A Winter Tale

A Winter Tale

by: Max

Inspired by the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge, but not following it exactly

[disclaimer see chapter 1]


Chapter 10: When in Rome do as the muggles do

Hermione couldn’t remember she\'d ever had more fun. Although by now her feet hurt and her back actually cried for something more comfortable as the hard wooden bench in the ancient church, she felt wonderfully, filled with the most beautiful sights, a delicious risotto and a happiness she hadn’t experienced since her parent\'s death. And now the concerto began and the choir - half of it boys hardly elder then 10 or 11 years, some even younger, all wearing white robes - started to sing its “Kyrie eleison” - the ancient, capturing cry for mercy, deep human and in the same time much more then human. Hermione had learned that the composer Johann Sebastian Bach - as a lot of geniuses - had been a wizard and by it learned too, that being magical and believing in a creator didn’t exclude each other and with that she\'d got a new security in being a witch.

The voices of the boys streamed now through the church like a silver river, mixing to harmonies from perfect and overwhelming beauty. Hermione looked up to Albus who sat next to her. He\'d earlier changed his appearance to muggle, his hair now only reaching to the shoulders, the beard short. Instead of his halfmoon spectacles he wore round glasses and his robes were gone for blue trousers, a vanilla shirt, dark blue tie and a casual cardigan in midnight blue. Although nothing in his attire differed from the muggles around him, Hermione had all day noticed that her husband caught a lot of attention. Hermione understood why - even disguised as a muggle Albus radiated power and looked regal.


Now the choir was through the “Kyrie” and had celebrated the “gloria in excelis Deo”. The music became quieter, the voices muffled in their heartfelt plea “Et in terra pax hominibus boni voluntatis” - and on earth peace to all men of good will. Hermione translated the words for herself and listened how the music became louder, firmer and the voices with every word more secure. They believed in getting peace for all men of good will and in doing so their plea changed to a celebration of the God who would give peace. Then a boy\'s voice swung itself highly in praise and Hermione felt a cold shudder down her spine and gripped Albus\' hand. His fingers were warm and closed protectively over hers, showing her that he understood. And while the music celebrated hope and love, Hermione thought of her friends back at Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Minerva, Severus - yes, even the potion master - were \"men of good will\" and so they would get peace once - the peace to enjoy music, the company of each other, the shared joys and laughter. And yes, Hermione was sure: One day Severus would join her in laughter, not in the harsh and bitter laughter he was in use with, but in a real cheerful one. She\'d seen his humanity, she knew about the tenderness he was able to, about his capability of love and care and she\'d never again believe him cold or indifferent.

She leaned a bit closer to Albus, her shoulders touching. It was good to be with him and she swore to herself, she wouldn’t complain again about feeling lonely and unwanted when he didn’t have time for her. She couldn’t expect a man so old and experienced loving a 18 year old girl like her, could she? He couldn’t see more in her as a child in his care - perhaps a talented child who was at times nice to be with, but she couldn’t demand to be taken seriously as a partner by him.

Besides she hadn’t forgotten what Malfoy had said about Albus having an affair with Rosmerta. Although Hermione didn’t trust Lucius Malfoy further as she could throw a hippogriff with one hand - in this case, she was sure, he hadn’t lied. Hermione remembered how Harry, Ron and she once during a stay in the order\'s headquarter had, hidden under Harry\'s invisibility cloak, and sneaked down in the middle of the night to the kitchen. They\'d thought of the house already being empty again after the meeting of the order earlier on this evening, but by crossing the hall, they\'d heard voices from the chamber next to it. A female had asked: “Will I see you later?” It had sounded tenderly and a bit teasing. The voice answering Hermione had recognized at once: A bit cracked, husky and nevertheless firm and melodious - unmistakably the headmaster\'s voice, saying: “I’ll have at least a night cup with you ...”

At this time Hermione hadn’t thought much about the woman inviting him, but by now she was sure: It had been the landlady from the “Three Broomsticks” - pretty, well-rounded in all the departments men liked it, charming, witty and independent Rosmerta, who regularly made Hogwarts pupils as well as fully grown wizards droll like dogs in sight of a bowl full of smelly bones; the same Rosmerta who turned Fudge around her little finger quicker as he could say “I\'m the minister of magic” (and Hermione was sure no one could have said this words faster as Cornelius Fudge who probably even never managed a breakfast at his own table without reminding his mousy wife of the honour she got from being in company of the minister of magic). She had been the headmaster\'s lover - or was she still? Hermione didn’t know and the fact that Albus had spent all nights since their wedding in their mutual bed - no, this didn’t count much because Hermione knew only too well that one could do shagging on a lot of other places as one\'s bed and to a lot of other times as in the evening. Although she could hardly imagine her husband snogging Rosmerta in a green house or in one of the corners in Hogsmeade her classmates loved to use for such enterprises - Rosmerta had a bedchamber of her own, hadn’t she? And probably in it even a fireplace, connected to the floo network for giving a lover the chance of discrete entering and leaving.

Had Albus done so on one of the last days? Hermione didn’t know, but if he had - who was she to blame him? He hadn’t married her for love, he\'d only done it to protect her - and protection she\'d got. So it was her problem and hers solely that she wanted more, wasn’t it?


Yet Hermione had been an only child and as such she never liked sharing her toys, let alone her husband. Maybe Rosmerta was prettier then her, probably she was more experienced in matters of sex, but the next round with Albus would be Hermione\'s, so she swore to herself. Rosmerta could for all Hermione cared of seduce Snape - something she\'d certainly get the eternal gratitude of all his students for because all of them were convinced of Severus urgently needing a shag or she could even bed Fudge - a thought which made Hermione shudder - but she wouldn’t get too much of a chance of laying Albus if Hermione Granger-Dumbledore had any say in the matter.

