So...definitely not my characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling and never shall belong to me.
author's note: influenced by life, I give you sweetness and romance.
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A Moment
There were times in her life when Minerva felt truly happy, like she could just die and never want a single thing more. These moments came and went like anything else, but the one that appeared most often was her favorite. Every night it came and lasted until morning, warming every bit of her, creating the happiest of smiles upon her face.
She never felt happier as when she was in Albus's arms. The woman knew everything about them: their hair, wrinkles, even flab. His limbs were unlike any other. They held her close to him, tightly, suggestively, playfully--although Minerva would not say that their special allure was in how, but rather, why. That's what made them so special to her. His arms held her because he loved her, wanted to protect her, desired her to be near him.
And she would not give up his embrace for anything.
Her finger ran numbly over his forearm while in deep thought. All was silent in the room. He may have fallen asleep; Minerva would not have been able to tell unless she moved, a gesture that seemed somehow contrary to how she was feeling. So she rested against him, in utter and complete heaven, in her own mind.
Her thoughts wandered gingerly back to the beginning of it all.
A professor she was, not at all in search of love, albeit knowingly lonely. He had hired her not three months before the first time he kissed her.
That evening, Minerva answered the door when he knocked . In his hand was a book that she had left in his office from a meeting earlier in the day. "Come in," she had said to him, the book still in his hand. Albus chose to sit by the fire.
Looking back, Minerva could not help but smile at the way that she light hit his face, illuminating his features. His blue eyes contained a bright speck of light, constantly flickering. On one side of his nose, all of the age lines of his face could be seen; on the other side, a triangular shadow covered most of his cheek. His smile, however, was bright, friendly.
She did not know that she loved him, then; Minerva merely preferred his company, his witty nature. Oh, she already loved parts of him, but not him as a whole; his voice, strength, reserve--she loved all of that, but not him. Not in the way that she loved him by the end of the night.
It was only a moment--a moment that Minerva did not believe existed. She had always been told that it happened all at once. Being a rational human, it never occurred to her that anything irrevocable could happen on a whim; one had to do it on purpose--she had not counted on emotion taking the place of logic.
The love she felt happened in all but a second.
He looked at her with the light on his face, smiling. "What's this music?"
And she became aware of the piano, playing from the corner. It had been going for hours, but as the woman accomplished odds and ends in her chamber, she stopped listening. Now it was back, playing something sweet, romantic. Her response was gentle: "I'm not entirely sure. It plays on its own."
"It's very beautiful," he said softly. And he looked at her--really stared at her, studying her, wondering about her. And in that instant, she knew that he was not talking about the music at all, but her. She was the beautiful thing.
Minerva became aware of her hair which hung loosely over her shoulders, her newly baumed lips, her shoeless feet; she knew well how beautiful she probably looked. It was not a thought of vanity; it was an observation. She had always felt best about herself in the evening, after she let go of the bun, green robes, and brooch; they were a ploy to take attention away from her as a female professor, and to leave only the professor part.
The word beautiful hung like the moon in December as they looked upon one another.
"Albus," she whispered, possessed by some spirit inside of her that she had never known. She found him quite beautiful as well in the firelight, looking upon her with those big eyes. He, too, was out of his wizarding clothes; pajamas and a robe--red, like his hair.
The man nodded his head, waiting for her words.
They never came. There was nothing to say, nothing that could possibly have said what she just realized in the few seconds that passed, feeling like an eternity and yet nothing at all. She still did not love him--she was compelled to be with him, but love was not the word. Nor was it lust; lust meant sheer animal passions, the ability to have sex and then let it be. What she was feeling had something to do with love, but that was hardly the word. Admiration, perhaps, held the best description; she admired him on such a painful level that she could not even voice it.
So he did it.
In a swift motion, he came up to her and stood before the woman. He looked at her in the eyes, waiting for that confirmation. And she gave it. She said not a word, but she said yes. He leaned in, kissed her softly on the lips; so soft that she was not sure at all if it ever happened after he let go. And it was in her eyes when he looked upon her, that longing for him, that admiration.
Albus's warm lips came over hers again, in such a way that she had never felt before, for it sent a wave of heat through her body and all she could think of was the fact that she did not want it to end. She wanted the kiss to last forever. He took her hand that was resting on his shoulder and put it around his neck; her other hand met the first. He did not pull away this time; his lips stayed on hers, first in a sweeping motion, and then forcefully, hungrily; she kissed him back with no less hunger--
"What are you thinking?" a sleepy voice came from behind Minerva's ear.
She cleared her throat gently and laced her finger through Albus's hand who had no doubt previously been sleeping. "Nothing at all," she whispered.
The man gave a short chuckle. "Liar." He kissed her gently on the cheek. "You're breathing heavy--not the sleep kind, either."
Minerva giggled gently. "Well don't think that I'll tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Well my dear, if we could only do the things that we want, life would not be at all like it is; we would be doing this every day. Am I wrong?"
