Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Chapter 18: The Talk of the Town


“Wow!” Ginevra Malfoy tugged with two fingers at the sleeve of the dress robe which hung on Albus’ wardrobe. Stroking over it, she enjoyed the shine and smoothness of the chocolate brown velvet, interwoven with gold. “No one could say, he doesn’t have style. That’s a queen’s robe, dear. You’d feel like you’d go to your coronation.”

Hermione, sitting on the bed side with her chin braced in her hands, looked rather gloomy. “I’m not so sure about that. I will probably feel as if I were going to scaffold.”

“Nonsense!” Ginny said energetically. “But where’s the under robe? I’d love to see it too.”

Hermione pointed to a big package with the inscription “Madame Maulkins - fine robes” which lay on the sofa next to the wardrobe. “There it is - I just got it the moment before you came.”

“And you didn’t unpack it?” Ginny couldn’t understand Hermione. “Really! Every other woman would jump in joy. I certainly would.” She opened the package and took a dress out, carefully unfolding the huge amount of almost translucent creamy silk. Holding it in front of herself she let it fall down and looked at the mirror in the open door of the wardrobe. The dress - starting with a not too deep cleavage, the hem embroidered with gold - fell in rich folds to the floor. Ginny seemed to like it. Plaiting the upper part, held together by a golden band just under the breast, she sighed. “That’s so lovely, Hermione though …,” she patted her already slightly rounded belly, “… it wouldn’t suit me anymore. One needs such a perfect figure as you to look good in something like that. What shoes will you wear to it?”

“The green box!” Hermione only said. She sank back on her elbows, while Ginny opened the box with the inscription “Bella Strega, Venice”.

Pulling a pair of golden sandals out, Ginny beamed at Hermione. “Perfect! Just perfect! You’ll look stunning! And aller wer women at the ball will burst in envy. Imagine Pansy. As I know my enchanting sister-in-law, she’ll wear pink, looking once again like a piglet. And our dear Cow Cho LeFebre! Last time we saw her she played the vamp - all in black with a décolletage until belly button. The only colour on her - except the make up of course - was the blush she got as Lucius offered his condolences to her husband’s death. She hissed at him that …,” Ginny gave a rather perfect imitation of the infuriated witch’s voice, “… his Excellency - really, she addressed her own husband as ‘his Excellency’! - is very well what Lucius took for raising one eyebrow - you know how perfect he can do that - and to utter with his best Slytherin bastard voice: ‘Oh really?” Ginny giggled and put Hermione’s dress on a hanger. Coming to the bed and sitting down next to Hermione, she said. “Naturally sweet Cho tried to get her revenge with me. At the first moment she saw me without Lucius she approached me and was all sympathy, telling me souldould very well imagine how hard it would be if one would have to work though being married.”

“What impertinence!” Hermione said. “I hope you didn’t let her get away with that.”

“I didn’t get a chance for payback. Albus had heard her and was quicker than I. He was all baby blue eyes and perfect innocence as he told her he’d think me very rich because I’d got my husband’s entire love and devotion.” Looking at Hermione, she added: “He really is a darling.”

“Yes, I know.” Hermione didn’t sound too convinced. Sighing, she stretched and took a small box, covered in blue and golden velvet, looking already a bit wore out, from the nightstand. On its lid was a crest, showing a falcon in flight, holding a band in his claws where was written: “AUT FORTITER MORI AUT LIBEROS VIVERE.”

“To live free or to die bravely,” Ginny translated the inscription. “That’s the Dumbledore crest, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded and opened the box. In the cold light of the December afternoon a big, honey brown stone, hanging on a golden band with at least 30 other smaller stones, sparkled. “He wants me to wear that at the ball,” Hermione said, her voice sounding flat.

Ginny swallowed. “Hermione - that’s the Dumbledore stone!” Looking at it in awe, she proceeded: “My mother told me all about it. The jewellery is very old - perhaps more then 700 years. The stones are Tansanits - very rare, very valuable. They’re only to be found in Africa. One of the Dumbledores got them there as a reward fovingving a tribe out of the claws of a dark wizard.”

“Seems to be a speciality of the Dumbledores,” Hermione said dryly.

Ginny didn’t let herself get distracted from her story. “My mother told me that there’s legend which says the stones were bewitched to show the connection between the Dumbledore and the woman he gives it to. If they’re really and truly in love, the stones would change their colour - first showing the colour of her magic and then the colour of his.”

“Really?” Hermione became curious. “Albus didn’t tell me. He only gave me the box this morning, saying I’d need some jewellery to this dress.”

“He knew you’d find out yourself.” Ginny smiled. “May I?” She pointed to the box.

“Of course …” Hermione said.

Taking the jewellery out of its box, Ginny laid it over her hand - and the stones became grey, looking rather plain. But as Ginny put the band over Hermione’s hand they changed. For a moment they were honey brown again, and then they became red, a colour like wine, deep and rich.” “Here we go,” Ginny said. “Gryffindor red - your colour.” The stones changed again. For a moment they showed the colour of the sky, a bright blue. Then they became darker until they were intense blue. “And there you have him.”

“Blue?” Hermione wondered. “I thought his colour is Slytherin green.”

Ginny shook her head. “Lucius’ colour is green. But the Dumbledore colour was always deep blue.” Putting the stones back in the box, she said: “The jewellery wasn’t seen in the last 60 or 70 years. The last woman wearing it was Albus’ mother.” She directed her eyes at Hermione. “You know what it means that he wants you to wear this?”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. A bit awkward she answered: “No, actually I don’t. I’m muggleborn as you know. I still don’t have a clue about all this unwritten rules of the wizard society.”

“Therefore you’ve got me,” Ginny answered cheerfully. Becoming serious again, she said: “Hermione, the headmaster plans a demonstration with attending the ball in the ministry with you at his side. He’ll show our world that you’re an item. And with you wearing the Dumbledore jewellery he wants to make clear that you’re not an affair, but …,” she smiled. “How shall I put it? I’d say he announces that you’re a candidate for the vacant position of Madame Dumbledore.”

