Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

To Mary Kay - who got me the idea for this chapter and delivered a line in it I like very much.

Chapter 17: Hard to get indeed


“Actually I like you with a broken hand,” stated Hermione, bending over Albus’ chest and tenderly blowing kisses on the pink little bud there. “It gives me a chance to play a bit without becoming distracted by you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Piccola.” Albus smiled and pushed his left hand under her for fondling her breast.

“Albus!” Hermione rebuked him. “Didn’t Poppy tell you, you should spare your left hand too? It wouldn’t do you overwork it!” She shoved his hand away.

Albus sighed. “I think Poppy meant things like magic and signing papers, not …”

Hermione didn’t let him finish. “Whatever Poppy meant: You are a patient. It’s only three days since you’ve broken a few bones. They need time and rest to mend.” She took his left hand and put it over his head where the plastered right already rested. “You will be a good boy. You will simply lie there, doing nothing. Or must I bind you to the bed?”

“Bind me to the bed?” Albus’ eyes were twinkling. “I’ve always thought I’d be the Slytherin, henceforth the kinky one here. But if bondage is your secret desi fel fell free to live it out.”

Hermione bent over him again and let her tongue flick over his nipple. He promptly twitched and she looked up at him, licking seductively over her lips. “Well, you’ve got me,” she said, her voice deep and throaty. Reaching over him, she took her wand from the nightstand, directed it at him and murmured an incantation. Two silken bonds appeared, wrapped around Albus’ wrist and bound him to the bed posts. Satisfied Hermione looked at him, putting her wand back on the nightstand.

“So that’s your favourite fantasy?” Albus asked.

Hermione came down at him, her mouth almost on his. “Yes, my Beloved,” she whispered. “That’s the fantasy I’ve harboured since months. To get you in bed, to take your arms up over your head …,” she licked over his bottom lip, “… to bind you, to have you defenceless and …,” with one quick move she jumped out of the bed and giggling, she ran over to the perch where Albus’ phoenix slept, his head under the left wing, “… then for once playing with Fawkes without you interfering.” She petted tenderly the bird’s neck.

Albus laughed. “I’ve always feared it: You’re not in love with me, but with him.”

Hermione chuckled. “Indeed.” Fawkes had just got out his head under his wing, now he chirped a cheerful scale. Hermione tickled with one finger his belly. Fawkes promptly produced a sound which sounded like a giggle. “I only bear with you because I can’t get Fawkes without you.”

Albus pulled his wrists out of the ties - Hermione had only laid them very loosely around - and sat up. “I wouldn’t bet for that. Since Fawkes started to visit you on his own, I’m prepared for him leaving me. One night he’ll tell me: ‘I’m so sorry, old friend. It was always nice with you, rally. And I will miss you dreadfully, but our time together is over.’ And then he’ll pack his perch and his toys and moves out.”

“No, Albus. Fawkes won’t leave you,” Hermione turned and smiled at him. “He’s a very responsible phoenix and he knows you need to be looked after.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d hate to be left by him.” Albus stretched his left hand. “But I’ll become jealous of him if you don’t come back to me.”

Hermione blew a kiss on Fawkes’ forehead and went back to the bed, snuggling in Albus’ arm and sighing contently. He held her, tenderly playing with her short hair. After a while she raised her head and looked at him. “You know, I’ve almost something like a bad conscience for being so debauched.”

“You’re debauched?” Albus chuckled. “Why didnt I t I notice earlier?”

“Seriously, Albus!” Hermione tugged at one of the hairs on his chest. “It’s Friday - a perfectly normal Friday. Actually I should just at this moment stand in my lecture room, teaching my students transformation physic. But instead of me poor Peter - who’s got actually enough work in the lab - does what would be my duty while I’m lying in my lover’s bed.”

“Yes, really - it’s a shame, Professor Granger,” Albus grinned. “Loitering in your lascivious lovers luxurious bed - or was it the other way round? Luxurious lover’s lascivious bed? Anyway: Decent Gryffindors shouldn’t eat lotus when thistles are on the menu!”

“Albus, you’re impossible!” Hermione nudged him with her elbow in the ribcage. “Don’t you have a bad conscience for spending a work day in bed?”

“No,” he stated cheerfully. “Not in the slightest. I am - as my enchanting and terribly sexy lover just stated the other minute - a patient. As such I need rest. And lotus.” He let his left hand wander down over her back to her buttock, kneading it tenderly. “And you’re not debauched, my darling. You’re the sympathetic, good Gryffindor who rushed to my sickbed to spend comfort and to cool my feverish forehead.”

Hermione laughed. “It needs a Slytherin’s mind to turn facts like that! I mean, the part about me being a good, sympathetic Gryffindor, rushing to you - that’s true. But sickbed?”

Albus turned around and kissed her breast. “What’s wrong about the sickbed, Tesoro?”

Hermione combed with spread fingers through his thick, white mane. “You, me and your sickbed wouldn’t have fitted in Filch’s broom cupboard. That’s wrong.”

