The Hogwarts staff lounge was warm with the glow of the fireplace, the crackling logs filling the space with a soft, steady rhythm. It was one of those evenings where exhaustion gave way to laughter, where wine flowed freely, and where, for once, the weight of their responsibilities was left at the door.

Minerva sat beside Albus—not stiffly, not with the careful distance she had once maintained, but close. Comfortably close. Close enough that her knee brushed against his every now and then. Close enough that, when she reached for her tea, his fingers ghosted over hers in silent acknowledgment.

It had been weeks since their confession. Since everything had changed.

And yet, in the presence of their friends, there was something thrilling about simply being.

Filius was mid-story—something about a disastrous Charms demonstration—when it happened.

Minerva had leaned back into the sofa, just slightly, and without thinking, Albus reached out—an instinct, a habit unspoken—and his fingers found her wrist, brushing against it before settling there.

A quiet touch. Steady. Grounding.

Pomona's eyes flickered to the movement.

She smiled.

Rolanda, lounging with her boots propped on the table, snorted. "So, are you two finally comfortable being gross around us?"

Minerva arched a brow. "Gross?"

Rolanda gestured at their linked hands. "That."

Poppy smirked. "Oh, let them be, Ro. It's rather sweet, don't you think?"

"Sweet?" Rolanda scoffed. "Minerva McGonagall, sweet?"

Minerva took a deliberate sip of her tea. "Careful, Hooch. You're speaking as if I won't hex your broom to fly backward next match."

Filius chuckled. "I think it's wonderful, truly." He peered up at them both. "It suits you."

Albus smiled, fingers absently tracing along Minerva's knuckles. "You always did have a keen eye, Filius."

Pomona grinned. "Oh, he's right, though. Look at you."

Minerva huffed. "Honestly, must we be observed like some sort of peculiar specimen?"

Rolanda smirked. "Yes."

Minerva sighed dramatically, but Albus simply chuckled, turning her hand over in his palm, thumb stroking against the inside of her wrist.

Minerva's breath caught—only briefly, but Poppy saw.

"Oh," she murmured, eyes twinkling. "Now that is dangerous."

Pomona nudged her. "What?"

Poppy grinned, tilting her head toward Minerva. "That."

They followed her gaze.

Minerva's fingers had curled ever so slightly, tightening around Albus's hand. Clutching, clinging—not in desperation, but in something far more intimate. Something familiar.

Something theirs.

"Oh," Pomona breathed. "Oh, that."

Rolanda raised a brow. "Merlin's beard, you two are ridiculous."

Minerva simply smirked, finally, finally allowing herself to relax.

"Jealous, Hooch?"

Rolanda groaned. "You're insufferable."

But the laughter that followed was warm, and for the first time in a long time, Minerva allowed herself to bask.

She did not need to hide anymore.