The Comedy of Errors

The Comedy of Errors

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

Chapter 13: The love of a lioness


“Oh my - she’s going to hex him!” Hermione Granger whispered. “Can’t you do something, Severus?”

The Potion master, leaning against the wall opposite the door to Minerva’s chambers with his arms crossed over his chest, rolled his eyes. “Hermione! Albus is supposed to be the mightiest wizard alive. And …”

From inside the room sounded another bump and then both watchers heard Minerva’s furious voice, “Be sensible? How dare you to order me to be sensible when you’ve obviously lost the little sanity left to you! I don’t want to be sensible. I want to throttle you, Albus Dumbledore!”

“Severus!” Hermione pleaded. “Do something!”

“What should I do?” he asked. “Storm in and stun her? So sorry, but I really don’t have a death wish!”

From inside Albus’ voice could now be heard. “Hell, is that a conspiracy of fame? For ages I was yelled at because I refused to think about marriage. Now I’ve proposed - and I’m still getting yelled at!”

“He’s got a point here, Hermione!” Severus stated dryly. “I really don’t know why Minerva is behaving like he insulted her.”

Bang! Something hit the inside of the door, shattering. Hermione jumped and looked desperately at Severus. “Who did that?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Minerva of course,” he answered. Changing the leg he was standing on, he explained, “Albus is a Slytherin. We find it silly to throw things.”

Bang - this was an explosion and it was followed by Albus’ furious voice, “I can do that too!”

“But you won’t do it again!” Minerva hissed. “These are my chambers and that was my flowerpot! You will not make another possession of mine explode!”

“Fine - if you stop throwing your precious possessions at me!” he yelled back. “I really don’t understand why we can’t discuss the situation like sensible adults.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “How thick can a man be?” she murmured.

Minerva was obviously wondering the same thing. Hermione heard her bang her fist against a wall, then she heard her rant, “You have understood nothing at all, Albus Dumbledore!”

“I understand that you obviously don’t want to marry me,” he responded, sounding like a sulky boy.

“That is not the subject we’re discussing!” Minerva fired at him.

“We’re discussing? I thought you were just throwing a tantrum. You know, I appreciate your temp …” Albus hadn’t finished his line when the two watchers in front of the door heard another bang. “Minerva!” Albus’ protesting voice sounded muffled as if he’d just gotten down on the floor.

“Don’t you dare get sarcastic at me! You got me in this absolutely ridiculous, impossible situation! I think I have every right to be angry with you!”

“Minerva, Darling …”

“I’m not your Minerva Darling!”

“Well, at the moment you’re certainly not a darling, but …”

Hermione looked at Severus. He was grinning and commented, “Poor sod! Whatever he says or does - tonight even he won’t succeed in talking himself out of this spot and back into her bed.”

“If I were in Minerva’s shoes I wouldn’t let him into my bed either,” Hermione stated. “And if you don’t stop grinning like a chauvinistic Slytherin bastard you can join your friend and Headmaster in sleeping alone!”

“Oh? And where will you spend your night, Hermione Darling?” Severus asked. “You know I’m not a Gryffindor soft egg who allows himself to be kicked out of his bed.”

“Be careful, Severus!” Hermione warned. “I’m not in the mood to brook insults against my house from a Slytherin today.”

Inside Minerva’s chambers the row was now reaching its climax. Another bang and the shattering of china announced that Minerva was in the form of her life and Albus’ reaction indicated that he’d run out of his famous patience. “For Merlin’s sake, Minerva, can’t you stop throwing flowerpots at me? Your hellcat attitude is becoming tiresome!”

“I can stop talking with you!” Minerva yelled back. “I can and I will. So would you kindly remove yourself before I can’t resist the urge to throw another flower pot?”

“You’re kicking me out?” Albus obviously couldn’t believe it.

“What did it sound like, an invitation to tea?” Minerva asked poisonously.

“Minerva, I really find your behaviour unreasonable,” Albus shot back.

“Out!” was the only answer he got - and obviously she’d found another flower pot to threaten him with because the door suddenly opened and Albus sprinted out into the corridor, hair and robe dishevelled. As the door closed behind him, he shook himself like a dog which had gotten wet. “Brr!” Looking at Severus, he grinned lopsided. “At the moment, I am reconsidering my liking of passionate women. Or, better said, my liking of a certain, very hot tempered one …”

“Don’t you think you should have done that before you proposed?” Severus asked.

Albus smoothed his robes. “Well - the proposal I made rather spontaneously.”

Hermione swallowed. Sometimes she found the Headmaster unbelievable. “But you’re not saying you didn’t really mean it, Headmaster?” she asked.

“Of course I meant it!” He sounded almost insulted. Thoughtfully he added, “And the more I get used to the idea, the better I like it.”

Severus pointed toward the door. “Your esteemed Deputy doesn’t seem particularly delighted about this spontaneous idea of yours, Albus.”

Just then, from inside Minerva’s room came another crash. Albus flinched and shook himself again. “I’m afraid it will need some talking to convince her. But before I start I should let her cool down a bit. Besides, I need a drink now.” Smiling at Hermione and Severus he asked, “What about the two of you? May I invite you?”

“If you offer me some of your Old Odgen’s, I’m game,” Severus said. “Hermione?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, Headmaster. I think I should look after Professor McGonagall.”

Albus smiled at her and laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment. “Thank you, Hermione. And if you need me or Severus - the password for the Main tower is ‘sapienta felicitas(1)’.”

Severus snorted. “How suitable! Now I wonder what you’ve run out of, Albus, sapienta or felicitas?”

“I think it quite wise to propose to Minerva. Only luck wasn’t much with me. However - I really need a drink now.” Albus started to walk in the direction of the Main tower. “You coming, Severus? Oh and Hermione, if she starts to throw flowerpots, just duck! Her aim is rather lousy.”

