Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 11: Rondo Veneziano

Sometimes Albus could hardly believe it hadn’t been only a few weeks since Minerva had persuaded him to take up Hermione as his apprentice. Hadn’t it been only a few days since she’d succeeded in her animagnus transfiguration first time? And hadn’t it been yesterday he’d danced with her on the Malfoy wedding? Time had flied. He was now walking with her through the glorious entrance hall of the Cagliostro University in Venice, their heels clicking on the marble floor, her hand at his elbow, twitching the fabric of his robe nervously. It was summer again, a wonderful, bright July day, but during their walk from the apparition point of the island where the University resided, hidden from the muggles’ sight by mighty charms, over the campus Hermione obviously hadn’t seen much from the beauty around her. She had looked at her feet as if she wouldn’t trust them to carry her and so she had missed the sight of the wedding gondola gracefully moved by four gondolieri, just moving along the island and she hadn’t seen the boots, carrying vegetables and fruits - a symphony in colours - to the city who was just awakening. Deep in her thoughts Hermione hadn’t heard the melodious voices of the fishermen who had greeted the green grocers on their boots and probably she even hadn’t registered the soft sound of the clocks of San Marco.

Venice - la Serenissma, the proud queen of the sea - was just lifting the veil from mist from her beautiful face and Albus, son of a Venetian mother, felt once again how much he loved this city and its people. As much as Hogwarts had become home to him - a part of him belonged to Venice and to the sun and the brightness of Italy. And he knew: If some one else as Hermione would have ignored Venice by coming there for the first time, he’d certainly felt offended. But her he could forgive it - at least at this dAlthAlthough it was almost 90 years ago that he’d walked through this very hall on his way to the master ship examination, he remembered very well how nervous he had been.

Suddenly Hermione stopped, looking up to him with sheer panic in her pale face. “Albus - I can’t go in there!” she cried. “I’m going to be sick! I’ll faint! I can’t! I’ve forgotten everything!”

He took both her hands in his. “Hermione, look in my eyes.”

She was struggling for air, her face as white as a sheet. “I’ll blame you! I know I will. I can’t even remember the simplest spells!”

“Calm down, Piccola,” he smiled reassuringly at her. “Do you trust me, Hermione?”

“Of course I do!” She held his hand in so firm a grip it was almost hurting.

“If you trust me then you actually should know: I wouldn’t send you in there if I wouldn’t be absolutely sure that you’ll pass the examination with flying colours.”

“That’s the worse about it!” She had tears in her eyes now. “I’ll fail you. You’ve got such high expectations in me and I’ll fail you and I’ll blame you and you’ll never forgive me …”

Albus stroked with one finger over her cheek. “Breathe deeply, Piccola. And again! And now calm yourself. You won’t fail - you will go in there and you’ll show them how great a witch you are. And in only one hour it will be over and then you will have to kiss your new colleagues - ancient, funny smelling, withered oddballs of a transfiguration masters. And then, Piccola, you’ll think of the examination as a piece of cake!”

He’d managed it. The panic in her eyes subsided and she even managed a weak smile. “Oh, Albus!” For a moment she laid her forehead against his shoulder. “In one case I’ll enjoy the kissing of a new colleague,” she whispered. Looking up at him, she swallowed. “If only I could have you in there!”

“You’ll manage on your own,” he assured her. “I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

“Promise?” She suddenly sounded like a very small girl.

“Promise! And now …,” he laid both hands on her shoulder, turned her around and gave her a little push in the direction of the oak door in the middle of the wall. “Off you go!”

A few seconds she hesitated. But then she braced her back and marches to the door.

Albus waited until she’d disappeared behind it, before he allowed himself a little sigh before he walked to a side corridor which led in a beautiful garden where a fountain cheerfully splashed.

“Albus!” A round wizard in a billowing black robe rushed down the corridor from the opposite side, both hands outstretched and his dark eyes beaming. “I’ve just heard you’re here.”

Albus took the hands, slightly bowing his head. “Luciano - it’s good to see you.”

“It’s even better to see you and …” the dark haired wizard who was the dean of the Transfiguration faculty and an old friend of Albus, looked up to him, “… obviously in great shape. I always wondered how you manage to be so slender with all the sweets you’re eating.”

Albus laughed and patted on his rather round belly. “I actually wouldn’t describe myself as ‘slender’ anymore, but I have a good robe maker. And you? You look good, oldend.end. And how’s your charming wife doing?”

Luciano Dantini smiled. “She ordered me to rebuke you because you didn’t visit for such a long time. But with your apprentice becoming a member of our staff you hopefully will come over more often, won’t you? Or …,” he took Albus’ arm and pulled him to the fountain in the middle of the garden. “Between you and me, Albus: Why do you want to get rid of Doctor Granger?”

Albus looked at his old friend over the rim of his spectacles. “How did you come to such an idea? I don’t want to get rid off Doctor Granger. Just the opposite: She’s got a contract at Hogwarts and therefore she’ll come back in three years.”

“But why do you send her away in the first place?” the dean asked. “I know your situation at Hogwarts, Albus. You’ve got already more pupils than McGonagall can cope with. And you’re not even hit by the baby boomers from the years after the war. The amount will increase heavily and you’ll need a second transfiguration teacher urgently.”

Albus let his hand fall in the cool water of the fountain, playing with it. “Luciano, in case you’ve forgotten: I’m a transfiguration master myself. And I like teaching. So I’ll take over two classes myself in the next term. Additionally Minerva will become an apprentice and so we’ll manage until Doctor Granger comes home.” Breathing deeply, he smiled at the still sceptical looking dean. “Luciano, on my word of honour: There’s nothing wrong with Hermione Granger. I only let her go for these three years because she needs the experience outside of Hogwarts. But she is a very clever, very pleasant and well-mannered young lady and she is the greatest talent I’ve ever had the honour to teach. I’m sure she’ll make an asset to your faculty.”

“That’s praise indeed coming from you.” Now the Italian sd. &d. “I have to run, Albus. You know how it is during the last days of a term. But I guess you’ll come to your apprentice’s installation? And you’ll stay for a few days, will you? Our term starts before yours, so don’t you tell me you wouldn’t have time! Ghislana’s birthday is around this time and she’ll be so happy to have you there.”

“I’ll try to come, Luciano. I promise,” Albus said friendly. 20;U20;Until then give my regards toslanslana.”