“Sure?” Albus let his teeth scratch lightly over her nipple. “If you would have needed the bed there - you know I’m a wizard …”

“You’re a madman, Albus Dumbledore!” Hermione laughed. “What would your deputy and your secretary think if they’d know you pulled a harmless visitor in the broom cupboard yesterday only half one hour after she’d arrived?”

“They’d probably envy you,” Albus answered. “I reckon the ladies were never shagged in a broom cupboard. Besides I’d tell them that the blame goes to you.”

“To me? What did I do? I came because I worried about you! I know Lucius. If you would have become beheaded, he’d probably have written something like: ‘Don’t worry, Hermione. Albus only lost his head, but now he’s just persuading the other members of the headless hunt to let Sir Nicolas join finally. I’m sure the both of them will have a lot of fun.”

Albus laughed. “He’d probably think me losing my head isn’t news at all. I do so on a regular base - whenever you are around.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Hermione smiled down at his head on her chest.

“Everywhere?” He looked up at her.

“Do you have a specific goal in mind?” she asked.

“Actually I have …” He stroked over her belly down to her mound. “You know I have this nice, little erection and I’d like to put it where it likes to be best.”

Hermione shook with a smile her head before she laid her arms back and spread her legs. “Insatiable Slytherin! You’ll be my death one day!”

Albus shove his hand a bit deeper, his index finger wandering over her clitoris to her entrance. “Was this a ‘yes’?” he asked.

Hermione swallowed and buckled as his finger entered her. “Do you need every time an explicit invitation?”

He let his thumb play with her lust knob while he pushed a second finger in the tight heath. “Actually no,” he answered. “I don’t need one. But I always like to hear one.”

Hermione had her eyes closed and turned her head to the side. With her mouth slightly open and her breathing already becoming harder, Albus found that she was a very arousing sight. And now she licked over her lips and said, her voice a bit hoarse: “Well, if you’d like to hear one: Yes, Albus, I’d like very much you’d put this certainly not little erection of yours where it belongs. And if you could perhaps get yourself to shagging me senseless again, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll be all yours and at your service, ma’am.” Albus settled between her legs. Bracing himself on his plastered arm, he used his healthy hand for guiding his cock in her. Pushing slowly in, he bit on his bottom lip. He always needed discipline for not starting immediately to pound in her hard and fast. The tight heat around his most sensitive part always made him feel needy and greedy.

Sometimes he wondered about. What was so special about her? He’d long ago lost count of how often he’d slept with her. He only knew about the last 20 hours, starting with the moment Minerva, sitting at always on his left side, had dropped her fork for a delighted cry: “Hermione!”

She’d come down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaw table, greeting and smiling to students on the left and the right sight and waving over to the Gryffindors who cheered by seeing her.

And once again Albus had found himself thinking two thoughts in the same time. The first came from the headmaster who always tried to look objective to the members of his staff. In this case the look had led to thinking: “Hermione - as mostly in plain, dark blue robe, navy blue V-neck sweater, white shirt, blue cotton trousers, sensible black boots, not wearing any make up, the brown curls chorthort - not unpleasant to look at, but certainly not a breath taking beauty.” The headmaster liked it just so. Breath taking beauties in a school with almost 500 hormone ridden male teenagers only meant trouble.

But Albus, the man, wasn’t with the headmaster. He would have liked to see Hermione in brighter colours - and perhaps a skirt, showing her beautiful, long legs? But even in the blue teaching robe - the line of her neck; the creamy silk of it; the smithe the lovely eyes; the long eye lashes; the sweet soft mouth with the pink lips; the not big, but firm and perfectly rounded breasts under the shirt; her small, but nevertheless strong and reliable hands …

Her hands. He liked to kiss them, he liked to play with the dexterous fingers, entwining them in his, nibbling at them. Her hands on his body, the nails lightly scraping over his skin, the fingers tugging and twisting his nipples, her fist around the base of his member, his balls in her palm - she knew him so well, his body had been discovered and mapped by her and claimed hers.

And her body - whenever he closed his eyes and thought of her, he saw her naked, her skin glittering with sweat, her breasts swinging while she rode him. The headmaster didn’t think her a beauty, but for Albus she was his personal Venus, the living, breathing incorporation of the Goddess of love. She was the keeper of his heart, the one his soul longed for and the woman who could inflame him with only one look.

He’d risen as she’d approached the head table. Bowing slightly - though he’d actually have rather jumped on her to take her in his arms - he’d said: “Good evening, Hermione. What a pleasant surprise to see you.”

“Good evening, Headmaster.” Her voice - a warm, clear mezzo soprano - was like a tender touch.

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” he’d asked.

Minerva had obviously found him too formally. Before Hermione could answer, she’d conjured a chair which she put energetically between Albus’ and hers. “Of course Hermione will join us for dinner!” she’d said crisply. “Certainly she misses the Hogwarts food. Come up, dear girl, come up!”

