A Winter Tale

A Winter Tale


by: Max


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

[Disclaimer see chapter 1]


Thanks to Kristle, my beta reader. She had a lot of work and I\'m grateful she did it so quick.

Chapter 13: Being out for a duck


With a forceful huff of his engines, their sound ringing loudly through the cold winter morning, the Hogwarts express left the station, letting a cloud of smoke behind him. Hermione waved the smoke away with her right hand on which the ring with the opal glimmered in the pale light and laid her left hand comfortingly on Harry’ arm. “Hi...,” she said, “don’t look so sad! You’ll see Ginny again in only a few days.”

Harry sighed, looking longingly after the train which became smaller and smaller. “I couldn’t say I’d love to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas,” he grumbled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather liked spending Christmas at your aunt’s place then?” Pulling at his arm she started to walk over to the sleigh, waiting in front of the station.

Harry shuffled behind her, kicking a little stone by it. “You know, I wouldn’t like being with my relatives. But why can’t I go to the Burrows? Or, for not endangering the Weasleys, to Grimmauld Place?” He climbed next to Hermione in the sleigh and watched gloomily how the Thestrals, rather ugly creatures with skeleton bodies and leathern wings who pulled the sleigh, they sta to to trot up the hill to Hogwarts.

“You want to hang around at Grimmault’s Place alone during Christmas?” Hermione shook her head. “Sounds like merry Christmas indeed.”

“What’s the difference if I hang around alone in the Gryffindor common room or if I hang around alone at Grimmault’s Place?” Harry demanded to know.

“The difference, dear Harry, is simply that you don’t have to hang around alone in the common room because you can always come and hang around at my place!” Hermione explained with the forced patience of a mother against her defiant toddler.

“I think your husband wouldn’t like that much. He will want to talk to you in the next days ...” Harry said.

“Isn’t it a nice coincidence? I’d like to talk with him too. Yet I don’t think I’ll need all Christmas holidays for doing so - though I have rather a lot to say,” Hermione looked at Harry. “So I don’t see why we couldn’t spend some time together. Considered that we’re to sit our NEWTs in only a few weeks, I rather think we should - or do you really believe you’ll make it through potions and transfiguration without a bit of extra work?”

“Hermione, you’re a slave driver!” Harry sighed. “These are our last school’s holiday ever. You don’t want to spend them full time with learning, do you?”

“Harry, I am thinking of our future! You’ll need top marks for becoming an auror - and I’ll need them for attending Oxford,” Hermione said firmly.

“You will try Oxford?” Harry looked amazed. “Do you think you’ll get a scholarship?”

Hermione blushed and looked up to the Main Tower where the white flag stood proudly against the grey sky. “I won’t need a scholarship,” she said quietly. “Albus will pay ...”

“Oh ...” Harry blushed too, then he quickly said: “I forgot. It’s his duty as your husband, isn’t it?”

“He seems to think so,” Hermione answered.

Now it was Harry who looked to the flag on the tower. After a few seconds of silence he asked hesitantly: “How is he today? I mean the headmaster ...”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, chewing on her under lip. “As I left this morning he was still asleep.” She sighed. “I must admit: Yesterday at the ball - I could have killed him. But now ...” She didn’t finish.

Once again Hermione and Harry were silent for a while, then Harry, fixing a point just over her left shoulder, said: “Hermione - did he ever tell you which house he was in as a student in Hogwarts?”

“No, he didn’t,” Hermione laid her head to the side and looked at Harry. “He told you this night?”

“Yes,” Harry said, sounding as if he were to give his friend the shock of her life. “Yes,” he repeated, “he did tell. And I think you ld kld know.”

“That I’m married to a Slytherin?” Hermione wasn’t shocked, but rather amused.

“You knew?” Harry starred at her as if she’d just developed tentacles.

“Until now I wasn’t entirely sure,” Hermione grinned. “But the look on your face was unmistakable.”

“I’ve always thought he was a Gryffindor,” Harry cried. “He pretended ...”

“No!” Hermione interrupted. “He never pretended.”

“He always wears Gryffindor colours!” Harry maintained.

“Not true. To our wedding he wore his family’s colours - blue and gold. Besides I remember him on a Yule ball in Slytherin green with silver,” Hermione said.

“But you must admit: It’s often - I’d even say mostly - that he wears red and gold!” Harry stood on his point.

Hermione turned her eyes. “You know, sometimes I understand why Professor Snape dislikes our ‘Gryffindor stubbornness’ as he names it. Did you never notice that red and gold isn’t only Gryffindor, but Hogwarts colour? The Hogwarts express, the decoration of the staff room, the guest suites, the hospital wing, and the library - in all things which represent all Hogwarts you see purple and gold. And considered how much Albus is connected not to a single house, but to all of Hogwarts, I think he’s got the right to show the colours of the school. Besides ...,” she leaned a bit closer to Harry, “... I find this house rivalry rather silly. Slytherin isn’t a training camp for baby death eaters and Gryffindor not the source of all what’s good and bright in the magical world.”

