Dreamwalk Blue: The Solitude Sessions

Session 4: Blue Again

I'm blue again, blue again

And you know darn well it's you again

You said last night we were through again

And now I'm blue again

Hayden was not, and had never been, much of an early riser. So it was something of a surprise for June to wake and find, after five years of marriage, that her husband had suddenly decided to get up with the sun.

It was barely dawn, the room still grey with shadows, the barest pink glow peeking through the window coverings. The door eased open and Hayden tiptoed inside, obviously trying to keep quiet, despite the fact that he was burdened with an enormous breakfast tray. There was an ominous rattle, and Hayden juggled the tray to keep it from crashing to the floor.

June closed her eyes and tried to look asleep.

"Hello there, my darling." A pause. "I know you're awake."

She smiled and opened her eyes. "Well, I guess I can't fool you, can I?"

"Never." He grinned at her, hefting a silver coffee service. "Coffee?"

"Did you make this?"

"No need to look so worried. Michael made it, coffee and all." He smiled again. "Happy anniversary, my love - and to think, they said it wouldn't last."

She raised herself up on one elbow and kissed him. "Frankly, I'm not sure I thought it would last."

"But you are happy, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. Very happy."

"Good. So am I." He put his feet up on the bed and stretched out across the pillows. "After five years, it's what? The 'wood' anniversary?"

"You're not going to get me a cord of firewood or anything are you?"

"Nonsense. How would you feel about a treasure chest? Or a banquet table? Or a sailing ship?"

"All of the above?"

"Your wish is my command," he said, and kissed her. "Never fear. I have something quite special planned." He produced a small box with a flourish. "But first, these..."

"Hayden, honestly-"

"Darling, don't think I don't know about the barrel of delightful Grenache you have fermenting at Domaine Amie just for me..."

"How did you- Oh, never mind. You never cease to surprise me, which is entirely your aim, I know." She smiled at him. "It seemed apropos. It's where you proposed - the first time."

"A perfectly lovely gesture, and I do love a nice glass of Grenache." He grinned at her. "Now open your gift."

She did and inside was a predictably lovely pair of diamond earrings. "Hayden, thank you. You didn't have to you, though, you know."

He waved a careless hand. "I can quite honestly say I've never enjoyed spending my money quite so much as I do when it's for you."

"I love you, you know. Against all odds."

"I know. Given the odds, I'm a spectacularly lucky fellow."

*

"Albus? There's someone here to see you." Veronica Bellaire, the new Arithmancy teacher, was standing in his open doorway, smiling at him. She was crisply pulled together in what must have been a fashionable ensemble, her hair done up like an American film star. Brionne, he realized distractedly, had been right. She was far too pretty; she'd be married in a year and then they'd have to hire someone to replace her.

"I'm sorry?" he said, closing his book and taking off his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

She smiled at him again. "There's someone here to see you. Shall I send her up?"

"It's a bit late, isn't it?" He snapped his watch open. "Nevertheless. Show her in. Thank you, Veronica."

A few moments later a shadow crossed the threshold, shuddering a bit in the flickering lamplight.

"Hello, Professor," Metis McGonagall said, and he would have recognized her voice anywhere. The last time he'd heard it she'd been saying his name, telling him to go, to run away. "Though I suppose it's Headmaster now, isn't it?"

He blinked, unsure whether to go for his wand or not. "It is," he said cautiously, and settled for putting the bulk of his desk in between them. "Are you- Is there something I can do for you?"

"You have a post open. I'm here to apply, of course."

That was, quite possibly, the last thing he'd expected to hear her say. There was a long, silent moment where neither spoke.

"You really expect that I would let you teach here? Given everything I know about you?"

She looked supremely unruffled by his reaction. "What else would you have me do? Go work in a shop?" She laughed sharply. "I hardly think so."

"Well, feel free to leave your CV, of course..."

She frowned, scrutinizing him with the air of a woman unaccustomed to being refused. That was a change. When he'd seen her last, she'd been just a girl and a quiet, passive one, at that.

"I was led to believe that you'd had some difficulty filling this particular position, and there's not much time left to find someone suitable..."

"Suitable being the operative word..."

"You assume a lot. It's been, what? Six years or more since we last met?"

"And the last time we met you were rather less than truthful with me. Do you have any idea what the consequences of your actions were?"

She shrugged, apparently unburdened by the damage she and Tom had caused. "Does any of that change what I can do? What I can see? There are a lot of fakes and charlatans out there who will tell you they can see what's to come in tea leaves or the stars or the cards. It's all a lot of theater." Her eyes flashed with more passion than he remembered her possessing. "They're fakes and liars, at worst; misguided children, at best."

"You're talented, you always were," he admitted, shaking his head, "but you've strayed onto paths we don't approve of here."

Her mouth quirked oddly to one side, almost a smile but not quite. "Tom taught me a lot, it's true, but I guess that's all the more reason for you to have me where you can keep an eye on me." She leaned forward. "Understand this. I made a choice; I came to you willingly. I could have gone on as things were. I could have followed Tom and never looked back, but I didn't. I'm here, with you, and I've chosen."

"Why?"

"I have a daughter. Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't." But it should have surprised him more. It made a certain amount of sense.

"She's my reason. She changed everything. I love Tom. I always did, I always will- but I love my child more. I've left all of that behind me for her."

Albus remained unconvinced, but there was definitely some truth in what she was saying. "I think you're still a bit dangerous."

She smiled at him, a little ruefully. "So are you."

There was a compelling argument to be made for keeping her there. She, potentially at least, had answers to his lingering questions about Albania, about Tom himself. She could also be planning something; lying to gain his trust, only to betray him later. Or maybe it was some combination of those - something out of their control, more complex than either of them realized.

"Is it true, do you suppose, that Tom will kill us? That he has to?" he asked, thinking back to Albania and the things Grindelwald had said to them all. "Do you think that he could kill you?"

"I don't know," Metis said calmly. "I know he doesn't want to... but he might."