Hermione shook her head and waited until both men were out of sight. She couldn’t help smiling after them, feeling proud of Severus. He often maintained that he didn’t care about other people, saying “I only want to be left alone”. She had long ago stopped believing him, but nevertheless she enjoyed how much care and sensitivity he’d shown during the evening. The vigilance that had ensured both his success and his survival as a spy had alerted him to the upcoming trouble long before Hermione would have noticed it. She’d seen Minerva switch dance partners, but she didn’t know the bald-headed wizard who took her in his arms after Harry left the dance floor. Yet Severus had immediately become alarmed. Lithely he waltzed Hermione over the dance floor to where Albus was whirling Molly Weasley around. To a bystander, the way Severus bumped into Albus would have looked casual, but the Headmaster and his Potion master were a perfect team. Albus’ eyes followed the direction in which Severus’ gaze led, and when he saw Minerva, very stiff and already looking angry in the arms of the bald-headed man, he sighed, “Uh-oh, that smells like trouble!” He bent to his partner. “Will you excuse me, Molly?”

Right at that moment, Minerva had stopped dancing and Hermione heard her voice, “And for one thing I’m absolutely certain - I would rather be what you call Albus Dumbledore’s ‘whore’ for the rest of my life than to be Madame Pemperbroke for even one day!”

The music had stopped and Hermione heard someone behind her gasp. She was shoved forward by Severus, who followed Albus through the crowd while Minerva told her former admirer that she didn’t need a man to make her an honourable woman. Looking at her, Hermione almost burst with pride for her former professor and mentor. She’d always found Minerva McGonagall not only adorable, but beautiful too. The feline elegance with which she moved, her independence and self-confidence, her dry humour, quick wit and sparkling intelligence had made her a role model for Hermione.

And the Headmaster! Hermione had long since known that his relationship with his Deputy was special and close, but she’d always found it impossible to predict Albus Dumbledore. And Albus Dumbledore and women - even Severus said he couldn’t be sure if his friend was a womanizer, or someone searching for the right woman.

But as Albus Dumbledore laid his hands on Minerva’s shoulders, Hermione looked in his eyes and what she saw there made her gasp. Leaning back to Severus who stood behind her, she whispered, “He loves her!”

Nevertheless she was flabbergasted when she heard, “If Minerva wants me, I’d like very much to be made an honourable man by her.”

Hermione hadn’t been the only one who almost fainted upon hearing a proposal from Albus Dumbledore. For a moment, Severus gripped her shoulders so hard it almost hurt; Molly Weasley’s jaw dropped and she was obviously speechless - something that her men folk certainly enjoyed because it happened so rarely - and Alastor Moody let the glass he’d just been drinking from slip. One of the young Aurors next to him caught it, but Alastor was so busy staring at the dance floor that he hadn’t even registered that.

Yet Ignatius Pemperbroke looked the most amazed, standing on the dance floor like he’d been stunned, his mouth hanging open and his eyes as big as saucers.

Never before, not even during the war, had Hermione admired Minerva as much as at that moment, when she turned around, smiled at Albus Dumbledore and said lightly, “I think you’re a rather hopeless case; nevertheless I’ll consider your offer.”

She saved the ball. The lightness of her tone - although Hermione had seen in her eyes that Minerva certainly didn’t feel as light-hearted as she acted - caused the tension to subside, and a few people even laughed. The Headmaster did the rest. He bowed, took Minerva’s hand and, after kissing it formally, asked, “Well - if you don’t want to marry me on the spot, would you at least dance with me, Minerva?” One look from him and the band started another tune; then he took Minerva in his arms and swirled her around, smiling down at her and chatting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Nevertheless, his proposal had become the talk of the ball. Whoever Hermione spoke to had something to say about it, and probably everyone around had watched the couple. When Hermione went to the washroom, she caught bits of a conversation between two women. One, a blonde in a dress too youthful and make up too garish, had just said, “Really, you don’t believe he meant it! Dumbledore is known for being a confirmed bachelor. He certainly doesn’t want to marry that stuffy spinster. He was only being gentleman like.”

Her girlfriend - a redhead whose pink dress clashed terribly with her hair - sniffled. “But it was so romantic! I’d love it if he marries her.”

“Dumbledore? That dry prune? He’s such a fascinating man and she - ugh! I always wondered how she managed to catch someone as attractive as her late husband! If she gets Dumbledore too, I’ll lose my faith in men!”

Hermione felt like hexing the blonde. But instead she went back to Severus - and found that he was no longer alone in guarding Minerva. Harry, his Italian girlfriend, Ron, and his fiancé had been at the Potion master’s side, watching over Minerva like hawks. The men had danced with her, and the girls had kept her company. But after one hour Minerva had had enough. Rising, she smiled at Hermione and her friends. “I’m a bit tired, so I’ll call it a night and go home. Thank you for your company and have a nice evening.”

“We’ll go with you,” Severus had said.

“You don’t have to,” Minerva laid her hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “You haven’t danced enough, Hermione.”

“This won’t be our last ball,” Hermione responded. “Severus and I will come back with you.”

As they left the Ministry, Albus suddenly appeared at their side. “You’re going already?”

“Minerva feels a bit tired,” Severus explained.

“Well - then we’ll go home,” Albus had decided, not looking at Minerva who glared at him.

At the gates a carriage was waiting for them. Albus and Severus helped their ladies in and Hermione tried to loosen the rather tense atmosphere with some idle chatter, but with no success. Minerva looked out of the window, cautiously keeping her distance from Albus who sat next to her, arms crossed over his chest, a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows.

The farewell between the two couples had been very cold and brief. But as they were walking down the stairs to the dungeons, Hermione and Severus heard Albus say, “I’m already used to your odd reactions, Minerva, but sulking as an answer to a proposal is a bit too strange even for me.”

Severus and Hermione stopped and looked at each other, inhaling sharply.