“What?” Hermione almost dropped the box. “But he didn’t propose to me! He never spoke a word about marriage!” She gave Ginny the jewellery and stood up. Pacing through the room she started to rant: “One day this man will drive me mad! Always when I think I’d know at last, how his Slytherin mind works, he provides me with a new surprise! For the last two and a half year he’d kept me in suspense; always telling me he wouldn’t be good for me and I ld gld get myself a young man. I was always fighting, always prepared for him chickening out again because he finds himself too old for me. And then, last week, he suddenly appeared in the middle of a night on my terrace in Venice - drunk as a lord and acting as if he’d never have harboured any doubts about us sharing a future. And even better: He suddenly doesn’t care about us being seen together anymore. Just on the contrary! On the morning after his nightly appearance he insisted on breakfast in the wizard’s district. Just on the piazza there, for everyone passing to see. You know, he actually isn’t a morning person and at this day he even had a severe hangover, but nevertheless he was all fluffy, holding my hand, calling me ‘Tesoro’ - in public! The next evening he waltzed in my lab, greeting Pete Glasunov as if he’d want to kiss him - what Pete certainly would have liked. But instead Albus kissed me and used his famous charm for persuading me to a trip to Diagon Alley - on an afternoon in Decemwhenwhen everybody’s there for Christmas shopping! And as we came there, he told me - sounding rather casually - he’d like me to join him at the ball in the ministry and therefore we’d buy a robe now and if I’d utter a single word of objection about him paying for it, he’d become really offended.”

Turning around, Hermione looked at Ginny. “I’m no idiot. I know what my Slytherin just tries: He simply wants the scandal now, while I’m still in Ve. He. He wants people pulling us through their teeth now so that they’re done with it when I’ll come back to Hogwarts.”

Ginny studied for a moment Hermione’s face. Then she said slowly: “I think they is more behind his actions, Hermione. Yet I don’t understand why you’re sory ary about it. Are you ashamed of your relationship with him?”

“Certainly not!” Hermione answered firmly. “I’m actuallad lad we’re out in the open now. I hated hiding our love. It’s only …” She rummaged with both hands through her hair. “For heaven’s sake, Ginny, I’d like to be asked! At least sometimes! But it’s always the same game: Albus decides - and I’m obviously supposed to look up at him admiringly, whispering something like ‘Oh, my great hero. Whatever you do, it’s certainly well done’. And you know what? As much as I love him: He’s a MCP! A male, chauvinistic pig!”

Ginny laughed. “In short: He’s a Slytherin. Honestly, Hermione: Would you like to live with Harry ‘Padma thinks we should’ Potter? Or Ron “Yes, Panarliarling whatever you want’ Weasley? As far as I’m concerned: I rather fight twice a week against my Slytherin MCP - and believe me: Lucius isn’t bad in lonely decisions either! - Than to become bored every day by a soft egg like Harry or my brother. Sometimes I think you spoiled Harry and Ron for the rest of their lives. They came so in use with you doing all the thinking for them that they forgot they could at least sometimes try to use their brains for something else than a quidditch archive.”

“Oh Ginny!” Hermione cried. “Why do men only come in extremes? Slytherin mcp or Gryffindor soft egg - is there nothing between?”

Ginny laughed. “There is. The alternatives are: Pompous Ravenclaws - cold as fishes, all too full of themselves and a woman’s chance to spend her nights with discussion about the meaning of life and the many complionsions of a relationship between intellectuals. Or you could have a Hufflepuff who treats you as his sweet, little wife and calls you ‘my daisy’ or ‘sweet bunny’. With them you can be sure: Your brains will rot in only a few months - and you’ll become bored`mf bed on a daily base.”

“Oh my …” Hermione sat down on the bed again. “Ginny …” she said after a moment. “You know, I’m no coward. But the press …”

“Especially the ‘Daily Prophet’ - they will comment your appearance at the ball.” Ginny looked seriously. “If I - as some one who’s been there - may give you an advice: Don’t read the stuff. Skeeter likes Albus as much as she’d like to get a furuncle on her wrinkled butt. And you aren’t a favourite of her either. That means, she’s probably going to show Albus as a senile dodderer again where you will ar asr as the slut who’s after his name and money …”

Hermione balled her hands to fists. If sIf she insults Albus again, I’m going to kill her.”

Ginny patted soothingly Hermione’s hand. “Dearie, who’s Rita Skeeter? And what her her writing mean to Albus and you?”

“Her idiotic newspaper is read in every British wizard’s household!” Hermione fumed. “And if she’s going to besmirch Albus again …”

“Hush, Hermione!” Ginny smiled a bit lopsided. “Did you once read the first article she wrote about Lucius and me?”

“Yes, I did! It was abominable and I wanted to throttle her! Following her you’re a pervert who gets a kick from playing around with a monster.” Hermione became pale in her rage. “It really was the nastiest piece she ever wrote - and with that person this means something!”

“Yes, it realls prs pretty though stuff. But honestly, Hermione: What did the article do to me? Of course, as I read it first, I was hurt and felt insulted. But on the long run - what did the article? Did it change your opinion about me? Do you think the headmaster sees me since then in another light?”

“Certainly he doesn’t,” sounded Albus’ husky voice from the door. “Sorry for eavesdropping, but the door was open.” Coming in he walked to the bed, blew a kiss on Hermione’s forehead and bent down for a peek on Ginny’s cheek. Looking at her belly he asked: “How’s Lucia Hermione Malfoy doing?”

Laying her hand on her abdomen Ginny smiled at him. “Lucia Hermione is still sitting on her water lily leaf, waiting for her call. But Albus Jason Malfoy develops wonderfully. I can feel him move now. It is …,” she swallowed and blushed a bit, “… a lovely feeling. Very soft - like a butterfly’s wing.”