With thinking so Hermione started to feel better. Suffering quietly never had been something she though suiting her and after a long week of it she\'d already enough. It was time to change the tactic to some nice, little action and the best moment to start with it was now while her potential victim still thought her harmless and innocent. He’d learn soon enough how wrong he was - Hermione was fiercely determined to make him purr once again as soon as possible. And as the trumpets of the orchestra were just playing, Hermione took them for the hunter\'s signal and moved a bit closer to her husband, slightly pressing the side of her breagaiagainst his arm, entwining her hand from his and laying it down on his leg. This, she decided, would do for a start - finally they were in a church. But they wouldn’t stay their all night, would they? The concerto would be over soon and then they\'d either stroll back to their hotel - a nice old villa in the wizard\'s district - or he\'d apparate them there. For apparating he\'d has to take her in his arms and Hermione was determined not to miss this opportunity to warm him up a bit. And if he decided to walk - no problem either. The night was dark and Rome full of nice, little corners to snog in.

The concerto was over - no clapping because this wouldn’t have been appropriate in a church, only the rustling of clothes and the scraping of boots on the stone floor and quiet talking accompanied the leaving of the audience and the musicians. Hermione took with regret her hand from Albus\' knee and rose with him, following him out of the church to the place in front of it, on which a spring chuckled in the bright light of a few lanterns. Albus took Hermione\'s hand and pulled it through his arm, then he smiled down on her. “Just over there is a nice little trattoria. Would you like to have a night cup?”

“I\'d love to.” Hermione was flexible in her plans - if he wanted to have a drink, she\'d have one too. And if the alcohol would ease her - and perhaps him - a bit, she\'d be the last to complain about.

He swept with her over the place and around a corner into a very small pub where a crowd of muggles gathered around the bar, talking very loudly in Italian. Albus led Hermione in a corner where they found a little marble table and two chairs. A few minutes they sat there, chattering amicably about the concerto, then he rose: “I\'m afraid the service here is a bit slow. I\'ll get us our drinks. What do you want?”

Hermione, not very experienced in drinks, considered a moment. “Red vine?” she said finally, a bit insecure.

Albus laughed. “Red vine is a bit unspecific in Italy. I’ll get you a Bardolo. I think you’ll like it.”


Hermione watched his back as he went to the bar, talking friendly with the people, standing then until he got the attention of the landlord. He spoke to him, the landlord smiled and walked away in the little kitchen behind the bar. Albus turned around and smiled to Hermione. Then the landlord came back, almost tenderly carrying a dusty bottle. He showed it to Albus who nodded, then he uncorked it carefully, put it in a little cradle, gave Albus two glasses and followed him, proudly carrying the cradle, to the table where he smiled to Hermione and said something in Italian. Although she hadn’t understood a word, she thanked with a nod and a smile, watching amused how Albus put down the glasses and the landlord purred a little sip of the vine in one of it. Albus rose the glass, kept it against the light, led the dark red liquid swap a bit, then he smelled at it and finally he tasted the vine. The landlord watched him expectantly and as Albus nodded and made “hmm”, the round Italian beamed as if he\'d personally invited the art of making vine. Then he purred Hermione a glass, filled Albus\' to the brim, put the cradle with the bottle down, said something to Albus and waddled back to the bar.

“What did he say?” Hermione asked curiously.

Albus sat down and drank another sip of his vine. “The last was the promise to get us a plate with fresh antipasti, made by his mamma as quick as possible ...”

“And the first?” Hermione demanded to know, trying the vine and shaking because it was so sour. “Brrr!!” she made.

Albus laughed. “Try again! As most real good things vine needs a bit to come in use with and to enjoy it too the fullest. And ...,\" he hesitated, but only for a second, then he said: “The first the landlord said was a compliment about my granddaughter being a bella signora - a pretty girl.”

“Oh ...” Hermione said, kicking the landlord in her mind. Having Albus remembered at the age cleft between them was the thing she\'d needed last on this evening. Quietly she said: “He can\'t know that you\'re a wizard with a much longer lifespan as a normal man.”

“Even for a wizard I\'m pretty old, Hermione,” Albus answered quietly too.

The landlord came back - just as Hermione considered hexing him into the next week. This time he carried a plate with olives, artichokes, asparagus, sea fruits, salads and some other, delicious looking things Hermione hadn’t seen before.

Albus thanked him and now he\'d gotten his smile back. “I hope you like sea fruit and olives ...”

“I do!” Hermione looked to the plate, not sure where to start.

Albus made the decision for her, taking a green olive, filled with an almond and offered it to Hermione. She took it with the mouth out of his long fingers, chewed it anid: id: “It\'s delicious!” She swallowed, smiled, picked another olive and offered it to him. “Please, take one too - I don\'t want to the only one smelling of garlic.”

Albus laughed and at the olive, then he feed Hermione a piece of octopus. “I sometimes wonder if I could send one of our house elves to Rome for learning to cook Italian. I\'d like to have this more often ...”

Hermione giggled. “I don\'t think the giant squid would approve of becoming antipasti.”

“Certainly not. He doesn’t like garlic so much as I do,” Albus answered, eating another olive and drinking a sip of his vine. “Don\'t you want another try with the vine? Or shall I get you something sweeter?”

“No, no, thanks ...” Hermione didn’t like the idea of drinking juice like a child while he had vine. She took another sip and though she still the vine sour - there was something else in it, something that reminded her of the smell of soil after a sunny day, of fruits and nuts and even more. “Hmm,” she made. “I think I’m to get it ...” Another sip and this time she didn’t swallow immediately, but let the vine linger on her tongue. It wasn’t sour anymore - now it seemed to stroke tenderly over her taste cells, filling each of them with its rich taste.

Albus watched her amused. “You\'re a quick learner,” he said as she took the next sip and held the now empty glass up to him for getting it filled again. “Yet I shall have to warn you: This stuff is stronger then butterbeer. If you get too much of it, you’ll have the hangover of your life tomorrow.”

Hermione, feeling already light headed, grinned. “Isn’t there an apothecary just opposite our hotel? I=m sure I could get a hangover potion there. You know it\'s real an advantage to be a witch.”

“Oh, really?” Albus grinned. “I\'m glad to hear. I didn’t notice before.”

“Buh!” made Hermione giggling, showing him her tongue. “Don\'t tease me!”

“I thought you\'d like being teased;” Albus gave back, his eyes twinkling.