Minerva’s answer came promptly and her voice sounded like shattering ice, “I’m terribly sorry, but at the moment I don’t feel able to appreciate your knight-in-shining-armour attitude, Albus. You may find it odd or strange, but I didn’t like learning that you’re not much better than Ignatius Pemperbroke.”

“What?” His voice boomed down the stairwell. “Did I understand you right just now?”

“I’m reasonably sure you did,” Minerva had answered. “But - to make it perfectly clear - you’re a chauvinistic, arrogant, unbearable Slytherin bastard, Albus.”

“Minerva, I’d like to be your husband perhaps. But I certainly don’t intend to be your doormat. Even my patience has limits, and you’re close to reaching them!” Albus had hissed.

Severus took Hermione’s hand and started to run up the stairs. “Come! We can’t leave them alone. They’re at each other’s throats!”


Now Hermione was knocking on Minerva’s door, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.

“Who is it?” sounded Minerva’s sharp voice from inside.

Hermione cleared her throat. “It’s me, Hermione Granger,” she answered.

The door opened, revealing a suspicious looking Minerva McGonagall who still wore her glorious ball dress. “Did he send you?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “He’s gone - together with Severus. They wanted a drink.”

“Isn’t it typical?” Minerva snorted and made a step aside. “Come in, Hermione.” Closing the door behind the young woman she said, “Yet a drink sounds like a good idea. Have you ever tried Scottish Whiskey? The real stuff?”

“No,” Hermione smiled. “But I’d like to.”

“Fine, then we’ll have some Balblair. But first,” Minerva tugged at the neckline of her dress, “I’ll change into something more comfortable. Sit down, Hermione - I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Of course.” Hermione didn’t immediately sit down, but looked around. The living room, with well-filled book shelves against the walls and comfortable sofas, showed remainders from the recent confrontation. On the rug in front of the fireplace lay a broken flower pot, the clay shattered into tiny pieces, and the orchid which had been within torn.

Another flowerpot had hit the wall behind the burgundy sofa, spreading its contents - soil and a glorious gold and red amaryllis - from there to the windows.

On the little table behind the sofa lay the ruins of a third flowerpot. It had held beautiful miniature red roses which had fallen on the floor and been trampled.

Hermione pulled her wand out. Directing it at the first flowerpot, she repaired it and put it back on the windowsill. The orchid in it looked still rather shaken, but it would recuperate. The Amaryllis followed, but the rose was more difficult. The pot hadn’t only been broken, but had party melted. Hermione was pretty sure this had been the work of Albus Dumbledore - and whatever the Headmaster did was done thoroughly.

Hermione looked at a bigger piece of the pot, tried to imagine its former shape and transfigured the piece back into a complete pot. But what she got looked rather odd.

“Forget about it!” Minerva was back, wearing a dark green dressing gown, her hair bound back in a braid. “I never actually liked the thing much. It was a wedding gift from my late mother-in-law. I always thought her taste in such things rather dreadful.” She raised her wand and made the rest of the pot disappear.

Hermione, who’d picked up the little rosebush, looked around for another flowerpot to put the plant in. Her eyes wandered along the shelves, over the open door to the bedroom - and her jaw dropped. Minerva’s bed was already prepared for the night and there were not only two pillows, but over the chair on the left of the bed hung a blue and gold dressing gown. The length of it left no doubt that it didn’t belong to Minerva. Although she was tall, she’d have dragged a large part of the gown over the floor. And the pair of slippers that stood neatly in front of the bed - apart from also being too big for Minerva, Hermione really couldn’t imagine always sensible Minerva wearing fluffy bunny slippers. She couldn’t even imagine herself in something like them, although Severus’ face if she ever approached his bedroom in such slippers certainly would have been an unforgettable sight.

There was only one person Hermione could see in slippers like that - and suddenly she understood. Or better said - she didn’t understand anymore.

Being furious at a proposal out of the blue - this Hermione had understood. But being angry at one’s own lover proposing? Even considering that Dumbledore had chosen a really odd moment - it couldn’t have been a total surprise to Minerva, could it?

Obviously Minerva had noticed how Hermione looked at the dressing gown and slippers. Taking the flowers out of her hand, she summoned a flowerpot from her little kitchen, put the rosebush in it, set it down on the windowsill and said, her voice calm and a bit cold, “You’re not the only Gryffindor close to a Slytherin, Hermione.” Walking over to the cabinet between the windows, and taking a bottle and two glasses out of it, she ordered, “Sit down, Hermione.”

Hermione obeyed, closing her mouth at last. Minerva came to her, pouring yellow liquid in the glasses, taking one and settling herself down. Raising her glass, she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “To our Slytherins!” Gulping the contents of her glass down, she shook herself, filled the tumbler again and looked with a lopsided smile at Hermione. “You didn’t know he’s my lover, and now you don’t understand why I’m not dancing for joy over the honour and pleasure of having him asking me for my hand?”

Hermione took a sip. She wasn’t used to strong drink, yet the smoky liquid tasted nice and warmed her. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said, smiling at Minerva. “I imagine you have your reasons for being furious.”

“Aye!” Minerva nodded. “I have indeed. And the longer I think about them the more I wonder why I didn’t hex him. How dare he treat me like that? Who the hell does the man think I am? Do I look like someone who needs a patronizing, arrogant Slytherin as her knight in shining armour? Making an honourable woman out of me! The cheek of that man!”

Hermione had inevitably ducked during Minerva’s rant. Now she said cautiously, “But the Headmaster didn’t say that. He confirmed that he sees you as a woman in your own right.”

“Oh, of course he did!” Minerva stood up and started to pace through the room. “He’s always generous when it costs him nothing but a few words! However, it’s not his words, but his actions that count. Slytherin noblesse oblige! I want neither his bloody generosity nor his damn noblesse!”

