Much Ado about Nothing

Much Ado about Nothing


By: Max

[Disclaimer: see chapter 1]

Dedicated to Eryn - she knows why. ;-)

Chapter 19: After waves

Sitting on the window sill in Albus’ bedroom, wrapped in one of Albus’ magnificent dressing gowns, Hermione ld oud out over the roofs and grounds of Hogwarts. It had started to snow in the afternoon - thick flakes had danced in the light wind, covering the red roofs, the meadows and the quidditch pitch. In the silver moonlight, Hogwarts now looked like a confectioner’s idea of a fairy castle.

Hermione sighed. She’d fallen in love with Hogwarts by the first time she’d set eyes on the castle. Since then Hogwarts had felt like “home” to her. But until this night she’d always seen Hogwarts as her home in the magical world while the yellow painted house with the green fence in which she’d spent the first 11 years of her life had been her home in the muggle world. But now, she had to admit - at least to herself - that she’d lost her place there and obviously not just the evening before, but years ago.

She had been prepared for her parents to be profoundly shocked by learning that Hermione was in love with a man so old he could easily be not only her own, but one of her parents’ grandfather. She had been prepared to defend her love. Yet it hadn’t been necessary. Her parents had neither been very shocked nor much surprised. They’d shown mild curiosity and that they’d obviously long before given up the hope to understand their eldest daughter and the world she lived in.

Hermione’s announcement, “I’m in love with my former master,” had gotten her a, “We saw, from our encounter in the hospital, that he’s very fond of you,” from her father and an “Isn’t he a good deal older than you, darling?” by her mother. And before Hermione could have answered that, her father had added, “Didn’t you tell us once that the lifespan of magical people is quite a bit longer than ours? So the age gap shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you …”

“And he seems to be an interesting man,” Hermione’s mother had said. “My only concern is that he isn’t only your boyfriend, but your employer too.”

Hermione had cringed upon hearing the word “boyfriend”. It really didn’t suit Albus. But she hadn’t said so. She’d only answered, “We’ll manage. It actually won’t become much of a problem. I’ll work mostly with Professor McGonagall - you remember her? She was the head of my house. She’s the transfiguration mistress in charge and so she’ll become my direct superior. I won’t have too much professional contact with Albus.”

Her father had smiled at her. “Does he make you happy, Princess?”

Hermione had swallowed. “Yes, Dad - very much so. He’s a wonderful man and he’s everything I’ve ever wished for.”

Her mother had taken her hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps you’d like to bring him to dinner some evening?”

At this moment Hermione’s younger sister Miranda had appeared, her boyfriend at her side. The young man was a dentist, just ready with his study. Miranda had met him at the university where she studied to become a dentist too.

Hermione’s mother had told the newcomers, “You won’t believe it, Miri. Hermione has got herself a boyfriend too. Her former professor …”

Miranda had found the news interesting. “Really, ‘Mione? What does he look like?” Miranda had asked.

Hermione, who’d never liked her name shortened, had answered crisply, “You’ve seen him once, Miranda. He is the headmaster of Hogwarts and he was the one who came here to talk with our parents before I went to his school.”

Miranda had wrinkled her forehead. “Ah - now I remember …” Her jaw had dropped. “But Mione! He must be much older than you! He already had grey hair!”

“It’s actually white - and I like it.” Hermione had looked at her sister's boyfriend. He had mousy brown hair which was already thinning. In a few years he would have a bald head. Yet Miranda had looked at him as if he were the best invention since quick-drying nail polish.

And, as always, Miranda had twisted the conversation around to her favourite subject, herself, in only one line. Smiling proudly and taking her boyfriend’s hand, Miranda had said, “I’ll see your white-haired boyfriend next summer, I reckon. You know, Billy and I will marry as soon as I’m done with my exam in August. He’s got a great job in a hospital in Birmingham and his dad and our parents will help us to buy a nice little house. Really, 'Mione, you must come to my wedding and bring your boyfriend along! Perhaps --” she’d giggled, “-- it will get him an idea and you’ll once become a married wife too?”

Hermione had once again wished the hexing of younger sisters wouldn’t count as "misuse of magic”. A few nice boils on Miranda’s backside would, perhaps, help her to think about something besides herself for once.

Very thin lipped Hermione had said, “Thank you very much, Miranda. But I can assure you, if I want Albus to get ideas, I can talk to him myself.”

“Albus?” Miranda’s boyfriend had opened his mouth for the first time. “That’s a peculiar name. I’ve never known some one named ‘Albus’.”

Hermione hadn’t managed to resist. She’d smiled sweetly. “Actually his complete name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian. But I only address him like that in bed.”

“Hermione! Please!” her mother had rebuked her.

Shortly afterwards Hermione had left, feeling pretty numb and sad. She’d been aware that she’d grown very distant to her family, but it was nevertheless awful to feel like such a stranger in her parents’ house.

