A Winter Tale

A Winter Tale

By: Max

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

[Disclaimer see chapter 1]

Author\'s Warning: That\'s the chapter with the high \"Squeak\" factor. So if you can\'t stand the idea of elder people having sex - just go away. You won\'t like this. ;-)

Chapter 16: News and New Year


“Albus, sometimes you’re a genius!” Hermione marched in the drawing room where Albus stood in front of the big window, approached him and laid from behind her arms around him.

He obviously wanted to turn around, but she stopped him. “Don’t move. I want to admire your back.”

“I didn’t know I’ve got an admirable back,” he chuckled. “But if it makes you happy - it’s all yours.”

Hermione buried her face in his mane and sighed contentedly. “You know,” she said, sounding a bit muffled, “I haven’t seen Harry this excited in months. You really made him happy.”

Albus laid his hands over hers, resting on his chest. “He gave me socks for Christmas. I had to do something for him too.”

“But sending him and Ginny to the New Years Party at the Auror’s Academy - that really was a brilliant idea! With 100 aurors around he and Ginny are absolutely safe ...” Hermione said.

“... and they’ll have fun.” Albus pulled one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. “Hermione - are you sure you wouldn’t like going there too? I could make you a port key, you could join ...”

“No!” Hermione tugged lightly on his hair. “No, you won’t get rid off me so easily. I’ve had more parties over the last weeks than I ever thought I’d celebrate in my life time and now I’m very much looking forward to a quiet evening at home - and with you, if you don’t have other engagements.”

“I haven’t.” Now he turned around and took her in the arms. “And I’m glad you’re here with me, Hermione. If I were alone I might get a bit sentimental.”

“Yuck!” Hermione made and rose on her tiptoes to blow a kiss on the tip of his nose. “A sentimental Slytherin? That’s a contradiction in terms. We can’t have that, can we? Severus would get the jitters about it. Oh - by talking about him ...” She became serious again. “What will he do this night?”

“You’re afraid he’ll become sentimental?” Albus grinned. “Hermione, the saviour of sentimental Slytherins ...”

“No, Albus. I don’t think Severus needs to be rescued because he could become sentimental. But I wouldn’t like to think of him brooding alone in his depressing dungeons on New Years Eve.”

“First, my dear ...,” Albus moved over to his favourite chair in front of the fireplace and pulled Hermione in his lap, “... I can assure you, that Severus’ private quarters aren’t depressing. Perhaps you wouldn’t like the decoration in the Slytherin colours, but it’s nevertheless quite elegant. Second: You mustn’t worry. He is not alone.”

“Oh,” made Hermione. She thought immediately of Shanda - and she wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of her being with Severus.

“Oh, oh,” echoed Albus. “Must I use legilimency or will you tell voluntary why you’re looking like Minerva when she’d caught two poor students in flagrante delicto?”

Hermione sunk her head and looked to Albus’ hand on her knees. It was unmistakable an old hand - the skin dry and almost translucent over the bones, the dark blotches a stark contrast against the white of the skin, the index finger once broken to pieces and never health completely, therefore in its upper part not so straight as its fellow fingers. But it was nevertheless a strong and gentle hand and Hermione loved it. Taking it, she laid it against her face and snuggled her cheek in the warmth of the palm.

Albus seemed to understand. “So bad, little lioness?” he asked.

Hermione sighed. Slowly she said: “I think I know with who Severus is. I saw his guest last time as she left the castle.”

“Hmm,” Albus made. “And you don’t approve ...”

Hermione didn’t answer. She only chewed on her under lip.

“I know you too well for believing you’re a prude, Hermione,” Albus said now. “Yet you’re very young and so perhaps you don’t understand ...”

“No, Albus,” Hermione interrupted. “It’s not like that. It’s only ...” She searched for words. “I mean - I feel ashamed, you know?”

“For Severus?” Albus’ voice was firm and energetic now.

Hermione smiled slightly. Albus’ fierce loyalty - whenever he could afford it - to his potion master was something she liked very much. “Don’t ruffle your feathers, Albus,” she calmed him therefore. “I’m not ashamed for Severus.” She became serious again. “It’s more ... I’m ashamed for us. He’s sacrificed so much for our side - but what does he ever get back? I simply hate the idea that he shan’t have more than what a prostitute can give him. He deserves better!”

“He will get better,” Albus said. “After the war ...”