Harry wasn’t so easy to give in. “You must admit: Slytherin produced a lot of death eaters,” he said. “Slytherins are biased against muggle borns ...”

Again Hermione turned her eyes. “Of course, Harry. And especially Albus is. Therefore he made your mother and Agnetha Myer and I - all muggleborns - head girls.”

“Probably,” Harry sulked, “it wasn’t him, but McGonagall and the other teachers over voted him and Snape.”

“Oh Harry - give me a break!” The sleigh stood now in front of the castle, Hermione climbed out and said: “Do you really believe in Hogwarts a sparrow dares falling down from the roof without the headmaster’s consent?” She waited until Harry had followed her into the great entrance hall and climbing up the stairs with him, she proceeded: “And for getting the subject cleared entirely: Could you perhaps, while I’ll look after my husband, think about all the Gryffindors we had the pleasure to meet? I mean, you always seem to forget that Voldemort’s right hand, Peter Pettigrew, was a Gryffindor and that Dolores Umbridge who obviously enjoyed hurting you and who would everything to earn power, was one. And what’s about our dear minister of magic who provided us with the marriage law? And his assistant, our dear friend Percy Weasley, who denies his family for his career? Gryffindors, Harry - they’re all Gryffindors! And now you go and think about that - and afterwards come to tell me if you really think I should be ashamed for being married to a Slytherin!” Without giving him a chance for an answer, she stormed up to the marble stair case over which she could arrive at the gallery under the Main Tower.

Harry’s pigheadedness had her, so she thought, just provided with the right mood to hex all men walking on earth - and why shouldn’t she spare just her husband to get a good, healthy dose of her mind? He certainly deserved it after the hide-and-seek-game he’d done with her over the last days and he deserved it even more for what he said to her at the ball. Until then she’d suffered by his attempts to avoid her and fought against with what Lavender and Parvati would have named the “weapons of a woman”. It hadn’t worked - and actually Hermione neither wondered nor suffered about. It had been worth a try - and if only to make her sure that she didn’t like to show herself as something she actually never wanted to become: The sweet little woman who used her breasts instead of her brains. Albus’ reaction on her dancing with Snape - and yes, she wouldn’t deny that she’d tried to flirt with the potion master, knowing that he was probably the only other male in Hogwarts Albus took serious enough for seeing a potential rival in him - had showed her clearly how Albus felt about the “weapons of a woman” - and yes again: Although she’d felt insulted, she nevertheless rather liked that he obviously wasn’t an admirer of coquettish little bitches. This suited her just right and therefore he was to get the real Hermione Granger-Dumbledore again - now!

And so Hermione stormed up the spiral staircase and marched straight into the bedroom. “Albus?” He wasn’t there. On the blue quilt with which Woopy always covered the bed for the day, laid only an orange fur ball, yawning as Hermione approached. “Crookshanks,” she took the tomcat and put him not too kindly down in the cradle at the foot of the bed. “You know, you’re not allowed to lie on the quilt. You’re always spreading your hair all over and I don’t like it.” She turned around, sighing. No sign of Albus - wand gone, spectacles not on the night stand anymore - this could only mean he was up and had showered, dressed and gone down - hopefully not in his office because Hermione really wasn’t keen to get his nosy predecessors in their paintings as witnesses for the marital row she was to start. So down the stairs she went, now storming the dinning room, once again calling: “Albus?” He was there neither, so she ran down the next set of stairs, entering the drawing room.

“Al ...” She started and now she got an immediately answer.

“Yes, my dear?” Out of one of the chairs in front of a book shelf Albus rose up, this morning a picture in the colours of the night: A rather plain, but elegant midnight blue robe, the velvet of it soft shimmering like the nightly sky over Hogwarts, his beard and the hair the silver contrast to it as the moon made to the sky. Hermione studied him closely and registered that the few hours of sleep he’d got hadn’t improved his appearance much. He still was very pale, the skin over his high cheekbones and at his temples looked translucent, the wrinkles on his forehead deeper as ever before, his lips were almost as white as the whiskers surrounding them and his eyes - Hermione had to swallow and all the rage d fed felt before was blown away by a wave of sadness, guilt and tenderness.

She suddenly remembered how she as a four year old girl in a temper tantrum had destroyed a beautiful Japanese vase her mother had always been proud of and Hermione had always loved as something especially precious. She’d felt like a monster then - and so it was now again. She couldn’t shout at him as she’d planed. She only could run over to him and fall in his arms which he opened for her. Burying her face at his shoulder, breng dng deeply the unique fragrance which was so entirely him, she started to cry, hard, shuddering sobs. But in the same time she felt a tiny bit of happiness warming her. He was there and now he sat down, pulling her with him and seating her in his lap, holding her close, his mouth in her hair and his hands stroking soothingly over her back. It had to mean that he cared for her, didn’t it? Nevertheless she couldn’t stop crying - the tension of the last days had weighted hard on her and now, having found her way back to him finally, she needed a few moments of release. And Albus obviously didn’t mind her sobbing all over his shoulder and even tears wetting his hair. He didn’t try to get away from her - in the contrary: One of his hands now were on the back of her head, cradling it close to him and then she heard his voice and in the hoarseness she was in use with was a crack she hadn’t heard before as he whispered: “Hermione - little lioness ...”