"Doesn't that frighten you?"

"I'm not sure I know how to be properly afraid anymore. I suppose I won't know until it happens."

"Will it be soon?" Curiously enough, Albus found he wasn't particularly frightened either.

"No, he isn't strong enough yet." She smiled. "And he's afraid of you."

"Of me? Really? I can't imagine why."

"I think you could, if you only thought about it. You're more powerful than he is, for now at least, but that's not the reason. Take a look at yourself, at your students. You're everybody's father, and become even more so as time passes. You'll be the world's father by the time he's ready." She paused, looking down at her hands. "There's nothing Tom hates and fears more than a father."

"And so he could never be one?"

She paused again, weighing her words carefully. "I didn't say that exactly - and yet here I am."

"Here you are. And here, I suppose, you ought to stay."

*

They made an unlikely truce, the two of them.

Metis, whatever she else was, was an exceptional teacher - and she understood Albus, his methods and his peculiarities, perhaps even a bit too well at times.

There was talk, of course. Albus quietly spread the rumor that Metis had been widowed while living abroad, but it didn't stick. Half the school thought little Minerva was his daughter and that once he'd been made headmaster he'd brought them there to hide them away in the castle.

It caused something of a sensation, but not nearly so much as what happened next.

One evening early in the term, the Board of Governors descended on the school. A ripple of gossip followed their path through the hallways almost threatening to overtake their progress - Albus very nearly learned what had happened before they even reached his office.

"Albus..." Brionne rushed into his office and shut the door behind her, sounding uncharacteristically ruffled. "I need to tell you before-"

There was a knock at the door.

"Oh, hell. I'm too late." She glanced from side to side, as though looking for somewhere to hide.

"Well," Albus chuckled, "this is all rather thrilling. I have to admit, I'm fairly curious to see who's at the door."

"Be careful," she said, shaking her head, "what you wish for."

He flung the door wide and blinked once, realizing as he did so that Brionne had been right.

"Hello, gentlemen," he said, moving aside and gesturing the whole of the Hogwarts Board of Governors into his office. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Hello, Albus," said James Franklin, head of the board and an old friend of Albus's mother. He took off his hat, twisting it somewhat nervously in his hands.

"Can I offer anyone some refreshment? Brionne, perhaps you could call for-"

"That won't be necessary," a fellow called Burton who'd been at school with Albus said shortly. "This shouldn't take long."

"Well, allow me to offer you a seat, at the very least," Albus said, and the board complied.

Franklin began again, "The board has decided, you see, to finally fill old Parkinson's empty chair."

That hardly seemed to warrant a visit from nearly the entire sitting board.

"I'm very glad to hear it, though I must admit I'm a little curious why this news wasn't simply shared via post-"

"Hayden Fairborne," Burton cut in. "We've decided on Fairborne."

Behind him, Brionne let out a breath Albus hadn't quite realized she'd been holding.

"He's been something of an angel for the school of late," Franklin jumped back in quickly, "as I'm sure you're well aware. Very, very generous."

That he had - though Albus privately suspected it had been done largely to annoy him.

Burton, who had never liked Albus much and had gone so far as to oppose his appointment as headmaster, regarded him coolly.

"I trust this won't be a problem, will it, Headmaster?"

Oh, certainly not. At least, not until he punched Fairborne in the face halfway through the first meeting.

He managed a fairly convincing denial nonetheless, while Brionne politely and efficiently shuttled them all out the door.

"Well, I'd hoped to give you some warning," she said once they were all gone. "I didn't want you blindsided, given your history with the man in question, which of course is exactly what happened."

"I'm not sure it would have helped." He yanked open a desk drawer. His predecessor had, he knew, been fond of both whiskey and hidden cubby-holes. He felt underneath the stack of parchment scrolls in the drawer until something caught and the false bottom gave way. "Ah-ha, I knew it." He pulled a fairly dusty bottle from the hidden drawer.

Brionne simply sighed and produced a pair of glasses from a Chinese cabinet on the far side of the room. She set them on the desk and Albus pulled the stopper from the bottle with a squeak. He poured two fingers of the whiskey for each of them and sat heavily back behind the desk.

"Well, then."

"You can say that again." She paused while he took a drink. "You aren't going to challenge him to a duel or anything, are you?"

Albus raised an eyebrow. The idea was tempting.

"Albus!"

"I know, I know. I would win though-"

"No."

He shrugged and took another drink.

"Don't be foolish. That's exactly the sort of reaction he wants, though just why he wants to torment you is quite beyond me." She took a tiny sip of her own whiskey, made a face and set it down again. "And so is how he bribed the governors into accepting him in the first place..."

"Rich men generally have a talent for getting what they want."

"He is rather obscenely rich, isn't he? Oh, Albus." She lit a cigarette and inhaled sharply.

"It will be all right," he said. "Fairborne's apparently determined to make things damned difficult for me, but I'll manage - and then we'll see, I suppose, who the better man is."

*

"Well, my darling. I've got it."

Hayden sat down across the breakfast table from her, holding a long letter and looking like the proverbial cat with the canary.

"What have you got?" She poured his coffee, added a splash of cream, and passed him the cup. "I'm honestly hard-pressed to think of anything you don't have already."

"At long last, they've given me my seat on the governing board!"

"The governing board of what?"

"The old alma mater, of course!"

"Oh, you didn't..."

"I did!"

"But why? The governing board is nothing but a bunch of old stuffed shirts sitting in endless meetings, handing out demerits and bickering about whether the students ought to be allowed to wear dungarees out on their Hogsmeade weekends... In short, it's the sort of thing that would absolutely bore you to death."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just had the idea that I wanted to join, and it never quite went away. Usually when that happens to me, the only thing for it is to do or buy whatever the thing is."

"So you spent months lobbying and bullying your way onto the board on nothing more than a whim?" She sighed heavily. "I give it a month. Less if they meet more than once a month."

