So this was a "oh my god I have an idea and wrote it in 10 minutes" story - so I apologise for any typing errors.

Set between Order of the Phoenix and Half Blood Prince - Albus returns to Hogwarts for one night and is confronted by an angry Minerva who feels she is being left out of the loop in regards to fighting Voldermort.

Talking About Death

They were eating soup, a rather poor choice for an August evening. Practically alone in the castle, as they were every year, only this time was different. He'd hardly spent a day there since the end of term. She'd been alone. Her, the ghosts and Filch, who still bore a grudge over the whole Umbridge incident. And she was still limping on her left leg but refused to use that ridiculous cane Mungo's had given her. She was hardly an invalid.

"I probably won't be here when you get up in the morning," he said nonchalantly, turning the page of his newspaper.

She put her spoon down, giving up the pretence of eating. Pushing her bowl away she folded her hands on the table and watched him, the way his eyes never left the article he was reading, how he occasionally dribbled soup down his beard because he wasn't paying attention.

She shook head, annoyed, everything he did right now seemed to annoy her, anger her.

"Why did you invite me for dinner?"

"Hmm?"

She gestured with her hands, "I was just wondering, why invite me for dinner, you obviously have no interest in talking to me so why am I here. Is it out of some delusional need to remind yourself I exist or an attempt to remind the both of us of our wedding vows?"

"Minerva," he said lowly, glancing over the top of his glasses at her. "You know how things are."

"Yes, I always know how things are, don't I."

She got up from the table, deliberately swishing her black robes as she moved from the dining area and stood by the fire. Without roaring embers it seemed dead. A picture of the two of them together had central position on the marble mantelpiece, she was only 23 in it, it seemed forever ago and she looked so happy. He was whispering something to her and she was giggling and blushing simultaneously. It had been a long time since they'd laughed together. And a very long time since he'd made her blush.

"Minerva," he said again, she knew he wasn't stood far behind her, close enough to touch.

"It's alright; I'll be alright," she said, straightening her back, "just... a little emotional tonight."

"Unlike you." He said too quickly.

She shot round to look at him, "Are you saying I'm cold?"

He shook his head, "Are you spoiling for an argument? Because I'm not really in the mood for it, I came home to try and have one night off, one night in my own bed – with you."

"Why won't you talk to me?"

"We were eating dinner. We often eat dinner in silence, we long ago moved past the need to fill every silence with innate babble, did we not."

"No Albus, we long ago got to the point where you stopped sharing things with me. Stopped talking to me."

"Isn't a bit selfish to start raising marital troubles at a time like this?"

"Oh go to hell Albus!" Without thinking she swiped her arm along the mantelpiece, a few pieces of china clattering to the floor, smashing on the marble, the picture flying across the room and thudding harshly against the polished floor.

They both watched as the frame splintered and scattered, the picture inside crushed.

"I can fix it," he said softly but made no attempt to move.

"Don't bother," she replied, heading past him to the private door out of his quarters and into his office.

"Minerva," he reached to grab her arm but she moved past him too quickly, collecting her carpet-bag from the couch. "Damn it Minerva, will you stop."

"Forgive me if I'm not really in the mood for sharing your bed tonight."

"My dear that's not what I..."

She was already unlocking the door, wordlessly using the incantation, he moved quickly behind her, locking it again.

"Don't do that." She unlocked it again, twisted the handle.

"Don't storm out." He locked it again, his hand on top of hers.

"Do you have to forever prove how much more powerful you are than me?" There was an element of spite in her voice; he hadn't heard it in years.

"I'm not, stay, you want to talk then we'll talk. Let's finish dinner together."

"I'm not hungry."

It hadn't passed his attention how much weight she'd lost recently, how frail she looked when he'd met her on the stairs earlier that evening and drawn her into a fierce hug.

He leaned closer, his body touching hers, she sighed, dropping her head back, eyes closed.

"This is ridiculous."

He didn't reply but buried his face in her neck, surrounding himself with her scent; his hand slipped from hers on the door handle and instead circled her waist pulling her impossibly tight against him.

"Stay."

She dropped the carpet bag.

"So, you want to tell me why you're so angry with me?" He asked a little while later, handing her a large single malt.

"You mean besides the fact I haven't heard from you in almost three weeks."

"I didn't know if I could trust the means of communication."

"To me? After all these years of our secret communicating you mean."

"Don't bring that up now Minerva," he sank at the other end of the couch from her. Fine examples of their very natures, her upright and perfectly poised at one end, he slouched back with his legs up at the other.

