Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 12: The day after


Wrapping Albus’ much too big dressing gown - blue silk with a golden initial on the chest - closer around her naked body Hermione kneeled on the bench which run around the roof terrace’s rail. Leaning on the stone rail, her chin braced in her hands, she sighed in content. Standing at the crossing of the Canale Grande and on its side channel, Palazzo Houdini provided its inhabitants with a breath taking sight. It was shortly after seven - the clocks of San Marco had just announced the time - and the city was lifting its curtain of mist to present itself in all its glory. The towers and cupolas of Santa Maria della Sante looked like something out of a fairy tale, mirrored in the dark water of the channel.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on the sound of the awakening city. There were voices, talking in melodious Venetian, there was laughter and somewhere nearby a baby cried. A water bus just chugged along; a green grocer stopped the engine of his boot on the landing of the other side of the channel, noisily putting his cradles with fruits and vegetables on land.

At this time in the morning La Serenissma didn’t belong to the tourists crowding her all day, but still to the Venetians who bore the daily invasion of stranger with long proven patience and grace. But looking at the green grocer, a young man with black curls and very muscled shoulders in a red and white striped shirt and his cradles - filled with red tomatoes, the delicious little aubergines Hermione had tried the evening before, green cucumbers, beans and peas, broccoli and paprika - Hermione didn’t feel like a tourist, but as some one who belonged to this city she’d fallen in love with. Analyzing this feeling she chuckled to herself. Probably it came from sleeping with a half Venetian? And thinking of him she stretched like a cat, feeling a light ache in her tights by it. “I’m not use to making love anymore,” she thought and corrected herself immediately: She’d never been use to making love like she’d done the night before. With Victor it had never felt like this, so intense, so perfect and so consuming. In her best times with Victor their sex had been pleasant and very nice, but making love with Albus was more. It was raw, hungry, demanding passion, it was fulfilment of an almost painful need and it was tender love and pure bliss and feeling like the goddess of love because she was able to make this man pant and moan and even pass out. And despite his playfulness which was so typical for him, despite the fact that he sometimes blushed when she paid him a compliment, despite that she had felt an almost motherly tenderness as he’d laid in her arms afterwards, looking more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him before - Hermione hadn’t for a single second forgotten who it was she was sleeping with.

Her admiration and her respect were part of her love for him. Her awareness that he wasn’t just an ordinary man, but Albus Dumbledore, seen as the mightiest wizard alive, was part of her desire for him, but not because she wanted to participate from his fame, but because he was a never ending challenge for her mind and because he was the only man she’d ever met who didn’t seem to have a problem with her being intelligent and ambitious too. With Victor she’d always been afraid of becoming reduced to suit him and his needs - and hadn’t he tried? Hadn’t he always refused to notice her academic ambitions? She remembered only too well how he’d congratulated her on becoming a doctor. He’d said: “And even if you’d become one day a professor and a Merlin Award winner, I’ll always see you as my sweet little one!”

He’d meant it as an assurance of his love, but Hermione had taken it as a rather accurate description of the biggest problem in their relationship: He wanted to see her as his “little one”, as something smaller than him. It had terribly bothered her and she’d always cringed when he’d called her “little one”.

Yet Albus naming her “Piccola” she’d never minded although it literally meant the same. But his “Piccola” never sounded like degrading her to something which didn’t deserve being taken seriously. It was only a reference to the fact that she was younger than him and reached, when standing next to him, only to his shoulder. With Albus she hadn’t to fear degradation, but had always experienced that he wanted her as great as possible. He had more then once pushed her when she’ thought she reached her limits, sometimes with a tender “Just try once again”, sometimes teasing her with a “pretty please - just do it for me!” sometimes even with provocation: “I know you can do better”. He’d built her up when ever she’d been in doubt; he’d showed her that he believed in her and her potential.

Albus - probably he was still sleeping in the huge bed she’d tucked him in the night before. He’d obviously been totally drained. Hermione didn’t wonder about it. Two weeks before he’d relieved her from her teaching duty for getting her time to prepare properly for the examination. Yet this had meant that he’d taken over not only the three classes she had taught, but two others as well because Minerva had all hands full to do with the OWLs and the NEWTs. Besides with the term being soon over, Albus had his desk full with paperwork. He probably hadn’t got more then four or fives hours of sleep during the last nights and the day they’d spent together - Hermione had been so full of adrenalin not only about her master ship, but about her plan to seduce Albus too, that she really hadn’t noticed that they’d been the entire day on their legs. And even after their love making she hadn’t been tired, but so happy and excited she could have danced.

Instead she’d had a look at the flat - and she’d liked very much what she’d discovered by it. It was just perfect for her with a big living-dinning room looking out of the terrace, a smaller, but very cosy study with a window seat, the bedroom which was attached to a bathroom which a huge, marble tub and the small, but well-equipped kitchen. And the way the flat was decorated, Hermione liked very much. In contrast to Albus’ private chambers at Hogwarts where - suiting the Gothic castle - dark furniture and heavy draperies in burgundy and gold dominated, the Venetian flat was very bright. Blue and yellow were the dominating colours and the furniture was modern and light, but nevertheless looking very inviting.