Hermione lent a bit back and watched him. His face was very serious and his eyes - though she saw fire in them - grave. And suddenly she felt how shudders run down her spine. It made her feel chilly and she shivered. Almost fearful she said: “Sometimes you frighten me, Albus. You sound as if you’d know what will happen after the war. And I can’t help - you don’t look as if you’d look forward to it.”

She’d hoped to get comfort from him - perhaps even one of his cheeky smiles and something what would make her laugh, but instead he took his spectacles down and started to massage the bridge of his nose. “Contraire to popular belief I’m really not omniscient, Hermione - and I’m glad about. Knowledge is often a burden and I’ve got already enough of it.”

Hermione swallowed. “You do know something about what will happen after the war,” she whispered.

“No.” Albus shook his head and put his spectacles up again. Now he suddenly looked very old and tired. “I don’t know what will happen after the war. I have a few ideas, even a few plans, but first we will have to win.” He tried a smile. “But we will, Hermione.”

“I can’t imagine life after the war,” Hermione felt a bit better and laid her head back against his shoulder. “Life without fear, without living under Voldemort’s dark shadow. Can you imagine what we’ll do then?”

“Of course.” He stroked her back. “In the contrast to your generation I was lucky enough to live in peace for a long period. I was born in a war - my parents fought in the Goblin’s revolution of 1840 - 1845. Afterwards my generation enjoyed peace until 1916. Grindelwald arose and we were at war again. In 1945 we managed to defeat him and once again our reward was peace - for almost 35 years. Then, in 1979, we learned, that they was a next dark lord trying to destroy our world - Voldemort. I think he’ll fall - this time for good - in a few months. Then your generation will get their period of peace.”

“You don’t believe this war will end all wars ...” Hermione said sad.

“No, my little lioness, I don’t. I only hope your generation will learn from this war. If you stay united, if you make your community a place where all ‘men of good will’ find their peace, then you’ll have a fair chance the next dark wizard won’t become so powerful as Voldemort and Grindelwald.” He pulled her closer and in an attempt to lighten the tone he said: “Why don’t you take notes, Hermione? This speech will come in handy when you’re one day Hogwarts’ headmistress.”

“I’ll become your successor?” Hermione laughed. “Oh, that’s nice. I don’t have to move then. You know, I rather like it here ...”

Obviously she’d said the wrong thing. For a moment Albus became rigid and she felt how his hand on her back trembled. Then his smile was back, but forced. “You need to see a bit more of the world than Hogwarts, my dear. So you will move - from here to Oxford and afterwards - I’d say, you should travel a bit. France, Italy, South America, Australia. The world is so much bigger then Hogwarts and for becoming Minerva’s successor, you should see and learn as mush as you can ...”

“Oh, I’d love to travel!” Hermione cried. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of going to Australia. What I’ve read about the magic of the Aborigines, is fascinating.”

“Yes, it is and after the war and your time at the university you’ll go there,” Albus smiled. “But I hope, you won’t forget to find yourself a wizard for a husband and as father for your children. You know, I don’t see young witches as broodmares, but ...”

“Albus!” Hermione had jumped on her feet. Standing now on the fireplace with her back to him, fumbling nervously on photography of her parents, she said: “A few days before you said you were only an episode in my life. Now you advise me to get myself a husband. So allow me one question: Do you intend to divorce me after the war?” Her fingers trembled and her knees seemed so weak she had to grip the mantelpiece for support.

The silence stretched and seemed to fill the room, making it cold and hostile and Hermione couldn’t bear to wait for his answer any longer. Whirling around, she shouted: “How tactless of me to ask at New Year’s Eve ...” She wanted to hurt him now how he’d hurt her with his silence, she wanted to throw the pictures from the mantelpiece to him, she wanted to kick against the table, to destroy what felt like “home” only a few minutes ago - and then she heard his voice, very hoarse and very, very old.

“I indeed didn’t wish to discuss this subject today ...”

“And when would you have wished to?” Hermione breathed hard. “I thought - I really did, stupid as I was - we had an agreement about being honest with each other. But I forgot: You’re a Slytherin. A cunning, scheming, lying, manipulation Slytherin. And you’re even worse than Malfoy because you’re a Slytherin disguised as the keeper of the light!”

