"Albus?"

"Yes, Minerva?"

"You know that I do trust you?"

"Yes," he answered, and the tiniest twinkle came into eyes that were the sunshine blue of the summer sky above them.

"And you know that I rarely question your decisions?"

He managed - just - to turn the involuntary snort into a passable cough. "Oh, absolutely," he said with a remarkably straight face. "You follow my orders without demur, Minerva McGonagall."

She arched her eyebrow but refused to take the bait, being intent on her original line of questioning. 'Then I may believe that you will not take offense at my next question, since I offer it without any sense of complaint or doubt?"

"You may ask me anything you ever wish to, my Minerva," Albus said tenderly, stopping their stroll and turning to face her. His smile was full of loving pride and a deep joy as he looked at her in the glorious mid-morning light. Sunlight shone on the braided hair; the lovely rose flush on her cheek; most of all, the smile in her own eyes, as she looked at him with love. He thought his heart would burst, it was so full of joy. He knew of only one way to express it, and rejoiced that he now could. Drawing her towards him, he blithely ignored her startled look and kissed her.

Her cheeks were even rosier when he finally raised his head. "Albus!"

He didn't remove his hands from her waist, but instead held her close. Despite her scolding tone, Minerva inwardly acknowledged that she never felt so happy than within his arms. But there were proprieties to be observed, and even now, it just wasn't appropriate -

He kissed her again, and proprieties forgotten in the wonder of it, she kissed him back.

Eventually, breathless, she gave up on trying to frame her question politely, and just asked it. "Albus, why are we in the graveyard?"

He took her hand and led her a few steps further on before answering her. "Because today of all days, my Minerva, I wanted to offer my most profound thanks."

Her face softened in understanding. Nearby were the white glimmering headstones of Dilys Derwent and Armando Dippet, who had both decided against marking their respective house colours on their tomb. Others however had not, such as the large ruby tomb of Fortescue, and the gleaming yellow topaz which housed the body that Muggles thought was in a tomb in Westminster Abbey. Other headstones of sapphire blue, white marble, yellow and red dotted the grounds, but only one was truly individual in this sacred ground where all were finally equal. Directly before them was the green malachite headstone of the only Slytherin headmaster of Hogwarts.

Moved by an impulse that she did not understand, Minerva plucked a rose from the bouquet in her hand, and placed it on the grassy mound under which Phineas Nigellus lay. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you all, for my life."

Albus took out his wand and pointed it at the flower. "Crescere."

The red rose grew roots which burrowed of their own accord into the ground. Leaves sprouting rapidly, the newly grown rosebush stood up, small, bushy and healthy, a living plant that rapidly covered both grave and much of the headstone, leaving only the gold engraved words of the headstone to glimmer brightly in the sun.

Then the budding roses bloomed - but instead of blooming red like the original flower, they bloomed pure white. The grave was a mass of living white, save for the green stone at its head. The scent that rose from the flowers was unlike anything Minerva had ever smelt from a rose before. Sweet, piquant, and beautiful.

Albus looked at his wand, then at the roses again, in total puzzlement. "I only meant for the rose to become a rosebush. Phineas once told me he liked flowers only when they were kept on the bush. But for the roses to bloom, and to change their colour - I have never seen that happen before."

Minerva was likewise baffled. "I don't understand it," she confessed.

He raised his wand to try to correct the spell, but Minerva was quick to pull his hand down. "They look - and smell - lovely as they are, Albus. Best to leave it, I think."

He studied it consideringly for a moment, still bothered by the fact that his spell had not worked as it should; but he could not gainsay her words. "A happy accident, you feel?"

"Something like that." The strange impulse that had led her to place the flower on the grave of a man whose portrait had always been unpleasant to her (and to everyone else as well) was still guiding her. She had a strong disinclination to alter the sudden beauty of his resting place. "We had best be moving on," she said briskly. "It's nearly noon, and we have a fair way to walk yet."

"Indeed," Albus agreed. But he stayed there still, searching for the right words.

How could he express his gratitude to the dead? Words addressed to empty air did not seem capable of carrying the full weight of his emotion; there could be no fervent clasp of hands, no meeting of understanding eyes which could express more than the longest speech ever could. He was struck dumb by his need to say the right thing to these people who had made the final sacrifice to give back to him - everything that made his life worthwhile.

