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 18: Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t

“Hermione?” called Albus Dumbledore. He was all business, coming up the stairs in a light blue velvet robe, matching the sky on this cold, but friendly afternoon in March, reading a letter by it. Now he tugged it in the hem of his sleeve and asked “Are you unwell again, poor darling?” while he stepped through the mirror in the bedroom where he jumped, stammered “I’m sorry” and turned to the wall.

Hermione, pushing the strap of Ginny’s bra under the neck holder of the robe she’d lend her girlfriend, laughed. “You can turn again, Albus. Ginny’s quite presentable.”

Ginny Weasley, tugging on the rather generous cleavage of the robe, smiled and said a bit shyly: “Good afternoon, Headmaster. I’m just ready and going ...”

“You won’t!” Hermione contradicted her promptly. “We’re not ready yet - and as I know my husband he’s already in a hurry again ...”

“Hermione is right as mostly,” Albus had turned and smiled at Ginny. “Only I’d say you lock more then presentable, but ravishing.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” Ginny blushed a bit. “Hermione was so nice to offer me one of her robes for the party Saturday - and I look forward to it.” She made a little turn so that the long skirt of the robe was whirling around her legs.

Albus laid his hand on Hermione’s back. “You see? Virginia likes my idea.”

Hermione stretched on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Ask her again after the party, Albus. I’ll make her wear the high heels she punished me with last time.”

Albus looked at her over the rim of his spectacles. “You won’t wear high hells, will you?”

Hermione smiled and brushed a hair from the collar of his robe. “That depends on you, dear. If you promise to dance with me at least three times, I’ll wear sensible shoes. If not, I’ll have to dance with Severus - and he likes women looking in his eyes during dancing.”

“This I didn’t know,” Alsmilsmiled.

“That comes from never dancing with him,” said Hermione seriously, but with a twinkle in her eyes which almost matched his.

“I think I’d rather ask Miss Weasley for a dance on Saturday,” Albus laughed. “Or must I ask Harry for permission first?”

Ginny blushed again. “No, sir, I don’t think so,” she said. “And I’d like to dance with you.”

“Chauvinist!” Hermione was blunter. “When will you learn that modern women don’t need their men’s permission for a dance?”

“I’m working on it, Hermione.” Albus pulled his wizard’s watch out, looked at it and sighed. “I have to go - and I’m afraid I’ll be late again.” Looking seriously in Hermione’s eyes, he added: “You’ll look after yourself, won’t you? Don’t eat a sandwich over your books, but go down for dinner - and don’t study all night! I want to find you in bed and asleep when I’ll come back.”

“But Albus!” Hermione protested. “I don’t have time for dinner in the hall. It’s only six weeks until I have to do my NEWTs and ...”

“You could have done them the year before,” he interrupted her energetic. “So it’s dinner in the hall and early sleep.” He gently stroked her cheek and turned to Ginny who’d busied herself with cuddling Hermione’s cat Crookshanks, laying in his cradle at the foot of the bed. “Miss Weasley, I trust you support me in looking after Hermione?”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Ginny answered promptly. “I’ll get her to dinner with me.”

“That’s a good girl!” Albus praised her, kissing Hermione on the tip of her nose before he turned to the door. “Have a nice evening!”

“Take care, Albus!” Hermione called after him and sat down on the bed. After the wall had closed, she sighed. “He’s sometimes a bit overprotective.”

Ginny rose, brushed Crookshanks’ hair from her shirt and sat hesitantly down on the bed too. “I find him actually quite sw Her Hermione,” she said. “It’s cute how he can’t...,” she giggled a bit awkwardly, “... Resist touching you. Even Harry noticed - he told me the other day it was nice how the headmaster in the DADA class laid a hand on your shoulder - obviously without thinking about. As he saw Harry looking at him, he took the hand away and blushed.”

“Poor Albus.” Hermione smiled. “He’s still not used being a husband ...”

“I would have never thought it before, but ...” Ginny said quietly, “... sometimes I almost envy you a bit. Harry is sweet and I really love him and I think he loves me too ...”

“He does,” Hermione interrupted. “Believe me - he does.”

“Yes, I know.” Ginny smiled a bit sad. “But he’s a boy and that means he loves not only me, but quidditch and playing chess with Ron and talking quidditch with the other boys and ...”

“Albus spends all day with me,” Hermione turned her eyes. “Except when he’s away at the ministry, the wizengamot, the international wizard’s conference, the aurors academy, busy with the order or the school, teaching classes, writing letters or talking to people. Ginny, I’m pretty sure: You spend more time with Harry than I with Albus. The last three days I’ve hardly seen him except when he came back from a meeting in the middle of the night. And four days ago I woke up at two in the morning and Albus wasn’t there. I was so worried I went to his office to ask the portraits if they knew where he is. Only I didn’t need to because he was still at his desk.”

“Oh,” said Ginny. “I didn’t know he’s so busy ...”

“I could persuade him to come to bed with me,” Hermione smiled. “And he broke me up - he has such a nice way of doing it. He uses a light levitation charm ...”

Ginny grinned. “Tell me more.”

“There wasn’t much more,” Hermione sighed. “The last we would have had time for ‘more’ was on Sunday in the morning - and then I wasn’t in the mood for it.”

Ginny laid her head to the side and looked seriously at her girlfriend. “Have you been unwell, Hermione?”

Hermione only nodded, rose up and went to her bathroom with the big wardrobe. “We should get you a pair of nice shoes ...”

Ginny followed her, laying a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Hermione,” she said seriously, “please, don’t try to distract me. I’m your friend and I am worried about you. You’re not well - it’s obvious.”

“No!” Hermione protested. “I’m fine. It was only on Sunday that I felt a bid odd ...”

