.”

“I still think I may have a word with him . . . if he is to work here, with me, I can’t have him harbouring any ill feelings that I can allay,” Albus said.

“Oh, you needn’t do that. He’s likely forgotten it already,” Minerva said hastily.

Albus seemed amused. “You told me that Malcolm is the one McGonagall who tends to hold a grudge. I would rather diffuse any troubles that may remain. I had sufficient misunderstandings with another McGonagall this summer; I don’t need to have any new ones with Malcolm.”

Minerva sighed. “All right, Albus. It’s up to you. But why don’t you wait until after the practical exercises on Saturday?”

Albus shook his head. “No, that would be worse. However well he does, he could interpret the conversation through the lens of the results of the exercises. No, this needs to be wizard-to-wizard. And without Hogwarts as the backdrop. I will talk to him tomorrow.”

“We are going to see my parents tomorrow – I said we would be arriving after lunch, Albus. You did say to go ahead and make the arrangements, and I thought that would give us time to enjoy the day.”

“Then I will bring him to lunch. Someplace Muggle. He will like that. And we can talk – I’ll just cast a ward for us,” Albus said, seeming to have it all planned.

“We’re practising tomorrow morning, Albus –”

“Do you think that wise, my dear? You will be careful, won’t you?”

Minerva just managed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “Yes, Albus, I will be careful. As will he. Really! And we aren’t doing anything as foolish as a duel. I didn’t see you admonish Gertrude, and I don’t think she’s particularly magically fit – although it does seem that Malcolm is trying to remedy that.”

“Yes, well . . . I just worry about you. And about Gertrude, of course, but I think Malcolm would be very careful with her because of their relationship. He might . . . forget himself with you or something.”

“Unlikely, Albus. But he may have plans. I think you should be prepared for the possibility that he won’t be able to meet you for lunch,” Minerva said.

“I’ll invite him right now,” Albus said, pushing back from the table. “May I have parchment and a quill, Minerva?”

“But our meal, Albus!”

“I finished. It was excellent.” He looked down at her expectantly.

Minerva reluctantly rose and brought Albus into her study. She left him with parchment and quill and returned to the sitting room. She had thought that now that she and Albus had revealed their love for one another, and this evening they had finally made love, things would go smoothly with their relationship, at least for a while. And now he was in her study, after a shortened meal that was supposed to be relaxing for them both, inviting her brother out to lunch. Minerva was fairly certain that her brother would not be interested in discussing the topic with Albus, and she was afraid that any discussion they did have would become heated, that they would talk at cross-purposes, that Malcolm would insult Albus, whether intentionally or not, and then Albus would leave the encounter feeling worse and questioning his relationship with her again.

Minerva was sitting at the table finishing a glass of wine when Albus reemerged, the folded parchment in his hand.

“I’ll just pop around to the Owlery now, my dear! Be right back,” he said brightly.

“No, you don’t, Albus Dumbledore! Blampa can bring it for you. We are having our dessert – with no discussion of anything Malcolm-related – and then we are playing chess. We are going to enjoy ourselves this evening.” She took the parchment from Albus’s hand. “Blampa!”

Blampa popped in, a smile on her face. “Yes, Professor Minerva? May I, Blampa, serve? Ready for your lovely dessert now?”

Minerva smiled at Blampa. “Not quite yet, Blampa. Please bring this letter to the Owlery and post it for the Headmaster. After you have done that, you can bring our dessert.”

“Happy to serve, Professor Minerva!” Blampa took the parchment and Disapparated.

“There. That’s taken care of. Now, come sit beside me on the couch,” Minerva said, taking Albus’s hand and leading him across the room. “Before Blampa gets back with our pudding, I want to warn you. He didn’t hold it against you, and he still doesn’t, but some years ago, as you seem to have surmised, Malcolm did hear something about your brief period of . . . of carousing. It didn’t concern him at all then. And it troubled him only slightly now, and only in the context of our seeing each other, but he was fine once we talked. I’m only telling you because it might come up. And you should know that until Gertrude, Malcolm was completely incapable of any kind of commitment. He slept with anyone who caught his fancy. And I mean anyone. For years. I wouldn’t tell you that, ordinarily, but I thought it might make you feel a bit less self-conscious with him. And now that I am feeling entirely self-conscious about it, I do hope that Blampa arrives with our dessert soon.” She looked up into Albus’s face, frowning slightly. “Albus, I took a good deal of trouble planning this meal. I know I didn’t cook it, and it’s not Delancie’s, but I did try. I wanted to make this a romantic evening for us. It started out quite nicely. Can we try to have it end that way as well? Please? No more discussion of Malcolm or anything else serious. All right?”

