A/N: Now I pretend nothing with this one. Just pure fun.

004: Insides

"I will not insult your memory by giving you a tour, my dear. How about a cup of tea in my office?"

"Yes, please, Headmaster."

The sense of being guilty of an atrocious presumption still remained with Minerva as she and her employer left her new office and attached rooms. On the other hand, her feet were remembering the old corridors, and there was some comfort to be garnered from the fact that she had twice turned instinctively in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room. In more than one way, she remained a student, being led around the castle by Professor Dumbledore.

He made a face and walked ahead of her. "Albus."

She said nothing, yet his fall had softened the air between them, even with the embarrassment it had caused. His blue eyes twinkled as they watched her; the subsequent laughter still seemed to twitch his lips. She had been horrified, but he had chuckled, and she had not expected it - had forgotten what he was like, that he was not a distant hero swollen by glory but her kindly old professor who chuckled and offered her sherbet lemons…

…And whom her lips had brushed…

The memory invaded so suddenly that she felt as if she had been winded. They had reached the seventh floor, and she realised that she was going into the office she had once been forcibly dragged to by Professor Merrythought, and would probably sit in the same chair as the one she had quivered in in front of Dippet-

'Albus' was unforgivable.

The blood rushed to her cheeks, and she lowered her head. Her companion appeared not to notice, and continued to chatter.

"I assume that you have read the papers sent you?"

"Of course."

"Ah, no doubt, Minerva. But we shall need to discuss the specifics of your contract. I shall need your signature a few times. It is all very tedious, but necessary, I'm afraid."

As they arrived at the gargoyles guarding the office, her old apprehension came back with a vengeance. Dippet's strained face flashed in her mind's eye. The Headmaster ascended the spiral staircase before her, and was conspicuously silent. Had he remembered as well?

The office was considerably different from how it had been in Dippet's time. A set of purple velvet curtains had replaced the grey faded ones that she remembered, and the desk was weighted with clutter, whilst Dippet had always been scrupulously tidy. Curious little ornaments stood on every surface, attracting examination, and an elegant armoire had replaced the clumsy old cabinet. There was a warmth about the room, and an energy.

His sudden stillness drew her eyes back to him. His back was turned towards her, with the auburn hair tumbling down. Her discomfort returned, and the silence stretched-

"My dear."

Her spine shuddered and snapped to attention, for his voice had been a heavy, thick growl…

He turned, slowly, and shock held her frozen. The expression on that kindly face was predatory; every line stiffened with desire. The blue eyes were darkened, sweeping her form up and down with the power of a physical caress, sending a creeping heat though her body, burning with a hunger. Professor Dumbledore was gone; this was someone else, someone decidedly masculine - and not only aware of it but set ablaze with it, ablaze with something primal and ancient and undeniable…

Her tongue wagged irrelevantly. "Pardon? Headmaster-"

"Albus," he whispered.

She realised numbly that it had always been there - there was a sensuality about the arch of his eyebrows, the curve of his nose, the largeness of those groping eyes-

"A-Albus…"

"Minerva, I think you have forgotten."

Merlin knew how she spoke. "Forgive me, I don't-"

"-Understand," he hissed, and he dropped into his chair, drooping and slumping, draping himself over the arms like a cat curving itself round a pillar. "You understood better than me, back then."

A spark leapt, igniting a fire. "Nothing was planned."

He did not respond, but his fingers crept towards the clasp of his robes. Another tremor shot through her.

"I…"

She stopped; purple and gold robes were slipping to the floor. The undershirt parted, and fell. The Headmaster's Seal gleamed against his naked chest, swinging hypnotically. Auburn glinted in the light of a sunset. Her own fingers imitated his. One long finger crooked and beckoned. She stumbled forward, and the beard met her cheek as hands passed through her head, undoing the bun, and a hanging thread of her existence was picked up, and woven to its conclusion…

Of course, that never actually happened. They had tea and, with it, a pleasant conversation on a variety of topics. They talked about the weather, about the curriculum, about her Auror exploits. She signed some papers. He offered her sherbet lemons, which she refused. He walked her back to her rooms, and reminded her to compile some lesson plans. He left, and she walked around her rooms both as a cat and as a woman, familiarising herself. Then she went to bed.

She knew that vivid dreams were caused by eating too much cheese.