Hermione could very well imagine living in this flat - and she’d even be able to invite friends! The sofa in the study could easily be changed to a bed and next to the study was the separate guest toilet with a little shower box. And if her parents would visit her, they could sleep in the huge bed while Hermione would stay in the study and perhaps Ginny and Lucius would come for a few days too and she could show them the city and the university - Cagliostro University with its glorious Renaissance buildings was well worth a look.

But the best thing about her new life was Albus, who now came on the terrace, his long hair - the spell she’d used to shorten it had long before wore off - tussled, his eyes still a bit sleepy. He was naked, he even didn’t wear his glasses yet and standing in the French window and twinkling at the just raising sun he didn’t look like Hogwarts great headmaster, but like the boy he’d once been and Hermione felt touched by it. She’d never before felt so filled with love and tenderness for a fellow human being and even if she would have wanted to; she couldn’t have stopped beaming at him.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she teased him.

“Morning …” he grumbled back, yawning and rummaging with both his hands through his mane. “I was just wondering where my dressing gown is, but I must admit it looks better on you than on me.”

Hermione rose. “You’re right. You look best in only your skin,” she smiled at him. “Besides I thought your neighbours would perhaps become shocked by seeing a naked woman on your terrace.” She went to him and embraced him.

Laying his arms around her, he kissed her before he braced his chin on her head. “I think they would have enjoyed the sight. But the terrace is warded. You can see out, but not in.”

“How practical!” Hermione stretched on her tiptoes. “That means I can kiss you without being watched221;221; His lips were dry, but soft as she laid her mouth on it and he responded gently to her kiss, pulling her close to him.

“That’s a rather nice way to start a day,” he said after breaking the kiss, his hands gliding down her back to her bottom.

“Only …” Hermione stroked his jaw, “… you’re scraping!”

“Yes, I have to shave. And to shower. And then …”

Hermione sighed. “You have to go back to Hogwarts. I know …”

“Do I?” He smiled down at her. “I actually hoped I could go down for breakfast on the piazza first. But if you want to get rid off me …” He made a face, but his eyes twinkled. “Actually I’m not a boy for only one night, you know?”

“Madman!” Hermione said tenderly. Kissing his unshaved chin again, she repeated quietly: “Beloved madman.”

“Tesoro …” Fomomemoment he held her close, his mouth in her hair. Then he looked down on her again. “Would you care to join me in the shower? I could wash your back - you know, I’m pretty good at washing backs.”

“I’m sure you are,” Hermione grinned at him, patted fondly his bottom and commanded then: “Off you go. Have a shave and then I’ll join you in the shower.”

She’d always liked showering - the warm water running over her body and rich foam on her skin she’d always enjoyed as a sensual pleasure. With Albus - who hadn’t only shaved but cleaned his teeth and tasted now like Lemon drops again - it was even more so. After he got her wet, he’d switched the water off and turned her around with her back to him. And now he wasn’t only generously spreading shower gel over her back, but massaged expertly her neck and her shoulders, loosening the cramped muscles in it and making her moan with pleasure. And then he worked down her back, kissing her neck by it and sending shivers down her spine. As he reached her butt, she felt already aroused and slightly spread her legs, hoping he would touch her centre. Yet he didn’t. He kneaded her buttocks - and never before she’d known that strong, but tender hands on her backside could turn her on so much. She wriggled for getting more of his touches, but he kneeled down and spread foam over her legs, tickling the back of her knees, stroking down her calves and taking then first her left and then her right foot in his hand for cleaning them. By doing so he bit lightly on her big toe, his fingers massaging the soles of her feet.

Hermione knew he was teasing her. He obviously wanted an explicit invitation for touching her between her legs, but this favour she wouldn’t do to him. Instead she decided that so much Slytherin smugness - in the mirror at the wall she could see that he was grinning - would deserve a little payback and as he turned her around, now working his way up over her knees to her thighs - once again avoiding to get to close to where she wanted him to - she stood still and gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t moan. She wouldn’t! He only waited for it and she knew he’d grin even broader.

It wasn’t easy because her body reacted very much to his tender touches, but: She wasn’t at least the only one who was inflected by it. Looking down on him she saw, that he was aroused too. His penis - and yes, he really was well-equipped and in the night as he’d entered her, she’d for a little moment even felt stretched too much, but it had been a sweet pain and it was gone in the moment she’d become aware of it - wasn’t entirely stiff yet, but thick and heavy and the tip was already out, slightly pink against the ivory skin surrounding it.

In the last night Hermione hadn’t got much of a chance to touch him, but now she longed to stroke him and to feel him grow. But she was a methodical girl and she’d discovered something else in the night before: His chest obviously was an erotic zone. As she’d laid her hand against it in the gondola his nipple had hardened - and Hermione, always the academic, had immediately made a mental note to research this phenomenon in detail. Besides: She’d found his chest always very nice to look at - and this cute, pink nipples! Laying her hands over them got her a reaction once again: The little peeks under her palm immediately became harder. Hermione smiled and used the tip of her index finger to paint a circle around the aureole. It worked even better: She heard a little whimper and looking up, she saw that he’d closed his eyes and bite on his bottom lip. She obviously had hit the jackpot - and she intended to take full advantage of it. Leaning forward - alas, in this case it was good that he was so tall and she so petite - she blew a kiss on the left nipple.