Was this flirting? Hermione wasn’t sure, but she was determined to make the best from it. Laying her hand over his, she looked in his eyes, sank her voice for at least half an octave and purred: “Maybe it\'s a question of how you tease me?”

“Oh. You’ve got special wishes in matters of teasing?” He didn’t pull his hand away, but entwined his fingers with hers.

It was flirting - and Hermione loved it! Sipping on her vine again, she moved her leg under the table until her feet met his. “I actually thought about a little mutual teasing ...” she said then.

“And you’ve already started it?” he asked, stroking her palm with his thumb.

“Any objections?” she asked back.

“Only one.” Now he pulled his hand away, raised it and waved to the landlord. “L’addition, sil vousz ple’ ...” he called.

The landlord looked puzzled for a moment and Hermione laughed. “This was French, Albus!”


!It seems I’m a bit confused. You may take this as a compliment ...” A smile, then he turned to the landlord who’d arrived at the table, paid him and talked another few sentences in Italian with him. The landlord bowed and went away, Albus rose and offered Hermione his arm. Leading her out of the pub, he whispered to her: “Now he probably thinks I’m a wicked old cardinal with a very young mistress.”

“As long as you don’t think I’m a nun, I don’t care!” Hermione heard herself giggling, wondering about her own boldness. Probabl cam came from feeling really dizzy now in the fresh, cold air of the winter night. Leaning close to Albus, she marched over the place with him and in a small alley along which led along the church, a very ancient building with mighty supporting walls all over its length. They formed niches and only every second of it was lighted by a lantern. Hermione waited until they’d reached a dark one, then she gave Albus a little push and jumped on him, laying her hands on his shoulder and leaning against him, her mouth searching his lips. For a second he seemed entirely surprised and stood motionless, but then he embraced her and bent his head for meeting her lips. Though she could taste the vine and the garlic on him, the kiss was sweet and gentle. Hermione closed her eyes by it, enjoying how he let her tongue discover his mouth and how his warm hands roamed over her back.

Raising her hand, she stroked over his head, her fingers making contact with the warm skin under the silken hair. She was promptly rewarded with a purr, a deepening of the kiss and him pulling her closer. Her body remembered his - and it noticed the differences between the last time she’d been so close to him and now. Last time these shoulders had been straighter and more muscled and last time no round belly had been between them.

Hermione didn’t mind it - the man who kissed her now with passion felt nevertheless like Albus and he smelled like Albus and he tasted like Albus and he made her body hum with aliveness and joyful expectation. Only he seemed to mind. Breaking the kiss he muttered: “This won’t do ...”. Stepping back he put his hand in the bag of his trousers and found a little package.

In the dim light of the alley it looked to Hermione like chewing gum and she said: “I don’t mind the garlic. I’ve eaten a lot of it myself.”

Albus unwrapped a drop and put it in his mouth. Swallowing it he said: “I neither mind the garlic, but I think a little change of appearance is in order ...”

Hermione saw how his hair became darker and his shoulder broadened. “You’ve got the potion as a drop?” she asked amazed.

“That’s Severus’ newest invention,” he answered, pushing the package back in his pocket. “He feared I could get too much of it. Probably he’s afraid you’d make him responsible then and order him to baby sit.” Making a face, he moved his shoulders, then he tugged on the rather lose hanging fabric over his belly, shaking his head: “One shouldn’t do that when muggle dressed.”

Hermione laughed - happy to have her handsome young lover back and even happier because his keeping of the potion in his pocket showed her, that he’d thought of sleeping with her too. Probably he’d even wished to? She laid her arms around him and pulled him back in the dark niche, whispering: “If you apparate us back to our hotel, I’ll do the undressing for you ...”


“What a tempting offer!” He leaned against her again. “But isn’t it said > When in Rome, do as the muggles do’? I think I’ll get us a taxi ...”

Hermione felt - happily - his already hard length pressing against her stomach and with a boldness which surprised herself she reached for it. “You know, I’m a bit impatient when it comes to unwrapping gifts ...” she said, cupping his erection with the length of her hand.

He bent his head and for a few seconds he nibbled on her ear, but then caught her hand laid it against his chest. “This gift - as you so nicely put it - is the very reason for not wanting to apparate, my lovely witch. As you’ve learned at school - at least I hope you did - apparating needs a good deal of concentration - and I feel in the moment rather distracted. So if you don’t want to get splinched or to land in the pope’s bed let’s get a taxi.”

“May I kiss you during the ride?” Hermione asked, nibbling at his neck.

“You may.” He laid one arm around her shoulder and led her back to the alley. “You may even mark me yours again.”

“Hmm?” she made puzzled.

Albus laughed. “Didn’t you notice the collar I wore the day after our wedding night? You’d gave me so much kiss marks even my beard couldn’t hide them all. So my choice was conjuring myself a high collar or visiting Madame Pomfrey. Considering one rarely meets her alone in the morning, discretion demanded the collar.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice ...” stammered Hermione.

“No need to be sorry. I felt rather flattered by such displays of passion.”

“I’ll try to avoid in the future ...” Hermione promised, although she found the idea of her kiss marks on the great headmaster arousing.

“Don’t you dare!” Albus laughed. “One day I want to shock Minerva with it. She still thinks of her head girl as an innocent little lamb.”

“And you’re the big, bad wolf then?” Hermione laid her arm around his middle and snuggled closer to him. “You know, I just start to feel like becoming the first lamb who ever laid the wolf.”

They’d arrived at a bigger street with a lot of traffic now. Albus waved his hand and whistled, a taxi stopped to them on the pavement. Albus helped Hermione gallantly on the back seat, climbed next to her, told the driver the address of the pub which was the entrance to the Roman wizard’s district and turned to Hermione, as the driver settled off. “You know,” he said with the boyish grin she liked so much on him, “I think of you as a little lioness. So we’ve got a nice zoo: lamb, lioness, wolf ...”


“... and a beautiful, strong gyrfalcon I’m rather fond of,” Hermione finished for him, leaned close and whispered in his ear: “What do you think about a bit of nice, kinky interspecies sex?”

“As long as no goats are involved ...”

