A Winter Tale

A Winter Tale


By: Max

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

[Disclaimer see chapter 1]

Chapter 15: Taking flight


Still panting as if she’d done a marathon, Hermione heard how Albus finished the levitation charm, letting her gently down on the mattress where she fidgeted in joy.

“I’m so glad!” she cried in excitement and stretched her arms - only becoming worried: This time she hadn’t got any feathers! “Albus - why haven’t I got feathers?” she asked fearfully. “Did I fall back in development?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He rose from the chair and came to the mattress, seating himself down next to her. Offering her an arm to lie in, he explained: “Most animagni learns about their form growing in. Yet - as you’ve learned last time - this can be a bit hurtful because the mind can’t support the body by it. But as soon as the mind knows, the actual change becomes much easier. Then it is mostly a question of training and concentration.”

“Does this mean, I’m now to change completely soon?” Hermione asked and cuddled closer to him.

“Yes, I think so. You’re ready for it - and quicker than any other student I’ve ever taught. Minerva probably will become envious - she needed six lessons until she developed her nice tabby fur.” Albus looked down on Hermione and kissed her forehead. “A swan - pity, isn’t it? I was so looking forward to getting a duck soon. I’ve already ordered oranges ...”

“Albus!” Hermione used her elbow for a kick in his ribs. “Aren’t you ashamed of teasing a poor almost duck?”

“No for I am a Slytherin. We’re never ashamed.” He pulled her closer, laying his robe - blue on this afternoon - around her. “By the way: Your idea to look on your image in the water was brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled up to him. “I’m only a bit confused. Did you see the image too? I was grey - and I’ve never seen a grey swan before.”

“Then you’ve never seen a swan chicken, darling Hermione,” Albus said. “You’re very young and so is your animagnus form.”

Hermione chewed on her under lip. “But ...,” she said thoughtfully, “... I’d love to know what kind of a swan I am. Being a grey chicken could mean I’m to become a swan of the white or the black variety - or couldn’t it?”

“No,” Albus said cheerfully. “I don’t like black and you’re not supposed to become the wicked wizard’s daughter.”

“Hmm?” Hermione made irritated.

“Swans’ sea - a ballet by Piotr Illjitsch Tchaikovsky. I’ll try to get us tickets soon. Then you’ll learn the tale of the white and the black swan,” Albus explained.

“You really wouldn’t like if I were a black swan?” Hermione was a bit disappointed. She actually had liked the thought.

“I would like you even if you were to become a chicken. So I wouldn’t mind if you were a black swan, only I know: The chances of you to become one are pretty small. Or do you have a few Aborigines in your pedigree?” Albus looked amused.

“Australian natives? I know they’ve got strong magic, but no - I don’t think I’m related to them,” Hermione said. “How would this be connected to me being a black swan?”

Albus obviously became a bit cramped by seating on the mattress. So he put his boots off, swung his long legs up and stretched next to Hermione. “A wizard’s animagnus form,” he explained then, “is always connected to his descent. That means that somebody whose ancestors were mostly North Europeans won’t become something exotic like a lion or a baboon. And Miss Chang - being from Asian descent - surely won’t become a cow of the Friesian variety. She’d perhaps become one of an Asian variety, but never a Friesian. In my case with ancestors from Iceland this rule meant the gyrfalcon. For Minerva who’s born as a Stuart and part of an ancient Scottish family it meant a tabby cat - an animal at home in Scotland too. And in your case it’s the white swan - Cygnus olor, for being precise. It’s the only variety native in North Europe.”

“Cygnus olor,” Hermione repeated. “I didn’t know you’re so good in biology too ...”

“In fact: I’m not. I looked that up only yesterday,” Albus gave back and crossed his legs comfortably. “And so I can tell you even more about Cygnus olor - really fascinating birds indeed. They can’t dive - other than ducks. They can’t sing - contraire to popular belief. They’ve only got some hiss and squeak sounds. But they’re very strong flyers and even stronger fighters. They use their wings for fighting and it’s known that they’re able to break a man’s bone with it. Besides they’re very faithful and loyal to their partners. So I think being a swan suits you handsomely.”

“Albus ...” Hermione laid on her belly with her head braced in her hand and looked down on him. “Why did you look up swans? Did you know I was to become one?” Her voice was soft, but her eyes glittered.

“I didn’t know. But ...,” he grinned, “I reckoned.”

“You reckoned? And you let me believe I was to become a duck?” She spoke slowly. “You even told Severus so ...”

Albus tried to look innocent. “I thought the boy could do with a good laugh ...”

“Oh, Albus Dumbledore!” Hermione was over him again. “You don’t know how much I look forward to my transfiguration! I’ll show you then that a swan can indeed break a man’s bones!”

“Huh!” In a whirl of fabric Albus rolled away from her, down from the mattress on the floor. Only his wizard’s hat lay next to Hermione. “I see: You not being a duck makes for me doing the diving duck now.”

“Coward!” Hermione laughed and took his hat, putting it on her head. It was much too big for her and almost fell over her eyes. “Don’t you want your hat? Your cunning Slytherin brain will cool off without it.”

“Thanks for your concern, sweetest wife, but my rather brilliant Slytherin brain is warmed nicely by my glorious hair,” he gave back, sounding a bit muffled by it.

Hermione couldn’t from her position see more from him than a blue clothed shoulder, so she asked: “What are youdoing down there?”

“My marital duty!” Albus chuckled. “I kiss the floor my wife’s lily white feet were walking on.”

“Oh sweet Merlin!” Hermione laughed. “I’ve always knew Slytherins are kinky, but I didn’t know it’s so bad!”

“That’s what makes us so irresistible and dead sexy,” Albus gave back.

Hermione suddenly noticed that his voice sounded less hoarse - and even before her mind got the meaning of it, she felt a fluttering in her stomach and her heart jumped in joy. Nevertheless - she didn’t think he should get away easily. Crawling quietly to the other side of the mattress, she rose up and said: “Dead sexy? You’d need your hat for that, but unfortunately I have it - and I won’t give it back to you.”

He jumped on his feet - and Hermione’s heart made a jump again. She’d been right - he’d taken the potion while hiding from her. And now he was back in his young glory and with his auburn hair falling in his forehead and beaming azure blue eyes looking even more handsome than she’d remembered him. “As an obedient wife you will give me back my hat,” he said and jumped over the mattress.

