A/N:: This is another story that started out many months ago that left me questioning where the plot was going to go. That said, the plot is a pretty simple one. Also, I'm not usually very fond of first person POVs, but I found that I could not write this in any other way.

Leaving Things Unsaid

If I didn't know any better, I would swear to you that I can feel Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes bearing down onto my soul whenever he looks at me. It is as if he can see something within me that no one else can see. I dare not voice this thought to anyone, however− least of all to Albus himself.

"What are you thinking, Minerva?" Albus asks me suddenly after a few moments of comfortable silence between us.

The question is a simple one, but he asks it as if he somehow already knows the answer. I pause for a moment before answering, hoping that he will not know I am trying to avoid telling him that it is really him that I am thinking of. It is as if he is the weakness that causes me to lose my Gryffindor courage.

"I was thinking of grading a few more papers before I go to bed," I finally reply.

This is not entirely false. I really had been thinking of that sometime earlier…

"That is one of the things I love the most about you, my dear," Albus says with a smile.

Before you become overly enthusiastic, disgusted, or however else you would normally feel at a moment like this, allow me to remind you that I have never once questioned the idea that Albus Dumbledore loves me. He is a man who loves his friends, after all, and you must remember that I am indeed his friend.

"What about me?" I ask.

"Your self-discipline," he replies with a chuckle. "I've never had much of it, myself."

"You, Albus? I would never have imagined."

"Oh, yes," he sighs, "But thanks to you, I have managed to learn."

"Really?" I ask, arching an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"Let's just say you are a good influence," he says with a smile.

I nod politely. I am not certain that I understand what he is trying to say, but I think it wise not to question him on it.

"Perhaps I should go," I tell him after a brief silence, preparing to make an excuse about it being late but finding myself wishing he could come up with a reason I should stay.

"Must you?" he asks as a small frown forms on his face.

"I think it would be best. It's getting late."

"Well, goodnight, my dear."

I cannot help but smile. Even after all these years, it still softens my heart whenever he calls me his "dear."

"Goodnight, Albus."

I know that look on his face; I've seen it too many times to have missed it. He knows that there is so much we are leaving unsaid between us. He wants to confess to me how he feels, but he needn't worry− the look in his eyes convey more emotions than words alone could ever do. Yes, I know that look because I feel it too, and I know it is mirrored upon my own face and in my own eyes.

Albus gazes at me momentarily as if he is going to say something, but he seems to change his mind and simply nods to me instead. I manage to smile back to him before I move to my feet to leave the room. Someday, perhaps, I will tell him how I feel, but I am not certain of when that will be…

Then again, if I love him, what business is it of his?

THE END

A/N:: The last line is a variation of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's quote "If I love you, what business is it of yours?"