Albus had probably wanted to say more, but Hermione didn’t give him a chance. She kissed him passionately, one hand in his hair, the other, hidden from the taxi driver’s sight in his back mirror by her own body - on his erection. She loved to feel it stretching his trousers and the heath which radiated through the fabric. And she loved how Albus’ hand roamed now again over her back, down to her waistline where his fingers made their way in the back of her jeans, finding the sensitive spot where her spine ended. It made her almost crazy as he stroked it and she whispered: “You drive me nuts! If you don’t stop that I won’t be responsible for any further actions!”

He stopped the nibbling on her neck. “Look who’s speaking! I just start to think about me being the lamb in the claws of the lioness!”

“I love the prey I’ve got in my claws!” Hermione giggled, once again kissing him - so thoroughly and deeply neither of them noticed the taxi stopping at the pavement. It needed the driver to switch off the engine, whistling for Albus breaking the kiss.

Blushing slightly, he said: “Scusi, Signore ...” another line in Italian followed while he paid for the ride, giving the driver a generous tip. The young man laughed and said something himself, Albus grinned back as he helped Hermione to climb out. The driver obviously was very amused - laughing he started his engine again, called over his shoulder another Italian line and settled off.

“What did he say?” Hermione asked once again.

“He said that he didn’t know an English lady could become so passionate.” Albus laid his arm around her shoulder and let her to the pub. “I told him, you’re not a normal English lady, but a witch and so he expressed his hope for me having a wand to serve you.” He opened the pub’s door for her.

Hermione laughed. “Albus, you’re ...”

“... impossible?” he offered, but didn’t wait for an answer, but stood still, just behind the door, pulling his wand out of his boot and murmuring a quick spell.

Hermione expected his clothes would change in robes, but nothing happened. “What did you just do?” she asked.

Albus only grinned, laid his hand on her butt and shove her through the crowded bar to the door on the backside. Opening it they came in a room where a very bright, much too colourful poster of an Italian beauty hung. Hermione snorted as the beauty bent forward, giving Albus a deep sight on her round cleavage - and deeper.

“Oh - nice shoes!” Albus stated - and promptly got Hermione’s elbow in his ribs.


The beauty on the poster laid now her head to the side stroke her long, black hair back and produced a look to Albus which reminded Hermione to the looks Pansy Parkinson had provided in the last week Snape with. The Italian beauty asked Albus something in a rather throaty Italian, showing him once again her breasts.

He raised his wand and showed it o her, chuckling to Hermione: “It seems my wand is much in demand today ...” The Italian opened the wall; Hermione followed Albus in a pretty crowded alley, dimly light. By walking there she noticed that no one seemed to see Albus and her. Even as she almost bumped in a dark haired wizard he only looked to his feet as if he’d just stomped over a stone. “You used a >do-not-notice’ charm!” Hermione cried in delight. She’d always longed to see this special charm cast, but in Hogwarts the wards prevented it.

“Of course I did,” Albus answered amused. “You didn’t think I’d waddle through the entire Roman wizard district in trousers only don’t slipping because I carry an erection? I mean, I’m known for being eccentric and frivolous, but even I have limits.”

“Albus ...” Hermione just have had an idea. “The wards at Hogwarts - they only prevent this charm when cast by a student, do they? Teachers are allowed to use it ...”

“Clever girl!” Albus grinned. “Yet I rarely use it at school. I think I’m already not often enough present. So I wouldn’t like to spoil the few opportunities to be seen and to talk with the students.”

“But Snape uses the charm!” Hermione said.

“Professor Snape,” Albus corrected her soft, but firmly. “Being head of Slytherin means that one has to use every trick available.” He laid once again his arm around her shoulder. “Why do I think you’re about to ask me if I’d teach you this charm?”

“Because you know me?” Hermione smiled.

“Ah, yes. That’s it.” Albus pulled her a bit closer and led her through an archway to the entrance of the hotel. “And you know,” he said while opening the door and waling with her through the hall where an elder witch snored behind a counter, “the more I get to know you, the more I like what I’ve got for a wife.”

Hermione looked up to him. Quietly she said: “Sometimes I feel rather grateful to Lucius Malfoy - bastard as he is - myself.”

Albus didn’t answer. He followed her over the stairs to their room, opened the door with a quick wave of his wand and took her in his arms as soon as they were in. Kissing her, he swept her up, carried her to the bed and let her down on her back, looking down on her out of blue eyes, filled with lust. Hermione stretched and fished her own wand out of her cleavage where it had been hidden all evening. Directing it at him, she laughed. His blue trousers really hung rather loosely around his narrow hips - except of the tent his straining member had built in them. Her usual thirst of knowledge made her wonder - how felt it to carry such an erection.


“Albus?” she asked, coming up on her knees and lightly stroking over the bulge in his trouser. “How does it feel?”

“Hmm ...,” he made, pushing his member against her hand. “Rather pleasant, I’d say.”

“No! I didn’t mean my stroking. I meant how it feels to have an erection,” Hermione explained. Blushing she added: “You know, the girls in my dormitory said that a man would suffer agonies if he got an erection and no one does anything against it.”

Albus shook his head and sat down on the bedside. “It seems I must sacrifice myself once again for a charm class with the fifth years,” he said, slipping out of his cardigan and opening his tie.

“Let me do that!” Hermione offered and started to unbutton his shirt. “What charms would you like to teach the fifth years?” she asked.

“Deflating charms of course.” Albus offered her his wrist for unbuttoning his cuff. “In former times it was in the curriculum. But Professor Sinistra and Minerva - prudish as they are - complained about how embarrassing it were not only for the teachers, but the students too and besides: Our students were all capable of reading, so they could inform themselves in the library ...”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh. “Hogwarts and sexual education,” she giggled. “You know, I’ll never in my life forget the look on Neville Longbottom’s face as Professor Snape helped him once to make a potion - with a patience you wouldn’t believe your potion master capable of. He explained carefully and slowly every step of it at least twice, always asking the poor boy if he’d really got it and then he let him repeat it. At the end Neville really got it - and since then his potion marks have improved because in every exam since then he gets ake ake this very potion. It’s probably the only one Neville knows by heart now.”

