Comfort

"Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard."

-Ch. 37 'The Lost Prophecy' Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Minerva knocked on the door to Albus' office. She was puzzled when she received no answer and tried again, thinking he had not heard her. When that failed she debated with herself for a moment before opening the door to see if he was in.

"Albus?" she called out softly, and then froze when she saw the state of his office. Debris littered the floor, a mixture of wood and paper, silver metal and glass. The fire flickered hesitantly in the fireplace, casting deep shadows in the room.

It was only then that she saw the figure behind the desk. Albus Dumbledore sat in his chair with his face in his hands, looking miserable and defeated.

"Albus! What happened?" asked Minerva, hurrying to his side and placing a hand on his arm in a gesture of comfort.

He raised his head reluctantly, and met her gaze. The light of the fire glinted off of his tears and the shadows deepened the grooves of his face, making him seem old and haggard.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, and gently brushed away his tears with her fingers, doing the only thing she could think of.

"Of course," he replied, watching her with a strange expression as she stood, picked up her wand, and relit the dying fire and the candles scattered around the room. She snorted at his reply, but let it pass.

"What happened?" she repeated, conjuring up a chair next to Dumbledore's and began to idly repair one of his silver instruments whose pieces lay scattered across his desk as she waited for him to answer.

Dumbledore hesitated. "I told Harry everything I should have told him years ago. He took it quite well, actually, didn't break anything irreplaceable," he said in a weak attempt at a joke.

It broke Minerva's heart to see him like this, to hear him try to laugh when it was obvious he was miserable. The twinkle that could almost always be found in his eyes seemed to be drowning.

"Oh Albus," she whispered, drawing him into a hug, as if comforting a child. It seemed strange how their roles had been reversed, how she comforted him instead of the other way around.

"And," murmured Hogwarts' Headmaster into his Deputy's robes, "he seemed to think that it was his fault that Sirius is gone."

"Of course it wasn't," replied Minerva in her usual no-nonsense tone of voice. A thought occured to her and she drew back to study him as she said, "Don't tell me you blamed it on yourself."

"As you wish," he replied almost absentmindedly, gazing at her with an expression she couldn't fathom.

"Albus Dumbledore, you were not at fault for Sirius' death either," she told him sternly.

"Wasn't I? I kept the truth from Harry until now, and now it's too late. The only one he knew as a parent is gone. Harry wouldn't have been in the Department of Mysteries if I had told him. I had four chances, Minerva, and I refused all of them." He turned away from her to face the fire as she grasped his hand.

"He was furious, Minerva," he whispered brokenly. "And he had every right to be. He has every right to hate me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, extremely troubled by how out of character he was acting. "Harry Potter could never hate you. He respects you, even loves you as he would a grandfather, and I doubt he'll stay mad at you for long. He has better things to do than waste energy on staying angry with you, which is near impossible, I might add. I should know after all."

He chuckled weakly. "That's my Minerva," he said and cringed when she arched an eyebrow at him.

"Since when was I yours?" she asked dangerously.

"I apologize. That came out wrong," he replied blandly.

She gave him a warning look before continuing.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Albus," she continued, her voice and expression softening. "We're only human after all. Mistakes, anger, sadness, joy, love," he jerked around to face her at the word, face expressionless, and she watched him in puzzlement as she spoke, "it's all a part of life."

"Thank you, Minerva," he said quietly. "I do appreciate this."

"You're welcome, Albus," she replied, watching him in concern as she stood. The hurt was still present in his eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, reaching out a hand to comfort him.

To her surprise he abruptly pulled her into his lap.

Minerva automatically grasped his shoulders as she felt herself falling, even as Albus held her in place.

"What-" she began, brow furrowed in confusion.

He kissed Minerva before she could say anything more, hungry for the comfort she provided and too weary to even attempt to hide how he felt about his Deputy Headmistress.

When she did not pull away he felt as though his heart would burst with hope. When she kissed him back he wished for time to stop.

Too soon they broke apart and Albus smiled down at Minerva as she rested her head against his chest.

"Feel better?" she murmured.

"Much," he replied, and kissed her again.