"Well, even if that is the case, we'll get a decent party out of the whole affair." At her questioning look, he said, "They're to throw a luncheon in my honor next Thursday." There was a very extended silence. "I'm told it's going to be quite a nice luncheon. They're going to name the library after me."

June nearly choked on her coffee. "The library? Oh, Hayden... Did you ever even set foot inside the library at school?"

"All right, perhaps not the library then. Something else? The pitch?"

"More like the rosebushes outside the Great Hall."

He gave her a positively wicked look. "How nice that would look on a brass plaque: The Hayden L. Fairborne Rose Garden. I'd have the whole thing replanted with red bourbons, a proper June rose."

"Hayden," she said, unable to keep the softness from her voice.

He stood up and leaned over her chair. "Now, give your husband a kiss and go buy something smashing to wear up to the school. I want every fellow in the place to be positively green with envy."

"Or just one fellow in particular?"

"Would I do something like that?"

"In spades."

*

The best thing that could be said about the first meeting between Albus and the new Board of Governors was that he and Fairborne didn't actually come to blows - but it was a close thing.

It was a spectacular fall afternoon and the students had been largely banished to Hogsmeade for a visit in an attempt to keep them out from underfoot. The board, the faculty and various powerful, generous or otherwise noteworthy alumni gathered in the Great Hall for a very nice luncheon.

Albus was late, probably something his subconscious had done on purpose. He couldn't particularly blame it; he'd been dreading this all week. The doors of the Great Hall flung wide to allow him in, and he realized he was making a slightly more dramatic entrance than intended. In fact, the conversation hushed as he entered, the doors closing behind him with a slightly ominous thud.

The Board of Governors was all in attendance, including a very dapper Hayden Fairborne and, of course, June. None of the faculty, he noted with a slightly guilty twinge of pleasure, would give them more than a barely polite acknowledgement. Metis outright stared at June over her teacup, her dislike quite evident.

"June Fairborne?" An elegantly-dressed woman wearing far too much jewelry for the afternoon snagged June by the arm as the conversation in the hall roared back to life. "I thought that was you - and, of course, you would be here, wouldn't you? Isn't this lovely? Hayden must be so pleased."

"Hmm. Lovely." June sounded positively bored. She turned slightly, though, as if she could feel Albus watching her. He quickened his step to pass them by.

Brionne gestured him over to where she sat with Veronica Bellaire. "Come here, Albus. Have a little something to ease the pain." She surreptitiously tipped the contents of a flask into Veronica's teacup, then her own.

"It does help," Veronica laughed. "Though we promise to be good and not overindulge and embarrass you."

"I have every faith in you." Albus couldn't help but smile himself. "I'll pass this time, though."

"Need all your wits about you in case there's a duel?" Brionne said it lightly, but he knew her well enough to see she wasn't really kidding.

"I won't start a duel, Brionne. I can't be answerable for anyone else's behavior, though."

Veronica looked from one to the other, one perfectly penciled eyebrow raised, but didn't press the question. No doubt she'd ask Brionne to explain the second Albus was out of earshot.

"Do you suppose," she said, deftly changing the subject, "that the governing board will finally allow female students to wear trousers? It was a hot topic of debate when I was student."

"Which was all of about ten minutes ago," Brionne said tartly, but she was smiling slightly behind her teacup.

Albus left the two sitting there and quickly made his rounds of the room, thanking the governors and the alumni in particular for joining them. He stopped short of welcoming Hayden and June, though. Brionne must have seen his hesitation because she suddenly materialized at his elbow, her spiked tea left behind and apparently forgotten.

"You will have to say something to them, you know. It would be a hell of a snub if you didn't."

"I know. I just may have to work my way up to it."

"Albus..." Brionne looked caught somewhere between sympathy and frustration. "It's been five years. Surely after all this time..."

"Eighteen."

"What?"

"It's been eighteen years, all told. So long as you're counting, you might as well know the real number."

"Even still." Her expression shifted, the frustration gone, replaced with something that looked worryingly like pity. "It's been quite long enough that you should be able to wish them welcome and then run like hell."

Albus looked over her shoulder to where June stood, talking to a pair of quite elderly alumni. Fairborne, one hand resting possessively on the small of her back, was gazing down at her with raw, unguarded affection.

With an effort, Albus tore his gaze away and set down his cup. "I think I'll take a bit of a walk."

"Albus..." Brionne gave him a warning look.

"I just need some fresh air," he said. She looked unconvinced. "It's fine."

He lapped the grounds twice before finally coming to rest outside the Great Hall. He was trying to summon up the will to go back in when he heard a soft murmur of voices from the rose garden. He turned to walk back the way he'd come, but then he distinctly heard June's voice from inside the garden.

"Oh, Hayden," she said, and Albus knew that tone well. "We don't belong here."

"Nonsense," was his only reply. "We'll just keep giving them money until they have to be nice to us."

"I'm not sure even you have that much money."

Albus couldn't help eavesdropping. He stayed behind the rosebushes, but moved slightly to the right so he could see their faces through a gap in the branches. June was sitting on a low stone bench, looking equally worried and resigned. She was wearing a fashionable green dress, the same shade as the stone in her wedding ring. Fairborne had hold of her hand, straddling the bench, his well-cut and obviously expensive jacket tossed carelessly on the ground.

"Why do you even care, my darling? Or is it not their opinions that bother you?"

"Hayden, you ought to know better..."

"It's not jealousy, darling. I just know that you wouldn't care two pins for what those old spinsters think if there wasn't something else to it."

June sighed. "Fine. You win. Yes, it bothers me, but we'll survive."

He leaned in close to her and smiled. "We always do."

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Yes, we do."

He kissed her back, rather more ardently. When he finally released her, he grabbed his jacket up off the ground and said, "Come on then - back into the lions' den."

"Wait," she said, straightening his tie and smoothing his lapels, looking at him the way she'd never quite managed to look at Albus. "All right, I think you're ready for the lions again." She paused. "They are a lot of mean old cats, it's true, but I don't mind braving them for you. You know that, don't you?"

