24 December 1994
"May I have this dance, Professor McGonagall?" the Headmaster asked. Assuming the answer would be in the affirmative, he had already taken her hand and led her onto the dance floor, where the young people were already swirling around, awkwardly but gamely, in pairs.
After the traditional waltz, the two elders retired once again to the sidelines to observe as their young charges—and some of their colleagues, Minerva noted with a shudder as she watched Hagrid trampling the hard-to-avoid toes of Madam Maxime's dress slippers—went looking for love. She and Poppy had already discussed the necessity of laying in an extra supply of Calming Draughts in anticipation of a sudden influx to the infirmary of broken-hearted girls and the occasional boy with vague complaints of sleeplessness or stomach aches in the aftermath of the Yule Ball.
Minerva thought, with uncharacteristic wistfulness, of the days in which heartache could be mended by the passage of a few weeks and the sudden realisation of an undying passion for a previously unnoticed pair of eyes.
She glanced over at Albus, deep in conversation with Igor Karkaroff, and wondered whether he had lately found a sympathetic pair of eyes in which to drown his recent cares.
A pert pair of breasts, more likely, she mused.
She shook off the thought and didn't revisit it again until the dance seemed to be winding down, with only a few dozen students hanging languidly off of one another on the dance floor. She had almost given in to fatigue and allowed her eyelids to flutter closed when her ears perked up at the strains of a familiar tune.
Then he was at her side, asking once again, "May I have this dance, Minerva?" This time, it was not the courtly public voice, but a familiar and seductive whisper in her ear, a voice she had once believed was reserved only for her.
"You may," she answered, and they took the floor to the astonished looks of the young couples around them, most of whom had looked up at the sudden change of musical direction, shrugged, and gone back to their swaying.
It seems we've stood and talked like this before,
We looked at each other in the same way then,
But I can't remember where or when.
As Peggy Lee continued to sing about familiar clothes and smiles, Minerva looked up at Albus and said, "You put Filius up to this."
"You are correct in this, as in most things, my dearest Minerva."
"Why?"
He gave her a wicked smile and leant down to whisper into her ear, "I suppose I was hoping I might—how do the children put it?—'get lucky' this evening."
Some things that happened for the first time
Seem to be happening again.
Well, that answered her earlier question, she supposed. She snorted, causing the couples next to them to look over briefly.
"Still enjoying your state of protracted adolescence, I see."
"It must be the constant exposure to all these teenaged hormones."
"I should have thought you'd be impervious to them by now."
"But not to your considerable charms."
"Oh, give over, you old fool."
He laughed, and then she did, too.
And so it seems that we have met before,
And laughed before,
And loved before,
But who knows where or when?
When the song ended, the abrupt change of music prompted Minerva to begin to pull away from him, but he held her fast by the waist.
"You are intent on giving the children something to talk about, aren't you?" she said.
"Do they talk about us?
"You know they do. "
"And here I thought they had you and Severus shagging in every room in the castle."
"That is a terrifying thought." After a moment, she added, "Are you jealous?"
"Oh, indeed. If it is true, I may have to turn the lad into a Flobberworm."
She stiffened in his arms as she suddenly heard the refrain of the ridiculous song:
Please forgive me, I know not what I do
Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you . . .
"And did you put Filius up to this, too?"
"Not at all. This is, as far as I know, the first time I've ever heard this particular tune."
"Good. Because if I believed you'd subject me to this kind of claptrap, I'd hex you in a very sensitive spot."
"After everything I put you through, you'd hex me over a bit of music?"
"This bit of music, yes."
Nevertheless, she allowed him to continue to move her about the dance floor. In truth, she did rather enjoy dancing with him. It was as close as they'd been in years, and whatever else had happened between them, she often missed his solid physical proximity. She knew he knew it, too.
I remember the smell of your skin,
I remember everything . . .
"You're sure you didn't ask Filius to play this?" she asked.
"Quite sure. But you know Filius—ever the romantic. He still harbours hopes for us, I think."
"Why is it that when someone becomes entangled in a romantic relationship they suddenly feel the urge to pair up their friends and colleagues?"
"He wants to share his happiness, I suppose."
"Well, I'm glad he's happy with that Peasegood fellow, but he should know better in our case. He was there for the train wreck, after all."
Albus only gave a noncommittal, "Mmmm."
The wretched song finally ended, and Flitwick announced the last dance of the evening.
