Love in Motion, Crack: DracoMinerva

Disney, George Banks: Write about an overworked character

Trope of the Month, crossgen: "Are you for real?"

Showtime, Hasa Diga Eebowai: blasphemy

Em's Emporium, Lin: set at Hogwarts

Auction: "I think it's time I told you… I love you. Always have."

Word Count: 429


Draco Malfoy has never considered himself even remotely brave. Upon arriving at Hogwarts all those years ago, he had known that Gryffindor would be the last House he would ever be Sorted into.

But now there's a certain boldness that comes with being a professor. Draco doesn't understand where it comes from or why, but he doesn't question it. Though it seems like a great blasphemy to admit, maybe he has a little lion within him.

At least that's what he tells himself as he enters the Headmistress' office. The alternative—that he has lost his fucking mind and has finally been driven insane—is not an option.

"Professor?"

Minerva McGonagall looks up at him from the mountain of paperwork stacked upon her desk. When her eyes meet his, he forgets how to speak.

"I've told you to call me Minerva now," she says, her tired gaze returning to whatever letter or memo is next in the seemingly endless pile. "You are a professor now too."

"Right… Are you for real? It's not inappropriate?" he asks, his cheeks burning with color.

"I'm sure," she says dryly, still focusing on her work.

Draco watches the older woman for a moment. He wonders if she ever takes a break. It seems like she's always so bloody busy with work, as though it consumes every aspect of her life.

Minerva clears her throat. "Is there something you needed, Draco?"

"Yes, actually…"

She finally looks at him again, and Draco can see the exhaustion in her eyes. Her thin lips tug into a hard line, and she makes an impatient sound.

"I think it's time I told you... " Draco takes a deep breath, wringing his hands together nervously. He takes a deep breath. "I love you. Always have."

Silence, he decides, is good. At least she isn't screaming at him or demanding that he leave her study immediately. He'll consider that a good omen.

"Draco, I'm not sure what you're playing at, but you are too old for such silly jokes," she says. "I'm very—"

"It's not a joke. I've fancied you for a long time, Minerva. Please… One date? I swear I won't disappoint you."

"Draco—"

"You work too much. Just come out. Have a drink with me," he insists. "Let your hair down. Figuratively, of course. I like your bun."

Now, he isn't sure that he likes the silence so much. Minerva stares at him with an unreadable expression, and Draco can't do anything but hope.

"One drink. Tomorrow night after dinner," she says at last, resuming her work. "Hog's Head."

And as he leaves her office, grinning from ear to ear, he can't help thinking how lucky he is.