Albus smiled down at her, his eyes full of warmth and affection. “I’m very much looking forward to meet my godchild. And I’m sure it will become a very happy little girl - or fellow, as the case may be. It’s got you as a mother.” Looking at Hermione he got in his knees and took her hands in his. “And you, my darling, should believe your clever girlfriend. Ginevra was absolutely right about the ‘Daily Prophet’. Whatever they’ll write about you - it won’t change the opinion of the people which count for you.”

Hermione sunk her head. “I nevertheless won’t like it. Besides …,” she sounded almost a bit sulky, “… the student I’ll have to teach next year will read the codswallop too. And I’m certainly going to hate what Skeeters makes out of you.”

Albus kissed her hands. “Hermione, your students will get to know you and by doing so they’ll learn that you’re not only a brilliant teacher, but a wonderful person too. So they’ll get a lesson in not believing everything that’s written in the papers.”

She sighed and caught one of his thick strands. Curling it around her index finger, she said: “But you - I know, you don’t care about Skeeter’s writing. But I hate it when she makes you a senile idiot.”

“She makes me?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “Hermione, Skeeter can’t alter me. Whatever she writes about me: I’m much too indifferent about her it could have any influence to me. There’s one thing I’ve learned during the years: One only shoR’t be careful in the choice of one’s friend, but in the choice of enemies also. Having survived other calibres like Skeeter, the only thing she can get from me now is a well measured dose of healthy ignorance.”


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


Hermione couldn’t deny it: She was more then a little nervous as she apparated next to Albus in the ministry of magic. She knew she looked good in her new robe and Ginny’s idea to wear the jewellery not around her neck, but as a headband had once again been the stroke of a fashion genius. But nevertheless: The last days she’d felt like in the middle of a hurricane. Only one week before she’d been the clandestine lover of Albus, always carefully avoiding to be seen with him, always cautious what she said about her private life.

But now she’d learned that her secret hadn’tlly lly been one. She had always felt a grumble in her stomach by the thought of telling Minerva. She had been tempted to take up Albus’ offer to inform his deputy. Yet she wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing and so she had overcome her fear. The result had very much surprised her.

She had stammered: “You know, Minerva, Albus and I … I mean what I’d like to tell you is that ̷ kno know this will probably shock you, but … next summer I will not only come back for teaching, but … I mean, Albus and I … we’re … uhm … we’re an item, you know? When I’m back I won’t live in a teacher’s quarter, but share his flat with him …”

Minerva hadn’t fainted in shock. She had said crisply: “So he’s made up his mind at last? It was about time!” And instead of “That’s inappropriate! You can’t live with a man so much elder than you!” Minerva had proceeded: “Of course, the age difference between the two of you could lead to difficulties, but you’re both sensible adults - or, better said: You are a sensible adult. You will find a way to deal with it.”

The next two hours Hermione had got a rather detailed lesson on the subject “How to handle Albus Dumbledore”, starting with “Don’t let him charm you too much! You have to put your foot down energetically as soon as he starts to use his baby blue eyes and his smile to get away with something you don’t like”, going over “He needs a strong hand. Be firm and determined with him” to “Don’t become excited when he flirts a bit with other women. It’s a habit of his, but it doesn’t mean a thing. By all his shortcomings: I don’t think you need to fear he’d ever cheat on you.”

After this statements Minerva had hugged Hermione. “I’m so happy for the two of you. I always thought you’d need an older and experienced man too.” And: “Poppy and I always found, you’re making a cute couple. And Albus is all over the moon about you! You should have seen him as he gave me your last paper! Even Augustus said he’d never thought Albus could look so happy and proud!”

On her way back from Minerva to the main tower Hermione had gotten the next surprise in form of meeting Alastor Moody whst lst limped along on his way to the infirmary. Seeing Hermione in front of the gargoyle watching the entrance to the main tower, he’d pointed with his thumb in the direction of Albus’ office: “Sometimes this one’s an idiot! To hide a sweetheart as you so long! The old codger should burst in pride for you being with him, Lassie!”

Obviously half of the staff knew already. And the other half, learning about it, didn’t show signs of shock or dismay. Sibyl Trelawney, approaching Hermione in the entrance hall, whispered something about “I’ve known it for years, but one doesn’t want to interfere with making such knowledge public. But from the first moments I sat eyes on you, I felt that you’re his soul mate, his only true love.”

Severus Snape, who’d just come along and had heard that, had promptly snorted: “I didn’t foresee it, but I wished it for years. He deserves some one who talks even more than him!”

Rolanda Hooch’s comment had been direct as always: “Who would have thought the old womanizer ends with a Gryffindor blue stocking?”

And Dee Sprout had hugged Hermione, wishing her luck and crying: “That’s so romantic!”

So the front in Hogwarts was clear. Yet there was another one: Her old friends Ron and Harry. Although Hermione wasn’t very close to them anymore - they had been part of her life for a long time and she didn’t want to lose them entirely. On the other hand she was aware that she couldn’t count on their understanding and support. And she didn’t want a lengthy discussion with them. Her love life, her choice of a man, was her decision and she didn’t have to justify it in front of the boys! She knew exactly: If she would have let them have their way, she’d be now married to Victor Krum, mother of at least three and spending her spare time in talking about children with Padma and Pansy while Ron, Harry and Victor dwelled in their endless quidditch talks. Considered that they didn’t deserve better than to learn about Hermione’s choice by seeing her with Albus at the ball.

Nevertheless her stomach was cramped as she marched next to Albus, her hand in his, through the corridor from the apparition chamber to the marble stairs leading down to the hall where the ball was celebrated.

Albus seemed to feel how nervous she was. He smiled down at her and for a moment he pressed his hand to his body. “I’m going to be the most envied man this night,” he whispered. “I’ve got the beauty of the ball. You look really ravishing, Tesoro. I’m terribly proud of you.”