A little smile from Hermione to Albus and he’d known exactly that she shared his amusement about Minerva’s firm opinion, that nothing - not even the efforts of the best French cooks and certainly not Italian dishes with unspeakable names - could compare to the good, healthy English food at Hogwarts. Hermione had come up then, shortly squeezing Sebastian von Melanchthon’s shoulder on her way and twinkling at Lucius as she’d come along him. Minerva even had got a peek on the cheek and Albus had envied her for a moment. Looking at Lucius he’d seen amusement in the grey eyeand and something like “You know you could have that too?”

Hermione had sat down next to Albus and for a precious moment she’d touched the fingertips of his right hand which looked out of the plaster. “How are you, Albus?” she’d asked quietly.

“Now I’m wonderful,” he’d whispered back. “Thank you for coming.”

“I had to - I was so worried.”

Minerva had ordered a plate, a goblet and food for Hermione and Albus, suddenly not much hungry anymore, had watched how she’d eaten with healthy appetite. But suddenly - actually even before he’d seen how she’d let her sleeve fall back for revealing the tip of her wand - he’d felt her presence at the borders of his consciousness. Her mental voice had asked him: “Are you really well, Beloved? You’re looking a bit pale and tired.”

“I’m fine, Hermione, really. Don’t worry,” he’d answered.

“Hmm …” He’d felt she wasn’t really convinced. “I think you should be in bed. Mending bones is draining for the body.”

“Bed sounds nice,” he’d given back.

“Albus! You do have a one tracnd!&nd!” She’d obviously been amused.

“What shall I do? I missed you …” It had once again always been two weeks since he’d seen her last time.

“I missed too too - very much so …” She’d sent him an image of herself, under the shower, her hands cupping her breasts and kneading them.

It had been enough to get him aroused. Immediately he’d sent an image back - how he’d pleased himself the other night, thinking of her.

She’d shifted in cha chair. “I want to be alone with you,” she’d thought.

A few minutes later dinner had been over - finally as Albus had thought. Nevertheless he’d made conversation with her until the students had left. Strolling with her then through the already deserted corridor, he’d thought: “I’d like to pull you in the next dark corner.”

The answer had come quick: “Don’t you tell me you wouldn’t know one near by.”

He̵of cof course known one - Filch’s cupboard, only a few steps away. By pulling her in there he hadn’t intended to shag her. He’d thought of an embrace and a kiss. But she, discovering his erection, had wanted him “now and here!” And who could have refused such an order? Albus certainly not. Hermione wanting him he always found absolutely irresistible. Her openness in showing her need - it was something he loved very much about her.

And there was something else - and it had made him choke on his tea only a few days before in the staff conference. Minerva had mentioned happily that they would have Hermione back in the next year. Severus, who still enjoyed nothing more than baiting her, had promptly turned his eyes, sneering: “Oh joy! That’s a dream coming true. Granger chewing my ears up whenever I enter here once again - I really don’t know how I could have lived without that!”

Minerva’s apprentice, young Justus Pemperton, had looked questioningly. He’d been a Ravenclaw and being five years Hermione’s junior he hadn’t known her well during his time at school.

Severus had answered the unasked question. “You’ll see, Pemperton - or better said: You’ll hear. Granger is one of these women who can’t keep her mouth closed. I’m sure she’s talking in her sleep too and I’d bet my best cauldron she even doesn’t stop talking by making love.”

This had made for Albus choking and blushing and hiding himself behind a big parchment until he’d been able to collect himself again. Once again Severus had hit the nail on the head, only that Albus didn’t find Hermione’s fondness of pillow talk a nuisance. Just on the contrary. Her telling him what she felt always aroused him very much.

Now she was just starting with it again. Moving with him she whispered: “Oh yes, Albus - just so. You don’t know how wonderful it feels to have you inside. Your cock is just perfect to make me feel full of you and - oh yes, yes! Just there, Albus! It’s so perfect! Oh yes, you’re driving me crazy! I’m so close and you’re so good - and yes, fuck me, Albus!”

Even if Albus would have wanted: Her voice, hoarse in her arousal, was like a siren’s song. He couldn’t resist her and he didn’t want to. He’d once thought he’d known everything about women and his reactions to them. He’d been sure he couldn’t become surprised in this certain area anymore. He’d been a fool. All the experience of his life, all the women he’d slept with, all the bodies he’d held in his arms, all the lover he’d pleased hadn’t prepared him for making love to Hermione Granger. With her it was so much more then sex. It was love, expressed in gentle abandon, raw and wild passion and touching tenderness.

She came - her borembrembling, her head thrown back, her body glimmering with sweat, her breathing hard. And once again Albus was glad he wasn’t distracted by an orgasm of his own. He’d never understood why books and magazines like “Witch Weekly” praised climaxing together as the ultimate goal of sex. When he allowed himself to come - or was driven over the edge by Hermione who sometimes liked to show him the power she held over him - he was so overwhelmed by the intensity of his feelings he didn’t notice anything around anymore. Yet he loved watching Hermione when she was coming. She was so beautiful at those moments. He wouldn’t have wanted to miss the sight of her and the sound of her moans and cries and the feeling when she became even tighter around him. To watch her climax he found sometimes even more pleasing than to come himself.