Hermione felt her jaw dropping again. Minerva McGonagall using strong language - that was a first! She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t heard it with her own ears. Closing her mouth, she tried once again, “I don’t think it was only noblesse and generosity that made the Headmaster propose.”

“Then what do you think it was?” Minerva snorted, but didn’t give Hermione a chance to answer, proceeding instead, “As romantic as the scene may have looked - it certainly wasn’t love that made him act as he did. And he certainly didn’t mean it. He only proposed because he can’t stand Pemperbroke. And you know he loves to provoke Ministry bureaucrats! What does it matter that he’s hurt me in the process? He had his fun and his petty little victory and as far as I’m concerned he counts on his famous charm. But this time he won’t talk himself out of it so easily! This time I’m really angry with him.”

Hermione sipped at the whiskey again. The warmth spreading through her gave her the courage to disagree with Minerva once more. “I think you’re wrong in one point. He meant it. He really wants to marry you.”

Minerva had reached the window and was fiddling with the ruined orchid. Slowly she said, “Hermione, you’re mature beyond your years, but seeing through Albus Dumbledore …” She sighed and removed a broken leaf from the plant. Sadly she continued, “Only a few weeks ago Albus told me - once more – that he couldn’t give me a future. I don’t doubt that he - in a rather special way - loves me. But he certainly doesn’t want to marry me.”

“But he said he wanted to!” Hermione almost cried.

Minerva turned around, looking at her. “He did? When?”

“Just now!” Hermione answered. “We met in front of your door.” She blushed a bit because she’d been eavesdropping, but Minerva didn’t seem to care. So Hermione proceeded, “He admitted that he’d made the proposal spontaneously, but then he said the more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea.”

“The better he liked the idea?” Minerva repeated, coming back to her chair. Sinking down into it, she shook her head. “I didn’t know he’d developed masochistic tendencies.”

Hermione laughed. “I really don’t think so. He obviously adores your temper.” Taking a deep breath, she added quietly, “And he loves you, Professor. You should have seen his face as he stood behind you at the Ministry.”

Minerva played with her glass. “I never thought about marrying him,” she said after a while. “Albus as a husband – it’s difficult to imagine. I know he was once married, but that was ages ago. And since then he’s…,” she fell silent.

Hermione waited a moment, but Minerva only studied the contents of her glass. “He’s always been alone?” Hermione asked.

Minerva laughed shortly. “No, certainly not. He’s a ladies’ man, Hermione. You probably saw him as a likeable grandfather, but …”

Now it was Hermione who laughed. “No, I actually didn’t see him like that - ever. As a young girl, I didn’t think much about him. He was the Headmaster, the man people called the most powerful wizard alive. I admired him, but I hardly saw him as a real person. For me he was something like a character out of a fairy tale. When I started to see him as a man I quickly realised that he is …” she searched for the words.

Minerva sighed. “… a real man,” she finished. Filling her glass once again, she let it rotate under her nose, enjoying the smell of the Scottish whiskey. “I thought I knew him,” she stated quietly. “But if someone had prophesied that he’d propose to me - and probably really mean it - I would have laughed it off.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then asked, “Will you marry the Headmaster?”

Minerva sighed and sipped at her whiskey. “I don’t know, Hermione. As I said, I’ve never thought about. And I still can’t believe he really and truly meant it. I will have to talk with him. And this time I,” she smiled almost shyly, “will probably even refrain from throwing flowerpots at him.”

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

Albus opened his eyes - and closed them again immediately because the light through the windows hadn’t only blinded him, but felt like a smack on the head. And as far as his head was concerned, it seemed not only much too big, but was obviously inhabited by a woodpecker that had already started its days work, hacking against Albus’ forehead from the inside.

Sighing he turned around - ugh, why had he gone to bed in his under robe? It was wrapped around his legs and felt rather uncomfortable - and bumped against something warm and solid. There was silken hair under his nose and he laid his arm over his bed companion, tenderly murmuring, “Darling Minerva - you’re here!”

“Albus!”

The voice certainly didn’t sound like Minerva’s. And Minerva wouldn’t have slapped his hand and turned away. Opening his eyes with effort, Albus looked into two rather infuriated black orbs. “Severus!” he moaned. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

Severus sat up and massaged his temples. He wore a rumpled white shirt and black trousers. His hair was dishevelled and his groan sounded like he had a headache – a big headache. “What do you think I’m doing here, Albus?” He looked for a moment at his friend and superior, then he closed his eyes. “You know Albus,” he said, “even in the morning; Hermione is a nicer sight than you.”

“I can assure you, Minerva looks lovelier than you too,” Albus shot back, moving to the side of the bed.

“Only the question is if you’ll be able to enjoy that sight for the next few weeks.” Severus held his head in his hands. “Considering how furious she is with you …”

“Thank you for reminding me!” Albus stood up, bracing himself on one of the bed’s posters. “Ugh - what did we drink last night?” he asked, fighting against the dizziness and his weak-feeling knees.

Severus was on his legs too, but he didn’t look much better than Albus. “The question isn’t what we drank, but how much of it. And as far as I’m concerned, I certainly had too much. Besides I’m probably going to be the next one who gets bombarded with flowerpots. How do you think Hermione will react to my spending the night with you?”

“Tell her you could have spent it with another woman. Compared to that she’ll be glad to learn that I was your bed companion,” Albus suggested, staggering over to the bathroom door.

“Considered the state your relationship is in, I don’t think I’ll follow your advice,” Severus snorted. Laying his hand against his forehead he asked, “You don’t by any chance have a hangover potion you’d like to share?”

“What do you think I’m looking for?” Albus had opened the cabinet in his bathroom and pulled out a bottle of blue liquid. Uncorking it, he sniffed, made a face, but raised it nevertheless. “Slainthe, Severus!” He gulped a generous amount of the potion down. “Brr! You really could improve the taste of this stuff!” he said, handing the bottle over to Severus.