Hermione smiled back. “You’re not looking bad either, my love. I will become envied by a lot of witches.” He and his robe maker had really outdone themselves for this evening. Albus wore silver and black, the thick, gloriously embroidered silk of his robe falling in rich folds down from his broad shoulders to the floor. His hair floated op ove over his shoulders and Hermione, though normally not much in poetic expressions, found herself suddenly thinking: “His mane looks like spun moon shine.”

Looking at him made her feel better. What did all the other people matter to her? Just a few minutes before Albus had held her in his arms, whispering in her ear: “I’m yours - yours with all my fault and follies, with my heart, my soul and my body. I’m yours and as long as these lips of mine are able to form words it will be words of love for you. You’re what I’ve waited for all my live; you’re the one I belong to.”

On the landing over the stairs a crowd had gathered. Hermione saw Harry and Padma - pregnant once again - who nervously fumbled at his still unruly hair. A few steps away, wearing the newest Parisian fashion and her usual sneer, Narcissa Fudge - once Malfoy - stood next to her second husband, the former minister Cornelius Fudge. She was still stick thin and platinum blonde while her husband had become pretty fat and was in his dark green velvet robe already sweating heavily.

Hermione couldn’t resist a long look at Lucius’ first wife. Ginny had for a long time been afraid of her, often complaining to Hermione that she couldn’t cope with the appearance of the former Madame Malfoy. Hermione didn’t think so. Although Ginny wasn’t such a classical, perfect beauty as Narcissa Black-Malfoy-Fudge, Hermione found her much nicer to look at. Narcissa had always looked like a walking ice cube who actually found it beneath her to communicate with less perfect human beings and she’d always looked cold and hard while Ginny was warm and pretty and with her flaming red head sparkling and livid.

“Piccola?” Albus obviously didn’t intend to wait in the crowd. He marched straight through it, politely greeting to the left and the right. Reaching the stairs, he looked at the young man who had to announce the guests. He rummaged nervously in his papers until he got the right one. Smiling relieved, he unrolled the parchment and waved his wand. Tong ong next to him made one deep sound, the noise in the hall stopped; everybody down seemed to turn and to look expectantly at the stairs. The young wizard’s voice sounded through the silence: “sfigsfiguration and potion master Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, Order of Merlin first class and transfiguration mistress Professor Hermione Granger, Cagliostro University Venice, Order of Merlin second class.”

At the foot of the stairs they were already expected: Minister Arthur Weasley beamed at them while his wife Molly suddenly looked as if she’d been hit by a bludger. She’d obviously recognized the jewellery Hermione was wearing. For a moment her jaw dropped, and then her eyes rushed from Hermione to Albus and back again.

Arthur Weasley obviously hadn’t noticed something out of the normal. He greeted Albus with a handshake before he hugged Hermione. “You’re looking lovely, Hermione. Welcome!”

“Thank you, Arthur. It’s nice to be here.” Hermione hugged him back. She had always liked Weasley senior.

Molly she’d always liked too, but just this moment she needed to brace herself for not cringing under the scrutinizing gaze of her friend’s mother.

“Hermione …” Molly sounded distant and instead of hugging Hermione, she offered her a hand.

Hermione swallowed, took the hand and smiled a bit awkwardly. “Good evening, Molly.” She was glad that Molly would become distracted the next moment by other guests - and prepared that she would get to hear a piece of Molly’s mind in the moment the elder witch would get her on her own.

The next hour Hermione needed all her Gryffindor courage for not following her instincts. She would have liked to run away and to hide under a blanket - preferably one very far away from the British wizard society. She was aware that probably every witch, presented by Albus as the official lady friend, would have become the talk of the town. And she’d even been prepared for people becoming shocked about their age difference, but learning that it actually didn’t bother so much as her heritage surprised her.

It started already with the first couple Albus and Hermione met by their way through the hall. They were old acquaintances of his, the man a former diplomat, the wife one out of the “I’m a pillar of the society and proud of it” department. She’d looked as haughty as Lucius in his worse days and her first question after Albus had introduced Hermione was: “Granger? Where do you come from? I can’t remember I’ve ever heard of a ‘Granger’.”

Hermione smiled her sweetest fake smile: “Probably not. I’m born in London where my parents work as dentists.”

DentDentists?” The witch obviously didn’t have a clue what a “dentist” could be. But then it dawned on her and looking at Albus as if he would have just grown a second head, she directed her gaze back at Hermione and asked: “You’re muggleborn?” It sounded as if she’d just discovered poor Hermione lacking the head Albus obviously had too much.

“Yes, I am muggleborn,” Hermione answered as calm as she could muster by fuming inwardly.

“How interesting, dear! And you’re a professor? I think I’ve just heard something like that. What are you teaching?” It was obvious: Madame Baselton-Beryll expected now to hear something about Hermione teaching something like “muggle cooking for beginners” at a rather obscure institution.

Hermione actually thought her short answer “Transfiguration at the Cagliostro University Venice” would get the bitchy witch silent. But far from it!

“Really? How nice! It’s always so refreshing to meet an ambitious young woman. And the way you wear the Dumbledore stones - original, dear, very original! I remember how I saw them last at dear Eleonara. You didn’t know dear Albus’ mother, did you? Shs a s a true lady - a Houdini from Venice. Very old and good family …”

Hermione was more than glad as Albus got her away from this dragon. Yet the next one - a Madame Circe Hayfax-Fairfield who looked like the goddess Juno just after one of her marital battles with godfather Zeus, was hardly better. Learning that Hermione was muggleborn, she patted her arm and said: “No one can blame you for it, you know? It’s not your fault. You don’t have to be ashamed of it.”

Number Three was Madame Jerkings. She had a voice like a tuba and - in the contrast to the two other witches - didn’t seem to mind Hermione’s “birth handicap” much, but was worried about her career. “Ah - bah!” she started her speech. “Female professors! Get yourself a few children, young lady and then you’ll feel what’s the true meaning of a woman’s life!”