She raised her head looking at him and it was as if she’d been hit as she discoveree tee tears rolling down on his cheeks. “Albus ...,” she said quietly, with the tip of her index finger stroking his face. “What have I done to you? I’m so sorry ...”

“Don’t ...,” he managed and caught her hand, turned it and kissed her palm. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Hermione. You didn’t do anything wrong ...”

Now it was her who stretched and cradled his head on her chest, stroking and combing his hair with her fingers. “Albus,” once again she almost whispered, “We hurt each other, didn’t we?” He swallowed and she felt how he started to fumble in his robe. “What’s the matter, Albus?” she asked.

He had found what he’d been searching for. Pulling out a pristine white handkerchief, he took his spectacles down, blew his nose, packed the handkerchief back in his pocket again, shove the spectacles back in their place and finally said: “Harry made me ...”

The same second Hermione had started too, saying: “I don’t know ...”

Both noticed the other speaking, stopped and said in unison: “You first!”

Then both laughed nervously and Albus said: “It seems we agree not only about the fact that we have to talk, but even about that there’s no better time as now. So: Ladies first ...”

“... In getting to hear the gentleman’s say,” Hermione smiled almost a bit shy and shifted in his lap. “Am I not too heavy? You know, I could seat down on the sofa.”

He laid his finger over her mouth, silencing her so. “You’re not too heavy and you shan’t be seated on the sofa, but you shall try to hear me out.” Clearing his throat, he proceeded, now very serious again: “I have to apologize for my behaviour against you. I’ve made - again as I regretfully must admit - a mistake I’m obviously very prone to: I oversaw that you’re very young, but certainly not a child anymore. With doing so I drove the both of us in a situation we couldn’t handle - or shall I say I couldn’t? You certainly were coping better with it than I did. I needed Harry to get the message that I can’t solve our problems without you. We’re both a part of this - and it only can work when we work together.” He looked at her as if he’d wait for something, so Hermione nodded.

“You’re right, Albus,” she said. “Only it was my mistake too. I should have talked to you sooner.”

He sighed. “I didn’t give you much of a chance, did I? And now ...,” he paused and started anew. “Hermione, you deserve honesty: I still don’t know how to handle this - our marriage, I mean. As it started you were a student in my care and it was clear that I’d do anything in my might to protect you. But now ...,” he sunk his head and quietly he proceeded. “You’re not a student in my care anymore. At least it doesn’t feel like it anymore. You’re Hermione - intelligent, talented, loyal, brave, caring Hermione and the emotions I have developed for you are more then the protectiveness and care every pupil at this school can get from me.” He fell silent for a moment, searching for words and finally he said awkwardly: “I’m becoming pretty fond of you, Hermione.”

Hermione laid her forehead against his cheek and smiled. “I’m fond of you too, Albus.”

“Please, Hermione - I’m not ready yet. Let me say my say, will you?” Albus took her hand in his and looking at it, he said: “Being fond of you is something I can live with, especially in knowing that you didn’t find my company unbearable. But there’s something more, Hermione. I desire you.”

“But ...” Hene hne had to close her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t bear the look of self-repulse and guilt in his face. This was what she’d done to him. And to know that she hadn’t done it only on purpose, but determined made her shudder now. Her eyes filled with tears again and slowly she said: “I behaved like a bitch, Albus. And I’m terribly sorry. It was ...” Now she couldn’t find the right words. In his arms, knowing how miserable he’d felt by her passes at him, she couldn’t understand herself anymore. “Rome,” she said then. “Our night in Rome ...”

“Hermione ...”

This time she put her finger on his mouth. “Please, Albus - let me explain! It was all about Rome. In our first night there you made me feel like ...,” she blushed, but bravely proceeded, “... if I were the goddess of love, Aphrodite herself. I’ve never before felt like that; I’d even never believed I could feel so. Suddenly I was a woman and a strong one and a desirable one and even the one who could make you, the great wizard, purr moa moan and pant. I don’t know if you can imagine, but to me it was intoxicating, pure bliss and I felt as if I’d found the one thing I searched all my life for, the one emotion which would make me finally complete. I couldn’t give this up easily afterwards. I tried to keep it, I tried to possess it, but by now I’ve understood: I can’t try to possess you. You aren’t mine and I don’t have a right to demand more from you than you already gave me.”

Once again he tried to say something, but once again she stopped him. “No, Albus, please - I’m still not ready. I will promise you, that I’ll never again try to get more from you than you willingly offer on your own accord.” Now she was ready and looked at him expectantly.