"You're just blinded by my not-inconsiderable charm."

"Come along." She grabbed his hand and tugged. "This was all your idea, after all."

They got up to leave, and Albus abandoned the rosebushes and hurried back inside to the corridor. A door slammed somewhere ahead of him, footsteps echoing around the hall.

"There are rose petals in your collar." Their voices were dangerously close, and June was laughing. "People will think we've been up to no-good in the rosebushes."

"Oh, I do hope so..."

They rounded the corner, June's hands in the pockets of her dress, Hayden with one arm wrapped familiarly around her waist. Albus looked around for a convenient alcove or side corridor to duck into, but it was too late.

"Hullo, there!" Hayden said, with a smile that didn't even begin to reach his eyes. "It's our host. I wondered when you'd get around to welcoming us."

Albus just raised an eyebrow. "Welcome?"

"Albus-" June began, and he hated the note of pleading in her voice. He let his gaze slide over her and back to Fairborne.

"You hardly need my welcome; you already appear to have made yourself quite at home without asking my leave."

"I suppose it is your territory," Hayden replied, the barest note of challenge in his voice. "Or, at the very least, it was."

"It was, and if you had any sense you would have left well enough alone-"

"Albus, there you are!" Veronica came around the corner, looking, as always, like she'd just stepped off the cover of a magazine. "The Undersecretary for Muggle Relations has been asking for you for a half-hour at least..."

She collected him smoothly, taking his arm, and in that moment he was suddenly aware of just how much she reminded him of the girl June had been a decade ago - brash, lovely, a little haughty, and entirely unflappable. He glanced over his shoulder trying to glimpse June's expression, but she was in shadow, her face unreadable.

"If this is wildly inappropriate," Veronica said too softly for the others to hear, still holding his arm and steering him back toward the Great Hall, "please tell me now. I'd hate to get sacked before the term has even had a chance to really get started." She took a deep breath. "Brionne and the others looked so terribly worried, but no one quite had the nerve to do anything about it."

"Except you."

"Except me." She grinned at him, still the picture of confidence. "Call it the foolhardiness of youth."

"I call it very kind, Veronica. Thank you. I think you might have saved me from myself. So where is the Undersecretary?" he asked as they reentered the hall.

"Oh, that was a lie," Veronica replied smoothly. "I'm not even sure he's here, to be honest." She steered him through the crowd and deposited him at the front of the room. "Here we are. Why don't you take your proper place, and I'll fetch you a drink?"

"Thank you."

Brionne came up as well and something unreadable passed between the two women as Veronica left.

"Well," Albus said as she took her place at his right hand. "The two of you are managing me very nicely."

"Someone has to," she said. "So did you work up your nerve and speak to them?"

"After a manner."

"Albus, you are maddening. But, still, I wish I could fix this for you."

"So do I."

*

Albus would have laid even odds that Hayden Fairborne's tenure on the Board of the Governors would have lasted a fortnight at most. Fairborne, though, seemed determined to defy expectations in the most irritating manner possible. After months of putting up with near-constant needling in meetings, Albus had finally had enough and delegated all but the most critical interactions with the board to Brionne.

The board held its regular monthly meetings at the school, but, rather predictably, held most of its other events at various gentlemen's clubs and better restaurants in London. That particular night was a regular meeting and the board was gathered in discussion somewhere right beneath Albus's feet. Not that one could tell, of course. A fire roared in the hearth in Albus's rooms, the lamplight low and soft. The winter had been wet so far, rain drumming on the windows and little hope of any snow by Christmas. Albus himself was reclined in his favorite chair, little Minerva curled up sleepily in his lap, a picture book open but forgotten in her hands. Metis sat on the thick Turkish rug, close the fire, the whole of her concentration on whatever she was writing in a leather-bound book.

"I'm famished," she said after a bit, closing the book and stretching in the firelight. "Can I get you anything, Albus? I think there's still some shortbread in the buttery."

"That does sound rather nice..."

"I'll fetch us a plate, and something to drink."

Minerva stirred, blinking her eyes sleepily. "Mummy?"

"What do you say, dearest? Would you like a biscuit?"

Minerva nodded her head, simultaneously rubbing her eyes with both fists.

"You shouldn't give her sweets so close to bedtime..."

"Says the man who keeps a toffee hammer next to his bed," she said, shrugging into a sweater as she left the heat of the fire behind. She paused slightly at the door, looking down the corridor before exiting, as though she'd prefer that no one see her leaving the Headmaster's rooms so late in the evening.

Albus knew people still talked, and he could hardly blame them. Metis was young and startlingly beautiful, and their relationship was rather out of the ordinary. She was still a mystery, even to him. The child, on the other hand, brought him more joy than he could have imagined, during a time when it was in short supply. Metis indulged him, let him dote on her daughter, allowed him to use them to fill a void in his life. He wondered sometimes what she truly thought of him, of this strange arrangement between them. He didn't push too hard, though. He wasn't honestly sure he wanted to know - because he had to admit to himself that so long as Minerva was there he would do whatever it took to give them his protection, no matter what her mother's thoughts or feelings truly were. He looked down at her fondly. He'd never really imagined himself as fatherly until Metis had brought the little girl into his life.

Metis returned with a plate of shortbread, a bottle of milk and three glasses, kneeling down again on the rug in front of the fireplace and laying out their provisions. Albus moved to sit on the floor himself, Minerva still on his lap.

"Just one," he told her mildly, but he needn't have bothered. She took a single biscuit and curled back up into a drowsy little ball.

There was a soft knock at the door and Brionne entered, her gaze flicking over the apparently domestic scene with a slightly skeptical eye. "Headmaster? The governors are asking for you."

"Not going so well, is it?" he asked, picking Minerva up and handing her to Metis as he stood.

Brionne frowned darkly. "So far they've asked me to make and serve tea for them, and one old fellow proposed that I join him for some very impertinent recreational activity - but other than that they've largely ignored me."

"It is a bit of a boys' club."

