(a/n - so, tonight I am not attending any of the social occasions I could attend. Yay for social awkwardness! Anyhow, most of them are for Burns Night, so, I decided to write a Scottish related fic instead!)
A Flame That Burns
Minerva sat at her desk, ticking and correcting pieces of work. Her quill scratched at the parchment in the most graceful way, if it were at all possible to scratch gracefully. A slight breeze behind her made her stop what she was doing and smile.
"Albus, you can come out now, I know you're here," she sighed affectionately, grinning to herself as the man in question removed his glamour and made himself known before her, his auburn robes the shade of his original hair colour, which was now fading into shades of grey and white as his years of adventure and chivalry caught up with him. He smiled at Minerva, who was now placing her work in her desk drawer, since she knew that while he was around she wouldn't get anything done. He was too much of a distraction.
"So, Albus, did you come here for any reason at all apart from to stop me doing what you pay me to do?"
"Why of course Miss McGonagall, I came here to ask what you are doing this evening!"
"Well, Mr Dumbledore, since you asked, I am not doing anything."
"Why ever not?! It is Burns Night, is it not?"
"That is correct."
"And you are Scottish, are you not?"
"Well done, oh master of intelligence, ten points to Gryffindor for your superb observation and deduction skills."
"Oh, you do wound me with your sarcastic tongue, Miss McGonagall! I merely wondered why you were not celebrating Burns Night?"
"Because I have nobody to celebrate with."
"You have me!"
"Oh, really?"
"Of course! Come on my dear, we shall start our celebrations after this evening's feast! Be ready in your chambers!" He grinned broadly, his eyes sparkling with excitement at the whole affair. Minerva laughed slightly, and blushed a little as he drew his lips across her knuckles before leaving once more.
After a meal with the students that evening, Minerva made her way to her rooms feeling both apprehensive and excited. Once inside, she noticed a stain on her robes, and being a perfectionist, changed them. Soon after, a knock at her door brought her to her senses, and she opened it slowly.
"Albus! Surely you should know that there's no need to knock by now?" She smiled warmly. He grinned in return.
"Alas, my dear, I am an old man, and I have my traditional views. What if I were to walk in and stumble upon you changing into your delightful tartan robes?" He laughed at her awkward reaction which was something between a splutter and a blush. "Anyhow, that aside, I have brought the works of Robert Burns, and I shall read them to you this evening. It isn't much, but then, neither am I," he smiled.
"Of course you're something Albus! How can you be so modest? I would love to hear you read! Come, let us sit on my sofa," she gestured for him to sit. He did so, and she joined him.
Minerva smiled lightly to herself as she opened her eyes. She had slept wonderfully, and had the most wonderful dream about Albus and his soothing voice reciting poetry for her. She looked up groggily, and almost gasped when she saw a pair of twinkling blue eyes staring down at her. She blushed profusely, realising that she had fallen asleep into Albus' arms. She registered them around her, lightly stroking her hair and supporting her back. She felt incredibly relaxed.
"I trust you slept well, Minerva, my dear?" His voice broke her quiet reverie.
"Yes, very much so, thank you, Albus. Your voice is incredibly soothing when you recite poetry," she internally grimaced when she realised what she had said, and wondered if she had given too much away. She made to sit up, and sighed slightly when his arms left her sides.
"Well, my dear, I shall have to be off soon, I trust that you enjoyed your evening last night?"
"Oh yes, Albus! It was wonderful, thank you!" Minerva astonished herself at her joyous outburst. She felt like she was on one of those muggle television programmes where that sort of line is said by women after a night spent with a man. Albus smiled at her before leaving.
Minerva lay back down on the sofa once he had gone, and thought over her previous evening. She couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep, but now that she had spent a night in his arms, Minerva knew something else.
A tiny spark which had been inside her had now grown into a flame, a flame that wouldn't go out for as long as she lived, and Albus Dumbledore was the reason it burned.
(a/n - there you are guys, a mini update from me! Sorry for the not so subtle reference in there, but I haven't had time to write any fanfics for other fandoms as of late, and one in particular keeps plaguing my mind. Reviews and favourites are always welcome, guys!)