And then the precious moments afterwards! Hermione had once said: “If your parents would have known you as they gave you your name, they’d christened you ‘Albus always in doubt Dumbledore’.”

She’d been right. Doubting was a part of his personality. It was even the reason for what made him look trusting to other people - he doubted even his doubts and doing so made for giving second chances where other people didn’t.

Yet with Hermione he got these moments when she lay in his arms, sated and happy and with a look in her eyes which drove the doubt away and made him feel secure in her love.

“Albus …” She was kissing him, her hand in his hair, happily playing with the thick strands.

Despite his still hard penis he felt sated himself. Rolling to the side, he said: “Making love to you actually is a nice way to spend a day.”

Hermione laughed, snuggling close to him. “Be honest, Albus: It’s your favourite past time. Probably they should change your chocolate frog cards. Instead of ‘hobbies: chamber music and bowling’ it should become ‘making love five times a day’.”

“Only five times?” He raised an eyebrow. “And how I am to spend the evening?”

“Oh sweet Merlin! You’re such a loudmouth!” Hermione looked at him. “You know, I don’t think you’ll manage five times today,” she sounded rather casually. “When I’m through with you next time, you’ll beg for mercy and rest.”

“Of course.” He grinned.

“Don’t dare to look so smug! Just give me a moment to recover!” Hermione said, laying her head on his shoulder.

For a long time neither of them spoke. Albus, now becoming a bit drowsy, thought Hermione would have fallen asleep as he heard her voice again. “Albus, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for some time now …”

“Hmm?” he encouraged her.

Hermione breathed deeply. “Your reluctance about oral sex …”

“Am I reluctant?” he asked.

“Yes, you are,” Hermione said firmly. “At least when it comes to oral sex performed on you. Don’t understand me wrong: It’s actually no problem. I’m only curious why you never want me to bring it …”

“… To the bitter end?” Albus smiled at her. “Probably therefore, Hermione. Most women don’t like the bitter taste of semen much. And I don’t think I like the idea of my lover doing something unpleasant for her only for pleasing me. That’s one reason I always stop you. As egotistical as it may sound: I don’t like the idea to be out in the cold air during climax …”

“Ah …” Hermione snuggled a bit closer to him. “And another reason is that you like being close to your lover, isn’t it?”

Albus smiled and kissed her forehead. “That’s the main reason. I love being close to you. Your mouth on my penis is very nice, but feeling you in my arms and around me I like better.”

“Hmm.” Hermione sounded thoughtfully. Looking at him she started to chew on her bottom lip.

Albus knew this sign. Smiling he asked: “What bothers you, Piccola?”

“You’re honest with me, aren’t you?” she asked back.

“Yes, Hermione. I’m honest,” he answered as seriously as she’d asked.

“So it’s not about me being not good in performing oral sex?” Hermione demanded to know.

“What?” Albus was for a moment flabbergasted. Then he laughed. “Oh my little perfectionist! Let me assure you, Professor Granger: If oral sex were a part of the exam for becoming a mistress in ars armatori, you’d get a ‘summa cum laude’ again. You are a natural. You get me close almost every time and that means something.”

“Does it?” Hermione was once again all curiosity. “You make this sound as if it were extraordinaire.”

“With me it is, Hermione,” Albus answered. “Even if you don’t like to hear it: I’m an old man. To achieve climax I need a bit more slatilation than when I was young. But you make me almost jump on the ceiling in only two minutes.”

Hermione beamed at him, obviously relieved. “You may name me a ‘little perfectionist’, but the idea of not being good at it bothered me really, Albus. I like performing oral sex on you - I really do. And I want to be good for you …”

“Tesoro, you are!” he assured her again. “You’re the one who makes me feel like a hormone driven 20 year old again. You are all I ever wished for in a woman. I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you too, Albus - very much. And I’m counting the days until I’m finally back at Hogwarts.” Hermione looked thoughtfully once again. “Albus … “

“Hmm?”

&0;I 0;I have a little problem in Venice,” she started cautiously.

“Yes?” he asked after she’d been silent for a few seconds.

Hermione sighed. “I’d like to get your help. Yet I’m afraid you won’t like the subject much. And I don’t want to spoil our day.”

Albus became serious. “Hermione, if there’s something we’ll have to talk about, we shall talk about it - now.”

“Well …” Hermione sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees and showing him her back. “Luciano Dantini wants me to stay in Venice. He offered me 20 percent more and funds for five years …”

Albus swallowed. He couldn’t blame his old friend in Venice for doing so. If he were in Dantini’s shoes he would try to keep Hermione too. And if she wanted to take up the offer - Albus wouldn’t blame her either. Hogwarts couldn’t cope with it. Just so simple. Even if he would have wanted to - Hogwarts didn’t have the money for it. In Hogwarts Hermione would get the paying the other young masters got too. More the school couldn’t afford and the headmaster couldn’t justify.