“I will.” The dean was already half way through the garden. Over his shoulder he called: “If you need something just asks my secretary. But don’t flirt with her! Her husband is Sicilian!”

Albus laughed and sat down on the stone bench next to the fountain. Taking down his spectacles, he massaged the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger while he thought of Hermione. The examination was now probably in full swing. He wasn’t nervous about. He knew she’d pass; he even was convinced that she’d once again get top marks. And he would be proud of her and would enjoy hearing how she’d get praised by his and her colleagues.

Yet to think of her coming out of this examination as a transfiguration mistress - he couldn’t help feeling sad. In only a few days she would leave Hogwarts. She would move to Venice. She would become a professor at the University and she would make new friends and new experiences and - being on a place so full of interesting people of her age - she’d probably fall in love. And one day he’d get an owl and it would say something like “Dear Albus, I’ve meet the wizard of my dreams and we’re going to marry and would you like to come to my wedding?”

And he would go there and he would see how she’d become another man’s wife and his heart would ache, but he would smile and wish her luck - and yes, he would mean it. She deserved happiness and she deserved a man who loved and cherished her and who’d give her children and a life full of love. What did it count that he loved her too? He was a foolish old man.

But despite the heartache being close to her had often given him - he had enjoyed the time with her. He’d in the last year even developed a “routine” in dealing with his love for her. After the fatal kiss on the Malfoy-wedding - which hmembmembered so well that he sometimes still meant to feel her lips on his - he’d carefully avoided ever to come so close to her again. She obviously had learned her lesson too - she had never touched him again, she’d always kept distance, showing him clearly that his advances hadn’t been welcomed and that she never ed ted to come in such an embarrassing situation with him.

And actually - this had made it easy for him to keep distance. As he’d first seen her after this fatal kiss - the thought of it made him still cringe. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been this look of sympathy - or even pity? - In her eyes. He’d translated it with “Poor, old fool - you’re so out of your league!” He’d almost wished she’d ped ped him instead. It probably would have been easier to bear than pity.

But with showing him his place she’d helped him to get his life back in order. It had made for him remembering his pride and with that he’d overcome the self-pity he’d felt sometimes. He had decided that he wouldn’t mourn about what he couldn’t have, but instead enjoy what life offered him. Hermione would never love him back, but she liked him as a fatherly friend and he could help her in developing to a formidable witch and great transfiguration mistress. And working her had been a pleasure and aftvercvercoming the awkwardness between them - which had actually gone better and quicker as he’d hoped for - they’d even found back to a little teasing and laughing now and then.

The achievement he was most proud of she would never learn about: He’d managed to get his love life almost “Hermione free” again. It had been very difficult because his desire for her was stronger than he could remember he’d ever had felt for another woman. And in the first nights after the kiss his hormones had played havoc. One look at her round bottom - and yes, he’d remembered only too well how firm it had felt and how perfectly suiting the size of his hands! - had been enough to get him at least a half-erection and the staff conference in which always clumsy Tonks had kipped the water bottle over Hermione, making her white shirt becoming translucent and showing Albus not only her white lace bra, but the chocolate brown, firm nipples beneath -#821#8217;d never before been so grateful for his heavy robes! In trousers he wouldn’t have had the slightest chance to hide erection this sight had made for.

In these first weeks after the kiss he’d waked up almost every night out of an erotic dream - starring of course Hermione - with an aching hard cock. The first days he’d tried to deal with it by using force. Yet he quickly learned about the disadvantages of deflating charms. Easy done they tended to wear off just in the wrong moment - at breakfast for example, when Hermione was just coming around behind his chair, giving him a good nose full of her wonderful rosemary-vanilla fragrance. Albus remembered the morning well she’d stood there, almost so close that she touched him - and he hadn’t know to help himself better than with doing a Tonks: He’d made the can with ice water in front of him kip at his lap. He only hadn’t been sure if Lucius hadn’t got the meaning of this manoeuvre and therefore he’d put more force behind his next deflating charm. The outcome of that hadn’t been perfectly satisfying either. It had made for getting no erection in the next three days - whatever Hermione did and whatever she showed to him. He probably even could have kissed her then without his member reacting. It had been sulking - and felt as if it would have got hit by a sledgehammer. He’d almost been glad as he’d got the next erection. He’d already started to fear he’d knocked out his privates for good. And as less as he liked them to take over - the idea of giving up sex entirely didn’t in the last appeal to him.

So he’d started the next round in the fight “Albus the great versus the big bother formerly know as not-so-little-Albus”. As his penis had dared to raise his more or less ugly head next time, Albus had provided him with a long, very cold shower. The effect of this had been a stiffness competition the next morning: Rheumatic knees against hard cock. The last had won - after treating his knees with a painkilling potion, Albus had finally given in. Lying down on his bed again, he’d closed his eyes, thought of Francesca and how wonderful it felt when she took him in her mouth and over-aroused as he’d been after his struggle it had only needed a few firm strokes to come. Deciding then that it was time for a visit in Venice, he’d cast a cleaning charm and given himself a lay-in. After one hour of quiet rest he’d gone up finally, his knees still stiff, but his private parts at last on peace for the next 24 hours what had him thank his old age once again. In former times he’d always recovered quicker.

Only his idea of visiting Francesca hadn’t worked out. She’d fallen in love again and this time it seemed to be rather serious, as she’d told Albus over the floo. Being her friend he’d been glad for her. Besides: As much as he liked her - she wasn’t the only willing woman in the world. Only a week after the talk with her he’d attended the International Wizard’s Conference in Vienna. Becoming bored by the rather pompous and lengthy speeches after only a few hours he’d started to flirt with the head of the Austrian delegation, a well-equipped witch around 60 years. During a break they’d talked and discovered that they shared a love for chamber music. She’d told him she’d have actually wanted to go to a concerto with Schumann and Strauss’ songs this evening, but: “My husband is a politician and just in the moment he’s once againy foy for a visit in Russia. And I dislike going to concertos alone. It’s only half the fun if one doesn’t have some one to talk about afterwards.” Albus had of course offered to accompany her and sitting with a bottle of Austrian wine afterwards in a nice, quiet little bar, he’d learned that Konstanze - as nam name of his dark-haired companion was - felt in general rather neglected by her husband.

Albus, gentleman as he was, had of course tried to comfort her which had lead to a nice encountn hin his hotel. It had obviously pleased both parties involved because she’d asked him afterwards if he wouldn’t like to visit Vienna now and then.

