Another OOTP inspired scene - just because it's my favourite book! Set after Dumbledore has fled the castle and is in hiding - he pays Minerva a midnight visit.
Some lemoness to this - and possibly a bit of angst too, not entirely sure its straightforward romance... Not entirely M rated but just to be safe making it so.
"You know this isn't a good idea," Aberforth said, shining his wand towards Albus' face. "You're asking for trouble."
Albus's shoulders sank as he contemplated his words, feeling a little like a teenager being caught sneaking out.
"If they find you..."
"They won't." He said defiantly, certainly. Before sighing, "I need to see her."
"The allure of Ms McGonagall is something you can't easily resist... not even when she was sixteen years old."
"Don't bring that up; it's not a time I'm proud of." He sank into a chair across from his brother, "she'll... relax me, help me see things more clearly."
"Ever the support ey, the strength behind the throne."
"Don't talk about her like that."
Aberforth downed his whisky before quickly pouring another, "I've just always wondered what's in it for her. An absent husband, a secret life, or no kind of life."
"Aberforth," Albus' voice had taken on a warning tone, "this is our business, we've coped perfectly well for the last forty-two years."
"Congratulations." He said raising his glass to him.
"Oh I don't know why I get into these conversations with you, especially when you're inebriated."
"Me neither. How you planning on getting in?"
Albus smiled now, "It's been my school for a very long time, I have my ways." He got up, heading for the door down to the cellar.
"I won't wait up," Aberforth called after him.
Whilst making the walk from the Hog's Head to Hogwarts Albus couldn't help but mull over his brother's words; as always Aberforth knew how to hit a nerve, it was his number one talent it seemed.
He was right; Minerva had always been something of a 'go to' for Albus, his constant, his security. No matter what she was always there, no matter how long he'd been away or what perils or greatness he'd faced she was there. Running things. Supporting. Caring for each and every student that passed through those great doors. Sometimes he wondered just how much of her the world actually knew, if they had any idea of her greatness.
He was still turning this thought over in his mind when he reached her private quarters, it was just after midnight and she was sleeping. It occurred to him he'd probably never seen her looking more beautiful; on her back with her hair fanning the pillows, both arms up by her face, stretched out like a cat when they are perfectly relaxed and at ease. The clear night sky flooded the room causing her pale skin to take on an almost ethereal glow.
For a while he simply stood by the door watching. It was enough. He was content.
The room smelt of lavender mixed with the intoxicating fragrance that was entirely Minerva. "Minerva..." he whispered her name as he stepped towards the bed, loosening and dropping his outer robe as he did so.
Gently he sat by her side, watching as she murmured something, turned slightly, bit her bottom lip and creased her brow in dreams.
He placed his hand on her waist, feeling her warmth divine as it filled his palm.
Her eyes shot open, he should have known better, her reflexes were legendary.
"It's just me dear, just me." He said pacifying her, one hand reaching for her shoulder to reassure as her mind slowly woke.
"What are you doing here?" She croaked.
"Needed to see you."
"It's dangerous." She warned, half sitting up but he patted her shoulder and she lay back down.
"I needed to see you." He said again.
She smiled, slowly, slightly, "Hello," she finally said, taking his hand from her shoulder and folding their fingers together.
"Hello," he replied, his smile broad, eyes twinkling. "So, you look like heaven."
She watched as he undressed, scooting over for him in the bed and lying on her side. As he lay back she curled up against him, one leg over his, her arm over his stomach.
"Where are you staying? ...No, forget that I asked that." She sighed, laying her head against his chest.
"I'm safe," was all he offered as he ran his fingertips down her back, once again thanking whatever Gods there were that Minerva McGonagall hated nightclothes. 'Cumbersome' she'd once told him – he couldn't agree more.
"Needed to clear my mind," he whispered into the darkness, closing his eyes, succumbing to her warmth and fragrance and the joy of being near her again.
"You want to talk things over?" She asked, listening to his heart beat, somewhat reassured by it.
"Later, maybe, the less you know..."
"I know." She breathed deeply, "I've missed you."
"Merlin I've missed you," he said eagerly, pressing her to him, burying his face in her hair, "Missed seeing you and talking with you and having you glare over something that makes me laugh."
She chuckled, "How wonderful I sound."
"You are," he kissed her head, "you are, you are."