Hermione was quicker. Casually walking back two steps, she pushed the hat aside a bit and grinned at him. “Your hat suits me better than you. Don’t you think I look great with it? I think I’ll keep it.”

“You think!” He was on his knees, stretching his long arms to get her.

Once again Hermione backed away. She sticked her tongue out at him: “Bah! You’re a bit too slow, Albus.”

“My dear lady, you’re living dangerously!” He grinned - and with a predatory jump he almost got her.

This time Hermione had to run to get away, but she managed and laughed. “Chasing a naked student through a classroom - my, my, Headmaster, you are a kinky Slytherin!”

“You’ll learn soon how kinky!” Albus looked at her as if he was thinking over his next move.

“Catch me if you can!” Hermione waved his hat and seeing that he was to jump again, started to run - for suddenly hearing a soft “immobilize!” The spell got her immediately - soft, but firm it kept her in just the position she had been in.

“Albus - you killjoy!” she protested. “Using magic is unfair!”

“I’m a Slytherin - what did you expect?” She heard him chuckling behind her back. “Mobilicorpus!” was his next command.

Hermione felt herself hovering in midair and drifting to the mattress. As she was over the middle of it, he said almost lazily: “Finite incantatum.” Hermione tumbled on the mattress and before she managed to move, he was already over her, taking his hat from her head and putting it back to his. “So much for that,” he said grinning and bent down to place a kiss on her already erect nipple. “And now to the lesson ‘why one shouldn’t waste energy in running away from a wizard.” With that, he placed his mouth on hers and kissed her - passionately and demanding, taking her breath away and making her once again feel as if she were to become a puddle in his arms. Raising his head then and grinning, while he massaged her breast, he asked in a tone like the one Severus would use with an especially thick student: “And now tell me: Why don’t we waste energy?”

Hermione had to moan first. His hand on her breast worked wonders, sending shivers down her spine and setting her body on fire. Panting, she said: “Because I’ll need all my energy for shagging with my teacher?”

“Five points to Gryffindor.” He bent his head to her breast again, nibbling and sucking.

For a little moment Hermione was distracted. She knew, that the hour glasses in the entrance hall which showed the points for the four houses were so enchanted that they reacted every time a teacher told a student “...points to...” or “... points from ...” a certain house. Now Albus wasn’t a regular teacher anymore, but in her seven years at Hogwarts Hermione had seen more then once that he deputized for other teachers - mostly Minerva or Severus - and she remembered even a potion lesson from him where she’d got 10 points for Gryffindor. And she remembered that he’d more then once awarded points as headmaster. So she couldn’t help wondering if the Gryffindor glass in the hall had just been given five points to Gryffindor - and the idea of Harry, the only Gryffindor except her in the school at the moment, asking how she got the five points, made her giggle - but only for a second, because then Albus’ lips were on her nipple and what they did to her became much more important than house points and Harry and everything outside this classroom.

This mouth made her needy and greedy and she felt how wet she already was and as wonderful as it was to feel him sucking on her nipple, she wanted at least his fingers more in the south. So she arched her back to get his attention to the dripping heath building between her legs. He didn’t react to it. He still used his left hand for bracing himself over her while his right roamed over her ribs, tickling and stroking.

Hermione decided to change her tactic. Albus was still fully dressed - actually, she thought, he was more then fully, but simply over dressed with a floating velvet robe over a long, heavy silken shirt with high collar. So she started to push the robe over his shoulders and he let her, he even helped with shoving it away completely. The robe fell half over Hermione, the dark blue of the velvet a stark contrast against her creamy skin, the fabric still warm from his body, sending shivers all over her. It felt as if he’d touch her. But the robe wasn’t enough. She wanted him to cover and to touch her and she wanted to feel his skin and to stroke the solid proof of his desire. So she let her hand glide down over his chest to the leather belt which sat quite loosely - with the change he’d once again lost his round belly - on his hips. She could already sense the heath of his erection under the fabric and she longed to touch it, but once again he caught her hand.

“No,” he said cheerfully, smiling cheeky at her. “You’ve just reminded me of an old fantasy of mine.” He turned around and waved his wand. The mattress glided next to the wall, his chair disappeared and with a “clunk” the classroom’s usual furniture - chalkboard, bookshelf, teacher’s desk, a wooden chair behind, student’s desks and wooden benches - was back again.

Hermione swallowed. Of course - the idea of sharing - or even acting out - one of his sexual fantasies actually was arousing. Yet to think of him harbouring dreams about having sex with a student in a classroom she found disturbing. It reminded her suddenly of Snape in “The Saucy Sorcerer’s Club” and she found herself thinking, that Albus had perhaps been a guest there too - and probably he was more Slytherin than she’d like to think of? She wasn’t sure she would like that and started to consider how she could tell him without insulting as he kissed her breast again and chuckled.

“I’m going to prove myself as a debauched Slytherin, I think, but it was in this very classroom - in former times the arithmancy classroom - where I got my first real erection. And if I remember right - it was in the winter of my third year, so we’re around for the 150. Jubilee by now. What do you think? Does this make for a celebration?”

Hermione was so relieved she almost cried. But being curious too, she decided rather to ask him: “Do you remember what caused this erection?”

“But of course I do - it’s a pretty vivid memory. It was assistant instructor O’Donnell. She was a very pretty young lady and I’ve had alrefor for a long time had a crush on her. On this certain afternoon she taught us some basics I knew already. So I became bored and watched her.” He pointed to the teacher’s desk with a smile. “She sat on the desk. At this time women wore mostly heavy, long robes - one got hardly to see more than a glimpse of their ankles. Yet Miss O’Donnell’s robe had a slit and from my position I could see a bit of her leg and even her knee whenever she moved. And I started to dream about being alone with her and kneeling down in front of the desk, pushing her robe away and pleasing her with my mouth ...”

While he’d spoken, Hermione had risen, taken his robe, slipped in and marched to the desk. Seating herself on its edge, she looked provoking at him, moving one leg out of the robe. “Let’s celebrate then,” she purred.

He was quick as a flash - up from the mattress, he came over to the desk and kneeled down in front of her, taking her naked feet in his hand and kissing her toes. And then his lips glided over her shine bone to her knee while his hands parted her legs, exposing her dripping centre to him.