The woman thought about it; ultimately she had to give in. "You're right."
"So then tell me. What was little Miss Minnie thinking about?"
She did not respond for a few seconds--not because she did not want to tell him, but because she enjoyed teasing him. He kissed her once, gently on the neck; this was his form of teasing. She smiled softly to herself. "Our first kiss."
"Ah," he pulled her even closer to him. "That was a very good night. I don't think I had ever seen you look quite so beautiful; Merlin you were beautiful."
Minerva smiled and rolled her eyes. Flattering as it was, he almost did it too often; she was not even sure if he was always telling the truth anymore. "I appreciate the sentiment, Albus. If you don't mind me stating, for the record, that kiss was the best of my life at that point."
The man chuckled, burying his head somewhere between her ear and shoulder, breathing gently on her skin. "I don't think I ever wanted anything as bad as I wanted you that night," he whispered.
Shivers ran up and down her spine, a flirtatious smile on her face. "Then tell me, Albus," she ran her hand through his red hair, "why didn't you seize the opportunity?"
He lifted his head from the nape of her neck and looked her in the eye with raised eyebrows. "You mean why didn't I make love to you?"
She nodded her head gently.
"I think you know the answer to that," he smiled, thumb running along her cheek. "The word is conscience. I have a conscience that won't let me do the dishonorable thing. You know that."
Yes, she knew it well. That, she knew, was the moment that she truly fell in love with him: somehow they had managed to entangle themselves on the bed. They were clothed, both of them, but she would have had no qualms in making love to him, even if the terminology was off. She was not thinking at all with her mind; for the first time in her life, all reason had gone out the window to a truly gifted lover. All that she could think about was the way that he was touching her, kissing her, moving her.
She knew damned well that he wanted her as much as she wanted him--she felt it. His wanting mouth, hard breathing, wandering hands, erect crotch, shaking hips; he wanted her and was doing everything right. He pushed her to want more with every second that passed, every kiss, every exhalation made her want Albus--but he did not take her.
He slowed down all the motions until they reached a stop, although the breathing did not slow for quite some time. And he looked at her, eyes full of desire and something much resembling restraint. Albus swallowed, but said not a word.
Looking down at their bodies, incredibly close and wanting, he stared up again at the woman and let out a sigh, then took in a deep breath. The man let out a gentle chuckle, then kissed her quickly, albeit gently on the lips. "This is wrong," he whispered.
Minerva did not feel this way--she wanted him, totally and completely. But the thing was, she trusted him and felt that he knew the right course. And so she nodded her head, acquiesced to his statement. As a consolation to herself, she elevated her head one more time and kissed the man; he was slightly more removed than he had been previously, and she knew that he was serious.
He retreated from his close proximity, sitting at the edge of the bed.
In those seconds that her mind slowly took over, she stared at the man. Here, the adoration left her and became love; he did not say that it was love that kept him from having sex with her, but she knew. He loved her as a fellow human, if not as a person--he could love her as a lover later.
Minerva felt that he was worthy right then, looking at his red hair from the back.
And in the present, looking back, she felt no remorse for that encounter, but the utmost gratitude that he showed her something of him that went beyond the male intuition. He showed her what love was: putting the other person first.
The woman smiled as she turned to face the man. "You know I would have made love with you."
"Exactly," he smiled, poking her gently on the nose. "I'd like to think that I love a woman who thinks better of herself than that."
Her eyebrows rose. "Is that a challenge? I think very highly of myself."
Albus chuckled. "Do you?"
She blinked. Attacking her integrity as a woman was not something that she liked to have done. Gently, although with a somewhat challenging air, she spoke, "I most certainly do."
"All right, all right," he smiled. "Tell me my dear, why is it then that you would have made love to me?"
"Because."
"Now now," he grinned, "that is not a reason."
"It most certainly is," she smiled, taking on the flirtatious smile again. "There is a reason, I just don't want to say it to you and give you an ego."
He smiled and kissed her gently on the cheek, leaning over to whisper into her ear, "My dear, I hardly think this secrecy is fair."
"Life is not fair," was all she could say.
Albus chuckled and kissed her gently on the mouth, leaning slightly against her with a smile on his face. "All right then. Back to sleep I go." He withdrew from Minerva's face, resting his head on the pillow kept on his side of the bed. The man turned to the other side while Minerva stayed silent.
Teasing her, that's what he was doing her; his amusing game of cat-and-mouse. The woman sat there for a few seconds, wondering whether or not to metaphorically chase him, but opted not. She scooted herself beside him, wrapping her arm around him and kissed the man on the cheek. He made no response beside a smile on his face. Minerva rested her head against his back. "I love you, Albus," she said gently.
He took the hand that was holding his waist to her and laced his finger through it, kissing the hand gently. "I love you too, Minerva. Good night."
"Good night," she whispered, squeezing her fingers tightly around his.
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R&R, yes? Thank you if you've read it this far, even if you don't review. Happy holidays!