She lifted her face up to his, tracing his profile with her index finger. "You're tired," she said gently.
"You know me too well." He swallowed, "Not been sleeping too great, too much going on up here." He indicated his head. "Swirling around."
"I think I have something to help with that..." she said without missing a beat, rolling her body on top of his, laying full length against him and wiggling her hips until he caught hold of them with his hands, palms wide against her bare flesh.
"Mmm, I do believe I like what you have."
"Like?" She asked, eyebrows raised.
"Love," he kissed her nose, "Absolutely, completely, wholly in love with you."
"Good," she folded her hands with his again as she leant in to kiss him. Soft at first, and sweet, as they poured all their worries and the ache of being apart into it. And then his touch became more heated, their kisses deepened as an age-old desire took over, sweeping aside all fears and threats. Nothing mattered but the way she felt against him, the sound of her voice as she whispered his name, whispered her love for him. And these were the moments he cherished; nobody would ever guess that Minerva McGonagall could be so sensual.
She arched her back as he tickled at the base of her spine, smirking against his lips and then lifting herself up to straddle him.
He watched through heavy eyelids, tracing his long fingers back and forth across her skin, up her arms, her shoulders, down her back, to the back of her thighs and the hollow behind her knees. She always jerked against him when he tickled there.
She caught his lips in another kiss, she knew him so well, exactly what he liked and when. Just as he did her. His kisses drifted down her throat, to her collarbone, the sensitive spot at the base of her neck. One hand had crept between her legs, the sweet warmth there, and he kept kissing until she moaned loudly against him and took control, joining their bodies in one fluid movement.
He fell back at this, sinking into the softness of her bed, their bed, he was never sure of the correct term. She surrounded him, was inside him, filling him completely. Eyes closed he held her body, rose and fell with it in a rhythm as natural as the oceans.
When he called her name, his fingers tangled in her hair, it was with a hoarse need that she hadn't heard in a while. He pulled her to him, cradling her against him, and she lay listening to the heavy thump of his heartbeat by her ear as it slowed and steadied along with his breathing.
She remembered a time long ago when he'd gone to her, first gone to her, tortured by too many memories and overwhelmed with the weight of labels. How frantic their lovemaking had been, she was young then, fresh and virtually inexperienced. But she'd loved him, for many years it seemed, and so giving herself to him had never been an issue.
Their relationship changed as did his worries; they settled into a routine, were happy. And then the threat comes again and he clutched at her ever more tightly, his rock, his constant. But he hadn't sounded, or looked, the way he did tonight when they made love, for a very long time. She'd almost forgotten.
She kissed his chest and for the first time in a while he moved, his breath in her hair and his hand drawing invisible patterns on her back.
"For what?" She said softly, almost afraid of breaking the mood.
He sighed, "...Was too quick."
She smiled, "Hardly." And looked up at him, folding her arms on his chest. "Do you feel better?"
"Me too." One hand reached up to brush his hair back, those eyes always watching her, the familiar face, she knew each and every line so well. "Besides, it means we might have time..." Her smile was wicked.
"Twice in one night – you have missed me."
"Always," she kissed him again. "Should I be worried?" She whispered against his lips, a slight anxiousness creeping into her voice.
He was unsure for a moment, was he worried himself – yes, should she worry about him – no, not quite yet.
He tightened his hold on her, "No. Things will play out as they do and we'll be fine."
She breathed deeply, the no-nonsense Professor returning, "as if him being back isn't bad enough we have to cope with this... this interference."
"Minerva," he hushed, "let's forget about it for tonight, just be us."
"Yes," she settled against him again, "You can sleep now?"
"Yes," he hummed, eyes closed, the gentle caress of slumber taking over his mind.
She lay her head down beside him on the pillow, closing her eyes, biting her tongue against the hundreds of questions she wanted to ask. Now wasn't the time.
"Minerva," he said.
"I love you, I don't think I tell you often enough my dear, all you do for me, for us."
"You don't have to thank me Albus."
"I'm not sure I've always given you enough..."
"Albus, moments like this are enough, being here with you is enough. Go to sleep."
They were silent again.
"Albus," she mumbled after a while.
"Yes?" He asked somewhat groggily.
"Wake me before you go, I want to say goodbye."
"You hate goodbyes."