Hermione lay back on the desk, braced on her elbows, looking down to the head between her thighs. In the soft light of the candles his hair shimmered like gold, red and rich in colour. And for a moment she meant to see the boy he was been once, but then his beard tickled on her skin and she wasn’t interested in the boy anymore, but in Albus, her strong, beautiful, gentle, passionate lover. She knew he looked at her now and she couldn’t resist asking: “Like what you see?”

“It’s like an exotic flower ...,” his voice was thick with lust as he bent over her. She felt his breath on her and it made her trembling in anticipation. “I know it tastes delicious ...”

And then his mouth was on her it was even better than she remembered. He teased and sucked and kissed and let his tongue stroke her and just in the moment as she thought she couldn’t bear the emptiness in her any longer, a tender finger entered her, finding again just this spot, this very special spot which made the pleasure explode in thousands of tiny, red and golden sparks and she heard herselreamream: “Oh heavens - Albus! Albus, I’m coming!”

She fell back, her head hit the desk, but she didn’t feel it. She only felt waves of lust and pleasure run through herself and then suddenly everything became black and she struggled for breath, she heard fabric becoming torn apart and then he was up, the silken robe open now, his chest exposed and shining with sweat and he gripped her hips and entered her with one forceful stroke and she couldn’t breath again, but had to scream because a new wave of pleasure hit her. “Albus, Albus - yes, yes! Fuck me!”

“Hermione ...” He didn’t scream. His voice was almost inaudible, a soft murmur only, but she thought she’d feel it in her mind too. “You’re so incredible, so absolutely perfect, so beautiful, so lovely ...,” he’d accompanied every word of praise with a little movement of his hips and now his rhythm became quicker and the words tumbled, quicker and quicker, “... so enchanting, so arousing and ...,” a forceful stroke, “... you’re mine!”
“Yes! I’m yours - entirely yours, Albus!” Hermione slung her legs around him getting closer and gripped his arms. She felt his muscles under the smooth, sweaty skin and for a moment wished this moment would last forever, but then her next climax hit her and with it all thinking ended once again.

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


“The red hat with the fur would do nicely!” the mirror said and as always, when giving advice, sounded quite smug. Albus, standing in front of the mirror, keeping his long beard away with the left hand and closing the button on his collar with the right, gave the mirror a short look. “I won’t wear a hat this evening,” he told. “We’re not in for formality, but with friends.” Now the button was closed and the beard back in place, so Albus could once again look at the glass. Half one hour ago as he’d entered the bathroom for a shower, he’d seen his younger face there, but now the wrinkles and the silver hair was back - only that he couldn’t see it clearly because his sight was blurry. Opening the door to the bedroom he waved his wand: “Accio spectacles!” The half-moon spectacles came through the room; he caught them with one hand and put them on his nose. “That’s better,” he said and smiled and Hermione, who’d just come out of her bathroom, wearing black trousers and a black sweater.

“You don’t mind if I wear muggle clothing tonight?” she asked.

“No, it’s fine with me. Only ...,” he mustered a bit sceptical, “... you look like Severus in civvies. I mean ...,” there was his cheeky grin again; “... you don’t have a reason to mourn for your love life just in the moment, do you?”

Hermione shook her head and took the red shawl which she had laid before on the bed. Decorating it over her shoulder, she smiled to her husband. “Better?”

“Yes, much better.” Pulling out his wizard’s watch with the twelve fingers, he took a look at it, and then sighed. “We should be going, Darling.” But he didn’t march to the door, instead he opened his arms: “Come here, Hermione, will you?”

Hermione was with two steps in his arms, hugging him. “Huuh,” she said by it. “You’re once again all robes!”

“And hair, I know ...”

Hermione stretched and laid her hands on his shoulders. Placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, she said: “I like your hair and ...,” she kissed his mouth, “... your beard. It tickles nicely.”

“That’s good to know. I wouldn’t like to shave.” Albus pulled her closer and for a moment both became still. Then he sighed again. “You know, I’d rather spend this evening in your company here?”

“Yes, I do - and I’d love to be with you too, but we can’t leave Harry alone. I don’t think he’d enjoy Christmas’ eve with Cho Chang. He looks forward to Christmas at the Burrows ...” Hermione raised her head and looked in his eyes. “Albus - I worry a bit. Do you really think it’s secure? I mean, you’re a target for death eaters, Harry and Severus are too. Won’t we endanger the Weasleys?”

“I don’t think so. In the moment the death eaters won’t strike without an explicit order from Riddle - and he was quiet for weeks now.” Albus kissed her forehead and looked once again at his watch. “We really must go. Severus and Harry will probably already be waiting. I asked them to meet us in the entrance hall.”

“Then we should hurry - I don’t think letting the both wait together would get them in the right mood for Christmas,” Hermione looked to the pile of packed Christmas gifts on the table in front of the fire place. “We’ll need a bag ...,” she said.

Albus laughed. “You’re a lucky one. You’re married to a wizard ...” Waving his finger, he shrunk the package until the entire pile was the size of a matchbox. He picked it up, put it in his pocket and took her hand in his. “So - now we really should hurry ...”

By walking down the stairs and into the gallery, Hermione came back to the subject of security. She really hated the idea of endangering the Weasleys and she still couldn’t get the picture of the injured falcon out of her mind. So she said: “Albus, I really don’t want to bother you and you know, I trust you and your judgment, but - what makes you so sure about the death eaters not attacking us today? I mean, if I were Voldemort, I’d make my men watch the Burrow, knowing that Harry is close to the Weasleys. But now it’s not only Harry, who will appear there, but Severus and you too. I’d strike ...”

“I wouldn’t,” Albus said calm. “At least not unprepared. Harry, Arthur, Molly, Severus, you, I and even little Virginia Weasley are forces to reckon with. Riddle knows we’d sell our lives very expansive - and he’s able to count. So he knows too, that we’d probably made it long enough even against all his death eaters to get the aurors down at the Burrows. For getting us Riddle would need a plan - and I may even say a pretty good one.”

“But how do you know, he doesn’t have one?” Hermione asked. “You don’t have a spy in his camp anymore.”

“I think I’m to get one again pretty soon. Until then I have a few other sources and the advantage - provided by no other then Mister Riddle himself - always to know when I have to use them.” He laughed and squeezed her hand. “Coming to that: I’m very glad you’re not the enemy. You are cleverer then him.”

“Am I? How so?” Hermione demanded to know.

