Harry Potter Love despite oneself

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these guys. All the characters within belong to J.K. Rowling. She's simply kind enough to let me play with them sometimes.

Rating: 13+

The library was empty, save one, as the dust danced through the air and bright sunlight broke through the windows. It was, for the woman sitting straight backed at the far corner table, the picture of serenity. Her breathing and the rumple of turning pages were the only sounds to be heard. The real world had no place within these walls as a thousand years had passed it by with nary a thought. It was perfect; she should have known it wouldn't last.

The door flew open, crashing against the wall and shaking the windowpanes. Minerva managed not to jump at the noise. Years of teaching, fighting, and marriage to an eccentric master of Alchemy had honed her skills. That didn't mean she reigned in all her reflexes. Poppy never saw the wand that had automatically pointed in her direction before it was hurriedly tucked back into the folds of the rose coloured summer robes.

Poppy stopped in the doorway and looked around, her eyes moving over the empty tables before coming to rest on the lone witch. Minerva refused to back down as the hazel eyes bored into hers and narrowed in irritation at her apparent lack of remorse. The rapid tap of her heels against the flagstone settled itself just behind Minerva's eyes, and they closed against the flash of pain that accompanied each step.

"So you are here. You stubborn, foolish, woman!" Poppy came to a stop beside the table, dropping herself, somewhat indelicately, into the empty chair. She reached up and batted away the lock of brunette hair that had gotten loose and fallen in her eyes. Her eyes flashed and her cheeks were flushed. "I thought it was you I saw sneaking onto the grounds earlier."

"Hello to you too Poppy. To what do I owe this unexpected, and undesired, pleasure? " The pain behind her eyes only increased as the heel of Poppy's boot tapped against the floor. She restrained herself from rubbing her forehead, and simply clenched her teeth instead. She thought back for a moment and couldn't remember the last time she had eaten; maybe she just needed a little protein. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you Poppy, but I'm a little busy right now. Perhaps, perhaps we could pick this up another time…perhaps after you've remembered how to sit still!"

The boot stilled, and there was silence. Unfortunately, it was quickly followed by the screech of sliding wood and a crash as the chair lost its bout with gravity and tumbled. Perhaps having others around would have been advantageous.

"You pain in the…If I didn't…don't know how he…stubborn by...deserve each other!!" Poppy paced back and forth, Minerva only catching bits of the one-sided conversation. Minerva was sure she would have to start checking her food. The last time she saw Poppy this angry, the six year Ravenclaw boy was sprouting tentacles for a week.

"Does he even know you're here? It's been two months, Minerva, two months!!! He's been apparating all over the bloody island looking for you! I watched him walk into a wall last week. You know his nose can't take another break!" Poppy sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of their stupidity. She waved her hand slightly and the chair righted itself before she plopped into it. Minerva almost felt badly, almost. Poppy was beginning to look as bad as she felt.

"Poppy...I'm sorry. I..." Minerva couldn't quite find the words before Poppy cut her off.

Poppy looked up. "Why did you go, Minerva? What could have been so horrible that you left your husband? You're obviously unhappy, and you look as if you've been hit by the Knight Bus. Just talk to the man."

Minerva began to gather up the books around her, deliberately placing her hat on her head, effectively blocking off her view of Poppy's hurt face. "That, Poppy, is a matter between Albus and I. I'm sorry I haven't been by lately, but I've been a bit busy. If you could, we should get together for tea this weekend." Minerva stood and started to pass the table, the throbbing behind her eyes becoming blinding.

She paused slightly. "I know you mean well Poppy, but this is something a chocolate bar and a bath simply can't fix." She couldn't help the small gasp that slipped out as Poppy reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Please, Minerva. Just…go see him. I'm…you just need to go see him. He needs you." She looked at Minerva critically. "Just as much as you need him. Come see me later if you want something for that headache." With that, Minerva was alone.

It was getting late; if she weren't careful, Albus would return from the Ministry before she could get off the grounds. She made her way out into the corridor, sure to lock the heavy library doors behind her, turned toward the main entrance and swore. There was one more volume she needed; it had been the original reason she had returned, and it was in the last place she wanted to go. Albus had always kept it tucked away in a warded drawer, in their bedroom. She had always thought it a prudent precaution; the book was far too dangerous and valuable to have out in plain view, but now, now it was just a royal pain in the arse.

