To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

---

Lifting the heavy silver serpent knocker for the third time, Minerva McGonagall knocked on the door to Grimmauld Place again, cursing the pre-dawn mist of freezing rain that had kept up since midnight. As she was not of Black birthright, her only access to Number Twelve was by admittance. Shivering on the chilly steps, she pulled her sodden cloak tight around her shoulders and prayed someone was awake to let her in.

Her latest assignment had been a miserable one, to say the least. She'd been awake nearly thirty hours now, having spent the better part of the last two days monitoring the clientele of a shady Leicestershire apothecary who happened to have a specialty in poisons.

She'd managed to procure a list of a dozen or so drafts of Level Four classification ("Dangerous: Licensed Potion-Makers Only"), a handful of Level Five ("Extremely Dangerous: Requires Ministry Authorization for Use"), and at least one she was sure was Level 11 ("Illegal: Don't Even Think About It"). The list of customers she'd observed would no doubt be of interest to Albus. Moody would be ecstatic.

Wasn't exactly Pepper Up potion you were interested in, was it Avery?

The door opened a moment later, revealing the amiable if fatigued features of Arthur Weasley. He was dressed in his slippers and dressing gown, a cheery smile greeted her in spite of the fact that she had most likely woken him.

"Minerva, I'm glad it's you, "he said, letting out a sigh of relief, "We've been getting worried."

Removing her sodden cloak, she gave him a reproachful look.

"Really, Arthur, don't be ridiculous. Watching a storefront for a few hours is hardly anything to be concerned about, " she said brusquely, adding, "Not to mention the fact that I've some experience in this sort of thing," as she gave her dripping cloak a squeeze, sending rivulets of water to the floor of the dark entrance hall.

"Here, let me take that," Arthur replied, chagrined. "Yes, well, second nature and all, worrying. Something I've had a bit of experience with," he said with grin, "Parent, and all."

With seven children it would be hard not to believe Arthur fretting over his brood. Especially when that brood consisted of two of the most notable pranksters in the history of Hogwarts, a professional curse-breaker, a dragon master, and two of Harry Potter's closest friends. And Potter, for all intents and purposes, was practically a Weasley by assumption if not by birthright. It was a wonder Arthur Weasley had any of his signature bright red hair left.

"I'll leave this by the fire to dry out," Arthur continued, heading towards the spacious sitting room. A dying fire sent long, flickering shadows across the dark green walls. Grimmauld Place was eerie enough in full daylight, and Minerva found she certainly had no more appreciation for it in the early hours of the morning.

"Thank you, Arthur," she replied gratefully, wishing she could curl up in front of the warm hearth right now instead of sending the results of her assignment to Albus.

Enough of that, the Order comes first, Minerva, she told herself.

"There's a second portrait of Phineas in the study just down the hall here," Arthur said, gesturing down the dim lit corridor. "I think Sirius mentioned one in the library as well, but haven't been in there much yet, so I could be mistaken. Anyway, there's no sense in waiting until the children are up to use the upstairs portrait," he finished, covering a yawn.

"Excellent. The sooner I can get word to Dumbledore and write up my report, the better," she said.

"Nothing better than crawling into bed after a night like this, eh?"

Minerva blinked.

"Oh, well, that too, I suppose," she answered truthfully, though surprised. Her foremost concern was to do her job. The Order of the Phoenix, its goals, preservation, and fulfilling her duty to Dumbledore were her first priority. Surely Arthur understood that.

"I meant I'd rather get everything down now while it's fresh in my memory. It's no use having taken the time to gather information for the Order if I've forgotten it due to carelessness."

"I hardly think anyone could accuse you of negligence, Minerva," Arthur replied, stirring the embers in the dwindling flames, trying to get the new kindling to catch.

She gave him a tight smile, not really listening as she massaged her stiff neck, feeling the tense ligaments stretch and crack as she craned her neck.

"One can only hope," she said tersely. Turning to him, she nodded. "I had better get to it then."

"Of course," he responded, glancing at his watch. "Just after four...Molly will be up in an hour or so, she's on shift at the Ministry this morning and I know she wanted to make something to leave for the children. I'll have her check in on you, see if you need anything."

"I'd like that, thank you again, Arthur."

"Not at all."

He gave her a polite nod before heading back through the door to the entrance hall. Minerva heard his footfalls echo as he made his way up the grand staircase for a few moments before fading into the expanse of the second floor and the house was still again. Having warmed her hands by the fire a moment--just enough to get the chill out of her fingers so she would be able to write--she lit a candle and headed to the study at the other end of the house.

After passing all the relevant information to Phineas Nigellus -who, despite his obligation to aid Dumbledore when necessary, was still much inclined to grumble about playing courier--Minerva set down to summarize the evidence and observations she'd made.

Although Minerva found her job extremely gratifying, it was not without some measure of dissatisfaction. The need to maintain absolute secrecy of the Order meant that even with the information she'd provided, there could be no steps taken to stop the perpetrators. Even if they were dealing with Death Eaters, those who would stop at nothing to see The Dark Lord's ambitions achieved, there was nothing they could do. Not if they wanted to prevent suspicion from being aroused. Tipping off Voldemort to the resurrection of the Order of the Phoenix was the last thing they wanted. Even if he might already suspect it, they couldn't allow anything at this juncture that might confirm those uncertainties.

