AN: In Chapter 18 of Phoenix – Angelina tells Harry and Ron she has permission to re-form the Quidditch team. "I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore. Anyway, Umbridge had to give in." So I wondered just how she got his permission...
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Minerva's Appeal
"I mean honestly, the nerve of the woman, the god damn nerve. I'm all for rules and discipline Albus, as you very well know, but they have to be fair, fairness is what counts, if you just do it then how will they ever learn what's right and wrong, the morality of it all."
He watched as she ceaselessly paced back and forth across the rug in his private quarters, scanning down her body, her flailing arms, gesturing hands – she had quite perfect hands – he mused. Down to the swish of her long black skirt along the purple, star-covered rug on which she paced.
"High Inquisitor indeed, high-opinion of herself, that's the problem. I really think you ought to fit me with something..."
He raised an eyebrow as she stopped pacing and turned to face him.
"Some kind of... something to keep my temper in check because I really don't know how much more I can take."
"We both know you can, you have the patience of a saint, you've calmly dealt with me for over forty years now."
"Hardly the point – she's insufferable."
"Ah Minerva..."
"Don't try to pacify me."
"Minerva, Minerva."
"And don't say my name like that."
He chuckled, "Like what?
"That way that means you're going to get me to agree to something I really don't want to."
"Nothing quite so Machiavellian," he patted the sofa beside him. "Come sit down."
For a moment she remained where she was, jaw strong, chin jutted in defiance but then she shrugged and gave in, moving swiftly beside him.
"Now, let's try and get Professor McGonagall to relax shall we."
"Albus..." She sighed annoyed, rubbing her forehead.
"Just a second my dear." He was on his feet, moving to a rather elegant cabinet and taking out a bottle of something deep purple in colour and pouring two glasses.
"It's alright for you, in your office most of the time; you don't have to face her. That pugnacious face and those ridiculous cardigans and the pink... the snide smile... the little cough..."
"Minerva!" He said thrusting the glass into her hand. "Take a drink."
She did as he asked, closing her eyes as the liquid elegantly slid down her throat, leaving a slight burn in its wake.
"Now sit back," he almost pushed her into the corner of the couch, stacking pillows behind her, "feet up." He lifted her legs up; deftly slipping off the flat shoes she wore as he did.
"I don't have time for this; I've hardly even touched the fifth year's essays and I have to give them back tomorrow."
"How long have you had them?" He asked as he retook his seat at the other end of the couch, lifting her stocking-clad feet into his lap.
"Two days."
"Hardly a sacking offence if they aren't back tomorrow Minerva."
"I have a schedule Albus."
"You always do, close your eyes for a while, try to relax."
She bit her lip, holding his gaze, "You're insufferable too." Her eyes followed the trail down his arm to where his fingers were gently kneading her feet. For a while she watched him work, an easy silence pervading the room, the gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth, the tick of his clock. Then she downed the rest of her drink, placed the glass on the table beside her and leant her head back, sighing in pleasure, "That feels good."
He smiled, satisfied. Her face was gradually losing some of the harshness reserved for her most challenging of adversaries.
"The wrath of Minerva McGonagall," He sighed some time later, his head tipped back on the couch, she half-asleep at the other end. His stroking of her feet had ceased and instead one hand rested on top of them, the other on her leg. "Is something, I know from first-hand account, that one should whole-heartedly avoid."
"Always provoked." She replied deadpan.
The clock struck eleven and he glanced across at her, "Do try not to let her provoke though, I would miss you awfully."
The corners of her mouth twitched, and slowly she opened her eyes, fixing him with a gentle smile, "Me, or my organising?"
"You, and your organising," he shrugged, "and your wrath a little too."
She carefully sat up, pushing her hair back where it had become loose from her bun. "You incur my wrath so little these days."
"But every time is worth it just for the making up."
"Old fool."
He nodded his agreement, "Where are you going?"
"To my room, it's getting late and I told you..."
"...You still have work to do. Yes, I know."
He watched as she slid her feet from his lap, and got up stretching her back like a feline in the sunshine.
"You still look awfully tired Minerva." He said, moving forward on the couch, close enough to touch her, one hand tiptoeing up her back. "Sure I can't help you relax some more?"
"Aren't you busy?" She said incredulously shaking her head as she turned, his hands wide and firm as they fell to her hips drawing her towards him.
"Very," he said leaning forward and placing a kiss to her stomach, "But then one cannot work all of the time and we've barely seen each other."
"I see you every day," she said, a hand resting on his shoulder as he nuzzled into her.
"Delivering reports doesn't count," he added quickly, pulling her hands to his mouth and kissing each palm, and then each wrist.
"You're far too convincing," she said lowly, something unreadable in her voice. He took it as consent and circled her waist with his arms, pulling her down into his lap.
She giggled like a schoolgirl at the action, as they splayed backwards on the couch in rather an undignified manner. "Albus," she chuckled, settling herself against him, allowing him to slip off her outer robe.
"Yes, my dear, dear Minerva." He said, covering her face and neck with kisses.
"What about the Quidditch?"
"The what?"
"The ban on the Quidditch team meeting up."
"Hmm..." he murmured against her throat, peeling down her dress, one hand deftly working on the many buttons up the back of it.
"If my team... if the Gryffindor team cannot practice then how are we meant to...Mmm," he had succeeded in pushing down her dress and his tongue was working its way across her collarbone.
"Yes..." he breathed against her milky skin, his left hand continuing its journey down her back, pushing her now open dress aside and skittering his fingertips along her spine.
"It's unfair," she did her best to continue, her fingers threading into his hair, her torso pressing against his. "The Slytherin team have full privileges."
"Mmm," he slid his hand back up to the back of her neck, guiding her face to his, meeting her mouth in a sweet hungry kiss. "Let me have some privileges..."
"Albus," she whispered against his lips.
"Yes my love..."
"Quidditch?"
"At a time like this," he breathed, eyes sparkling as he leant back to regard her face.
"Yes." She rested her hands firmly on his shoulders, keeping him at bay for the time being.
He sighed, "Yes, they can practice; I'll speak to Delores myself."
"Thank you," she was almost gleeful.
"This could be construed as manipulation."
"How so?" Her eyebrows rose, face once again taking on the look of defiance.
"You're practically naked in my lap as I agree to this."
"Your fault, not mine."
He loosened his hold on her body, "Want to go?"
"Want me to?"
"Never."
She smiled, triumphant, some things not even Umbridge could control. "You know we're breaking the High Inquisitor's rules being in this close proximity."
"Ah well, breaking rules makes it even more fun does it not?" He was unfastening her hair, tossing the pins to the floor as the ebony locks cascaded into his hands.
"Absolutely..." she kissed his forehead, his nose, sliding his glasses off and putting them aside. "Say my name again."
"Minerva," he breathed, as if she were a goddess, her skin prickled at the sound of it. "Minerva..."
"I still have work to do." She said as he laid her back on the couch.
"Good job I'm a quick worker then." He replied, yelping when her nails dug into his shoulders.
My first ADMM post for a while - just recently got back into writing them, please leave me a comment :-)