“You remember the fake galleons you made for informing the members of the defence group about meetings?” Albus asked. “You told me, you became inspired to invent them by the dark mark Voldemort calls his followers with. Only you improved it. You were able to make your coins work selective, so you could call the members of the group individually. Riddle didn’t think of that. He’s only able to use the dark marks for calling all his death eaters at once. And this means ...,” he looked to her with one raised eyebrow.

“That he can’t call his death eaters without calling Severus too,” Hermione cried. “So the two of you always know when Voldemort and his men are active even if Severus doesn’t follow the call. But ...,” she chewed on her under lip. “Doesn’t the mark hurt? I’ve heard that the call would hurt like hell and the pain would only stop when the bearer of the mark does as he’s ordered. How can Severus stand that?”

“Luckily he doesn’t have to,” Albus answered with a grim smile. “Riddle always falls over his hubris - and so he did in this case too. As Severus came back to him three years ago he managed to convince Voldemort he’d be of more use when working as Voldemort’s spy in Hogwarts. As such he’d have to avoid making me suspicious which meant: He couldn’t have the mark hurting by a call too much - first because he could have been in a situation where he could hardly follow it, like seating in a meeting with me. And second: Even one grip at his fore arm - and who could avoid it when hit by a sudden pain? - could have made me suspicious. Voldemort knew that I knew about the mark and how it works. So it was - seen from Voldemort’s perspective - even risky enough Severus wearing it. So he promised Severus he would deactivate the burning of his mark whenever he thought Severus couldn’t follow it.”

“But by now he wouldn’t do that anymore, would he?” Hermione didn’t like the thought of the potion master suffering.

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Albus answered. “But he did once - and this was enough. Severus and I were prepared. We tracked down the spell and found its origin. It needed a bit work, but in the end we were able to reproduce it and with that the problem was solved. Whenever Severus feels his mark burning now, he comes to me and I cast the spell ...”

“But when you’re not available?” Hermione asked. “You know, in former times I sometimes thought, you were never there when really needed. No offence meant, Albus - it certainly wasn’t your fault. You’re a busy man; you can’t sit in your chair at Hogwarts all day and night ...”

“I sometimes would rather like,” Albus sighed, “especially when it comes to Severus and the dark mark. But sometimes I’m away and then he must bear the pain until he finds me. And in this unfortunately shows exceptional pigheadedness. He sometimes waits pretty long because he thinks he shouldn’t bother me. It has become one of our favourite reasons for rowing by now ...” They had arrived at the entrance hall now where Harry and Severus waited already, both standing in front of the glasses with the house points. Hermione’s gaze went automatically to the Gryffindor glass - and she blushed. She was absolutely sure: As she’d last looked at it in the morning, it had shown 645 points for Gryffindor. Now it was 650! Hermione was pretty sure: Harry hadn’t earned five points this day - how could he? She knew he’d spent the biggest part of the afternoon on the Quidditch pitch where he’d given the little Hufflepuff a flying lesson. So there were only one explanation for the five points and this made Hermione blush even deeper and tug on Albus’ sleeve. “Albus - you really can’t do that,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” He looked at her over the rim of his spectacles.

“The points!” Hermione hissed.

It was too late. Severus had heard their steps and turned around, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes cold and expression unreadable. “Headmaster,” he started and Hermione cringed. Severus using the formal address was always a very bad sign. It mostly meant that he was far away from any agreement with his friend and superior. And now he was off for making this entirely clear, his voice once again sounding like silk over steel. “I don’t want to be impudent, but I wondered how Gryffindor with only two students in residence managed to earn five points - especially with one of the students being in the air half of the day.”

“It must have been the other student earning points then, Professor Snape,” Albus gave back, his voice a bit chilly too.

“Oh?” The potion master’s eyebrow almost reached his hair line. “I see. I shouldn’t have asked, sir.”

“Indeed,” Albus said. “You shouldn’t have asked, Professor.”

Hermione swallowed. Her sense of fairness revolted in her and a tiny voice in the back of her head - and heavens, why did it sound like Harry in a bad mood? - sneered: “Embarrassed from this husband of yours? You know, that comes from falling in love with a Slytherin.”

But then she heard Albus’ voice again, calm and kinder now: “Perhaps I’m wrong, Severus, but I think Hermione as a student of this school should be treated as every other student. That means to me that she’ll earn points for her house when she deserves it and that she’ll lose points when she deserves it. And ...,” now he had his “don’t forget who I am”-tone switched on, “... I believe I am - even under given circumstances - able to judge her performances - at least when I’m her teacher. So I awarded her five points today for outstanding development in her transfiguration training.”

Hermione bitted her under lip. She felt as if she’d just got a little dressing down too - and actually: She hadn’t deserved it less than Severus whose cheek showed now a slight pink. Harry in the meantime showed no sign of pink, but Gryffindor purple and not only in his cheeks, but from the hairline to the collar - and Hermione was sure: The tomato red reached even deeper. Probably he’d blushed with his toes also.

Once again it was Albus who broke the silence. “I’ve charmed a port key for going to the Burrows.” He pulled an old ruler out of one of his inner pockets. “Are you ready?”

Hermione, Harry and Severus gathered round, each of them laying their hands on the port key-ruler. Hermione got Severus’ long hand directly next to hers, so close, that she could feel that his fingers slightly trembled. She looked up to him and saw an odd expression flick over his pale face. It looked like a tiny smile in a pole of sadness.

Albus commanded: “On the count of three - one-two-portus!” and Hermione felt the familiar tugging at her navel and the rush of sickness which was so typical for travelling with a port key - and the reason she didn’t like it. Her eyes lost focus in a whirl of colours; her body was pulled into it. As her feet found firm ground again, she felt so dizzy she fell and bumped against something solid, warm and dark. Feeling a strong hand support her, she got a scent in her nose, a very pleasant, manly blend from herbs and cedar and the lavender soap the Hogwarts house elves used for the laundry. She saw once again Severus Snape’s dark eyes, but now as cold and distant as usual.

“Sorry, Professor Snape,” Hermione stammered. Being so close to him she didn’t want to use his given name - she felt already like invading his personal space and so she braced herself quickly. “I really hate travelling with port keys.”

“That makes two of us,” Severus said.

“And that means, that we actually should train Hermione as soon as possible in apparition,” Albus added.

“I’d like that.” Hermione looked around, still a bit dizzy. They stood only a few steps away from the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family, a rather old house with so many extensions it looked as if it were only kept from falling apart by magic - and this was, as Hermione knew, in fact the case. But nevertheless the Burrow had charm - the charm of a home beloved and made alive by a big family.