Apparating back to Hogwarts and climbing up the stairs to the main tower, she’d hoped Albus would be through with the governors already and waiting for her in the living room. The thought of him, sitting in his favourite chair in front of the fireplace, spectacles down and laying on the table next to an empty cup of cocoa, eyes closed and listening to soft music - probably his beloved Beethoven - had made her smile. She would sneak in and put herself in his lap and he would hold her and she’d feel at home because he was her home and as long as she had him, she didn’t ….

What was that? She was just on the spiralling staircase, only a few steps away from the door of Albus’ office. Then she heard it again, a shrill female voice, sounding almost triumphant.

“… can’t demand to have your private conduct handled with velvet gloves when you yourself show off your hardly adult bed mate, Headmaster!”

Hermione felt as if she’d gotten a punch in the stomach. She had to brace herself against the wall and fight down the rage which made her want to storm into Albus’ office and to scratch the woman’s eyes out. How could she dare to talk to Albus like that?

Now she heard Albus' thundering voice, “Madame, you may try to insult me, but I absolutely refuse to stand by when you besmirch Professor Granger’s good name. You’ll apologize for naming her a ‘bed mate’ - immediately!”

“Ah? Doesn’t she share your bed, Dumbledore?” the witch asked maliciously.

“Really, Madame Fenton-Fuller --" this was old Cracklebell’s cranky voice. “-- the headmaster’s private business isn’t of any concern to the governors.”

“I think it is,” Madame Fenton-Fuller insisted. “Headmaster Dumbledore is supposed to set an example to his students. How can he do so while living out of wedlock with a member of his staff who was a student of this school only a few years ago?”

“Considering that Hogwarts is the only wizard’s school in England,” Minerva was speaking, her voice icier than Hermione had ever heard it, “a teacher here can hardly find a partner who was not a student in this school at one time.”

“So you think a teacher-pupil-relationship is appropriate, Professor McGonagall?” Madame Fenton-Fuller asked.

“Certainly not!” Minerva snapped. “But it’s been more than ten years since Professor Granger was a student. She is not Professor Dumbledore’s student, but a fully-qualified transfiguration mistress!”

“And you’re sure she wasn’t his plaything when she was a student?” Madame Fenton-Fuller demanded to know.

“On my wizard’s word of honour I never laid a finger …,” that was Albus again, only the hoarseness of his voice betraying that his calmness was forced, “… on a student of this school. But to shorten this unbearable debate, if the governors think my private conduct unsuitable for Hogwarts headmaster, I will retire immediately.”

“Oh no - not again!” Madame Fenton-Fuller yelled. “It’s always the same old trick: Whenever Dumbledore becomes criticized, he threatens to retire and …”

“Silence, Cassandra!” a voice thundered. It belonged to Tiberius Fideles, the minister for education. “You’ve said enough already! However you think about Albus’ relationship with Professor Granger - to name her his ‘play thing’ and ‘bed mate’ is far out of the order!”

“Besides,” Minerva said, sounding very collected and cool, “I have to make an announcement too. If we’re so far gone that the Headmaster has to retire because the school governors can’t accept his love for a staff member, then it’s time I handed in my notice too. I’d be ashamed to work for an institution when its governors would deny someone a life with someone he loves. Especially someone who has spent half of his life on the welfare of the school. Someone who has risked his own life more than once for the safety of its students.”

Hermione felt a tear running down her face. Minerva - wonderful, brave, loyal Minerva, the epitome of Gryffindor! She was a true lioness.

“Really, Minerva, Albus …” This was Fideles again. “We don’t want to overdo things. I certainly won’t accept you giving notice for something which is indeed not the concern of the governors. We of course accept Albus’ relationship with Professor Granger and we wish him and the young lady all luck they deserve.”

“I only think the headmaster and Professor Granger should perhaps handle their private affairs a bit more discreetly,” now squeaked a female voice Hermione recognized as Agatha Sanders’, state secretary in the ministry of education.

“Ah?” Minerva sounded still very angry. “Forgive me, I’m perhaps very old-fashioned, but I’d find a clandestine affair between the headmaster and a member of the staff much more inappropriate. It would seem ‘fishy’ compared to a relationship openly acknowledged by both participants.”

“Honestly,” Old Cracklebell again, “I don’t understand all the fuss. Why don’t you simply marry the girl, Albus? Then no once could find anything ‘fishy’ or inappropriate about your relationship anymore.”

Hermione held her breath and waited for Albus’ answer. It came how she expected it: “If I’m to marry, I certainly won’t do it to satisfy the governors.”

“Nobody expects you to, Albus!” The minister obviously was shocked by the idea of Albus retiring. “I really think we should change the subject. Albus has got a right to have his privacy undisturbed by us …”


Hermione had gone up to the bedroom then, feeling more than a bit shaken. How could they have dared to treat Albus like that? And what would she have done if he’d really resigned? He loved Hogwarts! The school had been his life for more than half a century.