The Potion master treated himself with a portion of the potion too, then put the stopper back in the bottle. “For your wedding - if you really manage to persuade Minerva to accept the insanity of marrying you - I’ll make you a bottle of hangover potion that tastes like sherbet lemons!” he promised.

Albus took the bottle back from Severus and put it in the cabinet again. “If I’m able to persuade Minerva, I won’t need hangover potion anymore,” he announced, undoing the buttons of his robe.

“How did you put it? You wouldn’t want to be her doormat? Yet you’d let her forbid you to drink?” Severus smirked. “How the mighty hath fallen!”

Albus let his robe slip down to the floor. “I don’t think she’ll forbid me to drink. She’s Scottish and likes a sip of whiskey herself. But I probably won’t want to drink so much when I’m married to Minerva,” he stated and stepped under the shower.

“Optimist!” Severus grumbled, pulled his wand out, and cast a cleaning charm on himself. “Albus?” he called. “I’m going down to the dungeons.”

Albus looked out of the shower stall, his wet hair clinging to his head and shoulders. “Did you say your prayers, my boy?”

Severus grinned. “No. I don’t have to. I’ll put all the blame on you.”

“Fine!” Albus laughed. “I’m already used to ducking flowerpots. Until later then! And give my regards to Hermione!”

“See you later, Albus.” Severus stalked away.

Albus turned the shower on again, generously spreading rosemary soap over his body. The headache was already gone, only the rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he’d really had too much Firewhisky last night. And there was little black spot on his left bicep - Minerva’s aim hadn’t been all bad during the battle. A piece of a flowerpot had hit him once.

Holding his face under the warm water he closed his eyes, remembering how Minerva had looked while attacking him. He still didn’t understand why she’d gotten so mad at him, but - Merlin! - she’d looked breathtaking. And although he hadn’t liked being yelled at like that, he hadn’t regretted his proposal for a single second. Quite the contrary. It had been a spontaneous idea, flashing into his mind the moment he heard Minerva tell Pemperbroke that she’d rather be Albus’ mistress than his wife, but it felt like something that had been lingering in the back of his mind for a very long time. He actually didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it earlier.

Minerva was everything he’d ever searched for in a woman, and during the last few weeks with her he felt like someone who’d - after a long and desperate journey and after losing all hope of ever arriving – finally come home. Waking up next to her in the morning filled him with so much joy it lasted throughout the day. And sleeping in with her in his arms was what he looked forward to. Now that she was with him, he no longer had nightmares. He didn’t wake up bathed in sweat, his heart beating so hard it hurt, and his mind full of horrible pictures of dying students and dead friends. Having Minerva in his arms made for deep, peaceful sleep.

And sleeping with her - it was still incredible how his body reacted to her, how new and exciting it felt to be with her. Gazing at her was enough to set him on fire - sometimes so much that he felt like a teenager again. He thought he wouldn’t have to struggle with unwanted erections anymore, but now he was almost used to them again.

Was that love? Albus still wasn’t sure about that. But for one thing he was certain - he didn’t want to lose her. He wanted to wake up next to her for the rest of his life; he wanted to come home to her for the rest of his days. She belonged to him. He had known it the moment he heard her voice in the infirmary, gently whispering his name.

But it was no longer enough that he knew. Minerva had to learn it too - and afterwards he would announce to the world that this wonderful woman is his.

Stepping out of the shower, he cast a drying charm, shaved, and marched back into his bedroom, heading for the wardrobe where he kept his robes.

It was Saturday, and that meant Minerva didn’t have to teach, but would be chaperoning the students to Hogsmeade. She was busy, and that gave him time. He would make good use of it.

But first he chose a set of robes - light blue woollen under, dark blue velvet outer robe - blue socks, black dragon leather boots and a blue hat with fur around the hem. Dressed, he went back into his bedroom and to the fireplace where Fawkes and his baby bird still slept on their perches. Albus didn’t wake them, but filled their bowls with nuts and crackers. Then he threw a handful of Floo Powder in the fireplace and called,” Professor Filius Flitwick.”

Instead of the Charms master the friendly face of his wife appeared in the flames. “Good morning, Albus,” she greeted. “Filius is in the bathroom. Can I help you?”

“Minerva is accompanying the students to Hogsmeade today and I need to go away for a few hours also,” Albus said. “Do you think Filius could take over until I’m back?”

“But certainly he can! We don’t intend to leave the castle today.”

“Wonderful!” Albus smiled. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m back. Until then, have a nice day!”

Albus closed the Floo connection. Marching down to his office, he stopped in front of the Hogwarts banner which hung on the wall behind his desk. Tipping his finger against the blue field with the raven caused the flag on the tower to change - even before he’d gone away. Albus hesitated a second, then he decided not to apparate directly to London, but to get himself a little fresh air first. Walking to the balcony he changed into his phoenix form and, hopping on the rail, he spread his wings and soared out into the clear December morning.

Hogwarts from the air was beautiful. Albus happily sailed over the grey roofs and yards. The students were just finished with breakfast and he could hear their chatter in the halls and the cloister. As he flew along the path leading to the Quidditch pitch, he saw the Slytherin team walking down, their brooms over their shoulders. Albus turned to the South, over the lake and the train station he increased speed with powerful strokes, catching a strong wind which carried him high over the mountains.

One hour later he Apparated in the little park at the end of Diagon Alley. He was starving after his morning exercise and so he made a beeline towards the little tearoom opposite Gringott’s bank. Ordering tea and breakfast he unfolded the Daily Prophet and scanned, rather bored, over the first few pages - that he didn’t have to read the newspaper thoroughly anymore he saw as one of the luxuries of peacetime - until he came to the society column. As he’d expected, the ball at the Ministry was the main subject - and directly under the picture of Minister Arthur Weasley and his family was one of Minerva and him, dancing together. Albus thought that they really made a nice couple, and the way she’d smiled at him - he hoped he would manage to make her smile like that again soon.

