A/N: This is just a little experiment. I do not consider myself a writer and my friends just convinced me to write this little lemon, well really it's more of a lime. They told me it was funny and might be enjoyed by others if I posted it. So, here goes:

"Pip pip!" The Great Hall erupted with chatter and the clinks of plates and silverware as the students of Hogwarts settled down for dinner. Albus Dumbledore took his seat and the head of the staff table and glanced to his right, where he knew the alluring Minerva McGonagall sat. She glanced back at Dumbledore, an air of mischief glinting in her eyes. Dumbledore averted his eyes immediately, feeling heat spread through his cold, aging face. McGonagall was a fox, yes, but he couldn't, he wouldn't be tempted. He had his position as headmaster to think of, he couldn't be fooling around. What about the children?!

Suddenly, Dumbledore noticed how unappealing looking the food in front of him had become. His hunger had been replaced with anxiety and nausia. All Dumbledore could think about was the tantalizing woman sitting beside him. Her presence was like a magnetic force pulling him closer and closer. Dinner seemed to take ages to conclude (and Dumbledore knew exactly how long ages was). He tapped his long, yellow fingernails impatiently until the students started to disperse. In a short while, it was just the two of them, sitting at the staff table. The silence was incredibly awkward and loud. McGonagall was slowly picking at the remnants on her plate while Dumbledore's apetite returned with a vengeance - he was stuffing his face with mashed potatoes, undoubtedly in an attempt to block the word vomit threatening to spill. McGonagall broke the silence with the screech of her chair as she got up to leave. Dumbledore was both releived and disappointed that he had not done anything to communicate with the woman who had tormented him every night in his dreams. She strode quickly out of the great hall, turning at the last moment to wave a beckoning finger at the headmaster. Dumbledore hesitated at first, then rose, almost stumbling in his haste.

Within moments, the two were racing down the corridors. Dumbledore could just make out the ends of her robes as they whipped around corners ahead. Both felt youthful and gay as they raced to find a secluded place. Dumbledore saw McGonagall's robes dance around the doorframe leading to the trophy room. He jogged inside, looked left and right down the corridor and closed the door. He turned around and ran right into McGonagall, who giggled playfully. "Oh, Albus," she whispered excitedly. "My dear Minerva." Dumbledore's old voice croaked under the foreign swell of euphoria. There was a moment of silence, where all the harbored yearnings the two had for one another all these years were shared in a single look. The next moment, they were embracing. McGonagall pressed herself against Dumbledore and brought her lips to his. Their old, decrepid lips moved stiffly, for they hadn't been used in such a long while. Dumbledore moved his frail, shaky hands to McGonagall's hair. He removed the clip that kept it in that stern bun and let it fall to her shoulders. He knotted his fingers in her hair passionately. Meanwhile, McGonagall clutched the back of his neck with one bony hand and seductively slid his napkin holder down his beard. She stepped back to twirl it around her finger with a playful smile. "Sexy napkin holder," she said in a low voice. "How could I ever resist?" "You temptress," he laughed. And then they were kissing again. This time, more passionately. McGonagall gripped his beard tightly while her other hand moved frantically up and down his back. Dumbledore, caughted up in the moment, he tried to lift McGongall, but his back gaved a loud crack as if someone had just apparated. Unfased, he pushed her up against the trophy case, knocking various awards to the floor. Their kiss was full of lust and passion. Their tongues wriggled and writhed, exploring every corner of their mouths. Their breathing became faster and heavier as they kissed ferociously.

"Albus, you beast! Take me now!" McGonagall cried. Dumbledore begain trailing kisses up and down McGonagall's neck, his arms wrapped around her tightly. She shivered with pleasure. McGonagall reached into her robes to find her wand. She waved it and suddenly their skin tingled with heat and electricity on contact. Dumbledore returned his kisses to her lips as he took out his wand. "No Albus, show me your Elder Wand." With a flick of his wand, their robes were slowly lifted. And then, they were in the throws of ecstasy. The trophies on the ground clinked when the two kicked them aside in their mad dash to the wall. Dumbledore pressed as close as he could to McGonagall's frail body and she felt the cold, rough scrape of the stone against her back. She moaned and dragged her fingernails down his back in return. "Panther!" he managed to croak. As he layed all his love on her, McGonagall groaned, "Albuuuuuuuus." Perspiration travelled down their thin, wrinkled skin as the room filled with heat. They were now a single person. An ancient, magical person. They were suprised at each other's vitality. The final moment was literally magical. McGonagall gasped and Dumbledore cried, "O Merlin's Beard!" On top of it all, their wands, both scattered on the floor, sent off sparks that lit up the room. The pair broke apart, fingers entwined, to look in each other's eyes. For the first time, there was no lust hinting, just unconditional love. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall smiled, radiating pure happiness. McGonagall kissed his black, whithered hand softly, then turned to return to her transfiguration classroom. Dumbledore, overcome with emotion, staggered back and leaned on a trophy case for support. McGonagall had cast a spell on him. Not one that could be found in a book or learned in a classroom. It was one that would keep his heart devoted to her for the rest of his life. (In other words, until the end of the year, hehe). The End