And now the door opened and Ginny Weasley stormed out in the yard, waving cheerfully and beaming: “Welcome!” She run to Harry and Hermione thought she’d jump at him, but obviously the presence of not only the Headmaster, but Severus too made her a bit shy. So it was Hermione who got the hug while Harry only was provided with a very happy smile by Ginny.

Yet Harry didn’t have long to wait for an embrace. Molly Weasley followed her youngest child and far from being shy, cried cheerfully: “Happy Christmas! I’m so happy you could make it” and hugged not only Harry, but then with her right arm Hermione and with her left Albus. Still not ready with showing her affection, she grabbed without further ado the potion master and pulled him close, saying crisply: “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t need a hug now and then, Severus!”

Severus looked as if he’d like to give a rather acid answer, but behind Molly appeared now her husband - and although Arthur Weasley was one of the kindest men Hermione had ever met, even Severus seemed to know, that the best and quickest way to make Arthur show himself as the powerful wizard he actually was would be to say anything against his wife.

In former times Hermione had found Arthur’s protectiveness against Molly sometimes a bit irritating. She had always wondered if Arthur really thought his wife - a member of the order and a highly respected auror before she became Mistress Weasley and mother of six - wouldn’t be able to defend herself. Hermione had always been sure, that she’d rather fight against half a dozen death eaters than against one furious Molly and so Arthur’s standing in her back had looked too patronizing and to belittle his wife with.

But by now she understood. She remembered how she’d felt in the night of the attack as she’d learned that Albus was in danger and she remembered how she’d felt on the Yule ball as she’d seen him with Fudge. Never for a moment had the thought that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself crossed her mind, but this hadn’t prevented her from feeling an urgent need to protect him. He was hers and she loved him and that meant that she would never stand by if some one tried to hurt him.


And evening with the Weasleys - of this Hermione had been sure before - could in any case become counted under the “pleasant events”, but this occasion was even more. It was exceptionally nice. The dinner Molly had served had been delicious and though cooking wasn’t a virtue Hermione was keen on even learning to do it herself, she had always appreciated Molly Weasley’s skills and the effect they made on other people - like Albus for example. As he’d taken his third helping of Molly’s excellent dessert - a Bavarian crème and fruits in Brandy - Hermione hadn’t longer managed to resist the urge to tease him saying: “If I wouldn’t know better, I’d reckon you wouldn’t have got dessert for four weeks ...”

Yet she’d learned once again that in a battle of wits he always was an opponent not easy to get. With a look so harmless and innocent Malfoy jr. would have taken it as the prove for “the old dodderer don’t having his marbles anymore” Albus had given back: “Perhaps I hadn’t have enough cherries on top of my rice-pudding?”

Funny was that this hadn’t made only Hermione blush, but Harry too. He had seemed different all evening against Hermione and even more against the headmaster, but Hermione was use to his sudden mood swings, therefore she hadn’t thought too much about it. Besides she’d been too much amazed about Severus. Being use to him always picking his food and with Albus always glucking over him and making him eat more, she almost couldn’t believe what a healthy appetite he’d developed for Molly’s cooking. And even more - the potion master who was famous for his lack of social skills and his dislike of small talk had shown not only qualities in entertainment, but - in paying Molly detailed compliments and talking expertly about cooking - even some charms. And nobody except Hermione seemed to wonder about - though Harry’s ignorance came probably from being so busy with drooling in Ginny’s cleavage he even wouldn’t have noticed Severus doing the dance of the nine foils on the table. But Albus and Arthur behaved as if Severus showing charms would be as normal as Albus liking sweets.

Now, almost one hour after Hermione and Ginny had helped Molly to clear the table, Hermione sat in one of the worn, but cosy chairs in front of the Weasley’s fireplace, content, still busy with digesting - she’d definitely eaten too much - and quietly amused by the conversations around her. Next to her Harry, just back from a “digestion stroll” - Hermione thought the proper naming for it actually would have been “digestion snog” - in the garden with Ginny, had once again fallen victim to Arthur’s famous curiosity about all things muggle. With Ginny seating on the wings of his chair, her arm around his shoulder, Harry just explained to Arthur what a movie was, how it was done and why one couldn’t watch it only in cinema, but at home too.

Opposite Hermione on the big sofa sat Albus and Severus - the first as often bent forward, all attention directed at Molly who knitted one of her jumpers in the chair next to him. Severus kept distance. He had leaned back, his long legs were crossed at the ankles and his hands folded over his belly, his eyes were half-closed and for somebody not knowing him he’d looked bored and disinterested. Yet Hermione had learned to read his body language and she was sure: His leaning back didn’t come from needing distance, but from feeling too full too. And he was in no way bored, but - as he proved with adding malicious comments whenever Albus and Molly looked at him - an active part in the conversation which only could be described as gossiping. Albus had just started it with telling them about the dinner party at the Fudges, doing now a pretty perfect imitation of Madame Fudge’s saccharine tone, Severus provided his usual sneer and a “Of course, she knows everything about happy marriages with her husband always hanging around Rosmerta like a non-functioning light house!” and Molly, actually herself not what one would call a strong candidate for “Witch weekly’s style award” , commented - not too nice, of course - Madame Fudge’s funny taste in robes. “Can one of you explain to me why she loves wearing yellow so much? She always looks like a sick canary. If I’d had her money I’d get myself something nicer.”

Hermione smiled in hearing that. She thought of the packages Albus had already giving Molly in which lay now in her kitchen closet to be opened the next morning. One of them contained Molly’s gift - a luxurious, cream white pashmina shawl, Albus and Hermione had bought in Rome. Hermione, who’d gotten a blue one from Albus, was sure Molly would love it - and she only regretted she couldn’t give Molly more. But at least Hermione had bought something special for Ginny - a silken, flimsy negligee, almost translucent and in no way useful to wear at Hogwarts or in the Burrows. Hermione had found it in Rome while Albus and she were actually searching for a robe for Ginny and Albus had grinned as Hermione had paid for it from her own money, telling him that Harry would probably get the jitters if he were to hear that Albus knew about this garment. By now the shrunken box with the negligee was in Hermione’s pocket and, thinking of it, she tugged at Ginny’s sleeve.

“Ginny?” she whispered.

“Yes, Hermione?” Ginny turned her head and gave her friend one of her sweetest smiles.

