When No One Is Around
In a castle somewhere there was a tower. In the tower there
was a room, with a window overlooking a lake, and the rising
purple mountains beyond it. In the room, there was a desk,
piled neatly with papers and quills of every kind, and
sitting at the desk, working tirelessly was a woman. Her face
was creased from concentration, and after hours of work, the
tight, sleek bun at the back of her head was beginning to
come loose, allowing strands of her lustrous, ebony hair to
fall about her face. There was only the sound of her quill
scratching on parchment and the occasional call of a bird to
break the silence. She heaved a sigh and dropped her quill
abruptly. The luscious orange hues of the evening sun were
spilling through the window on the opposite wall and flooding
the drab and slightly stuffy room with a warm light.
She stood up slowly and walked to the window, allowing her skin
bask in the warmth of the setting sun. The light it was spreading
across the vast landscape below gave the grounds a friendly,
welcoming look. The look of a field of lush, green grass, warmed by
the summer sun and ready to cushion bare feet as you danced across
it. The woman reached out and with some difficulty fully opened the
window, what's glass was still heated from the intense, afternoon
sun, allowing a tantalizing breeze to come through and dance around
her. She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, inhaling the
sweet scent of summer. It smelt of flowers in bloom and the crisp,
refreshing scent of the lake. She could hear the breeze rustling
the leaves of the poplar trees, and the slow, soothing sound of
languid waves lapping on the shore. She opened her eyes and again
and leaned her weight on the windowsill, taking in the breathtaking
beauty of the land.
She shaded her eyes with one hand and looked out at the scaling
mountains, massive silhouettes outlined against the light horizon.
Looking at the grounds was a soothing activity, and always calmed
her nerves. On this very night, breathing in the scent of a
summer's evening, admiring the boundless terrain, she was taken
back many years to her childhood, when she would dance across the
lawn on a summer's night like this. There would be beautiful music
and everything she knew would vanish, only to be replaced by a
lilting, rhythmic tune that would take over her body and move her
in artful and graceful ways. And now the positions and painstaking
moves were flooding back to her and everything of her being just
wanted to dance; and so she did.
Kicking off her rather tight shoes that now seemed far too hot, she
leapt across the small space to the sound of the waves and the wind
in the trees. She moved through the room with grace and precision,
her body moving with a passion that she never knew she had. As she
leaped and twirled about the room, her heart began to beat faster;
her hair unwound from it's confining pins and danced around her
head. There was music in her mind, a euphonious, melodious tune
that she knew but couldn't place, and there was a rhythm that her
heart was beating in the confines of her soul. And as the beat grew
faster, her fluid movements became swifter. She swept across the
dull room, and forgot where she was. She forgot everything except
the sweet, summer breeze that blew in and gently ruffled her hair,
and the methodical beating of the waves upon the rocks and her bare
feet on the floor.
The click of a door opening and shutting couldn't break her from
her own private realm. It seemed that she was not dancing anymore,
but the music was pounding in her very veins and flooding
throughout her, bending and twirling and twisting her body into
positions that she never knew she could do. She reached a climax;
she moved so swiftly, leaping deftly about, that the only thing she
could hear now was that strange music and all she could see was her
hair about her face. The wind blew harder through the window, the
beat sped up and her pulse quickened. Her feet moved faster than
ever before, she twirled twice in a row and leapt for a final time,
landing on her knees on the coarse rug.
She leaned forward to catch her breath, her hair hanging in her
face. The music had gone as abruptly as it had came and now there
was only the sound of the wind, the waves, and her heavy breathing.
She was once again back in the dull, quiet room at the top of a
tower, and crouching on the floor amidst papers and quills. She
lifted her head slowly and turned to the window, allowing the cool
breeze to kiss her face. It had been a long time, -so long in fact
that she couldn't even remember- since she'd danced like that. The
quiet in the room now seemed peaceful, rather than unsettling, and
she found the will to continue working, because that's what she
did.
As she stood up slowly, stretching in a manner that can only be
called feline, she spotted something -or rather someone- on the
opposite side of the room. It was a tall, familiar man, who walked
towards her with an outstretched hand and amused smile playing
around the corners of his mouth.
"Minerva my dear. I was unaware that you could dance so very well,"
he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly.
Minerva's other hand was on her chest, attempting to slow her
rapidly beating heart. This time, however, it had nothing to do
with dancing. She looked into his crystal blue eyes and stammered
his name with as much voice as she could muster.
"Professor Dumbledore! Thank you, but what brings you up here on
such a fine evening?" she asked, hastily trying to straighten her
robes and smooth her hair; she wasn't appropriately attired for
meeting with her employer. Not that their relationship was strictly
professional, however. They happened to be good friends as well as
colleagues, and maybe, Minerva hoped, a little bit more. She
realized that Albus hadn't yet let go of her hand.
