Post by gmshed on Dec 30, 2007 11:15:08 GMT -5
This is my secret santa gift for silvertabby. Merry (belated) Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Minerva laughed as she took in Albus’ costume.
“Honestly, Albus. Christmas is still a month away.”
“But Christmas is my favourite time of year!”
“It would be,” she muttered. She knew perfectly well it was. He was just a big kid at heart, to the extent that she had had to make it very clear to him that coming down to her rooms at four-thirty in the morning and waking her did not exactly instil her with Christmas cheer.
“So what do you think?” He spread his arms wide, inviting her admiration or, possibly, criticism.
Minerva tipped her head to the side and contemplated him seriously, thoughtfully for a few moments.
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” Albus asked, somewhat nervously.
She tilted her head the other way and continued her study of him, resplendent in bright red robes trimmed with white fur.
“Well,” she said eventually. “I think it lacks a certain something.”
“Really?” Albus looked crestfallen. “Like what?”
“Where’s the hat?”
Realisation dawned. His face was a picture. Minerva fought to keep a straight face.
“So are we playing this game of chess or not?” he asked, waving her towards her seat.
Albus watched her as she concentrated, frowning as she considered her next move. She was beautiful when she concentrated. But then she was beautiful when she laughed. Or tried not to laugh. Or even when she was angry or worried.
She moved her rook up the board. She was beautiful when she was triumphant.
“Checkmate.”
Albus stared at the board in horror. Somehow, he’d lost the upper hand and then the game. He hadn’t really noticed, hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been concentrating on her instead.
“Albus, are you alright? Is that robe too heavy? You look rather hot.”
Hot and bothered, he thought to himself. “I’m fine, my dear.”
She was allowing the situation to get out of hand. She had barely won that game; she had scraped it due entirely to the fact he seemed to be paying even less attention than her, most probably because of those new Christmas robes of his. They looked rather thick and he had, towards the end, been looking really rather flustered.
She had tried ignoring it. She had been ignoring- rather she had been attempting to ignore her feelings for decades. It had been a spectacular failure.
Emboldened by the other’s close proximity, Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore simultaneously decided that something had to be done.
Just what do you think you’re doing? Minerva asked herself a month later. She nervously patted her hair, feeling the mistletoe underneath her fingers. You’ll ruin everything, you’ll lose your best friend. You’ve wasted thirty years, what’s the difference now? Only the difference between truth and lies. I don’t think you should have had that Firewhisky, Christmas or not.
It’s not too late. I can floo to Honeydukes, pick up a few tins of Ginger Newts. Albus paced his office nervously, turning the box over and over in his hands. No need to give her this, what were you thinking, I knew going to see Aberforth wasn’t the best idea.
Minerva took a deep breath and knocked.
Albus took a deep breath and called ‘Come in.’
The box fell from Albus’ lap as he moved his bishop three spaces in order to save his king from check.
Minerva leaned down, picked it up and offered it back to him.
“It’s your Christmas present. You can open it now if you like.” Oh Merlin, why did I say that? Now or never, it’s done now, enjoy the last few seconds of not having a broken heart.
Minerva neatly removed the wrapping paper to reveal a plain cardboard box. Opening this, she discovered a key. A rather small, perfectly ordinary iron key.
“It’s the key- well, actually, it’s just the key to one of my desk drawers, but it’s supposed to symbolise- well, anyway, the point is, I thought that- it’s the key to my heart.” That sounded better in my head, not sure how it could be worse and Merlin, she’s just sitting there, saying nothing.
What did he say, did I hear that right, my turn now, surely I’m dreaming. “Albus?”
“Minerva?”
“I’ve got mistletoe in my hair.”
Thirty-two chess pieces flew into the air, complaining loudly.
Minerva laughed as she took in Albus’ costume.
“Honestly, Albus. Christmas is still a month away.”
“But Christmas is my favourite time of year!”
“It would be,” she muttered. She knew perfectly well it was. He was just a big kid at heart, to the extent that she had had to make it very clear to him that coming down to her rooms at four-thirty in the morning and waking her did not exactly instil her with Christmas cheer.
“So what do you think?” He spread his arms wide, inviting her admiration or, possibly, criticism.
Minerva tipped her head to the side and contemplated him seriously, thoughtfully for a few moments.
“Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” Albus asked, somewhat nervously.
She tilted her head the other way and continued her study of him, resplendent in bright red robes trimmed with white fur.
“Well,” she said eventually. “I think it lacks a certain something.”
“Really?” Albus looked crestfallen. “Like what?”
“Where’s the hat?”
Realisation dawned. His face was a picture. Minerva fought to keep a straight face.
“So are we playing this game of chess or not?” he asked, waving her towards her seat.
Albus watched her as she concentrated, frowning as she considered her next move. She was beautiful when she concentrated. But then she was beautiful when she laughed. Or tried not to laugh. Or even when she was angry or worried.
She moved her rook up the board. She was beautiful when she was triumphant.
“Checkmate.”
Albus stared at the board in horror. Somehow, he’d lost the upper hand and then the game. He hadn’t really noticed, hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been concentrating on her instead.
“Albus, are you alright? Is that robe too heavy? You look rather hot.”
Hot and bothered, he thought to himself. “I’m fine, my dear.”
She was allowing the situation to get out of hand. She had barely won that game; she had scraped it due entirely to the fact he seemed to be paying even less attention than her, most probably because of those new Christmas robes of his. They looked rather thick and he had, towards the end, been looking really rather flustered.
She had tried ignoring it. She had been ignoring- rather she had been attempting to ignore her feelings for decades. It had been a spectacular failure.
Emboldened by the other’s close proximity, Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore simultaneously decided that something had to be done.
Just what do you think you’re doing? Minerva asked herself a month later. She nervously patted her hair, feeling the mistletoe underneath her fingers. You’ll ruin everything, you’ll lose your best friend. You’ve wasted thirty years, what’s the difference now? Only the difference between truth and lies. I don’t think you should have had that Firewhisky, Christmas or not.
It’s not too late. I can floo to Honeydukes, pick up a few tins of Ginger Newts. Albus paced his office nervously, turning the box over and over in his hands. No need to give her this, what were you thinking, I knew going to see Aberforth wasn’t the best idea.
Minerva took a deep breath and knocked.
Albus took a deep breath and called ‘Come in.’
The box fell from Albus’ lap as he moved his bishop three spaces in order to save his king from check.
Minerva leaned down, picked it up and offered it back to him.
“It’s your Christmas present. You can open it now if you like.” Oh Merlin, why did I say that? Now or never, it’s done now, enjoy the last few seconds of not having a broken heart.
Minerva neatly removed the wrapping paper to reveal a plain cardboard box. Opening this, she discovered a key. A rather small, perfectly ordinary iron key.
“It’s the key- well, actually, it’s just the key to one of my desk drawers, but it’s supposed to symbolise- well, anyway, the point is, I thought that- it’s the key to my heart.” That sounded better in my head, not sure how it could be worse and Merlin, she’s just sitting there, saying nothing.
What did he say, did I hear that right, my turn now, surely I’m dreaming. “Albus?”
“Minerva?”
“I’ve got mistletoe in my hair.”
Thirty-two chess pieces flew into the air, complaining loudly.