Albus slipped out of his shirt. “Let me guess: It’s the contraceptus potion?”

“Of course it is!” Hermione kissed his naked shoulder.

“For a Slytherin Severus sometimes is very predictable,” Albus said thoughtfully. “But by talking about contraceptus ...” He took his wand, dire it it at his groin and cast a quick charm. “The’re advantages in being in Rome - like our ministry isn’t able to track my use of magic.” Raising his wand again, he spoke another incantation. His and Hermione’s clothes vanished and appeared again - floating to the wardrobe, which opened for them. Neatlldedlded they found their place there and the wardrobe closed with a deep and satisfied sounding “cluck”.

Albus smiled at Hermione, with one hand cupping her breast, with the other stroking her hair. “I want to make love to you, my little lioness,” he said, his voice once again a bit husky.


Hermione didn’t answer with words. Instead she kissed him with all the passion and need she felt, sinking back on the bed and pulling him with her. Actually she’d expected he’d now start to kiss and to stroke her, preparing her as he had done last time, but he surprised her with pinning her down on the mattress, his knees already between her legs, pushing them apart. The head of his very stiff erection slipped over her clitoris to the entrance then and Hermione felt a rush of wild lust, her blood hummed in her ear and her heart hammered almost too hard against her ribs. She arched her back, filled with a need almost too much to bear, but for her delight he didn’t let her wait. With one strong push he entered her and she felt once again the sweet, sweet pain of being stretched and filled and screamed and pushed against him, wanting more. Yet her scream had made him hesitate. Hovering over her, braced on his elbows, he looked down in her eyes.d I d I hurt you?”

“No. I don’t think you ever could,” she said. Only that it was almost pain to have him finally in her, but not moving. So she wrangled beneath him, her hands around his me ane and at last on his firm buttocks. “Please, please, Albus - please, please, fuck me!” She’d never thought she’d use this word once in earnest and for a moment she was shocked by herself.

But then she heard his voice, filled with lust. “I will, my little lioness, I will ...” His face looked almost grave and very determined, on his forehead a vein pulsed, an auburn strand fell over it and as he gripped her buttocks with both his hands and commanded her rap rap her legs around him, she thought that he was the most erotic sign she’d ever seen.

Her position didn’t give her much chance to move herself, but she suddenly didn’t want to. It was pure bliss to cling to him and to take forcforceful stokes, it was overwhelming sensation, it was wild and tender in the same time and it was everything she needed. In her body exploded something, red sparks danced before her eyes, she heard somebody scream - was it her? She didn’t care, she was too far away, outside herself, outside time and space, in a whirl of raw, hot lust in which nothing counted as pleasure and feeling alive, with every fibre of her body, with every cell of her brain.

She wasn’t sure if she’d fainted, but slowly, sweet and slowly the wave ebbed and she became aware of the strong body, covered in sweat, which lay heavily on her. Albus panted and she felt hat the needed all his willpower to brace himself again on his elbows and to raise his head. Breathing deeply he said with an almost sheepish smile: “This, my dear Hermione, a witch gets when teasing her wizard too much.”

“Is that so?” Hermione was so filled with tenderness for him, she thought she’d burst. Gently stroking the hair out of his sweaty forehead, she said: “I think I shall tease you more often then.”

“Oh sweet Merlin, have m wit with me!” Albus rolled away, still panting. “You don’t want to become our love life a series of quickies, do you?”

Hermione turned over, placing her hand on his chest. Chewing on her under lip, she cautiously asked: “Aren’t you satisfied, Albus?”

He laid his arms around her and pulled her head on his shoulder. “It seems to become my favourite saying: I’m a man, Hermione. As such my needs are probably a bit simpler as a woman’s - at least when I’m this much aroused. Yet I think you deserve more as a quick - pardon my French - fuck. You should get tenderness and adoration and a bit more finesse and subtlety as I’ve just provided you with.”


Hermione took her head from his shoulder, looked in his eyes, once again very touched by his concern, but suddenly feeling very adult and wonderful womanly. “Dear Albus,” she started, kissing the tip of his nose. “I was not less aroused then you and I’ve got just what I needed: A - pardon my English - quick and raw and wild and wonderful fuck.” Another kiss on his rather prominent nose and now he smiled again and she said: “I don’t say I wouldn’t appreciate your finesse and subtlety. I certainly did last time and I felt very spoiled and adored by it. But where’s written one has to choice once and for ever? Can’t we have both? The wild and the sweet games?”

Obviously she’d said the right thing - his smile became one of the boyish grins she loved so: “You suggest a second round, I take it? Insatiable little witch!”

“I didn’t!” Hermione protested. “I didn’t say with one word I’d expect you to go through the entire repertoire in one night.”

“What a pity! And here I’ve hoped for an entire night full of passion. It seems the stamina of the youth nowadays lets to wish something. Perhaps I should talk with Madame Hooch about some exercises ...” Now his grin reached from one ear to the other.

“Oh?” Hermione tugged playfully on a hair on his chest. “I don’t think you’d need exercises with your broomstick, dear.”

He bite lightly in her shoulder. “One should always exercise with the broomstick. And I think Rolanda Hooch makes an interesting partner for ...”

“Albus, you’re a mcp!” Hermione said, poking him in the ribs.

“MCP?”

“A male chauvinist pig,” Hermione explained.

He laughed. “Actually I’ve heard something along this line before - actually I get to hear it twice a week though Minerva doesn’t use such colourful expressions for it like you.” Stroking her breast, he grinned once again. “Considering that she rants with Augustus for being a chauvinist often enough too, I take it that mcps are fun in bed ...”

“Albus Dumbledore!” Hermione caught his marauding hand and bite in his thumb. “You’re not only a mcp, but a loudmouth!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You doubt my qualities as a lover? I’m disappointed.”

Hermione laughed and in an almost perfect copy of Hogwarts’ game keeper Rubeus Hagrid she rumbled: “Never doubt the headmaster in front of me! Dumbledore’s a great man, he is!”

