Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter universe or any of the characters within. They all belong to J.K. Rowling.
She was looking through the new batch of fiction that had arrived that morning, a nonsense tune ambling though her head. It had been a pleasant day, not wonderful, not exciting, but not horrible. A small smile flitted across her face as she read the titles and nodding slightly in time with the non-existent music. She trailed a finger along the spine of A Widow's Folley when a movement caught her eye. A black boot and swish of Navy robes was all that was left of the person as they walked behind the ceiling high shelving. The song came to an end, and a moment of silence filled her mind before another began. She grinned at the thought of a human radio flashed through her mind. It was followed by another glimpse of the illusive navy robe.
She turned her head slightly, and there he was. A man, quite tall, stood at the other end of the aisle. He was facing the shelf, seemingly quite engrossed in the self-help section. She might have believed it if it weren't for the way his head tilted in her direction, or the way his beard twitched. Their eyes met, his flashed, and her cheeks flushed. She ducked her head as the heat scorched her skin. Her heart started to pound, and she let out a deep breath. She turned her head again, only just, and he was still looking. She quirked an eyebrow, and it was his turn to blush; her smile grew, and her eyes twinkled. She could see his chuckle as his shoulders shook, while his silver hair slid across the fabric covering his broad shoulders.
He looked to his left, to his right, eyes skimming over her behind on their way back to her face, and his mouth went dry. The aisle was empty. His body turned, his finger sliding carelessly along the wood of the shelving as he took a step forward. He took another, and then another; she turned, finally, and could feel every thread of her robes slide against her skin. He smelled of spice and leather, and she could feel the heat of him before he stopped before her. His cut was an imposing figure, but his person was larger than life. She looked up into his eyes and melted.
His eyes darted behind hers for the briefest of moments before twinkling down at her again. He leaned forward and his lips burned her hairline. Once, twice, three times her heart stilled, and it was only his solid frame that kept her from falling to her knees. His hands, strong and commanding, gripped her arms as he leaned back. His breath was hot and fast on her face as hers rustled the strands of his beard. She licked her lips and smiled.
"Fancy meeting you here, my dearest Professor McGonagall."
Perhaps the day was more than pleasant after all.