Epithalamium (Harry Potter for grown-ups)

Chapter Eight

Minerva was never quite sure how she made it back to her dormitory that night, but somehow she found herself in the round room, once again surrounded by empty beds. As she sat on her own bed, she couldn't think. It seemed to her that she had been operating on two disparate planes of existence lately: one of ecstasy, the other, despair. He had kissed her, and despite his words afterwards, she was elated. Yet he had also made it clear that he did not intend to do so again, which left her feeling empty and bereft. At least he hadn't thrown her out, and he had said he intended to continue teaching her. And at no point had he claimed he didn't want her.

As she lay down, she used some of the exercises she had learnt from him to calm—if not clear—her mind. When she felt able to make use of her reason once again, she considered what she should do next. She was quite clear on the fact that he wanted her and that it might be all too easy for her to push that desire into action. But she didn't want to make him regret whatever happened between them. She was coming to understand that she loved him, but she still didn't know if he loved her or if his actions were a result of simple desire. She knew him well enough by now to guess that although he was perfectly capable of taking what he wanted from her to satisfy his carnal urges, it would ultimately make him feel guilty to do so without loving her in return. She realised that as much as she wanted him, it was more important to her that it bring him joy.

This left her with the inescapable conclusion that she must tell him how she felt and encourage him to admit whatever feelings he had for her. If it was only lust, she would leave him be and do her best not to tease him or encourage him in any way. If it was more than that . . . well, she would have to work out with him what it meant for their relationship.

Remembering her anger at him for attempting to assume full responsibility for the kiss made her think about her own selfishness. She wanted him, and she had been willing to use her body to entice him into an action he might later have regretted. She would not make that error again, even if it turned out that he loved her.

It was a long time before she slept, and she was not distressed to find when she woke that she had missed breakfast in the Great Hall; she was not quite ready to face him again. A few of the staff were missing as well, so nobody especially remarked on Professor Dumbledore's absence, and the only person who made note of the fact that neither the Transfiguration professor nor Minerva McGonagall was at breakfast was Tom Riddle.

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Lunch passed uneventfully. Professor Dumbledore was his usual genial self and barely looked at Minerva, who did her best not to glance too often at him as she made feeble small talk with her tablemates. To her immense relief, Tom Riddle had chosen a seat far from her and appeared to be deep in conversation with Professor Slughorn.

When the appointed hour for their lesson came, Minerva's knock on Professor Dumbledore's office door was uncharacteristically timid.

"How are you, Minerva?" he asked when she entered.

"I'm contrite.”

"You needn't be."

"It's kind of you to say that, sir, but I do owe you an apology. It was wrong of me to try to persuade you to do something that made you uncomfortable."

"Apology accepted. And I think we need say no more about it—"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't think it's a good idea to ignore what happened. I think we should talk about it," she said.

He said nothing for a moment. He had expected contrition on her part, possibly embarrassment—but he hadn't expected her to want to dwell on the incident. However, he reasoned, perhaps she was right. She obviously had more to say and would not be able to move past this without discussing it.