He didn’t want to consider what it would mean to him personally if Hermione decided to stay at the Cagliostro University. He’d just started to hope - no, thinking about his hopes and dreams wouldn’t do just now. He wasn’t only her lover, but her former master and as such he was bound to give her advice in her best interest.

Breathing deeply, he said: “Hermione, if you want to remain in Venice Hogwarts will release you from your contract. I’m sure even Minerva - though she’d be sad - would understand you’ve got the opportunity of a life time in Venice.”

She turned around and looked at him. Very determined she said: “I don’t want to stay at Venice. If I may remind you: I wouldn’t have gone there in the first place if you wouldn’t have sent me away. You won’t do that again, will you?”

“Hermione …,” he sighed. “Hogwarts can never make you such an offer.”

Now her eyes were blazing. “Damn you, Albus Dumbledore! If I would have wanted to have a talk with Hogwarts headmaster, I’d come to his office! But I’m talking with the man I love. And I actually thought I wouldn’t have to remind you again that you gave me a promise!”

Albus breathed deeply. “I don’t want to stand in your way, Hermione. So we could a our our deal: If you want to have me, you don’t have to come back to Hogwarts. You could stay in Venice …”

Hermione shook her head. “No way, Albus. First: Hogwarts is my home. As much as I like Venice, I want to come back home. Second: I’m fed up with our distance relationship. I want more than weekends and holidays. I want to wake up next to you in the morning knowing that I’m to fall asleep in your arms in the evening.”

Albus swallowed the lump in his throat. “Having you back will make me a happy man, Hermione …” inwardly he added: “And perhaps one day a married once again?”

Hermione wasn’t through with her subject. Still looking seriously she said: “It actually wasn’t my return to Hogwarts I wanted to talk about. It’s my successor in Venice. I’d like so muche Gle Glasunov getting the job. But you know how it is: Luciano hardly finds time to read a paper and besides …,” she sighed, “… as much as I appreciate him: He’s so busy with keeping the faculty going he lost his grip at the subject a bit. He’s hardly informed about the newest developments anymore. In hiring professors he mostly trusts on the recommendations of other master. He wouldn’t be so keen of keeping me if I wouldn’t have yours and Minerva’s …”

“Besides Luciano is good at counting,” Albus said. “Even if he doesn’t read papers - he counts how much one has published. You’ve got an amazing count of five in only three years. That’s more than some of our colleagues manage in centuries.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Some of them are nevertheless being seen as geniuses. Take a certain Albus Dumbledore for example. He only did one paper in the last 25 years …”

“He must be a lazy bone.” Albus grinned.

“He is - at least when it comes to publishing.” Hermione smiled at him. “Yet if he recommends a young colleague it means the youngster’s chances for getting a job are at least doubled.”

Albus had almost a bad conscience because Hermione made it so easy for him. But he wasn’t a Slytherin for anything - and the young man he still saw as a hurdle on his waybeinbeing with Hermione finally. “As much as I trust your judgement, Piccola, I’d feel better about a recommendation if I’d have spoken with the candidate at least once. And I shall of course read his last papers …”

Hermione almost jumped in joy. “Albus, you’re a darling!” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sure you’ll like Pete! And his last paper is brilliant, really! I’ll get it for you.” She was already climbing out of the bed. “You’ve got the last issue of ‘Transfiguration International’, didn’t you? Did you put them on the usual shelf in the living room? And for talking with Peter - I’m sure he’ll come every time you want him to Hogwarts.”

“He won’t have to,” Albus said. “I’ll see him next week at an exam in Den Haag. Perhaps you can be so good to ask him if he’d like to have dinner with me afterwards.”

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


It was obvious: The young man had wanted to make a good impression by his first appearance as a member of an examination committee. He’d chosen his attire with care and cleverness. The burgundy robe with fur at the collar had pleased the old fashioned wizards while the dark blue muggle suit with the white shirt and burgundy tie had got him the approval of the younger members of the Brethren.

During the exam Pjotr Nikolajevich Glasunov had got himself a few points more by Albus. He’d shown himself well-prepared and his questioning had been polite and tricky, but not unfair.

Yet now, standing next to Albus in front of the rather ugly red brick building which was the Magical University of Den Haag, Pjotr Nikolajevich fumbled nervously at the hem of his robe. The exams were done, the colleagues had bidden their farewells and it was now time for dinner a deux and Albus - though he’d promised Hermione to be “nice” - didn’t intend to make it too easy for the young man he still saw as a potential rival.

Hermione would probably have commented his pose with “Uh - you’re doing the imposing headmaster act”, but Albus didn’t feel bad about. Being “nice” didn’t mean he’d have to become all fluffy, hadn’t it? And it had been Glasunov who’d offered to pick out a restaurant because he’d spent two years at Den Haag and knew the town. So it would be his task to make the first move.