“Very well, my dear,” Albus said, smiling. “You are perfectly right. And the meal was delicious. A welcome treat. As are you.” He put an arm around her and leaned over and kissed her lightly. One kiss wasn’t sufficient, and he kissed her again. He was just considering finding the first of her Charmed hooks when there was a crack and Blampa arrived with their dessert.

Blampa set their desserts, foamy and pretty in tall fluted glasses, on the low table in front of them, with a small pot of coffee, cream, sugar, and two coffee cups. After asking whether there would be anything else, Blampa curtseyed and winked away with a smile on her face.

“What a very pretty dessert!” Albus said.

“Weinschaum,” Minerva said. “I used to enjoy it, and I thought it would go well with our meal. It always seems both light and rich at the same time.”

Albus took a taste of his with the long spoon that had accompanied the Weinschaum. “Mmm, yes, very good. Somewhat like sabayon, isn’t it?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes. I used to have this in Germany. A friend used to make it for me. I am glad you like it. I haven’t had it in years, myself. I had Blampa use Sylvaner, which is what my friend always used to use.”

“It is lovely, Minerva. Thank you,” Albus said, as he wiped a bit of the foamy dessert from his mustache. He took another spoonful, then asked, “Was that your friend Rudolf?”

“It was. As you know, he was a Potions master, and he enjoyed cooking. It seems most Potions masters I’ve known like to cook. Murdoch certainly does,” Minerva answered.

“I haven’t heard you speak of him in a long time. Do you still correspond?”

“Not really. Cards at Christmas. But . . . distance, you know. Johannes has met him, actually. Robert – Robert Crouch – knows him, as well. They collaborate occasionally. He said that he is doing very well for himself.”

“I see. I always had the impression that you were very good friends with him, though. It’s a pity that you have fallen out of touch,” Albus said, finishing the last of his dessert.

“We were,” Minerva said, unsure whether it would be a good idea to mention that she and Rudolf had been more than good friends. She remembered what Quin had said about the inadvisability of mentioning other lovers to Albus when he was still so sensitive about his age and suitability for her.

“In fact, I thought at the time that you might even be . . . more than friends. Not that I speculated about such things, but I couldn’t help notice the way you mentioned him in your letters seemed . . . familiar,” Albus said, genuinely curious, but not wanting to pry, either.

“Yes, well, we were. But it couldn’t have worked out,” Minerva said, feeling awkward.

“No?” Albus asked.

“No,” Minerva said quietly. “I couldn’t have stayed there and never have seen you again. I didn’t think you would ever be in love with me, but . . . I couldn’t bear the thought of being away from you. And I didn’t love Rudolf enough. It wouldn’t have been right for him, even if I had managed to force myself to stay.”

Albus’s eyebrows rose. “You . . . you were in love with me then?” It seemed hubris to suggest it, that Minerva had been in love with him for so long, when she was such a fresh, young, vibrant witch, barely yet embarked upon her adult life, but he had to ask.

Minerva nodded and spooned the last drops of Weinschaum from the bottom of her glass. “Yes,” she said simply.

Albus knit his brow. “But we hadn’t seen each other in more than a year when your apprenticeship ended.”

“It would take more than a year for me to fall out of love with you, Albus, more than a decade, more than a lifetime,” Minerva said softly, taking his hand. “I could never fall in love with anyone else when my heart is so filled with you, when you hold my heart as you have for so long, even not knowing that you did.”

Albus put his arms around Minerva and held her close to him. Finally, he whispered, “For so long . . .”