One hour later he’d appeared in the bedroom, pale and worn out. He’d smiled at her. “Tesoro, how was your visit with your parents?” He’d stroked her cheek.

Hermione had felt how his fingers were trembling and she’d once again wished to meet Madame Fenton-Fuller alone in the dark. Taking his hand in hers, she’d kissed it and had said, “The parents weren’t as shocked as I would have expected. I think they can live with us being together. But,” breathing deeply she’d proceeded, “I just was in front of your office as this Fenton-Fuller bitch started her attack on you ….”

He’d sighed. “I had it coming. She only waited for such a chance to get at me. I’m sorry you had to hear her impertinence.”

She had snuggled against him. “I heard you protect my honour too. My shining knight …”

Albus had laid his mouth in her hair. “I’m afraid your knight is dog-tired, Domina. It was a hell of a day. Before the meeting with the governors I had to expel a student - something I never like, but find especially hard shortly before Christmas. Every time it makes one ask where one failed so much …”

“Why do you think about failing when you have to expel a student?” Hermione had asked. “It obviously was the student who failed, wasn’t it? And considering how much the Weasley twins or Harry, Ron and I went through without being expelled; I think you are always exceptionally patient, Headmaster."

Another sigh and he’d sat down on the bedside. “Nevertheless I’m always depressed and frustrated. What shall become from the girl? She’s from a wizard’s family …”

“Would you feel better if she were a muggleborn?” Hermione had asked.

Albus had nodded. “As a muggleborn she would probably have a new start at a muggle school. But it’s now private tutoring for her and then the external exams …”

“What did she do to get herself expelled?” Hermione had asked.

He’d taken off his boots. “In this case the question should be: What didn’t she do?” He’d sighed again. “The girl comes from an old and wealthy family. She’s one of the spoiled pureblood princesses who have always difficulties in adapting. In this case, the trouble is that she simply didn’t believe her name and her father’s money wouldn’t be enough. Her grades in the first year were already bad, in the second year they became Hogwarts’ all time low and the third year she didn’t pass. She had to repeat it, passed then just so, struggled through the fourth year with a lot of tutoring, barely made it in the fifth and then messed her owls up totally. She was set on probation and had to repeat the fifth year. By how her grades came, this was clear: she couldn’t make it through the owls. The only classes where she got at least a ‘fulfilling expectations’ were potions and transfiguration, but I’m afraid she’s only learned something there because she’s in awe of Severus and me. In charms she got a zero - and she really asked for it. She told me that she finds Sebastian Melanchthon 'not acceptable' as her teacher because he is someone - I quote - ‘without a name and heritage’.”

“What a brat!” Hermione had interrupted. “Sebastian comes from an old family …”

“He’s even German nobility - as I told the young lady.” Albus had been out of his robe and on the way to the bathroom. “I’m an old fool, Hermione. After the last war, I’d really hoped our society would have learned something. But, as I mentioned today to the young lady, prejudices like hers made for this war. She snorted and gave back that it shouldn’t have been a wonder Voldemort failed, since he’d been only a half-blood …”

“Great!” Hermione had rolled her eyes. “Perhaps she wants to become the next dark lady?”

Albus who’d just brushed his teeth had only nodded. Ready then he’d said, “It will be people like her, or better said, her parents - they were the ones who put those prejudices in her head - who will lead us to the next war. Our world obviously is neither able nor willing to learn from history.”

“Albus …” Hermione had hugged him. “You’re tired and depressed. But I don’t think things are quite so bad …”

“You’re probably right, Piccola. I shall get myself to rest. Tomorrow the world will look a bit friendlier.”

She’d ldowndown with him and she’d held him in her arms until he’d fallen asleep. But then she’d found she couldn’t sleep. Too much was going through her head. So she’d stood up again and had sat down on the window sill.

Now a piece of wood cracked in the fire. Hermione looked over to the bed and sighed. Albus, normally a quiet and sound sleeper, had just turned again and lay now on his back. In the light from the fire she could see that his face wasn’t as relaxed and peaceful as it usually was when he slept, but tensed. And his last turn had slid his blanket down, leaving his chest and shoulders uncovered. He would catch a cold or get the rheumatics again.

Hermione climbed down from the window sill, marched over to the bed and bent over her sleeping lover to pull the blanket up. Just that moment she heard him whisper, his voice full of terror, “No - not the children! Take me - but not the children!”

Hermione swallowed the lump which formed in her throat. It wasn’t the first time he witnessed one of Albus’ nightmares, but she knew that she would never become used with it.

Now he turned again, this time to his side. She saw that the muscles in his arm and shoulder were cramped and a strand of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“No!” This time it was a moan.