Albus’ hand on her breast stopped moving. Hermione smiled and took the stiff, little knob in her mouth. Albus moaned, shuddered and became rigid. Hermione liked this - and tried a little sucking. It made him moan and pulling her close, his left hand again on her butt, his right gliding down over her belly and finally between her legs. Hermione felt a long, tender finger touching her and it found - as if it had done so a hundred times before - her clitoris.

Hermione swallowed. The finger, only touching lightly, sent sparkles of pleasure through her entire body and she felt already needy and empty again. “Albus …” she sucked again at him, “I want you …” Gripping his cock, now fully erected and hard, she stroked over the length of it.

“Are we in a hurry, Doctor Granger?” he asked, his voice husky, but nevertheless amused.

“We are, Headmaster!” she told him.

“You are!” he corrected her. “I rather enjoy a little foreplay …” His finger played on her expertly, but it didn’t give her enough to still her need.

“Albus, you are …” She wanted to rebuke him for teasing her, but he got down on his knees again and spreading her legs, she felt his breath on her and then his mouth, kissing and sucking and nibbling. She had to brace herself with both hands against the wall because her legs suddenly seemed to become jelly. And then his finger was there too, entering her and something in her exploded and she screamed in pleasure.

Rising up again he looked at her, his eyes filled with lust. “You’re so beautiful, Hermione. Tesoro mio …” Taking both her buttocks in his hands, he lifted her up. “I want you …”

She was still in the after waves of her orgasm, but her body worked on its own accord. Wrapping her legs and arms around him, she moaned as he let her down on his cock, stretching and filling her again.

“Ti amo, Hermione,” she heard him whisper. “I love you …”

“And I love you, Albus,” she answered, clinging to him. “Ti amo, Albus …” She had wanted to say more, to tell him how wonderful and perfect it was to feel him, how happy he made her, but she couldn’t. His strokes, strong and nevertheless gentle, his hands, the warmth and strength of his body, his smooth skin against hers - it was overwhelming and breathtaking and she felt that she was already close again. A part of her wondered because she’d never been so quick to arouse and to satisfy before, but another part of her knew: It had to be like this and not only because he was such an experienced, skilful, strong lover, but because he was the one she had waited for all her life - her true love, her soul mate.

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

Sipping at the strong, bitter sweet espresso the waiter had just brought Hermione leaned a bit closer to Albus who sat next to her, his long legs - this morning in blue cotton trousers with a vanilla polo shirt - comfortably stretched and his arm on the back of her chair, watching how the shop keeper on the opposite side of the piazza prepared his shop for the opening.

“Albus?” she started, feeling a bit awkward by it.

“Hmm?” Once again he answered only with the throaty growl she liked so much. It always meant that he was completely at ease.

“Before … I mean, at the shower …” Hermione wasn’t a prude, but she wasn’t use with talking about sex either, especially not with the man involved. With Victor she’d never done it - he was a perfect prude and her only attempt to bring up the subject had made him blush, fidget, stammer and finally telling her that “a decent woman” didn’t talk about “it”, at least not outside the bedroom.

Hermione was sure: Albus didn’t think so. Yet … the question she had to ask was very personal and perhaps he would feel embarrassed by it. But she couldn’t help it. She really was a bit irritated and she wanted to know.

He looked now at her, his eyes as blue as the summer sky over them and so full of tenderness and joy she wanted to kiss him. But knowing he wouldn’t like such a display of intimacy in a public place, she cleared her throat and said bravely: “You didn’t come … and I wondered … I mean … you can tell me, really, I won’t become insulted, I promise … wasn’t it good enough?”

“Piccola …” he took her hand and kissed it, but then he sighed. “It was wonderful and I enjoyed it very much. You are everything a man can dream about for a lover - beautiful, passionate, tender, and sweet. But I am - if you like it or not, Hermione - an old man.”

“But you don’t feel like one!” Hermione sounded a bit defiant. Blushing she added: “You’ve got … I mean, you were aroused, weren’t you?”

He chuckled. “I can hardly deny it. Yes - I was, very much so. But …” another sigh, “… at my age one isn’t as virile as a 20 year old anymore. I need more time than a young man to recover from an orgasm. Normally after one for at least one or two days I’am out of the game,” he explained, sounding rather casually. Kissing her hand once gain, this time the inside of her wrist where her pulse was beating, he proceeded: “You actually can take it as a compliment to your beauty and your talent as a mistress that I was up to the second round so shortly after a very intense first one. But nevertheless: I have to spare orgasms - at least if I want to make love to a certain, breathtaking witch soon again.”

“But …” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip.

“The famous Granger-but!” he teased her. “I would have called for Poppy if you wouldn’t have used it.”

Hermione wasn’t so easy to distract. Swallowing another “but”, she said, “Doesn’t it feel bad for you if you have to keep back so much?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, absolutely not. I don’t have to - at least not with gritting my teeth and doing arithmancy as ‘Witch Weekly” advises wizards always coming too quick. One of the advantages of age is that the body slows down. And, after living so long and mostly rather comfortably with mine, I know its reactions. I feel when I come close to the point of no return and - if not totally overwhelmed by being with a certain lady I’ve longed for over months - I can stop before and cool a bit down.”