She took painstaking care to describe everything she'd witnessed from her vantage outside Rufus Rasputin's back alley shop. Names of the customers she'd recognized, along with the length of their visit, and what -when she'd been able to determine--they'd purchased.

Hands speckled with spots of ebony-black ink and candle burning low, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand though her eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, her back ached from having been in her Animagus form for over a day, and her head was becoming harder and harder to hold upright.

Four and a half feet of notes and meticulous documentation later, she finally laid her quill down to survey the whole. Aside from a slightly messier script than was usual, it presented well and was as detailed as could possibly be.

As dawn's first light crept under the study door, Minerva was still going over her report, adding an addendum here, footnotes there, and additional remarks where necessary. She was so intent on the task at hand that she hardly noticed she wasn't alone until a hand gently broke her reverie.

"Arthur told me I'd find you here."

"Molly!" Minerva exclaimed, looking up, startled. "You surprised me. I didn't hear you come in."

"Well, I'm not surprised. Working away when you've been up all night," Molly Weasley said sternly, clucking her tongue at Minerva, voice full of that strange mix of admiration and annoyance that only a mother could manage.

"You hardly give yourself a moment's peace. Look at you! Robes wet, no sleep...I don't even want to know when the last time you had a decent meal was."

Minerva frowned, brows drawing together in displeasure at Molly's unfair judgment. As members of the Order of the Phoenix Minerva was bound to do her all for the group, to struggle and to strive for the greater good. If she was willing to give her life for the cause, of what matter was sacrificing her damn comfort for a short while?

She opened her mouth to protest, but seeing her expression, Molly intervened.

"No. I know what you're going to say. I'll not hear it. You work too hard, Minerva. We love you for your determination, and even in spite of it sometimes, but you'll run yourself into the ground at this rate."

Minerva shuffled her scrolls together and replaced the quill in the inkpot of the lavish cherry wood desk she'd been work at.

"Molly, I appreciate your concern but I'm a grown woman. I can handle myself well enough, thank you," she replied, acerbically.

"I'm sure you're excellent at that, Minerva," Molly said, putting a hand on her shoulder as the younger woman made ready to leave.

"But I worry you're not taking care of yourself."

For a moment, Minerva didn't know what to say. She was a fiercely independent woman who prided herself on her self-reliance. Being told off and spoken down to had irritated her to no end as a child, and such tactics aggravated her still. She had little tolerance for those who told her what to do.

But seeing the look of genuine concern in Molly's warm brown eyes melted any hard feelings Minerva felt at that moment. A rush of gratitude replaced the animosity, and Minerva relaxed, letting some of the tension fall from her shoulders. Having spent so much of her adult life in the company of colleagues far older than herself, and students much younger, it was often hard to remember that those in the Order were her peers and were people who cared as much for her as she did for them.

She offered her friend a tired smile.

"Thank you, Molly," she said honestly, "I do tend to let myself get overwhelmed from time to time--"

"Most of the time, more like," Molly pointed out.

"Right, but you understand. What we do is important, vitally so, and one can't afford to make mistakes," she said emphatically.

"Of course not, but the chances that you're going to make a mistake eventually get higher when you're suffering from exhaustion, or malnourishment, or any number of the things that are going to happen if you don't start treating yourself better," Molly said, taking Minerva by the arm and pulling her out into the hallway.

The heavy parlor curtains had been pulled back, and though the glass of a dozen or so windows visible from the main entrance hall was still grimy, shafts of watery yellow light fell through in places, illuminating dust motes and driving away some of the shadows.

"Yes, of course, Molly, but--"

"No 'buts', Minerva McGonagall. You've taught my children for fourteen years now, but it's time you learned a thing or two," Molly said sharply, removing the scrolls and pages of notes from Minerva objecting arms, one by one.

"First, you will do this: you will go upstairs to the spare bedroom, sec--no, wait, seventh, yes seventh door on the left. Is that right?" Molly said to herself, screwing her brows together in thought.

"Yes, right, on the left. Secondly, you will sleep for the next twelve hours. Thirdly, you will eat a proper meal with the rest of us prior to the meeting. I'll have Arthur set an extra plate. Dinner is at seven. Further instructions to follow. Do I make myself clear?"

"But Molly, I really should speak with Albus as soon as possible--" Minerva protested.

"Are lives in immediate danger?"

"Well, no--" she admitted.

"Does the fate of the world rest in your hands right now?"

"No, it doesn't. Molly--" she said with increasing agitation.

"Can you," Molly said, raising her voice over Minerva's, "offer me any substantial reason why you can't wait a few hours before meeting with Dumbledore?"

For the first time in her long memory, Minerva was met with a look as formidable as her own. Locking her jaw and folding her arms across her chest, she conceded defeat.

"No, I suppose not," she said through gritted teeth.