“And what was yesterday?” Ginny asked. “By dinner you ate only a little slice of breed and soup because you didn’t feel well, as you said. The day before Snape dismissed you from his class because you looked - to quote Ron - as if you’d start vomiting in the cauldron every minute. And it was before you started to brew a stinking potion! Today your husband comes in with the question, if you’re unwell again ...” Ginny took her friend by both her upper arms and turned her to face her. “Hermione - what’s the matter with you?”

Hermione looked at her feet, and then she sighed. “Ginny, promise me: You won’t tell anyone - not Harry, not Ron, not your parents. Not yet ...”

Ginny swallowed and with eyes as big as saucers. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, Ginny,” Hermione confirmed. “I’m in the fourth week of pregnancy. But I’ve read in this state women often lose the babies and therefore I don’t want to talk about it. Except Albus and Madame Pomfrey only Professor Snape and McGonagall know. Albus insisted they have to for sparing me dangerous lessons.”

Ginny still had huge eyes. “I can’t believe it!” she cried. “I mean I know this idiotic marriage law wants us to get babies as soon and as much as possible. But I thought if somebody would find a loophole, then it would be the headmaster and you ...”

Hermione went back to the bed and sat down. “Ginny,” she said quietly, “I can’t explain all my reasons to you, but I want you to know something ...” She laid a protective gesture her hand over her flat belly. “This baby is not an accident. I wanted to become pregnant and I fought for it ...” Suddenly she began to cry, laying down on the bed and hiding her face in the pillows.

Ginny ran to the bed and embraced her friend. “Hermione, forgive me - I’m an idiot. I was only surprised, you know. I never thought you would be the first of us getting a baby.”

Hermione sniffled. “Sorry - it’s these bloody hormones! I’m always crying for nothing. It drives me mad!” She started to cry again, sniffling and wiping her eyes. “One thing I can tell you already, Ginny: Pregnancy isn’t a bundle of laughs. I don’t know how your mother managed, but I feel like a roller coaster. One moment I’m so happy I could sing and then I want to tell the entire world and to celebrate and have a party. The next moment I think I must have been crazy to start this and Albus was right as he named it ‘this insanity of yours’. And then I worry about the baby and if it is healthy and feels well in my womb and I talk with him and the next moment I find myself running to the bathroom because I’m going to be sick again and my breasts feel like balloons with excess pressure and the idea of some one touching them makes me want to dismember all men, starting with Albus. And you know, what’s the worse thing about it?”

Ginny, stroking Hermione’s arm shook her head. “Tell me, darling,” she said.

“On Sunday in the morning as Albus was here and we would have had time for each other, I was first sick and then in the ‘don’t ever touch me again’ mood. I was worse then Snape on a real bad day and although Albus is probably the most patient human being I ever met I made him finally take refuge in his office,” Hermione told, crying again.

“He survived and obviously he isn’t cross with you,” Ginny comforted her.

“He isn’t, but I could have bitten myself in the butt because in the afternoon as we were to watch the quidditch match I felt like jumping on him!”

Ginny giggled. “You did tell him, didn’t you?”

“How do you know?” Hermione blushed.

Ginny lay down next to her, fidgeting with amusement. “I saw it. You know, I like playing quidditch, but watching it - especially Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw - is pretty boring. One can’t entertain oneself all the time with hoping that Cho Chang falls on her fat arse. So I watched the headmaster and you. You tugged at his sleeve, he bent his head to you, you whispered something in his ear - and he suddenly looked like he looks when we have something especially nice for dessert - like rice-pudding.”

Hermione almost broke down with laughter. “Rice pudding with a cherry on top. And cream!” She couldn’t stop laughing. “Sorry, Ginny ...”

“Hmm?” Ginny grinned, but couldn’t share Hermione’s amusement.

Hermione wiped tears from her cheek. “It’s a private joke between Albus and me. I told him once; I’d see our marriage as a very delicious rice-pudding. And sex would be the cherry on top.” Laughing again, she proceeded: “Sex with an orgasm for all parties involved - that’s the cream on the cherry.”

“Cream indeed!” Ginny giggled.

“Virginia Weasley! Your mother would be so shocked!” Hermione laid once again her hand on her belly. “Besides: Think of the little one! She’s much too young to hear such language!”

“Considering that she’s the headmaster’s offspring, she surely will love cream.” Ginny tried to look innocent. “I mean, he’s very fond of sweets, isn’t he? Oh, by the way: Why do we talk about her? It could be a boy also ...”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure it’s a girl. A strong, clever Gryffindor lioness.”

“Roar!” made Ginny. “And what, if you’re wrong and it’s a sneering, but sexy Slytherin?”

Hermione giggled. “Then I’ll buy him black rompers with 48 buttons on it, put him in a cradle and depose him on Snape’s threshold.”

“Oh, that would be too cruel!” Ginny laughed. “Even the greasy git doesn’t deserve that. Imagine what will happen when your little Slytherin starts to speak! His first line probably is “I want lemon drops’ and the second ‘Tell me all about the 25 uses of dragon blood!”

“The second line Severus would like,” Hermione laughed. Then she became serious again. “You know, Ginny, that it was Severus who pushed Albus over the last hurdle?”

“Snape? Hurdle?” Ginny looked curious. “I mustn’t understand that, must I?”

Hermione pushed the pillow up leaning comfortable against it. “As I started to talk about wanting a baby, Albus refused - with all his the stubbornness he can muster - and that’s a lot, I tell you. He said I’d be too young and he’d be too old and with the war and my education not ready and my career and yadda-yadda-yadda ... For almost three weeks we were arguing like mad. We hardly needed more then three minutes in private - and loo, we were already in the middle of a row again.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Ginny looked almost shocked. “I thought you were so happy with him ...”
“Oh Ginny - I’m mostly happy with him. I love him, even if we’re arguing with each other. Even if I’m mad with him - and he’s able to make me pretty mad - I love him.”

Ginny swallowed. “He wasn’t nasty tu, wu, was he?”