For a long moment silence hung over the rothenthen Albus finally spoke. “You have me at a loss for words, Hermione. I feel deeply honoured by your honesty - flattered - I’d even say flattered out of my trousers if I’d wear some ...” Now he smiled at least a little, but his eyes were still sad and grave. “I’d love so much to be the man to give you this onl only sometimes for a few hours, but for to keep and to possess. And for the first time in my life you make me wish for a charm that makes me young again - young enough to become the one and only one in your life. I’d love to live with you, I’d love to see you become the great woman you’re supposed to be one day and I’d love to make you my personal Aphrodite. But I’m not the man you’ll live with through your life. I’m only an episode on your way - some one who can at best give you a glimpse at your personal paradise, but doesn’t hold the key for it.”

Once again they were silent, but now Hermione played with his hair again. After a long while she said: “Actually I never thought I’d get a personal paradise once. Besides: A wise wizard told a friend of mine, it wouldn’t do to dwell on dreams. So ...” She curled one strand of his silver mane around her finger, breathed deeply and said bravely then: “I’d settle for the glimpses if ...,” shifting again, she started new: “Albus, I have to know something and you must promise me an honest answer - even if it is one I have to chew on.”

He nodded. “I’ll answer with all honesty you deserve - I promise.”

Slowly Hermione rose up. She was afraid of his answer and knew: She wouldn’t like to cope with it while seated on his lap. For asking this question she had already to fight down her pride. More damage to it she really wouldn’t need. Turning her back to him and leaning at one of the book shelves, she finally asked: “Would it be easier for you if we’d do our ...,” deep breath, “... sex more ... ah ... I mean, if we were to do it just to get over with it?” Being now more as only a bit nervous, she felt she started babbling, but couldn’t stop herself. “You know, Albus - thousand of people do it in the dark and if you’d read the ‘Advise on your sex life’ part in ‘Witch Weekly’ you were to come across every week to witches complaining about their wizards rarely lasting longer then 30 seconds and if you would take a lust potion or do an arousing spell - I mean the ministry can’t say anything against that, can they? So if it would make you ...”

“Stop, Hermione!” Albus said, raising his hands. “I suddenly would not feel better if I were to make love like that!” he said very firmly. “And I thought I’d make myself clear on this point in Rome. Even if I find it hard to cope with the fact that I’m to have sex with a woman as young as you - I certainly will not change the habits and beliefs of a lifetime for seeing love making as something to get done as quickly as possible.”

Hermione hadn’t turned around at his speech. Stroking a book’s back, she chewed on her under lip. She was actually glad he had not taken up her offer with a casual or - what would have been the worst case - with a relieved “that’s just how I’d like it”. But remembering - and once again feeling miserable - how he’d looked at her as she’d approached the breakfast in Rome on the famous “morning after”, she simply didn’t understand his reaction. But she had to and therefore...

Bracing herself again with breathing deeply, she turned at last around to face him. “Albus,” she started cautiously, “I’d very much like to understand you. In Rome - on the morning after we slept together ...” The memory was there now again in her head and relieving it again it didn’t hurt less as on the first time. So she had to fight against tears and her knees becoming weak and sat down on the sofa, not looking at Albus, but in her lap. “You looked at me as if my presence would remind you of the most repulsive thing imaginable. You made me ashamed of what we’ve done - and perhaps it was thereafter I tried afterwards to seduce you again. I wanted to overwrite this look on your face with another ...”

“Hermione ...” Albus was on his feet and suddenly on his knees in front of her, taking her hand. “It wasn’t you, Hermione!” he cried. She saw horror in his eyes and how hard he had to fight in calming himself down. His voice sounded crammed and flat as he finally managed to speak again: “I rep repulsed, Hermione, but neither on what we’ve done nor at you. It was me I detested at this moment and ever since - me, the lecherous old man who lusts for an 18 year old woman and who used every trick to present himself to her as something desirable. I was and I am repulsed by what I’ve became: a dirty old man.”

“No, Albus, no!” Hermione laid her hands on his cheek and forced him to look up in her eyes. “I will not allow you to name my husband a ‘lecherous, dirty old man’,” she said firmly. “You couldn’t even become one if you’d want to - not with a conscience as yours, so honourable and obviously sometimes overactive. You’re simply not able to. Besides ...,” with her left hand she stroke tenderly a strand of his hair, hanging in his face, away, “... I was already very indiscrete in my questions, so I don’t think another one out of the ‘things you should never ask your husband’-list won’t make the damage finally unbearable.” Her smile became almost mischievously. “Rosmerta Shacklebolt. Albus - you were involved with her be our our marriage, weren’t you? And no, I won’t ask you about the actual state of your relationship with her because this is no business of mine. So let’s only talk about the time before ...”