Molly smiled brightly, gathering Minerva's things together in her arms.

"Good then. You know where to go. Rest well, dear," Molly said, chipper.

Minerva grasped the banister, glaring once more at Molly's back, and turned to head upstairs.

"Oh, Minerva! One more thing!" Molly called in a fervent hush, obviously not wanting to disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black.

"What is it, Molly?" Minerva asked, leaning over the railing slightly to Molly's head level.

"This," Molly replied sweetly, plucking a black quill from behind Minerva's right ear.

"That's all. Go on. See you at dinner."

And with that she left, handing Minerva a candle before she turned and puttering down the hall to the cellar kitchen with the black feathered quill in hand.

Minerva's frown deepened.

I don't even remember putting that there, she thought irritably.

Climbing the stairs, and heading down the hall--

Was it right or left? She said right. Second door on the right.

Minerva had to agree that Molly was right: she was exhausted. The rain had left a chill in her that was not helped by the damp robes she was still wearing.

Footsteps echoing softly in the darkness, she found the door she was looking for and pushed it open.

The room was neat, consisting of a dresser on her right, armchair and bookcase by the fireplace on her left, and a large four poster in the middle of the room next to a small night table. A door on the right side of the room led either to an adjoining bath or served as a closet.

Too tired to explore, Minerva placed the candle on the nightstand and stripped off her robes, placing them on the back of the armchair to dry over the next few hours, followed by her skirt and blouse, and pulled the pins from her hair, dropping them on the mantle.

Now what am I supposed to do?

Having nothing else to change into and feeling far too chilled to sleep in simply her knickers, she strode to the dresser and grasped the handles of the middle drawer. Expecting nothing more than dust, she was surprised to find that someone had left two neatly folded oxford shirts there. Judging by the hole in one shoulder and the missing buttons on the cuff of the other, the garments had been there for some time, no doubt gnawed on and damaged by pests.

Though beggars can't be choosers, she reasoned.

Shaking out the second of the two, a light blue and white striped shirt that looked fairly commonplace, Minerva pulled it on. It was warm and soft, a welcome change from the clammy feel of her robes.

Feeling much more sleepy than even a moment before, Minerva climbed in to the large four poster bed and pulled one side of the curtains shut, not wanting what little daylight found its way in through the filthy windows to disturb her. Then, extinguishing her candle, she drew the other side shut.

Curling up in the blissful softness of the blankets and pillows, her last thought before succumbing to the gentle waves of sleep was how oddly familiar the linens smelled.

***

By the time Remus Lupin had reached the doorstep of Number Twelve, the rain had retreated from Grimmauld Place, replaced by clouds of murky morning haze that had hovered above London since Muggles had taken to inventing strange contraptions meant to make their lives easier, more profitable, and happier.

He hoped their machines had made Muggles' lives better as they certainly did little to improve the scenery.

As he raised his hand to knock at the door, the brash voice of Nymphadora Tonks stopped him.

"Don't be daft, Lupin. I do have some uses, you know," Tonks said, pushing his hand aside and laying her hand on the black iron doorknob. At her touch, the door instantly gave a soft rumble and swung ajar, allowing them entrance.

"Guess Aunt Arachne wasn't really worried about Mum popping by for a visit," she said cheerfully, pushing the door open fully to allow Remus through.

"Otherwise she'd probably have charmed it not to allow 'foul half-bloods' in, or whatever it was she called me yesterday."

Though her voice was chipper and expression bright, even an Auror's practiced skills of deception couldn't fool Remus Lupin. He knew that Tonks harbored the same guilt and shame as Sirius when it came to their shared Black family heritage. Centuries of disgrace, cruelty, and ill-repute amongst wizarding society had made the name of Black just as infamous as those of the Malfoys, Lestranges, and the Averys of years past.

"You never know. The Blacks were a twisted lot. It may just be a term of endearment for you," he replied, keeping upbeat.

"Ha! Somehow I doubt that, Remus," Tonks replied over her shoulder, her shoulder length blue hair taking on a washed out sheen once inside the shadowy confines of her ancestors home.

Remus took her cloak and hung it beside his own on a hook by the entrance.

He'd spent another long night on shift guarding the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. Sturgis Podmore had come down with Fwooping cough and been waylaid in St. Mungo's the previous afternoon, forcing Remus to continue his afternoon stint into the night. It was an inconvenience to be sure, but Remus hadn't minded much. It would have been nice to do with some tea and Molly's biscuits, but such were little luxuries he could do without for an evening. Plus, pulling a double shift meant he'd be off the schedule for a few days, which he didn't mind at all. And, he'd been able to chat with Tonks, who'd thankfully been there, able to nudge him on occasion to keep him from falling asleep.

Thus far, things had been quiet, both within and outside of the Ministry of Magic; very little appeared to be happening in Voldemort's camp, presently. This made Remus worried, very worried. It made sense from a tactical point of view to keep a low profile from your enemies until you were ready to strike...exactly what Remus was afraid of. It was what he knew Dumbledore and the rest of the Order were afraid of as well. They had to be on guard at all times, ready for the worst that could come.