“Headmaster …” The blonde wizard cleared his throat. “Professor Granger said you wouldn’t mind a muggle place.” He gazed a bit sceptically at Albus who looked in his blue-golden robe with the long silver mane very “wizardish”. “I mean, the magical community in Den Haag is rather small and the two pubs in the wizard distract …”

“…are rather awful,” Albus finished the line. “I know. I was there.” He waved his hand, changing his robe to a grey muggle shirt with light blue shirt and dark blue tie. Another wave of his hand shortened his hair and changed his half moon spectacles to round glasses. In his mind Albus could hear Hermione laughingly rebuke him for being a show off and indeed - his casual display of wandless magic had made the young man so nervous he almost let drop his wand as he was to change himself. Yet remembering his promise to Hermione Albus pretended noeingeing it and waited patiently until Glasunov had changed his robe to a black muggle leather coat.

Smiling a bit awkwardly at Albus, he said: “We actually can walk to the restaurant. It’s only a few steps. I mean we could apparate too, but …”

“We’ll walk!” decided Albus. Being “nice” certainly couldn’t mean he’d become splinched in a joined apparition with a young wizard who obviously got the jitters by the idea of touching the great headmaster.

“Well - this way …” Glasunov pointed to the little park in front of them and started to walk. “You know, the exit from the university to the muggle world is just behind these trees.”

“This I didn’t know,” Albus said. “I must admit it is centuries ago that I was in muggle Den Haag.”

“You were here during the war against Grindelwald, weren’t you?” the young man asked.

“Yes. Grindelwald was helping Hitler, so he came to Den Haag too,” Albus said and waited interested for the reaction. He wasn’t sure if Glasunov knew about his former master’s involvement with Grindelwald during the time Menchnikov had been teaching in Den Haag.

“Headmaster, there’s something I’d like to tell you first,” Glasunov said now, sounding very seriously. “I’m not a pureblood wizard.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “That’s certainly not a problem for me,” he answered.

Pjotr Glasunov smiled shyly. “I know, sir. If it would be one you certainly wouldn’t have taken up a muggleborn apprentice. Yet what I actually wanted to make clear: My relationship to my former master was always rather difficult. Professor Menchnikov didn’t want me and I actually didn’t want him. Yet my father - who was a muggle politician - insisted on me staying in Russia and he made Professor Menchnikov taking me. During my third year my father died. He’d been my last living relative - my mother had already died as I was a small child. So I could leave Russia immediately after my exam.”

“I suppose Professor Menchnikov wasn’t too pleased about?” Albus asked, knowing that his colleague liked top hip his former apprentices as badly paid and treated assistants.

“You can say so, sir,” the young wizard confirmed. “He accused me of being ungrateful and disloyal.”

“Hmm.” Albus only nodded. He didn’t want to comment the story, but he liked that Glasunov was rather factual about it. He knew what it meant for a young master to stand on its own - and that Glasunov had managed it without any support to the Cagliostro University, spoke for him.

They were through the park now and in a muggle street along one of the channels - in Den Haag called “Graacht” - which were typical for the Dutch metropolis. Glasunov pointed to big house boat with a little roof terrace on which a flag in the colours of the rainbow stood proudly in the chilly November wind. “That’s the restaurant,” he said. “Hermione mentioned you’d like Indonesian food.”

“She’s right as mostly,” Albus smiled. “I’m rather fond on stake.”

“They make a rather delicious stake thR” Glasunov promised. “The landlord is a friend of mine - muggle with a witch sister. Very nice guy. You only have to be careful if he asks you how hot you want your stake. I tried once - it really was very hot.”

Albus laughed. “My first attempt with hot stake made me feel like a dragon - I was sure I could blow fire.” Following Glasunov on the boat, he looked around in the room they had entered. The ceiling was bit deep - Albus almost had to crook his head for not bumping against the lamps. But the tables - only a dozen - standing on the left and right wall, were neatly laid with pristine white tablecloths and perfectly polished silver.

The landlord - a blonde young man with long, shimmering hair, wearing black leather trousers so tight Albus inwardly winced and a wide, white silk shirt - approached the guests, beaming at Glasunov, but well-mannered greeted Albus first. “Welcome to Kerry & Adrian, sir. I’m Adrian and I’ll serve you while my partner Kerry cooks for you.”

Being a man of the world Albus knew immediately: Adrian and Kerry was an item. And he didn’t need to see Kerry for knowing that he was male too. Yet Albus didn’t mind. He’d been the one who’d once encouraged his gay colleague Valerian Vector to his coming out of the closet and the answers infuriated parents had got to their howlers from him had obviously made deep impression: Since almost 25 years no one had dared to breathe a word against the gay teacher at Hogwarts anymore. Even Arthur Weasley’s predecessor Cornelius Fudge, notorious for his lack of tact, had only once tried. Telling Albus that he’d feel uncomfortable around a homosexual, he’d got one of Albus’ best “You’re a louse, but I’m an animal lover”-smiles and a very chilly: “Don’t worry, Cornelius: You’re probably the last man Valerian would become interested in.”


