Beguiled
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine.
Authors Note: Set post-OotP and post-Voldermort's defeat. McGonagall (about sixty years old) and Dumbledore (ageless) have been in love for many months but neither has told the other. Dumbledore is preparing to retire as headmaster of Hogwarts and is renting a muggle log cabin in Norway for Christmas, to decide if he should buy it or not.
#~**~#
Dumbledore sat at a writing desk with his back towards a roaring fire. Despite the warmth from the fire, he was wearing a scarf, woolly hat and several pairs of his beloved socks. Outside the window, the snow fell in a thick luxurious carpet but this, of course, was the sort of weather one expects on Christmas holiday in Norway.
Dumbledore put his quill to parchment then paused thoughtfully. How should he begin his letter?
Dear McGonagall,
No, that wasn't right at all. Dumbledore cursed himself for being an idiot. If he wanted McGonagall to notice him, then a good start would be calling her by her Christian name. Dumbledore tossed the piece of parchment he had just written on into the grate and idly watched as the flames devoured it. Then he started again-
Dear Minerva,
No, that wasn't right either. 'Dear Minerva' didn't convey enough affection. Dumbledore tossed the second piece of paper onto the fire and put his quill to the third piece.
My Dearest Minerva,
"Perfect!" exclaimed Dumbledore, setting his quill down and deciding that it was time for a tea break.
#~**~#
Minerva McGonagall was curled up on her bed wearing tartan pyjamas and huge woollen bed socks, reading a battered copy of 'Macbeth' aloud and drinking a bottle of firewhisky.
"Was the hope drunk,
Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since,
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely? From this time
Such I account thy love," she read aloud then stopped to think.
McGonagall always stopped to think when she saw the word 'love'. It seemed to her to be such a small word for all the meaning it held.
"How I love you, dearest Albus," she whispered.
#~**~#
My Dearest Minerva,
I know that you will probably have had a thousand better offers but I hope you will consider mine: will you come and spend Christmas with me here in Norway? I have a fine log cabin with two bedrooms and the scenery is splendid but I think it should be even more perfect with you by my side. Please reply as soon as you receive this letter.
Forever yours,
Albus Dumbledore.
P.S. My wand has broken in half. Please could you enclose some spell-o-tape in your reply?
Dumbledore set his quill down and admired his handiwork. It had only taken him four hours of deep thought and seventeen pieces of fresh parchment to write this letter, so naturally Dumbledore was feeling extremely proud.
A tawny owl swooped down through the chimney and gave a squawk as it encountered the flames at the bottom. "Stupid owl," murmured Dumbledore rescuing it from the flames and throwing it out of the window where it promptly extinguished itself in the snow.
When the owl was suitably recovered from its ordeal Dumbledore tied his letter to it and gave it instructions to deliver the letter the following morning to Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"I hope you find my love well," said Dumbledore after the departing owl.
#~**~# #~**~#
McGonagall, still dressed in her tartan pyjamas, sat down to breakfast. She immediately recognised the tawny owl that swept down the chimney and landed in an unfortunate heap on the floor.
"Oh, Albus!" she exclaimed, coaxing the owl towards her with a cornflake and then relieving it of its letter.
Indeed, McGonagall was so wrapped up in her letter-reading that she did not notice when the owl, neglecting to fly, hopped off in the direction of her bedroom and proceeded to bury itself in her bedcovers. Further proof of McGonagall enjoying her letter was that she poured her cornflakes into her teacup, her milk into the vase of flowers on the tabletop and her tea into her cereal bowl.
"Oh, Albus! Nothing could please me more that Christmas with you!" she cried and wrote three sentences at the bottom of the letter: I accept your invitation with pleasure. Will have to buy spell-o-tape and then bring it with me. Expect my arrival tomorrow evening. "Now where is that damned owl?" she cursed
#~**~#
Dumbledore stood by the stove, his left hand stirring a cauldron full of murky brown liquid and his right clutching an old muggle book entitled 'Mrs Beeton's Traditional English Recipes'. Dumbledore was attempting to make lamb and vegetable stew but had, of course, never tried cooking the muggle way and was amazed at how difficult it could be. A sudden tap at the kitchen window distracted him form his task.
Dumbledore opened the window to let in his rather disgruntled owl. "She's coming!" he cried after reading the owl's letter. "Tomorrow!"
#~**~# #~**~#
McGonagall took a last look around her rooms to check that she had not forgotten anything. Then closing her eyes and concentrating she disappeared into thin air.
When McGonagall opened her eyes and gazed around she found herself in the middle of a blizzard on a white hillside. Peering through the driving snow she managed to see a bright light in the distance and stumbling dreadfully she made her way towards it. "Albus? Dumbledore?" she shouted, hammering on the door of the small log cabin.
"What on earth are you doing out there?" asked Dumbledore as he opened the door, dragged her inside and set her before a blazing fire.
"It's a long way to disapparate from Hogwarts. I must have been a couple of hundred metres off my target," said McGonagall happily. Then she looked at Dumbledore who stared back at her.
"I've really missed-" began McGonagall.
"I've been looking forward-" started Dumbledore at the same time. Then McGonagall threw herself into his arms and the world seemed perfect.
"Have you brought my spell-o-tape?" asked Dumbledore still hugging the Scottish woman, with an insane grin plastered across his old face.
"Oh God! I knew there was something I'd forgotten!" cried McGonagall.
Not quite perfect.
#~**~#
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