And it would come. That much he was sure of.

Constant vigilance... Moody really is right, for all the times we've rolled our eyes at him, he thought to himself, running a hand through his light brown hair.

He rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The full moon was still weeks away, though he was tired and sore from hours hunched under an invisibility cloak against the cold, rough stone walls of the Ministry. What he wanted more than nothing else was to get a few hours of sleep before the meeting that night.

When Molly had arrived with Hestia to relive them, she'd left Remus with instructions to do exactly that, threatening to let Sirius do the cooking for a week if they didn't take heed.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you...we're going to end up the Order of the Feeble if you don't get it through your thick heads to take better care of yourselves," Molly had admonished to both his own and Tonks' bewilderment.

"See how effective you are against dark wizards when you haven't eaten or slept for days on end...." she'd lectured. Then, bidding them leave with directions to help themselves to the cranberry muffins she'd baked that morning before the children got to them all, she'd disappeared beneath the cloak allowing Remus and Tonks' to make their way back to Grimmauld Place.

"Hope there's something left for us to scrounge up down there," Tonks said as she started across the entrance hall towards the cellar door.

Remus checked his watch; only ten to eight.

"I'm sure there's plenty for you; the children will be asleep for another hour and a half at least," he replied, heading towards the stairs.

"You're not eating?" Tonks asked, looking up at him as he started up the marble steps.

Remus shook his head wearily.

"Too tired. Tell Molly to wake me before dinner though. She should be back by six o'clock," he said.

"Oh. Alright then." she replied, following him up the stairs with her eyes,"Yeah, I'm going to get some shut eye too. In a minute, I mean. Sleep well, Remus," she called merrily at his retreating figure.

He gave Tonks a parting wave and turned up the landing to the second floor, taking pains not to step on the creaky floorboard that would surely set off Mrs. Black.

Passing Fred and George's room, and then Hermione and Ginny's, Remus crept silently down the hallway. The second floor sitting room was the first door on the right, followed next by his own.

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, grateful for the chance to rest.

It was a bedchamber grander than any Remus had ever had before. Deep green curtains were tied back at the window with velvet sashes, allowing beams of too bright, yellow light into the room. The walls were covered in rich beige wallpaper, embossed with the fleur-de-lis and ending at the ceiling in elegant mahogany molding.

But the room was detached in the way that the homes of many wealthy people are. Cold. Unfeeling. It was a room meant to be valued but never loved.

As a means of combating the room's sterility, he'd filled the bookcase with texts and novels he'd collected over the years. A few knickknacks of his own were scattered here and there, a picture on the mantle, a vase filled with dying flowers by the window. It wasn't much, but it brought an aura of familiarity to the unwelcoming walls. The four poster had even begun to remind him of the sort he'd had in the Gryffindor dormitory years before.

It may not have been the coziest of places, but it served its purpose and Remus wasn't complaining.

Striding towards the window by the dresser, he undid the window sashes, allowing the heavy material to block out the offending daylight. He pulled his shirt over his head as he walked around the bed to do the same to the other, tossing the garment over his shoulder onto the back of the armchair as he drew shut the thick curtain folds. Removing a pair of pyjama bottoms from a drawer, he pulled them on, not bothering with the top. Though it had been cool and damp that night, the sun was out now and London In July could be stifling.

He was folding his trousers up when a muffled sound startled him. He whirled around, forgetting his unfolded laundry for the time being.

Nothing happened.

He was beginning to think he'd imagined it when, just as before, the distinct sound of rustling sheets came from behind the bed drapes.

I didn't close those, he suddenly remembered, regarding the curtains with growing apprehension. Remembering a half-threat Sirius had made the week before about moving Buckbeak's nesting space to Remus' chambers, Remus narrowed his eyes and started towards the bed.

Just what I need, an irritable Hippogriff conspiring with my irritable best friend...I'm going to kill him, he thought, ripping back the black fabric furiously.

What he found made his mouth drop and anger dissolve straight away.

Curled on her side between two pillows, hair spread out in a halo of darkness about her head, was the last thing he ever expected to find in his bed

A sleeping Minerva McGonagall.

What..?

How on earth had Minerva ended up sleeping in his bed. And...was she...?

Remus leaned in over her and pulled the covers down ever so slightly, exposing the small hole in the right shoulder of his favorite shirt.

Yes. She was wearing his clothing.

To say he was surprised would have been an understatement, but as he stared down at her sleeping form, Remus couldn't help but shake his head and grin.

Never imagined this would be the way I got Minerva into bed, he thought with a smirk, though very much confused.

And he had imagined. There had been something about Minerva that had attracted Remus to her since their days together at Hogwarts.

As a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she'd managed to earn first his respect and later his affection when James had first joined the team as a third year. As a student, James had possessed an aura of self-assuredness that had bordered on ego-mania at times. With Sirius egging him on at every turn, the two often did as they pleased, rules be damned. Something that did not sit well with a certain older Gryffindor Prefect and House Quidditch player.