He’d rise. Standing straight he looked at her and Hermione cringed and backed away. She’d seen him furious before, but never before his rage had been directed against her. But now his eyes blazed and his voice filled the room and ringed in her ears. “You stubborn Gryffindor with the subtlety of a brick wall! You really could drive a saint to murder!” he roared. “What would I have to do until you’d get it in your pig head that I love you? I wouldn’t divorce you for the world even if you manage on a regular base to drive me crazy. But I can’t close my eyes like you. I know that we can’t win this war without a sacrifice - and it won’t be Harry. I will not allow that he dies and I will not allow him to become a killer.”

Hermione felt as if his rage would have blown her flat against the wall. Swallowing she said with a very small voice: “But the prophecy ...”

“Fuck the prophecy!” Albus shouted.

Hermione wouldn’t have wondered if she’d found herself hanging upside down in the air now. Albus shouting? This was a first. Albus using profanities? This must mean the world just had decided to stay on its head. To that Hermione couldn’t say more than a weary “Albus ...”, but he obviously didn’t notice.

Pacing up and down the room - and heavens, Hermione never would have believed that a robe so heavy as Albus’ could billow like that and it made her almost laugh hysterically because an image of a herd of toddlers, wearing Slytherin robes and practising under Snape’s supervision to make them billow, had crossed her confused mind.

She heard herself - still sounding like a small child: “I don’t understand ...”

“You don’t?” He stopped pacing. “Then let me get you the special version for Gryffindors: I - that means me, your husband - am not - I repeat: not! - willing to accept a prophecy which would - if accepted - ruin not only a boy’s life, but would set our entire world at risk.” Pacing again, he proceeded. “I’ve spent almost 18 years - yes, Hermione, 18 years! Your entire life time - in thinking about. Now I am sure: I won’t stand by, hoping that Harry will do the dirty work. I’ve read Shakespeare again, a few months before and there I found just the right words. Caesar says them: ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves’. I never have thought much about divination. I won’t start to believe in it now. Our fate isn’t written down in prophecies; it’s not engraved in stone, unchangeable and inescapable. Our fate is what we decide to do with our life - and I have made my decision now: I will destroy Tom Riddle. I will - not Harry. Don’t get me wrong, Hermione: I don’t think him too weak. Harry is a powerful wizard and with the gift his mother gave him he could stand against Riddle. . I’ll even need his help for getting Riddle. But the last stroke, the infinitive killing of the monster will be what I’ll perform.”

He stood now behind his chair, his hands gripping the back, the knuckles white. Slowly sliding his head, his voice became quiet again. “Until a few weeks ago, I thought I could do this easily. I’ve lived for 163 years and it was a good life. So I thought of death as the last great challenge - nothing to fear, but something to look forward to. Then you came in my life, this almost finished life. First I thought: What can this few months mean? I’ll be an episode in her life and you ...,” he smiled to her apologizing, “... another task of mine. Only I missed one big number in my calculation: Love. I didn’t want to see it, I fought against it, but - you’ve asked for honesty and you’ll get honesty: I’ve fallen in love with you, Hermione - so much that I find myself wishing to take you and to run away with you, away from this war, away from my responsibilities, my duty, my honour, my belief. But I can’t. It’s your future too I’ll fight for. And I promised I’d protect you ...”

“Albus ...” Hermione was next to him, pulling at his arm. “Albus, please ...”

He loosened his grip at the chair and stretched his arm. “Come her, my little lioness ...”

Hermione sank in his arms, keeping to him as she’d fear something or somebody would take him away in the next moment. “Albus, I love you ... I love you so much ...”

He didn’t answer. He only buried his mouth in her hair and held her close.


A few minutes they stood in silence, and then he breathed deeply and said: “Shouting is a waste of energy. I should by now have learned that.”

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Hermione took his hand and led him to the sofa. “Shall I get you something? Tea? Brandy? A fire whiskey?”

“No, thanks.” He sat down and pulled her once again close to him. “For the moment I need only you ...”

Hermione curled up next to him. She felt as if she’d just made a trip through paradise and hell - to know that he loved her - this was paradise. But ... no, she even couldn’t get herself to think the thought consequently to the end. A life without him - she didn’t want to think about! Not now, not tomorrow, not next year this time. Perhaps in 10 years, but not now! Not now after she’d just found him, not now after she’d just started to love him.

“Albus,” she said. “You’ve just said, fate wouldn’t be inescapable.” In her a small shimmer of hope began to lighten. “How can you be so sure then about your death in destroying Voldemort?”