It had just been what he’d needed: A discrete, little affair with some one who didn’t expect more of him than tenderness and good sex. This he could offer easily.

So he’d found a way to bear his love and desire for Hermione - even so much that he felt sad now by the thought of her leaving. Yet he was still convinced that it was the best for her and him. She needed the experience and she needed even more to step out of his shadow. And for him the three years until she’d come back to Hogwarts would become a chance to overcome his feelings finally. He remembered how it had been with the other big love of his love. The first year after his wife had left him he’d missed her so much that he’d sometimes had cried himself to sleep. But then she was with another man and so he’d finally lose all hopes for ever getting her back. From then on the pain had numbed and the memories of her had started to fade. Three years after he’d felt finally whole again. He’d even thought he’d been ready for falling in love again. Only he’d never met another woman to love until Hermione.

But he would overcome her too. He’d managed with Rhianon who’d been his wife and he’d manage with Hermione who’d never given him any hopes too. He’d only need some patience.


“Mister Dumbledore?” An elderly womith ith a bun and a clipboard suddenly stood next to him, looking impatient. “Are you Albus Dumbledore?” Not waiting for an answer she proceeded, sounding rather angrily by it: “Shouldn’t you wait in the hall?”

Albus rose up to his full, imposing length. Although he was in use with Minerva and Hermione commanding him around, he always liked to choice himself who could become bossy with him. This spinster with her look of dismay - probably one of the typical university secretaries who always thought that it was actually her who made tniveniversity going - certainly didn’t belong to the group of people who were allowed to speak to him in such a tone. Towering over her he looked down over the rim of his spectacles. “I wait where ever it pleases me!”

“You’re wanted at the committee …” the secretary said and obviously becoming intimated by his cold eyes, added with gritted teeth: “… professor.”

He nodded briefly at her and, suddenly feeling nervous, rushed with long steps through the garden to the corridor. Although he hadn’t looked on his watch, he was sure: It hadn’t been an entire hour since he’d left Hermione. So she actually couldn’t be ready. But she couldn’t have failed either - not as long as she wasn’t tricked by an unfair examiner. The thought of that made his heart speed up and his hands becoming sweaty. As her master he hadn’t naturally becoming told who the seven members of the committee would be. He only knew that neither Minerva nor Luciano Dantini would be there and he supposed that his German colleague Mirjam von Melanchthon, mother of his charm master would preside. It was her turn this year and the fact that her son taught at Hogwarts didn’t make for her being seen as prejudiced.

So who were the other six members of the committee? Pemperton certainly was in - he was the eldest member of the brethren of transfiguration masters, he loved examinations, therefore he certainly was in. That made five remaining - and what if one of them was Menchnikow? The Russian transfiguration master, teaching at the Moskow University, was one of Albus’ arch enemies. He’d played a rather suspicious role not only with Grindelwald, but with Voldemort too and he was the very model of the kind of pureblood wizards Albus detested heartily: Biased against muggleborns, arrogant, pompous and all too full of himself. If he was one of the examiners Hermione would hardly stood a chance. Menchnikow would like nothing better than to make Albus’ muggleborn apprentice fail and he certainly wouldn’t refrain of using unfair tricks for achieving this goal.

But he wouldn’t get much time to dwell on it - so much was sure. If the brethren really had dared to make Menchnikow a member of this committee, then they would learn what it meant to spite in Albus Dumbledore’s soup! Hell would look like a cosy place compared to what Albus would make the examination chamber look like! They would regret hurting Hermione and crossing him. And how they would! They would wish they’d never meet him!

Storming through the door in the room Albus was with three long steps next to Hermione who sat in front the desk with the seven examiners. Laying his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly he asked, his voice sharp and icy: “What’s the matter?”

Eight pairs of eyes were directed at him. First he registered only one - the familiar, beautiful, chocolate brown eyes of his beloved Hermione who looked flabbergasted.

He needed effort to tear his gaze away from her he dhe desk. In the middle of it he met a pair of almost amused looking amber eyes. They belonged to Mirjam von Melanchthon, headmistress of the Blocksberg Schule for Magie und Zauberei in Germany.

On her left a pair of dark almond eyes looked rather terrified. Kensai Yamagochi from the Tokyo University, youngest member of the committee, obviously found the sight of a furious Albus frightening.

His neighbour didn’t have such problems. Old Ignatius Pemperton had once been the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts. He probably still saw Albus as the bony boy who’d never managed to bind his tie properly. He now looked up at him out of his water blue eyes as if he’d wonder if the boy had washed behind his ears.

The left end of the desk - the place of the always sleepy looking Irish transfiguration mistress Kathleen Ryan who was probably always a bit tired because she wasn’t only Irish minister of magic, but mother of eight rather livid children too.

Albus looked at the other side of Mirjam von Melanchthon. There sat a feisty wizard who just pulled out a big red and blue stripped handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his bald head. Albus recognized him as the Parisian’s Sorbonne transfiguration professor Honoire Lefebre.

Next to him sat a tiny witch which an almost dreamy expression in her face - Resli Pfluemli from Switzerland, mostly a bit slow, but nevertheless inventor of some interesting spells.

Quickly looking at the seventh member of the company - the blond, blue-eyed Ingar Hakoonsdottir from the University of Reykjavik in Iceland - it dawned on Albus: They hadn’t done anything bad on Hermione. They’d only been rather quick with their examination.

And now Mirjam von Melanchthon spoke, her warm alto sounding as if she’d fight against laughter: “And a good morning to you too, Albus!”

He felt almost dizzy with relief. Looking down at Hermione again he saw her beaming up to him and for a moment he only wanted to pull her in his arms and to hold her close, but the embrace would have to wait. So he collected himself and smiled - feeling pretty sheepish by it - at the German witch. “I’m sorry, Mirjam - I obviously was a bit nervous.”

“Without reason, Albus, without any reason!” Mirjam von Melanchthon rose and so did her colleagues and Hermione. Coming around the desk, the chief examiner smiled once again at Albus. “Congratulations to your second summa cum laude candidate. If you set her free, we’ll take her up as a member of our club.”

Hermione obviously had done her reading. As Albus pulled his wand out, she kneeled down in front of him. Albus held his wand over her bent head and cleared his throat before he started to speak: “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was proud and honoured to have had you, Hermione Jane Granger, as my apprentice. You served me faithful and you’ve proved yourself worthy. Hereby I set you free and I recommend you to the brethren of transfiguration masters to honour you with the title mistress and to make you a member of our gild.” He tipped his wand against her forehead.