“Don’t you want to give me the hair taming potion we’ve talked about?” Hermione asked harmlessly, hoping that Ginny would get the message.

In contrast to her brother Ron who wouldn’t have even seen a hint when it came as a hippogriff trampling all over him, Ginny was a clever girl. Jumping on her feet and gripping Hermione’s hand, she beamed: “Oh yes - how could I forget? Let’s go upstairs for a moment, shall we?” And well-mannered as she was, she smiled in the round: “You will excuse Hermione and me for a few minutes?”

Together the two girls run up the stair to Ginny’s small room under the roof of the Burrows where they sat down on the bed. Hermione pulled the gift out of her pocket, grew it back to its regular size and gave it to Ginny. “You know,” she said, “we were in Rome. I’ve bought you something there and I thought you’d probably like unpacking it without your parents watching.”

“Uiii!” Ginny fidgeted impatience. “May I open it?”

“Of course,” Hermione wanted to see Ginny’s face when getting the nightie.

Practical girl Ginny was she charmed the wrapping paper to open, let it - folded neatly - fly to her little desk and looked then to the elegant, dark blue box with the inscription “Bella Bellissima, Roma”. Cautiously she opened it and became big eyes as she saw the content. “Wow, Hermione!” She took the negligee with only using two fingers out, held it in front of her body and walked over to the little mirror on the back of her door. Balancing on tiptoes she tried to see her entire frame.

The mirror obviously liked what it saw. It whistled and said: “I think this will make a certain young man pretty excited.”

Ginny turned around, stepped over to Hermione and hugged her. “Thank you, Hermione! You’re such a darling. It’s beautiful and I love it.” Suddenly grinning she added: “Last year I got a book about transfiguration from you. I think being married suits you, Hermione. Though ...,” she fell silent.

“Hmm?” made Hermione.

Ginny packed the nightie back in its box and put it in her closet and turned around again, facing Hermione: “Promise me, you won’t hex me for what I’ll say,” she asked.

Hermione turned her eyes. “I promise. But I warn you: The ‘he’s too old for you’ aria I don’t like to hear again. It starts to get on my nerves that everybody seems to mind something I don’t mind anymore, Ginny. You know, I’m aware that my husband is very much older than me, but for heaven’s sake - is this really all what counts about him? Doesn’t it matter that he’s a brilliant wizard and kind and quite charming and very funny to be with and that he treats me with respect and more tenderness than I ever got from someone before? To me this matters more than his age, Ginny - it matters so much that I don’t see Albus as an old man anymore. I look not at the wrinkles in his face anymore, but in his eyes - and did you ever notice how very much alive his eyes are? And when he moves - of course, you only know him in heavy robes which make for moving with dignity, but ...”

“... When out of his robes, he’s still quicker on his feet than a lot of younger men,” Ginny finished the line. “I know, Hermione. And I even know that the body under these heavy robes really doesn’t look bad for a man of his age. He’s got broad shoulders with still nice muscles and ...,” Ginny giggled, “... his chest is nice - almost without hairs. I like that on a man.”

Hermione looked at her girlfriend, her face a big question mark. “Ginny,” she said, “how the hell do you know about Albus’ chest?”

Ginny sank down on the bed, laughing. “Don’t worry, Sweetie! Knowledge about his equipment I don’t share with you - yet. But you remember how my family and I stayed at Grimmault’s Place for a few days after Dad’s incident? In one of the nights Mom and Snape were brewing a cleaning potion in the kitchen. Tonks came in - and you know how she is. She stomped, bumped iSnapSnape, hit him so unlucky, that he fell over the cauldron, the potion exploded and it sounded as if the death eaters were to storm the place. Everybody was immediately out of bed and running down at the basement. As I stormed out of my room, I became almost overrun by the headmaster. He’d been in the bathroom next to my room and had just taken a shower. He was wet from head to the naked toes and he only wore a towel around his middle second and his wand in the hand. He was incredibly quick in running down the stairs and into the kitchen. And so ...,” she grinned once again to Hermione, “... it comes that I knboutbout how much hair on his chest your husband got. I saw him for quite a while with only the towel because he helped Mom and Snape to clean up the kitchen and then he even comforted Tonks before he went upstairs again. And you know, Mom and I are longing since this day to know what kind of spell or charm he uses for his hair. You don’t know by incident?”

Hermione laughed. “No, I don’t. I don’t share the bathroom with him, only the bed.”

“And how!” Ginny said dryly.

Hermione blu, re, remembering the afternoon and how they’d used the floo for going from the class to the bedroom. Although she’d by then felt absolutely satisfied and only in need for a nap, Albus hadn’t needed long to convince her about a second round and though it hadn’t been so passionate and wild as the first one on the desk Hermione doubted very much that Ginny with a lover so young and inexperienced as Harry would ever get a chance to become pleased so expertly and thoroughly.

Coming back from her memory to reality, Hermione saw Ginny grinning and asked: “What do you mean by that?”

Ginny pushed her shoes away, pulled her legs up and seating now in a lotus seat on the bed, giggled again. “That’s what I wanted to tell you and because I wanted you to promise not to hex me. Do you promise now?”

“Of course I do.” Hermione became a bit impatient.

“Well, well - then I’ll tell you the tale I’ve heard only a few minutes before. It starts with a boy named Harry Potter - a very cute boy, not too bad a wizard and an even greater Quidditch player. On a very cold winter afternoon not very long ago this boy came back from training. Walking along an empty hall in his school - as far as I’m informed it was the Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft, a really well renowned place - our hero suddenly heard a woman’s scream behind a door.”

“Oh heavens!” Hermione hide her face in her hands - she knew what would come.

But Ginny didn’t spare her the rest of the story. Even wider grinning she proceeded: “Our hero pulled of course his wand out immediately and run to the door. Coming closer, he heard the voice again - and this time he recognized it: The woman who screamed was his best friend, a certain Hermione Granger-Dumbledore ...”

“Ginny!” Hermione begged her face still in her hand. “I’ll die from embarrassment.”