Hermione couldn’t stand by any longer. Taking her wand from the nightstand, she commanded “Lumos!” She’d learned already that it was easier for him to come out of a nightmare when he wasn’t in the dark. Putting the wand back in its place, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “Albus,” she whispered. “Albus, Beloved …” He twitched and tried to turn away. Hermione held his shoulder and said a bit louder and as firmly as she could, “Albus - wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

He almost jumped, but then he opened his eyes which twinkled in the light of the two candles next to the bed. “Hermione …” He breathed hard.

Hermione stroked soothingly over his cheek. “Love, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, but you were having a nightmare.”

He looked at her, his eyes still full of horror. He was obviously unable to get himself out of it.

“Was it so bad, Albus?” she asked him softly.

He only nodded, a tear running down his face.

Slipping out of the dressing gown Hermione lay down next to him and offered him her arms. “Come here, Albus. You don’t have to bear that alone. I’m here …”

His head landed on her chest and she felt something hot and wet on her skin and how his back under her stroking hands twitched with his silent crying. She didn’t need to ask him what he’d seen in his nightmare. He’d once told her that it was always the same scene: Voldemort and his death eaters entering the great hall as they’d done on the day of the final battle. In his nightmare, the hall wasn’t empty, but filled with students. And in the nightmare, things were even worse, Albus always dreamed that a death eater had managed to stun him and that he couldn’t do anything but watch how his students died in the green light of killing curses.

“I see their faces - James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, Lavender, Neville, Cedric, Charly, Yasemin, Amelia,n, Pn, Peter, Draco, Bellatrix, Anthony, Tim, Sheila …” he’d told her. “All the children I couldn’t save. And they look at me accusingly …”

She wished she could take his pain away. But she could only hold him and share the grief with him. Combing with her fingers through his tussled hair she whispered, “Cry, love. Let it out. I’m with you and I’ll never let you go. You don’t have to go through that alone. I’m with you and I will always be. I love you …”

He seemed to calm, the muscles under her hand relaxed. For a few moments he lay in her arms without moving. Then he raised his head, his eyes red and swollen, but without the horror within. “Hermione …” His voice wasn’t more than a husky whisper. “Stellina - non mi lasciare. Non posso vivere senza di te …*”

Laying both her hands around his cheeks, she lifted his head so that he had to look in her eyes. “I will never leave you, Albus. I belong to you.” She kissed him, her mouth lingering on his until his lips - first tense and raw - became soft and his tongue flickered over her bottom lip. It was like a question. Her answer to it was opening her mouth and simultaneously roaming a hand down over his back to the swell of his buttocks. Her frs, rs, now so familiar with his body, found the little dimple where his spine ended. Using just her finger tips to paint little circles on his skin there made him moan in her mouth and he cupped her breast with his hand. For a moment she let him play with it, but then she pushed him on his back and bent over him, taking his soft nipple in her mouth while her hand went down over his belly to his member. He wasn’t stiff yet, but already thick and heavy. Hermione knew it wouldn’t take long to get him fully aroused. She needed him, but in this moment he probably needed her even more. In his nightmare he’d faced death once again. Now he longed to feel alive and loved again; now he craved for the comfort of her warm body and her tenderness.

If Rita Skeeter would have asked Hermione what she liked most about Albus, she’d have answered, “His vulnerability.” To her it was what made him great. He wasn’t a fearless, stupid hero who fought his battles without ever having the idea he could fail in it too. He knew fear, he knew doubts, but he was nevertheless brave enough to face his enemies and to fight for the good. And what she found even more impressing: He was brave enough to show his humanity, to cry in her arms. Hermione wouldn’t have known of anything that could make her feel closer to him.

Now he bucked his hips and moaned, this time with desire. Hermione felt how his penis in her hand hardened and grew. Using her other hand for stroking his testicles, she smiled up at him. “You know, I love that?”

“What, Tesoro?”

“Arousing you,” Hermione answered. “To feel how you react to me - it’s the biggest ego boast thinkable. And your cock feels wonderful in my hand …” He was almost entirely hard now, the tip just peeking out. Hermione bent down and blew a kiss on it, before she let her tongue flick over it. “There it’s like silk - all smooth and so soft …”

He moaned and laid his hand in his hair. “You know what you do to me?” he asked.

Hermione giggled. “That’s why I do it.” She used her tongue to lick from his base to the tip, leaving a wet trail. “And here, it’s like velvet covering steel …” Another flick of her tongue, with just the tip against the vein now pulsing on the underside of his penis. “And if you knew how he feels when he’s inside me! It’s glorious …”

“I know how lovely it feels on my end.” His tone was a mixture between amusement and arousal now.

Hermione licked again along his length. “You know, I become amazed each time. First …” she chuckled. “Actually you’re smug enough, so I probably shouldn’t tell you. But first I always think yo217;217;re too big. But then, when I’m accustomed to it, it is as if you were made for me. You fit so absolute perfectly. And just thinking of it always makes me feel empty. You make me complete, Albus. Without you I’m only half …”

“Hermione …” He moaned again because she had just sucked on his tip. “I’d like so very much to be inside you.”