Hermione looked up to him, tears in her eyes. Her voice was almost a whisper, as she started: “I, Hermione Jane Granger, am grateful and proud that you have shared your knowledge and wisdom with me.” Sounding firmer, she proceeded. 20;I20;I thank you for having been my master.”

Albus stepped aside, making room for Mirjam von Melanchthon now. “Hermione Jane Granger, your master Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, recommended you to the brethren of transfiguration masters. If you want to become a member of our guilt, so answer with ‘yes’.”

Looking up at the witch in front of her, Hermione answered with an almost inaudible “yes”.

“Raise up, Hermione Jane Granger.” The elder witch waited until Hermione was on her feet again, then she asked: “Do you swear on your witch’s word of honour that you will never use your powers for hurting a breathing being, that you will stay away from dark magic and that you will protect the weak?”

This time Hermione’s voice was very firm and clear: “I swear on my witch’s word of honour.”

“Then I declare you hereby as transfiguration mistress and a member of our brethren. Welcome in the guild, sister.” Mirjam von Melanchthon laid her hands on Hermione’s shoulders, bent forward and kissed formally both her cheeks. Hermione kissed back the same way before she turned to Ignatius Pemperton who already outstretched his arms.

“Welcome, welcome, dear girl!” he squeaked and kissed the young witch soundly on both cheeks.

Albus waited patiently and with a smile until she’d greeted and kissed all her new colleagues. As she turned to him then, she looked as if she’d want to throw herself in his arms. But he didn’t give her a chance. Instead he took her right hand and, bowing deeply over it, blew a kiss over its back. Looking up and in her eyes in which tears shimmered, he addressed her with the old Latin title: “Magistra …”

Hermione swallowed and curtsied. “Magister - thank you. For everything.” She obviously was insecure how to handle his formality.

Albus solved the problem for her. Taking her in his arms he held her close for a moment, before he bent down and kissed her on her forehead. “Hermione,” he said his voice thick with emotion and almost shaking, “you’ve made me very proud.”

“Albus …” She buried her nose in the folds of his robe and he felt, that her back under his hands trembled.

“Don’t start crying, Piccola!Rhe whe whispered to her. “If you, I’ll become all sentimental too and then Pemperton will try to comfort us with a few drinks and we’ll end singing a serenade under the window of your new dean …”

“… and by coming home Minerva will bite our heads off,” Hermione smiled up at him, “because we’ve blamed Hogwarts!”

“Just so!” He let her go and turned again to Mirjam von Melanchthon. “I think we’re done, aren’t we?”

“We are - at least until the celebration next week,” she said. Looking at her watch, she added: “Besides: Our next victim is waiting for the execution.” Sinking her voice, she whispered: “It’s Menchnikow’s apprentice and I’m afraid he won’t succeed. We have had already a bit trouble with him. Menchnikow wanted him examined half a year before, but Dantini who was in the committee at this time - we got him instead of you because we knew Menchnikow would go ballistic if you were to examine his candidate …”

Albus chuckled. “I must admit: This feeling is mutual. I thought before for a moment Menchnikow would examine mine …”

“Ah! Therefore you stormed in like a furious bull!” The German witch smiled. “However: Half a year before Dantini found a big gap in the young man’s thesis. Menchnikow maintained he would have overlooked it - I’d rather say he hoped we would overlook it - and demanded we’d examine the boy anyway. We refused what make for a lot of noise and Dantini stepping out because Menchnikow accused him of being biased as your friend. Then Menchnikow was after my head - for my son being a Hogwarts teacher …”

“Oh, of course!” Albus turned his eyes. “I only hired him to get you in my debt. I mean: Your son only managed a “magna cum laude” in his master examination and was only the third in the duelist’s European championship. Why would I hire such a loser if not for his mummy giving my archrival a few kicks then?”

Mirjam von Melanchthon turned her eyes. “You know, how your old friend ticks. And for his apprentice: The thesis is corrected now, but Yamagochi - who’s working in the same field - has got a list of questions almost as long as Menchnikow’s face will become when he learns that the best his young man can get today is an uptake on probation.”

“Oh, oh.” Albus looked at Herminoe who was talking to the Japanese professor. “I think I’ll remove my summa cum laude candidate before Menchnikow learns about all this. Last time I met him he announced already he’d challenge me for a duel if I’d insult him once again.”

“Do you intend to insult him?” The German witch grinned.

“As your son would say: I dare to exist. That’s insult enough for Menchnikow,” Albus said.

“Then it’s really better you go,” Mirjam von Melanchthon said and patted amicably Albus’ arm. “I don’t think much member of the brethren would mind if you’d change our dear brother Menchnikow into a flobberworm, but it would make such a lot of tiresome paperwork! Besides: He’s so used on ignorance, he wouldn’t like to get shown his animagnus form by you.”

“And I’m in too good a mood for a duel”, Albus said. Laying his hand on Hermione’s shoulder, he twinkled at her: “I’ll rather spend the rest of this glorious day with my brilliant new colleague.” Raising his voice, he addressed the committee: “Dear sisters and brothers: We’re to remove ourselves. Thank you for this pleasant morning!”

Leading Hermione out through the door, he stepped with her in the hall where a bald-headed old wizard with a hawk like nose and a very thin mouth just talked to a young, blond man with greasy hair that looked as if he would go sick the next moment. As the elder wizard slbuslbus, his mouth became even thinner and his pale blue eyes glimmered with hatred. “Dumbledore!” he hissed. “Do you really think the Brethren needs to get a member which is mu …”

He couldn’t finish his line. Albus’ voice, sounding like cracking ice, stopped him. “Be careful, Menchnikow! I don’t care if you try to insult me. But I’m very touchy when it comes to female colleagues.” Laying his hand at Hermione’s back, he gave her a little push. “Let’s go, Hermione.”

In silence they walked out to the campus where Hermione sighed and said: “Huh - was this your special friend?”

“Yes, that was Alexeji Menchnikow. Cute, isn’t he?” Albus said grimly.

“Very cute. He looks as if he’d like to throttle you. Did you meet him during my examination?” Hermione asked. “I mean, as you stormed in you looked as if you were ready to hex the entire committee …”

Albus looked a bit awkward. “I actually thought for a moment Menchnikow would have made it into the committee and he’d have fooled around with you …” He changed the subject, pointing with his chin to the apparition point. “What do you think about a second breakfast?”