The article under the picture certainly wouldn’t make Minerva smile. Under the headline “Illicit love affair at Hogwarts?” the newspaper speculated not only about Albus’ proposal - “Will Minerva McGonagall, widow of the former Oxford law professor Augustus McGonagall, really become the one who caught one of the most eligible bachelors of our world?” - but what had lead to it. And there was a line Albus especially detested. “Pansy Parkinson, Hogwarts graduate from the year 1998, told our reporter, ‘Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were always very close, even when her husband was still alive. He was often away, and during those times Professor McGonagall often spent hours in the Headmaster’s private chambers. Everyone in Hogwarts knew about it.’”

Albus suppressed both a curse and the urge to Apparate directly to his former student’s place, hexing her. How dare she besmirch Minerva’s good name? Even if Minerva had spent time in his chambers - which she hadn’t - Parkinson wouldn’t have known about it. She’d lived in the dungeons, so she wouldn’t have had a chance to see what was going on in the Main tower.

Albus’ appetite was gone. He only nibbled at his toast, finally washing it down with the tea. Putting a few coins on the table, he arose and marched across the street to Gringott’s. He was immediately approached by an older goblin who bowed deeply - as Headmaster of Hogwarts and a wealthy man himself, Albus was an honoured customer - and asked how he could help.

Albus pulled a little key out of his robe and gave it to the tiny creature. “I want to get something out of vault eighty six,” he said.

A young goblin who came along just then, pulling a cart with coins behind him, looked curiously at Albus. He smiled inwardly. For a Gringott’s goblin it wasn’t only the contents of a vault that counted, but the number too. The smaller it was, the older the account. And the real old accounts - like Albus’ eighty six, set up five hundred years ago - were mostly very well filled. But in Albus’ case the vault in question didn’t hold any money. It had for years been used for storing things even more precious to the Dumbledores than money.

After a bumpy ride down to the vault, Albus entered it, took a box covered with pale, blue velvet from a shelf and opened it carefully. He was already familiar with its contents, but he nevertheless wanted a look. Although the light in the vault was rather dim, the blue stones in the box still glimmered. Albus took one piece out - a ring, formed out of interlaced bands of gold, holding a blue diamond. Stroking one finger over it, Albus smiled tenderly. His father, working as a curse breaker in his youth, had once freed an African tribe from a terrible curse which had caused all their children to suffer and finally die. The grateful tribe had given him one of their treasures - a blue diamond.

A few years later Artus Dumbledore had a Welsh wizard make a ring from the diamond and Welsh gold. And with this ring he’d proposed to the love of his life.

Albus was certain that his mother, who’d worn the ring from her engagement to her death, would have approved of her son giving the ring to Minerva McGonagall, even if it meant he would have to change the inscription on the inside.

Putting the ring back in the box next to its pendant – and the interlaced gold bands Albus’ father had worn - Albus closed the box and packed it in an inner pocket of his robe. Stepping out of the vault, he smiled at the waiting goblin, “I’m ready.”

The goblin closed the vault. Five minutes and another bumpy ride later Albus left the bank and strolled along the crowded street to the flower shop of Gardenia Neddlegrow.


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


Minerva felt rather tired. The night had been short and the day in Hogsmeade long. Besides, she couldn’t help it, she missed Albus. As angry as she’d been the evening before - she loved him and she wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore. She’d actually hoped to meet him at breakfast, but as she’d gone down to the Great Hall, she’d seen the blue flag on the Main tower. She had immediately started to worry. Where was Albus? He hadn’t mentioned a weekend appointment. Had she made him so cross that he needed distance?

Heavens, she hated being at odds with him! But she would make it up to him. Throwing flowerpots had really been a bit too much, and therefore she would apologize. She wouldn’t like it much, but there was something like “Gryffindor noblesse” - and it obliged her to …

“Oh, how cute!” cried one of the girls, following Minerva through the corridor. The other students laughed and Minerva couldn’t help smiling too when she saw a red flowerpot with a cactus in it, dancing on spindly legs down the corridor. Stopping in front of Minerva it spread its arms, waving a sign with the letter “I”.

Minerva bent down to pick the pot up, but stopped midway because a second one appeared. It was golden, held a miniature palm, and waved a sign with the letter “R”.

Two of the girls from the crowd had run down the corridor and were looking around the corner from where the flowerpots had come. “There are more!” they announced.

Indeed - three flowerpots were now marching down the hall. They not only had legs, but little arms, and were holding hands and doing a tap dance in front of Minerva. Every of them had a sign attached - “E”, “A” and “L”, respectively.

The next was already coming around the corner - tiny red roses in a golden pot, cheerfully waving a sign with another “L”. It was followed by a hyacinth in pink with a “Y”.

“I really …” read one of the students loud.

A Gryffindor Seventh year laughed. “Professor McGonagall, someone wants to tell you something!”

“And I think I know who that ‘someone’ is!” giggled another girl.

Minerva knew it too. The spells and transformations that made the flowerpots walk and dance and wave signs were rather complicated, and she knew only one person who would not only be able to do them, but would bother with it. She was sure he was around, hidden under his invisibility spell. Then came the next flowerpots - this time five in a row, dancing a can-can and waving their signs. Together they spelled, “MEANT”.

Minerva swallowed. She didn’t need to wait for the next three flowerpots just coming around the corner. She knew already - their signs said “it!”

Her knees had gone weak and she needed to take a deep breath - twice - before she was able to pull her wand and handkerchief out. Transforming the handkerchief into a basket she started to collect the flowerpots, the students helping her, laughing and smiling. A girl who’d caught the cactus put it in the basket, whispering, “That’s the most romantic thing I ever saw!”