Her husband - owner of a big potion lab - patted Albus on the shoulder. “My wife is right as always! Women need to have children - as much as possible!”

Here Albus tried to save the evening, laying his hand on Hermione’s arm. “From children in dozens I get enough at Hogwarts. Therefore I wouldn’t expect a woman to provide me with a quidditch team of my own.”

The lady wasn’t impressed much. She snorted. “You’ve always liked to pre you yourself as an eccentric, Dumbledore, didn’t you?”

Actually Hermione had enough after this, but the hall was huge and the way from the stairs to the back area where the tables stood long. With one of England’s most prominent wizards at her side, Hermione didn’t stand much of a chance to avoid conversation. She couldn’t find it very entertaining and after half an hour her cheeks were so cramped from the forced smile, they started to hurt. Meeting then her favourite enemy, Madame Cho Lefebre who once again showed Hermione a cold shoulder and Albus the content of her generous cleavage Hermione suddenly found herself regretting that Albus wasn’t the typical pureblood wizard who kept bed and board carefully apart. In doing so he could have made two women happy: Cho could have become Madame Dumbledore - and with her even attending “openopening of an envelope if only the press is there too” (as Lucius once had stated) she would have enjoyed showing herself at Albus’ side on every social gathering in Britain. Hermione in the meantime could have become his clandestine, but very happy lover.

But the worse part of Hermione becoming presented as Albus’ official love intt wet weren’t the more or less bitchy strangers, but the idea of talking to her friends. Hermione had seen Harry and Ron and their wives looking at her and whispering together and she’d even noticed how Pansy had talked excitedly to her husband while he’d always shaken his head.

Hermione was sure: As long as Albus was next to her, they wouldn’t approach her. Harry probably had still mixed feelings about his former mentor. On the one hand he tended to blame Albus for a lot of things which had gone wrong during the war. On the other hand he was aware that he wouldn’t have had a chance against Voldemort without Albus’ support.

Ron on the other hand had probably even never thought about his relationship with the headmaster. He gro grown up with parents who admired Albus and being still in awe of his mother, he certainly would never dare to utter a word against him.

Yet Hermione wa82178217;t one to hide herself behind someone’s back. By the first opportunity she tugged at Albus’ sleeve. “If I’d go over to Harry and Ron - would you perhaps get me a drink there?”

He understood immediately what she intended to do. “Sure about it?” he asked.
82208220;Absolutely,” she confirmed.

“Gryffindor!” His eyes twinkled. “I’ll get you a drink there - in a while.” Turning he walked away.

Hermione allowed herself for a few seconds to admire his back. She always liked that he didn’t only move with strength, but with grace and amazing quickness also. Sometimes, when he sat behind his desk dealing with school’s business, he looked old and weary. But as soon as he was on his feet, he showed that he was still far from being an old man.

Breathing deeply, Hermione turned again, facing Ron and Harry. It was time to talk to them and gathering her long skirt and robe, she made a beeline through the room to the table where her friends and their wives sat.

Arriving she smiled her best “Let the games begin” smile, greeted the ladies and shot her first arrow at her friends. “Well, gentlemen - you’re looking as if you’d have a problem with me today.”

Seven years at school in which the boys had been inseparable had made Ron and Harry specialists for duets with one finishing the other’s lines.

This time it was Harry who started: “With you one is always prepared for a lot of things out of the extraordinary …” He looked at Ron.

Ron promptly took over: “But really, Hermione: This performance of yours today looks …”

Now it was Harry’s turn again: “… strange. We know, you’re very close to Dumbledore and with him being your former master and anything else, but really, Hermione …” He’d obviously lost track, therefore he searched for help at his friend.

Ron Weasley, following his sister Ginny’s description that he thought “tact” would be something his wife would keep in a jar in the kitchen, didn’t let Harry down: “One could think Dumbledore were your lover, Hermione!”

Hermione suddenly found the situation hilarious. Holding the tone light, she s  “What a clever suggestion! 20 points to Gryffindor, Mister Weasley.”

The bomb didn’t explode immediately. Harry hadn’t caught it. Instead he said with the patience of a healer, talking to a mentally instable patient: “Hermione, you know yourself: Dumbledore is at least 100 years your senior. He is an old man.”

Hermione sounded almost bored: “He’s 98 years my senior, but I can assure you: He’s far away from being an old man …”

Finally it dawned on Ron. Backing away he became pale and opened his mouth, gasping for air. He sounded almost hysterical as he cried: “Hermione! You don’t want to tell us that Dumbledore is indeed …. I mean …,” he searched for words; “… you aren’t sleeping with him, are you?”

“Louder, Ron!” Hermione ordered him sarcastic. 20;T20;There are a few peoples in there who haven’t heard you yet.”

Ranting at Ron Pansy Parkinson-Weasley obviously saw as something she had the exclusive rights to. So she opened for the first time her mouth, saying: “Really, Hermione! If you come up with something like that you mustn’t wonder about your friends being shocked!”

Hermione couldn’t resist. She hadn’t liked Pansy acting the arrogant Slytherin during her school days, but Pansy doing the devoted wife act she found even more hilarious. Batting her eye lashes in Pansy’s direction, she said with her sweetest voice: “I don’t know where your and Ron’s problem is, Pansy. I mean, I haven’t suggested a foursome, have I?”

Pansy looked as if she’d faint, Ron’s colour changed from blush over pale to green and Harry, looking almost grave, decided to take matters in hand and to gain clearness. “Hermio#822#8221; he started grave, “you know we care for you. Therefore you must understand that we need to know if you had had … ahem … I mean … did you already?”

“What, Harry?” Hermione didn’t intend to make it easy for him.

“I mean …” Harry blushed and looked at his wife as if he’d hope to get help from her.