Hermione was - as always - not so easy to distract. Almost shyly she stroke over his hand. “My shining knight - it’s good to know that you would protect me.”

Feeling himself blush, Albus grumbled: “Shining knight with a rumbling stomach. I’d probably fight the dragon for getting a few sausages roast in his breath. I really feel for it - you made me so nervous by our first breakfast that I didn’t have more than a cup of tea down. Now I’m starving. And you must feel drained and groggy, don’t you?”

Hermione shook her head, beaming up to him. “Actually - no. I feel very excited and I’d like to dance and to sing and to hug the entire world - but don’t be afraid, Albus: I won’t start with you. At least not while you’re starving. I’ll rather help you to find the sausages you need for your picnic with the dragon.”

“I’m afraid you have to embrace me,” he grinned at her. “I intend to apparate us to the wizard’s district. And from there I’d like us to go muggle - if you don’t mind.”

“I certainly don’t.” Hermione chewed for a moment on her bottom lip. “Albus …” she started then again.

“Hmm?” They had arrived at the apparition point and he stood in front of her, smiling down to her over the rim of his spectacles.

“Last week as I felt so afraid of this examination,” she said, her eyes not directed at him, but on the tips of her black shoes, “you said you’d fulfil me a wish afterwards. And now …”

“I am to keep my promise,” he finished the line for her. “What shall I give you, Hermione?”

“24 hours with la Serenessima and you. I mean, I’m to live here for three years and I don’t know a thing about the city and you’re almost a Venetian yourself and you speak Italian und I have to look for a flat to rent and I’d actually would like to get one in Muggle Venice because I’d like to have electricity and a phone - you know, I sometimes like to talk to my parents - and it’s certainly not easy to get a flat here, especially when one doesn’t speak Italian and with your help it would be so much easier and I know you don’t have to teach today and your paperwork at Hogwarts certainly can wait until tomorrow and Minerva certainly doesn’t mind if you …”

“I’d love to show you Venice,” Albus used the break she’d made for breathing. “Although I don’t think we should start the flat hunting already. I’ve a few ectiections in Venice I’ll use for that and I promise you: You’ll get your muggle flat with electricity and a phone. So let’s simply enjoy this day.”

“But we’ll need a hotel!” Hermione said, suddenly looking worried. “And its summer and the place are swarmed with tourists.”

Albus smiled. “As you said: I’m almost a Venetian. That means I know my ways around here. Let’s go over to the land - I need an owl, a phone and breakfast.”

“In this order?” Hermione smiled. “And what’s the owl for?”

Albus pulled her in his arms and holding her close, he apparated with her to a little place in front of a big, ancient building. Leading her to the arcades in front of its ground floor, he said: “Good boy as I am I always inform mummy Minerva when I intend to stay away for a night. She’d worry if I wouldn’t. That’s why I need the owl.” Entering the building he proceeded: “Besides I promised her, I’d inform her about your exam as soon as possible.”

They were now in the post office where almost hundred of different owls sat on perches. Albus pulled a piece of parchment and a pencil out of his robe and bent down to the counter to scribble a note. As he was done, he gave Hermione the pencil. “I suppose you want to send greetings too?”

Hermione read what he’d written: “Dear Minerva, your star pupil did as expected: Summa cum laude. Only you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for hugging her, because we’ll stay in Venice for the night. Yours - A.” Smiling at Albus, Hermione wrote under his lines: “I’m the happiest witch alive! 1000 kisses and a big bear hug! H.”

Albus made a face. “That’s unfair!” he complaine#822#8220;I got only one kiss!”

He didn’t mind flirting with her any more. She wasn’t his apprentice anymore, but his colleague. And she’d leave Hogwarts in a few days. He was sure: For the short time remaining he would be able to be close to her without embarrassing himself. Besides: He simply was too happy for keeping himself on distance. She’d asked him to spend this day with her! And he was determined to make the best of it.

Choosing a brown barn owl which already hopped eagerly on her perch, Albus paid the wizard behind the counter a few knuts and tied the note to the owl’s leg. The bird hooked and flied up to a window through which it disappeared.

“So - now to phone and breakfast,” Albus said and led Hermione out of the building and on a crowded street along a channel.

“Shouldn’t we change first?” Hermione tugged at the collar of his green dress robe. “You know youk vek very imposing but I don’t think you’d like to show yourself like that between muggles.”

“Certainly not.” Albus pointed to a bridge a few steps away. “This bridge leads to muggle Venice. Muggles can’t see it - neither the bridge nor the channel. To them it lookse the the pretty boring t oft of a building.” Stepping on the bridge, he pulled his wand out and looked along himself.

Hermione had her wand out too and laughed at him. “May I change you? I’ve always wanted to try something on you.”

“Well … you may change your attire if I’m allowed to change yours.”

“Deal!” Hermione said and waved her wand.

Albus felt how not only his robe, but his hair changed. It suddenly was pretty short. “Don’t you like my hair?” he asked almost a bit insulted. He’d always been proud of his mane.

“I find it lovely and suiting you very well,” Hermione said. “But to a muggle suit it looks perhaps a bit strange.”

He looked down on himself - and liked very much what he discovered by it. Hermione had clothed him in a dark blue double breasted jacket with two rows of golden buttons, a light blue silken shirt, a blue and golden tie and beige linen trouser over light suede slippers. The attire was elegant and he found that it suited him well. And if she saw him like that …

He smiled at her. “Thank you. I like it very much - only: Isn’t it a bit formal for strolling through Venice?”

Hermione grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “If you want something less formal …” Once again she waved her wand.

Albus felt his hair falling down over his shoulders again, but there was something else he felt - and he didn’t find it pleasant. Looking down at the pretty tight jeans he was now wearing, he said: “I’ll never understand muggles. can can they stand to wear something so restrictive like that?”

Hermione laughed and took his hand. “Turn around, please,” she demanded.

He obeyed. “And now?”

“Now look at your imagine the water over your shoulder.” Hermione giggled. “Then you’ll understand why muggle wear tight jeans.”

Looking at the image of his backside, he still didn’t get it. “Huh?” he asked. “What’s about the jeans and my backside?”

The corners of Hermione’s mouth twitched. “It makes for the ladies getting a chance to admire a man’s butt! And yours …” suddenly her voice sounded like a purr, “… is worth admiring it …”

“Oh …” He felt himself again blushing - and the jeans became even more restricting. “I think I’d nevertheless prefer your first attempt. Perhaps without the tie and the jacket?”