“You won’t, Sweetie! You’ve already survived more.” Ginny assured her. “The stbecobecomes even better: Harry - hero as he is - wanted naturally to rescue his friend. He didn’t think that she probably just suffered a fate much more better then death, so he raised his wand and just wanted to cast an ‘Alamahora’ as he suddenly heard another voice. It said ...,” Ginny sunk her voice for an entire octave and tried to sound silken: “I wouldn’t do that, Mister Potter.’ Our good Harry turned around and found himself face to face with his most favourite Professor, Severus Snape, whom I asked why the heck he shouldn’t open the door and if Snape wouldn’t have heard you were screaming. Just in this moment you screamed again and now Harry - and probably Snape too - could understand the words. It was ... uhm ... how shall I say? A pretty clear formulated invitation for your husband to do his marital duty?”

Hermione fell forwards, putting her face in one of Ginny’s pillows. Sounding much muffled, she moaned: “I don’t know how I shall ever look Harry or Snape in the eyes again! That’s so embarrassing!”

Ginny grinned and stroke comfortingly over Hermione’s shoulder. “It seems your husband forgot in the heat of the moment to cast a silencing charm.”

“I’m going to dismember him!” Hermione cried.

“I wouldn’t,” Ginny said amused. “Just on the contrary. A man who’s able to make me scream like that probably would have a problem to get me ever out of his bed again - or a classroom, as the case may be.”

“Ginny!” Hermione came out of the pillows, looking to her friend. “Would you like to have Harry and Snape as witnesses?”

Once again Ginny giggled. “Harry I wouldn’t like as a bystander. I still hope he’ll become the man who makes me scream. For Snape I don’t care. It’s his problems if he sneaks around all the time. Probably he was only angry because he couldn’t take any points from you. But at least he can comfort himself - it was a Slytherin who shagged you ...”

“Oh, Ginny - I’d love to have your humour in such things!” Hermione turned around, looking to the ceiling.

For a moment both girls were silent. Then Ginny spoke again. “Hermione, I must admit, I’m bursting with curiosity. I never thought of you as a screamer ...”

“Neither did I!” Hermione blushed even deeper.

Ginny sighed. “I’d like to have a lover who mame sme scream ...”

“But ...” Hermione had never felt much comfortable when discussing sex, so she became red as a tomato. “I thought you’re in love with Harry!”

“Of course I am,” Ginny answered. “But I was his first and,” she shrugged her shoulders, “Harry was perhaps a natural on a broomstick, but he surely isn’t one with his broomstick.”

“Oh,” Hermione made. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s actually quite funny,” Ginny said. “Everybody would think that it’s you with a rather old husband who isn’t going to have much fun in bed, but in fact it’s me with the young lover who doesn’t get enough sex.”

“You don’t?” Hermione couldn’t believe it. She’d thought she was the only one who wanted more than she got.

Ginny turned her eyes. “Actually - would you feel satisfied with only two or three minutes? Harry’s always so overexcited he almost comes in the moment he enters. I can tell you: If we can’t work this out, the only screams Snape will ever get to hear from me will be the screams of frustration!”

“Oh,” Hermione made once again, swallowing. “But ... I mean ...,” she stammered. Giving another girl advice on her sex life felt very strange, but Ginny was her friend and Hermione felt, that she - despite of the light tone she tried - really suffered. “You know, Ginny, penetration isn’t the only way to satisfaction. A man’s got hands and a mouth ...”

Now Ginny grinned again. “And all this hair ...”

Hermione sighed. For a moment she fought with herself, but then she decided to tell Ginny the truth. “Ginny, I’m not so much involved with ‘all this hair’ as you might think. Whenever I am with Albus - I mean, when we sleep together - he uses a potion. It makes him look and feel as he were around 30 ...”

“Wow!” Ginny was on her hands and knees, looking to Hermione, her mouth forming an “O” as big as a cartwheel. “Wow again!” she said.” You’re really a lucky cow, Sweetie. I saw once atureture from the headmaster as he was round 60 or so. He looked damn good and with 30 - dear me, he must have been dead sexy. These blue eyes and the fine skin and blond ...”

“He wasn’t blond, Ginny,” Hermione said. “He’s got auburn hair.”

“Even better!” Ginny, a redhead herself obviously liked auburn hair. “Was it as long as today?”

“No,” Hermione said and pointed to her shoulders. “Just so ...”

“Nice!” Ginny found. “And this body - I mean, he’s got a bit ofellyelly today, but as a young man ...”

“He was all muscles,” Hermione confirmed smiling, amused by her friend’s delight.

“Now I get why you fell in love with him so entirely!” Ginny cried. “You’ve always had a thing for elder men - and Dumbledore, aged 30 - not too bad! I think I’d like that too. Say - was he already such a charmer and so sweet as he is now?”

“I don’t know, Ginny. I only get the young man’s body - the mind is Albus as you know him,” Hermione lent back on the pillows. To talk with Ginny about Albus didn’t feel odd anymore - it felt relieving, as if she could sort out her feelings at last. “You know, Ginny, I was first convinced too that I’ve fallen in love with young Albus. He is the one I sleep with and first I thought he’s the one I desire. But now ...”

Ginny had heard attentatively, her blue eyes watching her friend closely. “You don’t know anymore? Of course you must feel very confused. One doesn’t love only a body - as nice it is to have a lover with a nice one. But the person in the body is much more relevant.”

“Quite,” Hermione nodded.” And the young body is Albus - the old Albus, I mean. Only I don’t see him anymore as an old man. I like him just how he is and I like watching him when he thinks I don’t look at him and ...,” suddenly Hermione started crying. “You probably think I’m gone mad, but I even like his belly and this afternoon - Ginny, you must think I’m mad! Totally mental, as Ron would say!”

Ginny crawled over the bed to Hermione and embraced her. Stroking her back, she said, sounding almost motherly: “Tell me, Darling - you know yon ten tell me everything.”

“Ginny, it’s really absolute crazy!” Hermione cried. “You know, this bloody potion only works for four or five hours. This afternoon he drank it and we made love - first in the classroom and then in our bed. And ...,” she coughed, but proceeded bravely: “By the second time he made me come so often and hard I really passed out for a moment. Afterwards I was so tired, I needed a nap.”

“Understandable,” Ginny smiled. “I only wish I’d need a nap afterwards. But proceed. What happened after your nap?”

“Albus was back,” Hermione answered. “I mean, the old Albus.”

“And it was kind of a shock?” Ginny asked.

“No!” Hermione shook her head so energetic her hair fell in her face. Pushing it back, she said: “I’m actually much more familiar with the real Albus than with the young one, you know? But ... oh, Ginny, it’s so difficult to explain! You really must think I’m gone mental.”