Though Sirius had once told him that the McGonagalls and the Potters were related only a few generations past, it was a fact that Remus found difficult to believe based on how James and Minerva had gotten along. James' devil-may-care attitude was the antithesis of Minerva's responsible, rule-abiding nature. Their acrimony came to heads not long after James joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team in an instance Remus remembered quite well.

After skipping practice with Sirius to pull a particularly nasty prank on the second year Slytherin girls, mainly to irritate Sirius' younger cousin, Narcissa Black, James had returned to the common room to find Minerva still in uniform, waiting for him. What had ensued was the most thorough telling-off that Remus could remember James ever having received at that point. Lily Evans would later outdo Minerva, though not by much.

Minerva had succeeded that night in bringing the heedless James Potter down a peg or two, and gave him the option of bothering showing up at practice from then on or not playing Quidditch at all. James didn't miss a practice again that year, and though neither he nor Sirius had few kind things to say about her, Remus had been left with a far different impression of her. She was the first person he'd met, well, besides Sirius, who was often as arrogant as his best friend, to stand up to James Potter and get the best of him.

But then, Minerva's quick wit and ferocious temper had been well known throughout Gryffindor Tower, and later, the Order of the Phoenix. It was almost comical how quickly Minerva's disposition was capable of changing from her usual quiet, cool demeanor to a force few had the daring to reckon with.

After...well, he hadn't seen anyone familiar for a very long time after the war. Time away had been necessary, the weeks he'd planned on running into months, years.

But when he was asked to teach at Hogwarts two years ago, he'd met up with her again. She was very much the same as he remembered: quiet, but commanding; stern, but kind. Against his better judgment, he'd grown more attracted to her as the year had passed. But his fears about Sirius, lying to Dumbledore, and his own inferior social status (imposed by the Ministry of Magic's newly implemented werewolf laws) had weighed heavily on him, preventing him from pursuing any sort of relationship with her.

Not that he had any idea if she would want a relationship with him. Minerva had been cordial when he came to Hogwarts, and proved a confidante in dark times that year, but there hadn't been any overt sign that she viewed him as anything more than a former schoolmate and colleague. Surely the tears that had shone in her eyes hadn't been anything more than sadness at a departing friend...

But in all his experience with Minerva McGonagall, little prepared him for finding her asleep in his bedchambers.

Remus slowly perched on the bed's edge and stared. He rubbed at his weary eyes and ran a hand through his hair, wondering what to do. He couldn't put her in the guest room--Tonks had said she was going to claim that. The children were still sleeping; Sirius was probably up still in bed, Arthur too. And it hardly seemed fair to wake any of them.

He looked at her despondently. The furrowed brows and creases in her forehead had vanished, leaving her pale skin unmarred and expression serene. It was rare not to see lines of worry on the faces of his friends now, and it seemed to Remus cruel to wake her.

Why disturb her at all?

He might as well leave her. There were couches in the library...never mind the fact that the last time he'd taken so much as a nap on one he'd been left with a neck so sore he'd been unable to turn his head around properly for hours.

With a sigh, Remus checked his watch. It was five past eight. Oh, how he just wanted to lie down. Yes, perhaps it was less than gentlemanly, but he was so very tired...

It is my bed, after all, he reasoned.

Fatigue won out against his reticence. He took down an extra blanket from one of the closet shelves. Pulling the bedcovers up over Minerva, he gently lay down beside her on top of the quilt, spreading the musty blanket out over his legs.

Just a few hours...I'll be gone before she wakes up.

With a deep sigh of contentment he nestled back against the pillow and closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore the fact that he could feel Minerva's warmth between the comforter and the subtle breeze of her breathing against his neck.

Shifting slightly to relieve the ache in his back, he accidentally jostled her arm with his elbow.

Dammit!

Horrified, his eyes shot toward her face, cursing his blunder and hoping she'd sleep on. He'd much rather not explain the situation, which would surely result in her taking offense and storming off.

Don't wake up...Don't wake up....

For a second, nothing happened. She moved her head ever so slightly against the pillow she and pulled the arm outstretched towards him in a bit, but otherwise didn't move.

He sighed a breath of relief, and relaxed.

But to his dismay, she moved again, stretching her legs out and gradually opening her eyes.

Remus froze, waiting for the indignant outburst that would surely come.

"Oh," she mumbled sleepily, "'S you."

"Yes," he responded warily.

"Hi," she purred, eyes half-closed.

"Hi," he replied slowly, baffled.

She must still be asleep.

Yes, that had to be it. A conscious Minerva McGonagall would have had his head by now.

"Er, Minerva," he whispered, "go back to sleep."

"Mmhmm," she nodded. Shifting closer to him, she reached her arm across his bare chest and snuggled against his shoulder.

Taken aback, his eyes widened as she embraced him. This was certainly not the behavior he expected from the formidable Deputy Headmistress he was familiar with.

Then again, he'd never been in bed with the Deputy Headmistress before, so what did he know?

Her breathing became deep and even again; apparently she'd fallen back into what deep slumber she'd briefly come out of. Feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest, he watched her for a moment.