Albus smiled - still a bit weary, but his eyes weren’t sad anymore. “I’m afraid my ideas about marriage aren’t quite so advanced as yours, my dear. I don’t think that having a love life which wouldn’t concern you would be appropriate. So to answer the question you didn’t ask: The actual state of my relationship with Madame Shacklebolt is platonic. Yet I have to admit this wasn’t always the case.” He rose up to his full length, stretching his back. “Sorry - as much as you deserve to have me on my knees - I’m afraid they’re too old for this.” Seating back on the chair next to her, he took her hand in his and entwined their fingers.

Hermione gave his hand a quick squeeze, then she asked: “How old is Madame Shacklebolt, Albus?”

He looked a bit confused. “I don’t know for sure. I never asked her ...”

“Did you ask her predecessor?” Hermione became almost amused now. She was sure, she was just in for getting Albus with sheer logic - and she loved it.

Albus obviously didn’t see where she was to lead him. He considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, actually I can’t remember I’ve ever asked in the last 130 years.”

Hermione had just waited for this. Beaming she cried: “Of course you didn’t! There was no need because you were always sure your ladies were of legal age. And let me guess: The most of them were even pretty experienced women, weren’t they?”

“Yes, I ...” He took his glasses down and massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. “Actually I’ve always had rather a thing with experienced women, even as a very young man.” He raised a hand. “No offence meant, Hermione.”

“None taken, dear Albus.” Hermione smiled her sweetest smile. “Considered that you - to quote what you’ve just confessed - have had all your life a thing with experienced women - did it never occur to you in the last days that ‘dirty old men’ are defined by always lusting after young girls?”

“Actually ...” Albus started.

Hermione didn’t let him talk. “Sorry, I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to sound smug, dear Albus, but wouldn’t it be possible that you don’t desire girls in general, but a certain Hermione in special?”

For a moment he looked at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real. Then he swallowed, shook once his head and stretched his hand over to her. “Hermione - come over!”

Hermione rose, but only to sit down on his lap again, laying her head on his shoulder. She felt light headed and almost dizzy now - he’d said he’d be fond of her! And he’d said it ... she liked how it had sounded - as if he actually would have wanted to say even more! And he wanted here and she was in his arms and everything was going to be good. And so with a contended sigh and a gentle “Dear Albus” she kissed his cheek and cuddled closer against him.

“My little lioness ...” Once again his lips were in her hair and she felt his warm breath on her scalp. “Thank you. What you’ve said means more to me than I can express. You’re right, Hermione - you really are and you’ve just made me whole again.”


For a long while they’d sat in silence, Hermione playing with his hair, Albus keeping entirely still. Then she felt him shifting and though she disliked giving up the closeness, asked: “Are you getting cramped? I’m too heavy ...”

“You are still not too heavy.” He kissed her hair. “But I haven’t had much of a breakfast and by now - as unromantic as it may sound - I’m starving. I feel like I could have one roasted hippogriff on toast. Besides I think we should present ourselves at lunch. Minerva always gets a bit sentimental over the first meal after the departure of the students while Severus always pretends he would like to celebrate. She falls every time for this bait of his and last year in summer she became so furious she hexed his soup to soap because - so she said - he’d needed to wash out that dirty mouth of his. He wasn’t too delighted about that. He’d taken already a spoon full and I can assure you: Foaming Severus doesn’t make for nice lunch company.”

Hermione laughed and rose, pulling at his hand. “Considering that I have an appointment with your potion master after lunch, we should run. We’re already in disagreement about an idea of mine - and the thought of what he’d say at my newest invention when just fed with soap by Minerva makes me shudder.”

Walking down the stairs with her, still holding her hand, Albus smiled. “After battling with you he’ll come to see me then, telling me once again, that you’re the most pigheaded, unbearable person he ever had the misfortune to encounter ...”

“What? He complains about me being pigheaded?” Hermione was infuriated. “That’s rich, coming just from him! I knew a few walls in Hogwarts which are more open-minded and flexible than he is!”

“Actually,” Albus chuckled, “most of the Hogwarts walls are pretty flexible ...”

Hermione was still fuming. “Don’t try to distract me, Albus! You know yourself, that Severus Snape is the master of stubbornness.”

“It’s funny - he says that about you too.” Albus grinned. “And I must admit: I’m starting to enjoy that. Pot calling kettle ...”

“You don’t maintain he’s right, do you?” Hermione’s eyes shot flashes at him.

“Will you make me sleep on the sofa tonight if I do?” Albus asked.

“Albus, I’m serious!” Hermione didn’t want to be distracted.

“So am I, my dearest, so am I. But I’m only one old, tired wizard and therefore I won’t step in on a battlefield between Severus and you.” Albus looked and sounded very amused.

Hermione felt suddenly infected by his playful mood. Pushing her hand under his elbow, she looked up at him, batted her lids and purred in a tone Lavender and Parvati would have applauded at: “Oh my! And here was I, thinking you’re a hero - my hero.”