Slowly he took his mouth out of her hair. “Because I chose it, Hermione,” he answered.

Hermione swallowed. “You think you have to sacrifice yourself for destroying Voldemort?” she asked and wondered how she could think so calm by it.

“I don’t think, Hermione,” Albus corrected her softly. “I know. It’s the only way. You know: Riddle isn’t human anymore. So destroying the body he is in would only weaken, but not really kill him - his essenhis his life force or however you want to name it. The only way - at least the only I could find - is using a very ancient blood magic. Yet it can’t be done without a sacrifice. ...”

“But Albus,” Hermione cried. “That was what Lily Potter did, didn’t she? And it ...,” she fell silent.

“This time it will work,” Albus said firmly. “I certainly don’t underestimate Lily Evans-Potter. She was a powerful witch and she was very strong in her love to Harry. So she could save him. But Lily didn’t sacrifice her life for destroying Riddle. She did it to protect her son - and so the biggest part of her magic wasn’t directed against the enemy, but to Harry. Besides: Lily wasn’t prepared. She didn’t know the ancient spell; she even didn’t have her wand. I will be prepared. I will use all my magic, concentrated by my wand.”

Hermione shuddered - not only about his words, but because she could feel his magic - he seemed to radiate though her and the entire castle, strong, powerful and forbidding. “What will happen then?” she asked.

“He’ll lose his magic,” Albus answered calm. “And so will I. Then we’ll die - he probably immediately because he’s not human anymore, but only kept together by magic. I’ll die a few hours or perhaps even a few days later - it depends of how much damage he can do to me before I get him.”

“And ...” Hermione still wanted to hope, “... if you could go without damage in the battle? Could you then survive?”

“Without my magic?” Albus thought for a moment about it. “Not for long. Without my magic I’m a simple a human being and as such I’m very old. Without magic I’ll waste away ...”

Hermione wiped a tear away - not too much effect because the next was already running down her face. “This means I will lose you ...,” she whispered.

“Yes, Hermione,” he simply answered.

“How long, Albus? What do you think how long we’ll have?”

He sighed. “In the best case eight months. In the worse shorter. He can’t wait longer than August because he needs Harry and Hogwarts. In the moment Harry leaves the school, Riddle risks to fight two battles - one against Harry, one against Hogwarts. This could lose him too much; therefore I think he’ll attack in summer. Besides: We’ll have an election this summer - in June, for being precise. Riddle will probably use it to make as much trouble as possible in the hope that our world is in even more chaos when he will strike. Only I intend to do a little Slytherin cunning and scheming at this occasion ...” Suddenly he grinned. “What do you think about becoming the minister’s wife for a few weeks, my darling?”

Hermione starred at him with her mouth open. “You want to become the minister yourself?”

“Only for a few weeks. Then Arthur will take over - I’m sure he’ll make a great minister.” Albus chuckled. “And imagine Molly! I’d love to see how she gets a few especially lazy bureaucrats in the ministry moving their butts a bit quicker than they’re used to now.”

“Moment ...” Hermione raised her hand. “I’m only a stubborn Gryffindor with the subtlety of a brick wall ...” She managed a grin. “I need a moment to get that ...”

“Take your sweet time, Darling.” Albus kissed her forehead and rose. Walking over to the fireplace, he took the little clock from the mantelpiece and ringed for Woopy. “I’d like to have a glass of vine now. What do you want, Hermione? Champagne? It’s New Year’s Eve ...”

“Actually ...,” Hermione felt still more then only a bit confused. “You know, to learn first that I’m to become the minister’s wife and then a widow ...”

“... Makes for a Brandy?” Albus smiled at Woopy who’d just appeared with a “pop” and a bow. “Woopy, would you please get us a bottle of the Chateau Rothschild, two vine glasses and a Brandy for Madame?”

“With the greatest pleasure!” The elf bowed again and disappeared.

Albus smiled to Hermione. “There’s another point I wanted to speak about with you ...”

Hermione produced a weak smile. “You won’t tell me you intend to become a ghost in the ministry after all this is done?”

“No, certainly, I will not. I’d hate to be a ghost. It’s only something small. I wondered if I could perhaps persuade you to take your NEWTs at Beauxbaton.”

“But why should I?” Hermione asked.