Finally he spoke simple truth, an echo of her earlier words. "Thank you all, for my life."

Tears stood out in Minerva's eyes and she blinked them back resolutely. The scent of the new flowers hung in the air around them like a sweet benediction, and the graveyard seemed suddenly a remarkably friendly place in the bright sunshine.

But as they turned to leave, Minerva cast a puzzled glance backward. It had been some years since she had visited Hogwart's graveyard, but she could have sworn that the last time she had been there, the tombs of Dilys Derwent and Armando Dippet had been separated by several other gravestones - not side by side.

*******************************************************************

They moved towards a pavilion set up some distance away. Banners moved gently in the soft breeze, and the hum of a large crowd gathered around the pavilion became slowly audible.

Suddenly Albus stopped. She looked at him, startled.

"Cold feet?" The question came out of her before she could think.

"Never," he answered immediately, and her heartbeat began to calm down. "But before we go any further, my Minerva, I would ask you a question."

"Ask it," she said promptly.

"Minerva, why did you put yourself at such risk in performing that spell on Peter Pettigrew?" Albus burst out. "You had to have known how dangerous Permanent Transfiguration would be to you. Why was he worth such a risk?"

His blue eyes were troubled and demanding. It was obvious that, even though months had passed since her illness had been cured, the tension and worry of that time still lingered in him. She had acted at the time without real thought, and she took some time in answering, wanted to make clear to both of them what had driven her actions on that terrible night.

"I think," she said slowly, "that I felt responsible. Peter was my student, one of my boys; I knew him as an eleven year old, terrified of the dark. I remember him chasing after Sirius and James, ready to be their whipping boy if it meant being accepted. If I had done something then, back when I watched and saw the wrongness of it all, yet did nothing, then perhaps he would not have grown into the despicable crawling traitor he became.

"That night, watching him ready to betray anyone and anything in order to save himself - I was revolted at him. And I was revolted at myself, for the part I played in shaping him. That night, I felt it was worth anything and everything if it meant making him into something cleaner than the wretched human being he was.

"Then I remembered that spell. We were both Animagi. It seemed utterly right that I make whatever sacrifice was needed to reshape his life, since I had failed to help him back when he could have been helped."

They were both silent. Then Albus spoke gravely. "As someone once told me, Minerva, you are not responsible for another person's acts. He was the author of his own life, as are we all." He drew her towards him and gently kissed her forehead. "Never do it again, beloved."

She touched his face lightly. "I have too much to lose now."

Hand in hand, they moved towards the pavilion. Many happy and excited faces greeted them as they walked the long corridor; Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, other students of the past, students of today in awe of the legends they stood near. As they came closer to the beribboned tent, the faces became older; Amelia Bones smiled and nodded to them both as they passed by, Pomona Sprout wept unashamedly into a massive bouquet of hothouse flowers, while Poppy Pomfrey and Filius Flitwick tried to hide their tears behind colorful handkerchieves. Professor Vector stood behind them, in the ghostly company of Professor Binns, each trying hard to look dignified and unemotional - but their tremulous smiles and rapidly blinking eyes gave them away. Finally, at the center of the pavilion, on a raised white stage, stood Irma Pince and Severus Snape, both clad in formal golden robes and looking unexpectedly nervous.

But neither Albus nor Minerva felt any trace of nerves. It seemed absolutely natural and right to step up onto the stage, the whiteness of it mirroring their own robes and the flowers in Minerva's hair; to move in front of Severus and Irma and face one another, both of Minerva's small hands clasped in Albus's larger ones.

The twin streams of fire that shot out of Irma and Severus's wands were silvery bright. They wrapped around the enjoined hands of Minerva and Albus and clung tightly, growing brighter and brighter as the two spoke together.

"Beloved thou art,

Beloved shalt ever be

Beloved in all of memory

So long as light endures

So long as love endures

So shall I be for thee."

On the utterance of the last syllable, the soft radiance of the light around them became blindingly intense, as the intricate knot of the spell settled into them both. As the light dimmed, then faded, they turned to face their friends.

And the air was split with cheers.