She shifted, smiling at him. “Sounds like a good idea. I’d like to have you inside. So how would you like me?”

He pulled her close for a kiss and, with his mouth almost on hers, he said, “As if you didn’t know …”

Hermione knew that he needed not only passion, but the cheerfulness what always made their love making so special. So she teased him. “You know, you can’t teach sexual education. Someone who knows only two positions - and one of them being the good old reliable missionary position - isn’t up to the job.”

“What?” She’d succeeded. He was now laughing loudly. “You impertinent little wrench! I’ll show you what I’m up to!” He sat up. “Turn around - and on your knees …”

Hermione obeyed, but over her shoulder she grinned at him. “Doggy style? Not very elaborate, Headmaster.”

“Bah, doggy style! That’s for Gryffindors and other bores.” Positioning himself behind her, he kissed her back and stroked over her butt.

“Hey! I am a Gryffindor, in case you’ve forgotten!̶ermiermione protested.

“I’ve not forgotten. You’ve got the best butt I have ever seen on a Gryffindor. It’s so sexy it could almost be a Slytherin butt …” He used his knees to pull her legs farther apart before he guided his cock into her, then he laid his arm around her middle and pulled her up in his lap. “Admit it. You’re glad you’ve got a Slytherin for a lover.”

Hermione let herself sink on him and leaned back with a moan.

“Was that a ‘yes’?” he asked, nibbling at her while his right hand glided down between her spread legs and his left made it to her breast, playing with her nipple.

“Oh heavens …” Hermione struggled for breath. His index finger was on her clitoris and stroked in the rhythm of his little strokes. “Albus …”

“You know, Professor Granger,” he moved his hips again and gave her nipple a slight twist, “you couldn’t teach sexual education either. A teacher should always be able to express herself in clear, complete sentences.” He sounded very amused.

“Oh, just …,” Hermione suppressed a moan. To be filled by him and at the same time touched on her most sensitive places was almost too much, “… you wait, Albus Dumbledore!” Rocking against him, she announced, “You’re going to take back that Gryffindors are bores in bed. You can be sure you will before this night is over!”

“Will I?” He bit lightly on her shoulder. “Perhaps I will - after you’ve sung the praise of Slytherin lovers in the highest tone!” Pressing her closer, he sped up his strokes.

Hermione closed her eyes and let her head fall back against his shoulder. Every stroke of him seemed to send a jolt of electricity through her entire body, every cell of it seemed to hum with pleasure from him. She was already close and responding eagerly to him, she felt how a red wave of lust and pleasure washed over her consciousness, taking every thought away and lifting her up higher and higher until something in her seemed to burst and filled her with sheer joy and happiness. Almost dizzy she came back to herself, whispering, “I love you so, Albus.”

He didn’t answer in words, but gave her a little push.

Hermione fell forwards onto the soft pillows, her head on her arms. She felt his hands on her hips, holding her firmly while he started to pound into her in hard, long strokes. Just one moment ago she’d felt sated, but now she responded to him again with eager movements of her hips, panting and crying from his efforts. His balls touched her clitoris every time he buried himself in her and she felt how her entire body started to tremble and another orgasm hit her. She couldn’t breathe anymore, she couldn’t move anymore, she couldn’t think anymore, but heard herself moaning his name, “Albus, Albus, Albus …” Then her knees couldn’t hold her weight any longer and she sank down, losing him by it. Although she still trembled, she couldn’t bear the emptiness and managed to turn around, spreading her legs. “Please …”

He didn’t need his hand to bring his cock into the right position. He only sank forwards and then he was in her again. His body, slick with sweat, was over her, his hair falling over her face and tickling her skin. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, her mouth searching for his.

“Hermione, my sweet, beautiful, lovely Hermione, my perfect mistress, my love, my star ...” He kissed her, with one hand stroking her face. “I was made for you. You’re my perfection, you make me complete.” He slowly began to move again, soft and tenderly, his eyes closed now, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

Looking up to him Hermione studied his face as if she’d have to paint it. The white hair over his forehead looked almost fluffy and she knew, it was soft and silken under her touch. His forehead - she sometimes thought if she would get a hump of clay, she would only have to close her eyes and her finger would start on their own accord to form his forehead. She knew it so well; she’d touched it so often; she’d kissed it and felt against her skin. There were the two tiny lumps over his eyes, the valley between them, the deep wrinkles, the deepest and broadest of them following the form of his eyebrows.

The eyebrows - in the contrast to the soft hair on his head, his brows were bushy, some of the hair wiry. Most of them were still auburn and so were his eye lashes, the upper lashes long and with an elegant swing, those underneath short, but thick.

His nose - right and left of the bridge his spectacles had left little marks. He had worn glasses for almost 40 years; he only took them off during the nights. Probably by now Hermione was the only person who was familiar with his naked face. The students probably never saw him without the glasses and the staff only for the short moments when he took them up for massaging the bridge of his nose - always a sign for him not being happy about what he’d heard or seen.