She cast him a dark look, before taking a good swig of her drink. "I would think, with all your skills, you could at least let me know you're alive."

There it was, the root of the problem, as he'd always feared.

"You know, Minerva, thirty-eight years ago..."

"Thirty-nine," she corrected, "as of six days ago."

"Shit..." he breathed, "I'm sorry."

"So am I." She took another gulp of the liquor. "You've never forgotten before. We've never missed one."

He was silent, he had to shoulder the blame for that one, but she couldn't deny the situation was unique.

"Thirty-nine years ago," he continued, "when we married, I told you then, warned you..."

"Warned me?" She shot back. "Warned me! What am I, some burden round your neck!"

"Don't lose your temper."

"Don't bloody-well patronise me then! We discussed it Albus, like rational human beings who were very much in love. I know of the dangers, I knew then and I know now. We can't be in the open, haven't I always accepted that."

He breathed deeply, "Are."

"What?"

"You said 'were' in love, I'd like to think 'are'."

This time she sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head, "Well, of course 'are', I didn't mean that."

He touched her hip with his foot; he was wearing the socks she'd given him only last Christmas.

"My dear, we both knew when we married that one day I would have to do this, and that I might not come back. Logistically I am going to die before you."

"I'd rather not find out in the Daily Prophet though." She sulked.

"I know, and I'd rather not die out there, I'd rather it was a stroke as I slept in our warm, comfy bed. Or even better, in our bed with you..."

"...I get the idea, I'm not sure that would be entirely beneficial to me though."

He shrugged, "Unlikely to be in the Prophet though."

"Don't joke about things like this."

"You know I don't fear death."

"I know, neither do I, but I fear not being able to say goodbye to you."

"Do it now." He shrugged.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous!"

She hardly ever swore, he was a little shocked; perhaps he'd underestimated the depth of her mood tonight. He watched as she got up and refilled her glass, downing the small shot in one before pouring a considerably larger drink.

She stretched her back, rolled her shoulders and shrugged her cloak off, dropping it over the easy chair that stood near the bookcase, his chair. They'd made love in that chair after the Yule ball. She was tipsy on the punch Hagrid had made for the staff and had insisted on having him there and then. He hadn't complained.

When she turned back to face him he noted the long black dress, how well it fitted her figure, skimming each line just as he liked to do with his fingertips.

"Minerva," he held his arms out for her, "come here."

She tilted her head to one side regarding him, just like a cat he thought. "I'm not sure a cuddle will fix this one Albus."

He dropped his arms, chastised. "Then what will? Because I'm struggling here." He glanced at the clock. "It's about seven hours before I have to head out again and I don't know when I'll be able to come home again this summer..."

"So what? So let's brush over how I feel and just go to bed, pretend everything is okay for one night?"

"Yes," he said honestly, "why not? We have so little to rejoice in at the moment, why not have a night where we forget?"

"I can't," she drank deeply again, he noticed she swayed a little as she headed back to the couch.

He dropped his feet to the floor, shuffling closer to her.

"Do you realise I haven't slept in almost three days."

Her shoulders sagged, she didn't want to hear this, she didn't want to feel guilty.

"I miss being here, Hogwarts, my rooms, being near you. And even when I find someplace safe to rest my head I have terrible, vivid dreams."

"I know, I know." She covered her face briefly. "Albus, I know how you suffer. But sometimes..." she groaned frustrated.

"Just say it."

"Sometimes you make it so bloody hard! Sitting up here, in there," she pointed through to his office. "With all this information, all these theories and ideas and worries and you never share them, you never share the burden. Not with the Order, certainly not with me. Regardless of me being your wife, I'm meant to be your second-in-command aren't I? The person you trust the most."

"I do trust you, never doubt that." He squeezed her leg but she pushed him off.

"No, I do doubt it. I know nothing of where you've been, of what you're doing. I have an inclination you're searching for something, but what I don't know, for fucks sake Harry probably knows more than I do."

"Because it will come down to him knowing!" His voice was stronger now.

"Yes, and he's a boy! Just a boy! And I don't want him to die."

"You think I do?"

He stared hard at her, blue eyes blazing.

She shrugged; finally, she couldn't really answer. "I don't know. I'm not sure I know who you are anymore."

He sank back from her, his heart aching just a little bit more.

"I'm not saying that to hurt you."

"You believe I'd use him that way."

"I believe you don't think you have a choice, that there isn't another way."