Before Albus could answer, Woopy was back with another “pop”, carrying a tray. Albus took it from her, put it on the table, thanked the elf, whished her and her fellow elves a “Happy New Year” and dismissed her. Then he gave Hermione the Brandy, purred himself a glass of red vine and sat down on the sofa again. “Beauxbaton would serve two reasons,” he explained. “First: They’re doing NEWTs earlier then we - in May instead of July. That means you could be ready with school when the election period starts. Second: Nobody could ever doubt your grades with the argument that you got favours from your husband or his friends and co workers.”

“But ...,” Hermione sipped at her brandy. “Beauxbaton is in France and I don’t think my French is good enough ...”

“You won’t have to do your NEWTs in French, ma petite. I’ve already spoken with Madame Maxime and with the French minister. They will use translation spells and so ...”

Hermione shook her head and laughed. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“Cunning Slytherin noblesse obliges, Hermione.” Albus took her hand and looked her in eyes. “Hermione, I know I’m asking a lot from you. And I’m even to ask more ...”

“Yes, Albus?” Hermione discovered she didn’t like Brandy very much and put the glass down.

Albus seemed to think for a moment, and then he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed. “You’re an exceptional brave young woman, Hermione and I’m very proud of you. Therefore I want to ask you for your help. I will need your love, your support, your tenderness and your courage. You have become my friend, my comrade, my harbour. Will you be there for me?”

“Yes, Albus ...” Hermione swallowed. After an entire week of thinking she’d decided this morning to talk with him. Now the evening hadn’t been what she’d expected, but - the promise he wanted from her she couldn’t give in without clearing this one point. And so she took her just praised courage, looked him in the eyes and said: “Albus, there’s a condition to my promise. It’s very important to me ...”

“Whatever is in my might,Hermione? What shall I do for you?” he asked.

Hermione found it hard to find the right words. But she had to tell him. Only she couldn’t look at him by doing so and so she fixed her eyes on the glass in his hand. “Albus, it’s about the potion ...” She saw how he gripped the glass firmer and she felt that he looked at her. Still starring at his hand with the glass in it she proceeded: “I don’t want you to take it anymore. I love you and I feel as if I’d cheat on you when I’m with this younger version of you. It’s too confusing, it’s entirely wrong to me - sleeping with you, but actually it isn’t you because when I look at you, it’s not your face, the face I’m use with and when I touch you, it’s not your body. Dammit, Albus - I want you! I need you and if it means I can’t get more than your kisses because your old body doesn’t allows us to do more than kissing, I won’t complain. It will be better than to have a love who isn’t really you.” So - now she was ready and prepared for whatever was to come. Yet there came no answer - and finally she raised her head and looked at him.

He’d taken up his spectacles once again, but the storm sign - him massaging his nose with thumb and index finger - wasn’t there. Instead he looked at her as if he’d seen her for the very first time in his life and although Hermione was in a complete turmoil, she giggled: “Now I’ve done it again - you’re at a loss for words.”

Albus nodded slowly. “Indeed - I am.” Swallowing he opened his arms. “And if you don’t come on my lap immediately, you’ll finish this year not only with a sentimental, but with a crying Slytherin.”

Hermione suddenly felt light headed. Perhaps it was the Brandy, perhaps it was the exhaustion after the storm - she didn’t know and she didn’t care. And the little, desperate voice in her which repeated over and over again: “You’ll lose him - next year this time you’re not his wife anymore, but his widow” - it was a reason more to climb on his lap and to lay her arms around him and to hold him as closely as possible. She’d lose him - but until then she’d collect memories of him like a squirrel collected nuts. And when the winter was to come, cold and lonely, she’d live from her memories. Whatever would happen in the future - this moment with him nobody would take away from her and through all her confusion and fear and sadness she was happy.

Suddenly he spoke again, his voice not more then a whisper. “I thought I’d never hear it again and I was angry with myself because I knew I’d miss it. It seemed so small compared to what was at stake - your life, your future - and I almost hated myself for thinking on it. And yet ...” His mouth searched hers and she tasted a salty tear on his raw skin and once again she thought, he should get kissed more often and she almost laughed because suddenly she was sure: He would get kissed often in the months they would have together.

“Albus, oh Albus ...” pullpulled his head on her chest and kissed it, drinking in the smell of his hair and enjoying the silkiness under her lips.