Hermione patted her hand. “Not nastier than I was to him. I called him an egotistical arrogant Slytherin who thinks he’s the only one with some brains and got an ‘unbearable, pigheaded Gryffindor’ back. I told him he could perhaps rule the world, but not me, he named me a madwoman in dire need of padded cell at St. Mungos. After that I became so furious with him he fled to his office for the night. I fumed for two hours, and then I missed him so much I went to him. Approximately one hour later we were battling again because he didn’t want to sleep with me as long as the matter wasn’t settled. He told me that my attempt to seduce him was ‘unfair’, I told him that his refusal would be too, he said something about how ‘daft’ a woman could be, I almost bite his head off - it was really a nice evening.”

“And how did you persuade him in the end?” Ginny wanted to know.

“I didn’t. It was Severus. I would never have believed it, but he understands why I want this baby ...”

“Snape understands? But how did he know? Did you tell him?” Ginny became once again big eyes.

“No, of course not.” Hermione laughed by the thought of it. “But he saw a book Madame Pince got for me - something about fertility potions. And he asked Albus then ...”

Ginny looked thoughtfully. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I’ve never thought of Snape as somebody’s friend - and now to think about him and the headmaster talking private things ...”

“They often do,” Hermione said. “And Severus - so at least Albus says - is always my ‘advocate’ in it. And so he was in the discussion about the baby too. It was on the evening afteveruverus broke down in class. Albus went to see him. Albus came back very thoughtfully. He told me I’d have got support by Severus - and asked me to give him and the subject three day rests.”

“And you did?” Ginny asked. “I’d probably burst in curiosity.”

Hermione grinned. “I actually was closer to bursting in rage. I was - as your dear brother Ron would say - on pissed-off level four all the time. I regretted that Albus had only blown off the Slytherin’s bathroom with Malfoy’s potion because I felt like blowing off this entire brood of vipers - after dismembering my husband and his potion master while using two bricks!” She made the gesture of clashing two bricks together.

“Utch!” Ginny made. “But I probably wouldn’t have taken this well either. Men are sometimes such insensitive idiots.”

“Indeed, they are,” Hermione agreed. “I really was glad Albus was at least clever enough to act the diving duck during those three days. I fumed every time I sat eyes on him. Even at breakfast in the hall I found myself thinking about hexing him. And once in the dungeons I really did a jinx on him.”

“You did?” Ginny jumped on the bed. “And I haven’t seen it! And you didn’t tell before! Hermione, you’re not nice. Now tell already: What did you do to him?”

Hermilooklooked a bit sulky. “Not much. You know he’s good in defence. If I’d have put a jinx on his noble persona, he’d noticed and removed it at once. But he did so deserve to become hexed! You must imagine: I was on my way to Severus’ private lab. It’s on the end of the small hall behind the classroom in the dungeons in a dark corner. As I just was about to open the wards, I felt a kiss on my neck. I knew immediately it was Albus - his smell is as unmistakable to me as the tickling of his beard when he kisses me. I really wasn’t in the mood for kisses from him, so I named him a ‘sneaky Slytherin bastard’.”

“Uuh!” made Ginny and laughed. “And there was Harry who worried once about you feeling shy around the headmaster. What did he answer to that?”

“That Slytherin bastard,” Hermione laughed and shook her head in remembering the scene, “provided me with one of his famous twinkles and said: ‘I love you too, little lioness’.”

Ginny laughed. “You must admit: He’s got style.”

Hermione grinned. “I hexed him nevertheless. As he marched away, grinning as smug as only a Slytherin can grin, I changed all the lemon drops in his pocket to earwax flavoured beans.” She giggled. “I’d have so loved to see his face as he discovered it.”

Ginny turned around giggling. “You’re cruel, Hermione. The poor man - no lemon drops, no cherry, no cream. But ...” she looked at Hermione’s belly, “... I think he got some sweets later ...”

“Oh yes - he did. And once again his fun on my account.” Hermione didn’t look angry by saying so, but rather pleased. The memory of that evening she wouldn’t share with Ginny - at least not in detail - but for herself she liked to relieve it over and over again.

It had been the second evening after he’d asked for three days time, only hours after she’d hexed his lemon drops. She’d just come back from the potions lab in need of a shower after standing for one hour over a fuming potion (by now she knew that Severus’ often greasy hair wasn’t a sign of a lack of personal hygiene, but simply what his job did to him). Throwing her sweaty clothes away, she’d stepped under the shower, washed her hair and just started to spread showering gel over her body as she’d heard a little “plop” and felt a warm, naked body behind her. And then a pair of long arms had been laid around her middle, a beard had tickled her on the shoulder and a husky voice had whispered in her ear: “I thought you might need a helping hand. Or two ...”

For an endless minute Hermione had fought a battle against herself. Her inner sex goddess, bitchy as she was, had felt already very neglected and so she had purred: “Sex in the shower feels great. You know what warm water, soap and your hands can do there. Imagine his fingers ... you know, how talented he is. And his mouth on your neck feels already glorious and you only would have to kneel down and you could at last show him what a true head girl can work at for him ...”

Her conscience had spoken against. “How sex craved are you to become? You’re cross with him - and you have damn good reason to be! He’s an arrogant Slytherin and he certainly doesn’t need you boosting his over developed ego with giving in so easily. Hermione, be a woman! Kick him out he she shower as quickly as possible!”

Sex goddess didn’t want to give up - especially now, because Albus had just started to play with Hermione’s breasts. So sex goddess had said: “Damn your conscience! Just let him shag you - he’s so good at it. You can argue with him later ...”

As tempting as the idea of a long, good shag had been - conscience had won. Pushing his hands away, Hermione said: “No, Albus. I don’t want to sleep with you.”

“Pity,” he answered - and Hermione was already starting to fume again, because he dared to sound amused. “I’ve cancelled a staff meeting for getting us a little time ...”

Hermione breathed deeply and tried to stay calm - though the famous sex goddess just had named her “the daftest cow on earth” for missing such an opportunity. “You should perhaps have asked before, Albus,” she turned around, facing him.