"Ah, what else, Minerva, but you? I happened to be passing by and
hear quite a bit of commotion in here, so I decided to -ah-
investigate. Not a problem, I hope, is it my dear?" Albus finally
dropped her hand and looked at her with twinkling eyes that held a
hint of humor, as always. Minerva discreetly hid her bare beet
under her long, green summer robe and laughed a little, relieved
that her no longer held her hand in his; the tingling sensation she
felt there made chills run down her spine.
"Of course not, Professor Dumbledore, I was merely writing out the
Hogwarts Letters. But might I inquire as to how you were 'passing
by' when my room is the highest in the tower, and therefore is not
on any corridor?" She quirked an eyebrow amusedly. Albus smiled and
shook his head, giving her the grin that he reserved only for her.
It could warm her from head to toe better than any sunset ever
could.
"Leave it to you to come up with something such as that, Professor
McGonagall," he laughed placing a hand on her shoulder. "I never
knew that writing out letters could require so much physical
activity. Perhaps I shall join you next year. And please, call me
Albus."
Minerva relished the warm, comforting weight of his hand on her
shoulder and took a step closer. There was not but silence between
them, and Albus' eye took on a different look altogether. A look of
yearning; of a desire so deep it was inexpressible through words.
He leaned in a little closer, and Minerva felt her breath catch in
her throat. He smelt so good- like cinnamon and.Sherbet Lemons. She
allowed herself a small smile. Without a second thought they leaned
in and closed the distance between them, their lips locking and
fitting together like missing pieces of a puzzle.
The kiss was long and lingering, leaving one's taste on the others
lips. The sun was nearly set, a blinding sliver of light on the
horizon, but it still filled the room and cast a warming glow over
the two people in it, standing wrapped in each other's embrace.
They pulled back, looked into each other's eyes and held fast to
each other as if they'd never let go.
"I never knew you felt this way," Albus murmured, planting a gentle
kiss on her nose, "but I can't say that I am displeased." Minerva
smiled leaned into his embrace.
"Nor can I, Albus." She let out a contented sigh as he wrapped his
arms around her.
"But finally I have the answer to a question I've been asking
myself for quite some time." Minerva ginned slyly.
"Was it whether or not I loved you back? Because the answer is
yes." Albus closed his eyes and let out a laugh.
"No, my dear, but I can tell you that I am glad to hear that. You
see, while I know little of your life outside Hogwarts, and much of
your life right now, I have always had one question and tonight you
answered it." Minerva lay her head on his shoulder and looked out
at the almost darkened sky, and the almost black waves that were
splashing on the rocks and reflecting almost perfectly the brightly
shining stars.
"Mmm, what question would that be then?" she murmured.
"What you do when no one is around."
In a castle somewhere there was a tower. In the tower there
was a room, with a window overlooking a lake, and the rising
purple mountains beyond it. In the room, there was a desk,
piled neatly with papers and quills of every kind, and
sitting at the desk, working tirelessly was a woman. Her face
was creased from concentration, and after hours of work, the
tight, sleek bun at the back of her head was beginning to
come loose, allowing strands of her lustrous, ebony hair to
fall about her face. There was only the sound of her quill
scratching on parchment and the occasional call of a bird to
break the silence. She heaved a sigh and dropped her quill
abruptly. The luscious orange hues of the evening sun were
spilling through the window on the opposite wall and flooding
the drab and slightly stuffy room with a warm light.
She stood up slowly and walked to the window, allowing her skin
bask in the warmth of the setting sun. The light it was spreading
across the vast landscape below gave the grounds a friendly,
welcoming look. The look of a field of lush, green grass, warmed by
the summer sun and ready to cushion bare feet as you danced across
it. The woman reached out and with some difficulty fully opened the
window, what's glass was still heated from the intense, afternoon
sun, allowing a tantalizing breeze to come through and dance around
her. She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, inhaling the
sweet scent of summer. It smelt of flowers in bloom and the crisp,
refreshing scent of the lake. She could hear the breeze rustling
the leaves of the poplar trees, and the slow, soothing sound of
languid waves lapping on the shore. She opened her eyes and again
and leaned her weight on the windowsill, taking in the breathtaking
beauty of the land.
She shaded her eyes with one hand and looked out at the scaling
mountains, massive silhouettes outlined against the light horizon.
Looking at the grounds was a soothing activity, and always calmed
her nerves. On this very night, breathing in the scent of a
summer's evening, admiring the boundless terrain, she was taken
back many years to her childhood, when she would dance across the
lawn on a summer's night like this. There would be beautiful music
and everything she knew would vanish, only to be replaced by a
lilting, rhythmic tune that would take over her body and move her
in artful and graceful ways. And now the positions and painstaking
moves were flooding back to her and everything of her being just
wanted to dance; and so she did.
Kicking off her rather tight shoes that now seemed far too hot, she
leapt across the small space to the sound of the waves and the wind
in the trees. She moved through the room with grace and precision,
her body moving with a passion that she never knew she had. As she
leaped and twirled about the room, her heart began to beat faster;
her hair unwound from it's confining pins and danced around her
head. There was music in her mind, a euphonious, melodious tune
that she knew but couldn't place, and there was a rhythm that her
heart was beating in the confines of her soul. And as the beat grew
faster, her fluid movements became swifter. She swept across the
dull room, and forgot where she was. She forgot everything except
the sweet, summer breeze that blew in and gently ruffled her hair,
and the methodical beating of the waves upon the rocks and her bare
feet on the floor.