“You know the rule No.1 for heroes, Darling?” Albus took her hand in his. “It’s ‘Stay Alive’. And the second is: ‘Never underestimate a female Gryffindor’s capability to make you sleep on a sofa’.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’ve mixed that up, Albus. The first is from ‘Rules for Slytherin heroes’ and the second from ‘How to marry a Gryffindor and live to tell the tale’.”

“Oh, that’s already on the market? I thought Minerva and you would still work on it.” Albus became serious again. “By talking about your work with Minerva: She asked me about your progress in transfiguration and she wasn’t very pleased with me for ‘neglecting’ my duty as your teacher. So before she goes to advice you to make me sleep on the sofa, I’d like to offer you a lesson. Would you like to do a little animagnus training after your time with Severus?”

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

Cheerfully hopping along the hall which led to the gargoyle guarding over the entrance to the headmaster’s office, Hermione felt in total agreement not only with herself, but with the world around her too. She wouldn’t have thought it by getting up in the morning, she even had doubted the day to become a nice one as she’d seen off Ginny and Ron at the station, but this all had been before her talk with Albus. Since then she felt filled with joy and in such a good mood that not even one hour of arguing with Severus Snape had gotten under her skin. Just on the contrary: By defending her research idea against him, she’d got clear about what she actually wanted to do and in the end he’d even gave in to something she’d never thought she could get him to agree with. And even more: Although he’d probably rather swallow Neville Longbottom’s pet toad and all their relatives wit mus mustard as to admit that he liked her idea - as she’d said that she’d ask the headmaster for getting the potion lab a muggle microscope, Snape had looked as if she’d just offered him the toads and told her with his best Slytherin sneer, that the founds for the portion lab’s equipment surely weren’t something he’d like to consider as “talked about in the headmaster’s bed”. Hermione hadn’t managed to resist then. She’d just remember that he’d complained about her being “unbearable” - and this called for revenge. So with her sweetest smile she’d said: “You know, Severus ...” Hah, how much she’d enjoyed reminding him at this moment that he’d offered her the use of his given name in private! “... Albus is pretty fond of pillow talk. Especially ...”

It had worked beautifully! Severus had looked as if he’d just seen himself in his headmaster’s bed, doing pillow-talk and obviously this image didn’t appeal to him. Choking as if having the grand nephew of Longbottom’s toad upside down in his throat he’d raised his hands and cried: “Have mercy with me, Mistress Granger! I really don’t need to learn the gory details!”

This, Hermione thought, standing now in front of the gargoyle - and yes, it felt very nice that she didn’t need a password to make it open the wall. Albus obviously had changed his wards to let her through - certainly counted for a victory in her ever-lasting battle of wits with the potion master. And thinking that he’d become a subject of pillow talk in the headmaster’s bed would perhaps even stop him complaining about Hermione’s naughtiness.

The wall was open now, Hermione stepped through and on the staircase which lifted her upwards to the office. In former times Hermione sometimes had thought the stairs would move too fast - and she remembered that Parvati (who’d been sent to the headmaster’s office after she’d gone amiss for an entire night because she had a new lover) even had complained about feeling dizzy by arriving. Hermione didn’t think so now - for her impatience the stairs weren’t moving fast enough. So she jumped over the last half metre, marched straight to the little ante chamber to the door with the griffin handles and knocked, waiting for Albus’ voice to answer. Yet he didn’t answer with a “come in”, but opened the door, standing in front of her. Hermione was surprised, but only for a moment. One step in, then she stretched on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder - and why, please, he had to be this tall? - for noticing that the office was empty except of Fawkes seating on his perch, holding an apple in his claw and nibbling graciously on it. So she allowed herself to do what she’d wished for all afternoon: She laid her arms around her husband’s tall frame, leaned against him and kissed him tenderly. And Albus obviously liked to be greeted like that - keeping her close, he kissed back, both hands buried in her hair and holding her close.

“My, my ...” a voice broke in this kiss, making Hermione blush and hide her face on Albus’ shoulder, “I’d never thought I’d live to see the day Dumbledore loses his crampiness with girls.”

It was the portrait of former headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black who’d spoken - much to the dismay of his neighbour portraits which began shouting and talking back at once. An elder witch, carrying the thickest wand Hermione had even seen, swung it over her head as if she’d like to use it as a can on Black’s back and screamed infuriated: “Get him round, Dumbledore! He deserves to watch the wall for at least one week!”

A wizard with fizzled grey hair - Hermione knew him as Albus predecessor and friend, Armando Dippet - smiled mildly: “A curtain for Phineas Nigellus will do, Albus. He’d one in my days ...”

Another witch, very tall and gaunt witch with a face as if she’d just smelled something rotten, said with emphasis: “The impertinence of this man! He probably even doesn’t know how to spell the word ‘discretion’ ...,” while her neighbour, a nice looking, round wizard folded his hands over his belly, twinkled at Hermione and said: “Black’s only jealous because his head girl never jumped on him like that.”

And over the choir sounded Headmistress Morgaine Lancaster’s commanding voice: “Just kiss her again, Albus - don’t mind Black!”