This was something he could get very, very used to.

Not that it would ever happen.

Like every good thing he knew, it would be over and gone soon enough. That was the trouble with the things you loved: they never lasted long enough.

Her hand was cold against his bare skin. Reaching up, he lightly twined his fingers into hers to warm them. Very drowsy, he closed his eyes and lay back against the pillow, falling into a deep sleep and lovely dreams he would not remember.

***

Sleep was a good thing. A very good thing.

Cocooned in a citadel of heavy softness, there was no doubt in her mind: this had to be heaven. Oh, if only she could stay here forever. Tucked away from every madness in the world beyond this bed, perpetually nestled under the blankets between puffy, cloud-like pillows and a warm body.

Wait, what?

What?

Immediately Minerva's eyes shot open, revealing a man's blurry form next to her. She blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes to adjust to the waking world again. What the hell was going on? And, oh, why weren't her glasses in reach? The man had one arm around her, the hand of the other linked into her own.

How on earth did I get here?

She could recall her conversation with Molly in that morning, then retreating upstairs for a few hours of peace before the meeting this evening. But nothing that would explain her current situation. She couldn't see his face without turning her head, which would surely wake him.

Why isn't he wearing a shirt? Please, please, please don't let him be naked...

As she tried to discern how she'd arrived in this position, her train of thought was interrupted as the man groaned and began to tighten his grip on her--

Panicking, Minerva grabbed the bedcovers against her and recoiled sharply. As she quickly drew back, the bedding was yanked out from underneath her mystery companion, and he awoke with a cry as gravity sent him tumbling to the floor.

"Wha--Oomph!" The man cried as he crashed headlong into the legs of the night table, the green blanket tangled in his arms, falling on top of him.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Minerva demanded angrily, pulling the covers up against her chest.

The man groaned again as Minerva stared down at the floor. A muffled reply came from under the blanket.

"Take that thing off and explain yourself!" she commanded.

"I said, 'Was there really a need to shove me'?" the man answered, pulling the blanket down off his face to reveal himself.

Minerva mouth dropped.

"Remus?" she cried, incredulous, "What...How..?" For once she was at a loss for words.

"What the bloody hell were you doing in my bed?"

Lupin held up a finger as he massaged the place where his skull had met the nightstand.

"Actually," he said, sitting up, "It's my bed. And good morning to you, too. Or afternoon, rather," he replied brightly.

"Don't be absurd; just because you're here more often than the rest of us doesn't officially qualify the guest room as your own," she responded tartly, narrowing her eyes at him. How he could be so nonchalant about this floored her.

He began nodding, tipping his head back with an, "Ah".

"Well, that explains it then," he said, leaning back with palms pressed against the floor to look up at her.

"That explains what, exactly?" Minerva demanded.

"How you ended up sleeping in my room," he replied, grinning at her.

"What is wrong with you, Lupin? I just finished explaining that this isn't your room--"

"No, actually, I really think it is, Minerva," Remus replied with an irritating look of infinite patience.

"The guest room is--"

"Down the hall, seventh door on the left, I think," he said, seeming to think.

She stared at him skeptically, suspicious.

"But Molly told me...just this morning," she defended.

"Well, if Molly said so then I can't argue with that," Remus answered, rising to his feet.

"Though it doesn't quite explain why my clothes are occupying the dresser..." he trailed off, nodding at her chosen nightshirt.

"Your clothes?" Minerva choked, voice strangely high.

"Or why my books are in the bookcase..." he said, gesturing to the corner behind her.

Her mouth was suddenly very dry. Images of Lupin's worn, shabby clothing flooded into her mind. It made cruel, cruel sense. The shirts she'd "discovered" hadn't been had been abandoned and moth-eaten...they'd just been his.

She felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep up her face.

What must he think of me? she thought miserably, wanting nothing more than to hide her face in her hands and sink back under the covers. Here she was, looking a mess, completely at fault and having made a fool of herself in front of her colleague, and half naked at that.

So was he.

She quickly shoved those images aside. A half-naked Remus Lupin did not need to occupy her thoughts right now.

"But...why didn't you wake me then? When you came in?" she asked as he rifled through one of the drawers of his dresser, looking for something to wear.

"This may come as a surprise to you, Minerva, but I'm rather unaccustomed to finding beautiful women asleep in my bed," he said, looking pointedly at her.

Beautiful?

"Don't change the subject," she snapped.

"I wouldn't dare," he replied, putting on the other oxford shirt she'd found during her investigation of his things.

"Well then, why didn't you wake me and tell me I was in the wrong place? And why were you holding me hand?" she demanded.

"Because I didn't want to disturb you," he answered simply, "And because you were cold."

Minerva was touched by the honesty in his voice and the gentle look in his eyes.

"Oh," was all she could say.

There was a genuine quality about Remus that had evoked a sense of trustworthiness in him, she'd always thought. He was careful and sensible too a fault, if anything. There was an odd sensitivity, a gravity almost, about him that had always been intriguing to her, even as a girl. It wasn't until she was much older that she'd learned the reason why and understood finally how his lycanthropy had shaped his perspective and attitude.