"Albus, you truly have the gift for understatement."

He smiled sympathetically. "Have a biscuit."

"Sweets don't quite cure everything, you know."

"True, but it can hardly hurt." He handed her a piece of shortbread, and she smiled in spite of herself.

"All right then." She took the biscuit. "Shall I go back with you?"

"No need. Eat your biscuit, put your feet up. I'll call you if I need you."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Brionne laughed and sank into the chair he'd vacated.

"What are they deciding tonight, anyway?"

"They want the school to stage an historical pageant depicting the inspiring and instructive lives of the Founders."

"Ah, fiction then," Albus muttered. "Whatever for?"

"Not a clue. Ask James Franklin - it was his idea."

When Albus joined the board downstairs, it was quite clear that tempers were running short. They'd been discussing the issue for several hours and seemed no nearer to a resolution.

"Oh excellent," Fairborne said lazily as Albus entered the room. "The cavalry. Let the old boy decide this one so we can all go home to our beds and our lovely wives." He looked pointedly at the fellow across the table from him. "Well, at the very least, my wife is lovely."

"Gentlemen," Albus said, hoping to avert a row. "How can I help you?"

"I think, Headmaster," said James Franklin, "that we may need an objective voice to break a tie."

"And Professor Ivey couldn't provide that for you?" Albus asked, and noted that none of the board would quite meet his eye - except Fairborne, of course.

"She gave it her best try," he said pointedly. "But we're apparently rather set in our ways..."

The man across the table from Fairborne - Albus couldn't immediately remember his name - glared at him darkly.

"Very well then," Albus said, hoping his irritation wasn't visible, and took the empty seat at the head of the table. "I take it opinions are evenly split on whether to undertake the project?"

"That's right. The argument for the idea is that it would not only be a valuable educational opportunity for the students, but also gives us a vehicle to involve the alumni and engage in some additional fundraising. The argument against..." Franklin trailed off, looking pointedly at Fairborne and Burton.

"I just don't see the point," Fairborne shrugged eloquently and even though he agreed with him, it set Albus's teeth on edge. "The students are quite busy enough as it is."

"Not to mention," Burton said, "that we've yet to address what the content of this thing would involve. How are we going to handle the Slytherin question, for example? We do that wrong and we can bid goodbye to at least a fourth of any potential funds we might have expected to raise..."

"And a tidy, whitewashed version of events hardly qualifies as an educational opportunity for the students, and might even be harmful to their understanding of wizard history," Albus mused aloud. "I do see the dilemma... Given all the different versions and, shall we say, interpretations of the Founders story, it doesn't quite seem appropriate. Whichever interpretation we produced would be seen as the school's endorsement of a particular set of beliefs."

"So you're opposed?"

Albus chose his words carefully, "Not opposed to the idea, but I don't think it's something we should undertake at this time."

"So you're opposed," Burton said, as though that settled the matter.

"Well, you and I are on the same side of this one, old boy," Fairborne said, looking mildly amused at the prospect.

"For wildly differing reasons, of course," Albus muttered, but no one seemed to hear him.

"The Headmaster is right," Fairborne said, addressing the group. "We ought to listen to him."

Albus blinked, then scanned the faces around the table. "Is this an attempt to use reverse psychology on me?"

In spite of himself, Burton chuckled. "No, but don't think I won't use that idea in the future." He folded his hands. "I think the matter is settled then. Sorry, Franklin."

And that was that.

The governors left one by one, some lingering longer than others. Despite his stated desire to get home to June, Fairborne was one of the last to remain. As Albus shuttled a quite elderly member of the board outside, he noted that Fairborne and Burton were still lingering in the castle, chatting amiably.

The main door opened, revealing the first clear sky they'd had in weeks. The moon was impossibly large, hanging high in the sky, casting cold white light over the wet grounds. Unable to resist the view Albus stepped outside himself, bidding farewell to his charge, who hobbled quickly toward the castle gates. Nearly free for the evening, Albus relaxed, breathing deeply in the suddenly crisp air.

"Where are you off to then, old boy?" said a voice off to his right. Fairborne had followed him outside. The bright moonlight cast him in shadow, making it hard to read his expression.

"I thought you were in a hurry to get home?" Albus said, purposely not answering the question. "You'd best get moving." He turned to walk off.

"Hold on just a minute." Fairborne started after him. "I've got a thing or two to say to you."

"And what, exactly, makes you think I'm interested in anything you have to say?" Albus glared at him. "You know, I keep waiting for you to tire of baiting me, to tire of this whole business - but I'll admit you have more staying power than I would have given your credit for."

"In more ways than one, I'd wager."

Albus felt his patience truly beginning to fray. "Am I surprised that she hasn't tossed you out on your ear? I suppose I am, though she's demonstrated that she doesn't have particularly good judgment."

"Because she walked out on you or because she eventually came back?"

"Or maybe because she jumped straight into your bed the first time the going got rough?"

"I did give you fair warning," Hayden pointed out mildly, refusing to take the bait. "You had to know that if you let her go I'd be there, waiting for my chance. I'd been wildly in love with her for years." He folded his arms. "You blame us, as though we're the ones who wrecked your chance at happiness. You did that all yourself. She would have done anything to make it up to you, and I would have gritted my teeth and born it if you had taken her back - but you didn't and it was probably the best favor you could have done her. You were rotten for her. Face it, old boy."

Albus refused to answer him and simply turned to go.

"It's not," Fairborne called after him, "that she didn't love you. She did, you know, terribly. It just wasn't enough to make the difference, you weren't enough."

Albus stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly. Fairborne smiled insolently at him.

"Well, now I have your attention." His expression shifted to something unreadable. "Come on then. Have a go. Take your best shot."

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

Which was, of course, when Hayden hit him.

It was a sucker punch, a wicked shot straight to his face that clearly and cleanly broke his nose. Albus didn't stop to think; he simply reacted - by returning the favor. Hayden, though, looked rather perversely pleased as Albus socked him in the gut.

