Minerva McGonagall shut the door behind her and leaned wearily against the wall. Exam time had always been stressful to her, even as a teacher. And now, with both her regular duties combined with that of Headmistress, it was right exhausting. Minerva had been desperately looking for a new professor to take up the subject of Transfiguration, yet deep down a part of her was grateful the search had proved fruitless. Even though she was down to only four hours of sleep a night, sometimes less, she loved spending her days in that old classroom.

The Headmistress's office was welcoming, as always. Ancient wizards and witches snoozed in their portraits, some genuinely, some merely hoping for a tidbit of gossip. It had been three years now since Dumbledore's fall, but Minerva had changed very little in this room. She sat down at the desk and began to rub her temples. She had an awful migraine, but didn't want to bother Poppy this late over something trivial. Some tea would be nice, especially combined with a long rest. Minerva loosened the band that kept her bun together and let her hair fall. The relief on her scalp was instantaneous. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again with a sigh. No time for rest. With a wave of her wand a small, leather bound book flew from a high shelf and onto the desk. Another tap, a flurry of pages, and the planner opened to the current date.

Minerva froze. The seventh. It was the seventh. How had she forgotten? How could she possibly have….

"You finally remembered," a voice whispered behind her. Minerva didn't jump, didn't turn around. She knew that voice without having to look, knew it like the back of her hand. The supple, boyish tone of it, the Russian accent. She closed her eyes and sat very still. It had been years, yet why was she unsurprised? She hadn't expected him to come, yet here he was. Her heart, thumping painfully, told her that it had known all along.

"Yes. I remembered."

"Good evening Minerva," he replied, courteous as always. She clenched her fists to the chair and turned around.

Of course, Alexei hadn't changed. Tall and lithe. Straight brows, wide eyes, full lips. A small dimple in his chin, ears that were nearly pointed, perfect cheekbones. That small mole in his neck, shoulder length curls. There were the abnormalities, too- unusually pale skin, startling red lips, and richly colored maroon eyes.

"Good evening…" she stuttered.

Alexei walked out from the shadows and kneeled before Minerva. He grabbed her hand, and kissed it.

"I've missed you."

His fingers were so smooth, so long and agile. Against them, her own wrinkled hand looked mutilated and grotesque. This was exactly why she'd sent him away. Anger and shame bubbled in her stomach. She pulled back and turned her head, ignoring the injured look in his eyes.

"You're so very calm, Alexei. So close. Who was it tonight? A Muggle villager? A dog? A child?"

"Don't do this, Minerva." She could clearly make out the sad strain in his voice. So familiar, so many miles away.

"Foolish boy," she whispered. "Why did you come back?"

"It's been so long…I've followed the papers. Followed the Dark Lord's rise. His fall. The continued circle, ended by that boy, The Chosen One. He was in your House, I believe?"

Minerva nodded slowly. "Yes. Noble, brave. The two of you would have gotten along once," she said, not needing a change in her tone to put emphasis on the last word.

Alexei grabbed her hand again, and this time she didn't pull away from the cold touch. Still, she kept her eyes on the fall wall.

"I am still brave. I came tonight, didn't I?"

Torturously slow, Minerva turned to face him. "Yes. Yes, you came. But why, Alexei? Has this damnation of an existence changed your hobbies from music and mountain climbing to tormenting old women?"

Alexei chuckled. "Of course not. And you will never be old to me, Minerva."

"What about when I'm dead, Alexei. What will I be to you then?"

Silence. His beautiful face, still frozen in its seventeen year old features, twisted with a sadness that was far, far older.

"Dust."

Minerva nodded, removed her hand from his, and stood up. She walked to the window and stared out at the velvet sky, peppered with glittering stars. So peaceful. Hard arms twisted around her waist; a chin on her shoulder, and he was whispering in her ear.

"So familiar. So many years ago, the night was just like this one. Do you remember? We snuck away from your family's summer house, into the trees. To our spot. I can still see those flowers, hear that little brook. We held each other. Promised each other…"

Minerva's hands were shaking. "And the next day you were bit," she spat. Who was she angry at? Alexei? Maybe for coming here tonight, but not for his fate. He didn't choose it. He was a victim. They both were victims.

"Don't think about that part. I try not to. Just remember."

Minerva's fingers moved behind her to touch Alexei's hair, almost on their own accord. She closed her eyes.

They were both seventeen. Holding hands, running through the forest, the night sounds a song of temporary freedom. How many times since they'd first met did they sneak out in the late hours? How many times had they made love? It seemed the number of the stars couldn't compare. He was a poor Muggle, a farmer's boy. She was wealthy, and a witch. He didn't care. Russia's summer nights were cool, and as soon as they pushed away the low trees to reveal a secret place, one only they knew, body heat and passionate words warmed them.

His hair was lighter then, chestnut brown, skin the color of milky tea. His eyes were blue like the ocean, and his voice on the breeze was more beautiful than any church bell.

She waved her wand, conjuring a soft light so he could be seen.

"Only a week, now," she whispered. They were alone, with no need for silence. Yet low voices seemed necessary, sacred. "It's so soon, and we'll be gone. I don't want to leave you."

He chuckled, kissed her lips. "Oh, darling. Do you not know me at all? Do you think I would give up so easily?" A wooden ring appeared from his pocket. It was warm when he slipped it onto her finger.

"I want you forever."

She smiled mischievously. "Forever is a long time. Can you handle it?"

"Without a doubt."

Tears ran down Minerva's face. Forever is a long time. She couldn't imagine how true those words had been.

"How can I forget, Alexei? Forget the screams, and the blood? Forget what you became?"

She turned around to face him, pressed her hands to his cheeks. Alexei covered them with his own.

"You learned self control. We had our years together, yes. But I sent you away. I sent you away for a reason. You'll never change, never age. It's your fate and your curse. I am old- will die soon. Unlike you. It would never…it wasn't…"

Minerva hated losing her control. Hated breaking down. She took a calming breath, then stepped away from what had once been her saving grace, and was now only hell.

"Please leave," she said. "Please, Alexei. And don't come back."

His eyes filled with moisture. The blood-tears dripped down his face as he whispered, "I will always love you."

Alexei kissed her lips swiftly, before she could stop him, and then swung himself out of the window, becoming only another shadow in the night.

Minerva sat down on the window sill and covered her face in her hands, sobs racking her body like an earthquake. Forever is a long time.

She rubbed the smooth wood of the ring on her finger, and silently thanked the night sky for her mortality.