Minerva took her leave of the Headmaster and her other colleagues and went to do a final set of rounds before heading back to her quarters.
The dances and conversation with Albus had unsettled her more than she would have liked to admit. It was the first time in ages he had expressed any sexual interest in her, and while she hadn't exactly been pining away for him in the years since they had split up, she was still attracted to him, and it had been an embarrassingly (and frustratingly) long time since she'd taken a lover.
She was almost tempted to seek him out in his quarters, but quickly decided against it. It would set a dangerous precedent, and besides, she didn't want to arrive at his door only to find another woman's scent in the air, or worse. That was one thing she decidedly didn't miss.
As she rounded a corner, she could hear a pair of voices engaged in the most predictable gossip.
"I think that seals it. You saw them—they're off to have a shag."
It sounded like Lavender Brown.
The other voice—Miss Patil's it would be, if Minerva's guess about the first voice was correct—replied, "Oh, gross!"
"I don't think it's gross. Besides, old McGonagall seems like she could use a good shag. Maybe then she'd let up a bit with the homework. I had to skip the last Hogsmeade day to get her stupid essay on inter-whatever-it-was done."
Minerva smiled to herself. Typical teenager: even when wishing her teacher the benefits of healthy sexual activity, she made it about herself. Minerva decided to make her presence known before she could overhear any more speculation about her sex life and its effects on Ms Brown's social calendar.
"Miss Brown, Miss Patil," she said as she stepped toward the window seat the girls occupied, making them nearly jump out of their skins. "It is past time for you girls to be in bed. Off you go."
She gave no indication that she had overheard the girls' conversation, but she knew with smug satisfaction that the two would be wondering and worrying about the potential repercussions of their highly inappropriate speculations.
Highly inappropriate, no doubt about that.
Nevertheless, Minerva shortly found herself at the door to the Headmaster's private quarters rather than in her own in Gryffindor Tower. As Deputy, she knew the password well enough, but she knocked anyway. It was years since she felt entitled to enter his quarters unannounced, and even then, it had generally been a bad idea.
The door opened, and when the Headmaster saw who his visitor was, he broke out in a beaming smile that was charmingly ingenuous. Or perhaps that was the calculated effect. It didn't matter, anyway. This time, the only thing she wanted from him was something he was prepared to give.
Before he could say anything, she said, "It's a bit early for Hogmanay, but I thought we might enjoy a bit of auld lang syne."
He said nothing, but pulled her in the door, waving it closed.
/***/
"Gods, that was good," she exhaled, letting her sweat-moistened head flop back against the pillow.
"It was, wasn't it?" he said, still breathing heavily.
He is a hundred and thirteen, she reminded herself.
Once his breathing had slowed to a less alarming pace, she said, "Nice to know we haven't forgotten how."
"Mmm. It's like riding a broom . . . you never forget some things."
"I sincerely hope, Albus Dumbledore, that you did not just compare me with a broomstick."
"Ah. A poor choice of metaphor—my apologies."
Later, when she was safely and properly back in her own quarters, she would think about just how good it had been. Making love with him had felt like coming home. It was a nice change from her more recent lovers. The sex with them been always been good enough in its way, but in the last few years, it had seemed like too much effort for too little payoff, given the infrequency with which she could be with anyone. They never seemed to have time to become truly intimate—to know every inch of one another's bodies, their likes and dislikes, their kinks. She and Albus already knew one another like a pair of well-loved and much-read books; each knew precisely what places to touch, and how hard, and the things that would make the other scream with pleasure delayed or fulfilled.
He pulled her into the crook of his arm, and they lay, not speaking, for a few minutes, as her hand moved in small circles over his chest and his stroked her arm languidly.
She brushed his beard aside to continue her meanderings about his chest. "Your beard is so much longer than the last time we did this. I was afraid I was pulling it."
"It was actually rather arousing, feeling you pulling on my beard while you rode my cock."
"I'm glad you thought so," she answered with a chuckle. "Although I daresay you'll have quite a time untangling it."
"That, my dear, is what charms are for."
She couldn't help asking, "Tell me, is that why you've grown it so long—to enhance your erotic adventures?"
It was less like picking at a scab than running one's fingers lovingly over an old scar.
He answered her in the old, familiar way: by kissing her mouth and moving his hands teasingly across her breasts.
Now, it was just fine with her.