“Your wish is my order, master,” Hermione changed him back in the linen trousers.

“Thank you very much.” Looking at her - she wore her plain, black teaching robe over a white shirt and a long, grey skirt and her hair was bound up in a tight bun - he considered his options. He knew that she liked wearing trousers and that he found her butt even more admirable than his own ever could be, but she had very nice legs too and he wanted to see them again. And her figure - despite of the fact that he desired her, he found her actually almost a bit too thin. Yet she’d got very nice breasts - round and firm and … he rebuked himself for starring at them and finally waved his wand, shortening her hair - he’d liked the way she’d wore it as she’d come to Hogwarts. And for her clothes he chose a dress, plain, but elegant in crème linen, high necked, but letting her shoulders and arms free, the skirt ending at the middle of her long thighs, a golden chain around her waist showing how delicate she was. Knowing that she’d hate to suffer all day in high heels, he’d made her a pair of light sandals.

Looking at her image in the water of the channel, Hermione nodded approvingly. “Hmm - I think I should keep you as my personal fashion consultant. I always thought your speciality would be undressing women. But you’re obviously not bad in dressing either.”

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


San Marco, the Campanile, Ducal palace, the Libreria Marciana, the Basilika Santa Maria della Salute, the Chiesa dei Salzi - Albus loved Venice, he absolutely did, but by climbing up the spiralling stairs of the Palazzo del Bovolo - after already having admired the three beautiful round windows at Palazzo Dario, the glorious frescos at the front of Palazzo Barbarigo and Palazzo Cavalli Franchetti which windows found Hermione looking like “lace” - he couldn’t avoid thinking that neither his love for his mother’s home town nor his love for a certain very enthusiastic Hermione Granger helped much against aching feet. He indisuputably liked that Hermione was obviously rather smitten with the beauty of the city, but why, oh why, had she to do the entire sight seeing in only one day? He’d actually intended to stroll from one palazzo to the next street café and then, after a cup of espresso or an ice cream, to the next church, but during the five minutes he’d been in a telephone box, Hermione had unfortunately found a book shop and got herself the heaviest Venice guide available.

During breakfast she’d started to read it and since then it was Albus who’d got lessons like “Why you didn’t know that the composer Richard Wagner died in this palazzo?” (considered that Wagner operas always made for him wanting to climb the next wall, he didn’t find himself ignorant for the fact that he had never cared about the composer’s biography) and “That’s were Thomas Mann became inspired for his novella ‘Death in Venice’. You know Thomas Mann, do you? The German Nobel award winner?” (At this place Albus had wished he’d been more ignorant. Reading one of the Mann novels had once almost cost him his love for the German language) and “It’s said, Othello lived here - but I don’t believe he was real.” Besides of this lessons in culture Albus had seen more paintings - mostly of naked Gods with kinky ideas about making love - as he’d ever have cared about. Yet Hermione didn’t know any mercy. His rather weak questions if she wouldn’t feel tired or in need of a cool drink or a hot coffee she’d always answered with “How could I feel tired on a glorious day like this?” or “No, no - I’m much too excited about all that! And isn’t that Palazzo Barbarigo in front of us? Oh, I’d love to see it more closely! Come - let’s go there!”

But now he got new hope: The evening was near. And then the Palazzos and churches would become closed and in the dark even Hermione couldn’t do much sight seeing anymore - or could she? He wasn’t so sure about that, but he was fiercely determined to spend the next hours on a comfortable chair in restaurant, stretching his legs, drinking wine and filling his rumbling stomach with all the delicious things the Venetian cooks had to offer.

They were in a hall with a lot of paintings now, but to Albus’ delight the guide, who stood there, watching the paintings, just announced that the Palazzo would be closed in only ten minutes. Hermione looked a bit disappointed, but only for a moment. “I can come back again, can’t I?” she said.

“As often as you like,” Albus said, inward adding: “As long as I don’t have to accompany you.” Loudly he proceeded: “It’s said that Venice is dying, but I don’t think it will happen tonight.”

Hermioneled led at him. “You’ve got a bit too much, did you? I’m sorry - but I find this all so fascinating!” She laid her hand on his arm. “But you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Albus laid his hand over hers. “I hope you like Italian food.”

“I love it! Do you think I could have risotto? And some fish?” she asked.

“Certainly. We’ll go to a little restaurant where you’ll get the most delicious risotto you’ve ever eat,” he promised her. “Shall we go there?”

Hermione laughed. “Poor Albus - you’re once again starving! We shouldn’t have skipped lunch.”

He patted cheerfully with his flat hand again his belly. “I think I can exist for a while from substance.”

“But I wouldn’t like you lose weight,” Hermione said. “I like your belly.”

“You do?” He liked to hear that.

“Very much. It suits you.”

“Then let’s go and have dinner.” Down the stairs he was much quicker than up and, taking Hermione’s hand in his, he marched with her to the next landing on a channel. “By living in Venice you’ll come in use with taxis and busses being boots. I’ve always rather liked it,” he told her, waving for one of the water taxis. Helping Hermione on board, he ordered the boots man to a side channel of the Canale de. de.

Hermione had already huge eyes again. Pointing at the beautiful buildings on both sides of the channel, she said, sounding overwhelmed: “It’s like a dream, you know?” Turning to him, she chewed once again awkwardly on her bottom lip. “Albus?”

“Hmm?” He couldn’t resist smiling at her when she used this tone.

“I know it’s something an inhabitant of Venice probably never does, but … please, don’t laugh, but I’d really like to be rowed in a Gondola once.”

“It’s your day, Piccola and so you shall have your risotto and your fish and your Gondola and if you insist I’ll even make the Gondoliere sing Italian love arias for you. But after dinner, don’t you think?”

“Albus …” Suddenly she hugged him, burying her head on his shoulder. Her voice sounded muffled as she said: “Even without the Gondola - I’m sure that’s the most wonderful day of my life. Thank you for it.” Then she giggled. “But you don’t have make the Gondoliere sing. I rather like English folk songs than Italian love arias, you know?”

For a moment he simply allowed himself to enjoy her embrace. Laying his arms around her and with his mouth in his hair he said: “I have to thank you, Hermione. You’ve made this old man very happy …”

She stepped back and looked up at him, her forehead wrinkled. “I hate it when you do that!” she said firmly.

“Do what, Piccola?” he asked.