And in fact, Padma jumped in the ring: “Hermione, what Harry needs to know is if you …”

Hermione almost started laughing. She remembered how openly Padma had in former times talked about sex. But being Mrs Harry Potter now had obviously made for her becoming prudish. “What does Harry need to know, dear Padma?”

“Hermione!” This was Harry again and he sounded as if he’d like to kick Hermione’s shinbone. “Don’t act as if you wouldn’t understand! I know you do.”

“Do I?” Hermione amused herself.

“Hermione, really! Could you just tell me if you …” Harry swallowed, but seemed to remember his Gryffindor bravery and, pushing himself over the hurdle, he asked in a whisper: “Did you have sexual intercourse with …?” The name was too much for him, so he fell silent again.

“Albus?” Hermione didn’t have a problem with it. Cheerfully she said: “Of course I’ve slept with him. And it’s always very …”

“Uh!” Ron roared as if bitten by a spider. “That’s so gross!”

Hermione became small eyes and her voice was chilly as she asked: “What pray tell me is ‘gross’ about two people being in love? What, dear Ron, is ‘gross’ about me sleeping with the man who saved your sorry arse not only twice, but three times? He loves me and I love him and the only thing I find ‘gross’ about is the reaction of my so-called friends!”

She would have said a lot more, but the boys became saved by the cavalry in the form of Ginny and Lucius - obviously sent by Albus and reaching with a glass of champagne for Hermione. Giving the glass to Hermione, Lucius provided Harry and his brother-in-law with his best “I’m a well-mannered Slytherin, therefore I even bear with Gryffindors”, bowed to their wives and, laying a perfectly manicured hand on Hermione’s shoulder, bent down to her: “Albus got caught by old Cracklebell, but he didn’t want you to die from thirst.” Seeing that neither Pansy nor Padma had got drinks, he asked icily: “Ladies - can I get you a drink?”

Harry at last had the grace to blush and to rise. “I get us drinks …”

Lucius nodded at him, helped Ginny to sit down and sank down on a chair next to her. But one couldn’t have said that the new table round was a comfortable or a cheerful one. Padma Potter acted once again what Ginny always named her “mother earth showing off her fertility”-pose with an oh-so-soft smile and hands folded over her swollen abdomen, remembering Hermione very much to a ruminating cow. Ron sulked. Pansy Parkinson-Weasley on the other hand - and she was in fact in pink like Ginny had prophesied - watched Lucius as if she’d like to have him for dessert and couldn’t get why he&7;d 7;d married Ginny though he could have her. Tugging lightly at the sleeve of Ginny’s green and silver robe she said with her sweetest smile: “You know, Ginny, I always admire your style. It’s amazing what one can get at a retail shop nowadays, isn’t it?”

With Ginevra Malfoy Pansy had got just the right partner for such games. She managed easily a soothing smile at her husband and a chilly one at her sister-in-law, before she promptly fired back: “I know, Dearie that this is news for you, but taste is something one gets - or not, as the case may be. It doesn’t depend on money, you know?”

Harry was back with the drinks. ing ing down next to Hermione, he quietly asked: “Since when, Hermione?”

“I actually don’t think I have to justify my private life to you,” Hermione answered. “But because you’ve asked so nicely: Three years. We became a couple in the night after my exam.”

Harry swallowed. “And why did you never utter a single word about it? You have been three years with a man - and we as your best friends didn’t know about it! I thought you’d trust us!”

Hermione couldn’t deny: Harry had a point there. So she sighed: “Harry, it wasn’t simple. We didn’t reveal our feelings for each other, sunk in each other’s arm and lived happily since then. Albus worried a great deal about the age difference - and still does. He felt very insecure about our relationship. Therefore we didn’t want to go public before we were entirely sure.”

“But we - Ron and I - aren’t public!” Harry protested. “We’re your friends!”

“Honestlyrry,rry,” Hermione bent over to him, sounding seriously. “Would you have supported me? Or wouldn’t you have tried to talk me out of it? But I’ve had enough with convincing one man about us. I really didn’t need to rehearse or to repeat myecheeches to Albus with Ron and you.”

Ron seemed to have calmed down a bit. “Hermione,” he said in the tone of an older brother speaking to a defiant child, “you’re a clever girl. You actually know this relationship can’t work. The man could easily be your great-grandfather.”

“I’m aware of it, Ron. I’ve heard this for three years on a daily bases from Albus,” Hermione said.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that Hermione loves him,” Ginny said heatedly. “Doesn’t this go in those dunderhead of yours? Hermione and Professor Dumbledore are in love with each other. None of them asked for it. It happened …”

“But it’s not normal for a girl to fall in love with a man so old!” Ron looked at his wife as if he’d need her confirmation.

He got it. Pansy patted sympathetically Hermione’s hand. “Perhaps you should talk with a healer, Hermione? I’ve read that girls who become separated from their fathers before they reach puberty often develop a father complex and hdiffdifficulties with their sexuality. They crave them from older man because they think they could control sexuality with them better. I mean, with some one who actually isn’t up to it anymore, you mustn’t fear he demands too much from you and it overwhelms you …”

It actually was a pity that Albus wasn’t at the table at this moment. He certainly would have enjoyed the once in a lifetime experience of seeing Hermione absolutely flabbergasted and speechless. And Lucius’ face was a sight too. He for once seemed insecure if he should cry, laugh or hex Pansy.

Ginny was the one who gave her an answer. Looking at Hermione, she said sarcastic: “Welcome to the club, friend! Let’s find a self help group for women with a sexual complex. Perhaps you can help me to overcome my kinkiness while I can tell you - from experience! - that sex really is better than Christmas though with Albus you’ll experience Christmas on a more regular base!” Shaking her head, she directed her gaze - and she obviously had learned from her husband when it came to looking arrogantly and cold - at her sister-in-law. “Perhaps you should for once think about the fact that you’re not talking about an average wizard like my brother, but about the one who’s seen as the mightiest sorcerer of our age. As much as I’d love to hire you for a new ‘Ask Auntie Pansy’ column, you should really learn before that magic is connected to the life force. In short and clear words: A strong wizard is always a strong man too.”