"You don't get to come here, Fairborne," Albus said, pushing him away, "and just decide to have this out on your terms."

"Oh really? It seems to me that's just what we are doing."

They circled each other warily, though neither went for their wand. Yet.

"Why are you doing this? You won, I lost," Albus said. "Isn't that enough? I lost her and it nearly killed me. I'd almost died once already, after all - saving our collective hides, I might add - but I suppose none of that mattered..."

"You lost her long before that, old boy. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you never had her." He paused. "And, no, none of the rest of it mattered. You did what untold thousands have done before you. You did your bit. You don't get any special consideration for doing what you should have done, what we all would have done."

"You utter bastard," Albus said, and caught him across the jaw with a right-cross.

"You never loved her." Hayden spat blood, and shoved Albus away. "You never loved her, you loved some ridiculous picture of her that you'd been carrying around in your head since you were children. You never bothered to love the actual woman she's become, but you still thought you deserved to have her because you were just so bloody good."

Albus chose not to dignify that with a reply. He just rushed Hayden again and they went down in a tangle of swinging fists.

"She's happy with me, and that just eats you up, doesn't it?" Hayden said when they'd retreated to their respective corners again. "She loves me."

"Not enough. Clearly not enough to bother to have a child with you."

Hayden went white to the lips and dropped his guard.

"You don't know the first thing about it-" he began, and fell back with an 'oof' when Albus jabbed him viciously in the ribs.

Hayden set his feet, though, recovering himself long enough to kick Albus's legs out from under him, and down he went. His head smacked the hard ground sharply, and he lay there for a long moment blinking up at the stars and waiting for whatever Hayden was going to do next. He could hear labored breathing above him and the sound of slightly wobbly footsteps in the mud.

Rather unexpectedly, Hayden slid down to sit beside Albus on the wet ground. He reached out a hand and pulled Albus to sitting position. "Well, I suppose that's that. It's been a long time in coming. Feel better?"

Albus blinked again. "Not even a little!"

"Well, I feel quite improved. Your nose looks dreadful, though."

His nose was starting to throb very uncomfortably, and there was blood all over the front of his robes - both his and Hayden's. He pushed himself to his feet with an effort, the world spinning slightly away from him as he did so.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To Infirmary."

"You'll never make it alone." Hayden stood as well and offered him a hand.

Albus swatted him away, not very effectively.

"Enough of that," Hayden said patiently, slinging Albus's arm across his shoulders. "We've had a good honest fight, and now it's done."

"You are possibly the most infuriating person in the world," Albus replied, giving up and accepting the help.

"So I'm told, particularly by my loving wife."

"She does love you," he said, albeit a bit grudgingly.

"I'm very lovable," Hayden said, "flaws and all. She loved you, too, you know. I think a part of her always will love you." He sighed. "And I think I'm finally learning to live with that."

They lapsed into a silence that lasted the rest of their journey.

Poppy, the rather pretty matron's assistant, regarded them with a mixture of surprise and amusement when they limped into the Infirmary.

"Should I even ask who hit who first?"

"Oh, I hit him first," Hayden said lightly, easing Albus's weight down onto one of the empty beds. "It was very unsporting of me."

He sat down heavily on the bed opposite Albus. His left eye was beginning to swell rather badly and his lip was split and bleeding.

"I got you pretty good," Albus said.

"Same to you," Hayden replied, and Poppy abruptly yanked the privacy curtain closed between them.

"That's about enough of that," she said, pulling the other curtains and closing Albus in. "Luckily for you there aren't any students in here tonight, or you'd have a bit of explaining to do."

She left briefly and came back with a tray full of unpleasant- looking implements.

"Here, wipe that blood from your face." She handed him a damp cloth, and took a second look at his nose. "Oh dear. That's not going to heal right."

"It's far from the first time it's been broken, so no real loss there."

She worked in silence for a few minutes and he began to feel markedly better. She brought him a draft of something fizzy to drink, and waited for him to finish, before she said. "So, it's all true then - you and Hayden Fairborne and his wife. I rather thought it was just idle talk."

"It isn't all true. Though the uglier bits probably are," he admitted.

"And Metis McGonagall?"

"Those parts are most definitely not true."

"But there is a secret there," she mused, "just not the one we all thought." She smiled at him. "I normally hate night duty, but I'm awfully glad to have it tonight. It's been most instructive." She wrapped his possibly-broken right hand in something cool and his skin began to prickle. "You're just lucky the matron isn't on duty tonight, you know. She's the most terrible gossip."

"Unlike you, of course," he said dryly.

"I prefer to think of myself as curious." She smiled again. "The difference being that I won't tell anyone your secrets. You have my word on that."

*

The message came at midnight and roused June - and the entire household - from a fairly sound sleep. It said simply that there had been "an incident" at the school and asked politely - if not warmly - if she could come collect her husband.

Where Hayden was concerned, "an incident" could mean anything, up to and including an international skirmish of some sort.

June dressed quickly, very deliberately not thinking about what type of trouble Hayden was likely to have found at Hogwarts - and who else was probably involved.

"Michael? Fetch my coat, please. I have to go up to the school and see to Mr. Fairborne."

"Yes, madam." He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Of course, I would be more than happy to go in your stead..."

Good old Michael. She smiled at him. "I know you would, and don't think I don't appreciate it. But I've no idea what sort of trouble Hayden's got himself into, so I'd better go myself."

After what felt like an eternity, she found herself standing at the school's gates, worried sick about Hayden and desperate to get to him - and yet a bit reluctant to walk up to those imposing doors and knock. Even so, she took a breath, steeled herself and crossed the muddy grounds to the entrance.

Edmund Halley, who she'd known for years and always rather liked, greeted her at the door, somewhat less than cordially. Whatever else could be said about Albus, he inspired loyalty like no one else she'd ever known.

"It's nice to see you, Ed," she said, without much hope of a response in kind.

"Too bad it's because you've got yourself into such a bad spot," he replied, and she knew he was referring to more than just whatever trouble Hayden was in.