Hermione, her face still hidden in the folds of Albus’ robe, thought she’d just like to sink in the floor, but Albus only laughed, waved his hand and commanded “nox”. The office became dark, he took Hermione’s hand, whispered: “Hush - let’s go!” and lead her through the open door. Closing the door behind him quietly, he laughed: “This will give them something to speculate about.”

“I’m sorry, Albus - I didn’t think of them,” Hermione said, still with red cheeks.

“No need to be sorry.” Albus led her to the stairs. “They’re bound to secrecy, so they won’t tell. Nevertheless I didn’t intend giving you the lesson in their company. You will need to concentrate and we’ll need space, so I’ve prepared an unused classroom downstairs.”

By walking down with him Hermione felt a bit odd. She’d searched the entire library for books about the animagnus transfiguration, but only founry ary academicals, dry excerpts about the law for animagni and about the risks when a transfiguration went wrong. There hadn’t been a single book about how to learn becoming an animagnus. Even Albus’ private library hadn’t helped her and so she asked now: “Why couldn’t I get a book about? I can’t believe nobody has ever written about the animagnus training.”

“You’re of course right,” Albus answered. “Many books were written about the subject, but after the ministry learned that these books helped the marauders to become unregistered animagni, they banned the books - not only from Hogwarts, but from all other libraries too. They’re by now only available to transfiguration masters on special request.”

“Banning a book - keeping knowledge exclusive - that’s outrageous, Albus!” Hermione became infuriated.

“I didn’t agree to this.” His face became hard. “Sometimes I think my disagreement is Fudge’s preferred reason for a decision by now. Yet he isn’t the pope. He won’t be the minister for ever and his successor won’t be bond to Fudge’s decision. He can easily set them back. So our world won’t be stuck for ever with Fudge’s rather odd ideas. Yet I must admit: In the case of the animagnus training the ministry has got a point. To start it without a master supervising is highly dangerous.”

“But the marauders managed it. And obviously that terrible reporter - Rita Skeeter, if you remember - did too and she certainly isn’t a very high talented witch.” Hermione sounded defiant. She didn’t like the idea that knowledge was kept out of her reach.

They had arrived in the basement of the castle, now Albus opened a door to a classroom, led Hermione in and closed the door then, setting a light ward on it. While Hermione looked around, he said: “I wouldn’t bet on Rita Skeeter learning without a master’s help. You know, Minerva and I aren’t the only masters. I know four or five more alone in Great Britain. Perhaps one of them doesn’t think much about the law of registration?”

Hermione wandered now through the classroom. It was almost empty - only a comfortable looking, high winged chair with a basket next to it and a white, thick mattress were in it. Hermione pointed to the basket. “Do you think I’m to become a boa constrictor who’d like to crawl in that?” she asked.

Albus sat down on the chair and pulled his wand out of his sleeve. Conjuring himself a little stool where he laid his legs on, he smiled and patted on the basket. “A Gryffindor becoming a snake would be a sensation, dear. The basket is for the clothes. Later you will learn to transform your clothes too, but for the start this would be an additional difficulty. Therefore you’d be naked first.”

“Huuh!” Hermione made. “Now I’m glad you’re my teacher. I don’t think I’d like to be naked in front of Minerva.”

Albus laughed. “She’d close her eyes. She demanded that from me too ...”

“You were the master who taught her? But how could you supervise her with closed eyes?” Hermione was already undressing, folding the robe she’d wore over her jeans neatly.

“Following the first rule for Slytherin heroes I never discussed that with her,” Albus chuckled. “I closed my eyes until she was in trance and then ... she didn’t notice then and I, of course, didn’t comment on her body later. Although I remember ...”

He grinned and Hermione, just climbing out of her jeans, jabbed him lightly. “One more word Albus Dumbledore and I will tell her! And what’s then with the first rule for Slytherin heroes?”

“Uuuh - I think I’d have to follow the fifth rule then: ‘If chased by female Gryffindors - run for your life!” Albus lent back and played with his wand.

“Albus?” Hermione’s voice sounded a bit muffled because she just had her shirt over her head. “Lavender Brown maintained once, that the animagnus form of a wizard is often connected to his astronomic sign. You know, I’m actually a fish ...”

“And I’m a scorpion.” Albus shook his head. “Astronomic sigre nre nonsense. I don’t think you’ll become a fish - though I wouldn’t mind to get a nice, little goldfish. I could conjure a bowl then and you could spend your days in my office ...”

“Heaven forbid! I’d hate to be a goldfish. I’d rather become a shark!” Hermione cried.

“That would mean a rather big bowl,” Albus grinned.

“Albus, seriously: If I would become a fish, wouldn’t it be dangerous in here? If I couldn’t change back, I’d probably die for lack of oxygen.” Hermione was naked now and slang her arms around her body.

“That’s why I’m here,” Albus answered calmly. “I’d get you a pond if you’d changed into a fish or I’d change the room if you’re something too big like an elephant ...”