“Naming yourself an old man! Pemperton is an old man and Cracklebell and Binns …”

Albus interrupted her with a smile. “Binns actually is a ghost …”

“But before he became one, he was an old man,” she said heatedly. “But you aren’t! You’re so alive and fit and 30;&30;” looking up to him, her smile became soft, but her eyes twinkled: “You’re much too handsome for an old man and you’ve got a too nice a butt!”

For the third time in this day he blushed. Although he’d got his share of female admiration during his life - the compliments Hermione had paid him confused him. Was it her happiness about the exam which made her find the entire world - including him - looking beautiful? Or did she really think of him as handsome?

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


The dark water was quietly splashing whenever the gondoliere put his punt in it. Through an open window in one of the buildings next to the channel Albus heard music and laughing people. It was late - their dinner had been a rather detailed affair with antipasti, risotto, fish and dessert and a bottle of Barolo, but la Serenissima, the old and still so young city, didn’t sleep already. There was light in most of the buildings and the lanterns on their facades were mirrored in the water and there were people on the bridges and other gondolas and boots making their way through the night.

Albus hardly registered it. As they boarded the gondola Hermione had become rather quiet and for the first moments she’d sat as stiff as Minerva when angry. But then, suddenly, she’d shifted, coming closer to him and leaning back, her naked arm and shoulder touching him.

“Are you cold?” he’d asked.

“No …” and then, quickly: “Yes - a bit.”

“Warming charm?” he’d offered.

“No, thank you …” She sounded odd, as if she were with her thoughts elsewhere. But then she’d snuggled closer to him, turning by it. He’d thought she’d feel the chill from the water and had laid his arm around her shoulder, feeling her trembling. “You are cold, piccolo!” he said.

“No, Albus, really not. I feel wonderful.”

He gladglad, she did, but he actually didn’t. Yet in the contrast to her his uneasiness certainly wasn’t caused by freezing. He’d got the opposite problem: He was sweating. Hermione in his arm, her fragrance in his nose, her leg touching his and her breast pressed against his side - his trousers were already becoming tight again and his heart was speeding up. Through the silk of his shirt he could feel a firm nipple and he needed all his willpower for stopping himself. He wanted - oh, how much he wanted - to touch her breast, to cup its round form with his hand, to kiss the sweet peek poking against him, to … oh heavens! She shifted again and for a moment he thought his heart would stop beating: She laid her hand on his chest.

He was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed. His chest had always been sensitive and her small, delicate hand just on his pectoral muscle, just over his right nipple, only separated from his skin through thin silk, made shiver running down his spine. He knew that she felt how his nipple hardened - she certainly would sense it under her palm - and he waited for her distancing herself and as much as his body wanted her close and was even demanding more, his brain - the little rest which wasn’t already fogged with a need more urgent as he could remember ever had fene -ne - wished for her getting not only her hand, but her entire self away from him and please, not only for the little distance the gondola offered, but best for 500 miles. It would be his only chance to calm himself down before he would something unforgivable and would spoil their perfect day with it.

But even by knowing that he should push her away or at least shift so that she didn’t touch him so much anymore, he couldn’t persuade his arms and hands to cooperate. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t separate himself from her sweet warmth. Almost in panic he registered how the blood was rushing to his groin, how his penis grew and hardened and how he struggled against the fabric of his trousers.

Thanks the Gods - she took her hand from his chest. Albus breathed deeply. He was saved. Or wasn’t he? She shifted again and then she turned and then - oh no! He couldn’t stand that! He couldn’t breathe anymore! His pulse was on over speed and his trousers were so much too tight it really hurt - she lend her breast against his chest and her right hand landed on his cheek while her left was on his knee.

He felt like the bunny eye in eye with the snake: Trapped, hypnotized, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to breathe, unable to think.

“Albus …” Her voice was only a husky whisper. Her hand on his cheek moved, turning his face to hers, her body stretched, her breath was on his skin, her mouth came closer to his lips, so close it almost touched. “Albus - I’ve longed to do this for such a long time …” And then she kissed him, her lips touching his softly and there was the taste of wine and garlic and he’d never have thought it possible, but it was more delicious than Sherbet Lemons. The tip of her tongue - flickering over his lips and teasing him. Her hand on his knee - wandering upwards over his thigh, the thumb stroking along the inside, was setting every nerve on fire in its way. And then she nibbled on his bottom lip and suddenly he was hit by an electric jolt. His body became alive again, his hands and arms were moving, pressing her against him and his mouth opened. He sucked on her tongue, greedily, wanting more, needing more and she responded to his almost desperate kissing eagerly.

It was her who broke the kiss after what seemed to him like sweet eternity. But then her lips glided down on his neck, sucking and nibbling. He heard some one moan and as he just got that it had been him, he felt her hand in his lap, cupping his rock hard erection.

“Hermione …” What had he wanted to say? He forgot it immediately because her mouth was now back on his again.

He needed all his willpower and concentration for getting away, but laying his head back, he said once again: “Hermione …” and this time he managed a creaky, weak: “Don’t! We can’t …” before her mouth stopped him again.

“We can’t?” It had been her, breaking the kiss, but she gently squeezed his erection now and her lips were still almost touching his. “Don’t you dare to maintain you wouldn’t want me!” she whispe Her Her next squeeze was more determined and made him moan. She chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “You do want me!”

“Of course I do, but …” he tried.

Her fingers played over his length, down to his testicles and he couldn’t stop it - his body was working on its own accord and he opened his legs. Her hand was now over his balls, stroking softly. “But me no buts, Albus,” she whispered. “I’ve waited two years for this night. I’ve longed for you; I’ve dreamed of you, I’ve fought every bloody day of these two years for not jumping on you. I’ve respected you didn’t want to sleep with your apprentice, but now I’m a mistress - and if you don’t make me your mistress as soon as possible, I’ll dismember you without using magic!”

He couldn’t resist any longer. Laughing he gave in. “Hermione - that’s the most charming invitation I’ve ever got!” A part of his mind started to work again and it made him turn around to the gondoliere. “Could you please get us to the next landing?” Albus asked him.

“Si, Signor …” The gondoliere probably wondered - couples kissing like that normally didn’t ask to get to a landing, but for more speed to their hotel. Yet the guest’s wish was his order and so he punted his gondola in the direction of the next landing.

Albus used the time for kissing Hermione who lay in his arms, for a moment obviously content with sy bey being held by him. Then the gondola was on the landing, Albus paid the gondoliere generously, helped Hermione out and, pulling her in the next dark corner, hold her close again and apparated with her.