Half an hour, one genever for an aperitif, a glass of wine and the appetizers later Albus wasn’t so sure about himself feeling comfortably around gay man anymore. Yet it had been neither the landlord nor the waiter - whose white jeans were so tight Albus really wondered how the boy had got in without using magic - who’d made him a bit jumpy, but Peter Glasunov. After two double genevers and two glasses of wine the young wizard had lost his shyness and was now coming closer and closer to Albus.

At the first moment Albus, absolutely not being prepared for the young wizard trying to flirt with him, hadn’t noticed. But now - sweet Merlin! He was neither blind nor deaf nor thick and so he couldn’t oversee how Hermione’s young colleague batted his eye lashes, purred, smiled, licked over his lips and used every opportunity to touch the older wizard.

Under the premise of being “nice” Albus had agreed to drop the formal titles - and this dinner companion had obviously understood as an invitation for serious advances. Laying his hand on Albus’ knee he looked in his eyes and said: “You know I’ve had always a thing for older men. Experience is rather sexy - especially when it comes with eyes like yours and such a body. You are a very attractive man, Albus. I’d like to get to know you better …”

Albus wasn’t shocked. It wasn’t the first time in his life a man tried to seduce him and he actually had never had a problem with refusing politely with a “Thank you very much, I’m flattered, but no.”

Yet in this case he was a bit slow because he felt overwhelmed. Glasunov being interested in him - or in men generally … it didn’t led automatically to a “He isn’t interested in women, so Hermione is mine”. Albus had known more then one bisexual wizard. Yet … if Glasunov would have wanted Hermione he certainly wouldn’t have made a pass on her former master - even if he didn’t know that this former master was Hermione’s lover too. Glasunov could hardly believe that the way in Hermione’s bed lead through Albus’. So his advances could only mean that he wasn’t interested in Hermione. And she - she’d always said that she saw him only as a friend and even if she didn’t know that Glasunov was gay - sensitive girl she was she’d certainly felt that women let him rather cold. And … Albus felt almost dizzy with relief and happiness: She was to become his! Truly and ly aly and hopefully for a long time and perhaps he could even persuade her one day to marry him. Professor Hermione Jane … no, he wouldn’t insist she’d change her name. He wasn’t so old fashionedexpeexpect his wife to give up her iity ity for becoming “Mrs Albus Dumbledore”. Certainly not. But if she’d like to become Professor Dr. Granger-Dumbledore once - he would like that very much. Of course, people would say that he was an old fool and they would find it “scandalous” if he would marry a woman so young. But she loved him and he loved her and what did people’s opinion count to him and her?

Hermione his wife - that would mean that he could be with her openly. That would mean that he never would have to hide his love for her again, that he could hold her hand even if the entire school looked at them, that he could shower her with every luxury he wanted her to have, that she never would have to sneak in his rooms, but could go there openly …

Oops. The hand on his knee was moving upwards. For a moment Albus had forgotten all about the young wizard next to him. But being so happy himself, Albus didn’t want to be harsh to a fellow human being. So he softly caught the hand, put it back on the table and looked with a smile at its owner. “Pjotr Nikolajevich,” he started, “as flattered as I am by your offer, I want to be honest with you. I’m not only Hermione’s former master, I am her …” Now he had to search for a word. “Lover” he didn’t like - he was more. “Boyfriend” would sound rather idiotic for a man his age. And before he became her “fiancé” he would have to propose.

Glasunov saved him. Beaming he offered: “Significant other? I thought so. She’s terribly in love with you.”

“You know?” Albus was surprised. The young man knew and nevertheless had made a pass on him?

“Of course I do,” Glasunov laughed. “She didn’t tell me, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who her secret lover is. You should see her when your name is mentioned! And I understand her - you’re a fascinating man …”

Albus swallowed. “You knew - and nevertheless you’re …?”

Now Glasunov’s hand was on Albus’ again and he purred: “Hermione is a generous girl and we are friends. I think she wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Albus pulled his hand away. “I wouldn’t bet for it.”

The hand was immediately back. “Why not? She’s open minded and clever. She knows I wouldn’t be a rival for her, but something like a widening of your horizon.”

Once again Albus pulled his hand away, this time a bit more determined. “Thank you very much, Pjotr Nikolajevich, but I just like my horizon as it is. And even if I wouldn’t be as heterosexual as I am - I’m a bit old-fashioned. I wouldn’t want to share Hermione and I certainly don’t intend to cheat on her. She gives me everything I wish for.”

For a moment Glasunov studied Albus’ face. Then he said: “You’re in love with her as much as she is in love with her. Pity for me, but …,” now he smiled broadly, “good for Hermione. She’s a great person and if I weren’t as gay as I am, you would have got a rival in me.”

“I must admit,” Albus said, “I was afraid of you being in this position.”

Glasunov laughed. “And what good would it have done to me? Oh, Albus - if a man were to get in the way between Hermione and you, the only thing he would have left of Hermione were the marks of her sneakers as she climbed over him to get to you!”

