Disclaimer: I do not own them. In any way.
Pair: MMxAD
Summary: Something draws Harry to the Headmaster's office after a nightmare one night, and he makes a surprising discovery there.
Discovery
by Tricki
Ordinarily when Harry Potter's dreams wake him with crashing intensity, it is not the Hogwarts Headmaster's office he finds himself seeking. He's not sure why tonight is any different, what makes him seek the comforting wisdom of Professor Dumbledore, but nevertheless he does. He is between the golden eagle's wings and ascending to the Headmaster's office before he's quite had time to decide why, but he stops outside the door at the sound of a woman's voice.
"Albus?" The door is cracked, and Harry takes the risk of pushing it forward a little further, peeking around the corner. His hand is firmly clasped around his wand, until he realises the woman in question is merely Professor McGonagall. Who... is in her dressing gown, and seems to kneeling before the Headmaster and stroking his cheek. Harry's blood runs cold. Is Dumbledore ill? Unconscious? Dead? But he's not dead, at the very least. He lets out a little cry and shifts in the plush armchair. Harry holds his breath while he weighs up whether to storm the room. Perhaps this is why he felt so drawn here tonight. Perhaps Dumbledore is in danger.
McGonagall shifts herself, moves closer to Dumbledore's face in response to his little exclamation.
Harry watches in wonder as her hand caresses his cheek, and in the softest of tones she says "Albus, darling, you're dreaming."
'Darling'?
...Darling?
Dumbledore starts, shakes himself from sleep, and instantly his hands seek out Professor McGonagall's face, cupping it tenderly. His eyes bore into hers, and even from here Harry can tell the old man is grounding himself in them.
"Minna," he mumbles - Minna? - moving one hand to her hair. It is only now Harry realises that her hair is loose, and he has never seen it in this state; long grey waves tumbling down her back, with the occasional tinge of black still clinging onto them. "I was having a delightful dream."
"You were having no such thing." She chastises, her voice tight with worry. He doesn't respond immediately, instead he teases at her hair with his long, knobby fingers.
Eventually he lets out a reluctant. "No."
McGonagall pats his leg with her free hand, comforting. "Would you please come to bed now?"
'Come to bed now'. Harry's mind contorts itself with confusion. Not 'go to bed now'. There's a togetherness implied by him coming to bed. Has McGonagall been sleeping here? How many rooms are there beyond the office? Is this some kind of safety in numbers effort?
The Headmaster smiles softly at his transfiguration professor. He moves his hand to cover the one she has left on his leg, and he gathers her fingers in his. "Of course, my dear, of course."
Dumbledore, to Harry's utter shock, leans forward in his armchair and presses his lips to McGonagall's.
"Thank you, darling." She says softly, before pushing herself to her feet with a little groan of effort.
"Come now, my love, I'm much older than you are." Dumbledore chastises as he rises to his own feet silently.
"Yes, and I'll thank you to remember that you've not been on your knees for the last ten minutes." She snipes back, eyes flashing with well worn Scottish fury.
Albus collects one of her hands and brings it to his lips softly. "How selfish of me, my love."
"Selfish indeed." She says, smiling only with her eyes. The Headmaster bends down and once again presses his lips to his Deputy's solidly. They begin to walk towards the staircase Professor McGonagall descended some minutes ago, when she hesitates, says softly "I'll be up in a moment, darling", and waits until he's on half way to bed before speaking again.
"I'd appreciate your not mentioning this to anyone, Potter." She says, not turning in the direction he's concealed beneath his invisibility cloak.
Harry, flushing, removes the cloak. "Yes, Professor."
"Professor Dumbledore and I have managed to keep our relationship quiet for many years now. It would be... unhelpful for it to come to light in such troubled times."
"I understand, Professor." She turns to him now, emerald green eyes searching his.
"Out with it Potter." She says after he visibly hesitates.
"It's just - I know this is none of my business, Professor, but... something... Professor Dumbledore called you something..."
"Ah, yes. He had the misfortune of attempting 'Minnie' as a pet name early in our friendship. Minna was a compromise we reached shortly after Albus spent a week as a dining chair."
Harry can't help himself, he laughs, partly at the anecdote but partly in disbelief. His rule-enforcing, hard-line Deputy Headmistress once turned his Headmaster into a dining chair for a week.
"I assure you, he deserved nothing less." She says, the corner of her mouth lifting in a wry smile despite her best efforts.
Harry and McGonagall nod at each other, accepting the conversation's end. Harry is about to swing his invisibility cloak back over himself and retreat, but there is one last thing he feels the need to say.
Steeling himself, he half stammers, "Professor... I'm sure you don't need to hear this from me, but... I don't think anyone would mind if - if they knew about you and Professor Dumbledore. We're on the brink of war. I mean, obviously I won't say anything, but... I can't see anyone begrudging either of you some happiness."
McGonagall holds his gaze levelly, and for a moment Harry feels like they're equals; like she's considering his words seriously.
"Perhaps, Potter. Perhaps. Now. Back to bed before I have to start deducting points."
"Yes, Professor." Harry says. With normalcy restored, he swings his invisibility cloak over his head and retreats from his Headmaster's office. Minerva McGonagall tips her head backwards and studies the elaborate ceiling, letting a loud sigh slip from her lips before she plucks her dressing gown from the floor and makes her way upstairs.
Minerva finds a sleeping Albus in the ornate four-poster bed, and with a soft smile slides in beside him, draping an arm over his chest and resting her cheek on his shoulder.
"So, young Harry knows." Albus remarks quietly.
"He does indeed. I thought you were asleep."
"A talent I've perfected over the years, my dear."
"He's sure to tell Granger and Weasley." Minerva says.
"I wouldn't be so sure. Harry has a loyal soul."
"Perhaps you should speak with him. He has a very deep regard for you."
"I shall." Dumbledore agrees, pressing a kiss to Minerva's silvery hair, before mumbling "Wisdom and warfare," to himself absently. Before Minerva can protest that she's no goddess, he continues, catapulting to a new train of thought without taking her along. "I'm sorry, Minna."
The witch in his arms is beginning to drift, and with a voice that's becoming clumsier she asks, "For what, darling?"
"I am sorry our life has been spent in secret." His words rouse her, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze.
"I would rather a life with you spent in secret to no life at all."
Albus' twinkling blue eyes bore into hers, searching them, assessing them for truth.
"As would I, my love."
"Now no more nightmares, please."
Minerva bends forward to peck his lips, before she settles back on his chest. His hand trails softly down her back, and she almost purrs.
"I shall try to control my subconscious for you, my dear."
Minerva smirks to herself as she drifts to sleep. "I expect nothing less of the greatest wizard of our time."