He loitered against the wall of the shower, looking entirely at ease. “Hermione, I’m afraid you overestimate me.”

“Hmm?” Hermione hadn’t a clue what he wanted to tell her with that.

“You know, I’m certainly not too bad a wizard and I’m actually rather proud of inventing a few new and even some useful tricks during my lifetime,” he said and scratched lightly on the little scrap on his forearm - courtesy of Crookshanks and the rather wild cuddling Albus liked to do with him, “but I don’t think I’d be able to invent a charm for getting you pregnant. Besides I must admit that I actually would prefer the old-fashioned method. It needs perhaps a bit more time than a spell, but it’s certainly more fun.”

“Albus ...” After all the discussions of the last weeks Hermione wouldn’t have thought he’d give in finally so easily. Therefore she was a bit suspicious. “Did I get that right? You’ve just agreed to procreate?”

“Yes, Hermione - I agree to procreate. If it’s really your wish,” he answered, now seriously, “I will do my part in fulfilling it.”

Hermione swallowed. She’d won the battle, but this victory tasted bitter and she suddenly wasn’t sure about her decision anymore. Perhaps she’d really asked too much of him? To live through the last months of his life with knowing that she would get his child - a child he’d probably never see! - Would make his life a hell - or wouldn’t it? She knew him well enough now to feel that he didn’t fear death, but also loved life. To create new life on the brink of finishing his own - this was too much to ask of him. Sadly she said: “You do that only for me ...”

He opened his arms. “Come to me, little lioness.” Switching the shower off, he cradled her head on his shoulder. “Before my talk with Severus I’d said ‘If I do, then I do it for you’. I love you and I wish you to get what you want. The last days I thought about it anew. I want it for me too, Hermione.” His voice, at the start of his speech only a soft whisper, became firmer. “I won’t see my child, I won’t be a father to him and this makes me sad. But to know, that you love me so much you want to have my child even without me being there to help you, makes me a proud and happy man. And to know that our love - the tangible, living, breathing, wriggling prove of it - will survive my will gives me the strength I’ll need to do my duty. I’ll fight for you and our child - and with the two of you in my heart and in my back the evil won’t stand a chance.”

“Albus ...” Hermione cried on his shoulder. “I love you so much ...”

“Then close the floodgates, Darling. I’d hate to bed a crying woman. It would make me doubt my qualities as a lover.” Albus kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides: I’m already wet. I need rather soap then salt on my skin.”

Hermione laughed and wiped a tear away. “Soap? To wash out your mouth?”

“I don’t think you’d really like that.” Albus switched the shower on once again. “Soapy kisses taste awful!”

“As awful as earwax flavoured beans?” Hermione asked innocently.

Albus, who’d started to spread soap over her back, stopped his massage and looked down on her. “I knew it was you. But aren’t you ashamed? Hexing your husband’s lemon drops? How are you to make up for this?”

“Hmm ...” Hermione looked up at him. “I could kiss my husband. Thoroughly. And then I could ...,” she let her hand wander down over his belly to his already half erected member, “... get on my knees ...”

“Ah?” He smiled. “I don’t think so. Getting yourself a lollipop after you’ve destroyed my lemon drops - no. It’s for me to get something nice to suck at - like this.” He kneeled down and kissed her breast, his hand stroking over her tight and parting her legs.

Hermione leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. The warm water on her skin and his kisses and his stroking made her tremble. And now he’d found her clitoris and played with it and she heard herself moan and found it hard to stay upright. “Albus ...”

“Hmm?” He only stopped for a moment in sucking her breast.

“Take me to bed ...” Hermione said. “I want so much to feel you ...”

“Impatient?” He smiled and bite lightly in her nipple. “As I said: I’ve cancelled a meeting. This means we have a lot of time - and I intend to use it.” Rising up, he turned her around so that she stood with her back to him. She felt his erection on her butt, but he obviously wasn’t in a hurry. Just on the contrary - he now played with both her breasts, pulling the nipples lightly and massaging the firm flesh. Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted more - but she knew he wouldn’t speed up. He liked to tease her and he even liked to make her ask for more. Sometimes he wondered how frankly she could do this now. In the Gryffindor common room she’d once had been named “our prude in training” - the rank of the “Gryffindor prude No.1\" had already gone to Minerva McGonagall. But he remembered very well how often she grumbled then about her mates always talking about sex. And now it was she who had become vocative and who enjoyed talking about sex - but only with Albus. With him it felt right and so she started, her eyes closed and her voice st dst dreamy: “I want you to make love to me. I want you to push your cock in me - slowly and strongly, as deep as possible. I want to feel your weight on me, your skin against mine, my legs around your back, and your hands on my butt. I want to come by being fucked by you and I want to feel you come, sweating and panting ...”

“You will, Darling, you will,” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “My perfect mistress ... my beloved ... Hermione ...” And then, suddenly gri gripped her firmly, rose her up and turned her around again, pressing her close.

She understood and wrapped her legs around him, feeling him push against her and sinking her slowly down on his erection. “Oh, Albus ...” It still felt sensational and perfect and overwhelming and she clung to him and closed her eyes, concentrating entirely on him moving in her, slow and tenderly and sending shivers up and down her spine. She loved him, she desired him and she’d thought she couldn’t love and desire him any more. But now she learned that there wasore.ore. To know that this act didn’t only mean him and her, but probably their future too, that he was not only her husband and her lover and her friend and her comrade, but the man who could - would - should - become the father of her child, deepened her feelings for him to an extend she hadn’t thought possible.

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

In the next days Albus showed her that he truly and really wanted her to become pregnant. He’d slept with her every night - even in the one he came back late from an order’s meeting. Hermione knew that he’d probably used a potion, but for once she hadn’t minded, but simply enjoyed his eagerness and the connection it created between them.