“But I’d hate to be an elephant!” Hermione cried. “Can you imagine something so absolutely useless? What could I do as an elephant?”

“You could make a lot of noise,” Albus answered. “You know, my teacher was my father - and he always teased me that he’d wish me to become a tortoise because even I couldn’t be frivolous or facetious then.” He looked to Hermione, becoming once more serious. “Enough with the frivolities, young lady. Up on the mattress with you - we have work to do.”

Hermione walked over to the mattress and sat down on it. “What am I to do?” she asked eagerly. She almost couldn’t wait to start - she wanted so much to learn finally what her animagnus form was.

“Lie down and close your eyes,” Albus ordered her. “I’ll help you to clear your mind and to concentrate - and please, trust me: I’ll use legilimens for setting your mind at rest, but I won’t penetrate your memories or your subconscious. So don’t fight me - it would drain you and you’ll need your strength.”

Hermione laid down as ordered, but couldn’t resist a comment: “I didn’t know a transfiguration master must be a legilimens too ...”

“Most aren’t,” Albus answered patiently. “Legilimency isn’t required for teaching animagnus transfiguration, but it makes it easier - especially with a pupil so overactive and controlled as you.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll keep my mouth closed now.”

misemise?” Albus sound teasing, before he became serious again. “Let’s make one thing clear, Hermione: Transformation is a very complex process. Most wizards and witches need months to learn it. I’m convinced you will manage quicker, but today we can’t expect more than a little glimpse. So don’t be disappointed when I get you out of the trance and you still see yourself as a girl, will you?” Breathing deeply he rose his wand. “Legilimens,” he said almost tenderly.

Hermione fought for a se aga against panic. The idea of having some one in her mind - and even if it was Albus - really didn’t appeal to her. But then she felt something - something very gentle, warm and in a comforting way familiar. The something seemed to chuckle in her mind and then it became a bright light; pure an bea beautiful she wanted to fall into it. “Albus, is that you?” Had she whisperr onr only thought it? She didn’t know, but it wasn’t important, because she felt now how this light embraced her, her entire being with a warmth and love she’d never felt before. It was like being back in her mother’s womb, entirely secure, protected and cared for, but it was even more because she was highly aware of the something her mind being male. And though this maleness didn’t arouse her - it was erotic, the most erotic feeling she’d ever felt. Her body relaxed in this incredifeelfeeling and so did her mind. For this moment neither curiosity nor her thirst of knowledge seemed to exit, everything outside the brightness which was not only Albus, but a mixture from her and him and the love they shared, became irrelevant. She only wanted to stay in this, to enjoy it, to take it up entirely, but then she felt something like a push - nore ore than the gentle one a father would give his shy child on a playground for encouraging it to join the other children - and she heard his familiar chuckle and his always slightly hoarse voice in her head: “Let’s go on ...”

Actually she didn’t want to go, but something seemed to pull on her and for a moment it felt like falling, but then it was like walking down a narrow path on a meadow, surrounded by sounds and smells she’d never heard or smelt before. And then she saw a pond and the water in it lured her to it. It smelt fresh and sweet and austere in the same time and she knew that she’d found her element and glided in to the water. It supported her without her having to swim actively, it was like gliding over and in the water, feeling it like soft touches around her legs and thighs and her belly. Yet the water wasn’t the only element she belonged to. She suddenly knew that the air would support her too and the wind, softly rippling water, was her friend. It helped her to lift off and made her hover over the pond, feeling free and strong. Although she’d been scared of heights all her life, although she hated to mount a broomstick - by now she knew that she could fly and so she did, lifting herself up over the pond and the trees surrounding it and by looking down she giggled - the meadow below really looked like something out of toy world and the tiny white cloud sailing just over her like something to chase and to hide in and to play with.

Ouch! There was sharp prickling on her left fore arm, as if the skin would split. Hermione fell out of the sky and found herself back in the classroom, hovering over the mattress and clutching her fore arm with her right hand. It still prickled and she felt something odd in her palm, like a little needle pinning through her skin.

“Finite incantatum,” commanded Albus.

Hermione sank down on the mattress and felt for a moment a sad emptiness - Albus was gone from her mind. But then he was next to her, his hand on her shoulder and she saw him looking proud an excited at her.

“You are a quick study, love! I’ve never seen anybody going this far by the first time,” he said and took her right hand gently. “Let me have a look at that ...” Looking closely through his spectacles on her left fore arm where a tiny grey thing seemed to stick, he smiled. “It seems that Fawkes will get another play mate soon, darling.”

Hermionokedoked at the thing too. “You think this will become a feather?” she asked.

“I’m sure it will. I started so too,” he answered.

Hermione looked once again and then she remembered the pond and the wind and it dawned on her. “Oh, Albus!” she cried. “I’m a duck!”


To be continued (as soon as my beta reader Kristle is ready with the next chapter - but I think she\'s a quick one ...)