“I don’t,” Ginny assured her. Wrinkling her forehead, she said thoughtfully: “I just try to figure out what I’d feel in such a situation. You love him - the real one, I mean.”

“Yes, Ginny, I do. I love and adore him and I never want to hurt him - and that was what I felt this afternoon. He was kind and good and gentle as always, but - he didn’inklinkle. Not once! His eyes were sad again and I felt as if I’d have cheated on him.”

Ginny looked at her, then she nodded slowly. “I understand. In a way you did. Hermione, you didn’t sleep with him, but with ...”

“Yes!” Hermione shouted, jumping on her feet and walking over to the window. “I asked myself how I’d feel if somebody would do that to me ...”

“Icks!” Ginny shuddered. “You know, this reminds me to Percy and his bride. She’s rather plain and I think Percy only wants to marry her bec she she’s the only daughter of a very rich man. But in the same time he wants a wife other people envy him for. So he makes her wear disguise charms and he even talked her into a muggle thing - an operation for getting bigger tits! Isn’t that ghastly? Can you imagine being with some one who doesn’t wants you for what you are, but only an improved version?”

Hermione sat down again on the bed. “That’s what I’ve done to Albus, Ginny,” she said quietly. “In our first night hid hid he’d ‘improve his appearance’ for me ...”

“Hermione!” Ginny took her by the shoulders. “Whose idea was that?”

“His,” Hermione answered.

“That’s the difference between my stupid brother and you. You didn’t demand it.”

“But by now Albus thinks I’d be repulsed by his true appearance!” Hermione cried again. “And I can’t bear the sadness in his eyes any longer, Ginny. I can’t betray him with himself!”

“Then you’ve got the solution to your problem, Hermione,” Ginny said very calm. “Don’t do it anymore. Tell him you don’t want him to use the potion.”
“Oh, Ginny!” Hermione slung her arms around her friend. “If only it would be so easy!”

Ginny sighed. “Where’s the problem, Hermione?”

Hermione blushed once again. Quietly she said: “I simply don’t know if my Albus - I mean, the real one - is up to sleep with me. You know, we have to do it at least twice a month ...”

“And you doubt his potency?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded. “You know, he told me once that he’d desire me. But he never let me so close to his real form ever ...” A tomato would by now have looked pale compared to Hermione who stated stammering: “I mean ... in Rome ... and by my second transfiguration lesson ... I kissed him while he was in his real form ... but ... I really don’t mind his belly, Ginny, believe me, I don’t! But ... I mean ... if you’re such a dwarf as I am and you were kissing a man as tall as Albus is ... and he’s got a bit of a belly ...”

“... and he wears robes as your husband does,” Ginny giggled. “He could probably hide a dragon with an erection beneath and you would never be the wiser.”

“Just so! And I can’t ask him - can I?” Hermione sighed.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Why not? Besides: Wasn’t it you who just told me a man wouldn’t need an erection for giving satisfaction? I’ve thought you’d got this piece of knowledge from sex with a Slytherin. It’s said they’re pretty talented in bed.”

“Oh yes,” Hermione said dryly. “Imagine Crabbe and Goyles!”

“Iiih!” Ginny made a face. “But they aren’t real Slytherins. They’re only lousy excuses for baby death eaters. Yet think of Snape and Malfoy ...”

“Draco?” Now Hermione shuddered. “Ginny - don’t make me think about the bedroom manners of the little slim ball! It makes me wish for a nice cell in a silent nunnery!”

“Who talking about the little ferret?” Ginny grinned. “I was talking about Malfoy senior - and though he’s a really nasty piece, I don’t doubt that he actually knows how to satisfy a woman. I’m only not sure if his ways of doing so wouldn’t be far too advanced for my taste. So if I would have to seduce a Slytherin, I’d take ...” She grinned broadly to Hermione who just had wrinkled her forehead. “No, dear, I know you’d hate sharing your talented husband. So I’d take our dear potion master.”

“Severus?” Hermione had never thought about the potion master as a sex object.

“Of course! I mean sweet Severus,” Ginny giggled again. “Or Sevvie, the dark Slytherin sex god as Wendy Newman likes to name him.”

“What?” Hermione always fell from the bed. “Sevvie?”

“Sevvie!” confirmed Ginny. “And you know, I’d love to see his face if he’d ever hear that.”

“I wouldn’t,” Hermione said. “I don’t have a death wish, thank you very much. Therefore I wouldn’t volunteer to come close to the volcano when he’s just about to explode.”

Ginny fidgeted in amusement. “And here I thought you were by now in use with hot, exploding Slytherins. When I think of the headmaster’s stunt with the dementors - roar! He’s got quite a temper, your always kind husband. What brings us back to your problem ...” Looking seriously again, Ginny said: “Hermione, I don’t think it’s much of a risk to ask him. I mean he wasn’t exactly shut down as you got him, so ...”

“Huh?” Hermione made. “Shut down?”

“Hermione!” Ginny said with forced patience. “Don’t you tell me you were the only person in or close to the order who didn’t know about the headmaster’s affair with Rosmerta Shacklebolt?”

“I actually didn’t know!” Hermione answered. “At least not before our marriage. How should I?”

Ginny turned her eyes. “You’re worse then Harry! He noticed one evening Rosmerta having a white hair,” she parted her arms for showing, “so long on her robe. And as he saw Fawkes a few days later on a windows in the second floor of the Three Broomsticks, it cli by by Harry.”

“I saw Fawkes once there too,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “But I thought it was order’s business or perhaps ...”

“... Hogwarts headmaster ordering the butter beer for the next feast?” Ginny laughed. “Hermione, sometimes you’re really rather a sheep. Of course, your husband who wasn’t your husband this time and Madame Rosmerta ever snogged in public. But it was common knowledge that they slept together. And ...” Ginny became serious again, “I’m pretty convinced that Madame Rosmerta doesn’t see her bed as an asylum for hopeless cases. Fudge - and even you must have noticed that he tried for years! - Never stood a chance with her. So I’d say it’s proving enough. If your husband would suffer from impotence he could certainly make up for it with competence. And as long as the ministry doesn’t start to tell us what kind of sex we’re to have, I don’t see a problem with you getting your love life sorted out.”


... to be continued

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Horray to Kristle, my wonderful beta reader! She and her sister managed two chapters in only one day. And with the chapters this long, that means something, don\'t you think?
It means especially one thing: Tomorrow I\'ll give you the next update. ;-)