The corridor was, thankfully, empty as she stopped in front of the gargoyle. She had always had the feeling the door's guardian was more animated than most gave it credit for. She had been certain, on more than one occasion, that she had caught it leering at her. Anytime she had mentioned it, Albus had laughed, never once denying it. He would only say that, if it had leered, he could understand why. But today, there was no leering; if anything, it looked a bit disturbed as she stood before it, wringing her hands like a naughty first-year. "Semper Fidelis." The statue just continued to stare at her; he had changed their password. She shouldn't have been surprised as two months had passed, but the frustration of it brought tears to her bloodshot eyes.

"Please," she whispered. The gargoyle wouldn't move, and Minerva was sick with herself for begging. She leaned against the rough stone, her head lolling back against it's bite.

"Damn!" Ten minutes passed as she listed off every sweet, toy, and furry creature she could think of, and all she received was a snort from the gargoyle, not surprising when one yells llama, and an uptick in her migraine. She was becoming familiar enough with the spots dancing before her eyes that, in a fit of silliness, she had contemplated naming them.

She shook her head and scrubbed fiercely at her eyes as she felt the tears gather there. But, she wasn't quick enough as one slid down her cheek and slid across her jaw line. She didn't understand how this would cause her tears as she flicked it away. She failed to notice as the single tear landed squarely between the gargoyle's eyes. She only heard the moan, a sound of mourning so frightful, so terrible, that even Hell would recoil. Despite her surprise, she moved up the stairs and into the office beyond quickly. She had wasted too much time already; she had to get out. His office was a mess, as usual, but mostly empty decanter of bourbon and tipped glass were not. Nor were the parchments littering the floor or the books lying haphazardly on every available surface. He was a cluttered man, not a messy one, and the last time he had touched bourbon was after he found Armando dead in his favourite chair beside the fire. Her stomach twisted at the memory; Armando had been a good friend to them both, and she still missed the kindly old wizard.

She dared not touch anything; the last thing she wanted was to announce her presence. Poppy would take care of that later, but she would be far gone by then. It had been difficult, but she had finally found a small cottage, in a glen, where she could stay uninterrupted. The old man to whom it had belonged was not a fan of the Ministry, or it's policies. Having a supreme desire to avoid the entity, he had warded the small glen to within an inch of his life. It was small, only four rooms, with a thatched roof, but it was comfortable. She had been worried the sheer amount of magic required to ward the area would draw Albus' attention, but the worry had been in vain. He had not found her, to her ego's satisfaction and hearts distress. It was a cozy cottage, and her hurt and anger kept her company during the day. But, as night fell and the moon took it's place above, the queen bed was too large and her dreams too lonely to allow her respite.

She shook off these thoughts. She would not give that man the satisfaction, she resolved to herself. She moved into the bedroom, staggering as the smell of him hit her head on and moved to the cabinet beside the high window. She focused on the task at hand, refusing to turn her back from the bed, no matter how sorely she was tempted. If he could disrespect her so, then she no longer belonged there. Let him find another witch…She stopped herself mid-thought. Now wasn't the time for such things, and she really couldn't stomach the idea of crying again. The soft velvet of the book's cover caught her attention, and she was out the door like a shot, McGloughlan's first edition of "Theory of Innate Animagus Transformations" was tucked safely beneath her arm. She took the stairs two at a time, almost frantic to be rid of the room, and it's master. The sun was almost set, dinner long since passed, and she was so weary. No sooner had her foot left the last step and she re-entered the office proper did the door open with a creak.

Minerva had never been the sort of woman her mother had hoped for. She was not gentile, not silent, and certainly not subservient. If she had been, she could have continued on with a socially acceptable greeting. If she had been, this event would never have taken place. For the first time in many years, Minerva heartily wished she had listened to her mother. Minerva neither moved on, nor meekly turned on her heel and returned to their rooms. No, she remained, staring in slacked jawed amazement at the man who was her husband. A dull buzzing filled her mind, and the thud of her heart filled her ears. She was not a woman to be at a loss for words, as many a school governor could attest, but a single glimpse of this man robbed her of a most extensive vocabulary.