Without another word, Ed left her standing outside the headmaster's office like a student awaiting punishment. She tried to collect herself, to prepare for whatever Albus might have to say to her.

"Mrs. Fairborne is here," she heard Ed say. "I can take her up, if you'd like?"

"No, no. I'd better do it." That was Brionne Ivey, and if she was in charge of things then it meant Albus wasn't around for some reason. "The situation could be rather delicate."

Good lord, June thought, abruptly chilled. Hayden was dead or permanently injured, and they were trying to figure out how to tell her. Or worse, he'd killed Albus in a duel and they were shipping him off to Azkaban.

They were still speaking inside the office and she strained to hear.

"Are you going to let me in on what's really going on here, Bri?"

"Sorry, I can't. Show her in, won't you?"

"Those two are nothing but trouble," he said, and Brionne sighed.

"I can handle it."

The door opened, and June tried to look as though she hadn't been eavesdropping.

"Come in, June," Brionne said, as Ed left. "I'm sorry to have woken you and made you come all this way, but it did seem like the best option, given the circumstances." She closed the door and went to sit behind Albus's desk. "As I mentioned in my message, there's been an incident."

"Should I be sitting down?" June asked, suddenly aware that her hands were shaking, eyeing the bottle of whiskey on the desk. "Or doing something to steady my nerves?"

"No." Brionne looked at her closely. "My goodness, you're white as a sheet. It's nothing as serious as all that. It's just," she paused, considering her words, "a bit awkward and potentially embarrassing. I'd prefer to keep it from the faculty and students if at all possible."

Potentially embarrassing sounded more like the Hayden she knew and loved, so June allowed herself to relax just bit. She took a seat and folded her hands in her lap.

"Your husband and the headmaster had something of a disagreement this evening."

"About school business?"

Brionne's mouth quirked slightly to one side. "Ostensibly."

"I see."

"I'll bet," she murmured. "So there's really no way around it: they had their best go at beating each other to a pulp."

"But no one's been killed, or permanently disfigured?" June asked, not feeling quite as relieved as she might have expected.

"Not this time."

"Is Hayden all right? Can I see him?"

"Both of them are fine. Just a little banged up, and enjoying the accommodations in Infirmary at the moment. I can take you up there now, if you'd like." She hesitated a bit, though, as if there was something more she wanted to say, but didn't. "Shall we?"

They were halfway up one of the castle's winding staircases before Brionne spoke again.

"Look, it's probably not my place to say so, but this situation is-" She broke off, glancing sidelong at June.

"It's all right. You can be honest with me. It's no use pretending we don't all know what's really going on here."

Brionne watched her, considering for a moment, maybe trying to decide if June was telling the truth. She took a deep breath, decision made, and said, "All right then. This situation is monstrous. It reminds Albus every day of the mistakes he's made, of the things he's lost. It's entirely unfair to him. He's a good man, maybe even a great one."

"You really care about him, don't you?" June asked, feeling curiously unsettled by the fact.

"I love him, of course, but not that way. And lucky thing for me that I don't - that torch he's got burning for you isn't going away time soon," Brionne said, and then immediately looked as though she regretted it. "What I mean to say," she amended," is that I've already got three brothers. What's one more?"

"He's very lucky," June said, suddenly blinking back inexplicable tears. "He's lucky to have you; he's lucky to have all of you. All of the teachers and staff here are so loyal to him."

Brionne's expression softened a bit. "It's easy for us to be loyal to him. Like I said, he's a good man - but that alone doesn't make other relationships any less complicated."

They stopped outside the door to the Infirmary. June clasped Brionne by the hand briefly. "Thank you."

She just shrugged and pushed open the door. "Hello, Poppy. How are our patients faring?"

A pretty girl, nineteen or twenty at the most, stepped out from behind one of the curtains, wiping her hands on a cloth. "About how you'd expect, given how foolishly they've both behaved." She turned to June. "I imagine Mr. Fairborne will be pleased to see you, at any rate. This way..."

June followed her, while Brionne turned and twitched aside the curtain to the bed Poppy had just come from.

"You all right in there, Albus?" she heard Brionne ask. His reply was indistinct, but he didn't sound particularly happy.

"Here we are," Poppy said, leading June to the next bed over.

Hayden lay propped up on pillows, looking quite a bit worse for wear. His expression flitted briefly between guilt and panic when he saw June. He recovered neatly, though, putting on his most winning smile.

"My love," he said. "Even woken from your bed at the witching hour, you're still the loveliest woman in the world."

"Oh my, good luck with this one," Poppy said, and beat a hasty retreat.

June folded her arms across her chest, standing just out of his reach. Her gaze flicked up and down quickly, cataloging his injuries: a black eye, split lip, possibly a cracked rib or two. Lovely.

"Well," she said, "I suppose this shouldn't be a surprise, and yet I didn't actually believe you'd ever resort to physical violence."

"Something had to be done, my darling," he said, softly, and she knew they were both very aware that there was nothing but a thin fabric curtain between his bed and Albus's. "At least now it's out there in the open, in all its ugly glory. You, me, the Professor, all our sins remembered. None of us are blameless in this mess. We were selfish and scared and cruel; we made terrible mistakes - all of us."

"You've given this rather a lot of thought, haven't you?" Suddenly his bloody-minded insistence on joining the Board of Governors began to make a bit of sense. She moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I have." He looked uncharacteristically serious. "I know it's not very adult of me, but having the memory of him lingering in our lives was driving me slowly mad. I acted out. I needed to have it out, and I suspect he did, too. The dam's broken. I think things will be better now."

"Maybe," June said, not at all convinced. She took his hand in both of hers. "You frightened the life out of me, you know. I thought you'd killed him, or been killed yourself."

He smiled at her. "While I'd gladly die to make you happy, darling, I don't plan on doing it quite yet."

For the second time in the last few minutes, June felt tears threatening. "Well, good. If you went and died on me, I'd have to kill you."