But suddenly she felt how his body which had been so relaxed in her arms, tensed and how he pushed his arm under her legs. Then he rose, carrying her in his arms and she heard him chuckle. “Madame Dumbledore, I very much hope you won’t complain when I want to do a bit more than kissing you. I am ...,” he was on his way to the bookshelf which glided away to show the stairs, “... certainly not so fit as I was in former times, but - to quote another wicked Slytherin headmaster - as long as my fingers and my mouth are in working order, no women will have to complain about leaving my bed unsatisfied.”

For a moment, as he laid her on the bed and began to open the buttons on her shirt - not using magic, but one for one - Hermione felt a pang of stage fever, a fluttering in her stomach and a tremble in her fingers and dryness in her mouth. And in this few seconds she meant, she could hear fate laughing at her - the girl who had to go twice through the awkward experience of a first night. But then she remembered the Shakespeare quote Albus had used earlier: “The fault ... is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” She knew she wouldn’t allow this night to become a fault. Not this night, not the next one, none of the nights and days she’ll spend with him. And with that all shyness and awkwardness was gone.

Hermione didn’t blush anymore and not once she doubted what love and tenderness made her wish to do. It was right to kiss him and to stroke his head until he purred again and it was the most normal thing in the world to open the buttons on his robe and to unbent the leather belt which held it together and it felt absolutely right to push him then on his back, to shove his long beard away (“Just a moment - I’ll shorten it,” he said, but she shook her head: “Not now! I want you just as you are ...”) and to blow kisses on his neck and down over the hollow of his throat to his chest. The few hair on it were silver now, the skin and the muscles beneath not so firm and smooth anymore, but the pink nipple still reacted immediately to her touch - the reaction seemed even stronger and so Hermione bent her head down and sucked on the rose bud. Albus moaned and started to sweat. She could taste the salt on his soft skin and she licked over it, letting back a wet trail, shimmering in the golden light of the candles. But now he tugged at her open shirt.

“I want to feel your skin, Hermione,” he whispered.

But it was her who’d pulled her wand out first, waving it and murmuring the undressing spell. Both their clothes vanished and Hermione turned at her side, braced her head in one hand and looked at him.

He lay motionless, both arms under his head, his face neutrais eis eyes closed. Hermione knew that he needed all his bravery for exposing himself to her like that, she was aware that he was fighting his demon again, but she kno know that hiding was not an opportunity. He would have to learn that he was her choice and that she didn’t love and desire him because of his age and softened body, but for what he was. His body was a part of him, more than only a shelter for his mind, soul and heart, and she was not only able, but willing to love and admire his body so much as she loved and admired the essence it kept.
Her gaze wandered down - over his chest to his belly. She knew he didn’t like it much, but she did and by asking herself why - even in such moments her analytic mind wasn’t switched off - she giggled, bent down over the round belly and placed a kiss on it. Replacing her mouth with her hand, she looked up to him. He’d opened his eyes again - and smiled: “You know I like your belly?” she asked and without waiting for an answer, proceeded: “It’s really cute.”

“Cute?” Obviously he still hadn’t learned to connect this word to himself.

Hermione laughed. “Yes, Albus - cute. I mean, you’re not too fat. You’re in a great shape for a man your age - you’ve only got this belly. It reminds me to of the little boy you once was. I like it - I really do. Besides ...,” she giggled again, moved deeper in the bed and laid her head against his stomach, “... it’s comfortable. I can use it as a pillow.”

Now Albus laughed too, stroking her head and plaiting her hair over his skin. “I’m glad you like it. Admittedly I must confess to hope you won’t find any thing more looking ‘toddlerish’ about me ...”

Hermione kissed his belly again. “Albus, you’re vain.”

“Of course I am. I am a man ...” He gave back with a little chuckle.

Hermione loved to hear that. He obviously felt more relaxed now and this made her feeling at ease too - enough at least for shifting again to have a look at his private parts. Although she’d rather have swallowed her tongue before she would have admitted it to him - against herself she was honest enough to confess that she’d been afraid of going to look there - afraid and absolutely uncertain how to deal with ... no, even for herself she couldn’t find a word to describe what she’d feared to see. But her relief about the discovery that his private parts didn’t show much signs of age was profound and made the last rest of tension go away. A closer look now - and yes, little changes were there: The thick, auburn curls she remembered were white now and the skin of his sac against them darker, almost chocolate brown now. And perhaps his balls weren’t so tight to the body anymore and obviously he’d lost a bit of the former very strong muscles on his thighs, but his cock still was quite a sigh and - Hermione swallowed in relief as she registered it - he showed signs of arousal.