Just at this moment the strong man appeared at the table, laying his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. After greeting the others he smiled down at her: “Piccola, I was a good boy. I’ve done all my social duties. Now I’d like to dance with you.”

Hermione could have kissed him. Jumping on her feet, she took the arm he offered her. Walking to the crowd to the dance floor, she whispered at him: “You’ve saved Pansy. If you wouldn’t have come, I’d have hexed her back under the stone she crawled up from.”

“So bad?” He took her in the arms - they weow oow on the dance floor - and started to waltz.

“She thinks I should see a healer to do something about my father complex and my disturbed sexuality,” Hermione told.

“Utch!” Albus sighed and pulled her a bit closer. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this …”

Hermione almost stepped on his foot. Looking up to him she said: “Albus, I warn you! I’m not at my best in the moment. If you start with your ‘But I’m an old man’ speech right now, I’m going to hex you!”

“But noter ter the same stone as Miss Wes Weasley?” His eyes were twinkling. “I think I’m not so bad I’d deserve to become buried under a pink stone.”

“Oh, Albus!” Hermione allowed herself for a moment to lay her forehead against his shoulder, enjoying his unique fragrance. Being in his arms made her aware again why she bothered with the ball and people like Pansy Parkinson-Weasley. “I don’t think I’d like to hex you under a stone. I’d rather have you under a blanket - preferably in a bed I’m in too.”

“For working on your disturbed sexuality?” Albus managed to get his hand under her robe and let it glide down to the swell of her buttocks.

Hermione laughed. “Albus! I’ve just heard you’re not up to it - whatever ‘it’ means - anymore. You don’t want to contradict Pansy the psychologist?”

“I certainly will!” he answered and pulled hloselose enough to feel his half erection. “I even will contradict her as often as possible.”

Hermione tugging lightly at one of his silver white hair strands, whispered: “Lascivious sexual maniac!”

He wrinkled his forehead. “Professor Granger, I beg your pardon! But a sexual maniac is per definitionem lascivious. It’s part of the job description, you know?”

“There’s a job description for sexual maniacs?” Hermione laughed. “I’d like to read it!”

“You don’t have to. I suit it perfectly - at least when I’m with you. I can’t let my hands from you, I can’t stop thinking about the things I’d like to do with you if we weren’t in public and I feel always like pulling you in the next dark corner …”

Hermione was just laughing as she heard a “click” and a voice she found as pleasant as the sound of a toe nairapiraping over a wooden floor. It said: “What a cute couple! You don’t mind answering a few questions and posing for a few pictures, don’t you, Headmaster, Miss Granger?”

The voice belonged to no other person than Rita Skeeter, the bug like chief reporter of the ‘Daily Prophet” who was not only an old enemy of Albus, but of Hermione too. Not waiting for an answer from the couple, she called now: “Come over here, Colin! We pic pics …”

Hermione sighed and was just to tell the reporter and her photographer - her former house mate Colin Creevey who’d in school already driven her mad with photographing all the time - that she did mind posing and becoming interviewed as she felt a soft squeeze of Albus’ hand on her shoulder.

“Well, Miss Skeeter - how do you want us?” he asked politely.

Rita Skeeter obviously was amazed for not finding more resistance, but determined to take her chance. “Just as you are is fine - if only you could pull Miss Granger a bit closer, Professor Dumbledore?”

“It’s Professor Granger,” Albus corrected jovially, but laid both hands on Hermione’s shoulders.

“Oh, of course,” Skeeter answered. “Could you perhaps smile at the Headmaster, Professor Granger? Or aren’t you in love with him?”

Hermione produced a broad fake smile. “I am very much so.” The camera clicked a few times and Hermione suddenly found that it wasn’t difficult to smile at Skeeter - as long as she could think about with which really nasty jinxes she could provide the reporter it was even fun.

“Headmaster, what made you fall in love with Miss …” Skeeter saw his risen eyebrow and quickly corrected herself, “… Professor Granger?”

Albus answered as if he’d have only waited for the question: “Her taste in socks. The first gift I ever received from her was socks - and they were so lovely, they became immediately my favourites. I couldn’t help myself. Whenever I looked at these socks, I had to think of the wonderful witch giving them to me.”

At least one couldn’t say Rita Skeeter would be unprofessional. She didn’t show any signs of anger about Albus’ obviously pulling her leg. Looking at Hermione she asked: “Will you become Madame Dumbledore soon, Professor Granger?”

Hermione fought for a moment against laughter. Yet she was determined to show Albus that she could play his game too and so she said seriously: “The problem is that Professor Dumbledore didn’t manage to ask yet. I don’t think he’ll succeed in winter. You know, I’m always wearing socks in winter. So whenever he kneels down to propose he sees my socks - and then he becomes so distracted he forgets all about proposing.”

“Probably we’ll have to marry on bar feet for me not becoming distracted before the vows,” Albus added.

“Ah.” Skeeter still even didn’t smile. Looking at her photographer who obviously had got enough from the pose Albus and Hermione showed to him, she asked: “Could you kiss Professor Granger for a nice picture?”

“No.” Albus’ refusal sounded friendly, but firm.

“YouR’t like kissing Professor Granger?” the reporter promptly asked.

“I like kissing Professor Granger very much,” Albus told her. “But I prefer to do it in private.” Looking at Colin Creevey, he raised his hand. “I think it’s enough now.”

“One last question, Professor Dumbledore,” Skeeter insisted. “Is it true that Professor Granger will teach next year at Hogwarts? And don’t you think it could become difficult with you being not only her lover, but her employer?”