His lips, normally firm and always a bit pale, were now red from her kisses and slightly swollen. He breathed hard and Hermione felt how his muscles started to tense. His hands went down to her hips again and pulled her close. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting him as close as possible. Now his strokes became firmer and quicker once again and tiny drops of sweat appeared on his forehead.

“Hermione …,” a hoarse whisper, “Ti amo!”

“I love too,too,” she replied, kissing his shoulder.

“Hermione - oh heavens, Hermione! I’m so …” A moan and he became rigid in her arms and Hermione felt how a jolt of energy shot through her body, filling her with warmth and brightness. And then there was light around them, golden and blue, dancing in front of her eyes and for a moment the entire room was painted with it.


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


A soft kiss on her eyelids woke Hermione. Opening her eyes she saw Albus smiling down at her.

“I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I did, till weR’d?” he whispered.

Hermione stretched, feeling a slight ache in her thighs by it. Laying her arms around his shoulder, she demanded, “More!”

Kissing the tip of her nose, he asked: “What more? More kisses or more poetry!”

Hermione stroked his jaw. “You’re not shaved yet. So it’s more poetry.”

“Well, your wish is as always my command.” Looking into her eyes, his voice sank to a whisper again, “My face in thine eyes, thine in mine appeares, and true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, where can we find two better hemispheares without sharp North, without declining West? What ever dyes, was not mixed equally; if our two loves be one, or, thou and I love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.**”

“Lovely,” Hermione sighed contently. “You know, I could become used to that, awakened by a kiss and poetry.”

“Hmm,” he grinned. “For the kiss part we certainly can find a willing house elf. Yet the poetry part might cause difficulties. Perhaps we can ask Severus - he’s pretty good with poetry too.”

Hermione tugged lightly at his hair. “And here I thought you’d like to do that.”

“I’m afraid I’ll run out of poetry sooner or later. At least on decent pieces to quote in the morning,” he answered.

“You know not-so-decent pieces of poetry?” Hermione grinned. “Let’s hear!”

“Bah - they’re for the evenings and for seducing women!” he grinned.

“You never said one for me …” Hermione sulked. “Probably because you’re a Slytherin loud mouth who doesn’t really know one.”

“You want to provoke me?” he asked. “Shortly after six in the morning you provoke me already? That’s something only a Gryffindor can do, you know?”

“Poetry, Albus! We were talking about poetry - indecent poetry. Quote or …”

“Or?” He grinned and looked once again like a cheeky boy. “You know, Minerva would become angry if you’d hex me into the next week. She wouldn’t know how to cover the lessons for this week.”

“I don’t need to hex you.” Hermione jumped on him. “I know better methods to get you to do what I want …” She started to tickle him.

Albus almost broke down on the bed. Fidgeting and rolling around he tried to get rid of her, but Hermione didn’t let him out. Laughing and giggling he lifted his arm, “Mercy! Have mercy! I give up! You’ve won!”

Hermione sat up. “Well, well, that’s my boy! Now to the poetry, and don’t try to come away with only one line!”

“I wouldn’t try.” He crossed his arms behind his head. “Alas - here we go: Thuntauntains mingle with the river and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of heaven mix for ever with a sweet emotion; nothing in the world is single, all things by a law divine in one another’s being mingle - why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven and the waves clasp one another; no sister-flower would be forgiven if it disdain’d its brother: And the sunlight clasps the earth and the moonbeams kiss the sea - what are all these kissing worth if thou kist met me?***”. He kissed her soundly before he turned around for getting up.

“Hmm,” Hermione said. “Who told you that’s indecent?” she wanted to know.

“Minerva! I quoted it once with her and got one of her famous ‘ALBUS! YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE!’ back. You know, Minerva is the only person who can speak in capitals? I swear she really sometimes does.” He was on his way to the bathroom.

Hermione disentangled herself fthe the blanket. “But your poetry was nice. I really would like to get some poetry every morning.”

“As I said,” he called from the bath. “I’ve only learned a few pieces by heart.”

“Ah …” Hermione marched barefooted into the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the tub. “That’s why you were changing your ladies so often. You didn’t know enough poetry. After a few weeks you were always through and then you had to search for a lady who didn’t know your entire collection already.” She gave him a pat on his butt. “No chance with me. I’ll go to a muggle book shop today and buy all poetry they have. You’ll get tons of books for Christmas.”

“And I hoped you’d get me the Kamasutra!” he grinned.

“What? You didn’t read it yet? You disappoint me, Albus. I was convinced every Slytherin studied it before their graduation.” Hermione looked over to the clock over the mirror. “Heavens!” she cried. “It’s half past six! Can you tell me, what I, a hard-working professor at holidays, do in going up at half past six in the morning?”

