Disclaimer: Not even a little bit!
Dumbledore was on one knee, keeping his balance with difficulty and feeling more than a little awkward. "That's perfect," Poppy said, so softly that Albus had to lean in her catch her words. "Keep going…make it good. Remember what we've gone over."
Dumbledore allowed himself an uncharacteristic roll of the eyes before picking up the line edited and approved by Poppy as the one to catch Minerva's heart.
"My dear," he started, "my dear, I have a confession to make."
Minerva's breathing stalled; her heart seemed to be weighing down her stomach. There was silence as Albus struggled to remember his next line.
"Darling," he said, and the words felt alien on his lips as he stared up at Poppy and tried to visualize the face of the Transfiguration professor who had once been his star student. "I fear that I have loved you in the most despicable way—in silence and in secret. I have been too afraid of ruining our friendship to declare my affections, but recently I haven't been able to bear not telling you how I really feel."
Poppy, who had always dreamed of being a muggle actress in her childhood, tried to play her part most convincingly to help Albus with his sincerity. She held a hand over her mouth and made a pretense of blinking back tears; Minerva was doing the same in earnest as she hid in the shadow on the other side of the doorway.
Albus and Poppy?
All this time?
How could they?
"I realize that not all of our colleagues will understand," Dumbledore continued at an encouraging nod from Poppy, "but I love you. I always have, ever since I first saw you. All those years ago I was afraid that my attentions would have been improper—but now, with our close friendship, I honestly believe that we could make it. You are…" He paused, running through the list of adjectives Poppy had suggested.
"You are my sunshine," he decided, thinking of Minerva's slow smile, "and I can only dare to hope that you return my affections. Darling, will you marry me?"
Minerva couldn't stop it, and at this point she didn't really care; a low, ragged sob tore from her throat as she turned on her heel and half-ran, half-stumbled to her rooms.
Albus and Poppy both saw the characteristic black of Minerva's robes whip around the corner; the observation left them slack-jawed in the middle of the office, Albus still balancing on one knee. He got to his feet, wincing and rubbing his eyes wearily as the portraits sent up a hailstorm of chatter and speculation. "I didn't see her standing there!" cried Dilys, flapping her hands in agitation. "Does anyone know how much she heard?" Phineas and Everard were arguing with several of the headmasters hanging on the opposite wall; Phineas was abusing Everard's idea too loudly for Dumbledore to even begin to pick up his shattered train of thought. Poppy was lost for words.
Dumbledore finally managed to come to a conclusion in the midst of the confusion. Setting his jaw, the headmaster swept out of the room without a word. He left absolute silence in his wake.
- - -
Minerva thought about leaving Hogwarts—she fantasized packing her bags in a minute, marching to the gates, and disappearating faster than one could say wingardium leviosa to lighten her heart.
Wretched and foolish, Minerva thought savagely as she paced her room. She was a fool to have entertained romantic thoughts about Albus Dumbledore. A china vase on her nightstand shattered with the force of her emotion; Minerva didn't bother to repair it.
No, she reminded herself, and used the steel façade she'd been cultivating all these years to calm down. Her chest heaved with the effort. No drastic measures would do. It wasn't exactly like she'd ever approached Albus with her feelings—he had no way of knowing how she felt.
He wouldn't have you anyway, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, and Minerva wished she could strangle it even as she admitted that it was probably correct. She stepped in front of her mirror. There—was this the plain old professor the greatest wizard of the age was supposed to love? My hair, she thought despairingly. My figure; my style—they're all wrong. Where had the beauty of her youth gone? She turned away abruptly, unable to bear it anymore.
She wondered if she'd be invited to the wedding.
With a small sob Minerva let herself collapse; she folded onto her bed and curled up. Five minutes, she thought, I can allow myself five minutes for this.
Ten minutes later she was still on the bed, coiled in on herself. Maybe it'll take a lifetime, Minerva thought. Maybe I'll never get over it. Until this point she hadn't appreciated just how much she'd loved—yes, and even that was too tame a word—and just how much she'd needed Albus Dumbledore.
The man running rampant through Minerva's thoughts was sitting quietly outside her room. He heard something break, a quiet moan; he resisted his every impulse telling him quite urgently to get in there, Albus, it's your fault! And so, drawing on one hundred and fifty years of experience that told him next-to-nothing about love, the greatest wizard of the age sat on the hardwood floor outside of his deputy headmistress's rooms and folded his hands together, waiting.
He didn't know what else to do.
(I know the plot is a little cliche, but don't we all love some good MMAD fun? Please let me know how I'm doing here...& thank you for all of your lovely feedback for the first chapter! The final part should be up in a few days.)