“And then?” Hermione was curious as always. “I mean - could you proceed then after a little break?”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Sometimes I may need a little help for a new start, but yes, mostly I’m able to proceed.” Now he leaned a bit closer to her and next to her ear he said: “We’ve got four days until term ends and you’ll leave Hogwarts. What do you think about some research for satisfying your curiosity?”

Hermione smiled at him. “You know I take research always rather seriously …”

“I look forward to it,” he smiled.

“And you’re sure you can fit my research in your tight schedule? You have a lot to do the next days and you’needneed some rest too …”

Albus grinned: “I promised Arthur Weasley to accompany him to a states visit in America. We are to deepen the relationship not only between the English and the American wizards, but to present ourselves to the new American muggle president too. That means a lot of rather lengthy and terribly boring speeches which means: I’ll get once again the chance to prove that I’m able to look concentrated while sleeping soundly.”

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


Walking up the marble stairs at Hogwarts Hermione looked at her watch. It was four o’ clock which meant that it had been only five and a half hour since she’d kissed Albus farewell before he’d apparated back to Hogwarts. Yet she missed him already dreadfully. The longing for him had started the moment he was gone and by walking over the campus of the Cagliostro University she’d felt like telling the dean who was expecting her that she rather would cancel her engagement. As honourable as it was to become the youngest transfiguration professor at a University as renowned as the Venetian and as tempting the offer - an own lab, a rather generous found and three assistants - had sounded, it had lost its shine during the last hours. In the moment Hermione could see only one point about the new position: That it meant she would have to bear being separated from the man she loved.

Of course, she was a witch and Albus was a wizard and with the new, improved wards at Hogwarts it was possible to apparate directly in front of the castle’s doors. But she knew only too well how busy he was and how much evenings he spent in his office or in conferences or at social gatherings and she knew also that her job wouldn’t allow her to come at eight in the morning and to disar aar at five in the afternoon. So it was perfectly and unpleasantly clear that she wouldn’t see Albus on a daily base anymore and that she would have to sleep rather often alone in the huge bed at the flat. And there was another problem: She knew that - at least in the moment - he didn’t want their relationship to become public knowledge. People wouldn’t believe that it had started after he’d set her free and although a master-apprentice-relationship wasn’t illegal - it was seen as highly inappropriate.

Hermione knew that Albus wouldn’t care about the damage public talk would do to his reputation. He had stood straight and even amused through more then one “scandal” during his life and he’d shown himself as insult-resistant to a high degree. But he cared about her and as a young professor and a female and muggleborn she was more vulnerable than he was.

Besides: The fact that he didn’t care about his image, didn’t change that Hermione did very much. She remembered the boiling rage she’d felt as the former minister of magic and his writing court jesters, the journalists of the “Daily Prophet” had during her fifth year at Hogwarts tried not only to show Harry as a mental instable liar, but Albus as a senile fool and attention grabber. She’d wished to hex them for every single word they’d written and she’d yelled at a dormitory mate who, after reading one of these abdominal articles, had said: “Perhaps Dumbledore really has lost his grip. You know, he was always rather eccentric and mad.”

The thought of people whispering behind their hands, of society hyenas like Narcissa Malfoy or Harry’s mother-in-law turning up their noses about Albus, made Hermione furious. She certainly wasn’t ashamed of her feelings for him, just on the opposite: She was very proud of them and about being loved by a man like him. But she wouldn’t give people a chance to besmirch what was the most precious thing in her life. Besides she knew that time would work for her. In a year or two when she was more established they could show the world that they were lovers. But until then she would have to act with discretion which meant: She couldn’t appear at Hogwarts every second night. She wouldn’t be a member of the Hogwarts staff anymore and so she would - when officially visiting - have to stay in one of the guest quarters near the great hall, pretty far away from the entrance of the main tower. If she would sneak up there once or twice in a week, she’d sooner or later become seen and people would wonder and talk.

But even in knowing how difficult a secret relationship with Albus would become: Hermione knew that it wouldn’t keep her away from him. She would have walked over broken glass on bare feet to be with him and by marching through the Hogwarts halls she knew she would even give up her career for him - if he’d ask for it she would without thinking twice give up Venice. But she also knew that he wouldn’t ask. He wanted her to go there and he wanted her to do the job as good as she was able to and she would work as a beaver because she wanted nothing more than to make him proud of her.

“Salve Magistra! Aren’t you talking with us normal mortals anymore?” Hermione heard a friendly, deep voice asking. Lucius had just come out of his class room, looking very odd because the under part of his left arm and the left hand wasn’t there.

“Lucius?” Hermione starred at his left side. “Are you well?”

Grinning at her, he moved his elbow. His left hand appeared, but it seemed to hover in the air without a connection to his body. “Of course I’m well. I’ve survived another class with Gryffindor brats and I’m done for today.”

Hermione patted with her flat hand against her forehead. “You have an invisibility cloak on your arm, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Indeed.” He shifted the cloak again, this time so that his left leg disappeared behind it too.

“Huh!” Hermishudshuddered. “Talking with only half of you feels a bit strange.”