Minerva could only nod. She had a big lump in her throat and felt like crying. Normally she didn’t like displaying private things to the students, but - they didn’t know what the flowerpots and their message meant to her.

The last pot was in her basket now. Minerva smiled at her pupils and cleared her throat. “Thank you for helping me! I wish you a nice evening!” Nodding at them she marched energetically down the corridor, around the corner to the painting of the Fat Lady which guarded the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. The painting waved at her before it opened to let the students in.

As soon as they’d disappeared, Minerva asked quietly, “Albus? I know you’re here.”

He wasn’t only there, but close to her. She could feel the warmth of his body and smell his fragrance. And then lips stroked her cheek and his voice whispered, “You’ve just gotten so many flowerpots. Can I really dare show myself?”

She arrived at her door. Murmuring the password she opened it and stepped over the threshold, putting the basket with the pots down. As the door closed, she said, “I promise I’ll never throw flowerpots at you again.”

“Really?” He dropped the invisibility charm, smiling at her. “I might get bored if you refuse to throw flowerpots.”

“Oh, Albus - I’m so sorry! I really overdid it!” Minerva said.

“I shouldn’t have overrun you like I did,” Albus responded. Walking over to where she stood in the middle of the room, he took her hand. “But I really meant it, Minerva.” Cocking his head, he smiled at her. “I know it’s customary for proposals to be done on knees. But considering how hard and cold this stone floor is - what about with you sitting down on the sofa so that I can at least kneel on the rug?” He helped her out of her cloak and hung it over a chair.

Minerva took her hat off and laid it on the cloak. Looking at Albus, she said, “You don’t have to propose again. But I’d like to know why you suddenly want to marry me. You said you couldn’t love me.”

Albus took a deep breath and walked over to the fireplace. Looking at Minerva he waited until she’d made herself comfortable in her favourite chair, then he answered seriously, “I don’t know how to label my feelings for you. Perhaps it is love - or at least what most people would deem so. Perhaps I’m too cautious in using the word because I’ve heard it misused so often. But,” he swallowed and cleared his throat, yet his voice still sounded husky as he proceeded, “what I know for certain is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re my friend, my comrade, my home, my mistress, my mother, my child, my partner, my silence of happiness, my reason for joy, my source of inspiration. I want to start the rest of my days looking at you and knowing that you belong to me; I want to wake up every morning in your arms and, when the night falls over me, I want to fall asleep close to you. In short,” now his eyes twinkled, “I want you to be my wife.”

Minerva took her square spectacles off. Looking at him she stretched her hand, the hint of a smile playing around her lips. “Come here, Albus!”

He felt his heart thumping hard in his chest as he closed the distance between them, taking her hand and looking at her. “Yes, Minerva?”

Slowly she rose up. “It was always you who made me do crazy things, Albus Dumbledore. And now I’m going to commit the ultimate insanity.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Yes, Albus. Yes, I will become your wife.” Suddenly she was smiling broadly, looking very young and cheerful. “And may the gods have mercy on my poor soul!”

“Or on mine, as the case may be!” Albus smiled back. “Minerva …”

She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and with her mouth almost on his she whispered, “Once again, you’re talking too much, Albus.”

He couldn’t resist. He felt like dancing and celebrating and teasing her and laughing and crying tears of happiness. Pulling her close, he chuckled. “I’m entirely yours. What do you want me to do?”

“Kiss me already, you crazy old crackpot!”

“Old?” He pretended to be insulted. Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom. “I’ll show you ‘old’.”

As he set her down on the bed, Minerva protested, “Albus! It’s one hour to dinner!”

With a wave of his hand he made their robes vanish. Looking down at her he grinned. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that people don’t do it in broad daylight.”

Minerva sat up and placed a kiss on his belly. “Well, if you need to hear it Albus,” she tried to sound like a stuffy, old spinster. “People don’t do it in broad daylight!” Yet while saying so she let her hands glide over his thighs and took his already half-erect member in her hand. “Hmm - doing forbidden things is growing on you, isn’t it Little Albus?”

Albus closed his eyes. Her touch made his knees go weak and he needed to take a deep breath before he was able to answer, “Little Albus says he doesn’t care about the time of the day. He wants you whenever you come close to him.”

Minerva fondled his testicles tenderly. “Little Albus really is a gentleman. He always rises when a lady approaches.”

Albus suppressed a moan and decided that it was time to become active too. As nice as her playing felt - he didn’t want to become too aroused yet. So he bent over her and whispered, “This time it’s you who’s talking too much.” Kissing her passionately he went down on his knees in front of the bed between her legs. Breaking the kiss he licked a wet trail from her neck over her collarbone to her breast. Sucking tenderly at it made her sigh as ran her fingers through his hair.

But her breasts weren’t his main target. He kissed the tip once more, but then gripped her hips and pulled her a bit further forward, so that her backside was just on the edge of the bed. Diving down between her legs he opened his mouth, laid it over her centre and, gently sucking, starting to tease her clitoris with his tongue.

He enjoyed the effort he made very much, Minerva moaned and tried to buck her hips, but he held her firmly in place, loving the fresh, salty taste of her; loving how silky her skin felt under his tongue. Yet what he dwelled upon most was her response to him. Whatever he did, it always seemed to be just what she wanted at that moment.

Although just now she seemed to wish for more than he was willing to give. She fidgeted and moaned and her grip on his hair became firmer. “Albus - Albus, please!” he heard her husky voice.

He smiled to himself. It was so much fun to tease her! And so he simply played along - a little sucking, a little licking, a flicking of his tongue over her clitoris, then a kiss to the entrance and a little shoving of his tongue in it. Minerva was wriggling and almost screaming, “Albus - Albus!”

He loved how his name sounded when she spoke it in arousal. And her hands in his hair, massaging his scalp and the taste of her and the smell and …

“Albus! Oh!” She buckled again. “Albus - if you … oh, Merlin!” He sucked at her clitoris and she responded with a long moan. “Albus - if you keep this teasing up …” there was something like laughter in her voice, “… I’ll throw every flowerpot in my possession at you!”