“Hmm … let me think about it.” He turned and looked at her. “You want to wash your even harder working lover’s back? The poor man isn’t at holidays yet, but has to teach a class with 22 rowdy Gryffindors at eight. You know, his school hasn’t got enough transfiguration teachers. The one who should actually teach this class amuses herself either in Venice or by loitering around in her lover’s bathroohinihining about she has been woken too early.”

“Wrong again. She isn’t there for whining, but because she loves to watch him shave. The lady is possessive, you know? And watching him as he shaves always gives her a feeling of exclusivity,” Hermione answered. “She thinks she’s the only one who was ever allowed to do that.”

“She’s right. Her lover normally isn’t a morning person,” Albus answered, twinkling at the mirror.

“Good thing he’s with me. Yet I must say, the headmaster of his school must be a git.” Hermione had gotten the rubber duck which sat on the shelf over his tub and played with it. “Why did he let the transfiguration teacher go?”

Albus was now spreading water on his face. “Probably because he likes his lover and his deputy nagging at him? It makes him feel looked after.”

“Probably!” Hermione laughed. “But seriously, Albus, if you want me to, I can take over your classes. I don’t have anything special planned for today.”

He’d finished lathg hig his face and was tilting his head back, ready to shave his jaw. “Thanks for the offer, darling, but no. You’re to enjoy your holidays.” He turned again around, smiling at her. “Think about it, in a few months you’ll be at the mercy of a very demanding employer again. You know what a slave driver I am.”

“Oh yes!̶ermiermione sighed dramatically. “I’m going to be one of this paled, pained creatures walking through the halls of this school like a prisoner in chains, always in fear of the master’s whip.”

“Just so!” He grinned and turned back to the mirror. “So you really should enjoy your freedom as long as you’re able to.”

Hermione sighed. “I’d like to, Albus, but I’m afraid without teaching I won’t find an excuse to avoid visiting Molly today. I promised her I’d come over to the Burrow as soon as I found a little free time.”

Albus stopped shaving. Raising one eyebrow he said, “If I were in your shoes, I’d probably need a few days - or even weeks - to find free time. As much as I appreciate Molly, you don’t have to justify yourself in front of her. Besides I’d like to accompany you to that visit.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Al I&# I’m a Gryffindor. I won’t hide behind your back. Besides I’m pretty sure that Molly won’t rebuke me for our relationship. She admires you so much she’d never criticise anything you do. But she’ll ask me why I didn’t tell her. I think I disappointed her by keeping our love a secret.” Sighing she added, “Actually I feel a bit bad about myself. Molly always was like a mother to me and I know she worried all the time about me being lonely.”

Albus had started to shave again. “Blame me for it, Hermione. I was the one who couldn’t make up his mind and so I was the one who made you act against your Gryffindortinctincts,” he said calmly.

“But I don’t want to blame you,” Hermione almost cried. More quietly she added, “At least not in front of Molly or someone else.”

He grinned. “That’s the Gryffindor spirit: ‘Right or wrong, my country’. You would even defend me against everyone if I had just murdered someone, wouldn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you? If I had?” Hermione asked.

Albus interrupted his shaving for a moment. “Of course I would. I’d even help you to hide the body. But I’m a Slytherin and as such, I’m supposed to be pragmatic, if not an opportunist. If you would kill someone, I’d think that you’ve got good reason.”

Hermione looked thoughtfully at him. “I’d actually think so too, if you’d murdered someone. Does this make me a Slytherin?”

“No, certainly not,” Albus was done with his left jaw and now starting on the right.

“Albus …” Hermione sounded thoughtful.

“Hmm?”

“You’re convinced that I’m all Gryffindor, aren’t you?” she asked him.

“Yes, I am. You’re an epitome of all what’s Gryffindor, Hermione - except for one point,” he answered.

He chuckled. “I probably shouldn’t answer this while having a blade on my throat. It could give you ideas …”

“Albus!” Hermione said threateningly. “You know Minerva sometimes wants to kill you because you never give a straight answer? I could feel tempted to ask her to team up against you.”

“Uuh! How unfair! Two Gryffindors against poor little me!” he cried.

“Poor little you! My foot! To get you it would take a dozen of Gryffindors!” Hermione snorted. “And now tell me already, in what way don’t you think me a typical Gryffindor?”

“Well …” he turned, his face still partially covered with foam. “The average Gryffindor isn’t as brilliant as you, Hermione. Understand me right, Gryffindors usually aren’t daft. But they aren’t very intellectual either. Take Harry or Ron for examples: Both far away from being idiots, but also far away from possessing academic minds. They are strong wizards, but always more on the practical than on the theoretical side. But you are an intellectual - even so much you could have become a Ravenclaw.”

“And what, do you think, made me a Gryffindor?” Hermione asked.

Albus laughed. “Your temper, Darling! You’got got too much of it for a Ravenclaw.”

“Maybe …” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “Albus …”

He was just shaving his cheek. “Yes, Hermione?”