Two weeks after he’d started what Hermione inwardly had named “the sex marathon”, he had one morning kissed her and then turned for his wand and spectacles. Directing the wand on her belly, he’d murmured a spell. Hermione had almost forgotten to breathe as she saw, how a bright sphere appeared over her belly. It seemed to pulse and it changed its colours from a light blue over violet until it became finally green.

“Albus?” she asked quietly. “Does this mean ...?”

“Finite incantatum,” he had commanded and, after putting his wand back on the night stand, laid his hand against her belly. “Yes, my love - it does mean you’re pregnant.”

“Albus!” Hermione had threw her arms around him and pulled him close. Laughing and crying in the same time she’d said: “We did it - we really did it. And I’m so happy!”

“So am I, Hermione,” Albus had tenderly kissed her. “You’re expecting a little witch - or a wizard.”

Hermione knew him well enough to hear that there was something like relief in his voice. “Albus - did you doubt we could have a baby?”

“No, I made sure about that,” came the prompt and short answer.

“Hmm?” Hermione sat up. “You have taken a potion?”

“Yes, I did. I promised you, I’d support this,” Albus kissed her again.

“But that’s not everything.” Hermione took his face in her hands and made him look at her.

He sighed again. “You know why Severus r war wanted children of his own?”

“He doesn’t like children at all,” Hermione answered. “Besides he was afraid, some one could use his semen ...”

Albus laid down on his back, pulling her on his side. “Those weren’t the only reasons. The main reason is that he’s the offspring of a very old wizard’s family - like I am. And very old pureblood families are very inbreeded families. In Severus’ case: He had two cousins who were squibs. One died at the age of 11 - probably because his fathilleilled him as it became clear that he hadn’t got any magic. The other committed suicide at the age of 14. In my case: My brother - as much as I loved him - was not only very eccentric, but almost a squib. He worked all his life as kind of a farmer on our family’s estate because he couldn’t have gotten another job in the wizard’s world. He needed our house elves support even for small magic. He never complained about and he never showed envy or jealousy against me, but I don’t think he was happy ...”

“So you are afraid our child could become a squib too?” Hermione asked and laid, without thinking about it, her hand against her belly. “When will we know?”

“We do already,” Albus said. “At least we’ve got a clue. You know, children need some time until they develop their magic. But the colour of the sphere showing her or his presence - did you notice how the colours changed?”

“Yes!” Hermione cried excited. “Is there a meaning behind it?”

“Yes,” Albus answered with a smile. “The blue was my part of it - my magic always shows itself in blue. Yours is - suiting your house - red. But because you’re young, my magic overpowers yours a bit - therefore it was blue and red mixed - violet.”

“In the end it was green!” Hermione looked expectantly at Albus. “Was this our baby’s magic?”

“Yes, I think so,” Albus answered.

“Oh heavens!” Hermione laughed and kicked his legs. “You’ve got me a little Slytherin! I just see it: She’ll crawl out of my womb, sneering at me! And one of her first lines will be ‘How Gryffindor of you, Mummy!”

Albus grinned. “Better than he comes out, crying: ‘How could you get me a Slytherin for a father? That’s a shame for a Gryffindor!”

“He won’t dare to criticise my choice!” Hermione laughed. “If he ever tries, I get Hagrid to baby sit. He will tell the baby then what a great man his father is - twice in one hour!”

Albus looked at her and for a moment his eyes darkened. Hermione swallowed. She knew what he thought and laying her arms around him she said: “He or she - it’s a part of you ...”

“Yes, Hermione.” He kept her close. “I won’t forget it. But ...” He hesitated for a moment, then he said with a very sad smile: “If I were to look at the mirror of Erised again, I’d probably see myself with you and our baby ...”

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


“Meow!” Hermione’s tomcat Crookshanks sounded pretty insulted. Turning around he raised a claw, but he wasn’t quick enough. The phoenix, who had just teased him by picking at his tail, hovered in the air over him.

“Fawkes!” Hermione said. “Come down here and eat your apple!” She pointed to an edge of her paper laden desk where a little dish with a few apple slices stood. The phoenix came down, but he didn’t land where he should, but in front of Hermione, right on the middle of the book she had read. Crooking his head, he looked up to her out of onyx eyes. Hermione laughed. “You don’t expect me to cuddle you, Fawkes, do you? You know you don’t deserve it. First you were sent away from your wizard’s study because you couldn’t stop pestering the minister, now ...”

Just at this moment a green flame in the fireplace roared. In its middle Albus’ head appeared, looking seriously. “Hermione?” he asked. “Are you there?”

Hermione rose and walked over to the fire. Bending down, she answered kindly: “Here I am, Albus.”

Was there a hint of amusement in his blue eyes? She wasn’t sure because he sounded almost grave as he asked her: “Could you be so kind to come down to my office for a moment? His Excellency, the minister of magic, wants to speak with us ...”

Hermione suppressed a grin. Albus addressing Fudge with his title could only mean that “his Excellency” was to be shown his limits once again. And obviously Albus wanted to share the fun with her even if Fudge wasn’t delighted about it. Hermione could just hear him in the background, grumbling with a sulky voice: “I didn’t say I’d want to speak with your wife too, Dumbledore. I don’t know why you think you need her for just answering a simple question.”

Now Hermione was sure: Albus was amused. He didn’t twinkle, but his blue eyes beamed at her as he politely said: “But Cornelius - it’s a question concerning my wife too.” Looking directly at Hermione, he smiled. “You come?”

“I’m on my way, Darling.” Normally Hermione avoided using terms of endearment against her husband when they were in company - but when the company was the minister, Hermione sometimes had to refrain herself from doing something totally inappropriate like purring a “You were so great last night” loud enough for Fudge to hear or fumbling Albus’ still pretty firm and nice bottom. Although - with Albus always wearing robe this wouldn’t have made much effect anyway. But showing Fudge that she was happy in her marriage and that her husband was still more of a man than the minister ever would be - this she would have loved.