He laughed and let his fingernails lightly scrape over the inside of her thighs. Slowly pushing his index finger into her channel, he raised his head, “Better?”

“No!” Minerva moaned. “Not enough!”

“It seems we’re a bit needy today,” he chuckled and shoved a second finger in.

“Albus!” she screamed. “I don’t need only your fingers! I want you - all of you!”

“Pity!” He bent down and kissed her nub once again. “You’ll have to wait!” He sucked a bit more, pushing his fingers in and out.

“Albus!”

He had to use his free hand to keep her in place because she was wriggling wildly now.

“Albus - I love you!” It wasn’t more as a whisper, followed by a hoarse scream.

It was the moment he’d been waiting for. Another little suck, then he removed his fingers, raised his upper body and guided his hard erection into her.

“Minerva - oh Gods, Minerva!” He had to close his eyes and keep himself quiet for a moment in order not to be immediately and totally overwhelmed by the feeling of her around the most delicate part of his body. She was so tight and hot and wet and he could feel the after waves of the climax she’d just enjoyed. Slowly he let himself down on her, taking her in his arms and kissing her. “Minerva …”

She was looking at him, her green eyes full of love and tenderness. “Albus - my Albus.”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I’m yours - all yours, with all my faults and follies, for now and for ever.”

“Albus!” She stroked his hair out of his face with both hands. “Make love to me!”

He closed his eyes and began to move, entirely concentrated on her and her reactions. She wrapped her legs around his back and responded to every stroke by bucking her hips and moaning quietly.

He started to sweat, his arousal growing until it was almost unbearable. But he didn’t want to speed up yet. He didn’t want to lose himself in his own lust - not yet! But it was hard to fight against the need to slam into her, to take her as wild and as hard as his body demanded. He had to grit his teeth, and he needed all his self-discipline to proceed in the slow, tender rhythm he’d set up.

But then it was she who sped up, her fingers digging in his shoulders, her strong body urging him to follow her.

He couldn’t resist anymore. Raising his upper body, he gripped her hips and pounded into her, hard and quick and deep and with so much force her breasts began to sway in the rhythm of his strokes. It was an incredibly erotic sight and he knew he would never forget it. And her face! Flushed and glimmering with sweat, eyes half closed, mouth half open, black hair spread like a fan around her head.

“Albus,” she whispered.

He felt her become even tighter, her entire body trembling with the force of her climax. Now he couldn’t hold back any longer. His penis was almost painfully hard now and his testicles felt as if they would burst any moment. But then, after a small eternity, the tension released, and he felt as though he were falling into warmth and joy and the contentment of being held and beloved.


“Albus - come up!” Minerva tugged at his shoulders.

Albus actually found that her breast was a nice pillow for his head, but his knees were aching a bit. With effort he lifted himself up and sank down next to her, pulling her into his arms. “Darling Minerva,” he whispered.

She snuggled against him, combing his hair with spread fingers. “My heart, my Albus.” Propping herself on her elbow, she smiled down at him. “I wonder what our students think of your dancing flowerpots.” She giggled. “Only you could make such a proposal!”

“Oh!” Albus sat up, slapping his palm against his forehead. “I’m not entirely finished with my proposal. There’s something more!”

Minerva laughed. “As far as I recall I’ve already said ‘yes’.”

“Yes, you did. Nevertheless there’s something amiss. You won’t believe it, but I actually know how to propose properly, and what is needed to do so.” Waving his hand, he commanded, “Accio robe!” His robe sailed over to the bed. Albus caught it, rummaged through the pockets and produced the blue box. “Close your eyes!” he ordered.

Minerva obeyed with a smile. “And now?” she asked curiously.

Albus opened the box and took out the ring with the blue diamond. Then he slipped it over Minerva’s left ring finger, pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “You keep your eyes closed,” he said as he stroked her hair back and, taking a matching golden pendant with blue stones out of the box, laid it around her neck. “Ready!” he announced.

Minerva lifted her hand and looked at the ring. “Oh Merlin - Albus! That’s …” she gasped. “Isn’t that the …?” She didn’t finish the line, but swallowed again. “You’re crazy - utterly and completely crazy!”

“Don’t you like it?” he asked amused.

“Of course I like it! What woman wouldn’t?” Minerva still stared wide-eyed at the ring. “But that’s the famous Dumbledore diamond! My mother told me once it wasn’t the biggest, but the most perfect blue diamond ever found.”

“Yes,” Albus nodded. “So I was told too.”

“It belonged to your mother, didn’t it?” Minerva had raised her hand and was now stroking the pendant. “The Dumbledore necklace too - and all for me?”

He waved his wand again. “Accio mirror!” Catching the hand mirror which had flown over from her dressing table, he gave it to her. “You’ve said ‘yes’, Minerva. That means you’re to become Madam Dumbledore. And who else should wear this jewellery?”

Minerva looked at herself in the mirror. “You’re out of your mind, Albus!” Bending to him she kissed him. “Beloved old crackpot! Thank you.”

“My pleasure! Oh and by the way, there’s an inscription on the ring,” he said as he took the other bands out of the box. Holding them in his hand, he waited until she slipped her ring off.

“Yours forever - Albus,” she read.

He blushed. “I thought about it for two hours, but couldn’t come up with something more original.”

Minerva wiped a tear from her cheek. “I love it,” she whispered.

“Well, then,” he looked almost shy, “you’ll probably approve of the inscription I made in my ring.” He put the golden bands in her hand.

Taking it, she held it up and read, “Omnis Minerva homo.” Quietly she translated, “Entirely belonging to Minerva.”

He smiled at her. “You know, I really mean it.”


To be continued …





(1) Wisdom is happiness