“Some people say that Gryffindors and Slytherins are totally opposite. Therefore they wouldn’t get along with each other. But we do, don’t we?” she asked, sounding suddenly a bit doubtful.

“And now you ask yourself why?” he gave back.

“Well …” confirmed Hermione hesitantly. “I wonder why you fell in love with someone like me.”

“The reasons for love …” Now Albus sounded thoughtful. “I think no one ever knows for sure why he falls in love with the one person while another - sometimes perhaps even one who would suit one better - leaves one cold. Yet I’m pretty sure that one of my reasons for loving you is the fact that you possess a few virtues I lack. Take your honesty for exampleu hau hate to lie. If you have to - for shielding a friend or because the greater good demands it - you suffer. My conscience is more durable. During the war I lied on an almost daily basis and I couldn’t pretend that it would have bothered me much. I even couldn’t maintain I only lied in situations where it was absolutely necessary. I sometimes did it because it was easier, because it didn’t take as much time as explaining the truth. As I’ve said, I’m an opportunist. Yet I admire you for your honesty and for not going the easy way. I admire you for being the Gryffindor you are.”

“And I’ve always admired how you manage to do what has to be done without sparing yourself,” Hermione said. “And I never thought of you as an opportunist. Just the contrary. If you were one, you wouldn’t have given Harry to his relatives. You knew by doing so that you would be blamed for his suffering there. You could have avoided it by simply giving him to a wizard family.”

“I don’t think he’d have survived it,” Albus said. “And without him our world wouldn’t have survived. It was just so simple.”

“Was it?” Hermione looked up to him. “Did you really find it simple that almost everyone around you blamed you for being heartless? Was it simple that people thought you wouldn’t care about a child being unhappy? That some of them thought you to stupid to know that Harry would suffer with his relatives? Some people still say you wouldn’t have bothered. It’s one of the burdens you have to bear, isn’t it? I know you care about it.”

He was finished with his shave. Turning around he looked seriously at Hermione. “Don’t idealise me, my love. There are a lot of dark stains on my armour and even if I’d tried to polish it, I couldn’t get it shiny enough to suit the image of the white knight. You will have to take me as I am - a human being with failures, a Slytherin with a history …”

Hermione laid a hand on his sh chh cheek. “Your history made you the man you are - and the man I love. I wouldn’t want you to be otherwise.”

He bent over and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said simply. Rising up again, he sighed. “I’ll have to shower - though I’d actually rather kiss you thoroughly.” Grinning at her he asked, “Don’t you want to wash my back?”

Hermione gave him another pat on the butt. “No, Albus,” she said cheerfully. “We know where that would lead. And Minerva would want my head if you are late for class again.”

“True.” He sighed and stepped into the corner shower.

Hermione watched him and how he quickly washed his hair and body. When he was done, he cast a drying charm, then he started to brush his hair.

“Albus …” Hermione was in thoughts once again. “With you being a Slytherin and me a Gryffindor …” She fell silent, chewed for a few seconds on her bottom lip and started again, “If we had children - what do you think they would become?”

“Hmm …” He couldn’t look at her because he was busy de-tangling a few strands of his hair. “Slytherins are highly unlikely - not if they’d take after you. Gryffindors would be more in the line, but I think it would be likely that we’d get Ravenclaws too.”

Hermione smiled. “I think I could live with that.”

“Hmm.” He laid the brush aside and looked at her, his expression neutral. “I’ve never asked you - I never thought it could become a subject that would matter to us, but under given circumstances,” he breathed deeply. “Hermione, do you want to have children?”

For a moment Hermione was silent. She played with the rubber duck, then she looked up at him. “If you’d have asked me a few years ago, I’d have said ‘no’. I was never one of these women who became all excited about children and who think the meaning of a woman’s life is to get one baby after another. So, in general, I never wanted children. But …,” now she smiled a bit awkwardly at him, “… I think I could like to have your child one day.” She looked at him, but he’d sunk his head and his face was hidden behind a curtain of hair. For a few seconds she waited for an answer from him, but he was quiet. So she swallowed and added calmly, “As I’ve said: I don’t believe a woman needs a child to have her life fulfilled. If you don’t want to have one, it is not going to be a problem for me.”

Now he looked up and she saw that his eyes were wet. “Oh, Hermione …” His voice was very hoarse. “I know I’m actually too old, but …” He swallowed. “I’ve wanted a child of my own for all my life.” He smiled at her. “You don’t think a bathroom and me being in a hurry because I have to teach is the right surrounding for a proposal? You know, I’m not so modern I’d like to have a child out of wedlock.”

“Then you should probably start to think about a better time and place for proposing,” Hermione laughed. “But I must warn you, Albus, your chances to come away unscathed are very small. I’ll probably say ‘yes’.”

To be continued …

* Translation: “Little star - don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.”

** John Donne, “The good morrow”

*** Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Love’s Philosophy”.