Landing in a little, bright coloured hall Hermione already kissed him again, standing on her tip toes, her one hand in his hair, the other on his backside, kneading it gently. She only broke the kiss for asking: “Are we alone here?”

“We are …” He didn’t want to talk - he wanted to kiss her again and to stroke over her back.

She didn’t ask where “here” was. She was already busy with opening the buttons of his shirt and blowing kisses on the skin she laid free. And he was pulling at her dress, but it was too thigh and he couldn’t shove it over her waist.

She chuckled. “Are you a wizard or aren’t you?” Pulling her wand out, she directed it against herself. Her clothes vanished and while he starred at her beautiful nakedness, she undressed him too, let her wand drop and gripped with both her hands his cock, pulling him down on it on the thick, soft carpet.

“I need you, Albus. I need you inside me. Please …” She spread her legs and arched her back, almost whimpering: “Please - fill me! I need you so much.”

His fingers trembled as he guided his erection to her entrance, feeling the heat it radiated. She was ready for him- hot and dripping wet and so tight! It felt glorious to enter and and he closed his eyes, savouring the perfection of this moment.

For a few seconds none of them moved. He only opened his eyes and looked at her face, flushed and shimmering with sweat, the mouth with the slightly swollen lips open, her eyes almost black and filled with tenderness and love and desire.

“oro oro - ti voglio. Ti amo …*” he heard himself say.

“Albus …” She pulled him down for a kiss, wrapping her arms and legs around him. “Albus - I love you …”

He didn’t answer in words, but with a little move. Hermione immediately responded to it and then she pulled him closer, laying her lips on his shoulder and their bodies started dancing together.

Had he doubted the rightness of this? Had he thought it would feel wrong? It didn’t. All his doubts were blown to dust. Being with Hermione was the rightest thing he’d ever done. Feeling her hands and lips and her skin and the silken heath around his penis, hearing her moans and whimpers and little cries and how her breathing became harder - never in his life had something felt so perfect and absolutely right. And instead of losing the ability for clear thinking he felt collected as rarely before. He suddenly understood what the ancient term “they discerned each other” meant. His heart had discerned her as what belonged to him and what made him complete. And now his body followed the heart, claiming her as his as she - clinging to him and whispering his name like a mantra - claimed him. And with doing so she changed him. He wasn’t the too experienced, sometimes even a bit bored ladies man anymore, he wasn’t the lover who didn’t care if the woman in his arms found there paradise or the Champs Elysee if onlywas was a pleasant place. For Hermione he wanted it to be paradise and even more: He wanted it to be an exclusive paradise, one only belonging to her, new and pure and entirely hers.

“Albus …” Her hands were on his back and he felt how their grip became firmer. He felt her teet his his shoulder and suddenly his tender, soft lover became a lioness, demanding her prey. Her passion set him on fire. The blood was roaring in his ears and his moving became frantic, hard and strong. He gripped her buttocks, pulling her even closer and he had to grit his teeth. He didn’t want this to end, he didn’t want it to be over, but his cock and his testicles felt as if they would burst the next moment and he couldn’t stop pounding into her. Her voice - she was screaming, but he couldn’t understand her because he was falling in abyss filled with red white flames and he burned in it and it was pleasure bordering on pain and love which languished him and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and he wasn’t himself anymore, but hers, only hers.


“Albus!” The voice coming through the haze sounded terrified. “Albus? Are you well?”

It cost effort to open his eyes and - becoming aware that he’d fallen on her and she’d to bear with his full weight - to raise his head and to brace himself on his elbows. He was covered with sweat, a strand of hair clinging to his forehead and he felt as he would have done a marathon. Feeling now how his spend member slipped out of her, he rolled himself down and to the side, landing on his back and feeling dizzy. “Sorry, Hermione,” he said, still struggling for air. “I’m too heavy for you …”

She turned and, stroking tenderly the hair out of his face, smiled down on him. “You weren’t. I only was afraid for a moment. I thoughtR’d have passed out.”

Despite his tiredness - he could hardly keep his eyes open - he looked at her and, raising his hand, stroked her cheek. “You’re so beautiful and perfect, lioness.”

“And you’re so entirely and absolutely groggy,” she chuckled. “But at least one can’t doubt the intensity of your feelings.”

“I was with you,” he said as if this would explain everything.

And obviously it did because she sighed - a happy, content sigh - and laid her head on his shoulder, snuggling the length of her body against his side. For a few precious moments neither of them spoke. Then Hermione, kissing his shoulder, asked: “Albus - where are we?”

He yawned. “In a flat.”

“Oh, really?” She giggled and looked around. “Thanks for telling. I thought all the time we were doing it in the middle of the piazza of San Marco.”

“With pigeon’s pooding down on us?” He opened one eye.

“It would have hit your back, sweetheart. And I think you even wouldn’t have registered it.”

“Probably.” He was too lazy and too sated for speaking.

But now Hermione tugged lightly on the hairs of his chest. “Who’s flat is this?”

Albus yawned again. “That depends,” he answered.

“Huh?” Hermione sit up and looked around. “It looks rather nice …” Discovering the lamp on the ceiling and the modern kitchen - they lay in front of the open door to it - with a fridge, wash machine, herd and even a micro wave, she said: “It’s a muggle flat, isn’t? Dt? Does it belong to a friend of yours?”

“Perhaps.” Albus grinned.

“Albus!” She turned to him. “Dont tet tease me! Tell me …”

He sighed. “The house we’re in is Palazzo Houdini. It was built by my great-great-grandfather. I inherited from my mother, but because I really don’t need 36 rooms, I rented the upper parts of it to a muggle bank and only kept the floor under the roof. So that’s my flat, but if you like it you can have it for the time you’re in Venice.”

“Really? May I have a look around?”

Albus nodded. “As long as you don’t expect me to give you the grand tour …”

She bent over him and kissed the tip of his nose. “My poor Albus! You’re entirely exhausted, aren’t you? Running around in Venice all day …”

“I’m an old man,” he sighed.

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t think so and I don’t like to hear you saying so. But I think you should get up - and in bed. You didn’t get much sleep the last nights and you’ve taught my classes too. It’s no wonder you’re bone-tired. You’re always overworking yourself.”


To be continued ….


Translation for the little Italian:
* “Darling, I need you. I love you …”


And thanks to Lucy who helped me with the Italian!