The click of a door opening and shutting couldn't break her from
her own private realm. It seemed that she was not dancing anymore,
but the music was pounding in her very veins and flooding
throughout her, bending and twirling and twisting her body into
positions that she never knew she could do. She reached a climax;
she moved so swiftly, leaping deftly about, that the only thing she
could hear now was that strange music and all she could see was her
hair about her face. The wind blew harder through the window, the
beat sped up and her pulse quickened. Her feet moved faster than
ever before, she twirled twice in a row and leapt for a final time,
landing on her knees on the coarse rug.
She leaned forward to catch her breath, her hair hanging in her
face. The music had gone as abruptly as it had came and now there
was only the sound of the wind, the waves, and her heavy breathing.
She was once again back in the dull, quiet room at the top of a
tower, and crouching on the floor amidst papers and quills. She
lifted her head slowly and turned to the window, allowing the cool
breeze to kiss her face. It had been a long time, -so long in fact
that she couldn't even remember- since she'd danced like that. The
quiet in the room now seemed peaceful, rather than unsettling, and
she found the will to continue working, because that's what she
did.
As she stood up slowly, stretching in a manner that can only be
called feline, she spotted something -or rather someone- on the
opposite side of the room. It was a tall, familiar man, who walked
towards her with an outstretched hand and amused smile playing
around the corners of his mouth.
"Minerva my dear. I was unaware that you could dance so very well,"
he said, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly.
Minerva's other hand was on her chest, attempting to slow her
rapidly beating heart. This time, however, it had nothing to do
with dancing. She looked into his crystal blue eyes and stammered
his name with as much voice as she could muster.
"Professor Dumbledore! Thank you, but what brings you up here on
such a fine evening?" she asked, hastily trying to straighten her
robes and smooth her hair; she wasn't appropriately attired for
meeting with her employer. Not that their relationship was strictly
professional, however. They happened to be good friends as well as
colleagues, and maybe, Minerva hoped, a little bit more. She
realized that Albus hadn't yet let go of her hand.
"Ah, what else, Minerva, but you? I happened to be passing by and
hear quite a bit of commotion in here, so I decided to -ah-
investigate. Not a problem, I hope, is it my dear?" Albus finally
dropped her hand and looked at her with twinkling eyes that held a
hint of humor, as always. Minerva discreetly hid her bare beet
under her long, green summer robe and laughed a little, relieved
that her no longer held her hand in his; the tingling sensation she
felt there made chills run down her spine.
"Of course not, Professor Dumbledore, I was merely writing out the
Hogwarts Letters. But might I inquire as to how you were 'passing
by' when my room is the highest in the tower, and therefore is not
on any corridor?" She quirked an eyebrow amusedly. Albus smiled and
shook his head, giving her the grin that he reserved only for her.
It could warm her from head to toe better than any sunset ever
could.
"Leave it to you to come up with something such as that, Professor
McGonagall," he laughed placing a hand on her shoulder. "I never
knew that writing out letters could require so much physical
activity. Perhaps I shall join you next year. And please, call me
Albus."
Minerva relished the warm, comforting weight of his hand on her
shoulder and took a step closer. There was not but silence between
them, and Albus' eye took on a different look altogether. A look of
yearning; of a desire so deep it was inexpressible through words.
He leaned in a little closer, and Minerva felt her breath catch in
her throat. He smelt so good- like cinnamon and.Sherbet Lemons. She
allowed herself a small smile. Without a second thought they leaned
in and closed the distance between them, their lips locking and
fitting together like missing pieces of a puzzle.
The kiss was long and lingering, leaving one's taste on the others
lips. The sun was nearly set, a blinding sliver of light on the
horizon, but it still filled the room and cast a warming glow over
the two people in it, standing wrapped in each other's embrace.
They pulled back, looked into each other's eyes and held fast to
each other as if they'd never let go.
"I never knew you felt this way," Albus murmured, planting a gentle
kiss on her nose, "but I can't say that I am displeased." Minerva
smiled leaned into his embrace.
"Nor can I, Albus." She let out a contented sigh as he wrapped his
arms around her.
"But finally I have the answer to a question I've been asking
myself for quite some time." Minerva ginned slyly.
"Was it whether or not I loved you back? Because the answer is
yes." Albus closed his eyes and let out a laugh.
"No, my dear, but I can tell you that I am glad to hear that. You
see, while I know little of your life outside Hogwarts, and much of
your life right now, I have always had one question and tonight you
answered it." Minerva lay her head on his shoulder and looked out
at the almost darkened sky, and the almost black waves that were
splashing on the rocks and reflecting almost perfectly the brightly
shining stars.
"Mmm, what question would that be then?" she murmured.
"What you do when no one is around."