"I'm trying to find another way damn it! I wouldn't harm him, if I could stop this, if I thought that by me fighting Voldermort I could spare him then I'd be there now doing it."

She shuddered at the thought. Albus was strong, but he was getting older and Voldermort... she wasn't sure. He'd fought him before and survived, but she feared in the end...

"I'd fight with you." She finally said. The only thing she could say.

"I know that. I've always known that."

She pulled her legs up onto the couch, tucking them beneath her as she curled back, beside him again.

"I need you to talk to me." She said quietly. "Because I feel I have no idea what's happening, what's going on in your head, what I can do to help."

"Everything you're doing helps. You run this school Minerva, not me, you keep it functioning whilst I'm out doing all this... You know my head hasn't been here for the past two years."

"Yes. And I have no problem with carrying this."

"Then that's enough," he said cutting her off. "Knowing you're here means I know the students are safe, Hogwarts is safe, believe me Minerva I never doubt your powers. You're the most powerful witch I've ever come across."

"You are slightly biased."

"Perhaps." He smiled lightly, "Perhaps part of me is selfish too. I don't want you there fighting him beside me, I fear..." he closed his eyes. "I fear if he sees how I look at you in that moment, if he happened to invade my mind, my soul, he'd know how deeply I love you. So deeply it almost pains me. And he'd use it. He wouldn't just kill you. He'd damage you. He'd do things to you I can't..." he swallowed, his mouth dry, "I've had nightmares about what he might do, I've seen what Tom Riddle can do."

She covered his hands with her own, finishing her drink.

"Do you think..." she whispered after a while. "Do you think that you'll be back in September?"

"I really don't know."

She cleared her throat,"Do you think that you'll survive this time?"

He took longer this time, folding her slender fingers in his, "No. Not this time."

She gasped, holding back the tears.

"We always knew..." he started again but she stopped him, her hand reaching to cover his mouth and silence him.

"Knowing that one day you'll die before me and then suddenly being faced with the reality of never seeing you again are hardly the same things Albus. And I need some time to grieve. And we both know I won't have it. When the moment comes. If you die before this is over, before he's defeated..."

"Very likely."

A fresh set of tears ran down her face, "Then the wizarding world will be in chaos and somehow I've got to hold it together and keep the school going."

"And you will." He turned more to face her, "And don't even for a second put up a fight Minerva, whatever happens, don't go out there seeking revenge for me, not openly. Don't risk yourself or the school for it. You'll know when the time is for the fight, and we both know you'll do it admirably. But don't give him reason to target you. Harry will need you here, steadfast and strong."

"I hate that you're always right," she finally snuffled, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He smiled, sadly, "One of the perils of being so damned clever."

"And pompous."

This time he laughed, kissing her head. "You keep me in line. Still angry with me?"

"Furious! You haven't seen me for three weeks and you order soup for dinner and ignore me as we eat it."

"That was the starter, I ordered fish for main. I know how much you like it."

She whacked him with a pillow, still crying, silently, against his arm.

"You have no idea how much I'll miss you." She said gently.

"Oh, I think I do. You've been the person I've loved most Minerva, above all others."

She needed to hear that.

"I don't tell you things because I want to handle this alone, or because I don't trust you. I don't tell you because the less you know the less likely you are to be useful to him... alive and imprisoned."

She closed her eyes, his words seemed harsh but then she was intelligent enough to know it was the truth. Albus had always been able to separate his feelings, his love for her, from his duty. She'd struggled with that at times, but as the years had gone on she'd aged and learnt love wasn't the overwhelming force she thought it in her youth. She'd found ways to box her feelings, putting different elements of her being into different boxes and only opening them at specific times. Like now. She never cried in front of anyone but Albus, and even then the times had been few.

"I want to go to bed." She said sometime later.

"You're drunk." He was rubbing her back soothingly; he could feel her bra through the light summer material of her dress.

"Yes." She agreed.

"I might take advantage."

"Go right ahead, but..."

"But?"

She looked up at him, took his glasses of, "First of all, forget this 'I have seven hours off' business, I want a full day," she held her finger up to silence any protests. "Ah, one day, with your wife in the summer holidays." He nodded, relenting, "And, number two, don't die on me during sex because I'll bloody well kill you."

He was still laughing when she took her dress off, unpinned her hair and crawled on top of him.

A bit more angsty from me (my 1st ADMM fight) but I rather enjoyed writing it - I hope you enjoyed reading - please leave me a message and let me know!