He looked a mess. In honesty, she had come across potion ingredients that looked more lively than he did in that moment. He was tired. She could see lines creasing his forehead from across the room that had not been there before. His cheeks were sunken in, and his robes hung limply from his considerable frame. He was always such an imposing figure, reaching six foot five, broad shouldered, hearty and hale. He was not, by nature, an overly muscular man, but he was lean and strong, with a slight stomach that oddly suited him. It looked now as if he'd dropped a stone since she had seen him last, and it was a stone he could ill afford. The black of his robes only highlighted the paleness of his skin and the black circles under his dull eyes. A niggle of concern clawed its way to the fore, ferociously beating back the anger that swelled there at the sight of him. Standing before her was a dull, beaten man, her man.

His hand shook as it rose to rub at his eyes, and Minerva doubted he trusted the veracity of their claims. She shouldn't be here; they both knew this, and yet, here she was. She let out a shuddering breath as his eyes trailed from her boot clad feet, up her legs, to her eyes. "Minerva." Her name was hoarse, pained, as he croaked, and her knees trembled at the feeling of it. Her name fell from his lips over and over, more desperate with every utterance. She became the mantra of a dying man, and her rage could sustain itself no more against such an onslaught.

He was a crumpled, shivering mass when she reached him. She wasn't much better as tears cascaded down her cheeks despite herself and her own knees finally gave way. She was still furious, but all the rage of the world could not stand against a distraught Dumbledore. They would talk, they would likely yell, she might even throw another teacup at him. But, she would not be returning to the small cottage in the glen, not that night.

He clung to her as a drowning man would, and Poppy's concern echoed through her mind as she wrapped her own arms around his shoulders and her own increased to feel the bone beneath her fingers. They both leaned forward, and only the weight of the other held them up as the pat two months finally took hold. His skin was clammy against her cheek, and their tears mingled as he turned to rest his forehead against hers.

"You're angry with me." His voice was soft but rough. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I am." Her voice was equally hoarse, and the words burned as they passed her lips, but she would not lie to him, not about this.

"You left." His grip on her robes increased.

"I did." Her lips trailed along his ear as she spoke, and she felt him shudder.

"You no longer love me." It was spoken with such conviction, such resignation that she could not bear it.

She pushed him away with what little strength she had left and grabbed his face. " I do!"

They were scant inches apart, but it may as well have been miles. His eyes were downcast, but she followed them. She wouldn't allow him to hide, until finally he capitulated. "I do." She whispered again when their eyes finally met. It was the one absolute truth of her life. It made her breathe, move, live. It was what made her magic. She could never not love him.

She would have bruises in the morning from his grasp, but she didn't care. His eyes were still dull and his mouth opened as if to speak, but Minerva shook her head. She could take no more that night. Her bones cried out for sleep, and her eyes felt heavy. She lifted her lips and tipped his head, coming to rest against his forehead. She absorbed the shock of his sob, and he hers. "Tomorrow." She managed to say it without faltering, and she saw his head bob in acceptance.

Slowly, they made it to their bedroom, both having to lean on the other to avoid tumbling down the stairs, and it took everything she had for Minerva to suppress the hysterical sobbing the filled her chest at the sight of the bed. The elves had known. Both sides were turned down, the pillows fluffed perfectly. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

His fingers trembled as he released the catch of her outer robes, quickly followed by the small buttons of the under. His own robes gave way beneath her fingers as she stood, unflinching, before him in her cream coloured slip. His body was hot and his heart beat strong as she smoothed her hands over his chest, pushing the robes from his shoulders and relishing in the feel of the hairs sliding between her fingers. He was far thinner than she had even imagined, and she regretted the past months separation for the first time. His chest was sparse and his ribs jutted from beneath pale skin. From the look of surprise on his face, she supposed he had noticed her own weight loss. She hadn't failed to notice the way her hipbones showed. He did not try to kiss her as he wrapped himself around her. He only pulled her with him onto the mattress and beneath the sheets. Passion would come later; this was about recovery, redemption.

She curled into his side, as she always had, and rested her head against his shoulder. He rested his head against hers, holding her tightly to him. Her name was the last thing she heard as, in relief, he wept in their sleep.

AN: I was packing to go to Turkey, and I wanted to get this up before I left. I haven't decided if I want to continue it or not, so all thoughts on the subject are most welcome.


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