Albus pulled her to his shoulder again. Playing with her hair, he said: “But you were right with your doubts. In the moment I’m too groggy to raise a finger, let alone something else. But if you could bother getting us the fruits from the table? I think a few vitamins could restore me to a more useful condition rather quickly ...”


“And if I’m too groggy too?” Hermione teased him, already climbing over him.

He gave her naked butt a little clap. “You can’t. First you’re younger then me and therefore bound to be fitter. Second: I was doing all the sport!”

Hermione walked to the little table, took the bowl with fruits and asked over her shoulder: “Did I hear a complaint there?”

“No, only an observation.” Albus sat up, pushing the pillow in his back in a comfortable position and crossed his long legs.

Hermione, coming back with the bowl, watched him closely and felt her heart doing funny jumps by it. She couldn’t deny it to herself any longer: During the last days - or on this evening? She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t count anyway - she’d fallen in love with the handsome wizard, lying there, entirely relaxed and obviously at ease with himself and the world. And small wonder it was, considered what she’d learned about him over the last days. He was everything she’d ever wished for in a man: Owner and user of a brilliant mind, strong and in the same time touchingly vulnerable, sensitive and kind, very well-mannered without ever behaving pompous, a man of the world, a great leader, a caring and warm hearted friend to his friends, witty and - Hermione had to swallow by thinking of it - dead sexy. This long, slender hands with the talented fingers, the deep blue eyes, the broad shoulders, the well-defined chest with the cute, pink nipples and just enough hair to look manly, but not so much embracing him would feel like clinging to King Kong, the slim tights and his cock, even now, relaxed and soft resting in a nest of auburn curls, an imposing sight - Hermione felt a new rush of warmth in her under body.

Albus obviously had noticed her glance. “Stock taking, little lioness?” he asked with an amused smile.

“Kind of ...” Hermione smiled back and climbed in bed again, putting the bowl on his chest. She searched through it, put the bananas and mangos aside and because she couldn’t find a peach, offered him a pear. “Another favourite of yours, isn’t it?”

“It is - but how do you know?” he asked and took the fruit, biting in it.

Hermione got herself an apple, polished it on the blanket and laughed at him. “When having the choice between watching Ron’s rather abysmal eating manners and yours, I’ve always rather looked at you. So I know you like your porridge with cream and an amount of sugar every muggle dentist would faint by hearing of. You’re in general having a rather sweet tooth - you’re always very much in desserts. I sometimes wonder how you manage to keep your shape all all the sugar you’re eating ...”

“Actually I don’t keep it well anymore,” he sighed. “I’ve got a potbelly.”


“Nonsense! You’re just in the right shape of a man your age,” Hermione protested and proceeded with her observations: “You like tea better then coffee. When you drink coffee, it’s always a bad sign - in the past it meant always a crisis. Even Ron noticed and he normally wouldn’t notice if Sna... Professor Snape, I mean ... would order a litre fresh virgin blood for dinner.”

Albus laughed. “I’m sure he’d love to get a litre of fresh virgin blood, but certainly not for his dinner, but for his potion stocks.”

“Why does he ask the students for a donation?” Hermione asked. “We all know how important virgin blood is for some healing potions.”

Albus laughed again. “I think, Severus likes Minerva too much.”

“Huh?” Hermione shook her head. “I mustn’t get the connection between him liking Minerva and him not asking for blood donations, must I?”

Albus, chewing on his pear, smiled. “It’s actually rather simple: He likes Minerva too much for wanting her to lose all her illusions about our sweet, innocent students. She’s a bit old-fashioned, you know? Therefore it’s always my job to talk with students when they’re in trouble about the subject of sex. Minerva mostly even doesn’t notice it. She once fell out of all her clouds when learning that one of her Gryffindor’s was pregnant. She really and seriously asked me how this could have happened!”

“Oh no!” Hermione who as head girl had more then once caught school mates snogging in dark corners, in the green houses, in the stands of the quidditch pitch, in empty class rooms, on the Astronomy tower, in the owlery and in broom closets, turned her eyes. “I don’t think you’ll find a seventh year at Hogwarts who’s still a virgin. It would be even difficult with the sixth years. And we surely have a few fifth years who’re pretty much experienced already. Sometimes I think, being a witch or a wizard makes for pretty strong hormones ...”

“You’re right, Hermione. It does,” Albus said.

“Really?” She immediately became very interested. “Is this only an opinion of yoor sor something more?”

He laughed. “My opinion wouldn’t be good enough for your academic mind? Then you’ll be happy to hear, that it isn’t my belief only. Nicolas Flamel was convinced that our magic doesn’t stand alone in our self. It’s connected to the soul and to the body - probably the reason why our life span is so much longer as a muggles. This connection makes - at least in my opinion - for a strong drive in matters of sexuality too.”

“Hmm ...” Hermione made and chewed once again thoughtfully on her under lip. “It makes sense ...” she said then.

Albus laughed again. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She didn’t take his bait, but looked to him out of huge eyes. “Darwin, Albus - did you ever read him? I know most wizards aren’t interested in muggle science, but ...”


“I did read Darwin, Hermione. And I’ve read further - so I’m well informed about the newer developments in this area,” he interrupted her calmly. “And I think I know the direction you’re just thinking along. Magic as a kind of genetic mutation, which gives the individual an advantage in evolution - in the long way something what could lead to a development of the entire species. Interesting concept.”

“Only it doesn’t work entirely.” Hermione sounded almost disappointed. “Magic is elder as our civilization. If it would be a kind of evolutionary development, the number of wizards would have to be bigger by now ...”

“I don’t think so,” Albus disagreed. “First you shouldn’t forget that our civilization is - measured on the time evolution needed for its development until now - quite young and we don’t know when the first wizard ever came around. Considered that it needs perhaps a million of years to develop a new species we’re perhaps still at the beginning of the process. Second: Not every development in evolution lead to a success. There were millions of species which only lived for a short time - a few 100.000 years or even a million years, but didn’t make it until today. So perhaps magic is only one attempt in the evolution of mankind? We don’t know ...”