Her occasion to do so came earlier than she’d expected. Running down the stairs to Albus’ office, she almost busted with curiosity about the “simple question” Fudge had asked her husband. Having arrived finally, standing behind Albus’ chair, hearing the “simple question” it was only Albus gripping her hand and stroking it which kept hery fry from bursting in rage. But even Albus couldn’t stop her from showing the minister how she liked his “simple question”. He’d started with “I hope you won’t mind, but I’m only doing my duty” and now Hermione hissed: “I do mind, Minister! I do mind very much discussing our privacy with you!”

Although she hadn’t shouted, Fudge obviously knew that adding fuel to the fire of a crossed Gryffindor never was a good idea. He’d backed in his chair and tried a weak smile: “Miss Granger ...”

Wrong move. Hermione’s eyes blazed fire. “My name is - as you know very well, Minister - Hermione Granger-Dumbledore. Under given circumstances I feel very much like Madame Dumbledore.” Hermione was so cross! She felt like hexing this slim ball, this sorry excuse for a wizard, this proven idiot, back into the middle age where he with his stupid ideas about women belonged!

“Dumbledore!” Fudge tried it now with Albus. “Could you perhaps explain ...?”

Albus was busy. He rummaged in a drawer of his desk, murmuring: “I know, I have ... where is ...?”

“Dumbledore!” Fudge cried.

Albus looked up and though Hermione couldn’t see his eyes, she knew they were beaming in innocent baby blue. “Yes, Cornelius?” he asked now, still rummaging in his drawer.

Fudge looked as if he were close to a heart attack. With trembling voice he said: “I know, your wife is muggle-born, Dumbledore. But I thought that after almost seven years in this school she should have learned to respect the authorities of our world.”

Hermione couldn’t have stopped herself, even if Albus had asked her to. But he didn’t. He was still much more interested in his drawer than in the minister and so Hermione got her chance to say: “I do respect thehorihorities of our world, Mister Fudge!” She knew Severus would have been proud of her. She’d almost managed his “silk over blade” tone as well as he himself.

Albus had found what he’d searched for. With a cheerful “Got it!” he produced a little white bag and offered it to Hermione. “Lemon drop, dear?”

Hermione actually didn’t like lemon drops. But for showing unity with her husband, she’d probably have swallowed a flabberworm now. Showing her sweetest smile, she took a lemon drop, put it in her mouth and purred: “I love your lemon drops, Darling.” And once again she was proud of hlf -lf - it wasn’t easy to make the word “lemon drop” sound this frivolous!

And in fact: Fudge looked than he’d use once all his brain cells for thinking hard about which part of a wizard his wife could name “lemon drops”. Hermione, in unison with Albus sucking on her lemon drop, had to brace herself - she suddenly thought of Ginny and would have betted that her girlfriend would comment this with: “Considering we’re talking about Fudge, I’d say he thought of testicles! His probably are just the size of a lemon drop!”

Albus prevented Hermione from further thinking about Fudge’s balls. Looking at the minister over the rim of his spectacles, he said calmly: “You know, Cornelius, my wife has a mind of her own. And I must say, I rather like it. Weak women I always found boring.” Squeezing Hermione’s hand lightly, he proceeded: “But back to your simple question: Is there a reason for as? I ? I mean, we’re not married under the new law ...”

Fudge seemed to feel firm ground again. He looked as if he were to drop a bomb and could hardly expect the shocked reaction of the victims. “You know, Dumbledore, there’s a little paragraph in the new law: If a marriage, done under the old law, is doubt, the ministry is in the duty to monitor it as if it were under the regulations of the new law. And so we did our duty and ...”

“Just a moment!” Hermione interrupted. She really felt like bursting now and only wondered why Albus could stay so calm. “You don’t want to tell us, that some one doubted our marriage and you monitored our love life without informing us?”

“I’m afraid, Madame Dumbledore,” now Fudge even dared to smile, “I have to tell you a bit more.” Leaning back and folding his hands over his belly, he proceeded. “Considered the circumstances under which your marriage was done, we were prepared for the case of some one doubting it. Now we have this case and therefore I’m glad we’ve looked at you all the time ...” He fumbled a parchment out of his robe, unrolled it and looked at it. With a smile Hermione could only name “dirty” he directed his glance at Albus. “I’ve got the dates of the marital consummations here on this list - not bad for your age, Dumbledore, really. Yet ...”

Hermione had gotten enough - for once and at last. No one could expect her to stand by peacefully when her husband was insulted, no one could expect her to swallow an outrage like this. She pushed her fingers in her sleeve, searching for her wand - and suddenly heard an amused voice in her mind: “Don’t, little Lioness. I have better ideas for our free time than getting you out of Azkaban.”

Looking down on Albus, she saw how he just pushed his wand back in his robe - and then his presence in her mind was gone and she heard Fudge again.

“Considered the marriage was consummated rather regularly over the first weeks,” he smiled like a toad watching a big fat fly just flying in its direction, “I told my colleagues already that you have probably good reason for the delay in the last four weeks. Nevertheless: Duty demands clearing. You know, I’d hate I’d have to divorce a couple so devoted as you.”

Hermione’s hand was back on Albus’ shoulder, feeling his warmth and strength under the green velvet he was wearing. And now his fingers entwined with hers and with his thumb stroking her palm, he said: “You won’t have to, Cornelius. We know your heart would bleed by it. But allow me one question: Who doubts our marriage?”

Fudge seemed amazed. “Why - Lucius Malfoy of course,” he answered.

Hermione almost opened her mouth for saying something, but Albus’ firm grip held her back. She didn’t understand - hadn’t Albus told her, that Malfoy sr. was considering to change sides? He’d invited Albus for dinner and although Albus had said afterwards that Malfoy hadn’t offered an alliance yet, he’d been very optimistic. Now this hope was shattered - or wasn’t it? Albus seemed to swallow disappointment. Hermione felt how his finger trembled on hers for a few seconds and she admired how he nevertheless managed to sound calm as he said: “Yes, of course - who else?” Smiling up to Hermione, he proceeded: “But to get this finally over: You know, my wife is to do her NEWTs in a few days and I’m a bit under the weather too - we do have good reason, the best, I may say. Hermione is pregnant - and as many young witches in their first pregnancy she suffers from sickness and a few other little maladies. Therefore we weren’t much in the mood for marital consummations over the last weeks ...”