She didn’t hesitate. She took him in her hand, bent her head and blew a kiss on the tip, just looking out of the surrounding skin. “Hello, Percival,” she whispered. “It’s nice to see you again ...”

Albus chuckled. His hand was still in her hair, but it only lay there, almost without any weight. He didn’t push or tried to make her go into a direction, he only played with her curls. Hermione raised her head and looked in his eyes - blue as the sky in spring and filled with bright love. And before she thought about, Hermione heard herself ask: “Albus - can you still get an erection?”

His voice was calm and even a bit amused as he answered promptly: “Yes, my dear. I still get erections though not so quick and often as in young years. And I may need a little help to get one which is useful ...”

Hermione chewed for a moment on her under lip. She didn’t mind giving him a “little help”, on the contrary: As a girl who always liked a good challenge the thought of arousing him was exciting. Yet she hated to be less then perfect - even in doing small things she disliked immensely feeling clumsy and unabn pln pleasing the man she loved - this was way too important to dabble around with it. For a few seconds she cursed herself. Why had she never heard Lavender and Parvati’s endless talks about this special subject? They both were probably Hogwarts’ experts for “how to handle a cock” lessons and Hermione suddenly wished for a time turner for going back and taking a crash course. By thinking about she almost laughed: Their faces when she’d ask them and they’d become aware whose cock Hermione had in mind - they’d certainly be priceless! Probably the both would need for weeks of absolutely chastity for coming over this shock.

Besides: They probably weren’t really experts. Their experience was restricted to boys - and Hermione didn’t need to go through the entire Quidditch league for knowing, that pleasing these members wasn’t a big challenge. Thinking of her conversation with Ginny and of her rather short experience with Victor Krum she supposed that Lavender and Parvati probably still were stuck in the first chapter of a “How to handle a cock - for beginners” while Hermione needed to read the last chapter in the second volume, named “The care of powerful wizards’ sophisticated equipment” .

But: Didn’t she have a teacher at hand? And wasn’t he an expert in this certain field? Hermione was always one for learning from the best and therefore she said now: “Please, Albus - teach me how to touch you. I want to do it as good as possible - and therefore I may need a little help ...” She closed her fingers around him, feeling him soft, but heavy in her hand.

Now he pulled at her head. “Up!” he commanded.

“Hmm?” Hermione wasn’t sure she’d understood right.

Albus laughed and opened inviting his arms. “First lesson, my little lioness: The wizard you’ve taken in your bed is still in his oral phase. He needs a lot of kisses for feeling pleased.”

“Oh, he shall get it!” Without loosening her grip on his cock, she moved upwards and bent over him, kissing his forehead. “Like that?”

“Not exactly. A bit more to the south ...” Albus chuckled.

Hermione said: “Ah - yes, of course,” and took the tip of his nose for her next kissing target. “Better?”

Albus laughed again and pulled her close. With his lips almost on hers he whispered: “Not good enough - at least not for Minerva’s star pupil. Seems you need a private lesson ...”

“Arrogant Slyth ...” Hermione couldn’t say more because she got a second tongue in her mouth. It tasted of red vine and hint of lemon and she smiled by kissing back - Albus probably was the only person on earth who liked to mix the taste of lemon drops and a Chateau d’Rothschildt. Or wasn’t he? In his kisses she liked the blend too and she almost forgot herself in it, but then - her fingers lay still around his cock and as the kiss deepened, she felt how his member became even heavier.

Hermione moved her hand a bit - closer to the tip now, still very cautious, opening her fist and playing only with the tips of her fingers on the soft skin. It felt like velvet - only much more warm and alive and slowly, very slowly, but unmistakably stretching and becoming smoother by it.

“Hmm ...” Albus moaned quietly.

Now Hermione felt a vein under her finger tips and she followed it, stroking down to the base and over his testicles, cupping them. Her reward was another moan, then he spread his legs slightly and laid his hand over hers, guiding her gentle until she had his sac in her palm. Taking his hand away again, he said - and Hermione wondered, how clear his husky voice sounded: “Testicles are pretty sensitive - probably a man’s most vulnerable part. Yet I like light playing ...”