Minerva nodded. “It’s embarrassing, really, but I couldn’t help myself. I even tried, early on, to distract myself, to convince myself that it was nothing more than a crush, that it would pass. But it never did, and nothing I could do would diminish my feelings for you, they simply grew stronger. I would sometimes feel less . . . less desperate about it, but then something would remind me of you, or I would receive an owl from you, and I would realise that my feelings for you were just as strong, or stronger, and that no amount of time, distance, or distraction would ever rid me of them. It was so hard, loving you for so long and believing that it was impossible for us to be anything more than friends. I did try to content myself with that, though. And I was so hopeful when I arrived at Hogwarts in December that we would become better friends, but you avoided me. That was why I was so upset that day in Poppy’s office. She said it then, that she didn’t think it was just about wanting your respect, but I pretended I had no clue what else it could be about.”

Albus kissed the top of Minerva’s head. “She knows, then?”

Minerva thought a moment. “I don’t know. I am not sure. It could be that she guesses, or that she thinks it might be a possibility that I love you. But she hasn’t said. She is quite discreet, and she wouldn’t want to embarrass me if it weren’t the case, or if it were but I wasn’t prepared to admit it. Which I wasn’t. Not until very recently. But I always thought that Poppy would think . . . that she would think it was something other than love. Infatuation or physical attraction, but not this deep and abiding love I have for you.” She tried to snuggle closer into Albus’s embrace, and he put a hand under her and lifted her fully onto his lap.

They sat like that for a while, Minerva’s embarrassment at her revelation ebbing away to nothing. She was still not prepared to tell Albus precisely how long she had loved him, though now he knew that it was before her second apprenticeship began. Someday, she would tell him how she came to realise that she was in love with him, and the violence with which the realisation struck her, and the fear and despair that had accompanied it. But not yet.

Finally, Albus said, “I don’t know precisely when I began to love you as something more than the bright, precocious, warm-hearted child you once were. My feelings for you even when you were a student were deep, though. I had paid attention to you and your magical abilities as soon as I began to teach you, of course, as I was curious about the witch who wielded the mate to my wand, but my affection for you grew as I came to know you. You were a treasure then, Minerva, and you still are. But it was . . . it was sometime after you left school that I fell in love with you. My feelings were very strong for you even when you rescued me in France, when Carson died, but I was not yet in love with you, I think. But I was on the brink . . . perhaps if, that day when I came to deliver Carson’s letter, my behaviour had driven a permanent wedge between us, I would simply have mourned the loss of a potentially deep friendship. I do not know. But over the intervening years . . . something changed. It was as though my feelings all . . . coalesced, came into alignment. I think that I had a moment of realisation after your Challenge. A moment when I realised that I was in love with you.” Albus swallowed, closing his eyes. “But I put it out of my mind. I ignored it entirely, and I refused to even acknowledge the truth of that momentary realisation. Indeed, it was at that time when I decided it might be a good thing for me to find a witch to court. I wasn’t thinking explicitly that I was looking for a substitute for you, particularly as I would not even acknowledge to myself that you were anything other than a beloved former student to me. Yet it seemed to me, I think, that if I was beginning to have the stirrings of romantic feelings for you, it might be time for me to seek romance again. But I . . . I came to believe that it was too late for that. And then a few years later, Valerianna showed an interest in me. It was foolish of me to believe that her interest was genuine or that courting her would rid me of my uncomfortable and inappropriate attachment to you. But I think that a good part of the reason I began to see her was that I was unwilling to acknowledge my feelings for you. I thought that being with someone else would . . . would fix what I was feeling. But it couldn’t be fixed because it wasn’t wrong.”

Minerva turned her head and kissed Albus, drawing his lips between hers. “Mmm,” she murmured, kissing him again, then saying, “We are having no more serious conversation this evening but this: I love you. You love me. You told me. I told you. We have begun exploring my interesting idea, and we can continue exploring it . . . for the rest . . . of our . . . lives.” She punctuated her point with a few kisses and was pleased when Albus responded to her kisses, caressing her breast through the robe then reaching around her with his other hand to find her Charmed hooks. Before he could deactivate the charm, however, there was a hoot and a Scops Owl flew in through the open bedroom door and landed on the back of the sofa behind Albus’s head.

Minerva sighed. “We can’t escape interruptions tonight, can we?”

Albus shook his head, but then chuckled ruefully. “There are days like that, I suppose.”

Minerva sat up and took the little owl’s delivery from him, then she Summoned some owl treats from her study and sent them to Albus to feed the little fellow as she looked at the parchments.

“There’s one for each of us,” Minerva said, handing Albus his note then opening her own.