Hermione loved the look on Fudge’s face and she was sure: She wouldn’t forget it in a lifetime. He obviously had not in his wildest dreams thought on that and now he gaped like a goldfish out of his bowl. “You’re pregnant?” he finally managed.

Hermione smiled her sweetest smile again. “Yes, Minister. Isn’t it wonderful? I’m expecting a little Dumbledore - and of course, I hope that he or she will become as great a wizard as its Daddy.”

“And I hope,” Albus added, “the little one gets a few nice Granger genes too. I’m rather fond of them ...”

Fudge looked as if the idea of a child with a Granger-Dumbledore blend of genes were his worse nightmare. Probably he saw himself already hunted by a blue-eyed, bushy haired toddler, waving a wand and screaming: “Give me lemon drops or I’ll hex boils on your arse!” He surely remembered the boil jinx Hermione had once put on the face of the girl who’d betrayed the defence group at Hogwarts. During the following trouble he hadn’t dared to demand punishment for that, but Hermione was certain he knew it had been her invention.
In every case he’d obviously got once again enough for one day. Rising slowly, he cleared his throat and faked a smile. “Congratulations then. The birth of a new wizard, especially when a descent of so remarkable parents, is always a reason for joy - not only for the young family, but for all our community. So I’m very much looking forward to meeting the next generation of Dumbledores!” Stepping backwards to the fireplace as if he wouldn’t dare to show the couple his back, he put his hat on. “As you’ve said, Dumbledore: We’re all very busy at the moment and so I don’t want to keep you away from your work any longer. If you could just open your wards for me?”

“Of course, Cornelius.” Albus waved a finger, a greenme rme roared in the fireplace. “Thank you for your visit and have a nice day.”

Fudge bowed to Hermione: “Madame Dumbledore!” Then he threw some floo powder in the flame, shouted “The minister of magic’s office!” and jumped - still backwards - in the fire and disappeared.

Hermione just waited until Albus had with another wave of his hand closed the wards again, then she said - and it sounded if it came from the bottom of her heart: “Pompous arsehole!”

Albus laughed and pulled her closer. “Language, Madame Dumbledore!” He laid his head against her belly, blew a kiss on it and whispered: “I’m her headmaster, little one. Therefore I had to say that, but between you and me: She’s right.”

Hermione stroked over silver head. “Aren’t you disappointed about Malfoy, Albus?” she asked.

“No, I’m not.” He looked up at her again, his eyes beaming. “Just on the contrary! One moment ...” He rose up and marched to the fireplace. Throwing a hand full of floo powder in the flames, he put his head in and called: “Professor Snape’s office.” He waited a few seconds, and then he called again: “Severus?”

“Yes, Headmaster?” came the cold, very distant voice of the potion master back.

Hermione, having heard a few floo conversations between her husband and Severus by now, knew what this coldness and the usage of the formal address meant: The potion master had a visitor - and obviously one he didn’t want knowing how close he actually was to his superior.

Albus understood Severus’ subtle signals probably even better then Hermione. Smiling he only said: “You may place your order, Professor Snape.”

“Oh?” Snape sounded surprised, but only for a slight second. Then his voice was cool and almost bored again. “I’m at your service, Headmaster.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Albus pulled his head out of the flames, arose and smiled to Hermione. “What do you think Madame Hellegard, owner of Diagon Alley’s most renowned ‘everything for the baby wizard’ shop think when she gets an order from Severus? Will she faint?”

“What will he order?” Hermione demanded to know.

“Nice rompers for our baby, of course. In cheerful colours.”

Hermione sank down in his chair, hiding her face in her hands, laughing. “Albus - you’re sometimes cruel! What did you do to poor Severus?”

Albus came around his desk and leaned on the edge, taking her hand and kissing it. Looking the perfect innocent again, he said: “I did nothing, Hermione. It was him. He said, he’d buy our baby his first rompers if I could persuade Lucius to change sides.”

“Ah - Moment ...” Hermione shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s once again too Slytherin for a poor Gryffindor. Lucius Malfoy changing sides is to doubt our marriage?”

“Yes, of course.” Albus looked as if nothing could be more logical. “He’s to come back into Voldemort’s good grace.”

“You mean, he’s to become your spy?” Hermione made big eyes. “But, Albus - you can’t trust him!”

“I don’t.” Albus kissed her hand again, but this time the inner side of her wrist. “At least I don’t trust him in the way I trust Severus. Yet I trust on Lucius’ will to survive this war and to stay out of Azkaban. He knows I’m his only chance for that.”

“But to become your spy!” Hermione swallowed. “I’d never thought he’d go so far. It seems he’s got moouraourage than I ever believed.”

Albus played with her fingers. “I wouldn’t name it courage. I’d rather say he sees his chance. He knows he’s actually in a no win situation. He doesn’t believe in Voldemort anymore - if he ever did which I actually doubt. In every case: He doesn’t believe in Voldemort winning the war anymore. But he can’t leave him in the moment - first because Voldemort would kill him and second because he’s a known death eater. Even with all his wealth and connections he can’t make people forget about that.”

“But he managed already twice to get himself away unpunished!” Hermione said.

“Which means that he’s running out of luck now? He wouldn’t succeed a third time.” Albus nibbled on her thumb. “Not when the war is over. Then all the people who’re now so afraid their duck and hide will scream for revenge. Lucius wouldn’t stand a chance. His only way to get away is to become a spy - a good and useful one, I dare say. For this he has to prove his loyalty against Voldemort.”

