Layers

June 1960

"But you do look astonishingly different," Slughorn sleazed at Minerva. Three members of staff were all that remained at the ball after having shepherded the students off to bed. They were sat around one of the decorated tables, Slughorn and Dumbledore's eyes turned towards Minerva as she took a sip of her elderflower wine. Dumbledore's spell had broken as Minerva had walked through the crowd of students after his little performance and she knew he had done it on purpose. As the students parted to let her through, their astonished, nervous or grinning faces saw her hair spill back down to her hips and her glasses pop away into the ether. A big cheer went up and the music swelled; Dumbledore's doing, of course.

"Good job you don't look like that all the time," Slughorn continued, waving his whiskey at her. "You would distract the students."

Dumbledore chuckled into his hot chocolate as Minerva shot a sharp look at Slughorn and then took a bigger sip of her wine.

Slughorn was the first to finish his drink and say 'goodnight', leaving Minerva and Dumbledore to watch as the door to the Great Hall closed silently behind him.

"It is astonishing though," Dumbledore said after a while. "The behaviour of the students changed so much after they knew who you were; where before they were observing you with their excellent ogling stares, later they tried to control their conspicuousness. They were still looking though," he added with a smile. "People are a wonder of layers."

"Hmm," Minerva responded shortly. "And the layers get harder to decipher the older they get."

Dumbledore turned his gaze from the marshmallows in his chocolate to the witch next to him. "There are more thoughts to disguise," he said precisely.

Minerva shot a severe look at Dumbledore. She knew he was about to be impertinent and her glance was a warning.

"And that's your disguise," he said gesturing towards her expression. "Severity," he added.

"And yours is frivolity," Minerva retorted.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Alas, you know me too well, Minerva. Now, I am going to retire before you strip anymore layers away from this frivolous façade."

Dumbledore and Minerva left the Great Hall together, barely hearing the cracks and pops of the house elves who appeared behind the doors as they clicked closed.

He didn't need to, but Dumbledore walked Minerva to her door. He had something to say to her that was not for the ears of the ghosts gliding down the corridors, not for the ears of the walls, nor for the paintings either. He clicked her door shut behind him, but didn't venture any further into her rooms. Minerva turned with a questioning look.

"How do you feel," Dumbledore asked seriously, "about this?" His hand reached towards her and lifted one of the tresses of hair at her hips, brushing it through his fingers. Minerva watched him feel the texture, sensing a wave roll over her stomach.

"Free," she whispered. Then, realising she had lost her disguise, she took a sharp intake of breath and added, "Everything will be back to normal in the morning."

"I believe Horace will be severely disheartened - poor fellow," he responded, his eyes smiling at her.

"How will I live with myself?" Minerva replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Dumbledore chortled at Minerva's dry wit. She looked down at his fingers which were still teasing the locks of soft, dark hair around them and she stiffened awkwardly.

"It's late, Albus," she said sharply. "I have work to do tomorrow."

Dumbledore did not lose his smile. "There's that façade again, Minerva," he said, amused. "I wonder how one might breach something so well guarded," he continued, more to himself than to Minerva, scrutinising her face as he did so.

"Some walls are not made to be broken, Albus." Her voice was determined, her disguise, perfect.

"May I try?"

"No-"

Minerva's voice cracked as Dumbledore's hand dropped her hair and moved to her face. His fingers hugged her neck and his thumb went under her chin, lifting her face upwards.

"Just once," he whispered. It was not a question. He stepped forward, closing the space between them and leaned down towards her. Gentle. His lips skimmed hers. Stronger. He was testing the boundaries. Minerva grazed her hands up his chest and caught his neck, pulling her closer to him. Her façade was broken. Just once.

x x x

December 2000

Tap tap tap.

"Come in, Albus," she called out.

Minerva swept through her bedroom and out into her living room to greet Dumbledore. As he entered he somehow managed to fill the room.

"I thought you might enjoy a pre-ball tipple," he said sitting down on her sofa and gesturing to the empty space next to him. Minerva's lips tightened.

"Did you?" she asked, losing none of the irritation she'd felt all evening.

"I did," Dumbledore replied. "And that is why," he explained, signalling her tight, stress filled, irritated features.

...

"Have you ever tried a sherbert lemon?" Dumbledore asked. "Far better than the pear drops of old."

"It's my turn, Albus. Favourite student?" Minerva asked. "Past student," she clarified. "They cannot be here now."

"I cannot answer that," Dumbledore said rejecting the question.

"On what grounds?" Minerva asked, indignantly.

"Bias," he replied simply.

Their entertainment had been flowing for ten minutes, both keeping the questions and answers light-hearted and unrevealing. They could both see the mirror image of their younger selves forty years ago playing out before them. Minerva forced her thoughts onto the decision they had silently made then, and tried to bring it to the fore. She had let her hair down, literally and figuratively, for one night many years ago. That was all it would ever be… but his answer had made her flush with the memory of it.

"Fine," she said, trying to recover her composure. "Favourite-"

"Let your hair down, Minerva" Dumbledore said, as offhand as is possible to be. She knew that he too had been thinking about the last ball they had both attended at Hogwarts.

"I'd rather not," she replied tersely, "Especially if you have a flamboyant performance in mind."

"I am not talking about the ball, Minerva," Dumbledore interjected. "Although it is a good excuse," he continued, his eyes sparkling playfully. She did not respond, but was lost in thought. Her eyes focused on the deep emerald robes falling over Dumbledore's knees and then travelled up, following his whitened beard, over his lips which were dancing with unheard whispers, and up to his eyes. She was not sure if she could do it again.

Suddenly, she felt a loosening at her temples. Dumbledore moved towards her, lifted his hands to her face and removed her glasses. At the same time she felt soft brushes against her neck and down her spine. "If confiscating your glasses and freeing your hair is what it takes for you to trust me with that person I saw all those years ago, then so be it. I have so wished to see her again, Minerva."

Minerva smiled sadly at him. "She's a very private person, Albus."

Dumbledore slid off the sofa and knelt before her, where she was perched, and moved to kneel between her legs. Minerva's fingers travelled over Dumbledore's neck and up into his hair, holding his head.

"Share her with me," Dumbledore said. "Not just for tonight."

END