“Yet it makes for an interesting concept - as you said.” Hermione sighed. “I’d like to read about, but I’m afraid I’ll find no books about this subject.”

“Write one, dear.” Albus took a banana out of the bowl and began to peel it. “Make it your subject - I think it’s really a quite interesting one. And you’re to start an academic career soon - so you can do further research on that.”

“You really think I could won thn that?” Hermione sounded excited. “I mean ...” she became quiet and looked pretty awkward. “Albus ...” she started new after a litthilehile, in which he at his banana. “When I’m ready in Hogwarts - what will I do then?”

“That’s for you to decide,” he answered calmly. “Yet I think it would be a shame if you wouldn’t go to a university for further education. With the marks you’re supposed to get every university will gladly take you up ...”

“... and give me a scholarship?” Hermione couldn’t look in his eyes. “Under the law as it is I don’t see many chances for that. And I don’t have any money of my own. The little my parents left me is just enough to finish Hogwarts.”

“Hermione, may I remind you that you’re married to me?” Albus looked serious. “It may sound very old-fashioned to you, but to me it means sharing our worldly goods ...”

“I gladly will share my teddy bear pyjamas with you, if you’re interested,” Hermione said. “But except them I don’t have much to offer.”

“I’d love to share your teddy bear pyjamas. How about the trousers for you, the shirt for me?” Albus grinned.

Hermione grinned back and laid her hand over his spend member. “Poor thing! He would risk getting you a cold!” she said.


“Better a cold as the restriction of trousers. We really don’t like them very much; my >poor thing’ and I.” Albus stroke her shoulder. “But back to the sharing of worldly goods: The Dumbledores are a pretty old family and I’m after my brother’s death the last of them. Besides: Hogwarts’ headmaster is paid handsomely. So I don’t think you’ll have to worry about money anymore. We’ve got enough for every university you want to attend. Actually I think we’ve got enough to last you a lifetime.” He lay back on the pillows, pulling her with him. “Feeling better now?”

Hermione thought for a moment, then she kissed the tip of his nose. “Actually - yes and no. Of course it’s good to know that I can have an academic education. But I think I’ll need some time to come in use with the idea of spending your money for it.”

“Your money, my money - it’s our money.” He laid back, folding his hands under his head and grinning to her. “You were telling me that you always watched me during meals. I was fascinated - and flattered of course. I didn’t know I’m this interesting.”

“Of course you are!” Hermione crossed her legs and lend back. She didn’t bother about being naked - in the contrary. It felt nice and gave her a feeling of freedom. “Hogwarts isn’t overfilled with interesting males, is it? The DADA teachers - when male - are always a bit strange; our dear potion master mostly looks as if he were just thinking about hexing everyone setting eyes on him. The Messieurs Rochester and Brittles are so boring even the most hormone driven teenage girls can’t find anything on them, Hagrid ...,” she stopped, kicking grinning Albus lightly, “... is just Hagrid,” she finished then. Using her finger for counting, she proceeded: “Filch is yuck. Binns is a ghost - and even before he became one, one would probably have needed a healer’s order because he’s the strongest sleeping draught one can think of. Professor Flitwick isn’t exactly human, is he? So it’s you a girl has to look at if she isn’t in immature boys only talking quidditch. Actually it’s quite unfair. The boys got much more to look at - Madame Hooch, Professors Vector, Sinistra, Mapplethorn, Saint Clair ...”

“Trelawney ...” Albus chuckled.

“Uuuh!” made Hermione. “How mental a boy would have to be for drooling after her?”

Albus laughed. “I was once accused of being mental enough. Dolores Umbridge told the ministry I’d only stick to Sybil because I’d sleep with her. Only Fudge didn’t believe her ...”

“He didn’t? I’m amazed. This shows more intelligence as I’ve ever would have trusted him with,” Hermione snarled.

Albus laughed again. “I’m not so sure it was intelligence what made him disbelieve. Actually it is quite funny: Umbridge always accuses me of engaging so much female teachers because I want to bed them. Fudge in the meantime is convinced I only take them because I can’t stand up to the Hogwarts women’s libber anymore.”

Hermione threw the rest of her apple in the fireplace. “Sometimes I think the first and most important qualification for getting a job in the ministry is absolute, unquestionable, proven thickness.”


Albus had his second pear eaten; now he liked the juice from his fingertips. “Think of Arthur Weasley and ...” Obviously he couldn’t come up with another name without brooding over it, what he did.

Hermione decided that she didn’t want the mood spoiled by talking about the ministry any longer. So she took the bowl with the fruits, bent over Albus and put it down on the carpet in front of the bed. Her leaning on him distracted him from his thoughts - as she tried to crawl back, he caught her in his arms, pulled her head to his and kissed her. The kiss tasted like the pear he’d just at and Hermione thought that this taste suited the playfulness of it just right. She let her hands wander - one to her favourite place, his hair, the other was allowed to roam over his shoulder to his chest, tugging lightly on a hair there, then stroking over the muscle, feeling his beating heart and his nipple in her palm. As the kiss deepened, this nipple became more prominent and firmer. Hermione noticed it for further references and let the tips of her finger dance around the aureole. Albus liked it - so much was clear from his stretching and the way his mouth on hers became more demanding. Hermione became curious - she hadn’t thought of a man’s chest as so responsive, but she discovered that she very much enjoyed it.

Breaking the kiss, she dived down and teased the nipple with the tip or tor tongue. Albus shivered and breathed hard. Hermione grinned - her inner sex goddess was back again, stretching and purring - and since when had it taken on the form of a lioness? A lioness that’d just found a playground in his chest, wanting to explore it more. So Hermione licked again, then she let her teeth fall on the firm flesh. She didn’t bite or scrape - but the reward was nevertheless nice: Albus jumped and his one free hand gripped firmly into the sheet. Hermione took this as encouragement and sucked on her new found toy.

“Uuuh ...” She heard and then, pretty husky: “Are we in finesse now, Hermione?”

She sucked again, then she raised her head, blew a kiss on the wet, pink bud and said: “No, dearest. It’s still stock taking.”

“A nice way you’ve got for it. I shall look forward to the further progress ...”