Actually: Talking with Lucius always felt - at least in the first moments of it - a bit strange to Hermione. By looking in his eyes she always remembered another pair of grey eyes and how they’d broken as the owner of it had bhit hit by the killing curse she’d cast. And even in knowing that Lucius had forgiven her killing his son, even in knowing that he really held no grudge against her - Hermione always needed a moment to overcome the memories connected to him.

Yet she was always aware that Lucius had changed - very much so. Sometimes Hermione couldn’t believe anymore that Ginny’s husband really was the same man as the arrogant aristocrat she’d known as a child. It was if the true Lucius - the man who loved his wife, cared for his students and had, with showing modesty and insight, even convinced Minerva now - had once been trapped in a shell of ice. The war had cracked this shell and freed him. Yet as a true Slytherin he even showed some subtlety by this change. He hadn’t become all fluffy and a sunny boy and he certainly was still some one who kept other people in distance. He didn’t show much emotions, but in the contrast of the second Slytherin in the staff, potion master Severus Snape, Lucius was exceptionally well-mannered and always very polite so that most people actually even didn’t notice how “neutral” their relationship with him was.

Yet with Hermione he wasn’t only polite. She became sometimes even teased by him and she felt in his smile always that he really meant it.

And now he took her hand and squeezed amicably. “Congratulations to your master ship, Hermione! Professor McGonagall told us yesterday at lunch - after she fidgeted all morning like she’d have to do the exam herself. She’s terribly proud of you and so is Ginevra. She’s got a gift for you and she wants of course to hear everything about Venice. So brace yourself - my wife will probably storm your lab as soon as she’s back from the office.”

Had there been an amused undertone in his voice? Hermione wasn’t sure - with Lucius one never could be. But Ginny and he was the only people who’d known about Hermione’s plan concerning Albus and though Hermione know for sure that Lucius would never ask for it - he probably thought of it too. It made her blush. “I’m looking forward to Ginny’s visit,” she said and it was only half a lie. She really wanted to see Ginny and to talk to her. But before … her gaze fell once again at the place where Lucius’ arm should have been. “Lucius,” Hermione suddenly had got an idea, “you said you’re done with classes for today. So … could I perhaps borrow your invisibility cloak for a little while? I’ll give it back to at dinner.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Let me guess,” he smiled, “you think that even a fully fledged transfiguration mistress can do with a lesson now and then? Therefore you want to join a transfiguration class?”

Hermione grinned. “Just so! You know, the third years are doing animating objects and that is something one can’t learn too much about.”

“How true! And you really shouldn’t waste time in standing around and talking with me, Hermione. The class has already started, hasn’t it?” Enfolding the cloak, Lucius laid it around Hermione’s shoulders. Looking down on her face, now hovering over her invisible body, he looked very amused. “I’m so glad you’re a Gryffindor,” he said and bending down to her, he whispered in her ear: “Slytherins coming close to the headmaster risk 200 house points. Severus would go mad if our house would lose so much.”

Hermione only giggled and pulled the hood of the cloak over her head. Her sight immediately became a bit blurry - the enchanted fabric over her face made the world around always look misty. But she remembered this effect - during her years at school she’d often been under Harry’s invisibility cloak. And she naturally knew the way to the second transfiguration class room so well she could have gone there with closed eyes. Until a few days before it had been the room she’d taught in and she’d even named it sometimes “my class room”.

Yet now, arriving at the doo door, the sign didn’t say: “Transfiguration II - Doctor H. Granger, assistant instructor”, but “Transfiguration II - Professor A. Dumbledore, T.M.”

Hermione sighed. If he wouldn’t have insisted on sending her to Venice, it could be now “Professor H. Granger, T.M.” and yes, except of the fact that she didn’t want to become separated from him, she longed to see her new title.

But now she heard his voice, as always a bit hoarse: “…. know how eager you are to try, but in transfiguration one should always know exactly what one is to do, which means: We’ll have to bother with theory before we can start …”

Hermione closed her eyes. His voice - she still meant to hear how it had whispered “Ti amo” in her ear. He loved her and she loved him and now she would see him again and after class she’d kiss him and …

Pulling her wand out, she directed it at the door and whispered: “Alamahora!”

The door opened and Hermione slipped in the room. She knew that Albus could see through invisibility cloaks, but in the moment he stood with his back at the door in front of the chalk board, writing down the five steps of animatus transfiguration by explaining them to his pupils. They were entirely concentrated on him and so no one seemed to notice the door and how Hermione sneaked behind an empty desk in the last row.

Three rows in front of her a blonde girl raised her hand now. “Professor Dumbledore …” She sounded eagerly and by her tone Hermione felt reminded how she as a student had always bothered her teachers and fellow students with hundred of questions.

Albus turned, smiling at the girl. “Miss Edwin?”

Hermione didn’t hear what the girl asked. She had braced her head in her hands and was watching her beloved. The warm summer day had made for him wearing not so muchric ric as usual. Instead of one of his heavy brocade or velvet outer robes with wide sleeves he’d only pulled a sleeveless silken robe in a blue almost as bright as silver over a long, silken shirt in dark blue with a row of tiny, silver buttons down the front from the high collar to his shines. The attire showed his broad shoulders and - although it R’t hide his belly - his narrow hips. Hermione found once again that he didn’t look only handsome, but appetizing. And the silken shirt - the night before he’d wore silk too and Hermione remembered how the smooth fabric over his body had felt and how his chest had reacted to her touch and the thought of it made for her mouth falling dry.