Albus looked down at her over the rims of his spectacles. “These actually were two questions. But you shall get an answer to both of them. First: Yes, it is true. Second: No. Professor Granger is not only a very able transfiguration mistress, but a very professional teacher too. Therefore I don’t think we’ll ever come in a situation in which I’d have to act head masterly against her.” Smiling at Skeeter, he took Hermione in his arms again. “And if you’d excuse us now? I’d really like to dance with Professor Granger. This is a ball, you know?” Without waiting for an answer, he moved away, pulling Hermione with him.

Out of hearing range of the reporter, she sighed: “Why I’m sure she’ll butcher us?”

“Because you know her?” Albus stroked soothingly over her back. “Don’t bother about it, Hermione. Skeeter and her paper aren’t important.”

“Decides the great headmaster - and Professor Granger has to agree …” Hermione said a bit too sharp. “Albus, you know I feel always a bit dumbfounded in situations like that? You tend to answer questions for me …”

“I tend to protect you, yes,” he stated. “Is this so bad?”

“It sometimes makes me wonder if and how serious you take me,” Hermione said flatly.

Albus sighed. “Sorry, Hermione - but I think you’re barking at the wrong tree. I take you very seriously. But you don’t think the dance floor of the ministry is the right place to start a debate about principles, do you?”

Hermione sighed. “But we will have to talk about that, Albus.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure we will. You certainly won’t miss an opportunity to make clear to me what I actually never doubt. But …,” he pulled her a bit closer, “… I’m aware that it isn’t easy to teach an old dog like me new tricks. And I’m even not sure if I want to change the habits of a life time. As serious as I take you - I think nevertheless that my lady should get not only my love, but my protection too.”

“Oh, Albus …” Hermione let once again her head sink against his shoulder. “You know, it was simpler to be your secret lover?”

“Not on long terms, Hermione,” he answered. “But you’ll see: In a few days the worst will be over. At the moment we’re news. Yet nothing fades quicker than news. People will come in use with us.”

Hermione nodded. “I hope you’re right. But …”

“Hmm?” he encouraged her.

“I think I’ll havetelltell my parents now,” Hermione said. “They don’t read the ‘Daily Prophet’ and they don’t have contacts to our world, but I own them nevertheless to become informed.”

“You’re right,” Albus turned her around, smiling by it at Ginny and Lucius who danced next to them. “We should talk to your parents as soon as possible. Only tomorrow would be bad - I have to sit through the annual meeting of the school’s governors.”

“Then I’ll go to see my parents tomorrow,” Hermione said. “I think its better I’ll tell them alone. I’m afraid they won’t become too delighted about it.” She played with a strand of his hair. “The school’s governors - do you think they’ll give you a hard time about us?”

Albus smiled a bit lopsided. “You can bet your sweet butt that they’ll try. Since a few months Madame Dahlia Fenton-Fuller has joined the club. She’s the best friend of Aurelia Willington and always very concerned about the morale at Hogwarts - or shall I say, my morale?” He led. ed. “But it’s always quite funny when Madame FF and Minerva are crashing in each other. Our last meeting was big fun in this department. You know we’d got two pregnant students? Madame FF meant I’d be to blame for that …”

“You?” Hermione shook her head. “What did you do wrong?”

“My behaviour sets a bad example …” Albus answered.

“What impertinence!” Hermione became infuriated. “I hope you gave this lady a good piece of your mind.”

“I didn’t stand a chance,” Albus chuckled. “Before I could open my mouth, Minerva had already her claws out. I would never have thought it possible, but she started to rant about the governor’s lack of insight and demanded they’d make finally up their minds about regular sexual education at Hogwarts. The best way - so Minerva said - to avoid students getting pregnant would be to inform them about sexuality before they start to dabble around with it.”

“Oh my …” Hermione laughed. “I remember how she tried to do just that in my time. As we started the fifth year we found a book with the title ‘What a young witch should know’ in our dormitory. And the boys got one about necessary knowledge for young wizards. Fred and George Weasley scared then the hell out of the boys. They told them the head of houses were supposed to examine the fifth years abohis his books. They even maintained the boys would have to demonstrate their knowledge of deflating charms in front of their head of houses.”

Albus grinned. “Especially the Hufflepuffs would have gotten fun with that. I remember the story about the fourth year Hufflepuff who once thought he should have a talk about sexuality with his head of house. Stammering around he finally managed to utter something li#821#8216;You know, Professor Sprout, sometimes in the nights, I feel something growing on me …’ Dear Sproutie, absent minded as she is, only grasped the word ‘growing’ and answered: ‘Just put enough soil around and water it regularly.’”

Hermione laughed out loud. “Did the boy do that?” she asked.

“No, he didn’t. He obviously didn’t want to grow this ‘plant’. So he went to ask some one else - and had the misfortune to walk in the Weasley twins who sent him straight to the infirmary,” Albus told.

“I’m sure Poppy Pomfrey could handle the problem,” Hermione said.

Albus grinned. “She obviously wanted me to have some fun too. So she told the boy that he would have to talk about it with a man and sent him to me.”

“You didn’t make fun of the poor boy too?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Albus assured her. “I was nice and told him what he wanted to know. Since then Minerva always tries to persuade me for taking over a class about it for the fifth year boys.”

“And why don’t you do it?” Hermione asked. “I think it would be really necessary.”

Albus laughed. “Do you really believe the boys would want to talk about sex with me?”

“Probably they’d like it better than with a young teacher,” Hermione answered. “They know you don’t have only theoretical knowledge of the subject, but you’re nevertheless distant enough to them they could probably handle it with you on a factual base. Besides I’m convinced you wouldn’t find teaching this class as difficult as the younger teachers.”

Albus grinned. “You don’t think I should ask Severus?”

“Oh yes - that would be great! You would at least solve the problem with the house rivalry.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just send him to teach the Gryffindor and in a few years you won’t have trouble with them anymore because they become all so repressed they don’t even dare to think about sex anymore. No sex, no kids - the Gryffindors will die out and Hogwarts is at peace at last.”


To be continued …