“Your brother has declined my offer of a meal in a Muggle restaurant and has invited me to join him at his flat for lunch. He suggests we meet at the gates at noon,” Albus said.

“Yes, well, Gertrude said that since we are both on our own tomorrow, we should have lunch together in her sitting room,” Minerva said. “I suppose I will go. I haven’t seen her in a while, and she’s likely curious . . . or she wants to talk about Malcolm, or both.”

“Good, so that’s settled.” Albus took Minerva’s letter from her and put it on the end table with his.

“Chess?” Minerva suggested.

Albus nodded and picked up the chess set. “Shall we use that table?” he asked, gesturing at the table that had held the remains of their dinner until Blampa had removed it.

Minerva waved her wand and removed the linens from the table, then flicked it and a chessboard appeared in the centre of the table. One more flick, and the table was slightly smaller and more comfortable for playing. Albus set up the pieces, asking Minerva which she wanted, black or white.

“I don’t seem to be doing very well with black, but I will stick with that, unless you would prefer to take it. You won the last game. It’s your choice,” Minerva answered.

Albus sat down behind the white pieces, and Minerva took up her place on the other side of the board. They played in silence for a while, Minerva determined to at least put up more of a fight this time.

“What about Egypt?” Albus asked suddenly.

“What about Egypt?” Minerva asked distractedly, trying to take in the whole board.

“For our holiday.”

“Check. I don’t know . . . maybe.”

“I have friends there. It’s an interesting country. Malcolm recently brought Gertrude there, and she enjoyed it immensely. Fulfilled a life-long dream of hers.”

“Check,” Minerva said again. “It sounds . . . interesting. Do you know of somewhere private we could stay?”

“I usually stay with either one of two friends there, one of whom is the Curator for Magical Antiquities in Cairo. I am certain he and his family would be happy to –”

“No. Check. No, I don’t want to stay with family friends. Or friends of yours. Or friends of mine. Or family of any kind. Check and mate!” she said triumphantly.

“Oh. Well, there are wizarding inns . . . ” Albus said as he looked at the board. “Very good game, Minerva! Very good, indeed. There is a very nice wizarding inn right near Abu Simbel. Small, and they wouldn’t mind if we were, um, together. Wouldn’t say anything or ask any awkward questions.”

“I want to avoid even avoiding awkward questions, Albus,” Minerva said with a sigh, taking the white pieces and setting them up on her side of the board. “I don’t want to stay where there are other people. I want something quiet where we can just be together. While I think it would be fascinating to visit Egypt someday, that isn’t the sort of holiday I had in mind.” Her shoulders slumped. “We should just forget it. Stay here. At least we occasionally have privacy here, even though more staff will be returning.” She moved out her queen’s pawn.

“No, I do think it is a good idea, my dear,” Albus said, reaching over and patting her hand. “I do want to go away with you a few days. I will think of something else.”

“Where did Malcolm and Gertrude stay, do you know?” Minerva asked.

“They camped. Yes, I know,” Albus said in reaction to Minerva’s expression. “It seems I’m not the only one with barmy ideas sometimes.”

“Camping . . . I guess that would provide privacy. We could do that,” Minerva said, but not sounding very enthusiastic about the idea.

Albus shook his head. “No, we want something more comfortable than that, don’t we?”

“Yes . . . I suppose we could stay at Melina’s,” Minerva said dispiritedly. “They’ll be gone all week. I have a room there. But I don’t like the idea of staying in their new home before they have even shared it together. And Edinburgh is hardly what I had in mind . . . I’d really prefer going to your cottage. You said it was on its own little island. It just seemed perfect when I thought of it.”

Albus took her hand in his. “Let me just think about it, all right, my dear? We needn’t decide anything this moment. We aren’t leaving until Sunday or so anyway.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the centre of her palm, closing his eyes and kissing it again, his lips lingering. “I love you so very much, Minerva,” he said softly, “so very, very much.” He looked at her over her fingers as they curled around his. “We will have a perfect holiday, or as close to perfect as possible. I promise.”

Minerva smiled and squeezed his hand. She nodded. “All right. All right, I trust you on that.”

After twenty more minutes of playing, they decided that neither of them would be able to win the game, and they declared it a draw.

“Would you like a drink?” Minerva offered. “Or tea?”