"I'm not going anywhere without you," he said, leaning in and kissing the side of her forehead.

The tears spilled over and she wiped them away impatiently. "Hayden, you look terrible. What did he hit you with? A boulder? I can't imagine what you looked like before they got you in here."

He grimaced. "Actually, that supposed ministering angel hasn't quite got around to patching me up yet."

Of course not. Another one of Albus's loyal soldiers, no doubt.

"Serves you right," she said, not really meaning it.

He smiled at her and it looked like it hurt him to do it. "I'll admit, I did start it. I'll also admit that it felt rather satisfying to finally hit him after all these years. I'd wanted to do it for the better part of decade."

"And now?"

"He was rather a good sport about the whole thing." Hayden closed his eyes and lay back against the pile of pillows. "He's not such a bad old fellow, after all."

*

Much as Albus hated to credit Fairborne with being right about anything, relations between them did improve dramatically after their confrontation. Rather to Albus's dismay, in fact, he'd taken to stopping by the headmaster's office before meetings, usually with a bottle of "something decent" in tow.

"You really do have the most dreadful taste," Hayden said, kicking the door shut behind him and depositing a bottle of rather fine-looking gin on Albus's desk. "Something must be done about it."

"Is this part of your plan?" Albus asked, taking off his spectacles and massaging the bridge of his nose where the cartilage still hadn't quite healed from the impact of Hayden's fist. "To kill me with kindness?"

Hayden didn't reply immediately; he just raised an eyebrow enigmatically. After a long moment, though, he said, "I thought I'd made my intentions quite clear that night I broke your fist with my face. I intend to fix this mess we're in or die trying." He looked hard at Albus. "It would be a damn sight easier if you and my wife weren't both quite so stubborn."

Albus didn't have a response for that, so he just let Hayden continue.

"I've got to dash, but do tell me what you think of that gin." He turned to go. "Oh, and now that the weather's turned fine, the mater is having a grand old house party. You're more than welcome to join us, of course."

"It is nice that we've mostly ceased hostilities, but let's not force the issue."

"At least come by for cocktails on Friday." He waved away any further protest, heading for the door. "It's settled. We'll see you Friday at five o'clock sharp. Cheers then, old boy."

"Oh, go to hell," Albus said, but without as much fire as he once would have - and when Friday came around, he actually did show up for drinks.

The Fairbornes' country house was not, as Albus might have expected, a grand old manor. Instead, it was relatively new, particularly by wizarding standards, and rather smart.

"Well," Hayden said, when Albus was shown in, "I didn't really think we'd see you today, despite my best efforts." He snagged two martinis from a passing tray. "Make yourself at home, have a drink, and I'll introduce you to my mother."

Albus had never met Vivienne Fairborne in person, though his own mother had spoken of her often. She'd been the belle of the social scene in her day. He knew that she'd been quite beautiful then, and that she'd married a handsome but rather unsuitable man who'd died young and tragically, and had left her to raise a son all alone.

In person, she was still quite striking and gracious. If she was surprised at Albus's presence, she didn't show it, saying only, "Ah, Professor Dumbledore. I have heard quite a bit about you. I'm so glad you could join us."

The party was nice enough, though not really Albus's sort of thing. After about an hour of polite inquiries after mutual friends and light talk about the weather, he disentangled himself and made his escape into the empty music room for a brief respite. The sun was setting on the horizon just beyond the wide windows. He leaned against the grand piano and watched it, relaxing for the first time all afternoon. He heard a soft footfall behind him then and turned to see who was there.

"Oh," June said, stopping in her tracks. "I didn't know anyone was in here."

She looked lovely as ever, and it still had power over him, much as he might not want to admit it to himself. He didn't quite know what to say to her. He just shook his head and moved toward the door, intending to leave.

"Wait," she said. "Stay a moment. I'll fix you a drink."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"Albus, please. Sit."

He complied, and she went over to the bar and began filling glasses with ice. "What would you like?"

"Whatever you're having is fine."

"Don't be polite."

"Fine, then. Scotch, two ice cubes."

She raised an eyebrow, surprised, but made it anyway and made a second for herself.

"I'm not sure why," he said while her back was turned, "but it's suddenly quite important to your husband that we all patch things up."

"It is important to him, very important. He's tired of being haunted by our past mistakes," she sounded terribly sad, but he couldn't see her face. "And, honestly, so am I." She handed him the scotch and sat down beside him. "I remember a time when you wouldn't touch this stuff."

He hadn't been this close to her in years. He noticed she still wore the same perfume.

"I still prefer something sweet, but I've found it's better not to admit that in polite company."

"We've both changed a lot, haven't we?"

"And some things," he said, watching the expression on her face carefully, "some things don't change at all."

"I guess maybe they don't." She wouldn't quite look at him, looking instead down at the ice in her drink. After a moment, she said, "Do you think you can ever forgive us?" She reached for his hand, and he didn't push her away. "Maybe someday?"

He looked down at their hands, her fingers curled around his. "Maybe someday. Maybe someday I can even forgive myself."

He looked up at her again. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "It's hurt me, you know, these last few years, knowing that you hated me so much."

He really had. He'd been so angry, with her, with Hayden, with himself, with the whole world. But now, seeing her here, still hurting for him after so long, it was hard to keep hating her.

He felt suddenly very, very tired.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't say I'm sorry for all of it, but I'm sorry we wound up this way. I'm sorry for hurting you so badly."

He didn't reply. She stood, silhouetted against the doorway, her jewelry glowing in the lamplight. "I'm glad you came tonight; so is Hayden. It's long past time we all tried to put this to rights."

"I can't make any promises, you know," he said. "But I will try."

"To someday then," she said, finishing her drink, and walked through the open door.

Additional Disclaimer: The chapter titles and epigrams are taken from songs by Miles Davis, Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler, Rube Bloom & Ted Koehler, Morton Krouse, Cole Porter and Leroy Carr and Don Raye -- and at one point Hayden quotes Paul Valery. Yes, really.