He lend now against the desk, talking with his students, collected and so concentrated he obviously still hadn’t noticed the visitor on the desk in the back of the room. It was rare that he was so serious - but animatus transfiguration was a difficult subject and he wanted his students not to become frustrated about which meant that he had to do some good explaining. But despite his seriousness Hermione could see that he was in an exceptional good mood. His eyes were beaming and there was a spring in his steps and a joy in his voice which told her that he was happy.

It touched her deeply and she felt once again a wave of tenderness and love wash over her which made her heart speed up and every inch of her body longing for his touch. And there was something else, something she’d never experienced before: A sense of possessiveness. He was hers, entirely hers and to know it made her proud.

Now he was through with the theory and had answered all questions. Smiling at the class, he said: “Now we’re to gen. Hn. How do you want it? Will you try yourself first or shall I do demonstrate?”

Hermione didn’t wonder that the entire class wanted the demonstration. Even she as the always too serious student who hadn’t enjoyed Albus’ playfulness as much as her classmates had always loved to watch him when doing transfigurations.

“Well …” he raised his hands for calming his class once again. “Give me a chance to concentrate, will you?”

“As if you’d need it!” The boy, who sat just in front of Hermione chirped and, obviously surprised by his own cheekiness, added a quick “sir”. lbuslbus looked at him and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Well, Mister Appleby,” he said with his eyes twinkling, “one never knows who watches. Therefore one should always give ones best.”

Hermione knew that he’d discov her her and as he directed his wand at the cup on his desk, she simply couldn’t resist pulling hend ond out too. Waiting she watched how he made the cup grew little legs, let it march over his desk, gave him little arms and hands and, after waving to the class, made the cup sit down on the corner of the desk, legs dangling and arms crossed.

The class applauded, a girl left to Hermione said with huge eyes and almost panic in her voice: “I can never do that!”

Albus put his wand back in his sleeve and smiled at the class. “So - now it’s your turn. Think of what we’ve spoken about: Step for step, first thinking and getting a clear mental image of what you’re to do, then casting the spell …” He marched round the desk and sat himself behind on the chair, his left arm on the wooden surface.

This was the moment Hermione had waited for. Following his advice, she concentrated, directed her wand on his cup which still sat on the desk and cast her first spell. The cup rose and marched over the desk to Albus’m.
m.

Albus looked at it and then at Hermione. His smile made her almost lost her concentration, but directing her gaze and wand once again at the cup, she wrinkled her forehead, cast her second spell and couldn’t suppress a grin: The cup was now - using its hands and legs - climbing up Albus’ arm. And his smile grew even broader.

Spell Number Three followed as the cup had reached his shoulder - Hermione gave it a face with two huge brown eyes, very long eye lashes, a tiny nose and a heart shaped mouth. It looked female now and Hermione made it look even more so in batting the long eyelashes before she let the cup walk over Albus’ shoulder to his face, blowing a kiss on his cheek.

A few of the students had watched the climbing cup and were now laughing. Albus laughed too, but then he caught the now grinning cup and, quoting a poem about a sorcerer’s apprentice, said: “Back now, broom, into the closet!”

Hermione felt his gaze on her and she saw how he raised his left arm, letting only the tip of his wand slipping out of his sleeve. Directing it at her, he wrinkled for a second his forehead and then she felt his presence in her mind. It wasn’t there fore more than a few seconds, but just long enough she heard a chuckle and his thought: “Just you wait until we’re alone!” But with the thought he’d sent an image of Hermione, her face flushed, her head thrown back, panting and moaning.

Hermione had never noticed before, but the invisibility cloak seemed to warm her very much. She suddenly felt sweat on her forehead and a familiar heath between her legs. The image he’d sent her made for pictures of him tumbling through her mind now. His eyes, dark with desire; his slightly opened mouth, the lips swollen from their kisses; his hands on her body, the long fingers playing with her breast; the line of his tight and her hand following the slender form; his chest with the few white hair and the pink nipples; his shoulder with the cute freckles; his penis, standing proud and erect and once again his eyes, looking at her with so much tenderness and adoration and love.

Heavens, it really was hot under the invisibility cloak! Hermione decided that it was definitely too hot for her and with a little wave of her wand she got rid off her black robe. Yet it didn’t help much. She still sweated and her white shirt was sticking to her body. Hermione tugged at the collar. When had it become so unpleasantly tight? And the fabric was wet from her sweat and … why, she was wearing an invisibility cloak and no one, except of Albus, could see through it. He certainly wouldn’t mind if she slipped out of her shirt too.

Besides: He wasn’t looking at her. He stood, with his back at her, next to a desk in the second row where a mousy haired girl with a crumpled robe waved her wand almost frantically, but without making any effort to the cup which sat in front of her.

“It doesn’t work!” she cried. “I can’t do it!”

Albus laid for a moment comfortingly a hand on her arm. “Miss Dierce,” he spoke calmingly to her, “tell me: What do you want your cup to do?”

The girl looked up at him as if he’d have asked a rather stupid question. “I want to make it walk.”