Obviously he liked it very much. Hermione’s soft stroking and rolling them in her fingers made him moan and kiss her again and then his hand was between her tights and gaining access to her centre.

Hermione broke the kiss and whispered: “Don’t ractract me. We’re in the middle of a lesson ...”

In the same quiet tone he answered: “its part of the lesson, my love: This too old husband of yours never was good in taking without giving back something ...”

Hermione used her free hand to take his. Putting it on his chest, she said: “It seems this is going to be mutual tutoring. You need to learn two lessons too, Albus. First: Wizards who say my husband is too old for me aren’t permitted in my bed ...”

“Oh sweet Merlin!” Albus laughed. “That means you’ll sleep alone for the rest of your life, freezing your sweet butt off.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Mister Dumbledore!” Hermione said in her best Minerva tone. “I’m not ready yet. And don’t worry about my butt. I’m pretty good in warming charms, so your talent in warming my backside won’t prevent you from slng ong on the sofa. Second: You will need to learn taking now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Albus smiled and put his hand back under his head.

“That’s a good boy!” Hermione praised him.

Albus grinned. “May the good boy get permission to play soon?”

“Only if he stops distracting me. You know, I’ve to concentrate at the task in my hand ...”

Albus became quiet, but Hermione saw the corners of his mouth twitching and his eyes twinkling. Laughing she kissed him once again, then she laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, she concentrated on her hand, her fingers still stroking softly over his testicles. Under her wrist, laying lightly on him, she could feel, how his shaft became harder and firmer. She loved the effect her ministrations had on him, and wanted to feel more of it. So she let her hand wander back on the cock, laid her fingers softly around it and stroked gentle upwards where the tip was now out of the foreskin. As she came close to it, Albus moaned again. Hermione smiled and tipped with one finger against the silken skin of his tip. No moan. So down again, back to the end of the pulsing vein. Touching it Hermione got a little sigh - and his hand over her’s again, making her grip a bit firmer.

“My penis isn’t as sensitive as my testicles, Darling. As much as I like your gentleness,” he explained, “a bit more pressure would be nice.”

Hermione didn’t need to be asked twice. “A bit more pressure” made her feel his still increasing hardness and as a contrast to it the smooth skin covering it. And as she stroked up and down, the cock seemed to develop a life of its own, pulsing slightly against her hand. He was erect now and Hermione knew without being told, that he now would want even more than the bit of pressure Albus had asked for. Trying a firm grip around the base proved her right - he didn’t only moan, but arched his hips with saying: “Oh yes ...”

Hermione smiled - and remembered suddenly that she’d got two hands. If one was to make him moan and buckle - what could the second do? There was no better way as trying and she knew already how and where. So shifting a bit she took his testicles in her left hand, playing softly with them while her right hand massaged the now rock-hard penis.

She’d hit the jackpot. Albus didn’t moan quietly anymore, but struggled for breath, buckled and whispered: “Sweet Merlin - Hermione ...”

Hermione didn’t stop - she just started to like this game very much. Yet by stroking more, she discovered something new: Her left index finger, touching the skin under his sac made Albus almost jump. His entire body tensed, sweat began to shimmer on his skin and he panted. Hermione was enthusiastic about her new finding and tried once again - and yes, there was one special spot which made him scream her name and arching his back. Falling back on the bed he said, his voice very husky: “Don’t do that again, Love. You’ll make me ejaculate ...”

“Oh, I’d like that ...” Hermione giggled. She really did - the knowledge that she could make Albus Dumbledore lose control was the biggest ego-boaster thinkable. It made her feel not only strong and powerful, but unbelievable womanly.

Yet Albus obviously didn’t want her to get entirely dizzy with this feeling. He took her hands and pulled them up to his mouth, kissed both of them and said: “I would not.” Embracing her he whispered in her ear: “I want to hear you scream and I want to feel you come while I’m inside you.”

Hermione was already dripping wet and aroused, but his whisper made her needy. Nevertheless her curiosity was active and she simply had to ask: “Do you really feel my climax when you’re inside me? How does it feel?”

He turned her around on her back and parting his legs with his hand, he answered: “It’s the most wonderful feeling I can think of. You’re very tight - and when climaxing becoming even tighter and hotter, closing around me in an indescribable arousing way. And to know that I can give you pleasure - I think, that’s probably what I desire most ...”

... to be continued

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

Horray to Kristle, my wonderful beta reader!