She felt even worse now, and even more embarrassed than before at having practically shouted at him for being kind. Here she was, ready to cross-examine him when all he'd been guilty of was kindness.

"Well...Thank you, then," she finished lamely, "I appreciate it."

"Not at all," Remus replied, buttoning up his shirt.

"I've always wanted to sleep with you, Minerva," he said, his eyes sparkled mischievously at her.

Her guilt evaporated. She scowled at him maliciously.

What ever made me think he'd be mature about this?

"I should have known..." she responded, half-ready to heave a pillow at him and mop that ridiculous grin off his face. Not that it would do any good.

He'd just laugh harder.

"Avert your eyes," she said, whirling around to find her clothing.

"Minerva, I'm not--"

"Avert your eyes!" she demanded again, over her shoulder as she scooted off the edge of the bed to the floor.

He held his hands up in silent acquiescence. Surveying her clothes, she found her skirt seemed fine, but her blouse had been draped beneath what must have been Remus' shirt, and thus had not finished drying properly.

Minerva clenched her jaw, perturbed. She hated using magic for ordinary tasks like this, as it was a sign of increased dependence on spelling for menial chores and could damage the garment if done repetitively.

I'll have to make due with this, she thought, stepping into the skirt.

"I suppose it didn't occur to you that you might be courteous and sleep elsewhere?"

"Need I point out to you, again, I might add, that this is my room?" came his reply amid the sound of jostling belt buckles.

"You might have shown some respect and found anoth--"

A rapid knock on the door and turn of the handle stopped her mid-sentence.

"Remus? Oh good, you're here, Molly asked me to tell you---Oh!"

For the third time that day the door swung open, revealing to Minerva the familiar figure of Arthur Weasley.

In this case, the very flabbergasted figure of Arthur Weasley. Upon catching sight of not only Remus but Minerva as well in varying stages of undress, Arthur's cheeks and ears went pink and he discretely dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Arthur," she began, trying to salvage as much face as she could,"Please believe me when I say this is not what it looks like."

She winced inwardly, sounding rather more desperate than she would have liked.

"Yes, it's not...I mean, we aren't..." Remus started.

But Arthur was already reaching for the doorknob and backing out of the room.

"No, no, I understand," Arthur protested, holding his hands up, palm out, "Say no more. Dinner in fifteen minutes. See you both there: Molly's orders."

Without another word, the door closed again, leaving a heavy silence in Arthur's wake.

Minerva glared over the bed at Remus, who was still staring at the door, dumbstruck.

"This is your fault," she growled, viciously attempting to smooth the wrinkles in the too-big shirt.

"Me?" Remus shot back, disbelieving. "How do you figure?"

She tucked her shirt in and reached down to tie the laces on her black heeled shoes.

"If you had just found somewhere else to have a lie-in then we wouldn't have to defend ourselves!"

"Shall I draw up a diagram? It's my room!" he shot back, laughing.

"Yes, you mentioned that," Minerva said acerbically, ignoring his dig at her and moving towards the door,

"But now we have to take the time and energy to make clear to Arthur that circumstances are...not as the situation would suggest."

He held the door open for her, shaking his head.

"You know what we need to do?" He asked, thoughtfully.

"What?" She answered forcefully.

He pulled the door shut behind them and leaned in provocatively.

"We need to use your rooms next time."

She groaned in disgust and rolled her eyes, storming off down the hall and feeling Remus' smirk burning from behind.

When she arrived in the kitchen, Minerva found the dinner affair was much smaller than she has originally thought.

"Where is everyone else?" she asked Molly, helping carry a pile of plates to the table.

"I rescheduled," Molly answered, "I owled Albus and asked if we might move the meeting to tomorrow night. There's too many of us who're running ragged as it is. One day of rest and recovery won't make a difference. Here," she said, handing Minerva a salad bowl, "Set that on the table, would you, dear?"

Minerva obliged, helping Molly set the table.

"Where are the children?" She wondered aloud.

"On the third floor, I expect, playing Exploding Snap, avoiding that wretched House-Elf, and tinkering with Lord knows what. They ate earlier," the older woman answered with, making Minerva grimace. Fred and George Weasley's final year at Hogwarts would no doubt be any easier than their first six. If they lasted, that was.

"Ah," she answered, much relieved. As much as the she liked Potter, Hermione Granger, and the Weasleys, she took a great deal of pride in her professionalism as well. She did not relish the idea of meeting half a dozen of her students in such a state of disarray.

Sirius and Remus entered a moment later, followed shortly by Arthur and Nymphadora Tonks.

"Just us tonight? Good, the more's for us," Tonks remarked, sitting down next to Remus.

"Alright, tuck in, everyone," Molly called, setting a plate of asparagus on the table as she sat down.

They all found their respective places and sat down to another of Molly's scrumptious meal.

"I trust you all rested well this afternoon?" Molly asked, politely, heaping vegetables and chicken onto Sirius' plate.