“Yes - and what does your cup need for walking?” Albus asked.

Just this moment a brown haired boy in the front row squeaked and jumped over his desk. His cup hadn’t only walked, but ran und was now falling over the edge of the desk. Crashing down on the floor, it broke in pieces. “Shit!” commented the owner of the shattered china.

“Language, Mister McEwans!” Albus remembered him. Marching up to the boy he directed his wand at the pieces and murmured a spell. The cup became whole again - and so excited that it started rug agg again. Albus laughed. “Vivid cup you’ve got, Mister McEwans. I trust you can catch it yourself?” He turned around for going back to the mousy haired girl who was still trying to bewitch her cup. But Albus didn’t look at her. For a moment he directed his gaze at Hermione.

Hermione meant to feel his eyes on her like a touch on her skin. It glided over her face down her neck to her breasts, covered by a creamy lace bra - a gift from Ginny to Hermione’s last birthday. Hermione felt how her nipple hardened under Albus’ gaze. His ministrations under the shower - the nibbling and sucking - seemed to have wakened up her breasts. They’d never felt so sensitive before. Every time Hermione moved an arm, they seemed to rub against the fabric of the bra, the nipples tingling and prickling.

Hermione looked down on them. They longed to be touched - and why shouldn’t givegive them what they needed? Cupping the left with her hand and kneading it lightly - just as Albus had done only a few hours before - she enjoyed the growing arousal. Closing her eyes, she concentrated entirely on her body, forgetting all around her.

She almost jumped on her chair as she felt his presence in her mind again. His mental voice was here, whispering: “Could you lend me a hand?”

“What for?” Hermione gave back.

“For stroking your other breast too. You’ve got such sweet tits - I’d hate if one of them would feel neglected.”

How could she have resisted such an invitation? She opened her bra, let it fall down and exposed her breasts to him. Actually she’d always found them a bit too small, but they were firm and round and the chocolate brown nipples made a nice contrast to the creamy skin and Albus obviously liked them. Playing with them was fun - and made her bite her under lip for not moaning. There seemed to be direct connectioetweetween the both stiff peeks and the demanding heath between her legs. Every little tug at one of the nipples made for a prickle and a jolt of pleasure in the Southern region too.

Albus had cut the legilemency connection with her again, but now Hermione’s eyes searched for him and finding him at the desk, she had to suppress a giggle. To his pupils he probably looked entirely relaxed, leaning with his back against the desk, his hand folded over his groin. But Hermione knew him better. It wasn’t coincidence that he’d pulled his outer robe over his private parts. He had to hide something beneath - and the thought of it made Hermione shifting on her chair.

Her blue trousers and the knickers she was wearing beneath were wet now and the restricting through it was unpleasant. A quick wave of her wand - her shoes, socks, the trousers and the underwear landed in a bundle at her feet. Leaning back, Hermione spread her legs and shove her hand down between them.

Oh yes - this felt good! Stroking herself with her index finger was almost as good as feeling Albus touching her. And knowing that he watched her made it even better and playing with her free hand at one nipple - she closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations her fingers caused in her and she felt how she came with every touch closer to the moment her body would explode in pleasure. Far away she heard the shuffling of feet and the scraping of chairs against the stone floor and there was Albus voice, very hoarse: “Don’t forget everything over the summer!” and then she wasn’t interested in the world around anymore because a red wave griped her, lifted her, whirled her around - and suddenly she was held by strong hands.

“Albus …”

He’d pulled away the invisibility cloak and kneeled next to her, his arms around her still trembling body, smiling at her. “One could think you wouldn’t need a man …”

Hermionssedssed him. “You’re wrong. I need you.”

“That’s,” he rose, “good to hear…,” laying his hands around her waist, he lifted her on the desk, “…. because I’ve …,” with a flick of his wand he opened the buttons of his under robe, revealing a straining erection, “… I have such a need for you!” Placing himself between her legs, he entered her, starting immediately to pound into her with strong, hard strokes.

Hermione, lying on the desk, her legs wrapped around him, couldn’t move much. But just at the moment she didn’t want to. To be taken like that, to watch him by it - his face almost deadly serious, the cheeks flushed, the forehead wrinkled in concentration and shimmering with sweat, the eyes dark blue, his mouth slightly open - was what she had longed for and it was what she needed and almost over-aroused as she was it didn’t need long and she came again, screaming his name.

Albus’ moving was almost frantic now and his hands on her waist gripped her so hard, she knew he’d leave marks there. He’d closed his eyes, a strand of hair had fallen over his forehead and he looked almost as if he’d been in pain.

Hermione watched him, grateful that she wasn’t distracted by her own body. She knew that she would never forget how he looked at this moment and how he suddenly became rigid, throwing his head back and screaming: “Hermione … oh Gods …” She felt how his cock twitched in her and then he fell forward and she opened her arms, catching him and cradling his head on her shoulder.

“Albus, my love …” She stroked his back and played with his hair. “I love you so …”

He breathed deeply, and then raised his head and bracing himself on his elbows, he smiled down at her. “Hermione - you’ll be my death!”

She giggled and pulled him down again for a tender kiss. “You know, I feel rather exhausted too,” she said afterwards.