The waiter just came with the sate. Peter Glasunov waited until he was off again, then he said: “It seems fidelity is a virtue you share with Hermione. But if you’d ever like to be with a man, I’d like to be the one.”

“Oh my.” Albus smiled. “I wouldn’t set any hopes to that if I were in your shoes. As far as I’m concerned I’d like to spend the rest of my life with Hermione.”


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


“Utch!” Albus cried, struggling against the sharp leaves of the palm which stood on Hermione’s terrace. But the plant wasn’t only prickly, but wet from the steady rain which was so typical for Venice in November. By trying to entangle himself from it Albus got a rather generous amount of cold water in his collar and another leaf directly in his face. “Damn!” he cursed the plant - and himself because he’d missed his apparition target for almost three metres. It proved him once again that one actually shouldn’t apparate when drunk - and drunk he was after two genevers, two glasses of wine and half a bottle of champagne. He actually could be glad that he’d only landed in Hermione’s pot garden instead of splinching himself.

Suddenly the light on the terrace was on. In the threshold of the French window stood Hermione, wearing his much too big dressing gown and smiling down at him. “Nice night flower I’ve got,” she said. “Only the colour of your tie doesn’t suit the hibiscus.”

Albus grinned at the big hibiscus with the orange blooms he sat next to. “Shall I change it?” he offered. “I’ve always liked white hibiscus better, you know. The white blooms with the red hearts always remind me of your sweet, sweet …”

Hermione had approached him, reached him a hand and helped him up. Kissing his cheek now she made a face. “Uuh, Albus - you’re pissed!”

Stretching to his full length, Albus declared firmly: “I am not pissed, ProfesGranGranger. I’m only a bit - a tiny bit - dizzy.” Stumbling over the threshold by following her inside he spoiled the effect of his declaration a bit. But Albus didn’t mind. Sweeping Hermione in his arms he tried to nibble at her ear - but obviously his ability to hit targets didn’t only fail by apparation. His mouth landed in her hair where he purred: “I’ll show you how fit I am. I’ll make love to until you beg for mercy, my sweet. You’re going to become fucked royally.”

“Yes, my darling.” Hermione sounded very amused. “You’re my big, wild man and you’re to show it. But one thing I’d like to know before: How’s your opponent?”

Albus suppressed a belch. The flat suddenly seemed to whirl around him; therefore he laid his arms around Hermione. “Your dear colleague got the waiter,” he said cheerfully. “Although I doubt that he’s to have much fun with him. The boy’s trouser - my, my! They were so tight I’m sure he squashed everything in there. But I don’t wear tight trousers, therefore my privates aren’t squashed, but fully functional and …”

“... You’re going to prove it to me!” Hermione kissed his chin.

“Did you know Pjotr Nikolajevich Glasunov is gay?” Albus asked.

Hermione giggled. “Of course I knew. And I even know that he’s got a mighty crush on you. He was brooding for the last days what he’d like better: Your recommendation by the dean or your not squashed genitals. How did he decide?”

“You knew?” Albus looked at her. “You little wrench knew and didn’t warn me? Oh, you’re so going to pay for that!”

“He!” Hermione protested. “I said I wasn’t sure what he’d do! Besides …,” she giggled. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you? I thought you certainly can handle a man making a pass on you. Only …”

“Yes?”

Hermione stood on her tip toes and blew a kiss on his nose. “I’d have so loved to see your face as you got it!”

Albus suddenly felt very tired. Yawning he braced himself on Hermione. “I think I like your colleague being gay,” he said. “I like it …,” another yawn, “… very much!”

“Of course you do!” Hermione laid her arm around his waist. “But now it’s late and because we’ll both have a hard day tomorrow, you’ll be a good little boy and you’ll go to bed with me now.”

“Bed …” Albus yawned again. “Sounds great. Let’s go there and ...”

Hermione laughed. “I think the ‘rutting like rabbits’ part we’ll let for another night.” Energetically she pushed him to the bedroom and made him sit on the bedside. Kneeling down in front of him she took his glasses up and laid them on the nightstand. Next she pulled his wand out of his sleeve, put it next to the spectacles and asked: “Could you perhaps bring yourself to recommend Peter to the dean even if he was after you?”

Albus yawned. “He proved great taste, don’t you think? And besides: His paper is damod aod and he’s an able transfiguration master. I’ll recommend him …” He closed his eyes. “Hermione?”

“Hmm, Darling?”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit drunk,” he confessed. “Perhaps I should sleep on the sofa. I’m going to snore terribly, you know?”

Hermione was just pulling his boots off. Coming up again she opened his tie. “Don’t worry, love. I’m a witch. If you snore too much, I’ll cast a silencing spell on you.”

“Wretched witch.” Albus - not bothering about his clothes anymore kipped backwards in the bed. With his eyes already closed, he murmured sleepily: “You know what, Piccola? I love you even when I’m pissed.”


To be continued …