Harry was frantic. He sped as silently as he could to the washroom, praying not to wake the dark-haired witch, lest an incredibly awkward situation arise. He latched the door firmly behind him with the smallest of pops, dropped his dressing gown and stepped into the shower. The memory of the previous night now poured over him at the same rate as the hot water.

Last night, Saturday night, was the day he was supposed to have gone home. He was lecturing for the week – it started off as one day five years ago, but time was always so short. So eventually Professor McGonagall decided that the world could spare the famous Harry Potter for a week while he made rounds to every Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the school; he was often invited to common rooms and even the library for rounds of questioning. The press he was less adept at dealing with; however, he could handle his celebrity in front of a bunch of teenagers.

Saturday came, and over breakfast, Filius Flitwick mentioned in passing that that very day was Professor Binns' birthday. No one knew how old he was, but the staff were rather keen on celebrating anyway. Over the course of the day, he was invited to the party by no less than four professors. Harry joked with himself that it was probably just to balance out the mean age of the guests; after all, he and Neville would be the only people under thirty there.

Although Binns had never been among his favorites, Harry decided to stay for the party. It was the least he could do for Neville, who was still rather awkward at social interaction, to be a supportive peer among elders. He would have to remember to ask about Neville's girlfriend – he imaged Neville was proud.

Harry had imagined that the party would be a chance for the staff to let their hair down. He didn't know how right he was.

He didn't know who had paid for the alcohol, but not a professor in sight failed to reap the benefits. The pumpkin punch was quite tasty, and although Harry was well aware of its intoxicating effects, he couldn't help but help himself to more. Besides, he didn't feel more than a buzz.

Yet.

Meanwhile, Minerva McGonagall had had quite a bit of Firewhiskey and was now chatting up nearly everyone in the room. Harry marveled at the discrepancy between her stern exterior and current countenance. He already knew that alcohol made her more outgoing and relaxed – one time, she had allowed Hagrid to kiss her cheek, and even let a giggle escape her lips! - but this was a level he had never seen before. Harry made his way over to her, smiling to himself at the witch he suddenly found quite alluring.

"Professor McGonagall –"

"Oh, please, do call me Minerva," she said lazily, her voice taking on more of a brogue than Harry recalled it having. "We're colleagues... of a sort." She paused.

"How were the lectures? I regret that I was unable to attend any..." Minerva trailed off, then looked up at Harry expectantly. He could see remnants of propriety in her as she peered at him.

"Well, yes, as you were teaching," Harry remarked, then smiled apologetically at his slight rudeness. Minerva didn't seem to notice, which in itself was a rarity. "I was planning to leave today, but I shall have to leave tomorrow around noon instead. I need to be home by evening."

Minerva smiled. "Ah yes, Ginny. How is she holding up? I'm so glad she went to play for the Harpies... something about women together, playing like that, just fascinates me," she slurred, somewhat incoherent. Harry had no idea what she meant by that. Was it possible that Minerva McGonagall fancied women? He shook the idea from his mind. The idea of his former professor having sexual interest in anyone was a bit much for him, at least at his current level of sobriety.

But as the night wore on, his sobriety – and the inhibitions that went with it – began to fade. He told Minerva of his friends' whereabouts. When he mentioned Ron and Hermione, whose wedding Minerva had attended, she grew animated once more, still delighted by her former star pupil. But then, much to his eternal embarrassment (not to mention that Hermione might have cast a Cruciatus Curse on him if she ever found out), he let it slip during his monologue that "Hermione has always fancied you," which, surprisingly, shocked his former Head of House. Harry had always thought it rather obviously deeper than academic admiration, but Minerva responded with a slight blush and loss of focus.

She apparently decided on something while lost in thought, because after only a few moments, she shook her head as if to clear it, then asked, "And you?" in a rather lower voice than usual. This was rather forward of her. Indeed, Harry had never had feelings for Professor McGonagall before then. But the suggestive tone in her voice, especially coupled with the seductive curve of her neck and matching raised eyebrow, suddenly installed a new thought in him.

Harry brushed off the question, instead leaning in to take another sip of his drink. Minerva used the opportunity of Harry being somewhat turned away to slip the pins from her hair. Her long, silky strands tumbled to her waist, and Harry's breath caught as he raised his head again.

He must have been more intoxicated than he felt, because the next thing he knew, his hands had found the back of her neck. "It's... really soft," he blurted stupidly.

Then he did the next most foolish thing. He tilted his head to the left and met her thin lips with his own.

In public.

Tipsy as she was, Minerva McGonagall was not going to stand for that. She broke the kiss after only a moment, stage-whispering, "If that is what you're after, we'll have to go someplace else." It sounded reasonable to her.

Neither of them knew who seduced whom. But the staff lounge was closer to Harry's temporary quarters than to the Headmistress' chambers. They had barely made it through the doorway when Harry re-entwined his fingers in his former professor's raven locks.

An hour later, a pair of contented sighs escaped their lips as the Boy Who Lived and the Headmistress of Hogwarts nodded off on opposite sides of the bed, finally feeling the sedative effects of the alcohol that had made their loveless union possible.