“And this was your idea, wasn’t it?” Hermione shook her head. “How can people think you could be anything else than a Slytherin?”

Albus became serious. Looking in Hermione’s eyes, he said: “I have a little problem with the next step of our plan - and the problem is you, or better said: You being a true Gryffindor and as such ...” He fell silent, thinking for a moment. Then he smiled a bit weak: “Harry accused me once; I’d use people as mere pawns in my game. Perhaps he’s right - I’m playing a highly dangerous game with one Tom Riddle. And now I’ve got an additional point to consider: My dame should be spared unnecessary grieve.”

Hermione swallowed, but then said firm: “Your dame - if that’s me as I reckon - is only pregnant, not sick, Albus. And she hates to be an additional problem. So just move her as you’d move her without being connected to her.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I love her too much.” Looking again in her eyes, he said: “Hermione, I must ask you for something which isn’t your strength: Acting - lying to people - hiding your true feelings.” He pulled her on her feet, sat down in his chair and took her in his lap.

Hermione laid her arm ad hid his shoulder. “For you I’ll even lie,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t demand it if not for something very important.”

“It will probably save two lives - and at least one of these lives is of a certain importance to you, Hermione,” Albus said.

“What do you plan?” she simply asked.

Albus smiled. “I’ll give Severus at last a few weeks of well deserved rest - with only the little drawback that he is to spend the time at my mansion - where we are to go at the weekend because we’ll have to welcome my great cousin from Germany. His name is Johannes Praetorius. He’s the offspring of an old German wizard family and luckily a potion master too. And in the moment he’s a potion master in trouble because he cheated once too many on his wife. She divorced him and by doing so produced a scandal at the Blocksberg University where he is the potion professor. His superior wasn’t too delighted about learning that Johannes had an affair with a student. So Johannes got a year off for ‘research’.”

Hermione couldn’t resist a giggle. “Is it possible,” she said, “that womanizing runs in your family?”

“Madame!” Albus made a face. “I wouldn’t cheat on my wife and I certainly never was after a student of mine - with one exception, of course.”

“But you won’t deny you were a ladies man too, dearest, will you?” Hermione asked sweetly. “I mean, you were the wicked 13 year old who dreamed of performing oral sex to a teacher.”

“But I never did it!” Albus defended himself. “Anyway: Back to Johannes. He is to go to South America this year. And because the student in question will sooner or later follow him there, he isn’t too keen on telling his university about his whereabouts. So he would just like Severus covering him for a few months. For making the change from Johannes the real Severus acting Johannes as unsuspicious as possible, Johannes - who is not only a colleague, but almost a friend to Severus - will attend the funeral.”

“The funeral?” Hermione shook her head. “Albus, you’re too quick for me. Who is to be buried?”

“Severus of course,” Albus answered as if he’d announce something as normal as rain during a quidditch match. “Draco will tell his father that Severus will be collecting herbs in the forbidden forest on the next full moon night. Lucius will come and kill Severus. Hagrid will find the body - I don’t like that part very much, because Hagrid really likes Severus and will mourn for him, but you know how Hagrid is, so we can’t afford to tell him it’s only a farce.”

Hermione sighed. “I hate this war. But what will become of Malfoy?”

“Lucius will escape and because he isn’t to use his wand, but a dagger, so he can’t be tracked. Yet I will expel Draco - Lucius will see to him being the witness which will give Minerva a chance to catch him after curfew again and with his record this will be enough to expel him.”

“Lucius Malfoy wants his son expelled only a few weeks before his NEWTs?” Hermione couldn’t believe it.

“No, he actually didn’t think of Draco,” Albus looked sad. “I’m afraid he never does. But I want the boy out of England when Lucius is back at Voldemort. Draco expelled from Hogwarts means Draco going to Beauxbaton. And because he isn’t as brilliant a student as you are, he can’t do his NEWTs there this year, but has to repeat the seventh year. So he really is out of the way.”

“And so is Severus.” Hermione smiled at her husband. “Albus, you’re a genius.”

“I’m not finished yet.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “There’s something more what I like about this plan. Severus at the mansion is to become the knight who covers the dame.”

“Hmm?” Hermione didn’t understand entirely.

“Just so simple, Darling: As soon as you’re finished with your NEWTs at Beauxbaton, we’ll leave Hogwarts because of the upcoming election. Then we’ll move to the mansion - and because I’ll be pretty busy then, I’m glad Severus will be there to look after you.”

“Albus, I don’t need a baby sitter,” Hermione said a bit cross.

“But I’ll feel better in knowing you’re not alone,” he stated firmly. “So will you please accept my decision?”

“Huh!” said Hermione. “There’s no need becoming head masterly with me.”

“I beg your pardon.” Albus kissed her head. “But you must understand how important your security is to me. You and the baby - I can’t risk anything happening to you.”

Hermione embraced him, figh aga against the tears. “I will do as you say,” she promised.

“Uiih!” Now he grinned again. “I’ve got an obedient wife. Who would have thought of that?”

“Enjoy it as long as it lasts!” ioneione snuggled closer to him, burying here ine in his beard and shoving one finger between two buttons on his robe.

Albus seemed to like that. He laid his hand on her tight, stroking it lightly. “How do you feel, my dear?” he asked then and his voice was quiet, but a bit hoarser then usual.

Hermione’s finger had found soft skin under the robe. Stroking it, she raised her head and whispered in his ear: “I think I don’t want to go for dinner in the hall. I’d rather have my dinner in bed. And ...,” her voice became a purr, “... I hope very much my husband isn’t too busy for keeping me company.”

“He is not.” Albus rose with her in his arms. Using his levitation charm once again, he carried her up the stairs.
Just arriving there, they heard a rustle from the portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black and then his voice rumbling: “You know, young lady, the minister - idiot as he is - was right in one point: You should lay your husband at least oncweakweak. Without having sex on a regularly bases he already was rather unbearable.”



To be continued