Hermione sank her head over his chest again, nibbling and teasing and slowly working her way down over the pectoral muscle to his flat belly. Just under his belly button she discovered another obviously very erotic zone - as she kissed it, he became jumpy again and by his buckling she felt the tip of his cock stroking her chin. He was aroused again, his member not entirely stiff yet, but heavy and thick laying on his tight.

For a moment Hermione felt insecure again. Lavender and Parvati had often talked about what they called “Blow Jobs” and that an expertly done “BJ” made very man a puddle on a woman’s feet. Actually Hermione liked the idea of Albus puddle very much and she was convinced her inner sex goddess would have a field day in having her presence proven by that. Yet Hermione doubted she could it “expertly” - not without a good deal of research. Being the methodical girl she was, she decided to start with it now and so she did, taking a long look at her research object.


It was, Hermione found, pretty nice to look at: A good piece longer as the length of her hand she laid for measuring on the tight next to it; the light pink head with the opening in it just cheekily peeking out of the ivory skin surrounding it, glimmering like silk in the lights of the candles. The length above the head was covered by straining skin and it ... Hermione couldn’t suppress a giggle.

Albus who’d kept entirely quiet during her inspection, shifted. “What’s so amusing, dear?” he demanded to know.

Hermione looked for a second up to him, then she glanced again to his cock. “I’ve just discovered that he ...” with the tip of her index finger she gave him a tender poke, “really looks like your wand. I mean he’s much thicker, but the colour and the straightness and the length - and I’ve just wondered if this is the case with all wizards.”

Albus started to laugh so hard, tears rolled down his cheek. “This ...,” he couldn’t stop laughing, “... would prove a theory of Rolanda Hooch.” Still chuckling he did a pretty good imitation of her harsh voice, saying: “I’m pretty sure this Riddle-pest only got a useless, tiny prick. Therefore he’s making all this fuss!”

Hermione shook her head, laughing too. “And here I always thought of my teachers as authorities, as serious persons! But ...,” she grinned, “Harry’s wand is rather small and it’s the brother wand to Voldemort’s, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Albus agreed, “but I nevertheless don’t believe in the theory. We’d had once a colleague who wasn’t only enjoyed by one, but three female members of the staff - what in the end made for a catfight in which Severus got a rib broken while I came out with a black eye. Later the ladies involved became friends again and shared with each other fond memories of their former lover being - and I quote! - >hung like a horse’. Since then the connection theory is entirely done for me because this colleague carried the tiniest wand I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t say this colleague was Gilderoy Lockheart!” Hermione shuddered.

“Certainly not. It was years before you came to Hogwarts. Besides: Lockheart played for the all male lea The The only colleague he wanted to lay was Severus. Good Gilderoy thought him a >tragic hero’ who’d only needs true love to become as happy and fluffy as a kitten.”

“Oh my! And I’ve had a crush on this idiot!” Hermione shuddered again, but then she giggled. “I’d loved to watch how Professor Snape reacted to that.”

“You wouldn’t, my darling. I needed a binding spell and two bottles of fire whiskey to prevent Severus from first killing Lockheart and then me for engaging the git. The day after I’d felt as if somebody would have mashed my brain without stirring it properly.”

“Poor Albus!” Hermione stroked comfortingly over his tight. “Can I do something to help you over such a rather traumatic experience?” She let her fingertips wander over his length, following the vein poking under the smooth skin.


“I think you’re on a good way,” Albus said, leaning back. “Just do that again - and I won’t forget only the several traumata Severus provided me with, but my own name.”

“Don’t you worry!” Hermione stroked again. “I know it by heart - though ...” She looked up to him, grinning cheekily. “Now I’ve got it.” She tipped against his member. “That’s Percival.”

“Actually I’ve always thought his name is ‘BB’ like in ‘big bother’, but if you want to address him as Percival ...,”us cus chuckled.

Hermione tipped against her new friend Percival again. “Percival ...,” now she stroke over his left testicle, “Wulfric,” she said. Then, petting the right one, she grinned: “And that’s Brian. Hello, Brian!” Looking up to Albus, she said: “Percival Wulfric Brian – isn’t that what hangs on Albus?”

“Give Wulfric and Brian a little more attention and Percival won’t hang anymore,” Albus grinned, but his voice sounded throaty again.

Hermione took the velvety sac in her hand and fondled it carefully. “Is it possible that Brian is a bit smaller then Wulfric?” she asked.

“He always was,” Albus answered. “Smaller and ... uuuh!” Hermione had just given the right testicle a very little, gentle squeeze. “More responsive ...” Albus finished, breathing heavily.

“Then he shall get a bit extra attention ...” Hermione whispered, fondling and stroking.

“Uuuh ...” Albus moaned.

e the that?” Hermione asked.

“Just ...” he moaned again, “like that!”

Hermione laid her head down on his belly. Now she had two hands to work on him - one for the testicles, one for his shaft and while she played and learned about his reactions, she discovered that pleasing him felt wildly arousing. His moans and the little whimpers, the sighs and the twitching when she hit certain points, the way his cock became hard as steel and how the entire Albus became covered in sweat and how he panted made her feel powerful and strong in a way she’d never felt before. And it felt right finally to straddle him, guiding his cock head to her dropping entrance and to push down on him, moaning now herself with the pleasure of being filled again. And then his hands came up to her breast, cupping and stroking while she rode him until her climax hit her and let her break down on his chest, trembling in his arms. But he was still hard in her and turning her around with one swift move, he started to pond in her, sweat glittering on his face, his jaw clenched as if he were in pain, the forehead wrinkled. Hermione moved with him and felt how the wave took her again and again she screamed his name and came and struggling for breath she opened her eyes and saw his, almost black now, dark poles of indefinite depth and with an expression of utter concentration. His hips seemed to move on their own accord now, long, hard strokes and she felt and heard how his balls slapped against her flesh and once again pleasure overwhelmed her, spiralling higher and higher and during her climax she heard him scream and then there was her own voice, whispering: “I love you, Albus.”

To be continued (soon, I promise)


*******************************************

Thanks to all my reviewers! You’re making my day!