“You are?” He rose again, now grinning. “Will this give me a chance for a little rest?” Crooking his finger, he made his wand which he’d dropped, jump up in his hand and used it for a quick cleaning charm and for closing his robe. Bending to Hermione who’d sat up, he kissed her.

For a moment she hugged him tightly, and then she looked seriously at him. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid I really am. I’d love to have more time for you just now and I’d really like to know about your talk with your new dean, but it will have to wait. Minerva anderuserus are probably already in my office, yelling at each other.”

“The usual battle about the NEWT classes?” Hermione asked. She’d got her wand too and was collecting her clothes.

“The same procedure as every year this time. The both are stickers to the routine.” Albus stroke over her hair. “What do you think about a little stroll in the evening? I have to sigh a few papers after dinner, but I think I’ll be ready at nine - and then I’d like to get a bit of fresh air.”

“Sounds wonderful to me. And I think Fawkes will like it too. Probably he feels already neglected again.”

Albus laughed and bending down, he blew a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I think he will let me come away without sulking. He’s probably even more smitten with you than I am - and that means something.”


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


For a moment Hermione was ashamed of herself. Minerva, Poppy, Sproutie and Stella Sinistra had made such an effort to set up a surprise party in the staffroom for her. They had decorated the room with flowers and a band, saying “Congratulations, Hermione!” And even Severus had found out of his dungeons and, being accompanied by hise ane and their black haired, blue eyes baby daughter, showed his rare smile. And her friends were there too. Harry had come, his wife Padma on his hand. She was pregnant in the last stage and had an expression in her eyes which reminded Hermione very much of a peaceful ruminating cow. And her congratulations made pretty clear that she didn’t think of a master ship as a bigger access than a pregnancy.

Ron and his girlfriend seemed to think alike. Pansy, once again in a dress so tight, Hermione was almost sure she’d need a pincer to get out of it, assured very once who wanted to head evd even a few people who certainly didn’t want to like Lucius und Basti that Ron and she were “working” on a baby.

At least her future mother-in-law, although herself a mother of seven, didn’t seem to think that getting babies was everything that count in a woman’s life. Molly Weasley hugged Hermione tightly and said loudly: “Well done, Hermione! Nowadays a woman should achieve more than children. Work on your career, darling, get something for yourself. Babies you can still have later.”

Hermione knew that she actually should be grateful for all her friends - even Minister Arthur Weasley had made it - coming to celebrate her and for Minerva holding a speech and Sproutie hugging her and all of her colleagues giving her a beautiful, burgundy velvet dress robe as a gift for her installation - but she couldn’t help herself: She’d so looked forward to her moonlight stroll with Albus! In only three days - only 72 hours! - He would leave for America and she would pack her things and go to Venice. For days she wouldn’t see him and she knew already that she’d miss him dreadfully.

Therefore she wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. And please, she wanted him for her alone! Theas sas so much she’d like to talk about, now, that she finally could show him her love! And she wanted to be close to him, not only for sleeping with him, but for cuddling and kissing and holding hands. But just in the moment she couldn’t touch him although he stood only a few steps away from her. Yet to watch him was nice because he held little Persephone Snape in his arms and laughed while she was with both hands rummaging in his hair.

Ginny seemed to find the sight touching too. Coming up from behind, she laid both hands on Hermione’s shoulders and whispered in her ear: “A baby suits the headmaster very much, don’t you think? He’d make a wonderful father …”

Hermione leaned back a bit. “Oh Ginny,” she whispered back, “I know what you’re thinking!”

They’d seen each other before - shortly after Hermione had arrived in her chambers Ginny had knocked, beaming and presenting a little box. “Congratulations on becoming a transfiguration mistress and …” Ginny had studied Hermione’s face and sunk her voice, “… getting the headmaster laid at last.”

“Why do you think I’ve done that?” Hermione had asked with a little grin.

Ginny had laughed. “Come on, Hermione! Have a look at the mirror! Your eyes and your smile - you look like some one who was thoroughly shagged last night! And?” She’d asked curiously. “How’s the great hero doing in bed?”

Hermione had giggled. “I don’t have the slightest clue.”

“Huh? You didn’t sleep with him?” Ginny had made huge eyes.

“I did.” Hermione had hugged her friend. “Nevertheless I don’t know how he’s in bed. But on a carpet, under the shower and on a desk he’s wonderful.”

“Oh? And obviously he’s in great shape.” Ginny had grinned. “Happy, Hermione?”

“Very much so,” Hermione had answered. “Albus is …,” she’d searched for words, but hadn’t found some suiting, so she’d refrained to beaming. “I love him, Ginny - I love him so much. And he says he loves me too …”

Looking at Albus who’d now lifted the baby over his head - much to the delight of the little one who giggled in delight - Hermione swallowed. For years she’d fought with Victor because he wanted to get children as soon as possible. She’d so often count up the reasons why she didn’t want to become pregnant that she’d for a while really believed she’d never want a child of her own. But now, watching Albus, she suddenly felt a lump in her throat. He really would make a wonderful father - and for a wizard he wasn’t very old. Hadn’t his father been just around this age when he got his children? Hermione lowelowed again - in three years, when she was back from Venice … then … perhaps … she would be 29 then. Wouldn’t that be just the right age for her to found a family?


To be continued …