“I should be going soon, but a cup of tea might be welcome,” Albus replied as he settled the chessmen back in their box.

“Do you really need to go?” Minerva asked as she stood to get their tea. “Can’t you stay?”

“I have a meeting tomorrow at nine, and I must admit to being rather tired.”

Minerva sighed. She had been after him not to keep such late hours. “But you could still stay . . . here. Then we could have breakfast together and you could go to your meeting.”

Albus moved over to the sofa. “No, I . . . would prefer not,” he said uncomfortably.

“But –”

“It . . . it isn’t the right time, Minerva, my dear,” Albus said softly.

“Right, not the right time,” Minerva said curtly. “I’ll just get our tea then.”

“Minerva –”

Minerva stood in the kitchen, getting the tea things together, when she felt Albus behind her.

“I’m managing. It’ll just be a tick,” Minerva said, not turning.

Albus put his arms around her, placing one hand on her stomach and one caressing upward to her breasts. He kissed her hair. “I love you, Minerva. But as much as it would be . . . more than pleasant to stay, we have time, you know. And we will be going away together in a few days.”

“Separate bedrooms, though. Is that why you want to stay in those inns and pensions and other people’s homes?” Minerva asked, an edge in her voice.

“No, no, Minerva, no . . .” Albus turned her and kissed her, first her mouth then the lids of her closed eyes. “That is what I want to wait for . . . I want it to be romantic, perfect and romantic for you, my beloved Minerva.”

“It is spending the night together, next to each other –”

“It is more than that, my love. I want to court you . . . I should have been stronger tonight, but I don’t regret that I wasn’t. Despite that, I still . . . I still . . . I need to be able to romance you,” he said very softly.

Minerva opened her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then she reached up and caressed him, letting her hand come to rest on his bearded jaw. She smiled and nodded. They each had their needs, and his could come first at this moment.

“I love you, Albus,” she said before kissing him softly and then leaning against him. “And you are very romantic. I love the earrings. You know, when I bought the necklace, I was thinking of you. It looked to me as though there were two bees caught in the amber. I don’t know what they really are, but I was missing you terribly that day, and I saw the necklace and thought of you. So the earrings are very special to me. Thank you.”

Albus sighed and closed his eyes as he held Minerva. “I should have waited until this evening to give them to you. Made it more special, more memorable. Not just handed them to you in my office after lunch. I am sorry if I have done everything wrong today.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t at all. Here, give me another kiss?” she said, looking up at him.

He kissed her gently on the mouth, then he smiled at her. “Being with you is lovely, so very wonderful. And I do promise you a holiday you will remember, a romantic holiday, one that we both will enjoy.”

“Come, let’s have our tea so you can get to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight. And don’t forget your Vitamin Potion!” Minerva said, drawing back and looking up with a smile.

“Yes, Mother McGonagall. I will remember my Vitamin Potion,” Albus said. “Let me get the tray for you, my dear. What is the tea tonight?”

“A blend my mother makes. Black currant and mint, mainly,” Minerva answered. “You know, I never did tell her whether we were staying the night or not. I assumed we wouldn’t, but if you would like to . . .”

“I don’t know. Would you like to, my dear? I am sure it won’t matter to Gertrude whether we return that night or in the morning. I do have a great deal to do on Thursday, though, since your niece’s wedding is on Friday, then Saturday will be quite full, and then we will be leaving for a few days. I couldn’t stay for the day on Thursday.”

“I don’t know. I am of two minds about it, myself. We could just decide tomorrow, after we’re there. I am sure that Mother and Dad could provide you with anything you might need for the night.”

They sat on the sofa and drank their tea, discussing their plans for the next day, until Albus couldn’t suppress a yawn.

“You should get to bed, Albus,” Minerva said, taking his hand.

He nodded. “I am reluctant to leave, but I will see you tomorrow. Would you care to come for breakfast? Eight o’clock?”

Minerva agreed, and she let Albus out the door after giving him one more kiss and wishing him sweet dreams. As much as she wished he would stay, it was, paradoxically, easier to see him leave now that they had declared their love. He would be waiting for her in the morning, still loving her, and she could greet him with a kiss . . . which might lead to more. Perhaps on his couch next time. Minerva smiled and extinguished the sitting room lamps. Morning was just around the corner.