"Yes, very well," Minerva answered, desperately trying to think of a new topic of conversation.

Remus grinned at her across the table.

"So, Minerva," he asked, eyes dancing with mischief. "Did you want to tell them we're sleeping together now, or shall we keep it a secret?"

"What!?" Sirius bellowed, as Tonks' began choking rather loudly on something.

Minerva glared at Remus threateningly and shook her head, determined to keep cool.

"Ignore him," she said, lowly, "Excellent recipe, Molly."

"Remus, you dog!" Sirius declared, clapping him on the back.

"What are you talking about, Remus? Are you being cheeky again?" Molly asked, bewildered.

"I wish he were joking," Minerva answered, with a longsuffering sigh.

After much prompting, she consented and Remus recounted their strange encounter that afternoon. As he went on, Minerva had to admit it was a rather amusing story. She even found herself laughing at her own absurdity before he'd finished. By the time dessert had rolled around, the story of their afternoon affair had ended and turned to the more pressing matter of how to relinquish the twins' of their supply of Extendable Ears.

"You've outdone yourself, Molly," Minerva said after they had finished and the dishes were being sorted for washing.

"Lovely meal, darling," Arthur commended, kissing his wife on the cheek as he passed to stack a large pile of dirty dished into the sink.

"Oh, pish," Molly replied, "Nothing special. Here, Tonks, why don't you do the drying. No, no, we've things under control in here, scoot," she ordered, shooing Minerva towards the kitchen doorway.

"Are you sure?" Minerva asked, reluctant to leave without doing her fair share.

"Absolutely. You helped before dinner, Arthur and Tonks can help me clean up," her friend responded, "I'll see you tomorrow. And get some rest!" She called over her shoulder.

"I'll walk you out," a voice behind her said, holding the door.

"Oh, quite the gentlemen now, are you Remus?" she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

He was quiet as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor, footsteps resonating as they passed through the foyer to the cloakroom adjacent to the entrance.

"You have to admit, it is a pretty amusing story," he paused, glancing at her, "But I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable. There normally isn't much to laugh about here, and I thought something more lighthearted than the usual dinnertime discussion of politics and such was in order. Though I suppose I didn't take your feelings into consideration...I wasn't really thinking I suppose."

"No, you weren't," she answered, somewhat smugly. Minerva didn't quite understand why, but she found it rather a rather endearing, if awkward attempt at an apology. "But I wouldn't be too concerned about it. You were right, after all. It did make everyone laugh."

He didn't seem to take her word for it though and looked warily at her.

"Minerva, you're not really offended, are you?" He asked quietly, the customary quality of sincerity creeping into his voice again.

Minerva cast him a reassuring smile.

"You're an idiot, Lupin. But a charming idiot, nonetheless. No, I'm not offended," she said, reaching for the now-dried cloak that someone, most likely Arthur, had placed along the row of silver hooks.

"Good," he answered, looking down, "Because it would trouble me...if I had upset you in anyway," he said earnestly, his deep hazel eyes meeting hers.

Minerva found what little remaining vexation she had with him melted away in that moment, her irritation unraveling like fraying threads.

"You needn't worry about me, Remus," she replied, touched. "People have a bad habit of doing that around here."

But the expression of concern didn't leave his face, and he still looked very much full of remorse. Regret, maybe.

She felt a pang of empathy for him, standing there looking at her with those eyes. Eyes that were so serious, so grave when the laughter lines had faded. Reaching up, she swept tenderly at a rogue wisp of brown hair on his brow.

Do you care, Remus? Do you, really?

"Really, Remus, don't linger on it," she said. Her voice was clear, but her pulse raced as he caught her fingers in his hand. She blushed, unsure of what his actions might mean.

"Minerva," he started, looking ask if he didn't know what to say next.

Maybe you do...

She was suddenly aware of how small the room was, how close he was to her, and how very badly she wanted to close the distance between them.

"Yes?" She said, voice quavering ever so slightly.

Don't fight it anymore.

"Let me just say this..." he whispered.

Reaching up, he softly brushed her cheek with his hand, tilting her head back and brining his lips to hers. Instinctively, her eyes closed and she leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt herself fall hopelessly into the sensation, felt the intoxicating motion of his lips against hers, her fingers toying with the soft, delicate hair at the base of his skull. The way he gently cupped her face in one hand and while the other rested at her waist.

And, with great reluctance, she felt him pull back.

"Ah," she breathed, a chill running up her spin as he moved his thumb in slow, deliberate circles just below her jaw, "Well said."

Giving in, she pulled him in for another kiss, feeling the undeniable way his mouth curved into a smile.

"Perhaps," he suggested, between kisses and around her lips, "you'd like to continue this discussion elsewhere?"

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she drew back and looked up at him very seriously.

"You know what we need to do?" she asked, voice clear and solemn.

His grin faded, and he straightened up, smoothing out his robes and nodding.

"Yes. Of course: stop before we go any further," he answered, both certain and crestfallen.

"No," she responded seriously, straightening his collar and whispering conspiratorially said, "We'll have to use my rooms this time."

-------